#some people shouldn’t mock death and yeah some people prefer to be familiar with death rather than be caught off guard by it

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

“Halloween is a celebration of death” why would finite human beings who have no hope of an afterlife celebrate the very thing they fear the most. Halloween can be a celebration of sin, like any other holiday, but Halloween (All Hallows’ Eve) has always been, and remains, a mockery of death.

[pandoraborn]

CotB deleted scene 2

Characters: c!Tommy, c!Wilbur Word count: 1755 words Content: drugging mention, death mention, abuse mention, violence, wilbur and tommy have a conversation,

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[setting: cabin.]

It’d been a few hours since Ranboo left for the SMP to meet with Tubbo. Tommy is anxious. He hates that he’s left alone with two unconscious men, and the silence seems to endlessly stretch out, morphing into some twisted darkness. The potions of weakness he’d used on Wilbur and Dream give no indication as to when they’ll wear off, and he’s sat twiddling his thumbs, trying to ignore the slow passage of time. It’s crawling by too slowly, and yet too quickly all the same; Ranboo’s presence right now would be most welcome. It’d at least help Tommy feel like he’s not sitting in some cold, familiar void. The potions are working enough that the men aren’t stirring, and hopefully won’t for awhile yet.

Tommy hopes they’re doing the right thing.

He can already imagine the angered reactions from Wilbur and Dream when they come to. He can already hear them yelling, and he’s shrinking back into himself, already working himself into a panic. He’s so used to people yelling at him, he’s way too used to people using him as their verbal punching bag; the imagined reactions probably wouldn’t be too far from reality.

Tommy sits by Wilbur’s bedside, leaning against it and curling his fingers into the fabric of the sheets, staring at Wilbur’s face. Even in sleep, Wilbur looks stressed. He doesn’t seem to rest anymore, what with him always thinking and moving and planning. Even now, Tommy can’t piece together the full plan, even though he’s been given enough information to know exactly what they’re doing. This entire situation is an enigma, and Tommy can’t bring himself to hate it or them as much as he knows he should.

Even though Wilbur’s lips are curled downward, his brow scrunched, and wrinkles are on display for Tommy to count, he still pities Wilbur more than himself. Sure, Tommy had been through hell, but he can’t imagine the hardships Wilbur’s been through in the past, and even recently.

It’s enough that his own anxiety fades just slightly. He can sympathize with the hell Wilbur’s been through, and the group even recently learned that Wilbur had spent years in whatever limbo he’d been stuck in. Years in that world, months in this one. It’s a hard concept for Tommy to wrap his mind around, but he can’t let it go either. It’s hard to imagine being stuck for years in a prison of death, unable to leave or rest. His own two months pale in comparison. Somehow, his concern for Wilbur always seems to outweigh everything else. Where Tommy wants to blame him for everything, he can’t, because Wilbur doesn’t deserve all the blame.

Carefully, Tommy lifts a trembling hand to brush a few curls out of Wilbur’s face. The actions seems to bring a tiny bit of relief to the man; his face relaxes. Tommy exhales softly before pulling his hand away.

“Wil?” Tommy tilts his head to the side as he whispers the name, wanting to gauge how responsive Wilbur is. When there’s nothing from Wilbur, Tommy slumps against the bed and closes his eyes, taking a moment to listen to the man breathe.

“Wil, I feel like I need someone to tell me it’s going to be okay. I’m too anxious and shit for all of this, I’m scared of getting yelled at and I’m scared of getting hurt. Part of me is even scared of you, or your anger, I don’t know anymore. I still don’t get it, man, no matter how many times all of you explain it to me.”

His hand finds Wilbur’s, and Tommy tugs it out from under the blanket. “Everything and everyone is fucked, and I’m stuck in the middle, again. I just want to find some sort of peace, man. I’m tired, and you’re one of the few people I feel like I can trust anymore.” He isn’t sure he means that, but he wants Wilbur to hear it anyway.

“I know.”

Tommy jumps at the spoken words. Eyes flying open, he stares at Wilbur, who’s staring sleepily at him. “You’re not supposed to be awake,” Tommy says flatly. He considers yanking his hand back, but decidedly leaves it there; Wilbur’s hand is warm and it feels nice.

“You think drugging me was going to work all night? Nice trick Tommy, but I’m stronger than one half-assed potion.” Wilbur scoffs as he shifts his position. He doesn’t pull his hand from Tommy’s though, rather, he gives it a squeeze. “If you’re tired, why don’t you rest? I can make room on the bed.”

“You go back to sleep,” counters Tommy. “I’m not tired.”

“Come here.” Wilbur scoots away from the edge of his cot, leaving a tiny amount of room. Tommy takes advantage of it, settling in. He relaxes when Wilbur drapes the blanket over him, as well, before wrapping his arms around Tommy to keep him in place. Amazingly,  this seems to free Tommy from any anxiety as well.

“Toms, listen. Sometimes we all do stupid shit. You do stupid shit, like this half-assed plan you and Ranboo made up.” Wilbur snorts. “It might’ve worked on Dream, but I’m not him. I’m still recovering from death, drugs don’t have the same effect on me. For example, I’m awake when I know I shouldn’t be.”

“You’re getting off track,” Tommy mutters. “I thought you were going to give me some grand speech about something, I don’t know.”

“I’m getting to that.” Wilbur pats Tommy on the cheek. “You say you trust me, but you really don’t, do you?”

“Should I?” Tommy rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “I mean that honestly. Because I feel like I shouldn’t what with you being some evil mastermind and teaming with Dream, and the dragon, and even Ranboo, and I don’t know anymore. On the other hand, you’re alive, and you haven’t...”

“I haven’t actually hurt you,” Wilbur finishes. “Am I really some evil mastermind in your head?” He sounds more amused, rather than irritated. “I think I would prefer evil scientist rather than some high end villain. I’m not serious enough for that.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely evil scientist material.” Tommy nods. “I dunno. You scare me though. When you first came back, you were terrifying.”

“I came back to life to see you covered in blood. You had bruises and cuts all over you, child. How else was I supposed to react?”

“Uh, not threaten Dream? Or at least, do it far, far away from me so I didn’t have to see you act like that?”

Wilbur presses his hand to Tommy’s face. “You are so full of shit, Child. We were trapped in a tiny hot box, with lava. Where on earth would you have gone to hide? The tiny cube of water? Friendly reminder that the water was also boiling, and had you jumped in, you would’ve ended up with burns all over you, on top of what Dream had already d-”

“Stop, stop!” Tommy shoves at Wilbur, falling off the bed in the process. “I don’t want to hear anymore! I already know, Wilbur! He hurt me again. Just like he always has!” He remains on the ground, rolling onto his stomach to hide his face. “I hated everyone for letting it happen.” It’s embarrassing to have a tantrum like this. Tommy expects Wilbur to laugh at him or mock him. There’s a silence at first, lasting a few agonizingly long seconds.

“I know. Tommy, had I been there, I would have protected you. I would have done everything in my power to prevent Dream from hurting you. Unfortunately, I was helpless.” Tommy can feel Wilbur rubbing his shoulders in an attempt to soothe him. Wilbur doesn’t sound like he’s laughing, bringing another measure of relief. Maybe Wilbur actually does care.

“Why do I not believe you were that helpless?”

“Ranboo tried to ask for my help once,” Wilbur confesses. “He found a way to communicate with me, months ago. I just told him to keep trusting Dream, because I didn’t have the power to do anything more.”

“Wait.” Tommy sits up. “You’re going to have to explain that to me. Ranboo talked to you, not Ghostbur. How?”

Wilbur nods. “It was a spell, I don’t know what kind of spell, but it worked all the same. The world is full of ancient magics, and he is enderman. Anyway, he wanted answers, he wanted me to do something. But what use is a dead man?”

“Dream isn’t trustworthy,” Tommy grumbles, grabbing at the bed. He doesn’t want to talk about magic anymore. He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore, but how does one stop their mouth from running? Besides, Wilbur is gifting him with new information and perspectives he hadn’t considered before, and it’s helping a lot more than he wants to admit.

“Deep down inside, he’s a slightly better person than we know,” Wilbur says gently. He helps Tommy back onto the bed, then begins playing with his hair. Tommy melts at the attention. “Better in the sense that he knows what he’s doing now. He’s an awful person where you’re concerned, though. I know you’d rather he wasn’t here, but we’re all stuck with him. If not for him, I wouldn’t have been able to accomplish as much as I did, neither would Ranboo. He is helping us get somewhere.”

“Part of me wants to forgive him,” Tommy admits. “But I don’t know if that’s pressure from you two, or just me wanting to put it all behind us for the sake of this new future you all want. Maybe at the end of the day I don’t even care, I want an end too. I’m tired, and sleep doesn’t fix it.”

“I know. I have been watching you, Toms, before I was resurrected. I know what hell you’ve been through, and I wish I could’ve done something about it. I’m here now though, and I’m not letting anyone hurt you again, not even myself. You deserve better, and you deserve a break from the world at large. Just tell me when and how, and I will do everything I can to grant you that. Anything, for you.”

“Just... promise me when this is over, that we’ll still be together. Me, you, Ranboo...even Dream, I guess. As fucked up as we all are, we’re still a family.” Why is that thought in his mind? When the words are out of his mouth though, Tommy knows it’s true. He’s too attached to Wilbur and Ranboo anymore, and even Dream has a place among them, even if it’s mostly working with Wil and sticking with Ranboo. Tommy would have to admit that without someone to throw biting insults at, his life would feel a little more empty.

“Of course.” Wilbur grins. “None of us are getting left behind again. Like you said, we’re a family, and we’re going to remain as such. It’ll all be okay, I promise you. And if I break my promises, I give you permission to beat me up for it.”

“Good.” Tommy sighs quietly. “Sorry about... you know.”

“Drugging me? I’m not even mad, really. It’s the first actual rest I’ve gotten. It’ll be Dream you have to argue with, but I don’t think he’ll mind all that much either. He’s been tired lately.”

Tommy shrugs, figuring the conversation can end here. He’s feeling sleepy, and he can see the same expression on Wilbur’s face. Maybe a small nap wouldn’t hurt either of them. “I don’t say this often or at all, but.” he trails off again, biting on his tongue. He feels it, Tommy knows what he’s feeling. The surge of emotion is far too strong to ignore, it’s just something he can’t bring himself to actually say.

Wilbur seems to know what it is though. His grip around Tommy tightens, and he pulls Tommy closer.

“I know what you’re feeling, Toms. I know you’re struggling with everything, but I’m going to make it all right for you. You don’t have to trust me completely, you can trust Ranboo and Ranboo only, but I’m here now, and I’m not leaving you alone again.”

Wilbur cards his fingers through Tommy’s hair again; the teen relaxes into the man’s side, burrowing under the blankets as much as he can to get comfortable. Wilbur continues speaking. “And you don’t have to say anything more, either, Tommy. I love you too.”

[weirdthinkingdragon]

Birds of a feather, yandere together

Yandere Hizashi x Winged reader x yandere Keigo (Hawks)

I got the idea from reading the yandere purge ideas from Yanderemommabean. It really struck me with inspiration.

Finale- I am SO. GLAD. To finally have this done, and don’t think I should be as happy as I am for how it turned out. Enjoy 4,000+ words

warnings- some swearing and quick scene of death

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It’s only two days before the Purge happens again. It was a disaster for the first time last year. Many of the people couldn’t handle it and there were way too many deaths on both sides. I was hidden away in my home since there was for sure no one that would be a yandere for me. All I had to do was stay out of the other yandere’s ways and everything would be fine. Just to be more on the safe side though, I’ve been building a small treehouse in the middle of the woods without telling anyone about it. The only way to get to the entrance was by flight.

I didn’t even tell my two best friends, Hizashi and Hawks. Still don’t know his real name, but that’s fine. It’s just much easier to make fun of him by calling him different types of bird nicknames. Hizashi is a part of it, and it’s a running joke between the three of us to call each other bird names.  

With the two of them being so busy, it’s pretty easy to never get on the topic. It feels wrong to lie, but no one can be trusted in the Purge, especially if my life is on the line. The only one I could really trust was good old ‘jean boy’ as I liked to call him. He recently went missing though. Can’t decide whether to hope he died, or he’s stuck somewhere with an overbearing yandere.

I shake the thought out of my head while walking to the destination to hang out with my two friends again. My enhanced hearing was problematic with all the chatter in the cafe. Some are talking about the two heroes hanging out, some saying how they hate one for one reason or another, and some just saying they hate heroes for some personal reason. There was an interesting conversation though. Two women who seemed to be in their mid-twenties gushing about the two men secretly being in a relationship. A smirk appeared on my face at the thought. The third at the other side of the table looking at the two like they’ve lost their minds.

“I swear they’re not normal. Their vibes feel yandere to me.” The two rolled their eyes at her. “Vibe? Seriously? That could TOTALLY be wrong though. You have been wrong about someone once or twice before.”

“But I’m sure about these two! They just don’t feel right!” The shorter of the duo rolled their eyes again. “You’re just jealous since you like Hawks.” She hid her face in her hands. “No, I got rid of that months ago when I first felt his vibe was off!” Both of them were doubtful. I decided to continue on before they realized I was creepily watching and eavesdropping.

… Why do they always insist to be in the hidden back part of the cafe? It’s always quieter at least. I stopped in my tracks before turning around the corner. “We can’t just clip their wings! I’d feel too bad doing it!” shrieked the familiar voice of Hizashi. Fear trickled in my stomach until I remembered Hizashi recently bought an unruly Cockatoo. He complains it keeps getting out of the cage and nearly being eaten by one of Shouta’s cats. He must be talking about that to keep the bird safe. Funny he bought a Cockatoo when Hawks and I like to call him the same thing.

“Calm down before we’re heard. Yeah, I have to agree though. Having fewer feathers feels so light.” Came the familiar voice of Hawks. I continued walking towards them. Hizashi’s eyes shined in happiness as they locked with mine. “Yo! You’re finally here!” Hawks is unamused as he looks at the clock on the wall next to him. “Big deal. They’re rather early.” He remarked. He looks at me and pats the empty seat between the two of them.

“Hey, little Chickadee. Come on over, we kept it nice and safe for you.” Hizashi gave him a “really dude?” look.

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” Hawks just replied with a lazy shrug. Hizashi gave him a stare-down and Hawks once again just replied by lazily staring back at him. For one odd reason or another, the sight made me laugh. Probably since they leaned close “glaring” at each other. Their faces weren’t even three inches apart. They both looked back at me with cheerful smiles.

After a bit of time to collect myself, I went over to the seat and sat between the two of them. Hawks wrapped an arm around my waist while Hizashi wrapped one around my shoulders. They then pulled themselves closer to me so our thighs were touching.

Sometimes I forget just how touchy they like to be. Well, Hizashi is predictable since Shouta warned me about it when we first became friends. He’s thankful I’m able to stop Hizashi from bothering him quite as often, but he still ends up making time to bother Shouta at the school. Hawks is a bit more unpredictable with his... I’m just going to say unique personality.

Hawks leaned back in the seat without changing his grip. It then struck me with a question as to how he wasn’t squishing his wing- I look over to see most of the feathers on a pile next to him. There were holes in the booth behind him. How have I never noticed that before? Moving my wings, there were two similar holes behind me.

He noticed what I was looking at. “Heh, it was done the last time we were here and you left. It was surprisingly cheap what they wanted for it to be done,” He looked over to Hizashi with a smirk on his face. “Guess it pays to be the number 2 hero.” He rolled his eyes at Hawks.

“Listen up, what ya dig is your business. For me? Doing what I do is much more fun than what you could ever do.” He then leans over me and pokes Hawks on the nose. He replied by having one of his feathers go to Hizashi and brush against his mustache. “Eh, whatever you say Cockatoo. I get paid more than you do with your three jobs combined,”

He then pressed his feather against the side of Hizashi’s mustache. “You’d probably do better without that ridiculous thing on your face. Why don’t I help you?” It was easy to tell Hawks was teasing and wouldn’t really do it. The smirk that grew on Hizashi’s face makes it known he knows it too. “Aw! Is a certain someone jealous of my beautiful face?”

“Beautiful isn’t exactly the word I’d use for it.” Hizashi let out a huff. “Well, it’s a good thing I never cared for your opinion, little Finch!” Shock went over Hawks’ face. “Wow, you finally came up with another one? Is it to mock my height? I may be smaller, but I can bet you it’s bigger than yours where it counts.” To say I choked on air is an understatement. I’m pretty sure I nearly suffocated myself with it in surprise at his bluntness.

They both started patting my back where my wings weren’t at.. “Easy there Chickadee/Mockingbird.” They said simultaneously. I remained coughing for a second. “Great, you broke them Hawks!”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have made fun of my height. I’m not even that short in the first place.”

Hizashi glared at him. “Well, I didn’t think you’d take it that way! Jeez, you’re really crampin’ the style of both of us!” Hawks blinked in confusion at him. “Sometimes I really don’t know what you’re trying to say. Right now is one of them.”

I was able to stop coughing, and just in time since the waitress came around the corner to us. She has the basic love-struck look at the two heroes. Honestly can’t blame her, they’re both incredibly attractive. Not going to lie, I did like them like two months ago, but it quickly went into the best friend feeling instead the more the three of us got to hang out.

She didn’t seem too happy to see me between the two. It’s clear she doesn’t know who I am since I prefer to stay more on the hidden side like Shouta. Only a few crazy fans have recognized me.

The guys’ grips tightened around me as she approached closer. She kept staring at Hawks in particular. She pulled out her notepad and pen. “Hello, I’ll be your waitress for today. Have you three figured out what you all want?” She asked, still not breaking eye contact with Hawks. Hizashi and I kept trying to hold in our snickers. Hawks removed his arm from around me to lightly elbow my side.

“Oh, we sure have!” We really didn’t, the three of us just always get the exact same thing we did before. I smirked at Hawks while Hizashi said what he wanted. “You’re obviously getting the chicken again, aren’t you? How in the world do you stay in such good shape?”

“You’re asking the wrong person, Chickadee. I have no idea myself, but I know I’m never giving it up.” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t doubt it for a second.”

“Did I hear that right sir? You’d like the chicken special I presume?” She questioned. Okay, that’s a little unprofessional. Even Hawks, the rather unprofessional man himself, seemed surprised at her act. “Yeah, that would be correct. I’ll take water with it.” I smirked at him. “So THAT’S how you balance it out, huh?”

He smirked back at me. “Aw, hush it Chickadee.” Hizashi seemed unimpressed with Hawks not changing his nickname. “Really, Seagull? Ya can’t just stick with the same nickname so often. Ya said the same nickname the last whole meeting!.” The feathers still on his back puffed up. “I am NOT near such a low kind of bird species!” The mischievous smirk formed on Hizashi’s face made it known what he might do. “Oooh! One that yanks your feathers! I might just have to keep it!”

Just hearing the name of that annoying bird reminds me of the time one ended up flying over me and taking a dump that landed on my wings. It took way too long to get it out. “Uh... I have to agree with Hawks on this one. I’d rather never hear that type of bird again. Remember that one time?”

It took them a second, but then their faces turned into sharp frowns. “Right! Sorry, I forgot about that, Mockingbird!” I deadpanned at him. The rapidly changing nicknames were getting confusing and annoying. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard at least half of the birds in the world by now.  “Can you two please just decide on a single nickname or something already? I’m getting tired of it.”

They both chuckled. “As you command, Chickadee.” Hizashi went into thought for a second with his right hand holding his chin. “You know what? I quite dig the Mockingbird one,” He snapped his fingers and pointed at me. Mockingbird it is!”

The woman cleared her throat in clear jealousy. I brushed it off and pretended it was just because she wanted to get our orders quickly. “Right! I’ll take the dark chocolate cheesecake with coffee, no cream or sugar.” The two of them still recoil at the thought of drinking coffee with nothing in it. I personally like the balance of the two. She nodded and walked off. I stayed quiet until she rounded the corner.

I then elbowed Hawks in his side rather roughly and looked at Hizashi. “He should have flirted with her! She seemed REALLY interested, didn’t she, Cockatoo?” He smirked as a reply.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyways, what are your guys’ opinions on the Purge tomorrow night? Hopefully it won’t be as bad as last year. Picking up all those bodies was a nightmare.” I cringed at just the thought of it. Hizashi reached behind me and smacked Hawks on the back of his head.

“C’mon, now ya just ruined the mood! It shouldn’t be too much of a concern!” He then tried to comfort me by patting my back. It did little to help. “Nah, all I’m saying is I’m curious what little Chickadee is going to do.”

There was a dangerous glint he sent towards Hizashi that greatly unsettled me. Betrayal and hurt swarmed through my head for a second. Have they found darlings? Are they going to kill me to spend more time with them?  No! They must just be curious right? They wouldn’t hurt their best friend! I forced the thoughts down before they noticed my panicked state.

“Oh, just going to stay home and hide. Not like I have anyone after me, and it’s easier to stay out of other’s ways.” The two looked like they bought the lie. I felt too nervous to relax my wings. The two seemed to notice and share a look. “Why hide at your home? Since that will be going on, all heroes are off their duties. You could stay safe with us!” Hizashi joyfully implied. An edge in his tone made it not very believable though.

I pretended to bashfully rub the back of my neck. “That’s okay! I don’t want to be a bother for the both of you. Besides, it might be dangerous for me if people are after you two.” Hawks leaned back farther and looked up to the ceiling. “Wouldn’t doubt it. Wish them luck trying though.”

“Same here! Not every person can keep up with me! And they’re especially going to have a hard time if they’re,” He shivered. “A user of bugs.” I pat his shoulder reassuringly. That sounds like a nightmare. Probably is, especially for him. Hawks replied with a snicker. I glared at him and elbowed his side almost as hard as possible. That shut him up immediately, but it made Hizashi snicker instead.

“Ouch little Chickadee. You didn’t have to hit so hard.” He mocked.

“Well don’t laugh at that, or next time I’ll hit you harder!” I threatened. He rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you say, Chickadee.”

It didn’t take long after that for our foods and drinks to arrive. We caught up on other things before leaving. I stopped at my house and made preparations for tonight and tomorrow night.  I’m going to hide a day early just in case anyone has any ideas. Pretty sure that woman is going to come after me with how she kept glaring at me when Hawks and Hizashi bantered with each other. Of course, I have the upper hand, but I’m really not for hurting people unless it’s absolutely necessary.

It didn’t take too long to fill my needed bag for hiding. Okay, just to make sure...  Snacks? Yep. Drinks? Obviously. A flashlight? Yep. And also a few things to stay entertained for the nights. Can it really be night if it’s three in the morning? Last but not least, my phone is staying here. It could pretty easily be tracked.

I kept glancing around while walking to make sure no one was watching me. There was a familiar black-clothed male running up on the rooftops. Relief flooded through me, it was just Shouta. Wait… Hizashi usually isn’t-

“Hey, Mockingbird! Surprised to see you out at this time! Couldn’t sleep, huh?” I shoved my bag out of sight behind me. “Yeah, it’s also really nice weather. Thought I’d go for a quick walk.” Shouta stopped, and it was easy to tell he was glaring at Hizashi from here. He could easily tell too. “Well, gotta go before the grump gets worse! See ya later!’ He ran off to catch up below Shouta. Shouta and I locked eyes. He… nodded at me? He must know. Can’t thank him enough.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long to get to the hidden place. It’s just big enough for me and a little wiggle room. Blankets are already laid on the floor for better cushioning. One thing I stupidly didn’t think about was room for my wings. They’re just going to be really stiff later on. I reached for my pocket radio just to listen to Hizashi tomorrow. He’s able to broadcast at his home.

… Wait… Where is- SHIT! How could I have forgotten the radio!? Ugh, I have to go get it. Staying in silence will drive me insane. A thorough debate went through my head if it was worth the risk. I decided to just go for it and run as fast as possible back to my home. It was a quick trip and thankfully I didn’t run into either Shouta or Hizashi on my way home or back. As the adrenaline started to fade, sadness and fear enveloped my mind. Did… Was everything between the three of us fake? Did I know anyone they may be interested in? But they seemed genuine every visit we did together. Before it got too far, I decided to plug in my headphones and just listen to the radio until tonight.

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Time flew by faster than I thought since it was already only a few hours before the Purge begins. I made sure to quickly run and use the nearest bathroom before coming back, and put new batteries in my radio. I’m really tired, but keep trying to fight it for fear of being found. Not likely, but possible. Listening to the same songs is maddening to the point I don’t know if silence would be worse or better. My wings are already getting sore, and it probably would have been better to layer the floor with one more blanket. Rather envious of Hawks with his wings right now. . . . . “Welcome dear listeners to the CRAZY time of year again!” I was jolted awake by the familiar loud voice of Hizashi through my headphones. Yikes, somehow fell asleep. “Now, there have been a few changes of rules from the disaster of last year. Nothing much! But one of the biggest changes will be the handling of your darlings! No harm can be done to them. Nor can any quirks be used for your advantage. If that is found to be broken, your darling WILL be able to be set free.

Another rule is they must be able to leave the house at least once a week. There will be occasional checks to make sure that is being followed,” My eyes widened in surprise. Man, they’re really cracking in new laws this year.

“And a final rule added, no more than two people can be killed per person. You can thank a specific person that killed fifteen people last year for that,” Well, that’s sure reassuring in a way. Looking at the clock on the radio, it was going to start in two minutes.

“I can’t deny, this is rather fun to think about finally having my darling as well! It’s so cut they think they can hide!” Heh, they sure got the right idea. I know he’d never treat them badly, on the contrary, the exact opposite. They’d be smothered. Being smothered definitely isn’t for everyone though. Thoughts swarmed in my head how it wouldn’t be that bad- no, he doesn’t see me like that.

Due to the volume not being very high, I was able to hear the sound of rustling leaves of the trees nearby. It sounded too big to be just a squirrel or raccoon, so my guard was up.

“Ready everyone!?  

In THREE. . .

TWO. . .

ONE. . .”

The sirens started blaring.

“GOOOOOO!!!” He then went quiet for a second while my anxiety started steadily rising, Him not talking for even a few seconds feels abnormally unsettling.

“See ya soon… Darling…” His voice was uncharacteristically calm and eerie. I don’t like it…

Almost instantly, there was a noise right outside the entrance. Looking over, sure enough, it was the waitress from that night. Next to her was someone else. A male with some type of clear wings.Some kind of insect. Welp, might as well know them before I fight in self defense. “I get why you’re here, but who are you?”

The man crossed his arms. “Her and I don’t like how close you’ve come with our heroes.” Fuck. Guess there really was a target on my back huh? “It sounds pretty impossible for Hizashi to like you because of your insect wings. You know how much he hates them.”

“I’ll make him love them and me! I’ll show him the beauty of bugs! But first, you have to go.” They both can’t get in here at the same time. He stood in front while the woman tried to enter to kill me. Before she can even try to enter, a giant red… Familiar… feather plunged through her chest. He must want to kill me himself huh? What a cruel world.

“Heh, he wouldn’t be too thrilled with that,” He raised a few feathers around him. “And honestly? Neither would I.” In the blink of an eye, multiple feathers went through the male.

Wait, he can’t kill me now since he already did the limit! He tossed the two dead bodies to the ground that left a sickening “thump” as they hit the hard ground below. He was still so nonchalant that it’s like he’s done it plenty of times before. He leisurely stretched. “You’re lucky Cockatoo told me to keep an eye on you this morning. Who knows what could have happened to you if I wasn’t here.”

I glared at him. “I can take care of myself.”

“Can you now? Did you know that villain’s quirk was to make you unable to move? If you could take care of yourself, why did you hide?” His tone had a hint of scolding in it. I wasn’t able to speak before he started again.

“Gotta admit, you’ve got a pretty good hiding place. Would be hard to spot for most. Your wings look really cramped though, so why don’t you come out of there before I make you?”

The warning in his voice activated my fight or flight reflex. I lunged towards him and passed before he could grab me, and took off in the sky. There’s no way to beat him physically, but believe it or not, I can fly faster than him. Never have I been so thankful for that. Guess being a Hummingbird has its advantages. I’m now regretting not using it to get home and back. None of them would have been able to follow me.

Hawks let out a grunt of annoyance. “Come on Chickadee, you’re just making this longer than it has to be.” He’s close. Too close… I kept flying and went towards the buildings. Hopefully the chaos around will end up hitting Hawks.

My breath was already starting to become uneven . I may be faster, but he has a lot more stamina. “Now!” Hawks suddenly yelled.

Something- someone jumped onto my back from the roof of a building which made me fall towards the ground. My wings are smaller than Hawks, so I can’t carry anyone while flying.

Panic hit me hard as I noticed one particular thing about who it is. Black leather. I brace myself for the pain to hit the ground. It never came though. Hawks caught up and used his feathers to slow down the fall. Hizashi refused to let go, and is hugging me in an almost bone crushing way.

As soon as my feet hit the ground, Hawks caught me in a bone crushing hug in the front. I could barely breathe while trying to get better from the flight. “So this is how you guys are going to kill me?” I asked between breaths.

They both froze. “What?” They asked simultaneously. Hawks lightened his grip and wrapped his wings all the way behind Hizashi and nuzzled into the right side of my neck.

“No, no, no, dear Mockingbird! Ya got it all wrong. You ARE the one we love!”

“And now that we have you?” Hawks started, whispering lowly into my ear.

“We’re not letting you go, little Mockingbird.” Hizashi finished, kissing my lips. Hawks then kissed my neck at the same time.

I should be a lot more concerned than I am about this, but I’m not. “By the way, call me Keigo.” Hizashi smirked. “So the mystery bird does have a name!”

“Yeah, just don’t go waving it around. I’d rather keep my mystery.” He replied, slightly loosening his grip. “Your secret is safe with me! Anyways, let’s go, this is no place to cuddle!”

“Can do Cockatoo. Just hang on.” He unwrapped his wings around us and used some of his feathers to get us in the air. This probably counts as using his quirk, but they’re people I care about and trust, so I won’t tell.

[stachmousworld]

P*$$y fairy (Hot Smut) P.1

Pairing: Steve rogers x WOC original character

Tag: Daddy kink, vaginal fingering, virginity loss (blood), oral sex, consensual all the way through.

Part 2 

“No,” she said categorically.

“Please…pretty please…” Julie begged her best friend.

“No. You are out of your mind. I won’t do it.”

Julie took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to invoke this, but…do you remember the life or death experience from march?”

Her bestfriend sent her a death glare.

“On all the shit you could use this, you chose this one?”

Julie nodded vehemently. She plumped her lower lip and opened her big blue eyes. She knew that her bestfriend wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Argh! Ok! Stop looking at me like that!” She said, throwing her hands in the air. “What I wouldn’t do for my so-called friend.”

Juliet jumped into her arms and thanked her.

“I let you prepare yourself. My stepdad is a little bit nervous. So be prepared.”

She rolled her eyes and gave her best smile. Julie grimaced.

“You won’t fuck it up on purpose, right? Because he really likes you and he loves talking to you about these boring things.”

Her best friend plopped on the couch. She reveled in the compliments. She, also, loved to discuss with Steve. He was as smart as handsome and could debate for hours. If he wasn’t Julie’s stepdad, she’d totally go for him.

“Why would I do that, Julie?” She asked, her voice laying thick on sarcasm.

Julie glared at her.

“I know I should have never asked you to do that,” she muttered, leaving the room

“After tonight, we’re even!” She screamed, cackling like a hyena. “Finally, even,” she repeated in a mutter.

 It took her a few minutes to get prepared. She chose a regular outfit. Tight little red dress with short heels. Julie’s stepdad was quite tall, but she didn’t want to have sore feet before the end of the night. She shook her head and patted her wig. She had chosen a burgundy one and had curled the long hair. She looked gorgeous if she did say so herself. She shook her head enjoying the feeling of the silky hair on her back.

It didn’t take long before Julie’s stepdad rang at the door. She took her jacket, her bag and opened the door. Mister Rogers looked…too handsome to be real. He had trimmed his full beard, she remarked, out loud. His entire face relaxed. He let out a chuckle.

“What else have I changed, miss?”

She smiled recognizing the competition.

“Your hair is longer, and you didn’t dye them. You don’t where your contacts today.” He looked briefly shocked. A small smile appeared on his face. “You normally don’t wear anything that “posh” so that’s a win for me. It looks good on you. Dark blue makes your eyes pop more.”

Mister Rogers licked his lip slowly, then smiled again. It’s weird how she could notice more details from him because she was attracted to him. She didn’t want to freak him out, so she’d just focus on the more obvious.

“Can we stay in your apartment just one second?” he asked out of the blue.

She opened her mouth to question him but thought otherwise. She pushed herself out of the way and let him in.

 He was standing there, in the middle of her living room, looking out of place. The blue of his suit clashed with the warm colors in her apartment, but he didn’t care. No. He seemed perfectly at in his element.

“Do you need to go to the toil –”

“Shhh” he ordered her softly. “Do you remember Julie’s 21st birthday?”

She unconsciously took a step back as memories flooded her mind. Some parts were hazy and others more like a living fantasy. She didn’t remember taking anything, no alcohol nor drugs, that’s for sure. So, there was no way what happened was real. It had been a vivid, extremely vivid dream.

“Yeah?”

Mister Rogers unbuttoned his vest and laid it on the armchair. He sat down and crossed his leg. He was gazing at her, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“Do you remember what happened between us?”

“Between us?” She repeatedly dumbly.

He nodded patiently. Slowly drumming on his ankle.

“I don’t…what happened?” She preferred asking. It had been a vivid dream. Nothing had been real she reassured herself.

“Julie was having a party downstairs, and everyone was partying, drinking and enjoying their night, right?”

“Hm.” Her breathing grew shallower.

“Yep. I was upstairs in my bedroom, minding my own business when you can in my room. Your face was as red as a beetroot. I thought you were having an allergic reaction.”

She frowned. She had no memories of that.

“I came to you, helped you out. You were stuttering something about an important issue,” he chuckled. “I asked you what that had to do with me…”

 Memories came as he talked.

 “But you don’t understand, Mister Rogers! I’m going to die a virgin,” she pouted, unashamed. She was high on adrenaline and felt braver than she’d ever think.

Mister Rogers – Steve smiled and shook his head, amused.

“Isn’t that a tad dramatic? Even for you?”

“And what I’m supposed to do?”

Steve moved around the room, tidying as he walked through.  

“Finding a boy who’ll love you and make love to you.”

She grimaced and grunted.

“That’s going to take forever. Plus, boys my age don’t know shit about sex. It’s ‘oh a vagina, let me put my dick in it.’ and a few seconds later they cum and you’re still dry as fuck and they don’t care about that because, ‘women should be wet all the time’ or my favorite response ‘It’s not my problem’.” She flopped on his bed and laid there, sighing deeply. “I’m going to die a virgin.”

Steve started laughing surprising her. She raised her head and smiled softly.

“That’s not funny…” She grumbled.

Steve took a look at her and laughed some more.

“Mister Rogers! This is a really serious matter.”

“Ok, ok I stop.” He raised his hands in mock defense. “But you have to understand that for me, a man of the wrong side of 30, it’s kind of hilarious that your main worry in life is losing your virginity.” He made his way toward her and sat next to her. “You have your entire life to get it figured it out. I don’t want you to rush things up. Like you said, boys your age don’t really think about giving.”

She frowned not liking at all the paternal tone. She didn’t want to wait many more years. She wanted to have sex right now. Her eyes grew wide. Right now. Parties were a good way to have sex so Julie said.

“Why do I know you didn’t listen jack shit of what I just said?” He sighed.

“Thank you, mister Rogers! But I gotta go.” She jumped off the bed and quickly made her way to the door.

“Wait!” She stopped. “What are you going to do, exactly?”

She spun around. “Have sex. Parties are known to have horny people. I’m sure I’d find someone to sleep with me. Easy peasy.”

Steve who had been laughing a few minutes ago was dead serious. He looked reprobative and the frown on his face wasn’t reassuring.

“That’s exactly the opposite of what I told you to do.”

“Yeah, and?” She kept glancing behind her as if the horny people would disappear in a minute.

“You will regret it.”

“And?” She pressed him.

“It’s supposed to be –.”

“I’m going to cut you right there, Mister Rogers. I don’t care at this point. I want an orgasm or two. That’s it.”

Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This is unbelievable. Are you drunk?” She shook her head. “Baked?” Another shook.

Steve stood up. He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “God forgive me.” He looked at his feet, then at her. “I can’t in all fairness let you have some maybe unprotected sex with a knucklehead, who’s going to cum in a few seconds and leave you dry.”

She blushed at his crudity.

“You shouldn’t blush. Those are the words you used.”

She tried to explain herself but failed miserably.

“I’m going to propose something. Instead of sleeping with someone you don’t know, I’ll do it.”

She choked on her saliva. Her nostrils burned as her saliva went through them. She wiped her nose hastily.

“What do you mean by I’ll do it?” She had to make sure she heard it right.

“I’ll fuck you” The blush intensified. Steve smirked mischievously. “I’ll put my erection in your wet vagina. I’ll put my dick in your greedy hole and fill you up quite nicely.”

She shuffled her feet trying to not cross her legs and be obvious. There was an aching between her legs. It was both familiar and yet unfamiliar. She was used to being horny but the emptiness inside of her had never felt so awful.

“You don’t have to be this crude,” she repeated weakly.

Steve walked slowly toward her. His eyes never left hers.

“Why? Do you think those frat boys would be more polite?” He stood a few feet from her. “No. They’d treat you like a whore, manhandle you. And if you find the wrong one, he’ll make sure to tell his friends about your little pussy.” His voice grew deeper. “And I’d have to beat the hell out of these boys.” He approached until her face collided with his broad chest. “But we don’t want that right?”

“N-no.”

“Good. Have you ever seen a dick before?”

The change of subject gave her whiplash.

“No.” He took a few steps backward and sat on the bed legs open.

“Come and work for it, then.”

She walked a little unsure of what to do. Did he want her to suck him or jerk him off?

She kneeled in front of him and unbuttoned his jeans. First surprise was that he was soft but long. The tip was a pretty pinkish. She rolled her fingers around the shaft and slowly moved. Steve hissed. Her head snapped up.

“Keep going, baby girl. Take your time and do whatever you think could feel good. But no teeth.”

“Oh, and I thought I could bite it off,” she joked.

Before Steve could reply she sucked the tip. Her tongue rolled around the bulbous head, tasting a drop of precum. She hummed, finally relaxing. She swallowed more of his dick, making sure to hide her teeth. 

The tip hit the back of the throat. She moaned and kept going past her gag reflex, until she was nuzzled on his pubic. She cleared her throat, making him moaned loudly. 

He gripped the sheets next to him. She slowly bobbed her throat enjoying his growing thickness in her mouth. Her eyes rolled back as he was fully erected. She couldn’t deepthroat him anymore and mourned the feeling of his hair on her face.

His carnal scent made her dizzy.

With one hand she rolled and squeezed his balls and with the other she jerked him off. She bobbed her head faster, as his groans grew louder.

“God, what a mouth…” he hissed. He placed a hand on her head and fucked her mouth. She closed her eyes, mouth agape, barely breathing. He forced his length inside her throat making her gag. Her eyes watered.

He finally let go of her when she was on the verge to faint. He slapped his wet dick onto her cheeks, avoiding her stretched tongue.

“That’ll be for later. I guess.” He pushed grabbed her and laid her on the bed. She let him do, still not believing she had sucked her bff stepdad. When she came back to herself, Steve had already taken care of his clothes and hers. He was between her legs, caressing the apex of her thighs. She moaned, pushing her hip onto his face.

“I thought you would never come back to yourself.”

“First time sucking a dick, so…” she said, voice a little hoarse.

Steve smiled. “And you did amazing. I would have cum in your mouth, but the night is young.”

She keened at the praise.

“But now you got your fill, I’ll need to prepare you,” he said, before diving in. She almost jerked away when she felt his tongue around her clit. The sensation felt unfamiliar yet so tantalizing.

She dropped back and rolled her hip on his face. Steve pressed her hips on the mattress and ravaged her. His tongue was lapping, circling her clit with extreme precision. He sucked on her clit like a popsicle. Pleasure washed over her rendering her boneless.

Steve moaned around her clit.

“Mister Rogers!” She screamed, as her orgasm approached.

Steve stopped. She whined and tried to push his head back. He laughed patting her hands out. He used his fingers to rub her clit. Briefly. So brief, she wasn’t even sure he did it.

One long finger slid in. She gaped, back arching. He was so deep. Deeper than her fingers could have been.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” He muttered, on the skin of her thigh. He pressed a few kisses. A second finger got in quite easily. Her body went laxed, before tensing. He had crooked his fingers and hit…God…it was so good. She fucked herself on his fingers enjoying their callosity and thickness.

Steve chuckled. “If I had known you were that greedy, I would have started earlier.”

“Tol’ ya,” she gasped.

A third one came in. She tensed feeling a bit too stretched.

“I’m bigger than that baby girl.” He groaned. “I can’t wait to see my dick stretching you out. Just for me.”

He went back to sucking her clit. The sudden onslaught and pleasure rushing through her veins relaxed her. She could hear the watery noise from her pussy. She pressed her legs around his head and pushed him into her. Steve didn’t push her this time and accepted.

Out of the sudden, Steve crooked is fingers making a wince. She was about to tell him when she felt a spark of pleasure erupting from her pussy. She grabbed her chest, dazed. Steve pressed into her sweet spot, hitting it every time.

She couldn’t breath. She couldn’t stay focus.

Her orgasm uncoiled suddenly after a particular brutal thrust. Her entire body spasmed on the bed. She couldn’t help herself but moan, whine and call his name. 

It took a few minutes hour or days for she knew to come back to reality. Her body was sensitive and yet, she wasn’t really satiated.

“Here,” he said, bringing a straw to her mouth. She raised her head and sipped. The first one was at least as orgasmic as what had happened. Between sucking Steve’s dick and being fingerfucked within an inch of her life, her throat felt like sandpaper.

“Delicious.” She smacked her lips a few times enjoying the cold water. She sipped some more finishing the glass.

“I know. There is nothing orgasmic than water when you are thirsty.”

She hummed, eyes closed, enjoying being naked on satin sheets.

 The bed dipped. Steve opened her legs and laid on her. He pressed some kisses on her face before kissing her mouth. He bit her lower tongue and plunge his tongue inside. He grinded his erection on her slit. Sweet wet noises resonated in the room. She caressed his biceps to his back. She brought her legs around his, pressing them together.

Steve bit her tongue. She groaned.

“Sweet girl,” he complimented her. He rocked his hips against hers. “Saw you a few days ago, in that small shirt with nothing under.” He pinched her right nipple. “All I dreamt of was bending you and fuck you till you call me daddy.” He grazed her jaw with his teeth. “I dream everyday about my sweet baby girl, calling me daddy. And me, you know what I do?” She shook her head completely dazed. “I have your legs on my shoulders, while I pound MY sweet pussy until you try to push me away because it is too much. I make you come every time and you always end up bursting with my cum.”

He licked her lips, thrusting his tongue in. He played with hers in a sloppy kiss. She didn’t even try to fight with him and let him take what he wanted. In a short conscious moment, she realized that she also dreamt of him. And maybe she had tried to attract his intention, but who cared right now.

 Steve sat on his haunches. He gripped his flushing erection slapping it on her clit and hole. He pretended to slip it in making her angry. She tried to push him in herself, but he slapped her hand away.

“Patience. I don’t want to rush it.” His tip got caught on the hole. “I wonder if you’ll put some red on my ledger?”

What? She didn’t have the time to ask that he pressed in. She immediately tensed. Steve tsked.

“My tip is barely in, baby girl.” He thrusted out then in. He got a little more in, but she was still tensed. “I thought you said you were ready? If you don’t want, we can still stop. Actually, we can stop even in the middle of it, it’s your choice.”

She blushed with embarrassment. She was ridiculous. It wasn’t supposed to go like that.

“Hey, don’t hide from me. It’s totally normal, that’s your first time. I’d be totally surprised if you’d be wide open, ready to take it like that. Do you want to continue?”

“Yes, please,” she asked, vulnerable. He smiled softly and kissed her forehead. He leaned forward, caging her with his arms.

“Focus on me,” he whispered, diving for kiss. As his tongue played with hers, she felt a pinch inside of her. She unconsciously tensed up. Steve placed a hand on her clit and rubbed it fast. His tongue battled with hers as pleasure and pain overwhelmed her.

She wanted to cry. She felt so full, so good, so stretched. Her eyes rolled back. His dick was so large and hard. She surely could feel him in her heart. God!

“That’s Steve or Daddy for you babe.” He groaned in her ear as pleasure took them both to new heights. “You are so good to me. So tight…I won’t be able to get enough of this.” He kept sliding deeper inside her. Tears ran down her face. How could he go that far inside of her.

“That’s okay, baby girl, I know it is overwhelming. Daddy’s dick fill you up quite nicely, isn’t?”

She cried some more. “So good.”

Steve kissed her nose. “I know. Now, it’s time to see something.” He slid out in a slow motion. He moaned her name and squeezed her hips hard. The emptiness disturbed her. She wanted him back in.

“Oh,” he said.

She raised her head and saw a hint of red around the crown of his dick. She frowned not understanding what was the problem. Steve raised an eyebrow and looked at her with awe. Oh. Realization dawned upon her. Her hymen had broken. Steve surged forward kissing her with renewed passion.

“God, you are mine now. All mine, baby girl.”

He pressed his erection onto her hole and slid right in. She felt a slight discomfort, but the overwhelming pleasure took over. He started thrusting.

“So tight…” He kept murmuring inside her ear. “Will fuck you all night, don’t worry. ‘be so sore tomorrow.”

She barely could breath anymore. His dick hit her sweet spot no matter what. The more she tried to make him slowdown a bit, the less he did.

She finally let go. He stood there above her, beard glistening with sweat and her juice, dark blue eyes peering on her. He slowed for a bit. 

She sighed in relief.

“Are you ready, for the grand final?” He whispered huskily.

She raised an eyebrow. The what now?

He chuckled darkly. His thrusts grew faster. She gripped the sheets around her to stay grounded.

“Fuck!” She screamed when his tip hit home. He grabbed her legs, bend them until they hit her chest. She was constricted and could barely move.

“Better like that…” he groaned to himself. “Deeper…hungry hole…”

He pressed harder her legs and started pounding her. It instantly knocked the breath out of her. His dick speared her to the limit and the bulbous head was now slamming against her spot.

She started seeing white spot. She blinked rapidly to stay conscious, but Steve wouldn’t fucking let go.

“Fuck, that pussy so good!” He screamed. His thrusts were now wilder.

She screwed her eyes and grimaced as her orgasm knocked her out. Steve kept thrusting inside her, not even slowing down. He bent to her ears and grunted. “Gonna come…fuck…so tight…”

A few thrusts later and he suddenly stilled inside her. She gasped as his semen coated her walls and automatically rolled her hips, milking him for some more.

She closed her eyes…

“So, do you remember, now?” Steve asked, still on the armchair.

Part 2

[lokischocolatefountain]

Knight in Tulle Armour

Pairing: Loki x OFC

Rating: General 

Word count: 2.2K

Summary: Loki’s fiancé doesn't need to be rescued from bullying palace staff by a Knight in Shining Armour.

Astrid gasped and clutched her stomach as the seamstress yanked her back by the ribbons on her dress. “Can’t breathe,” she managed to choke out as the corset grew tighter and tighter. The woman finally let go and she fell forward but then clutched the mirror to steady herself. 

“Was that really necessary, Synnøve?” 

“My apologies, Lady Astrid. I often forget how fragile mortals could be.” 

There it was. It had been two hours since she was dragged into this room to try on wedding gowns and she was surprised that nothing had happened yet. She had been putting up with remarks like this for a whole month on Asgard. Loki knew nothing. When the two were seen together, the Æsir kept their remarks subtle. Loki wasn’t one to stir up conflict that would jeopardise political allies, so he dealt with them with similar subtle remarks and it had been fun to watch him tactfully bring down people’s sense of self-worth in a quintessentially Loki style. 

Attacks toward her when she was alone was a different case entirely. People talked shit blatantly, criticised her appearance, flaunted past trysts with her fiancé to her face, humiliated her, the lest went on and on. Apparently yanking her around by the ribbons of her corseted bodice was the hot new thing on the list. 

She was still in the initial stages of picking a dress, checking which silhouette she preferred. It was supposed to be an easy process until she discovered it wasn’t. There were load and load of options and different types of cuts and sleeves and silhouettes and colours. It wasn’t often that she wore any dress, let alone bridal ones. Her career didn’t allow her the freedom to wear anything other than ill-fitted scrubs and on occasion, well-fitted suits. Her motorcycle was her primary mode of transport and long flowy dresses were a safety hazard while short ones were a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen. So, she had many things to blame for her lack of dress knowledge. But, that made the Asgardians here look down on her like she was some kind of peasant who had never seen a dress before. 

“Lady Astrid, Prince Loki requested your presence when you are finished here.” 

“Im finished,” she said hurriedly as she lifted up the layers and layers of tulle of her dress, jumped off her platform in her kitten heels and leaped out the door with the woman who called for her. Her facial expression contorted to suggest she was looking at an adorable puppy rather than a grown ass woman. 

“I remember being your age, newly in love and waiting for an opportunity to run off to meet my beloved.” 

Astrid just smiled and nodded, not having the heart to tell her that she was only rushing to be away from her banshee of a seamstress rather than to the arms of her lover. She was also surrounded by plenty of strangers the whole day and would kill to see a familiar face. She was escorted to Loki’s wing of the palace and left at the doorsteps. She quickly thanked her and stepped in. Loki was seated comfortable on his sofa, flipping through the pages of a humongous tome when you entered. He looked up from his book, surprised. 

“Get me out of this!” 

“Woah, woah! Breathe, darling,” he said in his silky smooth voice as straightened himself on the sofa. 

“I can’t breathe if you don’t get me out of this!” 

With just a flick of his finger, from a distance, the ribbons loosened and air finally entered her lungs. She plopped down ungraciously next to him and her dress took up most of the space on a sofa that would comfortably seat four Asgardians. She laid down with her feet on one side of the sofa and her head on Loki’s lap and kicked off her heels to the ground. 

“Nice dress,” he said, looking serious for only a fraction of a second before breaking into laughter. 

“Shut up, dick!” 

“No, I do not jest. You will make a wonderful cake at the ceremony.” 

She threw a cushion at his face, but the man continued laughing at your expense. Each time he simmered down and she thought he was going to stop, he began laughing louder.

“I’ve had a horrible day and I would appreciate if you stopped laughing at me and the ugly dress. If not, I will kill you in your sleep.”

“I presume it was unsuccessful…” 

“Could you remove this synthetic cloud smothering me to death?” she asked, lifting up some of the layers and letting it cascade back down. It took him very little time to vanish what she was wearing and replace it with cotton shorts and a t-shirt from her side of the wardrobe. 

“Thanks,” she sighed, relaxing for the first time that day. 

“Do you have anything to do, today?” 

“Yes, loads. Prince, remember?” 

“Ah, yes. People constantly remind me of that,” she said, dejected that she may not be able to spend too much time with him.

Her traced his index finger along her jawline as he looked at her in a way that drove her insane even after years of being together. “I always have time for you, my dear. Give me your word and I will cancel all my plans for you.” 

“No, you shouldn’t. You have Princely responsibilities and I don’t want to impede that.” If people knew that their Prince skived off responsibilities to play hooky with his ‘mortal pet’ as some called her, she would only face more shit on a day to day basis. 

“What is it? Tell me.” All the playfulness had vanished and he looked quite serious, so she decided to be out with it instead of mincing her words. 

“Could you possibly drop me off on Earth?” 

“Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah, I just- I think I like Earth dresses better…” 

“Is the fine hand-spun silk of Asgard not good for my lady?” 

“I think I will be more comfortable in Earth dresses.”

“I would take you to Midgard right now, but there are better solutions than traveling lightyears away to buy a dress. You could give all your requirements to to the seamstresses and they will make you a dress.”

“We don’t really work well together.” 

“That should not be a problem since you do not work together, she is supposed to work for you. Something unpleasant must have happened for you to react this way.” Shit. There was no way she could keep it from him now. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I shall find out on my own,” he said as he gently moved her head off his lap and set in on a cushion. Before he could leave, she caught him by his wrist. She was in no way strong enough to stop a God, but he respected her enough to stay.  

“No! Please don’t, Loki. They already infantilize me enough. If you go there, inquiring about who pushed me in the playground, they will only continue treating me like a child. So, don’t intervene.” 

He turned to her sharply and pried her hand off his wrist. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes showed hints of confusion and anger. “They have been infantilising you? Today was only your first appointment with the seamstresses… So, it is not just them, is it?” 

She stood up to be on level with Loki.  “Everyone, Loki. Someone called me your Midgardian pet. My first night here, an old lady mocked my tiny portion size at dinner. Just yesterday, the woman who dressed tried to give me advice and how you liked it- in bed- and she tried to get me to use some hair product she claimed drove you mad. The seamstress today- Synnøve, yanked me by the dress and basically went ‘Oopsie, I keep forgetting you’re so fragile and breakable’- I need a break from being an alien. Just, please take me home for a while.” 

“Astrid, why is this the first time I am hearing of this?” She had not expected the conversation to take such a serious turn. But, she didn't know what she expected in the first place. 

“I didn’t want to complain to you like a child!” 

He gripped her arms in her effort to bring her closer to him. She let him and even allowed herself to settle into his comforting embrace as he spoke to her, his harsh tone being replaced by a gentle one. “You may have different expectations from your subordinates back on Midgard, but here on Asgard, you are a Prince’s Consort and will be treated as such. If you do not set them straight now and demand the respect you are entitled to with your title, you will forever be humiliated in your own home. Is that what you want?” 

She separated herself from the comfort of listening to his heart beat and looked up at him. “I understand all that. I just don’t want to stir up anything. I don’t want to get a bad reputation so early on- that I’m rude or difficult or bossy.” 

“You mentioned that on Earth, there is a double standard in the judgement of women’s behaviour when compared to men. You are at a similar disadvantage here. They will speak horribly of you no matter what. You will be criticised for every breath you take, every move you make. You learn have to ignore them and when necessary, exert your authority over them.” 

She shook her head in disagreement. “I’m not married to you yet, I have no authority.” 

“Do you believe everything will fall apart before the ceremony and we may not be married?” 

She didn't have to answer him. 

“I will ask my Chief of Staff to bring you a list of the best designers in all of the nine realms. You could interview them tomorrow and choose a team of your favourite ones.” 

“That’s…” 

“Wonderful.” 

“-too much.” 

“I disagree. I think it is the appropriate thing to do.” 

“Thank you,” she said as she let go of him. 

“Now, I will ask for the portfolios to be brought for you to pick the best of the best.” 

“You do that, I have something to do.” 

Loki magicked the ugly dress back onto her as it was hardly appropriate for her to walk out in booty shorts and she left determinedly to face the woman she had run away from. 

The woman looked at her mockingly as she entered the fitting room, carrying her high heels rather than walking in them. She eyed the crumpled state of her dress and Astrid was sure that she believed she had just had sex in it. She climbed up the platform and stood in front of the mirror. 

“The Prince does like to have his pets at his beck and call,” she said in a saccharine, sing-song voice as she stood approached the dais to continue working. Her long spindly fingers began loosening the ribbons of the corseted dress.

“Does he, Synnøve? Thank you very much for informing me. You see, I am new here and not acquainted with the norms of the palace or the people here. However, I am certain that insinuating crudely about the Prince and his Consort is punishable.” 

Astrid could tell that she was taken aback by her as she noticed that a flash of panic crossed her eyes right before her hands stopped abruptly. As though unaffected by it, she continued unlacing the dress. They spent what felt like hours in an awkward silence as she freed Astrid from her tulle prison. She was glad that Loki magic these dresses off of her in seconds or she would spend years unlacing them manually. Even if he couldn’t use magic for the purpose, she was sure that the man would rip them off to get to her quickly. 

“Which dress would you like to try on next, Lady Astrid?” All hints of superiority and mockery had fled the woman. She looked constipated like the act of being civil to a Midgardian was physically painful. 

“That wouldn’t be necessary. I would like my dress back.” 

“So, this is the silhouette you would like,” she asked, confused by the lack of clarity in her words. 

“No, it’s quite hideous. I’d just like my dress back so that I can leave.” 

“Shall we continue tomorrow?” 

“No, the Prince believed it was only appropriate for me to choose a worthy designer rather than be assigned to a random seamstress.” 

“Oh.” All light had left her eyes now and Astrid swore that she saw the woman gulp. There were no protests from her and she was just relieved to be rid of the seamstress. 

As she stood in front of the mirror, being laced into the dress she wore to the fitting at the beginning of the day, she felt a little more confident in her ability to deal with people here. She may never fit in, never be seen as a fit bride for their Prince, but she wasn’t going to allow them to bully her into submission. 

[bluieeeee]

Shade

Magnus goes to the Shadow Market to find out more about the suspicious warlock illness going around and finds his old, "dead" friend. Ao3 link

Magnus strode into the Shadow Market, taking in everything around him. Somehow the Shadow Market had always seemed to give Magnus an equally good and bad feeling, like everyone there belonged and felt comfortable with each other, no glamours or spells needed, but there was a tension whenever he was there as well. Perhaps that could just be him though, a lot of the other downworlders--Fairies especially--in the Shadow Market are not a fan of the Nephilim or anyone closely associated with them. And him dating a Nephilim, a Lightwood at that, didn't sit well with the others, like everything they did near him would be reported to the Clave.

Magnus noted the sideways glances and whispering as he pasted some of the booths but didn't let it bother him. He didn't come here to deal with gossip and judgment. He had work to do.

He goes up to a booth that doesn't seem extremely out of the ordinary. No cages, no whispering, check and check. The girl standing behind the booth is short, has long green hair in small braids, and has blue skin. Not like his friend Catarina's skin, which is much more visibly blue, more like a blue tint to her skin.

"What do you need, Magnus?" The blue skinned girl asked, she had a slight accent that he couldn’t place and her teeth were a little sharp.

"Do we know each other?" Magnus Inquired, raising his eyebrow.

"No, but everyone knows you here," She said.

"Well, I suppose I am a fabulous conversation starter," Magnus amended with a slight smirk. Even though he knew that is not what she had meant. The girl, probably a Nixie, gave a smile though, so Magnus figured he had won her over.

"So, are you just here to start conversations or did you want something?" She asked, less edge to her voice this time.

"Ah, yes. Are there any warlocks around here..." Magnus started. "Who have been experiencing," He paused and thought through his words carefully. If this wasn't a problem known to much of the the warlock community already he did not want to start some sort of panic. Or let everyone in the Market know that he was significantly weaker than usual. "Complications with their magic." He decided was safe to say.

The girl looked at him skeptically but after a moment gave a nod and pointed to a tent in the corner. "He's been complaining about his magic not lasting long and asking around about potions or information," she explained.

Magnus gave a nod, sounds about right. "And who is he?"

The girl shrugged, "No one really knows. He's secretive and covers his face and whole body. All we have is a name. Shade."

Magnus' eyebrows pinched together, It had been a long while since he had heard of a Warlock who went by the name Shade. As far as he was aware all the Shades were long dead, it had even caused a war. "Shade? You're sure?"

She nodded gave another shrug, "at least that's the name he gave us. Who knows if it's real."

Magnus felt a pit in his stomach, "I suppose I should go find out,"

Even though he hadn't bought anything he handed the girl money from his pocket, she had given him good information without him needing to force it out of her and he felt she deserved the tip. He strode over quickly to the tent on the other side of the room with a bit of eagerness. Surely Shade, with a name like that, must be connected to this somehow.

Magnus sighed before slowly and quietly opening the curtain separating the tent from the rest of the Market. Sitting in the middle of the room was a man, dressed in all black with his hood up and even had gloves on.

"Read the sign," said a strangely familiar agitated voice. "I'm not taking clients." The voice was definitely familiar and reminded Magnus distinctly of his long dead friend, but of course it could not be him, he had been killed years ago. I must be his imagination, Magnus told himself.

"Shade?" Magnus said, "Or at least that's what people say you're called." Magnus noticed Shade stiffen up at this, sitting with his back straighter and raised his eyebrow at this even though there was no one to see it considering Shade was turned away from him.

"Bane?" Shade asked, his voice notably, and probably falsely deeper than before. It was too familiar. Magnus squinted his eyes.

"That's the name," Magnus said, throwing some extra confidence and flamboyance to his voice to test the waters. "I hear it's used an awful lot around here. Understandable considering how magnificent I am." He said, if he was right about who that voice belonged to, which he was nearly certain he was, there's no chance he would not make a snide retort back.

"Arrogant as your said to be, I see," 'Shade' said. Magnus could hear the eye roll from across the room.

"So, Shade, It's rude to not look at someone when their talking," Magnus said, accentuating the name. "I prefer talking to people face to face." He could see Shade tighten his gloved fist. He stood to his feet, he was tall, but not as tall as Magnus. Magnus felt a muscle in his cheek twitch a little.

Shade turned to him, his hood was pulled down low, blocking Magnus from being able to see his face. Magnus was tempted to taunt him a little more and get him to pull down the hood himself but decided he had taunted enough and took the easy way. Magnus snapped his fingers, a little blue smoke coming out from them, and the hood dropped from the warlocks head.

In front of Magnus stood none other than his lifetime friend, Ragnor Fell. Magnus had had his suspicions but his mouth still dropped and he gaped at his friend standing in front of him. Even being as sure as he was there had still been a part of him telling him that this was the illness getting worse, to the point of delirium. But now, with Ragnor standing in front of him, there was no denying it.

"Aren't you supposed to be, oh, I don't know," Magnus said. "Dead?"

"Yeah, well aren’t you supposed to be this 'Magnificent warlock?'" Ragnor asked. "Sometimes we aren't what we're supposed to be"

Magnus was only a little offended, too happy to actually be arguing with Ragnor again to be mad. "I thought you were dead for five years," Magnus said. "I just found out that you're alive not even two minutes ago, and you're already insulting me?" Ragnor smirked, that smirk that Magnus had missed, though if anyone asked, especially now, he would deny it. "Old habits die hard" Ragnor smiled a little more, "unlike me."

Magnus rolled his eyes hard enough that Alexander would be proud of it. "Okay, enough jokes" Magnus said, it was a sentence Magnus had hardly ever said in his very long life. "Why didn't you let me know you were alive for for FIVE years?"  "It never came up," Ragnor said with a shrug.

"How didn't it 'COME UP'?" Magnus said with indignation. "You couldn't snap up a fire message or send a text? To me, Cat, or Raphael?" Magnus felt a little ache in his chest when he said Raphael's name. He hardly allowed himself to think of him now unless Lily was around. He wondered if Ragnor had gotten the news.

"I was busy! And it was easier if no one knew I was still around," He explained. "No one was suspicious."

Magnus looked and down Ragnors body. "Oh yeah, because covering every inch of your skin and and wearing a cloak isn't suspicious."

"It raises much less suspicion and confusion than bright green skin would" Ragnor reasoned, and Magnus had to admit he had a point.

"Fine," Magnus said. "Then what was so important that you had to play dead for five years?" Magnus asked, reasonably he knew he shouldn't tempt fate. He already had enough going on in his life, what with his and Alec’s two children, some weird warlock illness, and all that the Blackthorns have gotten themselves involved in. And the last thing he needed right now was more problems but he was curious, and perhaps it was even connected to one of the problems he was facing now.

"I assume by now you've been feeling ill?" Ragnor inquired. "Going unconscious after using your magic? Magic depleting much quicker than usual?"

Magnus nodded his head to the side a little which was all the confirmation he gave.

"Well, I've been trying to find out what is causing it," Ragnor explained. Magnus' eyebrows pinched together in confusion.

"Years before it even began?" He asked. There was a slight accusatory note to his voice.

"I had been tipped off that something was going to happen," Ragnor said. "Someone from Idris--Or that's what I assume-- left a note, and I had had recurring dreams that note had somehow known about" He said, Magnus nodded along. "So I faked my death and left you that note so I could remedy it." He said, He actually looked a little guilty which shocked Magnus. Who knew Ragnor Fell was capable of feeling anything but annoyed?

Magnus' head hurt from this evening thus far. there was too much information, and still much missing, his friend was apparently alive, and he had expected it to be a quick in and out at the Shadow Market. 

"Do you think," Magnus began. "That perhaps we should move this somewhere else? somewhere with less prying ears and more alcohol?" Magnus suggested.

Ragnor nodded, "Yes, maybe that's a good idea. And we should probably fill Catarina and Tessa in on all this before we get more into it," He said.

"Then we will definitely need that alcohol," Magnus said with a chuckle. "You are going to get an ear full from Catarina tonight." He said with a smile forming on his lips.

Ragnor hummed. "Finally I'll know what it's like to be reprimanded by her. Something you're very used to, of course."

"Of course," Magnus mocked. "Because I lead a fun, adventure filled life. And you both know nothing of fun."

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

First things first, I am a huge fan! Your Riverdale fics give me life. I share your love of making Jughead suffer. So I assume you have a whole bunch of request/prompts lined up but if you ever feel like it: I would love to see Jughed with pneumonia/bronchitis. Whichever you prefer and however you prefer :)

(Thanks so much for the kind words anon!! I am so glad you share my love of making jug suffer. I absolutely love researching illnesses so this was a lot of fun to do! This became very angsty but a whole lot of tooth rotting fluff in the end! Here’s jug with pneumonia and a worried Andrews fam.)

For most of his life the bright, warm light of the sun was a beacon of hope for Jughead. The summer was a sign of hope, a signal that he had made it through the cold winter, and that everything was going to be okay. He could be with Archie and Betty all summer, and he didn’t have to constantly go home to the darkness of his own family.

However when this past summer, Betty was away on an internship and life decided to take Archie Andrews away from him, Jughead had never felt this lonely in whole life. His mom and Jellybean left him to the darkness that was surely engulfing his father, and he didn’t even have his rock, Archie to cling on to. He felt so alone, so cold in this darkness, the sun seemed to be mocking him. He’d watch all the happy people bask in the sun while he felt trapped in this personal rain cloud that would never leave him.

To keep himself alive Jughead had told himself that the winter would be better for him, for everyone. However as the winter approached and arrived, things got worse. He had been homeless, Jason had actually been murdered, his father had been arrested and there was definitely darker things in Riverdale.

It had started with a cough, a typical winter ailment that he got every year, no biggie. But a cough wasn’t meant to last this long, Jughead was convinced it wasn’t meant to hurt this much.

His cough had worsened as him, Kevin and Betty investigated the death of Jason Blossom, Jughead desperate to bring some light to Riverdale and uncover the truth. It had been a cold, cold night, the air dry and unforgiving, frosty and painful to his lungs. It rained too, the droplets of water seeming to be from a frozen lake, icy and soaking him to the core. There, they found Jason’s jacket, and the truth he found was horrifying.

The stress of the next few days did no wonders to Jughead’s declining health and mental health. When he should’ve been getting better, he lay wide awake at night, afraid to shut his eyes in fear of the nightmares that plagued him. He clutched his small blanket in the Andrews garage, shivering, wanting it all to end.

The one thing the freezing cold garage did in his favour was the fact he could cough freely, not afraid of waking Archie had he been in the air mattress. However, he couldn’t quite ignore the nagging thought at the back of his mind telling him that coughs were not meant to hurt his chest that much, that they weren’t meant to be that deep, that wet, this teeth-chattering.

The phlegm certainly wasn’t  meant to be tinged with blood.

The next morning, as Jughead awoke to Archie swinging the back door open, presumably to wake him, he hadn’t felt that awful in his whole life.

His head caused the world to spin, and he couldn’t lift his head up because of how heavy he felt. His entire body was shivering, he felt so cold, literally frozen as if he had just fallen through the frozen Sweetwater River, and his teeth chattered with the cold. However, if he was so cold, he shouldn’t be radiating off heat, should he? The hot air coming out of his nostrils felt so uncomfortable.

Archie opened the door slowly, shivering lightly as he made his way into the freezing garage, immediately nervous that Jughead had spent the night here.

“Jug? You awake.”

“Yeah,” Jughead croaked out, his chest hurting, unbelievably tight. His breathing shouldn’t be this fast.

“Woah, you okay dude?”

“First thing in the morning, dude, calm your face,” Jughead joked forcefully, honestly not finding itself in him to be his regular, jokey self.

Archie noticed, worried that Jughead couldn’t even make a joke. When times got hard, Jughead could at least make a joke of his horrible situation. The fact that he couldn’t didn’t sit right with him.

“Get out of my face, Andrews. I’m going to get changed–unless you want to watch?” Jughead teased, trying to not sound congested.

Archie looked reluctant, but left anyway, making his way back to the kitchen.

Jughead walked into the kitchen, wearing one long sleeved t shirt underneath a hoodie, and a thick, shearling denim jacket on top, obviously trying to stop his shivering. However he still shook slightly, looking very pale besides his very pink cheeks and nose. His eye bags very dark against his pale skin, and his blue eyes dull and bleary.

“Morning Jughead,” Fred greeted, back facing him as he cooked the eggs.

Archie couldn’t even greet him, shocked by his appearance.

When Fred turned around, he was slightly surprised, “..Are you cold, Jug?”

Jughead shrugged, “Just a little. It is the winter after all.”

Fred didn’t even know what to do, “Jughead..uh..how are you feeling?”

Jughead looked up from the food he was playing with and gave him a forced smile, “Fine. Ready to seize the day.”

Archie and Fred didn’t even know how hey let Jughead out of the house and walk to school in the snow.

School would be a tricky situation because this was the worst possible day Jughead could be sick, Archie didn’t have any classes with him until Lunch. Meaning Archie had no way of having eyes on Jughead, and this worry prevented Archie from concentrating on any of his classes.

Jughead had spent his classes huddled going the radiator, grateful he sat at the back of the class, shivering and shaking. He felt extremely fevered, not able to concentrate on anything his teachers would say.

He was so bad, his coughing sounding so chesty and raspy that some of his classmates who had just been currently treating him like a murderer were concerned with him. Jughead squeezed his eyes shut, a hand to his chest as he struggled to breathe, his airways blocked by phlegm. He shivered with his fever, pulling his jacket closer to him and wishing he had worn more layers.

As the teacher let the class go off doing pairwork, she approached Jughead and looked at him with concern.

“You have to promise me that you’ll go to the nurse after this class, okay?” She said, worried.

Jughead’s teeth chattered, finding it hard to reply to her, “Y-yes, miss. I will.”

Of course, he didn’t.

Come geography Jughead was feeling worse, the pain in his chest as he coughed like he was being stabbed repeatedly. To make things worse he couldn’t breathe, choking on his own phlegm that refused to come out. He gasped for air, his chesty and phlegmy gasps sounding horribly weak and awful. He continued to choke, his vision growing hazy.

Ethel looked over at him and watched the pathetic display, managing to pat his back as he spat the phlegm out into a tissue she had offered him. “Jughead, please, I don’t think this is normal.”

Jughead knew at this point his voice was gone, so he only gave her a small, reassuring smile.

At the end of that class, Jughead had been wheezing yet again, walking out as he held a hand over his aching chest. He could barely breathe, his breathing short and rapid. Hell, he could feel his heart beating fast.

Jughead hacked pathetically into his arm, when a familiar pair of strong arms were holding him in place, to support him. Just a bit ago those same arms were pushing him into a locker. He looked up blearily, blue eyes watery and completely void of life.

“Go away, Reggie,” Jughead wheezed, his voice almost completely gone, a weak, raspy whisper.

“Jughead, please! You’re so sick, this isn’t normal,” Reggie pleaded, taking his shoulders. He wasn’t rough or cruel like he normally was, he was so worried and concerned, as if Jughead could just break into pieces in his arms right there. His actual name coming out of Reggie’s mouth was so weird, and his vision was just so blurry nothing felt real anymore. Jughead pushed past him, his chest on fire as he pushed himself on to the cafeteria where his friends were.

***

Kevin Keller was a hundred percent sure he had just seen a ghost.

It was the ghost of Jughead Jones, who looked like he was about to die just there, his body ready to succumb to death. The ghost of his friend approached the four of them, and the sight was so disturbing he gasped.

“Jughead?!” He yelped, causing the other three of his friends to whip around and watch as what was left of their friend approach them. He looked so awful that they didn’t even know what to do.

Jughead took his seat next to Kevin and Veronica, as if absolutely nothing was up. He didn’t say anything, looking off into the distance like his conscience was in some other plane of reality.

They were frozen, not knowing what to do.

“Jughead..?” Veronica finally said, voice quivering with fear.

The sight of him was horrifying; ghost white, looking like he was on the brink of death. Eyes sunken, with a pair of dark purple eyebags. His cheeks were flushed a horrible shade of red. He slouched, completely drained and unable to sit upright His entire frame shook like some sort of epicentre for an earthquake. He was the perfect image of illness. It was haunting.

Suddenly, Jughead erupted in the most horrendous fit he had yet, entire body convulsing like he had been possessed by a demon. He hacked, choking on his own phlegm. His entire body was shivering, gasping for air, short and rapid. His chest was on fire, someone was stabbing him with a flaming knife, viciously and brutally. It hurt so much.

He felt a ringing in his ears, all he could sense was the pain of his chest, and could faintly feel Kevin slapping his back, and Veronica feeling his pulse.

“Guys, it’s so fast!” Veronica screamed.

Jughead finally spat out the phlegm, tinged with blood.

“Oh my god!” Archie yelled and jumped out of his seat and ran, with Reggie Mantle running after him, hot on his heels as they ran for help.

“Juggy!” Betty screamed, crying.

Jughead looked up to see his hysteric friends, and all the worried other people, making out Ethel, and hell, even Cheryl Blossom looked terrified. There was screaming, too much was happening. His head pounded, vision shaking and blurring, breathing short and rapid. His attempts to breathe for longer hurt his chest, a sharp, stinging pain. His entire body ached, he felt like he was on fire, and yet shaking and shivering. Suddenly, he became void of all senses. He couldn’t feel anything.

Then there was darkness.

***

Archie paced the hospital hallway, his chest feeling right. He felt so anxious, breathing heavily. The hospital was so white, it was terrifying. So clean and orderly.

“Yes, Sheriff, I understand you can’t just allow random calls at random times, but please, FP deserves to know,” Fred argued on the phone, just as anxious as Archie.

A few minutes later, Sheriff gave up and handed the phone to FP.

“FP? I don’t even know how to say this,” Fred whispered guiltily.

“What is it, Fred? You here to finally admit I was better at the guitar than you?” FP joked.

“..No, Forsythe, it’s Jughead. He’s really sick, he passed out. We’re at the hospital–I don’t know what’s wrong, but he was coughing blood..”

FP was silent.

Eventually he’s spoke, “That’s my boy, Fred.”

“I know, FP, you just deserved to know.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. That’s my boy who never gave up on me. That boy who’s kind to everyone but what did he do to deserve this? This ain’t fucking fair! I can’t lose him! I love him so much, Fred! I don’t even think he knows that, Fred.”

“He knows that, FP. Listen, we’ll keep you posted, okay? The doctors will be out in a little bit.”

They continued to speak for a while but Archie couldn’t listen anymore, way too afraid. Once Fred hung up, Archie looked at him, tears in his eyes.

“Dad, he’s gonna be okay, right?” Archie whimpered, sounding so young.

Fred swallowed, “He’s a tough kid, Archie. He’ll pull through.”

“He shouldn’t have to be the tough kid,” Archie choked, tears streaming down his face.

“Arch,” Fred cooed, coming close to his son and holding him, kissing his forehead.

“I know Archie, he shouldn’t. I shouldn’t have made him feel unwelcome, I shouldn’t have let him go this morning. I’m so sorry Archie, blame me all you want, but I care for him too. I will do all in my power to make him better again, okay?” Fred whispered softly as Archie cried into his chest.

“I’m so scared,” Archie cried.

Fred sniffled, swallowing, “Me too, Arch.”

***

Half an hour later, one of the doctors came out of Jughead’s room.

“Mr Andrews?” She said softly.

“Yes, that’s me,” Fred piped up, as Archie who was asleep on his shoulder woke up immediately, rushing to her.

“I’m glad to be informing you Mr Jones will be just alright,” She smiled brightly.

Archie made an overwhelmed, happy noise, he lunged and hugged the doctor, “thank you thank you thank you thank you!!”

Archie pulled away and blushed, “Oh, sorry.”

The doctor laughed, “That is quite alright.”

Fred cleared his throat, “What’s wrong with him, doc?”

“Pneumonia. He had it pretty bad, as you know from what happened at the school, but we’ve patched him up enough so that there will be no negative effects later in life and that he should be better in two or three weeks.”

Fred sighed softly, “That’s great.”

“He will need continuous usage of antibiotics and must not leave the house, must get good sleep and rest,” She explained.

Archie looked anxious, “When will he be discharged?”

“He must stay for about a week for now, but he will be allowed visitors. In fact, would you like to visit him now? He’s awake.”

“Yes! Please!” Archie said excitedly.

“This way, then,” The Doctor ��instructed as she held the doors open for the two of them and let them in.

“Oh my god, Jug!” Archie exclaimed as he saw Jughead sitting up, joking about something with one of the doctors.

Jughead looked over to see Archie and smiled, and gasped softly as Archie tackled him into a hug.

“Arch–” Jughead said softly, slightly suffocated.

Archie gasped, “Sorry!”

Jughead laughed, still raspy but a lot less deathly sounding, “It’s fine.”

“You really scared me, Jughead! The whole school thought you were dead!” Archie exclaimed.

Fred chuckled, “That really was quite a scare, Jughead.”

“Sorry about that,” Jughead said sheepishly.

Fred looked at Archie then sighed, “no kid, we should be sorry-no, I should be. I’m so sorry I made it seem like you weren’t welcome here, you are just as much of family as Archie is to me. Y'know, when FP called me to say Gladys was having his child Mary and I drove to the hospital with little Archie. When you were born, we were all together, we were all a family. We still are a family.”

Jughead smiled softly, but scrunched his nose, “Ew, so you’re telling me that this rat here is one of the first things I ever saw?!”

Archie laughed heartily.

Fred laughed, “That’s quite right. Jughead, FP and I made sure that as blood brothers, we had to take care of each other’s sons. I told FP that what if his son was a little shit? Well, you are a little shit, but you really are a great kid, Jug. We care about you so much. When you get discharged, I’m going to make sure that when you go home, it is a home.”

Jughead smiled softly, “I’m sorry for pushing you away and withdrawing.”

Archie shook his head, “We never should have let you disappear.”

Jughead groaned, “Stop fighting with me, I’m sick, let’s just all agree we all fucked up!”

They all laughed.

Just then, Jughead began to cough again, eyes squeezed shut at the burning sensation of his cough, wet and deep. Before he started to choke, a nearby doctor coaxed the coughs out. He spat out into a tissue and threw it into the wastebin, finally resting against the pillow and took a good minute to catch his breath.

“Poor kid,” Fred muttered softly, taking in the pale features of his second son and approached him, pushing back the messy black curls that had fallen into his face as he coughed.

Archie watched in concern, wondering how he could help when his phone buzzed, opening it to see Veronica was facetiming.

“Ooh! I think they want to see you!” Archie grinned.

Jughead flipped his hair, “Of course they want to see the absolute beauty that is moi!”

Archie answered the call, coming close to Jughead so they could see him, to see Kevin, Veronica, Betty, Reggie, Ethel and oddly, Cheryl in the frame.

“HE’S ALIVE!” Kevin squealed.

“Lookin’ good, Wednesday Adams,” Reggie teased, pointing at his hospital gown and all the tubes in him.

“Jughead, you scared the shit out of us!!” Veronica exclaimed.

“Juggie, I’m so glad you’re okay!” Betty cooed.

“Get better soon, Jughead!” Ethel smiled.

“Ugh, he’s alive, guys. Can we all go now?” Cheryl rolled her eyes, but they could all see that Cheryl was secretly relieved and happy.

They spoke for a while, and as the call ended Fred started to call the Sheriff.

***

“Fred! Is my boy okay?!” FP breathed out through Fred’s phone.

“Hi dad,” Jughead said softly.

“Oh my god, Jug..Jug! You’re okay..thank god! I was beginning to think..it’s so good to hear your voice..”

“I’ll survive, dad.”

“You just might.”

Jughead could faintly hear the Sheriff telling FP he didn’t have much time.

“Listen–Jug, I don’t have a lot of time..”

“I love you, dad,” Jughead whimpered.

FP froze.

“I love you too, Jug,” FP choked, clearly teary.

“I miss you so much,” Jughead sniffled, one tear rolling down his cheek.

“I miss you so much Jug, there’s not one day that passed by where I wish we were all together. But I did bad things, Jughead, inexcusable. I need to pay for what I did. You understand that, don’t you, Jug?”

“I do.”

“..I am so sorry, Jughead. For not being the father I should’ve been, the one you deserve. I’m so sorry about this, but please know that I never for one second stopped loving you,” FP whispered.

“I know dad, I know. I never gave up, I never will,” Jughead cried.

“You’ll be okay, you’ll pull through. C'mon lion, brave through it and seize the day, I know you can,” FP chuckled.

“I will dad, I always do,” Jughead whispered.

“I’ll come home to you someday,” FP managed to say before Sheriff Keller took the phone back.

Jughead bit back a sob, whispering to himself, “I know you will.”

***

The morning he was to be discharged, Jughead began to gather all his Get Well Soon presents. He coughed, not quite as chesty or deep as it had been, and certainly did not feel like he was being stabbed repeatedly. He smiled fondly as he looked at them.

A beautifully crafted handmade card from Ethel, a not so beautifully crafted handmade card from Reggie, a fancy card from Veronica with some luxury gourmet chocolates and snacks, a simple, pretty card from Betty and a container of her signature soup, a nice card from Kevin who had sent some snacks, and a bit of money from Cheryl who helped pay for some of the hospital bill and medicine. The family was loaded, and her parents didn’t even notice she took some.

Jughead hadn’t felt so loved in so long. The winter seemed to be just a bit brighter.

And finally, a picture of Jughead, Archie and Fred during movie night on top of an application for Legal Guardianship.

“Ready to go home, Jug?” Archie grinned.

“Born ready.”

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, JULIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of VIOLA. Admin Rosey: Valentina is near and dear to my heart. She’s a complex character and it’s difficult for me to trust anyone to nail her down well. Her voice is so distinct and strong, her mannerisms are constructed from a past fraught with tragedy, her logic equally so. And in the para sample you managed to capture all of this and more, Julie! You give her a vitality that brings her to life, and managed to convey her weariness with the world as well. I can’t wait to see what you do with her and how the beautiful plots pan out. I am so very excited! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Julie

Age | 19

Preferred Pronouns | She/her or they/them works fine!

Activity Level | School is finally wrapping up, so I’m gonna give it an 5-7/10. I work on the weekends and might pick up some more shifts here soon, but I’m pretty good at time management and my best friend is the queue. I’m usually more active in the evenings, but I’m always lurking.

Timezone | MST

In Character

Character | Viola / Valentina Gallo, with Phoebe Tonkin as the faceclaim.

What drew you to this character? Twelfth Night is my favorite of Shakespeare’s works specifically because of Viola. I love Orsino (obviously) but Viola has always been in a league of her own for me. She’s witty, she’s resourceful, and she proves herself over and over again.  Obviously she gets Shakespeare’s usual clean-slate wipe at the end of the play like he does with most of his female characters, and her resourcefulness is played for jokes, but when I read the play last year I was astounded by how much I just loved her, so I was super psyched when I saw her bio on the dash.

When I read Valentina’s bio, there was a really strong sense of familiarity that struck me, with what she’s had to do for herself and her brother. I think at more than one point in our lives, we end up having to make hard decisions. There’s always going to be a fork in the road: are we going to take the easy path, or the long and winding one? Is the outcome at the end worth the blood and sweat and tears? Sometimes the decision gets taken away from us and we’re forced one direction or the other. Valentina, at her core, never got to choose for herself how things were going to be. It was snatched away from her before she even realized it. It’s an unfortunate reality that she lived for such a long time, one that’s hardened her into something beautiful and statuesque and powerful. She’s had to rage and make difficult choices for the sake of survival, to allow herself to keep going. To be a person without the sacrifice of her own humanity.

These moments of hardship for most individuals are short-lived, brief. They last for, say, a week, or a month, and then they’re gone. The struggle that Valentina’s been dogged by is so interesting to me. She hasn’t just been fighting for a week, or a month, or even a year. It’s been a constant battle, her entire life, and she still hasn’t let the misery that can come with that crush her. She has her moments, I’m sure, of soul-crushing anger, but the fact she’s been able to dig herself out from the rubble every single time is so fascinating to me. Abandonment is hard, and abandonment by the people who are supposed to love you and protect you until you’re ready to move on and protect yourself is worse. She didn’t start out as a powerhouse by any means. She had to carve that out of her own flesh until she was the shape she needed to be.

And I think it’s difficult, for her, clutching at humanity when it seemed - or in some cases, still seems - pointless in holding onto. I think Valentina’s seen both ends of the spectrum: people who’ve gotten out from the slums, done well for themselves, and people who just keep on digging the hole deeper. I think she sees both ends of the spectrum in herself and her brother, bonded as they are. She has ambition, but it’s an ambition born from grief for what she could have been, not from luxury or privilege. She’s made something out of the shell of her own potential, where so many others have slipped up or faltered or simply given up the ghost. Her undercover operation is just another chance to prove her strength, and at this point, that’s easy.

Joining up with the Montagues is, arguably, the first choice that life has allowed her to make. It’s something she owns, that belongs to her, and God help anyone who tries to take that from her.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

1. I AM NOT WHAT I AM. Living a lie every day is painful. It’s gruesome work. She’d like to say that she’s not losing bits and pieces of herself in her work, but she is. It’s becoming harder and harder to differentiate between Valentina Gallo and the Valentina who dons a uniform every morning. The wall building up between herself and Santino is only really making it worse. Her one resource, the one she could always lean on, is distancing himself, and she worries about who she might become without him. I’d love to dig into these issues of identity and loyalty. Valentina has always been loyal, but she has these split-second moments where she isn’t sure who it should be to: the Montagues, or herself? How does she choose, when she’s only ever chosen herself?

2. PUT YOUR SWORD UP, IF YOU PLEASE. Growing up on the streets is different from the upbringing most Veronans are used to, and it shows in Valentina’s everyday actions and behaviors. Whereas before she was lucky to get to sleep in the same place for a week, she has things of her own now. A home. A job. Work, steady and solid. A chance to prove herself. I’d love to see her exploring the inherent discomfort that comes with getting something she doesn’t feel she necessarily deserves, and the aggression that typically follows afterwards with anyone who shows even a lick of genuine kindness. The war between the Capulets and Montagues has always swept up victims to take advantage of, and I want Valentina to cope with the realization that she might one day become one of them in spite of what she’s doing for them now. I want to see which direction she goes in: cold, unkind cruelty, or a softening of some kind?

3. MY DUTY HUSHES ME. There’s a warmth and familiarity in abandonment that Valentina’s comfortable with. With her relationships - all of them, each and every single one besides Santino’s (and even now that’s coming into question) - she’s ready to jump the gun and leave before she gets left. I want to see the development of these relationships play out and grow. This is more of an overarching plot, admittedly, more of an arc, but I want her to feel what it’s like to be comfortable in her own skin around someone she cares for, someone she can openly admit she cares for.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yeah! Bring me the angst.

In Depth

Self para, word count: 1256. Trigger warning for parental death and mentions of abuse/abandonment.

She’s never seen the inside of a hospital room. Doctor’s offices, sure, but never a hospital, with the sleek sheets and air of sorrow, dark lit halls even with all the curtains open. The nurse leads her down the winding path of the hospice ward to room 403, and then leaves her there to contemplate the door. This feels like the crux of the moment: a risk, brought to fruition in the heaving fervor of a gasping chest. She really shouldn’t be here.

Maria Gallo’s name mocks her in neat, red marker on the whiteboard. She swallows and twists the handle. It clicks, and for a second, there’s the irrational fear. It’s locked. It shouldn’t be locked. Why would it be locked? A beat passes, and then another. She twists the other way, and the door glides open in easy silence. It doesn’t even creak. There’s just the soft sigh of pressurized air being released from under the door jamb. She steps in without invitation or introduction. Her heart isn’t pounding in frantic nervousness like she thought it might have. There’s a dislocated numbness instead, the kind that only comes with moments of pure and unsolicited rage. She rounds the corner past the bathroom and prepares herself for the worst.

Her mother is tucked neatly into the bed, looking worn and weathered for all she’s worth. For a moment, Valentina almost feels sorry for her. And then she’s relieved, because she looks nothing like she’d thought she would. When she’d been young, she’d had a photo of their parents, faded and worn at the edges. Valentina had thought, perhaps naively, that she’d be her mother’s daughter even now. In the picture they have the same sleek hair, same nose, same eyes. The same cut of the jaw and freckles on their neck. Santino looks more like their father.

But this woman - she’s a stranger. It’s not anything new, Valentina thinks, settling down in the chair near the window. She places her bag in her lap, crosses one leg over the other. It has to be the window, not next to the bed. She doesn’t think she can stand as close as two feet without feeling the desire to do something unkind. (And isn’t that a perfect summarization of it? They’ll put it on her tombstone, if she gets one: Valentina Gallo, lovingly remembered, always cruel.) She doesn’t know what she’ll put on her mother’s tombstone. She hardly has the money for a funeral, and with their father buried somewhere in Germany, it’s just going to be them. Santino and Valentina, like always, since the start of it.

Maria’s asleep. Valentina wonders if she’s in pain, if she aches in the way they say cancer tends to. There’s no way she’ll be pulling out of it. She’s got a week. Maybe less, or at least that’s what the doctor had said over the phone. At this point she almost wants to say it’ll be better to be rid of her than anything else. Maria Gallo’s death will be easier than the brief attempt she had made at raising her children. She won’t even know it when she slips into darkness, with the way she’s slumbering now. The clock in the room ticks. She tips her head back against the chair and closes her eyes. She doesn’t know when she slips into a dream but she does. When she’s jolted awake by the sound of the nurse closing the door behind her nearly an hour later, she doesn’t remember entirely what it had been about. Her bag hits the floor. “Fuck.”

She bends to grab for it. When she sits back up, Maria Gallo is staring at her daughter with the same hazel eyes Valentina sees when she looks in the mirror. It’s like being caught in the act of a crime, doing something she’s not supposed to just by being in the room. Maria smiles, and it pulls at the lines on her face. Valentina feels her mouth slip into a frown as she stands. Her mother is only in her late fifties, had barely been twenty when she’d had her children, but she looks eons older, like the life has been sucked out of her. And it has. And Valentina is about to siphon the rest out. She crosses the room to perch on the bed, in the space Maria has made with her legs. It feels… awkward. What is she supposed to do? Pet her hair? Sing her a song? How do you comfort a stranger in their dying moments?

“Sei tu l'angelo della morte?” Maria rasps.

Valentina laughs, or tries to, but it gets caught in her throat. She clenches her fists, digs her nails into her palms. This isn’t the right time, she thinks. Not the right place. There’s never going to be a right time, a right place. This is what she gets. But it’s so… stereotypical. She should say no, should draw the woman who’d given her life into her arms, hold her for the first and last time.

“Yes,” she answers.

A cold and clammy hand reaches up, shaking. Her mother’s hand brushes her cheek, the scar across her brow, and frowns in a surprisingly judgmental manner for a dying woman. Weren’t the sickly supposed to repent, in their final hours? She doesn’t say anything. Just… stares. Her daughter stares back, unsure that she could draw anything else out of her if she tried. There’s so much she wants to say, to ask, but finds herself mute at the worst time. My duty hushes me, she thinks, and nothing else. Valentina stands, and Maria’s arm falls back to her side, as if her presence had given her the willpower to keep it up alone.

“You were supposed to love me.” She’s ashamed in the way her voice trembles, cracking across supposed, embarrassed by the flushing of her cheeks. She can feel the way the heat rises in her face and tries to compose herself. Always an ugly crier. “You were supposed to love me, and you didn’t.”

She looks down. Her mother is already asleep, chest barely rising and falling with her breaths. There’s no sharp reply, or angry comeback. It’s… acceptance, maybe, and that’s worse than anything else could. When she’d came here, she’d been expecting to end it. To ask the doctors to pull the plug, have it over with. But now - now it seems better to drag things out. Let her suffer. She can hardly stand to be in the room a minute longer, suffocating as it feels. It’s too much, too fast. She needs to go.

She leaves the room without a goodbye, upset she can’t slam the door on her way out. It hisses shut, the one last gasp of a dying woman. She fishes her phone out of her purse and dials her brother’s number, hoping, praying, begging for some sort of comforting release from what feels like strangulation. It goes to voicemail, because of course it does. “You’ve reached Santino. Leave a message,” and Christ, he sounds chipper. Unjustifiably so.

“It’s Valentina. Mom’s… mom’s dead.” It’s not entirely true, but at this point, it’s doesn’t matter. Another white lie stacked atop a mountain of them. The phone goes back in the purse, the purse slung over her shoulder, and that’s really the least of it.

Maria Gallo’s burial, held in a rush a week later, is attended by two people, including the priest. Her daughter is not one of them.

Extras: pinterest board, playlist.

Out of Character

Alias | Julie

Age | 19

Preferred Pronouns | She/her or they/them works fine!

Activity Level | School is finally wrapping up, so I’m gonna give it an 6-7/10. I work on the weekends and might pick up some more shifts here soon, but I’m pretty good at time management and my best friend is the queue. I’m usually more active in the evenings, but I’m always lurking.

Timezone | MST

Triggers | Infertility + Miscarriage

In Character

Character | Viola / Valentina Gallo, with Phoebe Tonkin as the faceclaim.

What drew you to this character? Twelfth Night is my favorite of Shakespeare’s works specifically because of Viola. I love Orsino (obviously) but Viola has always been in a league of her own for me. She’s witty, she’s resourceful, and she proves herself over and over again.  Obviously she gets Shakespeare’s usual clean-slate wipe at the end of the play like he does with most of his female characters, and her resourcefulness is played for jokes, but when I read the play last year I was astounded by how much I just loved her, so I was super psyched when I saw her bio on the dash.

When I read Valentina’s bio, there was a really strong sense of familiarity that struck me, with what she’s had to do for herself and her brother. I think at more than one point in our lives, we end up having to make hard decisions. There’s always going to be a fork in the road: are we going to take the easy path, or the long and winding one? Is the outcome at the end worth the blood and sweat and tears? Sometimes the decision gets taken away from us and we’re forced one direction or the other. Valentina, at her core, never got to choose for herself how things were going to be. It was snatched away from her before she even realized it. It’s an unfortunate reality that she lived for such a long time, one that’s hardened her into something beautiful and statuesque and powerful. She’s had to rage and make difficult choices for the sake of survival, to allow herself to keep going. To be a person without the sacrifice of her own humanity.

These moments of hardship for most individuals are short-lived, brief. They last for, say, a week, or a month, and then they’re gone. The struggle that Valentina’s been dogged by is so interesting to me. She hasn’t just been fighting for a week, or a month, or even a year. It’s been a constant battle, her entire life, and she still hasn’t let the misery that can come with that crush her. She has her moments, I’m sure, of soul-crushing anger, but the fact she’s been able to dig herself out from the rubble every single time is so fascinating to me. Abandonment is hard, and abandonment by the people who are supposed to love you and protect you until you’re ready to move on and protect yourself is worse. She didn’t start out as a powerhouse by any means. She had to carve that out of her own flesh until she was the shape she needed to be.

And I think it’s difficult, for her, clutching at humanity when it seemed - or in some cases, still seems - pointless in holding onto. I think Viola’s seen both ends of the spectrum: people who’ve gotten out from the slums, done well for themselves, and people who just keep on digging the hole deeper. I think she sees both ends of the spectrum in herself and her brother, bonded as they are. She has ambition, but it’s an ambition born from grief for what she could have been, not from luxury or privilege. She’s made something out of the shell of her own potential, where so many others have slipped up or faltered or simply given up the ghost. Her undercover operation is just another chance to prove her strength, and at this point, that’s easy.

Joining up with the Montagues is, arguably, the first choice that life has allowed her to make. It’s something she owns, that belongs to her, and God help anyone who tries to take that from her.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

1. I AM NOT WHAT I AM. Living a lie every day is painful. It’s gruesome work. She’d like to say that she’s not losing bits and pieces of herself in her work, but she is. It’s becoming harder and harder to differentiate between Valentina Gallo and the Valentina who dons a uniform every morning. The wall building up between herself and Santino is only really making it worse. Her one resource, the one she could always lean on, is distancing himself, and she worries about who she might become without him. I’d love to dig into these issues of identity and loyalty. Valentina has always been loyal, but she has these split-second moments where she isn’t sure who it should be to: the Montagues, or herself? How does she choose, when she’s only ever chosen herself?

2. PUT YOUR SWORD UP, IF YOU PLEASE. Growing up on the streets is different from the upbringing most Veronans are used to, and it shows in Valentina’s everyday actions and behaviors. Whereas before she was lucky to get to sleep in the same place for a week, she has things of her own now. A home. A job. Work, steady and solid. A chance to prove herself. I’d love to see her exploring the inherent discomfort that comes with getting something she doesn’t feel she necessarily deserves, and the aggression that typically follows afterwards with anyone who shows even a lick of genuine kindness. The war between the Capulets and Montagues has always swept up victims to take advantage of, and I want Valentina to cope with the realization that she might one day become one of them in spite of what she’s doing for them now. I want to see which direction she goes in: cold, unkind cruelty, or a softening of some kind?

3. MY DUTY HUSHES ME. There’s a warmth and familiarity in abandonment that Valentina’s comfortable with. With her relationships - all of them, each and every single one besides Santino’s (and even now that’s coming into question) - she’s ready to jump the gun and leave before she gets left. I want to see the development of these relationships play out and grow. This is more of an overarching plot, admittedly, more of an arc, but I want her to feel what it’s like to be comfortable in her own skin around someone she cares for, someone she can openly admit she cares for.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yeah! Bring me the angst.

In Depth

Self para, word count: 1256. Trigger warning for parental death and mentions of abuse/abandonment.

She’s never seen the inside of a hospital room. Doctor’s offices, sure, but never a hospital, with the sleek sheets and air of sorrow, dark lit halls even with all the curtains open. The nurse leads her down the winding path of the hospice ward to room 403, and then leaves her there to contemplate the door. This feels like the crux of the moment: a risk, brought to fruition in the heaving fervor of a gasping chest. She really shouldn’t be here.

Maria Gallo’s name mocks her in neat, red marker on the whiteboard. She swallows and twists the handle. It clicks, and for a second, there’s the irrational fear. It’s locked. It shouldn’t be locked. Why would it be locked? A beat passes, and then another. She twists the other way, and the door glides open in easy silence. It doesn’t even creak. There’s just the soft sigh of pressurized air being released from under the door jamb. She steps in without invitation or introduction. Her heart isn’t pounding in frantic nervousness like she thought it might have. There’s a dislocated numbness instead, the kind that only comes with moments of pure and unsolicited rage. She rounds the corner past the bathroom and prepares herself for the worst.

Her mother is tucked neatly into the bed, looking worn and weathered for all she’s worth. For a moment, Valentina almost feels sorry for her. And then she’s relieved, because she looks nothing like she’d thought she would. When she’d been young, she’d had a photo of their parents, faded and worn at the edges. Valentina had thought, perhaps naively, that she’d be her mother’s daughter even now. In the picture they have the same sleek hair, same nose, same eyes. The same cut of the jaw and freckles on their neck. Santino looks more like their father.

But this woman - she’s a stranger. It’s not anything new, Valentina thinks, settling down in the chair near the window. She places her bag in her lap, crosses one leg over the other. It has to be the window, not next to the bed. She doesn’t think she can stand as close as two feet without feeling the desire to do something unkind. (And isn’t that a perfect summarization of it? They’ll put it on her tombstone, if she gets one: Valentina Gallo, lovingly remembered, always cruel.) She doesn’t know what she’ll put on her mother’s tombstone. She hardly has the money for a funeral, and with their father buried somewhere in Germany, it’s just going to be them. Santino and Valentina, like always, since the start of it.

Maria’s asleep. Valentina wonders if she’s in pain, if she aches in the way they say cancer tends to. There’s no way she’ll be pulling out of it. She’s got a week. Maybe less, or at least that’s what the doctor had said over the phone. At this point she almost wants to say it’ll be better to be rid of her than anything else. Maria Gallo’s death will be easier than the brief attempt she had made at raising her children. She won’t even know it when she slips into darkness, with the way she’s slumbering now. The clock in the room ticks. She tips her head back against the chair and closes her eyes. She doesn’t know when she slips into a dream but she does. When she’s jolted awake by the sound of the nurse closing the door behind her nearly an hour later, she doesn’t remember entirely what it had been about. Her bag hits the floor. “Fuck.”

She bends to grab for it. When she sits back up, Maria Gallo is staring at her daughter with the same hazel eyes Valentina sees when she looks in the mirror. It’s like being caught in the act of a crime, doing something she’s not supposed to just by being in the room. Maria smiles, and it pulls at the lines on her face. Valentina feels her mouth slip into a frown as she stands. Her mother is only in her late fifties, had barely been twenty when she’d had her children, but she looks eons older, like the life has been sucked out of her. And it has. And Valentina is about to siphon the rest out. She crosses the room to perch on the bed, in the space Maria has made with her legs. It feels… awkward. What is she supposed to do? Pet her hair? Sing her a song? How do you comfort a stranger in their dying moments?

“Sei tu l'angelo della morte?” Maria rasps.

Valentina laughs, or tries to, but it gets caught in her throat. She clenches her fists, digs her nails into her palms. This isn’t the right time, she thinks. Not the right place. There’s never going to be a right time, a right place. This is what she gets. But it’s so… stereotypical. She should say no, should draw the woman who’d given her life into her arms, hold her for the first and last time.

“Yes,” she answers.

A cold and clammy hand reaches up, shaking. Her mother’s hand brushes her cheek, the scar across her brow, and frowns in a surprisingly judgmental manner for a dying woman. Weren’t the sickly supposed to repent, in their final hours? She doesn’t say anything. Just… stares. Her daughter stares back, unsure that she could draw anything else out of her if she tried. There’s so much she wants to say, to ask, but finds herself mute at the worst time. My duty hushes me, she thinks, and nothing else. Valentina stands, and Maria’s arm falls back to her side, as if her presence had given her the willpower to keep it up alone.

“You were supposed to love me.” She’s ashamed in the way her voice trembles, cracking across supposed, embarrassed by the flushing of her cheeks. She can feel the way the heat rises in her face and tries to compose herself. Always an ugly crier. “You were supposed to love me, and you didn’t.”

She looks down. Her mother is already asleep, chest barely rising and falling with her breaths. There’s no sharp reply, or angry comeback. It’s… acceptance, maybe, and that’s worse than anything else could. When she’d came here, she’d been expecting to end it. To ask the doctors to pull the plug, have it over with. But now - now it seems better to drag things out. Let her suffer. She can hardly stand to be in the room a minute longer, suffocating as it feels. It’s too much, too fast. She needs to go.

She leaves the room without a goodbye, upset she can’t slam the door on her way out. It hisses shut, the one last gasp of a dying woman. She fishes her phone out of her purse and dials her brother’s number, hoping, praying, begging for some sort of comforting release from what feels like strangulation. It goes to voicemail, because of course it does. “You’ve reached Santino. Leave a message,” and Christ, he sounds chipper. Unjustifiably so.

“It’s Valentina. Mom’s… mom’s dead.” It’s not entirely true, but at this point, it’s doesn’t matter. Another white lie stacked atop a mountain of them. The phone goes back in the purse, the purse slung over her shoulder, and that’s really the least of it.

Maria Gallo’s burial, held in a rush a week later, is attended by two people, including the priest. Her daughter is not one of them.

Extras: pinterest board, playlist, mock blog.