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forever-rogue · 5 years

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And They Were Roommates

Summary: Y/N and Gwil were enemies, sworn enemies, and that was known to all. Just why exactly they were enemies had been only forgotten...something about Gwilym stealing candy from Y/N when they were children. But when their families decide to spend the holidays together, neither expecting to be reunited with each other.

A/N: This is my Thank God, It’s Christmas event gift for @likethewingsof-butterflies! Sophie, I had so much fun getting to know you, you’re an absolute sweetheart, funny and kind, and I really hope you enjoy this! For everyone else, I also hope you enjoy! As always, please let me know what think, if you’d like!

Word Count: 9.2k (brevity is not my strong suit)

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Warning: some swearing, but nothing much

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Snow,” you sighed to yourself as you stepped out of the warm taxi, immediately regretting the decision as you were hit by waves of cold. The driver was kind enough to get out and grabbed your bags out of the trunk, setting them down as the two of you watched them sink into the thick layer of snow. You must have had the most pathetic of looks on your faces because he reached over and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“First time in the snow?” he asked kindly as you realized it was still quite a walk from the driveway to the cabin your family had rented for the holiday. it wasn’t your first time in the snow, not by a long shot, but it was the first time in a long you had voluntarily entered into it.

“No,” you explained as you wished you had dressed warmer, “just the first time in Canada. I expected cold, but I didn’t expect...this.”

“The winters here can be harsh,” he agreed, and you groaned both internally and externally, “just remember to dress in layers. There’s a lot of beauty in this part of Canada and it can be underappreciated.”

“Thanks,” you gave him a small smile as you mentally readied yourself for the trek up the small hill. Smoke was emanating from the chimney and you had already decided that you were going to spend the rest of the afternoon in front of the fireplace. It had been a long day of travel to get to your destination and you just wanted to rest, “I appreciate your kindness and help.”

“Are you going to be okay from here?” he asked and you gave him a feeble nod that no one would believe. You paid him and he got back into the warmth of the car, and you watched him go. It was just the cold, you reminded yourself, just the cold. It was only a few weeks, you were getting to see your family, and it was Christmas time. This was okay.

You could do this.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Mum!” you said as you fumbled around with your bags at the door, trying your best to be able to raise your hand and knock. There definitely should have been a better system for this, but you were struggling too much to worry about that in the moment, “it’s me, Y/N!”

You gave up on trying to knock and instead resorting to shouting, hoping someone inside would hear; between your parents and your brother, someone was bound to hear. After waiting for what seemed like ages, you decided to shout again, “hello!? Is anyone there? it’s me, Y/N! Your favorite child!”

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” the door was pulled open, and just as you thought you were going to come face to face with your mother, your dreams were quickly shattered. Instead of your mother, there stood Ceinwen Lee.

“Mrs. Lee?” your voice cracked as it went up about an octave. She was about one of the last people you expected and she must have noticed the confusion written all over your face, “what’re you doing here?”

“Come on in first,” she grabbed one of your bags and ushered you into the warm of the cabin, where you were hit with warmth, and the smell of delicious foods. You let out a long breath as you set down your other bag and started to take off your jacket, which she quickly took and hung up for you, “oh sweetheart, it’s lovely to see you again. You’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman.”

“O-oh, thank you,” you gave her a tight lipped smile as you scanned the large cabin. It was much more than what you thought was necessary for your family of four, “umm, not to be a total jerk and all, but ugh, why are you here?”

“It’s quite alright,” she gave you the warm smile you remembered from your childhood, “I’m guessing your Mother didn’t tell you? We’re spending the holiday together!”

“What?!”

“Yes,” she didn’t seem to notice your shock and the tons of negative thoughts floating around your head, “all of us, together again, for a wonderful holiday in beautiful Canada!”

“Didn’t mention a word,” you swallowed the lump in your throat. You rubbed your temples, already feeling a headache coming on. This was a lot to take in, and you weren’t quite sure were to begin processing it, “it’s lovely to see you, Mrs. Lee, really, but if you don’t mind, I need a word with my mother.”

“Not at all,” she seemed oblivious to your concerns, “she was in the kitchen, getting things for dinner. I’ll go ahead and take your bags to your room.”

“Thank you,” you said as you headed in the direction of the kitchen, only having to follow the scent and sound of light chatter, “MOTHER!”

You stormed into the kitchen, find her chopping away, talking to your brother, the two of them looking up and smiling when they realized you were there. She set down the knife and wiped her hands on the dishtowel, holding her arms out to you.

“It’s about time you got here, lovey!” she somehow didn’t seem to notice your anger and you remained rooted in your position, refusing to take any steps closer to her, “what’s wrong?”

“What the hell is going on here?” you asked, trying to keep it together and not freak out.

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” you threw your hands up in exasperation, “I come here, in the freezing cold, thank you for picking Canada, it’s already lovely but absolutely freezing, expecting to see my mother answering the door, and instead it’s Mrs. Lee? Who informs me that we’re all spending the holidays together! How could you have left off that little part?”

“I must have forgotten to mention it,” she gave a wave of her hand before refusing to look you in the eyes and turning back to her chopping. Your brother seemed to notice the hesitation and gave you a tight lipped smile, “besides, it’s not a big deal, honey, you always make a mountain out of a molehill. Besides, the Lees are our best friends, and we thought this would be fun. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Mum, have you forgotten exactly what big deal is?” Charlie hopped onto the counter and looked between the two of you, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold back his laughter, “you don’t remember what her little molehill is?”

“Y/N, honestly, is that what the big deal is here?” your mother let out a heavy sigh as she set her knife down pointedly and put her hands on her hips, giving you an annoyed look. You mirrored her actions, ready to stare her down; this wasn’t just about any little thing at all, this was about a lifelong feud that you weren’t about to let go.

“It is a big deal,” you insisted, “he’s the worst, the absolute worst. And if you think I’m going to stay here and spend the holidays, willingly, with him, you’re out of your mind!”

“I think you’re overreacting,” she insisted, “this silly little feud has lasted long enough, and what’s it even over? Do either of you even remember?”

“That’s besides the point-”

“That’s the entire point, Y/N. I love you, my silly girl, but you need to let this go. It’s been what? Over twenty years?”

“Exactly, it’s been a long time, and I’m not about to let it go,” you reminded her, waggling a finger in the air to prove your point, “besides, he’s a jerk. Literally the worst, and I’ll be damned if I spend time with him.”

“So what are you going to do about it? Are you just going to up and leave?” she knew you had a tendency to be dramatic, but even she wasn’t expecting this from you. You crossed your arms over your chest and rolled your eyes. Why, why, why? You had just wanted a nice Christmas with your family, and now it was all going to be ruined by the one and only Gwilym Lee.

“You know what? Maybe I will,” you spewed back hastily, grabbing your phone out of your pocket and opening the Sky Scanner App. Charlie snorted as he started on the pile of cookies that were recently baked, and your mother just sighed. It didn’t take long while you were searching for flights back home to come to the conclusion that there weren’t any more flights before the one you already had booked. Between holiday traffic and stormy weather it looked like you would, indeed, be stuck there...with Gwilym.

“And?” your mother had noticed your face falling as you locked your phone and placed it on the counter. There was a smug little smirk playing on her features, signaling that she knew that she had already won this battle.

“You’re lucky I don’t want to get there and face the arctic weather,” you huffed, pulling out one of the bar stools and plopping into it, hiding your face in your hands, “looks like I’ll be here for Christmas after all.”

“It’s not going to be that bad, lovey,” she leaned over and gently mussed your hair, “we’re all adults and all friends. There’s plenty of others here too, your dad, Mr. Lee, Geraint, Owen and Rhiannon, your brother-”

“And him,” you remembered her, reaching for the cookie and grabbing out of Rae’s hand, shoving it into your mouth, “I guess that least it’s a full house. His brothers are lovely, too bad he’s just a twat-”

“Y/N!” she scolded you and you just shrugged, “you haven’t even seen him in what? Months? Years? Give him a chance.”

“Like the one’s totally going to give me?”

“Mum, you haven’t even told her the best part,” Charlie winked at you and you were ready to completely flip out. You definitely weren’t ready for another bombshell.

“Oh good lord, please just tell me and get it over with!”

“You’ll be sharing a room with him,” she said it as quickly as possible and you could tell she was purposely avoiding your eyes. At first you weren’t sure if you had heard her correctly, so you started at her blankly, trying to process her statement.

“Mum? Mother dearest...please, please tell me you’re joking,” you were ready to throw yourself on the floor and beg her to take it back. This had to be a joke, there was no other way about it.

“I’m sorry, lovey. This was just how everything worked out...”

“What about Charlie!? Why can’t I share a room with my brother?”

“Because I’m bunking with Owen, you daft banshee,” he said and you groaned, “and we happen to want to share a room for the holidays. He’s one of my best friends!”

“Can’t you make an exception in this case?” you looked at him and gave him the biggest puppy dog eyes possible. You weren’t about to let your little brother be the cause of your suffering. He just shook his head at you.

“Not chance in hell,” he shrugged, clearly enjoying the suffering you were in the midst of.

“But...I could...he’s...”

“There’s only so many bedrooms, love,” she reminded you, “me and your father, the Lees, your brother and Owen, Rhiannon and Geraint, which leaves you and Gwilym. That’s all the space in the house.”

“Can I take the couch? Something? Anything?” you were grasping at straws, but you knew it was going to get you nowhere. What you thought was going to be a fun holiday trip with your family was quickly turning into a nightmare.

“No,” she replied with an air of finality and you let your head laid on the counter with a loud thunk, immediately regretting it, because not only were you going to have to deal with Gwil, now you’d also have a bruise, “Y/N, you’re a grown young woman. Now act like it.”

“Fine,” you insisted, sliding off the stool. You decided you’d go and unpack now, and try to get a moment of solace before you inevitably had to face him, “but I’m going to complain the whole time.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

You murmured under breath the whole way to the bedroom, getting some vague directions from Mrs. Lee - top of the stairs, to the right and at the very back. Of course, the most secluded part of house was where you would be stuck alone with Gwilym. You must have been extra naughty this year, as to warrant the wrath of this short torture.

“Can’t believe this,” you hissed under your breath, opening the door and practically throwing your bags in the room. At least being here first, you’d be able to pick the bed you wanted.

You were about to flop on the first bed you saw, suddenly thoroughly exhausted. But your dreams were cut short as you met with a loud oof, followed by a disgruntled, “what the hell? Why don’t you watch where you’re throwing everything?!”

“Excuse me?” you turned on your heel and came face to face with none other than Gwilym Lee. You hadn’t realized he was already there, considering that no one had informed you of that little detail. You sucked in your breath for a moment, trying hard to remember to breath normally as you studied him; he had aged well, almost too well, sporting a beard, his blue eyes twinkling, and bundled up in fancy looking clothes.

How was he this hot? When did he get this hot? Last time you had seen him he was still handsome (which you’d never admit to anyone else, not even on your death bed) but in a completely different way. Now? He was hot hot. Like a type of sexy professor, which you suddenly remembered he was. How terribly cliche this whole situation was.

“Do you just storm into every room you see?” he raised his eyebrows at you as he seemed to seize you up much in the same you had done to him. You were trying to find some sort of a witty response, but you fell short, and just stared wordlessly at him, “haven’t changed a bit, have you, love?”

“Ughh, as if,” you finally snapped back into reality at his words, trying to ignore the way your fluttered at his use of the nickname. You turned to examine the rest of the room, admiring the rustic look of the cabin, but stopping when you came to the conclusion that there was only one large bed. Only one.

“What’s wrong?” you didn’t even have to look at him to know there was a smirk on his face. You sighed and buried your hands in your face in your hands as you realized what this meant.

“I am not sharing a bed with you, Gwilym Lee,” you told him as you turned and faced him, hands on your hips, suddenly realizing how tall he was, “over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged,” he joked, a grin stretching from ear to ear. You wanted to wipe that stupid look off his face, but there was something that stopped you. Some sort of unidentified force prevented you from doing so, and had you noticing just how handsome he was. Had you noticed before and just tuned it out?

“Aren’t you supposed to be a gentleman and offer to, you know, sleep on the floor or something?” you looked between him and the floor at the foot of the bed, waiting for him to fold and give in and let you have the bed, “or have all the manners gone to your brothers?”

“Aren’t you just a lovely little ray of sunshine,” your eyes flicked to his lips momentarily and you wondered what it would be like to kiss him - to see how he tasted, how he felt against you. You were interrupted from your daydreaming when he said, “not a chance. It’s winter in Canada, it’s going to be freezing. I’ll stay in the bed, which I’m definitely willing to share.”

You didn’t miss the way he seemed to linger on the last part of his sentence and you momentarily found yourself wondering what it to be like sleep next to him. Was he a natural heater? Would he cuddle and hold you just right? Your eyes widened as you realized what kind of thoughts you were experiencing; this was Gwilym after all, your enemy, not a man you were supposed to be fantasizing about.

“Fine,” you refused to give and crossed your arms in a defiant manner over your chest, “I’ll take the floor. Not a big deal to me.”

“Oh? You’ll be regretting that soon enough,” he was bemused by your resilience and you didn’t miss the way his own eyes flicked to your lips, “the bed is plenty big enough for be two of us.”

“Nope.”

“Must you always be so stubborn?”

“Yup.”

“Y/N.”

“Gwilym.”

“You’re really going to be like this, huh?” he ran a hand through his hair and gave you an exasperated look. You were slowly starting to get under his skin, which you noted looked soft and supple, and that alone was enough to put a little smile on your face. He took a step closer to you, and you could already smell him. It was a combine of his cologne and yet somehow the scent of sweet cookies clung to him as well, making for a oddly delicious scent, “will you ever stop hating me so much?”

“Unlikely,” your voice wavered just a little bit as you studied his sweater, avoiding his eyes. It looked like the perfect sweater to get warm and cozy. You caught yourself, before your brain went totally gaga and you said something silly, “last time I checked, you hate me just as much.”

“Y/N, you silly fool, I never hated you,” he confessed and you were taken aback for a moment, “at least not since we were little kids. And we’re well beyond that now.”

Had his voice always been that gentle and velvety? It was almost perfect, a voice that could read a textbook and still keep you interested. Almost every part of you was humming and telling you to touch him, to grab him and kiss him, but the last bit of sense left in you told you to take a step back and glower at him, “doubtful. I will never be your friend or whatever you think you’re getting at.”

“So you’re just going to ignore me the whole time we’re here?” he asked, giving you a wary look as you just nodded, “oh Y/N, you silly thing. I think you’ll see reason soon enough, and maybe get over yourself.”

With that, he stepped past and headed for the door, a little victorious smirk on his face. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, not willing to let him get the last word, “yeah well, maybe you’ll get over yourself!”

He paused momentarily, hand on the knob before he turned back to you, tilting his head and gave you an intrigued glance. He was egging you on at this point and you weren’t willing to give into what you considered his little game. Crossing your arms over your chest, you refused to say anything, and Gwilym shot you a wink before opening the door and popping out, closing it quietly.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you huffed to yourself, plopping down on the bed and burrowing your face into one of the fluffy pillows. After a moment you screamed into it, letting it muffle the sound. This was going to be a long holiday.

»»————-　♡　————-««

When you finally made your way downstairs the next morning, you were sore, cold, and probably more tired than you had been the previous evening. A night of camping out on the floor hadn’t been the best idea, but you refused to give into Gwilym and share the bed with him, no matter how tempting it was...or how many times you wondered what it would like to fall asleep in his arms and wake up next to him.

“Good morning, sunshine,” your father had an almost knowing smirk on his face as you just gave him a nod and sat down at the end of the long banquet table where everyone was in the middle of breakfast, chatting away happily, “sleep well?”

“Oh yeah,” you replied sarcastically, immediately feeling Gwilym’s eyes on you as he held back the laughter that was threatening to bubble up, “nothing like the Canadian wilderness to lull you to sleep.”

“Good,” he responded, clearly missing the point and turning back to his newspaper. You grabbed a plate and started loading it up, deciding that if weren’t able to feel refreshed, you could at least get a full stomach.

“Y/N,” your mother’s voice interrupted you midway through grabbing a small stack of pancakes. You grimaced slightly as you waited for her to go on, “we’re all going to pick out the Christmas tree after breakfast, so don’t take too long!”

“You’re joking, right?” the idea of trekking around the freezing wilderness with everyone in tow while they all tried to agree on a singular tree wasn’t exactly that appealing at the moment. Her smile faltered slightly. as she was expecting a sightly more excited reaction.

“No,” her voice was quiet and you felt a sense of remorse at letting her down, “I thought it would be fun.”

“Oh yeah,” you tried to reassure her, plastering on a slightly more excited expression, “it’ll be fun, I’m sure!”

“It won’t be so bad,” she gave your arm a reassuring squeeze, “you always used to love going to pick the tree.”

“I know, mum,” you replied, knowing you were just going to have to suck it up and deal with it, “I’m sure we’ll find the perfect tree.”

She leaned over and kissed the top of your head, before going back to whatever it was that she was in the midst of organizing. You sat down and the seat next to you was immediately occupied. You didn’t bother to look, already knowing who it was.

“How are you feeling?” he asked under his breath as you shoved you a big bite into your mouth, glaring at him and chewing slowly and pointedly, “the floor doesn’t seem like such a good idea anymore, does it?”

“The floor is fine and dandy, thank you very much,” you rolled your eyes at him, stabbing at a piece of sausage and sticking it into your mouth, “I can rough it.”

“For how much longer?” he admired your determination, but also wanted to break down your resolve, unsure of why you still hated him so much.

“As long as it takes,” you snapped, “and if that means the duration of this vacation then so be it.”

“Y/N, come on, I’m not so bad,” you could tell he was getting frustrated, “it’s been ages, I think it’s okay to let it go.”

“Psh,” you made a disgruntled sound before grabbing your plate and moving to the other end of he table. He had been sitting too close for comfort and you practically felt his body heat radiating off and onto you. He shook his head at you, but there was a bemused little smirk on his face anyways, “as if!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

You had always thought England was cold, and for the most part, the winters there could be brutal as well; but it was nothing compared to the biting chill of the Canadian winter. Even with sporting a multitude of layers, thick socks, boats, gloves, a scarf, and a hate, you were still freezing. How anyone adapted to this was beyond you and as you trudged behind everyone else at the tree farm, you kept to yourself as you tried to keep even remotely warm.

Everyone else seemed to be immune as they chatted away, going over the pros and cons of each tree they came across. At this point, you didn’t care if it was a twig, you just wanted to get back into the warmth.

“Cold?” Gwil asked as he came up and stood next to you, arms over his chest as he watched everyone bickering over the biggest tree yet. It was so cold you couldn’t even find it in yourself to give a snarky response. You just nodded as your teeth chattered lightly, “maybe they’ll settle on one soon.”

“I hope so. At least before we freeze to death,” you responded, and he nodded, “do people actually do this for fun every year?”

“I think so,” he said as everyone had apparently reached a consensus, and you saw the client of the a saw as someone pulled it out, “deary me, it appears we have a winner!”

“It’s about time,” you groaned as you stole a glance at your phone, “we’ve been out for literal hours. They make finding a tree seem like an Olympic sport. It’s not that deep, it’s just a tree.”

“Have you forgotten who our mothers are?” he joked as you responded with a snort of laughter. He had a point; your mothers were both perfectionists and they would rather not have a tree at all than have one that was even a hair away from perfect, “they’d rather die.”

“A fair point,” you admitted, unable to hide your teeth chattering by this point. You wrapped your arms around your body, a vain attempt at trying to keep warm, “I think I’m going to die out here. This is it, the end. All because of a silly tree.”

“Always so dramatic,” his sigh was a cross between amusement and exasperation. He took off his oversize outer coat and draped it around your shoulders, surprising you more than anything, “there. Will that help?”

“I...you...why? You’re going to freeze!” he was only left wearing a thin looking sweater, along with his gloves, scarf, and beanie, but just shook his head at you. Before you could even move to take off the coat and return it to him, he placed his hands firmly on your shoulders and pulled the hood up, the fake fur hood engulfing your entire head, “thank you. But if you’re frozen later, don’t blame because I tried.”

“I run warm,” he played it off like it was no big deal, adjusting your hood so you could see, “and I don’t want to be the one in trouble for you freezing.”

“Ahh, looking for your own interests I see,” you rolled your eyes slightly, “I’m glad to hear that though, because this doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“Wouldn’t dream of something like that,” he took a step back and watched as everyone started to try and carry the tree back towards the cabin. You wished you had something witty to say, but instead, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Yeah, well, at least I’m not a Cadbury egg thief!” he just shook his head at you, but you were quickly swept away by his brothers, both of chattering loud at you. You weren’t even aware of what they were saying, thoughts so wrapped up with Gwil and how his delicious scent clung to the jacket, that you just made a few noncommittal sounds every now and then.

“So do you?” you were taken aback by the question, blinking a few times as you started at Rhiannon.

“Do I what?”

“Like him!”

“Like who?”

“Gwil,” he stated as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, which caused a shiver to run down your spine.

“Umm, hell no,” you laughed at his question, and you were almost convinced of your own response. You weren’t so sure at this point, having had all of your old feelings come back rushing back since you’d seen Gwil again, “absolutely not. I’d rather make out with that stupid tree everyone spent so much picking out.”

“Damn,” was his only response as he tried to control his snickers, “must be a tough break for him.”

“What do you mean?” you were confused by his statement.

“Gwil’s only had a crush on you since you were like ten,” he confessed, “dunno if he’s ever really gotten over that. But I guess there’s no reason for him to worry anymore, there’s his answer.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“Dead,” you stopped in your tracks at his words, and he went on, leaving you behind as everyone trailed on. You weren’t sure if he was just being facetious, or serious, either way, you were left stunned. It couldn’t be true - right? You hated him and he hated you. That was the way things worked ever since he had stolen and eaten not one, or two, or three, but thirteen of your Cadbury Creme Eggs. The rest was history, “Y/N? Catch up, kid.”

“Sorry,” you caught yourself and ran after home, letting out a heavy sigh, “just surprised is all.”

“Don’t be,” he said quietly, “I’m pretty sure that he still fancies you. You’re wearing his jacket, aren’t you? And it’s freezing out here - I wouldn’t just give that to anyone. But hey, I didn’t tell you any of this.”

“I heard nothing,” you whispered back, suddenly acutely aware of a certain pair of Cerulean eyes that were on you. He gave you a wink and a nod before heading back to front of the trek, leaving you with you thoughts alone at the back.

You were currently buzzing with the idea of Gwil possibly liking you, and for some reason, it didn’t bother you as much as you thought it would. It was flattering in a sense, and you didn’t mind, in fact, it made butterflies erupt in your stomach. As much as you hated him for being a candy thief, you couldn’t deny that he was handsome (probably more so than anyone should have been), smart, kind (for the most part), and well rounded. For most women, he would have been an absolute catch.

“Hey,” his vice interrupted your thoughts as he suddenly appeared by your side. It was almost like he could read your mind, “if you walk any slower, you’ll be left out in the dust...er, snow. What’s got you so lost in thought?”

“N-nothing,” you lied, “just tired...pretty sure the cold has started to freeze my legs.”

“We’re almost back, and I’m sure they’ll be a roaring fire soon enough,” he said and wondered why he was being so friendly. Maybe Rhiannon was right...but surely he couldn’t be. But what was even weirder, was that you wanted to him to stay.

“I sure hope,” you admitted quietly, “hey...I have a stupid question...”

“Shoot.”

“Do you still like Cadbury Eggs?”

“What!?” he asked as he burst into laughter, “hell no! Those things are disgusting.”

“But you...” you started before letting out a long sigh. The nerve of him, stealing all those eggs from you ears ago and now just he just had the audacity to hate them, “used to love them!”

“I got sick of them as a kid remember?” he explained and you rolled your eyes, of course you remembered, “never had them again.”

“Jerk, “ you huffed under your breath.

“Come again?”

“Nothing,” you decided not to delve into; how he could he have forgotten what he did to you?! The cabin came into view and you were happy for the relief, and quickly siddled away from him, quickly ducking inside and away from the bitter of the outdoors. Gwil watched you go, feeling a little crestfallen at your sudden departure, but followed silently after you.

»»————-　♡　————-««

That evening, Gwil had asked, once again, if you wanted share the bed, insisting he wouldn’t try anything, but you remained steadfast and told him no. Instead you had grabbed a pillow and a blanket and laid on at the foot of the bed. It was cold and hard, but in the moment you didn’t care, you were feeling too stubborn.

“Are you sure you want to choose the cold hard ground over this warm, cozy bed?” he teased as you had settled in for the night, you scrolling through your phone as he read his book. You let out a long sigh but remained wordless, figuring he’d get the point, “when you feel like death in the morning, no complaining allowed.”

“Who said I was gonna complain?” you snorted as you rolled your eyes despite the fact that he couldn’t see you, “I’m not a big cry baby unlike you.”

“Wow,” he said in response and you could hear him snap his book shut, “must you always be like this?”

“Like what?”

“Stubborn!” he set the book down and turned off the light on the nightstand, “you’ve been like this since we were children. I mean we’re adults now, its okay to be friends.”

“I am not stubborn,” was your only response as you locked your phone and put it away, trying to get comfortable on the floor. After a few minutes of shifting around and trying to get in a position you could sleep in, but you soon gave up and deciding to just do lay on your back and deal with it. You were almost sure you heard Gwil snickering as he laid on the bed.

Closing your eyes, you tried to let sleep wash over you, reminding yourself that morning was close at hand and the night wouldn’t last forever. But it didn’t seem to work, as you got a few minutes of sleep here and there, while he seemed to be get the best sleep of his life, light snores sounding out in the quiet room.

And it was cold, more cold than you had ever imagined it could get in the house, and the one blanket you were using just wasn’t even. As you remained on the floor, debating your next move and shivering, you wondered what he would if you decided to get in the bed. Would he make you get out and back onto the floor, or would he let it happen? Would he tease you relentlessly or not make a big deal out of it? It really could have gone either way.

Just when you weren’t able to stand it any longer, you sat up and rubbed your eyes, standing up quietly and tiptoeing to the side of the bed that Gwil wasn’t occupying. He looked handsome in his sleep, almost so much that it was unfair that anyone could look that good in sleep, his arm gently draped over the pillow that you had planned on using. It would be tricky to try and get in without waking him, but you were willing to try it.

You pulled the blanket back and crawled in, trying to keep your limbs away from his, and holding back a sigh at the softness and warm, and how the sheets smelled faintly of his cologne. You grabbed his arm and put it closer to him so you had full use of the pillow. Pulling the blankets up high, you burrowed your face into the pillow and let yourself relax, feeling more comfortable and relaxed than you had in the past few days. It was so warm under the bed, you wondered how he could be so possibly warm, but you weren’t complaining at this point.

“I was wondering when you’d come and join me,” he didn’t even bother to open his eyes, but there was a big smile on face as you huffed lightly. You hadn’t realized he was still awake, or you probably would have waited until he was deep in his slumber, “told you this was better.”

“Shh,” you responded, too tired to try and make a snarky comment. Without skipping a beat, he put his arm over your waist and pulled you closer to him, moving slowly at first to try and see if you were going to stop him. At this point, the idea of fighting him was the furthest thing from your mind.

The heat from his body was wonderful and he felt so soft and perfect under your touch, and you wondered why you’d never done this before. His long legs were tangled up with yours, his face mere inches from yours. This was better than you had ever expected, and part of you already decided that you didn’t wan t it to end.

“Good night love,” his voice was almost whisper soft, as you made a small sound of content. This beat the floor a thousand times over, and you were glad to have made the decision to join him.

The next morning came much to soon for your liking, and you found yourself completely tangled up with Gwil, arms wrapped him as your head was laid on his chest, his hand resting just above your bum. You didn’t know bother to move as a loud knocking came at the door, followed by the sound of Mrs. Lee shouting, “breakfast! Get up you two!”

“Be there soon,” Gwil called back to her as the two of you remained still, neither particularly eager to move. He started to trace aimless shapes on your back, his fingers delicately touching your exposed skin, “I guess we should get up.”

“But it’s so warm right here,” you said as he turned to face him, “and the rest of the world is cold. I don’t want it.”

“I guess this is better than that old floor, huh?” he teased and you just mumbled something incoherent as he laughed.

“Not a word of this to anybody,” you insisted as you met his eyes, “we’ll never speak of this again. This was purely because it’s freezing and I want to stay warm. That’s all.”

“Mhmm,” he laughed, “is that why you’re still holding onto me for dear life?”

“Just to stay warm,” you tried to reassure him and yourself, “that’s all. Nothing more or less.”

“Whatever you say,” he agreed, but you both knew you were lying, “whatever you say, Princess.”

“Gwil, don’t call me that! You’re the absolute worst,” you groaned as you buried your face further into his chest. You remained still for a moment, listening to his heart beat, which seemed slightly more elevated than normal, “can we just agree to do this while we’re stuck here and that’s it? Consider it a situation of strange bedfellows. Or...roommates.”

“Roommates,” he snorted with laughter, “that’s what everyone will say. And they were roommates.”

“No one’‘s going to say anything,” you poked his side lightly, “because we’re not going to tell anyone. Not a word of this.”

“What are you so scared of?” he asked and you ere taken aback for a moment. He had a good point - what were you so worried about when it came to him? Pretty much just your long standing one sided vendetta that you refused to let go.

“Nothing at all,” you didn’t want to admit anything, “just...there’s no one else that needs to know about it.”

“Okay,” he stated quietly, stopping his actions on your back and letting out a long sigh.

“Okay.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next couple of weeks were spent in relative bliss; you spent time with your combined families, doing anything Christmasy and wintery that you could. It hadn’t been quite what you had expected, but you didn’t mind, it was really was quite fun.

Your weird hot and cold relationship continued with Gwil, the two of you mostly staying apart, except for the occasional run ins, and of course, sleeping together every evening, always tangled up in each other.

Sometimes he’d end up behind you, trying to skirt by you, hands on your back as he did so. Sometimes he was next to you on the couch as you all tried to squeeze together to watch television, putting an arm around you. Sometimes he’d remain next to you, whispering in your ear as you tried to keep it cool. You had laid off your little feud with him, choosing to mostly remain quiet next to him, but it grew increasingly hard - especially since he was the perfect gentleman in almost every single way.

It making it extremely difficult to keep on convincing yourself that you hated him; your resolve was slowly weakened and you were starting to wonder why you were ever mad about him stealing your candy. It had made him sick after all. Perhaps your years of stubborn resilience had all been for nothing. Perhaps Gwil really was meant to be your friend, or even more than that.

“Psst,” you felt a hand give your shoulder a light squeeze, and you realized you had been falling asleep, your head falling onto Gwil’s shoulder. You opened your eyes and tried to rub the sleep away as you looked at him, “I think it’s time for bed, Sleepyhead.”

“Okay,” you agreed as you got up and stretched, listening to your joints pop as Gwil followed suit, before taking your hand and leading you to the bedroom. The rest of the your families were watching, remaining silent as your mothers exchanged knowing looks. Needless to say, they had all seen this coming.

“Was the movie that boring?” he asked as you trailed after him, making a small sound. It was hard to keep up with his long legs and eventually he stopped, giving you a strange look before scooping you up and carrying you bridal style. A tiny part of you wanted to put a fight, but you just let him do it, letting the feeling of being in his arms lull you slowly back to sleep.

He opened the door, shutting it quietly behind him before putting you into the bed. Immediately burrowing under the covers, Gwil debated on going back out or joining you, but you pulled back the covers on his side, “don’t leave. Come and join me.”

“Are you sure?”

You hesitated for just a moment before and nodding, “positive.”

He came over, pulling off his extra sweater, exposing part of his toned stomach that you tried not to stare at, before climbing into bed and laying next to, eyes trained on you. You gave him a small smile as you watch him get comfortable, a an odd sort of silence falling over you. It wasn’t bad or awkward per se, but it was different than what you had normally been experiencing.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” you said softly and he let out a sound similar to a laugh.

“Could have fooled me.”

“I was still just salty,” you admitted, “about you know, what happened when we were kids. It’s so silly, I know, to hang onto that for like what? Over twenty years.”

“Wait, what are you even talking about?” he seemed genuinely confused, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, “what happened?”

“When we were kids?” you repeated, “you stole all of my Easter candy. My creme eggs, and ate them all. They were my favorites!”

“Hold up,” he said as a look of realization crossed his features, “those were your eggs?”

“Yes!”

“I must have taken the wrong basket by mistake,” he explained and you felt like you were suddenly the biggest fool in the world. it was a mistake, a silly, but honest, mistake made in childhood, “I should have known those were your favorites. They made me sick and I’ve never eaten once since!”

“Do I even need to say how damn stupid I feel right now?” you groaned as you covered your face with the pillow, wishing you could disappear, “I have been so stupid for so long about something so dumb...”

“Yeah, well I’m not going to say anything...” he teased as he lifted the pillow so you were looking at him, “so you never really hated me? It was all about the candy?”

“Yup.”

“And you were just being stubborn?”

“Yup.”

“You’re too fucking precious,” he laughed, a musical sound that your ears quite liked. You felt your cheeks warm up as you tried your hide face in embarrassment; but he stopped you, taking your hand in his and brushing the back of his hand over your cheek, “I always told you were stubborn.”

“I guess...but to be fair, I always thought it was a legitimate reason,” you insisted.

“Remaining mad for literal decades over candy is just you being stubborn,” he insisted and you knew he was right. You couldn’t even imagine what life would have like all those years if you had remained close friends; maybe you’d even have become lovers at some point, “but I’ll admit it takes some dedication. Just think, if you’d forgiven me earlier you could have gotten all the creme that I received over the years.”

“What a complete fool I’ve been,” you groaned, “so much wasted candy.”

“Ahh to be young and foolish,” how did he have such a beautiful smile; it was literally breathtaking even though the two of you were just lying in bed, “but at least we’ve gotten to the bottom of your little vendetta.”

“Can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he said lightly, “I wasn’t even mad, I didn’t even know what was going on. I suppose that’s a yes then. Dare I say, we could maybe even be friends? Then when we see each other in public, or when we’re out with friends, you don’t have to glare at me the entire time.”

“Ha ha,” you dead panned, “I wasn’t glaring.”

“You were totally glaring...death glaring,” he laughed, “don’t even deny it!”

“Fineeeee,” you gave in, knowing he was right. It was probably close to a death glare, but sometimes you couldn’t hold back your facial expressions, “but moving forward, it won’t ever happen again.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky,” you held out your hand and he quickly looped his pinky through yours, “see, now it’s official. We can’t hate each other or be mean to one another anymore.”

“I like the sound of that,” he said quietly, as he held back a yawn, “now, maybe we should try and get some sleep, huh? Christmas Eve is tomorrow and you know what they say - no rest for the wicked.”

“Good night dork,” you giggled as he pulled you close and wrapped his arm around you, not even thinking about it, it had just become so commonplace, and you didn’t mind one bit.

“Good night love,” he murmured quietly, closing his eyes, his face mere inches from yours. You thought about just leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his lips, but held yourself back, deciding not to push the envelope just yet. This wasn’t too bad though. And getting to be wrapped up in his arms? That was something special and magical all it’s own.

»»————-　♡　————-««

For some reason, when you had woken up the following morning, in bed alone, Gwil long gone since his side of the bed was cold, you found yourself with some regret. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so vulnerable with him after all - what is it had driven him away?

You had gotten up and found him eating breakfast with everyone else, you were the last one there as usual, earning a good morning from everyone as you waked past them. Why hadn’t he even woken you up? Trying to catch his eyes, you noticed that he was intently trying to avoid your gaze. Strange, you thought to yourself, it had been you that was avoiding him, not the other way around. After a few moments of effort without any reward, you decided to drop it; it was just Gwil after all, what did you really expect to happen with him?

It was Christmas Eve and everyone was buzzing around excitedly, your mothers spending the day in the kitchen, your fathers out hiking with Gwil’s brothers, leaving you, your brother and Gwil to hang around the house. You were laid up on the couch, watching another holiday movie, making conversation here and there as you sipped your hot chocolate. Gwil had been pacing around the house, seeming lost in thought as he twiddled his thumbs. Part of you wanted to roll your eyes at him, but decided against it.

After a while, you felt your eyes grow heavy with sleep, and decided to take a nap, considering there was nothing else that you really needed to do. You stood up and stretched, pulling the plush blanket at your retreated to the room. You were so lost in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice Gwil walking down the hall, the two of you almost colliding.

“Jesus,” you managed to get out as you stopped just in time to avoid an accident, “sorry, I totally didn’t watch where I was going.”

“‘s okay,” he replied but you noticed it was quiet and off color for him. Before you let him slide past, you put your hand on upper arm and stopped him. He finally looked at you, his blue boring into yours; it was a rush of a thousand emotions at once.

“Hey,” you said quietly, inadvertently biting your lip, something Gwil definitely didn't miss, “did I do something wrong? You’ve been avoiding me like I have the plague.”

“No,” he said as you waited for him to go on, “i-it’s not you.”

“Then what is it?” you were tying to keep your voice neutral as you didn’t want to scare him off. He seemed to be wrestling with himself as he shift his weight back and forth anxiously, “is that about last night? If I made things...weird, then I’m sorry.”

“It’s just...” he stopped himself as you slightly urged him to go, “last night...was nice. And, I don’t know if this has ever been obvious to you, or not, but I’ve had feelings for you for some time.”

“Rhiannon might have mentioned it,” you teased, giving him a small nudge.

“Of course,” he groaned lightly, “I’m surprised he hasn’t mentioned it a lot sooner.”

“Well, I mean, I hated you then,” you explained and laughed lightly, “I don’t think I ever really actually hated you, so don’t worry. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Last night, lying there with you, and every night we’ve spent together, it’s been nice. I really like it,” he admitted, “and I’m afraid I’ve gotten too attached, and it’s going to make it really hard to leave...especially you.”

“Oh. Oh?”

“Yeah,” his cheeks were a bright pink by this point, and it made you wonder about your own feelings. Was it all a fluke, or were they just a product of circumstance? You weren’t sure at this point, “and I feel like if I actually tell you my feelings, I’m going to end up making a fool out of myself because I don’t think you feel the same. I figured I might as well try and get out of own feelings now then get too wrapped up in them.”

“Gwil-” you tried to interrupt him, but it was no use - he was too lost in his own world to hear your words.

“I’m sorry if I came off as rude and short today. I should have just let you know,” he rubbed the back of his awkwardly as he seemed to avoid your eyes, “I just...never would have thought that you could ever possibly have feelings for someone like me.”

“Gwil...”

“I know we’ve had this little feud, or whatever you want to call it, but I think we both know deep down that it was never that serious, right?” he seemed to be having an existential moment, flailing his long limbs around as he tried to work it all out in his head, “I thought it was mostly in good fun...and maybe you were flirting with me?”

“Gwil,” you almost wanted to laugh at this point, the look on his face was so distraught.

“But I’m pretty sure that was just me being hopeful even though there was no reason to be,” he let out a long sigh, “I’m sorry about all of that. I should have realized that you might just not be into me. Teaches me not to assume things I guess.”

“Gwilym,” you put your finger on his lips, forcing him to look at you, a shocked expression on his face, “I need you to calm down, shut up. and listen to me for a moment.”

“What?” he mumbled despite your efforts to get to remain quiet for a few moments. You sighed heavily before putting both hands on his shoulders and looking directly into his eyes. He stiffened slightly, unsure of what to do or think, “Y/N?”

You didn’t bother to respond to him with verbally, opting instead to stand up on your tiptoes to match his impressive height and crashing your lips onto his. He didn’t know what to do at first, taking a moment to respond before placing his hands on your hips pulling you close to him as his fingers grazed at the bare skin underneath the hem of your sweater. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you wished this kiss, this moment would never end, because every part of it was perfect: his smell, his taste, how he touched you. All like it was meant to be.

“Huh,” was all he said as he managed to get out when you pulled back from him, both of you breathless, chests rising and falling rapidly. You felt your cheeks warm up before playfully hitting his chest, both of you falling into fits of giggles, “so...you kissed me, right? That was you totally kissing me. I just want to make sure I didn’t read any of this incorrectly.”

“That was totally me kissing you,” you agreed, shaking your head playfully, “who would have thought? That one day I would be kissing you? You of all people.”

“Wow, okay,” he pretended to be hurt, “that was a low blow! I’m not that bad.”

“No,” you agreed, reaching up and traced a gentle finger along his stubbled jawline, “not too bad at all...not for a filthy candy thief.”

“Hey, you came onto me!” he reminded you, “I wasn’t that kissed you first, let the record show that.”

“No, you just seduced me by having me get into your bed every night,” you laughed, “I imagine that was part of your whole plan all along? The slow con, over two decades. Such dedication.”

“Have I ever told you that you are too much?”

“I believe your exact words were you’re too fucking precious,” you reminded him, “but we don’t have to do that again, we can stop right there.”

“Not a chance,” he insisted, beaming from ear to ear, “I’ve waited forever to do that.”

“Well,” you said as you started to push him in the direction of the bedroom, “everyone thinks I’m going down for a nap. Better come with me.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his eyes widening with an almost child like innocence.

“Yes,” you tugged at his hand, “let’s go. But just be warned, I’m actually referring to sleep. Doing nothing has gotten me very tired. But, ugh, I see someone’s taken the liberty of putting up mistletoe. How convenient.”

“Hmm,” he mused as he followed into the room, getting about two seconds in before you wrapped your arms around him, “okay, but honestly, best Christmas present ever.”

“Now who’s being dramatic?” you asked before kissing him again, trying to memorize how he responded to every touch.

“Not me,” he insisted.

“Good,” you agreed in between kisses, “because you’re right...this might actually be the best Christmas ever.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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the-coldest-goodbye · 6 years

Text

Ivar (Vikings) x plus size reader headcanons

Ivar x plus size fem!reader

Requested by Anonymous.

A/N: Sorry if this feels a little OOC for Ivar. I’ve never written for him before and I wasn’t really sure which direction I should run in with this. I toyed around with a couple of darker versions, but ended up settling with a more fluffy/vulnerable Ivar because sometimes you just need some fluff in your life. Also, sorry it’s kind of long and seems more like a bulleted story and less like actual headcanons for the first half of it. I just felt like it needed the setup. (If you’re ever looking for brevity, you ain’t getting it from me.)

Some NSFW stuff towards the end.

► Ivar fell for you because you accepted him and didn’t fear him. You saw through the imposing and cruel persona that he had built for himself and instead saw him for what he really was deep down: a hurt, vulnerable boy who just wanted to be loved.

► Both of you would be insecure of your bodies in your own ways, but the two of you found refuge in each other.

► Ivar was observant and was familiar with most people in Kattegat, so he was surprised when one day he showed up at Floki’s cabin and found you chatting with his old mentor. He had never seen you before, which intrigued him.

► This caught Ivar off guard and made him a bit tense. He had come to Floki’s cabin that afternoon as a refuge, a place where he could drop the big, cruel persona he built up and instead could just be himself. Ivar crawled up to the hearth where you and Floki sat, a distrustful look plain on the boy’s face. Noticing Ivar’s wariness, Floki jumped to introduce you. “Ivar, this is my friend Y/N.”

► “Ahh, so you’re the famed Ivar the Boneless,” you smiled as he sat himself next to you and the older boatbuilder. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” And it’s true — you had. You had heard countless tales of his affliction and of his cruelty. However, Floki had been a close friend and mentor of Ivar since he was a little boy, and Floki’s stories were much more sympathetic. This discrepancy made you more curious than anything to actually meet the youngest Ragnarsson and learn for yourself what he was actually like instead of taking the rumors about him at face value.

► “Then I’m sure you must be eager to run from me in fear right about now, hm?” Ivar replied, both teasing you but also curious. Ivar knew of his reputation and of how people avoided him. Ivar’s viciousness towards others was largely a defense mechanism. By scaring people away with his attitude and cruelty, it made him feel a little less powerless. It hurt a little less telling himself that people avoided him for his callousness, something he did have control over, than because of his legs, something he had no control over.

► You laughed. “No, I don’t fear you.” A smirk crossed Ivar’s face. He was partly confused and partly impressed. “You don’t?” You replied, “No, I’ve only heard stories, but I don’t believe that rumors can ever capture all sides of a story, all of the intricacies.” You paused for a minute, a small smirk spreading across your lips. “Would you prefer it if I feared you?” Ivar thought for a moment, unsure of how to answer you, before saying, “No, I don’t believe that I do.” He began to smirk too. “At least not for now.”

► That broke the tension. The conversation between you, Floki, and Ivar flowed easily for the rest of the afternoon. (Insert Floki giggling in the background, delighted at his friends getting along). Ivar enjoyed your company, finding you funny and clever, with a biting wit and a slightly snide sense of humor. Most shockingly to Ivar, you were kind and warm towards him, and you showed no hesitation or fear around him.

► Throughout the afternoon, Ivar becomes more and more intrigued by your body. It’s quite different from most women in Kattegat. He was used to seeing a lot of women who were thin and small, much like Margrethe, the only woman he had ever been with and touched. Your body, on the other hand, was thick and lush. It looked soft and warm. Ivar couldn’t help his brain from wandering to how your body would feel against his.

► In the confines of Floki’s cabin, you radiated confidence. You unapologetically took up space. It felt like your body was demanding to be looked at. (And, boy, did Ivar look. He wanted to bury his face in your breasts and wondered how they would feel in his hands.)

► Before you left Floki’s cabin, Ivar (seemingly) confidently asked you, “So, Y/N, when will I see you again?” instead of asking if he could see you again, because there was no question in his mind. He must see you again. Despite how confident he tried to come across, he was terrified of you rejecting him. With a playful glint in your eye, you answered that you could often be found on the sandy shores of the coast when you couldn’t sleep, and then you bustled off.

► After you left, Ivar discussed you with Floki for a bit, and Floki had nothing but lovely things to say about you. This cemented in Ivar’s mind that you were a good person, someone he wanted to know better.

► Ivar crawled out to the beach that night and found you sitting in the sand, watching the waves, just as you had promised. You met that night, and many nights after that. You would sit in the sand and watch the waves, stargaze, talk about everything and nothing all at once. You were like no one Ivar had ever met, and he was amazed at how open and vulnerable he could be with you. You understood things and you didn’t judge him. Ordinarily, Ivar would be kicking himself for admitting to anyone the things he would tell you, but he trusted you more than he had ever trusted anyone else.

► However, as the weeks went by, Ivar became increasingly dissatisfied with your arrangement. Why could he only see you at night when no one else was around? Terrible thoughts swirled in Ivar’s head until one day he admitted to himself that you must be too ashamed to be seen with him because he was a cripple. As the hours drew on that day, getting closer and closer to your meeting time, he dwelled on this, his rage and bitterness increasing. He thought you had been different. He thought he had finally found someone who saw past his legs and through his cruel persona, but apparently he was wrong. This betrayal crushed him, which in turn infuriated him. He would have to confront you that night.

► “Good evening, Ivar,” you greeted him warmly before you realized his face was hard with anger. The next thing you knew, he was blurting out an enraged rant about how you had lied to him and were stringing him along, about how you were just like everyone else. You were paralyzed with confusion and alarm, not sure what you had done to cause this kind of reaction from him. By the end of his tirade, tears welled up in his eyes. Finally he bleated out in a very small, cracked voice, “I am a fool. I trusted you, and now my heart is broken.” His face crumpled and the tears began to flow.

► You reached out to hold him, but he yanked his body away from you. Your voice was quiet and shaking. “Ivar, what is this about?” Tears had begun to well up in your own eyes. You were shaken by seeing this boy you cared so much about be so hurt by you and yet not knowing what you did to cause it. Your voice cracked as you started crying. “What did I do?”

► “You never want to see me in the daylight. You never want other people to see us together because you’re embarrassed by me. I thought you were different,” he whimpered.

► You began to cry harder, realizing the misunderstanding and scolding yourself for letting him think that he was the reason for your behavior. “No, Ivar,” you gasped out. “It’s not you. It’s me. There’s a reason why you’ve never seen me around Kattegat before. It’s because I don’t want to be seen. Whenever I go out, I feel people staring at me, at my body, making rude comments, cruel jokes. I can’t bear it. It’s not you, Ivar.”

► Hearing your confession made Ivar weep harder, but this time he was weeping for you. The thought of someone as lovely as you experiencing that level of shame and insecurity, that feeling of never quite being at home in your own body, crushed him — because it was a pain he knew all too well, one that he wouldn’t even wish on his worst enemy. He had found you so confident when he first met you in Floki’s cabin that he would never have guessed that you felt the way you do. It finally occurred to him that Floki’s cabin was a refuge for you, much like it was for himself — a place where you could both be comfortable in your own skin without fear of judgment from others.

► Ivar wrapped you in his arms, pulling you close to him. “No, my sweet Y/N. You’re beautiful and you shouldn’t hide yourself away. You’re special and the world needs to know about you.” He tearfully kissed your forehead as your body shook with quiet sobs. As the tears began to subside, the two of you would sit side-by-side in the sand, you resting your head against his shoulder, and him resting his head against yours. He wrapped his fur shawl around the both of you. You sat together in a comfortable, understanding silence as both of you let your tears stop and breathing return to normal.

► Gently, Ivar said, “I want you to come have supper with my family tomorrow. I can meet you at your home and escort you to mine so you won’t have to do it alone.” You conceded.

► The next day, during your trip through the village, you felt self-conscious and you were afraid that everyone was looking at you. You were worried that Ivar would become embarrassed by being seen with you and that he might resent the unwanted attention that you drew to him. When you sadly admitted that to him, he just laughed and reminded you about who he was. “They’re not staring at you. It’s the fully grown man dragging himself through the mud that they’re looking at.” He paused for a second. “I’m used to it. At least now when they stare at me, I can show off my pretty lady,” he added playfully.

► Ivar would take it upon himself to be your protector. If anyone dare to harass you or make you feel small, they could expect a rather unpleasant interaction with Ivar the Boneless.

► With the two of you seeing each other more often and more openly, your relationship quickly became a committed one. (His family adored you because your presence seemed to quell a lot of Ivar’s pent up rage and made him a bit more even-keeled.)

► He loves your soft body, holy shiiiit. Not only do his legs ache from his condition, but the rest of his body is in constant pain from having to drag himself around everywhere through the dirt and over rough terrain. The softness of your body is a welcome reprieve. At night, he would just let his body melt into yours, letting all of his tension slip away.

► Also, his legs ache more if they were cold, so the extra heat that your body would generate under the furs with him in bed would help him a bit with his pain.

► He loves making out with you in bed, with him sitting up against the headboard and you on your knees, straddling his lap. It would give him easy access to everywhere he loves to kiss and grope. (Oh, and he finally gets to live out his old daydreams of burying his head between your tits. It’s even more amazing than he had imagined.)

► For a while, both of you would be reluctant to have sex with each other because neither of you wanted to reveal your bodies. He was very insecure about his legs, and he had always refused to show them bare to anybody. You were already insecure about how you looked, which was made worse when you mistook his reluctance to take your physical relationship to the next level to be because he wasn’t aroused by your body.

► One day, you decided to take the plunge and tried to slip your hand into his trousers to stroke his cock. He stopped you, and you began to tear up, humiliated by his rejection, thinking that he wasn’t attracted to you. Shame took over his face, and he quietly said, “No, Y/N, I… I can’t. It was foolish of me to think this could actually work.” He paused for a beat. “Maybe you should be with a man who could actually pleasure you.” His face began to contort into a look of bitterness. You were so confused. “What are you talking about?” He admitted to you that he was unsuccessful in his one attempt to have sex in the past, so he wasn’t sure he was able to do it. Plus he was afraid of you seeing his legs and being repulsed by his body.

► You were relieved and horrified at the same time — relieved that he wasn’t disgusted by your body, but horrified that he thought that you would ever be disgusted by him or his legs. You assured him that you could never be turned off by his body, and then you revealed your own insecurities about your own appearance. “You could have any woman you want,” you sighed. “You’re a prince and the son of Ragnar Lothbrok. I don’t know why you would want me.” Hurt crossed Ivar’s face. “No, I can’t have just any woman, not after having you. No one has ever understood me like you, and no one has ever loved me like you, and I’m certain that no one else ever will, not the way you do.” He comforted you and assured you that he thought you looked so beautiful and soft, and how your body was like his own little slice of Valhalla on earth.

► You begin to chuckle. His eyes reveal hurt, thinking you’re making fun of him, and then his face contorts into anger. “What? What’s so funny?” You reach your hand up to stroke his face. “It’s just that we have both been so worried about our own bodies that neither of us could enjoy each other’s company.” A weak smile slides across his face. You kiss his forehead. “How about we try to stop worrying so much about our own bodies and instead just focus on trying to make each other feel good?”

► “I want nothing more than to pleasure you, Y/N,” Ivar groaned, “but my damn cock just won’t work. What kind of man am I if my cock won’t work?” You lean into him and purr into his ear, “There are other ways for us to please each other.” This definitely piqued Ivar’s interest.

► When he finally takes off his pants revealing his legs, he flinches, afraid that he’ll see a look of disgust or pity on your face when you see them. Instead, he’s blown away when you look down at them lovingly, gently run your hands up and down them, and lean down to press a kiss to one of his thighs. After you move yourself back up to kiss him on the lips, he would quietly mumble, “I thought surely that would have sent you running.” You smile reassuringly. “Never.”

► Similarly, you were afraid to look at him when you finally took off your clothes, revealing every bump and roll on your body, nowhere to hide. You looked off to the side, embarrassed. “Y/N, look at me,” Ivar gently urges. You slowly turn your head to face him. A giant smile is on his face, awe in his eyes. “You look like a fertility goddess. Now come here and let me worship you.” He cannot keep his hands off of you. Your soft form is intoxicating. He wants to kiss and nip at every surface of your body.

► His legs are sickly thin from lack of use, and so he finds something so glorious and erotic about your thick legs, particularly your thighs. His hands are always kneading them and squishing them, sometimes even leaving little bruises from how hard he gropes your soft flesh. He would also love to be between your legs, his face buried between your lush thighs as he pleasures you with his tongue and fingers. When his fingers aren’t working themselves in and out of your folds, you better believe that they’re running up and down your legs, caressing your thighs.

► One of his favorite things to do is to lay on top of you and suckle on your heavy breasts as you run your hands through his hair and whisper to him. It makes him feel so calm and so connected to you. (I’m not saying that he has a weird breastfeeding kink because his mother continued to breastfeed him well into childhood… but yeah, that’s precisely what I’m saying.)

► He didn’t realize how much it would mean to him for you to worship his body until you were actually doing it, gently and lovingly stroking every surface and covering him with kisses, whispering your praises. At first he’d want you to stay away from his legs, still scared that you would be turned off by them, until you reminded him that they were a very special part of him. “Your legs have made you the person you are. For that, I think they’re beautiful.” Though the thought of you touching his legs would initially be a horrifying idea to him, he would eventually grant you permission to stroke and massage them, alleviating some of the pain that ran through them. Eventually this became a very erotic experience to him, one that he looked forward to.

► Loving and accepting each other’s bodies would be so cathartic for Ivar and would help him work through some of the self-loathing and rage that has been pent up inside of him for so long. He was so in love with your body, and it confused and hurt him whenever you would talk negatively about your own appearance or how uncomfortable you were in your own skin. He wanted nothing more than for you to be able to see yourself how he saw you. It soon began to occur to him that maybe this could be applied to him as well. You always told him and showed him how much you adored his body, so maybe you saw something he couldn’t see. Maybe he wasn’t the disfigured monster he always imagined himself to be.

► The path to self-love is a hard one, but the two of you on that journey together makes it a little easier to ride out.

#Vikings #Ivar the Boneless #Ivar Ragnarsson #Ivar's Heathen Army #Ivar the Boneless x reader #Ivar Ragnarsson x reader #Ivar x reader #plus size reader #historyvikings #vikingshistory #Ivar the Boneless x plus size reader #Ivar Ragnarsson x plus size reader #Ivar x plus size reader

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teashadephoenix · 6 years

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11 Questions

I got tagged by @pomegranate-belle <3 I'm sorry this took for fucking ever?!!??

I’ll tag @lioness--hart @fox-in-the-library and @whitegodiva if you guys want to do it? And anybody else, obvi <3

1. How long have you been writing?

Actually sitting down to type stories out? Eight years old. I've been making shit up since I could talk. I have it on good authority I am entertaining to listen to.

2. What are the major themes of your current wip(s)? LONG ANSWER

omg I really dont know. I spent several hours over several days banging on this question in my head both in front of the computer and away from it only to come to the horrified realisation that I Don't Know. *gay panic*

I know the things I like to write about. I like to write about free exchange of culture, of mutual respect and fraternity with your fellow humans (which leads to themes of unity, unconditional love not only of people but of the world, and the gray area of what it means to protect those things without giving in to hate, indifference and intolerance. THE GRAY AREA IS WHERE I THRIVE.)

I like to write about intergenerational relationships (which leads to themes of obsolescence, changing of the guard, and how people, in general, not individuals, never really change. Like, there's For a Good Time graffiti on the walls at Pompeii. That is HILARIOUS.)

I write a lot about family, both born and found. (Everybody has a place and everybody is loved.) I write about mental illness and being queer (which all by itself leads to themes of not knowing your place in the world even if you have one. Frequently comes up against the previously mentioned theme)

So yeah. I don't know. My big WIP, the Aalee Rise series, is about a young woman on the cusp of adulthood going out into the world for the first time. It's her idealism vs reality. The other main characters in that cast are all foils re: various facets of societal structure and ideologies. One challenges her idea of government, another her idea of religion. She falls in love, her loyalties to her brother and parents are tested, she makes mistakes, she fights monsters and saves the world. A lot.

tldr; It's my sandbox and I just wanted to build castles in it. I don't really know if the castles will mean anything when I'm done. I hope they do.

3. What do you want people to take away from your story once they’ve read it?

My greatest ambition is that I could ever write a hero as beloved as the heroes I read about growing up, figures that reminds not to give up hope, to get back up when we're down, that the dark times ahead of us will come to pass.

At best, if I've done that, I'll be ecstatic and satisfied.

At worst, as long as you had a good time, if you didn't throw the book across the room in disgust, I'll take it.

4. Would you be excited if people write fanfiction about your wip(s)?

YAAAAS. I would literally never read it because Im terrified of accidentally absorbing someone's ideas and making them my own bc Christ alive that's a legal nightmare, but yes that would make my life.

And you can have my firstborn if you send me fanart.

5. What’s your go-to writing beverage?

Tea. Really strong and sweet. I make a fresh quart each morning and usually go through it by the end of day.

6. Who is your favorite oc? Tell me about them!

OMG ALL OF MY CHILDREN ARE PRECIOUS. (it's Aalee.)

Aalee Dering is the eighteen-year-old protagonist of my Aalee Rise series. When we meet her in volume one (Worldwalk) she and her twin brother are setting off on their coming-of-age journey around the country. Her people, the Noruahai, have defended humanity for generations from unearthly creatures called asmic, and if she wants to become a licensed Marshal like her famous mother (and wow, she really, really does) she'll have to prove herself on her Worldwalk.

Aalee thinks with her heart first and always. She loves beautiful things, and all things are beautiful to her. She's quick to cry and struggles with anger, as well as distraction; she has trouble keeping focus. Good for getting into trouble. Not so good when it comes to being a responsible adult.

It would probably be easier if she wasn't of two minds on every single decision she has to make. She empathises with everyone, which can be paralysing-- how can she fight someone whose point of view she gets?

7. Do you feel that mistakes are important learning tools in the writing journey?

Mistakes are learning tools of life, darling. In writing they generally aren't the types that will destroy friendships, health, financial status, etc, which means they're generally easier to bounce back from. Unless you commit career suicide in some way...

8. Rank your ocs by their capability in a footchase (either running after or from smth, your choice)

1. Fall from the Aalee Rise series. He's a complicated human. Without getting into the context of the world he's from, he's hard to explain; but the short version is he's half-ghost so he can basically turn himself into the wind.

2. Rosie Frey from Color of the Stars but only when she's a lion. In her human form she's pretty normal.

3. Lynn Blythe (or any of the other vampires) from Echoes of Eden, because they're cheating cheaterfaces who use mystical vampy powers to be stronger and faster than humans

4. Sendmarshal Henley from the Aalee Rise series. Probably the fastest regular human. Imagine the most beautiful, tall, leggy black woman you can, all lean muscle and elegant grace, and now imagine her scooping you up and zipping out of danger with an easy smile on her face... *fans self* I stan.

5. When running headlong into danger to save someone? Aalee Dering. When running away? Frustratingly, satirically slow. She's one of those idiot heroes who stops to make sure everyone got away okay so Fall's always running back to grab her ("MOVE, IDIOT" "But that little old lady--" "FIRE-BREATHING MONSTERS. MOVE.")

9. Does your wip have romance? tell me about it!! if not tell me about a friendship/important relationship in your wip!! MORE LENGTHY BLAH

Relationships are the driving force of my writing. How one loves or is loved by other people, how they relate and engage with others, is how one grows, in real life and in fiction. There are a number of relationships in all my series that I'm fond of for various reasons. (For instance, even though she cannot STAND him, I'm eager af to write Eden and Lynn's relationship in Echoes of Eden because of how complicated it is.)

And as a rule all of my characters are queer or questioning unless otherwise stated, and I ship everybody with basically everybody else, and almost everybody has a love story in their history. (at least, their parents certainly do because I am a gross vile romantic and these fuckers came from somewhere.)

That having been said, for the sake of brevity I'll stick with Aalee Rise and limit myself to the Big Three: Aalee and her brother Elles, Aalee and her best friend Norah, and Aalee and Fall.

FAMILY: Aalee and Elles are twins. Born together and never separated, which stands out in a world where families are broken up by chaotic circumstances and random death on a regular basis. Aalee is easily distracted and has difficulty communicating her thoughts, so she tends to act on impulse; Elles is forever the cool head and the hand grabbing her by the back of the shirt to stop her from walking into danger. And after eighteen years of this... he's tired of it. He loves his sister, but he longs to see the world on his own terms, walk his own path. And Aalee doesn't share that sentiment. Not only doesn't share it, but is blown away when it comes into play. Her partner in crime wants to break away, and she does not take it very well. The first volume (Worldwalk) explores how their relationship suffers, grows, and changes due to this break.

FRIEND: Aalee's best friend of ten years is Norah. They met as little girls in a monster-ravaged town; Norah was entertaining the youngest orphans with a story and Aalee joined in. The pair of them spent a long night keeping civilians from panicking while Marshals battled asmic beyond the walls of the bunker. They exchanged addresses and became penpals over the next few years, since both of their parents travelled and they were rarely in the same place at the same time. That changed suddenly when Norah lost her father. Since then, Norah's family and Aalee's have lived in the same town. Norah is her warm hand in the dark, her shoulder to cry on, the first person she tells any good news. for Norah, Aalee is the only person (at the beginning of the story, anyway) with whom she can be her real whole self. They love each other no matter what.

ROMANCE: And then there's Fall. Aalee meets Fall when she rescues him from being murdered in a back alley-- except, oops, turns out it was a sting operation to catch the killer because he's not actually the helpless filthy vagabond she assumed he was; he's actually a powerful Marshal who was on assignment. Stuck together for various reasons, he becomes a mentor to her on her worldwalk, while she blatantly digs into the mystery of who he is, which turns out to complicate their lives, the lives of their friends and families, randos they happens across, their enemies, and also God's. To say they fall in love with each other is an understatement of cosmic proportions. They choose each other.

10. Do you believe in the advice kill your darlings?

Yeah but I take the advice as intended; which is not, as most assume, kill your fave characters, but to get rid of that which does not work, even if you love it. That pearlescent line of dialogue, or that golden bit of allegory? Doesn't matter how much you love it and how proud of it you are, if it does. not. work. it HAS. TO. GO. (save it in a new file to reread when you feel down and scrap that shit from the main file.)

that said re: killing characters, in my youth I was very much of the George RedRum Martin camp of "KILL THEM ALL" but as Ive gotten older my main focal point has been "What purpose does their death serve?" Death is not the only sacrifice worth writing. So while I am not afraid to kill my characters, I do take the nature of their deaths in the writing very seriously. There has to be a point.

11. Do you prefer plotting or worldbuilding? Why?

WORLDBUILDING MANYEXCLAMATIONPOINTSGOHERE! Plotting is like the maths of writing. It's measurement, it's brickwork, it's demolition when the wall you put up last week is three feet too long and now you have to scrap it and start over. Vital. But not my favorite part.

Worldbuilding is the art. It's the music your OCs hum and the stories that they treasure and the faith that holds them up when the crap you throw at them might tear them down. It's the story behind the jacket they wear and it's the reason they nod to the altar when they enter a place of worship and it's the meaning of their names. It's the magic. How the world works, the little details that make it real to the reader because it's real for your characters, is my favorite part of writing.

#long post #writing #about Tea which is me #tea writes

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oopsbirdficced · 6 years

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@elsilmarillionno asked: Now, properly: the saga of Fingolfin and Hador continues with 17. I think it is an awesome ship like Fifi/Beor. Anyway, like last time, might not be a ship and still be awesome. Thaaaanks.

I'm sorry I'm doing this out of order! But the bunny bit for this one and I just had to get it out before it ran away again.

(your bed after traveling)

Hador is worn and travel-stained when Fingolfin welcomes him back into his halls. He is glad to see his friend, and even gladder still to see a bath. He bathes, ruminating on what he has learned on his travels, and he thinks still when he slips into his quarters to find Fingolfin sat at a small table, with a bottle of wine and two cups, reading a book. Hador, clad in a fresh shirt and wool leggings, sits on the edge of the bed with a soft groan if relief.

Fingolfin smiles at him, a welcome sight on a face more often lined with stress. He pours Hador a cup and brings it to him, and Hador is stricken with confused realization. Fingolfin catches the shift in his mood and cocks his head to the side, like a bird.

“Something troubles you, dear Hador. I would have you be out with it, that I might try and ease your burden.” He says in his sweet, low voice. Hador desperately wishes Gildis were here. She's good at helping him find his words.

“I've noticed many more people calling me Elf-Friend, which I understand.” He says slowly, and bless him, Fingolfin waits attentively for him to finish his thought. “And an equal number of folk are calling me beloved of your house. It's that part I'm not sure I understand properly. Not with some of the looks your people give me when they think I'm not paying attention.” He breathes out a sigh. Fingolfin frowns.

“If my people are troubling you, I can…” he trails off, clearly unsure of what he might actually be able to do. You can't stop people from thinking, even as a tyrant, and Fingolfin is no tyrant. Hador laughs, a touch rusty, and drinks deeply of his wine.

“It's not that. Their scandalized looks are almost amusing at times. But it comes to my attention that we might not have the same meaning in mind when we think of the word ‘beloved’.” He peers over at Fingolfin shrewdly.

“What does it mean to you, then?” Fingolfin asks placidly.

“It can be used to mean dear, as in a dear or close friend. Or it can be close to the heart, as in a wife or a lover.” Oh, he's finished all his wine. That's annoying. “It's just that I have the sneaking suspicion that you and your folk are using the latter definition for your regard towards me.” He says heavily, concerned that this will affect their friendship.

“You would be right,” Fingolfin replies with that same damnable serenity. Hador frowns.

“But you're married. I'm married.” He says by way of protest. Fingolfin raises an eyebrow.

“I'm not saying I wish to lie with you. I respect my wife and yours too much to do that. But elves can love more than once, despite that one rumor still making the rounds. We love deeply, and it does not fade, once we have given someone our devotion. Something, I believe, that got lost in translation.” He says smoothly. Hador jumps to his feet.

“But Fingolfin, I am already three and thirty! If you say this love does not wane… I've half my lifetime spent already! And I know the souls of men do not go the same place as your souls in death. I would not wish pain like that upon my worst enemy, let alone you, my dearest friend.” he sags back to the bed, and stares at Finfgolfin, completely unruffled. “Do you not care that my life will be spent in the blink of your eyes?” His luminous, ancient eyes soften.

“The time I have spent with you will be all the more precious for its brevity, beloved Hador.” Fingolfin murmurs, setting his cup down and coming to sit on the bed beside Hador, embracing him. Hador clutches him in return, as best he can with only one free hand, and something within him rails at the injustice of his own short life.

Presently, Fingolfin releases him, and collects the cup from his hand, returning it to the table.

“Rest, beloved Hador. The road has made you over-weary, I fear.” He murmurs, and is gone like he is the ephemeral one.

#silmarillion #Tolkien #hador #hador lorindol #fingolfin #fingolfin/hador #sort of?#fanfiction requests #fanfiction #drabble #drabble request

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maneaterwithtail · 6 years

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I was answered TWICE in this Q&A

Helps also put in perspective their production, aims, and the influences

Helps as really unpacking along with @pirateshenani and @cartoonemotion the influence and differences and aims with the adaptation

Thanks to all the Toonzone Forum Members for submitting questions to the Fangbone! Fan Q&A! Your questions were awesome and so were the creators’ answers! We hope you enjoy reading through the answers as much as we did. Participating in the Answers portion of the Fangbone! Q&A were the creator and book series writer, Michael Rex and the tv showrunners Simon Racioppa and Richard Elliott. (Editor’s Note: Questions asked were edited for brevity and clarity.) Will Fangbone! be renewed for Season 2? (superkeegan9100 and SparkleMan) Simon Racioppa and Richard Elliott: By Grom’s bottomless dimples, it shall be so! (we hope) Michael Rex: Fingers crossed! --- Will Fangbone! air on any additional countries, networks and in other languages? (Ryan, RandomMe, NeoplanDan, I.R. Shokew) Simon Racioppa and Richard Elliott: Absolutely. Fangbone! will appear across the world in a multitude of tongues in a multitude of places – that are too numerous for us to list (or remember). Perhaps one of our many traveling salespeople who criss-cross the world with a suitcase full of Fangbone! might chime in here… In all seriousness, Fangbone! Distributor DHX Media, has currently sold the series into Disney XD US, South East Asia, Taiwan, and Latin America. Hope to announce additional countries in the near future. Stay posted. Will the books be translated into other languages? In what other languages/regions can we expect to see the books published? (RandomMe) Michael Rex:Right now, there are no plans for translating the books. I’m hoping as the show starts playing in different countries, the publisher, Putnam, will solicit the books to foreign markets. --- If you could be one of the characters on the show, who would you be? (D-nice is the man) Simon Racioppa: Drool’s giant badger monster. He’s clearly just misunderstood and trying his best every day for an unappreciative master… Richard Elliott: I would definitely be a Shadowstepper – skulking in the shadows and outwitting barbarians sounds like a good time to me. Michael Rex:I’ve always thought of myself as Bill. At the end of 3rd grade, my school closed down, and I was sent to a new school. Literally all of my closest friends went to another school. So, when 4th grade started, I was very lonely and desperate for a best friend. Eventually, a boy named Mark moved into my hometown in New Jersey, and we became great friends. He was fun, and a bit wild, and had long black hair. We’re still friends today. Will Fangbone! have Christmas and Halloween episodes? (Ryan) Simon Racioppa and Richard Elliott: Skullbanians don’t celebrate Christmas or Halloween. But they do have many other holidays – like Troll-smasher’s Eve and The Feast of Stoneback’s Feast. Endless possibilities for fun and adventure as you look at, compare and try to understand how Skullbanian’s celebrate versus how we do things here on Earth. What would Fangbone! think of Halloween? What would a Holiday Tree look like in Skullbania? Stay tuned. --- Does Fangbone! have parents? (Eggy) Simon Racioppa and Richard Elliott: He has the mightiest of parents! But they are away in far off lands on an epic quest. However, those of you with the eyes of a blood-eagle may catch a glimpse of them in an upcoming episode. If you do not have the eyes of a blood-eagle, they nest on sharp mountain peaks. But be careful – they peck! Michael Rex:Yes. They’re on a great quest somewhere in Skullbania. Also, how did Venomous Drool become Fangbone! and Bill's worst enemy? (Eggy) Simon Racioppa and Richard Elliott: If someone was keeping your detached big toe from you and wouldn’t give it back, you probably wouldn’t be pals with them either… Michael Rex:They’ve got his toe, and he needs it back. And, they keep beating him, and they’re only kids. It drives him nuts. --- How do you take an episode from concept to it airing? (martikhoras) Simon Racioppa and Richard Elliott: Let us explain… No, there is too much. Let us sum up. First, five or six NERDS gather in a small room and try to imagine what insanity could happen to Fangbone! this week. They argue and fight and cry and hiss at each other until the showrunners (that’s us!) are satisfied they’ve worked their butts off to come up with the best of all possible stories in the universe and beyond. They’re sent away to dank dark holes to write their scripts, which are then torn apart by the rest of the nerds and reassembled until they’re so full of adventure and comedy that they leak all over the floor. Then trumpets are sounded and ACTORS assembled in a recording studio – where they ACT with such passion it drives everyone to tears (of joy). At the same time, ARTISTS design all the new locations, characters, and props that the writers say they desperately need (liars!) to make their script work. Then trumpets are sounded again and the finished script, designs, and recorded actors are handed over to a story-bored artist… Sorry, story BOARD artist – who listens to the writers explain how amazing their script is, then drinks enormous amounts of coffee and draws PANELS from the script one by one, matching the recorded actors and making that ‘amazing’ ‘script’ and ‘amazing’ ‘acting’ even better. Those panels go to the DIRECTOR, who along with an EDITOR, assemble it into an animated and voiced storyboard that we call a LEICA on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, and an ANIMATIC on Tuesdays, Fridays, and the weekend. When the animatic/leica makes everyone giddy with excitement, it moves onto ANIMATION, where thousands (twenty-five) animators fight each other to animate the most exiting scenes – matching the animatic as closely as possible. The episode gets a few more passes to make it even better (fix all the mistakes) and then moves on to the real stars of the show – sound effects and music – who make everything approximately one million and a half times better. Then it’s a final pass for last minute mistakes and TA-DA! One finished Fangbone! episode ready for people to share for free on the Internet (please don’t share it for free on the Internet). What are your favorite parts of the show’s creative process? (Harley) Simon Racioppa and Richard Elliott: Seeing a goofy idea that started in the writers’ room as a “what if…” become a real finished episode. Also, the creative process of deciding what to order for lunch. Then the creative process of regretting what we ordered for lunch. --- As a fan of the tv show, how familiar will jumping into the book series feel? (jfoley85) Simon Racioppa and Richard Elliott: As familiar as traveling to an alternate reality where everything’s kinda the same but your parents are snakes. So mostly familiar with some specific differences. Michael Rex:They’re actually pretty close. One of the things that I am most happy with about the show is that it IS the books. While the stories in the books are a bit more involved than an 11-minute episode, the entirety of season 1 goes much deeper than the books. On the down side, the books don’t have a cool song at the beginning. Every adaptation is a challenge from visuals, to performers depictions, and direction and framing. I'm noticing some changes from the two GNs (1st and 3rd) I've read to the episodes I've seen (pretty much up to Back of Stone). What would you say has been added, changed, or dropped and what is the purpose of these changes? (martikhoras) Simon Racioppa and Richard Elliott:While the books are wonderful gateways into imagination, there’s only three of them. The television series is a hungry monster that requires more. Always more... MORE characters. MORE stories. MORE episodes. MORE human sacrifices to GROM! Michael Rex:Everything that has been added was done to open up the show, and allow for more varied stories. Skullbania doesn’t get much time in the books, but the creative team felt that it needed to be a big part of the show. Twinklestick was created as a way for Fangbone! to stay a bit more connected to his home world. Drool was greatly expanded on as well. He only lurks in the background in the books. Even though his actions are constantly felt, he doesn’t really get to do much. --- What did you read and watch as a kid? What were the inspirations for Fangbone! and Skullbania?(martikhoras) Michael Rex:Growing up the early 70’s, “Planet of the Apes” was everywhere. 5 movies, a TV show, and an action figure line made it easy to get wrapped up in. “Star Wars” came out in 1977 and it affected me deeply. Like many others in my generation, it felt like my 9 year-old imagination had been transported directly to the screen. I started reading about movie making, and I tried to understand the mythology Lucas was using in his films. (As a 10 year old, Joseph Campbell was a tough slog, but I tried.) Fangbone! is directly inspired by the 1982 film, “Conan The Barbarian,” which I saw in 8th grade. It was funny, gritty, violent, and exciting and I just loved it. Conan had always been around when I was younger, I’d see his comics and cheap paperbacks in drugstores, but I didn’t know much about him until the film came out. When I was older, I eventually got around to reading the Conan books by Robert E. Howard. As I was gearing up to write the first Fangbone! book, I devoured a huge pile of Marvel’s “Savage Sword of Conan.” Oddly, now that I think about it, Skullbania’s vast deserts and rocky vistas are probably inspired by “Planet of the Apes.” It’s hard to escape those early influences.

#adaptation #Fangbone #Series Creator #Michael Rex #Simon Racioppa #Richard Elliott #Q&A #Toonzone

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thedegenerateasexual · 7 years

Text

another big old fuckin rape warning jfc

incest warning too i guess? lmao this book

AN ENTIRE FLASHBACK CHAPTER im not ready

four days after the first encounter and kate hasn't made another move - "But she hadn't moved from the lifeguard perch all week, hadn't even spoken to him. She'd just watched him like a hawk, gaze trained on him, as he'd stroked through the water. One by one the other swimmers had left, and he'd remained behind, torn between disappointment that she hadn't done it again, and complete and utter relief that she was staying away from him."

and then she does: "He swam lap after lap beneath her scrutiny. Then, just as he did one last flip-kick and headed for the stairs in the shallow end, he felt the vibration of her approach in the water. And then she was swimming alongside him. He couldn't believe it. He didn't know what else to do except to keep swimming. What was he supposed to do? ... He thought about all those human, adult things that he hadn't done, that she obviously had—get a job, have a car..."

so then they stop swimming, and she takes his hand:

She smiled at him, much more shyly than he would have expected. She looked down, then peered up at him through her lashes.

"What you must think of me," she murmured.

His heart was pounding so hard he was sure that she could hear it. He had no idea what to say to her, and he also had no idea how to get out of the pool without embarrassing himself.

Except . . . he didn't want to get out of the pool. He wanted to kiss her.

"There's something about you," she whispered. "I've been thinking about you all week. I tried to stay away. I mean, you're a student and I'm . . . well, I'm not a teacher. But I'm close. To being a teacher."

She swirled her fingers through the water. "And this really isn't my style, you know? I don't come on to men like this."

Men. She thought of him as a man. He licked his lips, completely tongue-tied.

what kills me about this is that this is what he does in the show when confronted with kate, or other things that make him uncomfortable (jennifer) - when derek can't think of the right thing to say he goes dead fucking silent. he just plain stops talking. & i'm like devasated at the idea that it's a lifelong habit

and then, this is the most manipulative part:

"I wish you'd say something," she murmured. "I'm kind of dying right about now. I'm sorry if I misread your intentions. I won't bother you again."

His intentions? Misread them? He was baffled. But then he thought about all the looks he had thrown her way. How he'd glanced up at the lifeguard tower every time he'd made a turn to head down the lane. Maybe he had been sending out signals.

THAT'S TEXTBOOK GASLIGHTING JESUS CHRIST HE'S SIXTEEN

it gets worse! she "assumes" he has a girlfriend and pretends to be all shocked when he says he doesn't because he's "so handsome and all" and then says "look this is happening in such an awkward way i dont mean to crowd you im just drawn to you i cant rly explain it" exCUSE me oh my god and then adds "but i don't want you to think i'm just after, well, YOU KNOW" THAT'S WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE but he's sixteen and never had a girlfriend so he doesn't know any better!!!!

so she asks if he wants to go for coffee and show her around and then adds "we'd have to be careful bc outsiders wouldn't understand" i'm pretty sure they'd understand just fine :///

like i knew it was like this but im still so outraged on his behalf jesus

and he's thinking about how he doesn't know any coffee places in beacon hills bc he spends most of his time out of the community but SHE says:

"I think we're both having the same thought," she murmured. "Privacy."

Privacy, as in being careful not to be seen together while they were hanging out? Or privacy as in . . . oh, God, was she serious?

"So we can get to know each other." She pondered a moment. "Would you think I was too forward if I invited you to my apartment? Just for coffee?"

and he's like panicking running through his options bc he wants to go but he's supposed to meet laura and there's only one car - she offers to drive him home, and oh, wouldn't she just love to know where the hale house is - but eventually he just says he needs to check in with his sister first - and she's like, "laura hale? oh dont be startled i made some discreet inquiries about you" and it doesn't trip his creep radar bc he doesn't have any life experiences but holy fuck that's like right next door to stalking

as an aside i don't like how they use wolf as a verb in this book it's weird - he began to wolf, his eyesight wolfed - like nah. no thanks

uhhhhh so derek asks laura to pick him up in 3 hours and she's like "whats in it for me" and he's like "i wont tell dad i saw you frenching josh" JOSH THEIR COUSIN??

the exact words were josh was peter's sister-in-law's kid

that's, uh

i mean that means peter's brother's kid, then, right? which means laura and derek's blood cousin???? alright then

oh god kate came in the locker room in JUST A TOWEL while he was talking he can't get a minute away from her

laura's like "ur gonna go do something slutty with a human aren't you" THIS IS CONTRADICTING SEASON 1 CANON LOL derek never told anybody about kate! laura is super weird in this book if my 16yo little brother was about to go sleep with a teacher i would never be so chill about it

Oh, sweetie, getting your attention is like shooting fish in a barrel, Kate thought as she drove Derek in her car to her apartment. It was across the street from a bar, which, from her point of view, was convenient for when she wanted to hang out with the grown-ups. She was wearing a pair of jeans, heeled boots, and a black low-cut cashmere sweater. I can practically hear you slobbering. It's like you're a big puppy dog and I am a juicy steak.

this dialogue.......

i wasn't like, having the worst time reading this book, it wasn't actually that bad, but jesus

oh my god

"The thrill of this new hunt raced through her. The euphoria of the chase. She never, ever got tired of dangling herself in front of males of all kinds. It was no accident that in ancient Greece, the deity in charge of the hunt was a goddess—Artemis. Beside her, Derek "Aquaman" Hale had his head resting on the back of the seat and his eyes closed. He was really good-looking. This was not going to be the most difficult thing she'd ever done in her life."

good GOD

so she offers him a drink, and starts with coffee, but quickly escalates to wine: "I like to have a little something to unwind after I'm at the pool, you know? Lucky thing I live across the street from a bar." She said that to goose him a little, remind him she was a woman, with a woman's needs.

and that he's sixteen.

now she's talking about how she doesn't even know if derek and the hales are the wolf pack she's looking for: She had her orders, but she had to be sure. Kill werewolves, and you were a hero. Kill people, and you were a mass murderer. The group she was involved with had detected werewolf activity in Beacon Hills, and she just had a feeling about the Hales. Of course, there were several other large families in the area that might make up the pack she was seeking. Derek's furtiveness and hesitation might have nothing to do with her assignment. There were reasons other than being a werewolf for not wanting to bring home someone who was way too old for you. It hadn't dawned on him to question the motives of a pretty woman who was coming on to him. He believed what he chose to believe.

apparently she has some tragic backstory w/ this? "Menwerewolves and humanswere so simple. They always assumed you wanted them. Some fat man on a couch burping and watching cage matches? Oh, yeah, you wanted him. A guy who threw you around the room and accused you of cheating on him? Oh, yeah, you wanted him. Like a hole through your heart. But the good one? The one that you really did want? A flash of rage roared through Kate, but she kept it at bay. She could feel it trying to take over, like a wolf scratching at her door. Rage was not her enemy. Rage got the job done. In ancient Greece—land of Lycoan, said to be the first werewolf—men who pissed off the goddess Artemis were ripped to shreds by her hunting dogs. Several times a day, Kate dreamed about ripping various people to shreds. Of course, she never acted on it. She left that for others much less able to control their savagery." see, like, if derek wasn't 16, i could buy bad men in her life leading her to want to use men like this, but derek is a boy and she talks continuously about how innocent he is, so like...no slide

i know i'm just doing a lot of copypasta rn but it speaks for itself: "She watched as Sweetie Derek politely moved a packing carton off her sofa and sat down. What a body. Still boyish, but with the sweet promise of a truly splendid man. If she was right about the Hales, Derek would never become a man. Just as he wasn't really a boy. He was a monster hidden inside a human disguise." that aligns pretty well with the "they're all just a bunch of dumb animals to me" shit she talks in 1.11, also, "Sweetie Derek," this is so horrible

she finally pours them wine and leans against the counter to "give him a view" - "She waited for his response. He was staring at her body. Wanting her. Intimidated by her. She loved it." like this is SO BAD AND EXPLICIT she really does just love that he's young and unsure it's FUCKED

so then we switch to derek pov, and they eat like a light lunch of sandwiches with a long awkward silence, and he does a lot of internal monologuing about how cool it would be if she could come home and meet his family and be her mate

which like...i know how teenagers are but he met her five days ago. tbh real grooming, which is definitely what she's doing, takes longer than that, but i guess we were going for brevity here lol

(in this book derek's dad is the alpha? but in season 3 talia is, so i guess they changed werewolves then to be matriarchial like hunters)

like, she's asking him questions about himself - lucky number, favorite color - she asks him if he believes in fate. he keeps clamming up and she keeps trying to get him to talk so she finally asks about his swimming and he blurts out that there's just so much pressure, even though he can't really tell people about his "double life" and she like IMMEDIATELY responds with "yeah ofc there is hs is so rough like the ppl you have to hang out with some are still like babies and some are all rown up and ready for the real world like you" like...this is classic grooming techniques

and he's like flattered and think she's mega hot but he's also really nervous, and when she leans into his space and asks if he's ready: "He set down his sandwich. His heart was about to burst out of his chest. His body was quivering and trembling. He felt as if he were burning up." and he does say yes so i assume they banged but THANK god the chapter cut to black

#teen wolf #on fire #personal #long post #sorry i copypasta'd like everything #kate argent #derek hale #rape w

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onceuponamirror · 7 years

Photo

\\\ the winged beast

///// CHAPTER 15

fandom: riverdale

ship: betty x jughead

words: 57k

chapters: 15/18

[read from the beginning] [read the latest]

Jughead looks at her, eyes moving rapidly across her face. “Okay, you’ve got my attention.” he says slowly. “Go on, Cooper. I’m listening.”

Betty extricates herself from his arms and crosses the room, where she grabs and wheels a whiteboard back towards the desk Jughead has hopped up onto. She uncaps a pen and turns to him.

“So there are a few pieces to this puzzle, right?” She asks rhetorically. He nods, and she then twists back to the whiteboard to write SERPENTS in big letters on the far right side. “First, the Serpents. This is where it all started, right? The attacks. Motorcycles getting run off the road, storefronts being vandalized but never looted…you getting beat up. And so on.”

She writes FENTANYL below. “Then, the overdoses. At first, it just felt like drugs targeting those suspectible to it. Didn’t know where they were coming from. But I’d thought they were connected to the attacks for a while, and when you said that you got roughed up for writing about it, that pretty much confirmed it.”

Betty draws an arrow between the two words and stares back at Jughead. “We figured that the Serpents were getting targeted for not wanting to sell the fentanyl, but we didn’t know who from.” She pauses. “Wait, you said that Joaquin was arrested during a retaliatory attack on a gang from Greendale?”

Jughead nods slowly, seeming to realize her train of thought. “Yeah, we thought it was them vandalizing our businesses. It wouldn’t have been the first time.”

“Right, a convenient enemy,” Betty says quickly, a feverous sort of excitement flushing over her. She scribbles the name MUSTANG to the left of the other two words, and circles it. “A little too convenient.”

He blinks at her. “You think it was him?”

There’s nothing in his voice that gives any indication of what he might be thinking, so Betty bites her lip. “I know you might not like this, but I think we have to consider the possibility that this might not be entirely us vs. them. I was so obsessed with proving the town wrong about all Serpents that I didn’t consider the possibility that it’s…a big gang. We’re no better than the police if we look at this black and white. There are hundreds of Serpents. You yourself said you don’t trust Mustang, and you thought it was possible he was behind your attack, because you were looking into the overdoses.”

Jughead’s face holds blank. Then he curses.

He pushes off the desk and kneads the balls of his palms into his forehead. “You’re right,” he breathes. “Shit. Fuck. Maybe that’s it.”

Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair. He appears a furious kind of sad. “Look, for a lot of people, being a Serpent is about community. Looking out for one another. Helping kids. Supporting their families. But there are some of them who…think that being a Serpent should be a little more financially sufficient, who would maybe want to make a power grab or that there should be one leader. Mustang is definitely one of those guys.”

“Guys who would be willing to deal hard drugs,” Betty concludes, relieved Jughead hasn’t reacted as defensively as she might’ve initially thought.

“Fuck,” he mutters again, pacing. “When I think about it, it’s so obvious. The attacks were too organized—like they knew where people would be, or they knew when stores would be empty or—fuck. It’s coming from the inside.”

He looks so dejected and her whole body feels for him. She crosses the room to him, and takes his hand. “It’s not like everyone is in on it,” she says delicately, her other hand finding his jaw and guiding it towards her so he has to meet her gaze. “Your dad, Joaquin—”

Inhaling so loudly and shakily that it interrupts her, his eyes squeeze shut. When they open, they’re cloudy. “My dad doesn’t want me to know everything,” he says quietly. “Like I said, us underage Serpents get maybe half the picture. I bet that’s why my dad made me transfer schools; because I was getting too close to the truth.”

“Then let’s get it,” Betty says urgently, using both hands to cup his face. “No matter what.”

Jughead stares at her. Something passes between them; a silent vow.

She returns to the whiteboard. “But what I don’t understand is how the drugs got from Mustang to Reggie Mantle’s house party?”

He joins her next to the two drug boards, eyes flicking between them. She does the same, and her gaze lands on a particular index card. “Wait, jocks,” she says suddenly, hitting his shoulder excitedly. “It was one of the very first things you said.”

Nodding, Jughead rubs at his chin. “Statistically, rich, white, popular athletes supposedly make the most effective drug dealers. Profiling, privilege, et al.”

She taps her fingers against her crossed arms. “Kevin said that the Feds were brought in because the drugs were crossing state lines. So Mustang is either moving the drugs in and out of the state, which makes sense, since he’s in a motorcycle gang, or he’s cutting the drugs here himself. Or both. And then he turns around and recruits someone from Riverdale to expand the market?”

“Makes sense,” Jughead says lowly. “But who?”

Betty nibbles on her lips, hating the thought that festers at the worst of her imagination. “Jason Blossom,” she says quietly, with finality.

Jughead’s eyes land sharply on her, almost incredulous. “Your sister’s boyfriend? That Jason? He who throws the football? Local Golden Boy of the fabled American Dream?”

“Think about it, Juggie.” Betty’s voice is almost at a whisper. “There’s no one whiter, more privileged, more popular, or more of a jock than Jason Blossom. And I saw him the night of the party, and he looked terrible. At first I thought he was really drunk, but he might’ve been high. Polly said he’s been really hot and cold lately—trying to push her away, and then freaking out and wanting her back. And have you even seen him recently? He looks worse every day. Like maybe out of guilt for what happened to Moose? He was his friend.”

“Damn,” Jughead swears, rubbing his thumb against his lips. “That might be it.”

Betty paces in front of him. “But why would he even start selling drugs in the first place? What’s to be gained for that? Money? He’s already the richest kid in town.”

Jughead shrugs. “Honestly, from everything I’ve read, white, jock drug dealers usually take it up because they’re rebelling against their parents. Or they’re bored, or ignored, or responding to one or all the supposed trappings of wealth.”

“Okay. So Jason starts selling drugs because he’s acting out and gets in way over his head. That could make a lot of sense. I know that Polly doesn’t much like his parents,” Betty muses thoughtfully. “They’re not good people. They’ve always been very cold to her. And our parents absolutely hate them, my dad especially. It’s some ridiculous story about the Blossom family business. Apparently the Coopers were cut out of the syrup industry.”

“They’re not the only ones,” Jughead mutters. She glances at him curiously, so he adds flatly, “My family too. The Jones were also a founding family, believe it or not. My grandfather ran a glass blowing factory; we made all the maple syrup jugs for the Blossoms. The company went bankrupt when my dad was a kid…he says it’s because his father picked a fight with old man Blossom and so he took his business elsewhere.”

Betty’s mouth opens, surprised. He continues, “I don’t know if that’s true because my dad lives for his excuses, but the Blossoms are vengeful little flowers, so it’s not exactly out of the realm of possibility. But: maple syrup jugs—thus, Jug-head. It’s kind of a sick joke of a nickname, when you think about it, but I don’t know, I always thought that made it pretty fitting.”

It’s one of his self-deprecating jokes again, but she’s realized they belie a very real insecurity, so she presses her head into the crook of his neck and sighs.

“I like your nickname,” she says softly, staring at the index card for JOCKS pinned to the corkboard. Her mind is half racing with conspiracies about Jason Blossom and half trying to focus on uplifting Jughead. “Even if I still don’t know your real one.”

“It’s Forsythe,” he says, voice small, after a very long moment of staring at the ceiling. “Forsythe Pendleton Jones III.”

She pulls her head back to look at him properly, unprepared for his name to be that. It’s really quite regal, but she can see how that would make him uncomfortable. “Wow,” she replies slowly. “You want fries with that?”

It’s perhaps the only thing she could’ve said in that moment that would make him smile, and it’s incredibly successful. He throws his head back with a full laugh. “Damn, Cooper,” he says, shaking his head. “I knew I liked you.”

Then he points a finger at her. “You take that secret to your grave, by the way,” he says seriously.

“Scout’s honor,” Betty agrees, though she’s sure she’ll find ways to tease him about it. She settles back against his shoulder and returns her eyes to the two drug boards. She exhales, too distracted with dark thoughts to enjoy the moment of brevity.

“I wish I didn’t feel so sure it’s Jason,” she says quietly. “Polly really loves him.”

Jason scratches behind his ear. “The fact that you don’t want it to be him means it probably is,” he sighs. “Sorry. I know that doesn't help.”

It’s normally the kind of bluntness she appreciates about him, but he’s right. It doesn't help. She rubs her temples, closing her eyes. “Ugh, and she’s pregnant with his babies, too, Juggie. God, this is a mess. But if he really is involved with this, even if he didn’t know what he was getting himself into, even if he doesn’t know what he’s really dealing, we have to know for sure. I can’t let Polly get dragged into this.”

Jughead nods gravely. “So what do we do?”

“I think we should tell Agent Drew,” Betty announces. Jughead looks apprehensive. “He’s not Sheriff Keller, Juggie. He wants to do the right thing.”

“A lot of people want to do the right thing,” Jughead says under his breath, his jaw squaring. “A lot of people think they’re doing the right thing, including the good sheriff here. Everyone is the hero of their own story, Betts. But sorry, no way am I going back there without proof. I literally just got out of interrogation. Who the fuck is gonna believe me when I march into the station and accuse the son of the richest family in town of dealing fucking fentanyl?”

She understands where he’s coming from, but he doesn’t know Agent Drew like she does. Even if he isn’t her long-lost brother, she still trusts him. But as she opens her mouth to tell him this, her phone rings across the room.

Betty passes him a pausing look and digs for her phone in her jacket pocket. It’s an unknown number and she squints at it. “Hello?”

“Hi Betty,” Polly says across the line. Her voice sounds very odd—something determined in it, but mixing with nerves. “So I need you not to freak out.”

“What’s going on, Pol?” She asks, exchanging a worried look with Jughead. “Whose phone are you calling from?”

“Promise me you’re not gonna freak out,” her sister repeats.

“Not when you keep saying that,” Betty replies, starting to get genuinely scared.

“We had to leave town,” Polly says quietly, after a long pause. “I can’t tell you where I am right now. But you know how I told you Jason has been acting really weird lately? Well—he—” Betty’s breath catches in her throat, her mind racing. “—He said it’s not safe for us in Riverdale right now. Not anymore.”

“Polly, what are you saying?” Betty breathes, her heart slamming against her chest. “What—where are you?”

“I told you, I can’t tell you where I am right now. I don’t know much, but…I saw him last night, and he seemed really scared, Betty. I think he’s messed up in something bad.”

“Then what the hell are you doing running away with him?” Betty all but yells into the phone. Next to her, Jughead’s eyes bulge. “Polly, what if—”

“I told you not to freak out,” Polly says, her voice turning very firm. “I trust him. I love him. This is the right thing to do for us, for our babies. This is how we’ll all be together.”

“How can you know that, Polly? How can you do this when you were saying a few days ago how weird he was being?” Betty demands shrilly, because all she can think about is drugs and Jason’s empty eyes and sirens blaring in her ears and Moose Mason dead on the floor.

“Because. I trust him. And he’s really afraid of something, Betty. Not just for himself, but for me, and the babies,” her sister says, tone still unyielding. She pauses. “Do you remember when Cheryl threw that Vixen party before school started?”

Her mind is still running rampant with fear and worry for her sister, so it takes a moment for her to catch up to the change of subject. “What? Yeah, I guess. But, Polly—”

“I already knew I was late by then and didn’t want to be around all the pot everyone was smoking. I went outside the house to get some air. I was wandering around in the dark and ended up by the Blossom barn. I didn’t even go in, but Cheryl found me and totally freaked out. She started screaming at me and telling me I couldn’t be there, saying all this terrible stuff, and that if I wasn’t careful I was gonna get kicked off the squad for gaining too much weight.”

“That’s why you haven’t talked to her all semester?”

“I’ve never her seen her act so cruel, Betty. It was scary. It made me think that Jason was telling the truth, that we needed to run. I don’t know, I—”

But Betty still can’t wrap her heads around what her sister said earlier, especially since she had just been theorizing that it was Jason Blossom who dealt the drugs that killed Moose Mason.

Him begging Polly to run away with him all but confirms he’s trying to flee town before it gets back to him. It about proves his guilt.

“Polly, you need to know something—”

“I have to go,” Polly interrupts, almost deliberately. “Tell Mom and Dad you don’t know anything when I don’t come home. I’ll try to call them tomorrow night. I love you. I’ll talk to you soon, I promise.”

No, no, no— “Polly, wait—”

But the line is already dead.

Betty throws the phone down on her jacket and lets out a frustrated screech. “She’s being so stupid!” She shrieks, her hands in the air. Jughead immediately rushes to her side, his hands cradling her shoulders in a soothing gesture.

“Slow down, Betts, what happened? What’s going on? Where’s your sister?”

“She won’t tell me!” Betty cries, her voice cracking. “She ran away with him! She’s literally on the lam with Jason! And she’s pregnant!”

Jughead’s instinctual reaction does nothing to calm her, as his eyes widen and his lips take a dark twist. “Shit.”

“Maybe Jason didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she says in a breath, more to herself than anything, “Maybe he’s a good person who just got in too deep. But now he’s pulling Polly down with him. I—we—need to stop this, Juggie, now!”

He nods quickly, wrapping her deeper in his arms to keep her from hyperventilating. “Okay, okay. What do we do?”

She shakes her head rapidly with distress, lost for words, and he starts making calming shushing noises. The familiar rumblings of a panic attack flash across her chest. “Count backwards from ten,” he says softly, but urgently. “It helps. Trust me.”

10… Her heart hammers in her ears and she tries to focus on steadying her breaths. 9… His hands move to grip her own. 8, 7… She knows he’s trying to keep her nails from digging into her skin.

6, 5… She stares off blankly over Jughead’s shoulder. 4, 3… She takes a long, shaky breath.

2… Jughead’s fingers move to massage at her neck.

1… She knows what she needs to do.

Betty sniffs, and rubs at her eyes. She feels her face harden. “We need to go to the Blossom barn.”

Jughead swallows. “Okay. Why?”

“Polly said that she was just standing outside of it and Cheryl found her and got really upset. Told her she couldn’t go in there and was acting really strangely. Cheryl loves Jason more than anything—if the barn has anything to do with the drugs, she’d protect it for him. I think we need to look there.”

“Wait, we need to think about this,” Jughead says, shaking his head. “If we’re about to walk into a drug den—”

“No, we need evidence, Juggie,” Betty snaps, tightening on her ponytail. “You were right. You can’t go back to the station without proof. I won’t be able to convince Polly to get away from this without it either. It’s already after midnight. By the time we get to the Blossom property, it’ll be late enough that no one will be awake. They might’ve not realized Jason is gone yet, but we don’t know how deep this goes and we might lose our window. If we’re going to go, we need to do it now.”

But Jughead doesn’t look entirely convinced. “This is dangerous, Betty.”

“I’m going with or without you,” she decides, putting her hands on her hips.

He stares at her, and then runs a hand down his face with something like wilted resignation. “You might literally be the death of me, Cooper. But you’re right. Let’s go.”

Luckily, Jughead’s motorcycle is parked not from school. He hadn’t ridden it to Archie’s house earlier because he didn’t want to walk all the way back from Pop’s, so it’s only about ten minutes away. When they reach it, Jughead reaches into the back storage and retrieves a spare helmet for her. “I grabbed it this morning, just in case,” he explains, mounting the bike.

She hesitates, and he notices. “I’ve never been on one of these,” she says, briefly losing her edge.

Jughead fiddles with a smile. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says solemnly, as if his words seem to mean something else entirely.

“I know,” she nods, also saying something much deeper. And then Betty Cooper, a girl raised of pink and pastel, swings her leg over the dark motorcycle.

“Hold on tight,” Jughead advises, as she’s pulling on her helmet. She wraps her arms tightly around his stomach. He flips down his visor, kicks off the ground, and she feels the motorcycle revving deep in her gut. Her whole body vibrates with the power of the engine and then they tear off into the black night.

Abstractly, she’s always understood the appeal of a motorcycle. There’s something uniquely thrilling about it in a way that other grasps at adrenaline can’t quite replicate. The wind whisks rapidly around them, filling up her jacket with rippling pockets of air and whispering the rules of the road in her ears. It roars like some kind of living beast beneath them, like perhaps it has a mind of it’s own that could turn on them at any moment.

It’s also absolutely freezing, Betty notes, completely appreciating the practicality of a thick leather jacket when there’s nothing but the stars between you and the blurring road. By the time they reach the outskirts of the Blossom maple trees, she has to consciously keep her teeth from chattering.

He pulls off the path and rumbles into a small clearing. “We should walk from here, if we’re going for even the tiniest bit of stealth,” Jughead says, cutting the engine. He twists on his seat to look at her, grinning broadly despite himself. “What’d you think?”

“Cold,” she admits, chuckling. “And I think my heart is gonna fall out of my chest. But I liked it.”

“You get used to it,” Jughead smirks, helping her out of her helmet. “Thanks for trusting me.” His hands are on her jaw once it’s off, dropping a quick kiss onto her lips.

She’s about to deepen it, because honestly making out on the back of his bike is something of a fantasy she’s been filing away for a couple weeks now, but then she remembers the whole point of the midnight ride. She slides off the motorcycle while Jughead procures a flashlight from the same storage bin on the back. He hands it to her, and uses his phone for his own light.

Together, they make their way through the wood, and Betty’s about to announce that it’s possible they might be lost when she spots the Blossom barn across a clearing. They sneak towards it as quietly as possible, and Jughead heaves the big rolling door open just enough for them to steal away inside.

“Now what?” Jughead breathes, shining his phone light over the room. It’s a musty space and smells of hay and wood, and absolutely covered wall to wall with big wooden barrels.

“Now we start looking,” Betty says firmly, throwing her flashlight into the corners.

Jughead squats down, and taps at a nearby barrel with his ear to the drum. “Sounds like there’s liquid in this, Betts,” he says with a sigh. “I think this is actually just a creepy barn full of maple syrup.”

“Well, this isn’t a cartoon, Juggie, they’re not gonna have boxes labeled ‘top secret drugs’ everywhere. Keep looking.”

They move around silently, tapping against each of the barrels within reach. Suddenly, Jughead freezes. “Wait, this one. Sounds like something rattling in there.”

Betty rushes over. “How do we get it open?” She gives him a once over. “Do you…have something on you?”

Jughead straightens up, fixing her with a look of faux offense. “You know, despite the whole biker gang stereotype, I don’t actually carry a crowbar on my person at all times,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Wait,” he says, and he shuffles back a few feet. “Step back. I have an idea.”

And then he rushes forward and swings his foot into the barrel. It fractures, and he keeps kicking at it until it’s nothing but splinters and scattered wood. Something orange glitters at them beyond the cracks.

Betty looks at Jughead, impressed. He gives a bashful sort of shrug. “Steel-toed boots,” he says, before giving it one last kick. A mountain of plastic comes pouring out, spilling out over their feet.

She stares at the floor and gasps. She crouches down and runs her hands over the pile of—

“Juggie, these are pill bottles,” she says quietly, grasping one between her fingers. She holds the cylindrical orange tube up to him. “Empty prescription bottles.”

“Holy shit,” Jughead says, covering his mouth with his hand. “Holy shit, we were right. Jason is the one selling the drugs.”

For a moment, they just stare at each other, breathing heavily. Then Jughead starts taking frantic pictures with his phone while Betty grabs a few bottles and stuffs them into her jacket pocket. “We should get out of here. Go straight to the feds. We have proof now, Juggie.”

He nods, still staring at the river of little orange bottles. They lace their fingers together and head for the door, closing it quietly behind them best they can. They’re almost to the trees when—

CRACK!

The sound of a gunshot barrels through the wind overhead. Jughead stumbles into Betty in shock, his head whipping around behind them. “Was that a gun?” He hisses, eyes wide with panic.

CRACK! CRACK!

“Someone’s definitely shooting at us—go, go!” Betty yells, pushing on Jughead’s shoulders.

They break for the woods, the sound of bullets whizzing around them like glass shattering against a wall. When they hit the trees, they duck behind the old maples to catch their breath. Jughead is visibly shaking. “Are—are you okay? You didn’t…you weren’t...”

“I’m okay,” Betty pants. “You?” Jughead nods quickly. She cranes her neck around the tree and lets out a shuddered gasp. Jughead glances at her and then, with measured breaths, follows her gaze.

Cheryl Blossom is standing at the edge of the field.

She cocks the hunting rifle in her hands and shoots it straight into the air. Birds shriek overhead, scattering into a starless sky like some sort of breathing, mutable shadow swooping lowly over them.

Cheryl’s hair is bright against the darkness and whips around her face with a burning rage, as red and as furious as the flames of hell, come to collect on their souls.

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #betty x jughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #god i can't believe this fic is almost done #and that i wrote literally almost 60k words rn #expecting it to be about 70k-80k when i'm done #what the FUCK #anyway here is my ritual sacrifice of my time known as this fic #fics

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