#we will have to wait until I Get to reading tongues of serpents to determine precisely the differences between the regular timeline

[chiropteracupola]

Martín Macuilmazatl, a young gentleman of the Ciudad de México.

[elliehase-blog]

It’s typical for me to set up a story or drabbles around my drawings, but I’m not always confident enough to share them with you due to my lack of knowledge in the English grammar.  This is a foreign language for me, therefore I still make a lot of mistakes and not noticing them.

For this redrawing of Crawly I wrote a little prelude for my story “Don’t Stop Me Now” on AO3. I have finished two new chapters already, but unfortunately my friend (who has corrected my stories in the past) is too busy with her work. If there’s anyone out there, who enjoys to proofread stories, please contact me! 

Prelude

It was lo-... something at first sight.

The angel of the Eastern Gate stood atop Eden’s outer wall, facing the deserted land with a concerned glance. His wavy fair hair reflected the setting sun, some soft rays gently embraced his contours. Gray clouds were piling over the garden. With his white robe and the dark atmosphere forming around him, he looked bright and shining like a star in the night sky.

He was the most fascinating thing Crawly had ever seen.

And Crawly had seen a lot of things in his immortal existence. In the old days he had been an angel himself, a builder of blazing stars and astonishing constellations. But none of his creations ever radiated in such a wonderful warm glow, giving him satisfaction and ease at once. There was something magical about the other man, which is why Crawly couldn't avert his gaze.

Strictly speaking, Crawly didn’t cross a line here. He wasn’t in close contact with the angel, staying at the apple tree most of the time, fulfilling his demonic duty. No one ever said he couldn’t sneak away occasionally and admire his new encounter from afar, though. Nothing wrong in it. At least until it became his favourite occupation of the day.

So the serpent observed the beautiful chubby angel quite a while. From a safe distance, of course. As a demon he had straight orders from Hell to cast some trouble in the Garden of Eden. It was highly inappropriate to reach out to the opposition by whatever means, he guessed, or even conveying interest in an angel in the first place. Probably it was forbidden as well. Something demons ought not to do.

He did anyway.

 Crawly watched the serene beauty and listened carefully to every word that emerged these rosy lips, straining to find out more about the angelic guard, trying to get the whole picture. Every piece of the puzzle dragged him closer each day. He liked the way the blond angel yielded his flaming sword when he was practicing some quite impressive combat moves. He liked the way how politely the other man was talking to God’s newest creations (especially the animals), just like he really cared. And he absolutely adored the way the angel’s name rolled off his tongue. Aziraphale... The demon whispered it a couple of times just to listen to the melodic sound.

After seven days Crawly came to the conclusion, that the angel of the Eastern Gate wasn't a threat or dangerous at all, only confirming his initial impression. In fact, there was something tragically lonesome about him. It was almost like looking into a mirror, finding someone as isolated as yourself. No other angel came to talk to him, even God never answered his prayers. That situation felt strangely familiar. Crawly wanted to get closer to the other man straightway, literally craved for a conversation with every fibre of his body. If there was the slightest chance, that the blond angel could truly understand how he feels, that they both are broken in some way, maybe they could feel wholesome again by being together.

They barely knew each other, but as they started talking, it felt like they had known each other for far longer than just a minute. Aziraphale treated him as equal, even though Crawly had revealed his black wings, openly showing his demonic nature. There was no loathing, no rolling eyes, no distrust in the angel’s voice. It was ... odd. Something, Crawly had never experienced before.

So Crawly had stood frozen in indecision for what seemed like forever, thinking of the right way to approach, the right words to say. A feeling of nervousness overwhelmed him. The first impression counted, after all.

And the foremost thing that popped into his mind was, “That one went down like a lead balloon.”

Well. Could have been worse, right?

From up close he could study the other man’s face even better. His far too cute button nose and his ridiculously bright blue eyes, just to name but a few. It completely captured the demon. The way Aziraphale smiled, chuckled in a warm tone as Crawly mentioned their possible misstep, finally tipped him over the edge. It seized his chest with something deeper than admiration.

When raindrops started to pour at the very first time on earth, the demon gazed insultingly upon the sky. It felt cold and wet and absolutely annoying on his skin. The snake-like part inside of him immediately wanted to curl away and hide somewhere safe and warm. The other part clearly wanted to stay right next to Aziraphale, cautiously coming closer. Without a second thought or expecting any kind of counter-performance, the blond man stretched his impressive white wing to shield Crawly.

And that was when the demon had fallen for the angel completely.

Crawly knew on the spur of the moment that he had met the kindest person in his godforsaken life. Cheesy but true. He remembered clearly what Heaven was like. Not as nice as everyone thought it would be, though. On the one hand, he was bored stiff all the time. No temptations or decent drinks, for instance. But worst of all were the conceited archangels and their stupid duties and expectations they placed on every low-ranking angel.

Curiosity and self-determination were two words that simply didn’t appear in Heaven’s vocabulary. As well as ‘Thank you for your hard work’ or ‘We really appreciated that you’ve done this whole crap without questioning it in the first place’ or just a simple ‘Your last nebula was mind-blowing, you incredibly talented angel’.

It’s not that Crawly was demanding or so. Really! But for some kind words you’d wait in vain.

To be fair and square, in Hell they won’t offer you cookies either (Crawly really tried to convince his fellow demons to put more effort into the right acquisition, but incomprehensibly it never fell on understanding ears). Demons don’t trust each other, they don’t even have a single feeling for one another except suspicion. You certainly don’t make friends in Hell. It is a place full of loneliness.

Aziraphale was the first person who ever cared about Crawly at all, noticing things no one noticed, really looking at him and not at the demonic shell. A pure angel as people believe angels should be, with kind and untainted affection. And that was truly something remarkable, because after six thousand years with a troublemaker like him, a demon, his hereditary enemy, Aziraphale never stopped caring.

Read the rest of the chapter here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29945739

[kalimagik]

Cat Got Your Tongue?

Hufflepuff!Tom Holland x reader

Hogwarts!au

Word Count: ~2k

A/N: Happy Wednesday, lovelies! This fic begins my “100 Followers Fic Weekend Celebration”! One fic everyday until Sunday! (I hope you guys will hang out during it!) This fic came from this request as my inspiration! I hope you like it @abrielleholland​! The rest of you, if you enjoy reading, please like, reblog, comment, or even give me a follower to stay with the long weekend fun! Happy reading <3<3<3

*Not my GIF - credit to owner 

Hogwarts was abuzz. The three other schools for the TriWizard Tournament had arrived the previous night and now the castle was packed. Students were talking about who from each of the schools would enter their names and who were the top contenders for Champion.

Tom knew that the Weasley Twins, who were in his year, were concocting some plan to get their own names in the ring. Tom was half tempted to enter himself. 1,000 galleons could do a lot for a guy!

“Holland! You coming?” Cedric asked from the entryway of the Hufflepuff Common Room. The boys were heading to the Great Hall. Since Dumbledore had set up the Goblet of Fire, most of the students had been spending a lot of time in there. Tom just couldn’t wait to check out the potential competition. Most of the Hogwarts students seemed to think that Viktor Krum would wind up as Durmstrang’s champion. The dude was terrifying, wicked good at quidditch, but terrifying.

“Oh yeah, I’m coming. Are you bringing a quill or paper or anything?” Tom asked nervously…maybe he wouldn’t put his name in.

“Write your name on a piece of paper and let’s go,” Cedric chuckled as Tom scribbled his name down and followed the popular Hufflepuff boy out of the Common Room.

The Great Hall was overflowing with people. Students from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and even Ilvermorny. The American school wasn’t initially supposed to compete in the tournament, but apparently some student petitioned the three European schools. Rumors were flying about who it was and how that person did it. Only about 15 of them came, but they all looked determined. Every single member of their delegation had put their names in the previous night, the moment after Dumbledore had set up the cup.

Heads turned to watch the group of Hufflepuff boys as they entered and approached the Goblet of Fire.

“Go on Ced! Put your name in,” Tom dared as he slapped his hands on the boy’s shoulders. Cedric waved the rest of the boys off before reaching up to put the piece of paper in. Tom followed suit and then sat on the benches surrounding the Goblet.

Krum followed shortly with his large entourage. Karkaroff was beaming as his star pupil’s name was accepted. Tom’s eyes quickly scanned the room to look at the conglomeration of students that littered the Great Hall. George and Fred Weasley had just burst into the large room when Tom’s eyes landed on a girl with the Ilvermorny group.

The bantering and cheering of the Weasley twins seemed to fade into the background. This girl’s E/C eyes had the ability to just bore into Tom’s soul.

“Tom? Where are you going?” Cedric’s voice echoed in his ear.

“I- I’ll be back in a minute…” he waved it off.

“I think he’s been entranced by the Beauxbatons girls,” one of their other friends joked, but Tom didn’t even hear him. The boy even walked right over the now old Weasley twins wrestling on the floor.

The Ilvermorny kids were all laughing at the antics of the twins. There was no denying that Fred and George would make their trip to the United Kingdom very memorable. Tom felt his stomach flip over in his stomach as he approached the group. Luckily, his Hufflepuff traits were really standing out. He was just trying to be friendly and welcoming, at least that’s what he was telling himself.

“Well, hey there,” the girl smirked the moment Tom walked up to her group. “I’m Y/N. Who are you?”

Tom felt a blush creep to the apples of his cheeks. He was in trouble and he knew it.

“Cat got your tongue?” she pressured again. Her American accent stood out like something he had never heard before. Her voice was soft, but rolled off her lips like honey. The girls around her started to giggle when Tom still hadn’t spoken.

“Y/N! Over here!” another Ilvermorny girl called from the entrance of the Great Hall.

“I guess I have to leave, but maybe I’ll see you tomorrow and get to know your name.” With a wink of her E/C eyes, she brushed past him. Tom stood there, still speechless. What had gotten into him? He was usually always able to talk to everyone! He was the one who gave Cedric tips when he got nervous!!

Speaking of Cedric, he had seen the whole thing.

“That did not go nearly as well as you planned it, huh?” Cedric asked as he patted Tom on the shoulder. “For a second there, you looked more embarrassed than the Weasley twins, who you seamlessly ignored.” Cedric couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the predicament. Tom was usually pretty smooth with the ladies at Hogwarts. “If it helps man, she isn’t even veela…so that was just all you blubbering.”

Tom groaned as he flopped onto the bench where the beautiful girl once stood. “That doesn’t help, Cedric,” Tom emphasized his name. “That means that I just completely lost it.”

“You always have tomorrow. Dumbledore is picking the champions, remember?” Cedric pointed out.

“Right, tomorrow.” Tom had some more motivation. He was determined and antsy. Cedric even caught him talking to the mirror. “You would think that you would be more nervous about being picked as Hogwarts’ champion,” he had even commented.

Halloween was bursting with energy. The students could not stop talking about the champion selection at the feast later that evening. Tom on the other hand couldn’t wait for his next interaction with Y/N. He was going to be ready this time.

His leg bounced furiously as his head darted from the door of the Great Hall and back to his plate. The feast hadn’t started, but it was suddenly very interesting.

“Hey, Holland,” Cedric nudged Tom with a whisper. “Look.”

Tom’s breath caught in his throat as he saw Y/N walking towards the Hufflepuff table. “Ced! Ced! Laugh like I said something funny,” Tom pleaded.

“No way. I am not doing that. Just talk to her…” Cedric urged.

Before Tom could retort, Y/N placed a hand on the table and leaned, very casually and easily, across from Tom.

“You got a name yet?” she joked. Tom sat there staring. No girl had ever had this much gusto when talking to Tom. He was the one that left them speechless.

Cedric did what any best friend would do and elbowed Tom’s arm.

“Uhh, yeah, yeah. I’m Tom,” he managed.

“Well, Tom. Is anyone sitting here? My friends and I were told to sit anywhere and it seems that Durmstrang and Beauxbatons have taken over that table-“ Y/N pointed to where the Slytherins sat. “and that table.” She now pointed to the Ravenclaws. “But, this one seems pretty good to me.”

“N-nope. No one else is sitting here. It’s just Cedric and I and whoever comes, but yeah, go ahead and sit, please.” Great, now Tom couldn’t stop talking. It seemed to be okay though, Y/N was laughing as she motioned for her friends to join her.

“So you all have houses here too right? Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff?” Y/N asked once Dumbledore had given his speech and made all the food for the feast appear.

“Yeah, how’d you know that?” Cedric responded. Luckily, conversation began to flow smoothly and Tom wasn’t tripping over his words nearly as much, key word being nearly.

“I did my studying before coming here. Of course I had to do my research to even get Ilvermorny the chance to compete.” She laughed.

“You’re the one who did that?” Tom blurted out. “I heard there were rumors that a student was the one who petitioned for you all to come.”

“Oh yeah!” Y/N’s friend, Michell, as Tom had learned, started. “Y/N was determined to get us into this competition. Only the best of the best at Ilvermorny were allowed to come. We practiced potential scenarios for the tournament throughout September and most of this month!” Michelle bragged.

“Shut up,” Y/N laughed. A rose color invaded her cheeks. Tom inhaled deeply as he took in her beautiful smile and the sound of her laugh. Feeling the knowing glance of Cedric, Tom shook himself out of it.

“I will not!” Michelle continued. “She’s ambitious and always looking for adventure.”

“Okay, Michelle. You essentially just described my house at school!”

“You all have houses too?” Tom asked intrigued.

“Oh yeah. Four like Hogwarts, but all named after magical creatures. Wampus, Horned Serpent, Pukwudgie, and the Horned Serpents. People even say that the four y’all have align with our four.”

“And what are your houses then?” Cedric asked.

“Michelle and I are both in Thunderbird, but we have people here from all the houses.” Y/N explained. “Her house must align with Ravenclaw. She knows so much,” Tom thought to himself.

“If they all align, which Hogwarts house is most similar to yours?” Cedric continued as if he was reading Tom’s mind.

“There is some debate since they don’t match up perfectly, but ours is supposedly Slytherin. We’re ambitious like they are and the thunderbird supposedly favors the adventurer, so that’s us,” Y/N grinned.

Tom wanted to keep asking about school in the United States, but he was interrupted by Dumbledore rising from his seat.

“Attention students! We will now be selecting the champions from each of the four schools!”

Walking towards the Goblet, Dumbledore waved his arms to cause fire to raise from it. A slip of paper burst through the flames. Although it was singed at the edges, Dumbledore caught it. Tom watched enthusiastically as Dumbledore called both Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour.

It wasn’t until Hogwarts’ champion was called that Tom truly lost it.

“WOOHOO!!! Let’s go, CEDRIC!” he whooped and hollered. He couldn’t stop himself from patting Cedric on the back as the boy stood to join the other champions in the room off of the Great Hall.

“Now, for Ilvermorny, our sister school that we are happy to have with us!” Dumbledore announced. “Ilvermorny’s champion is MICHELLE JONES!”

Tom heard the ecstatic shriek come from Y/N’s mouth as her best friend stood up to join Cedric. When all the cheering from the Hufflepuff table finally settled down however, the Goblet lit up again. It announced that a fifth champion was to compete – Harry Potter. Tom felt a surge of anger flow through him. He couldn’t help this. The TriWizard Tournament was supposed to be Cedric Diggory’s time to shine as the only Hogwarts champion.

Once he finally calmed down and Harry was out of sight, the rest of the students began to rise from their seats and return to their dorms. Before Tom could escape from his thoughts, Y/N interrupted them.

“Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other with our best friends as champions, huh?”

“I guess so. Prepare for a little smack talk from our side of the table.”

“You really found the counter curse to langlock then, huh? Don’t you worry. I sure like a challenge.” Once again, Y/N winked before leaving Tom without a chance to respond.

Oh, this one was definitely going to be trouble for Tom, but he had the rest of the year to figure her out. She may be ready for a challenge, but so was Tom.

[heartbreak-of-a-marauder]

Through the Rabbit Hole (2)

Part Two: The Trickster

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Summary: You give Loki a piece of your mind for New York and its fall out, but things aren’t as you thought.

Word: 2,335

Notes: Angst +++ Weirdly had a lot of fun writing this part... y/n = your name, y/h/c = your hair colour, y/e/c = your eye colour, b/f/n = best friends name. If you haven’t read part one STOP NOW and go do that:

<- 2 ->

~*~*~*~*~

New York, 2012

It was the penultimate day of your week-long holiday in New York and after days of sightseeing and shopping, you were glad to finally have a rest day. The restaurant you and your best friend picked today had a fresh but quirky vibe and your window seat gave you a fantastic view of the New York skyline. You chatted happily with b/f/n as you waited for your food to be served.

“Will you take a picture of me y/n?” b/f/n asked, both of you had saved for this trip for so long, at every opportunity you were taking pictures to remember these moments forever.

“Sure,” you pull out your phone and aim the lens at b/f/n. “Move slightly to the left, you’ll have Stark Tower in the back then.”

B/F/N followed your instruction and scooted over slightly. You grin as the camera focuses on your friend, you just knew they’d be bragging about for weeks. You snap a couple of shots before repositioning the phone for a different view, your thumb hovers over the button as you see a beam of blue light shoot into the sky from Stark Tower.

“What the heck?” you say absently, lowering the phone to stare out of the window, your friend turns as well to see what you’re looking at.

Other patrons in the restaurant also begin to notice just as an ink-black cloud begins to brew, expanding with supernatural speed; distorting the sky. Your frown deepens as when dark specks begin to fly out of it at speed. Some break off, heading in different directions in small arrow-shaped formations. Some specks explode as the descend, others are firing purple beams of light, you rise out of your seat not 100% sure that what your seeing is real.

You are so close to the window that your breath frosts the. One of the purple beams makes contact with a space a few floors above you. The glass shudders violently while the building moans in protest.

“What the fuck is that!” b/f/n shouts. Your stagger back thinking the same thing.

“Get away from the window!” you shout, panic rising in your chest as more shots connect with the building.

A woman behind you screams as a serpent-like creature descends from the cloud, its shrill shriek makes you cringe.

“We need to get out now,” b/f/n turns back to look at you, their face frozen in fear. You nod robotically, your eyes never leaving the window.

The world around you seemed to slow as the specks got closer, firing shots at random. You look back at b/f/n, screaming their name, reaching out for them just as the glass behind them shatters spraying the room with shards. The force of the blast throws you backwards. You crash onto your back hitting your head against the concrete, the force of the impact knocks the breath from your lungs as your vision swims. Dizziness and nausea assault you as you try to move, looking desperately for b/f/n. Dark spots dance across your vision when you finally locate their face. Their eyes are wide, and unblinking, a red puddle slowly expanding around their head.

“B/F/N?” you whisper just as everything goes black.

Today

You had woken up in the hospital a day or so later to learn that not only was your best friend dead but that Loki had led the attack. You had always wondered why he had attacked. What had happened to the gentleman you had known to become so twisted and spiteful that he was prepared to rain hellfire down on humanity.

But now, here you were, six years later, stood in the same courtyard you had first met Loki all those years ago. It hadn’t changed in the slightest, except this time there was no one waiting for you. The quiet made you feel out of place and unsure of yourself.

Now you were here you didn’t know what to do. Loki was probably incarcerated deep in the heart of the palace.

‘Good. Lock him up and throw away the key.’ You thought

It had taken a lot of courage to go back through that portal but now you were here you knew it was somewhat of a wasted journey. If you were discovered you knew you would likely end up in the dungeons too, after all, no mortal was supposed to be able to travel to Asgard.

Determination settled deep in your bones, you knew it was unlikely that you could give Loki a piece of your mind but that didn’t mean you couldn’t give it to someone else. Someone higher. His father perhaps.

You made your way out of the courtyard retracing your steps from memory, everything you passed looked the same as when you had last seen it. Loki had only taken you to certain parts of the castle, always making sure to keep you out of sight of other Asgardians. You stopped in the middle of a crossroads of hallways with no idea where you were supposed to be going.

If you were to be caught by Palace guards they might take you to the Allfather.

Turning around you went back the way you came until you found yourself with your nose nearly touching the doors to one of Loki's favourite places; the library. You tentatively place your palms on the ornate doors, there was bound to be some decrepit old librarian lurking about in there. But you made no effort to open them.

You struggled against the memories that began to seep into your mind, happy memories of the hours you and Loki spent in this room as he read to you.

"Y/n?" A voice whispers incredulously from behind, making you jump out of your skin.

You stand frozen for a moment, the sound of his velvety voice bringing back long-buried feelings. Remembering why you came you let your anger and grief swallow them up.

Turning slowly you face Loki. His hair had grown but he looked the same as last time you saw him. His porcelain skin and chiselled features hadn’t changed, but his chest seemed broader and his carefree demeanour was gone.

‘Of course, it’s gone, he’s a megalomaniac’

He wasn’t the same man you had fallen in love with, you had wondered if he had ever been that man or if it was just one of his tricks.

“Loki.” Your voice is cold and distant.

“You came back,” disbelief echoed in his voice. “I never thought you- it’s been years, I thought I would never see you again.” He admitted shyly, sounding almost hopeful.

You kept the anger and upset you felt in the forefront of your mind and let it bloom hotly in your chest. It would help with what would come next, you couldn’t allow yourself to feel anything different, you owed it to b/f/n not to forget.

“Yes, well, New York nearly made sure that I would never see anyone again.”

He baulked at you. Guilt and shame gnawed at his insides and a slight sadness took over his once optimistic expression. He had endured anger from Odin and disappointment from his mother with relative ease, but seeing the hurt he had caused in you very nearly broke his heart. The venom in your voice began to poison the hopes and daydreams he had conjured of you during your absence.

“You were in New York?” he asked quietly avoiding your eyes.

“Along with someone I loved very dearly.” You snap, emphasising every word.

“I had no way of knowing-“

“Bullshit!” you hiss.

“You never came back. I had no idea where you had gone.” His expression was stoic as he defended himself.

“You led an invasion party against us! Conquering New York would’ve just been the beginning and you know it!” You shout incredulously and watch Loki cringe as he understands your original meaning.

“The attack was a mistake I shall never stop paying for…” He admits quietly after a while. The sincerity in his voice was unprecedented. “… Forgive me Y/N, never in my wildest dreams had I imagined you would be hurt because of my foolishness.” He had taken a careful step towards you.

Hot tears burned your eyes and blurred your vision. You blinked quickly willing them away, he did not get to make you feel guilty for your words. You had come back to Asgard with a plan. You didn’t have time to be overcome by silly teenage emotions.

Yet there you were feeling overwhelmed by the man stood in front of you, the speech you had prepared was being forgotten with each passing moment.

“Keep your lies and excuses for someone who actually cares Loki.”

“Silver-tongued I may be, but I have never lied to you Y/N.” His stance shifted to one of defence, he had been stung by your words.

“How can I believe you? Why would I believe you! You set out to destroy my world, you murdered hundreds of innocents in the process.” Your breath comes out harder as you go on. “You should be rotting away in a cell for what you did, not walking around like some dandy, but I suppose because you’re royalty it's okay because daddy’s there to defend you.” You say spitefully.

“Why did you do it? You’re a fucking Prince, you had the world on a silver platter! What? Did you get bored, is that it?” you ask rhetorically. “Did mummy and daddy not pay you enough attention?” your intentions are cruel as you aim to hit a nerve.

Your thoughtless comments and accusations raise Loki’s hackles and in two long strides, he was toe to toe with you. So close you could smell him.

“I had my orders.” His voice was harsh but strained, your brows knit together as you process what he had just said.

Orders? Someone had sent him to attack earth? Why?

“So what! If someone tells you to stick your hand in a fire pit, you do it?” You try to regain the upper hand in the conversation knowing that if you let him speak, you would listen. “What backwards fucking logic is that?!”

“The kind that keeps you alive.” He hisses down at you.

There it was; the crack in his beautiful façade. He sighs heavily and just like a deflated balloon his shoulders sag and he drops his head. His forehead just a hairsbreadth away from yours.

“They threatened to kill you if you didn’t go through with it?” Your previous vehemence was gone, an unknown expression flashes across his face

“I have paid for my treachery.”

“Loki, who-“ Your press.

“‘Who’ does not matter anymore little one” he diverts.

“Of course it does, what if they try again, we-we need to be prepared.” You speak hurriedly, remembering the terror you felt in New York, you drive your hands through your hair, pulling it at the root.

“No.” There’s a tone of finality in his voice.

“What do you mean ‘no’? Loki, who sent that army? If you’re here you can’t know that they won’t try again!” the muscle in his jaw ticks.

“Your precious avengers have proved themselves ready and worthy of dealing with him, you do not need to worry little one.”

“Stop changing the subject!” you cry exasperated. “I was there Loki! I saw those things and what they did.” You place your hands on his chest willing him to pay attention to what you were saying.

“You don’t need to worry-“

“Loki,” you start, preparing to launch into another rant but he cuts you off.

“Enough y/n! Please…” his voice sounds broken as he begs.

“What did they do to you?” You ask softly.

When he doesn’t reply you begin to remove your hands from his person when he reaches up and captures your wrist, holding it against his chest. His grasp sends heat through your veins inviting your teenage fantasies in. You knew that deep down you still harboured feelings for the God, and all of these revelations had your defences crumbling.

“You don’t need to know little one.” His tone is as soft as yours had been and his smile sad.

The sound of footsteps and metallic clinking bursts your little bubble as you both remember where you are stood. Keeping a hold on your wrist he begins to drag you through the Palace, you glance around and realise you’ve never seen these parts before. You have to jog a little to keep up with his pace.

“Loki, where are we going?” you ask breathlessly, pulling against him trying to slow his pace.

“Somewhere a little more private little one,” for the first time you frown at his old pet name for you.

“No.” you state resolutely, pulling your arm out of his grasp.

“y/n now is not the time nor place for this.”

“Either you start talking or I start shouting again.” He glowers silently at you. “I came here for answers Loki, not for a friendly little visit for old times sake. I’m not some hormonal little girl that’ll eat up everything you say.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“There was a time you would’ve done anything I asked y/n.” You feel heat begin to creep up your neck and settle in your cheeks.

“Yes, well, you made your feelings about that quite clear though, didn’t you.” You deflect, desperate for him to not see how his comments affected you.

This time he took hold of your hand, linking his fingers with your own. When he pulled you into motion it was slower this time, allowing you to walk beside him and not have to fight to keep up.

“I always thought you were going to come back.” He admitted after a while.

You shrug in response.

“I missed you.” He adds quietly like he’s afraid the words will make you disappear.

You had come back, he didn’t much care for why anymore. He simply knew he would do anything to make this moment last.

~*~*~*~*~

TAGLIST: @jessiejunebug @seventieshead-modernlover @kinghiddlestonanddixon @danielle101370

[goodlucktai]

don’t make a noise, don’t leave the room

good omens pairing: aziraphale/crowley word count: 2926 title borrowed from you are jeff by richard siken

read on ao3

x

Aziraphale wakes up, which is a distinctly disconcerting feeling when one doesn’t often sleep in the first place. Added to his discomfort is the fact that he’s on the floor, limbs sprawled every which way, with a pounding in his head that makes him think he forgot to sober up before falling asleep.

“Ugh, really, my dear,” he grumbles, pushing himself upright. “Just how much did we have to drink?”

He expects to open his eyes to the back room of the bookshop, but he doesn’t. There is no worn-thin carpet beneath his hands, no aged coffee table or yawning loveseat, and certainly no snake-eyed demon draped on a flat surface nearby to poke fun at Aziraphale for being a messy drunk.

In fact… Aziraphale doesn’t know where he is at all.

“Finally awake, are you?” a familiar voice snaps.

Aziraphale’s heart sinks. He turns around to find himself under the scornful scrutiny of the archangels Uriel and Sandalphon.

What on earth?

“What, um, are you doing here?” He pushes himself to his feet, looking around at the unfamiliar room they’re in. “What am I doing here?”

“I don’t know what’s happened to you to make you so different,” Uriel tells him shortly, “but if you haven’t Fallen yet, you can probably be rehabilitated.”

There’s a lot to unpack there, and Aziraphale doesn’t know where to begin.

“Ah, no thank you,” he decides to go with, straightening his waistcoat for something to do with his hands. He’s terribly uneasy, bordering on frightened, with having been summoned here by them in the first place. It’s safe to assume he won’t want any part of their plans to rehabilitate him, whatever that could mean. “I thought we had agreed I was best left to my own devices. I’m perfectly happy on Earth.”

Going on as if he hadn’t spoken, Uriel says, “You’re never going to be a proper angel while you’re running around with a demon, of all things.”

Aziraphale goes cold at the mention of Crowley. He finds himself listening more intently now, preparing himself for fight or flight.

“You’ll see,” his estranged sibling tells him, as if to reassure. “He can’t actually care about you, Aziraphale. He’s not capable of it. I’ll prove it to you, and then you’ll come home.”

“I don’t care about all that,” Sandalphon says with a cruel smile. “I’m only here for the show.”

Uriel waves a hand, and something appears in the middle of the floor. It’s Aziraphale, or a likeness of him, sprawled in a heap like a discarded puppet. Its eyes are vacant and staring. There’s a sword driven through its chest and the burned outline of wings outspread on either side of its body.

Aziraphale feels sick just looking at it.

“You’ll see,” Uriel tells him. “Just watch.”

Their horrible plan is beginning to take shape. Horrified, Aziraphale surges forward, beginning to say, “You mustn’t—” when he runs headlong into what feels like a brick wall.

The hard collision all but bounces him back, sending him staggering. Eyes stinging, Aziraphale looks down at where a binding circle lay at his feet. Dormant until he tested the lines, it’s glowing with holy white light now. The work of an archangel, and well beyond his power to break.

Aziraphale tries his luck against it anyway, gritting his teeth through the sharp recoil.

Uriel and Sandalphon watch him with a remote interest, like he’s a little animal doing something clever, and Aziraphale shouts, “Don’t do this! Let me out!”

“But it’s just getting good,” Sandalphon says gleefully, and that’s when Crowley’s bright presence appears on the scene.

Aziraphale feels him coming before the others do. He whips around just as the door flies open, his lovely demon flying through like a mad thing.

“I got your message, angel, could you have been anymore cryptic? And what are you doing way out here any… way…”

He stops dead when he sees the archangels, his face twisting into a snarl.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale calls, hoping against hope that Crowley might hear him.

Crowley doesn’t so much as twitch in his direction. Goddammit, Aziraphale thinks with a venom that should surprise him, and throws his metaphysical weight against the barrier once more.

“What have you done with Aziraphale?” he hisses, more serpent than man now, despite what his body may look like. They will certainly be having a talk later about his lack of self-preservation in face of two archangels, but for now Aziraphale can only watch in terror as Crowley begins to stalk. “You both think you’re hot shit. I know he’s here, I can feel him.”

“Or what’s left of him, anyway,” Uriel says flatly, and steps aside to show Crowley her creation.

The look on Crowley’s face breaks Aziraphale’s heart.

“No,” he mutters. “No no, angel, no.”

He’s across the room without moving, skipping through space-time like he’s forgotten how to do it the mortal way. He crashes to his knees in the ash around the corpse and his hands tremble as if they don’t know which direction to fly in first.

His yellow eyes are stark and wild. The sword impaled through the puppet’s chest is flung violently away by work of a crude miracle, and only then does Crowley touch him.

Human, so human, in the way his fingers fumble against Aziraphale’s wrist for a pulse. Searching out the familiar heartbeat, the reassuring sound of life.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale screams it so loud it all but tears his throat. “Lord, spare him this! Let him hear me, please!”

The Almighty isn’t granting prayers today. Crowley is kneeling in what he thinks is the burnt-out remains of Aziraphale’s grace. His fingers are sooty and dark with feather dust.

Uriel and Sandalphon are watching the scene raptly, as if waiting for Crowley to break character, to stand up and dust his hands off and say “ah, well, so my evil plan turned out to be a wash.”

But he never does. He doesn’t even seem to remember they’re there. He might as well be alone in all the world, so possessed he is by grief. He hauls Aziraphale’s body up into his arms, bows his head, and begins to weep.

Aziraphale’s holy core burns within him, bursting at the seams and straining so ferociously against the archangel’s binding that it’s a wonder he doesn’t melt his human body clean away with the effort.

“It’s enough!” he cries. “You’ve seen enough! What more could you possibly want?”

“Disgusting,” Sandalphon says gleefully. “Whoever heard of a demon mourning?”

But demons were the first to mourn, Aziraphale thinks, dazed by such willful ignorance. They were the first to have lost.

“But it isn't real,” Uriel says slowly. “It can't be.”

Crowley goes abruptly, terribly still.

His shoulders freeze in the middle of a sob. He’s a creature of sudden stone, an anguished work of art. Aziraphale is pressed hard against the barrier between them, blinking wetness from his eyes, trying to see what’s happened, what changed.

Crowley’s lips part, the forked edge of his tongue darting out almost too quick for the eye to follow. He kneels there, his awful collapse of limbs and sorrow, his arms wound around the shape of Aziraphale, and scents the air again.

Then he lifts his head. There’s no chance for anyone to react before Crowley stops time. There are still the sounds of traffic outside, and rain, and Aziraphale himself is still present and aware; so it’s only the archangels that have been displaced from the steady onward drum of the universe.

It’s silent. Aziraphale’s heart is the loudest thing in the room, pounding against his chest.

Crowley lowers the body gently to the floor, his hands lingering, the curl of his fingers reluctant. When he finally lets go he does it with a painful yank, and he pushes himself to his feet as though gravity is somehow ten times heavier where he's standing.

His eyes are burning yellow, like sulfur, like the bright warning bands of a venomous reptile. He doesn’t move the way a human would, or even the way a snake would; he moves like he’s rearranging the fabric of space and time in tiny step-like increments, bearing him closer to where Uriel and Sandalphon are still standing like sculptures.

Aziraphale watches as Crowley draws right up to them. He studies Sandalphon’s face closely; the archangel’s mouth is twisted in a sneer, caught in the act of throwing Aziraphale a look of hateful triumph.

And then, following Sandalphon's line of sight with utmost deliberation, Crowley turns his head and looks directly at Aziraphale.

Their eyes lock, and Aziraphale’s next breath chokes him. Crowley’s expression puts Aziraphale in mind of natural disasters, of wars and kingdoms put to torch, floods and plagues and children drowning. The demon might as well be desolation itself, given blood and bone and a suit to wear, a bleak, yawning absence where there should be a wily, mischievous good nature.

Even the day the world was scheduled to end, when Crowley holed himself up in a little bar and wept himself sick among bottles and bottles of clear spirits, wasn’t as bad as this. Nothing could be as bad as a corpse.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale sobs, pushing himself forward. The barrier is hot against his palms, on the cusp of burning, and still he pushes forward. “I’m right here, Crowley, I’m here! I haven’t left you, sweetheart.”

Crowley must not hear him. He certainly doesn’t see him, scanning the empty space with his eyes. But there’s a seed of something unquelled inside him, something rebellious. A tiny kernel of what might only be denial, what might just be hope— elbowing its way through all the despair, making room for maybe and what if because the alternative is too much to bear.

Crowley starts to walk, with his hands outstretched before him, fingers splayed and searching. Each step is deliberate and determined, and his eyes are off-focus now, an inch or two to Aziraphale’s left, but he’s headed in the right direction.

“That’s it, my darling,” Aziraphae whispers. His voice is a wreck. He hates to be trapped here, aches to meet Crowley halfway. He’s as close as he can get, clustered against the wall with all his might.

There’s only a moment where Crowley falters. When he steps into the dust of the archangels’ cruel trick, where the outermost tip of an angel’s wing is burned into the tile. His stride stutters, and his eyes dart away to the shape of his dead husband on the floor, and Aziraphale could scream.

He is terrified that Crowley’s burdened faith might desert him before he��s made it all the way. There is nothing he can do to give Crowley strength, no signal or sign he can provide that this painful march will be rewarded.

Please, he prays. He sends it outward this time, not upward.

It seems to reach. The demon’s mouth screws up. He staggers forward two quick steps, a third, stepping over the dust and moving— unknowingly, hopefully— in the right direction.

Aziraphale shuffles to the side so that Crowley is directly in front of him. He’s holding his breath when Crowley finally reaches him. His long fingers meet resistance in thin-air, and he chokes. He presses his palms to the invisible wall, and Aziraphale mirrors him.

“You’re there, angel?” Crowley whispers. “You hear me?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale whispers back. “Of course I am. Of course I do.”

Crowley looks down. The circle is a lurid, vivid glow at Aziraphale’s feet. Crowley can’t possibly see it, but he’s always been far too clever for his own good. With a snap of his fingers, the floor begins to crack. The tiles bearing Uriel’s handwork rupture as if in a miniature, localized earthquake, and the second the lines are broken, the barrier disappears, and Aziraphale falls forward against Crowley’s chest.

“Oh my God,” Aziraphale blasphemes, gathering him up in shaking handfuls, hauling him close. “Crowley. I have you. I have you.”

It seems to take a moment for Crowley to process Aziraphale’s sudden appearance. His arms are slow in creeping around the angel, his embrace a trembling, tentative thing. But he takes a breath— breathing in deep, nose pressed into cloudy white curls of hair— and seems to come alive again.

When his fingers grow claws, and his broken halo burns the air around their faces brassy and hot, and the secret self of him threatens to push out of its tight mortal confines with every second, Aziraphale breathes a sigh of relief. What should probably rightly be horrifying is instead the sweetest comfort he knows.

“There you are,” Aziraphale says, swaying their bodies side to side. He thinks he could stand there holding Crowley until the next end of the world and Crowley would let him.

Over the demon’s shoulder, Aziraphale has full view of the archangels who tormented him. If Aziraphale were capable of hatred, they would know the full force of it. If he could bring himself to bring them harm, he would make them hurt.

“I can feel that,” Crowley mutters, muffled against Aziraphale’s neck. His voice is thick and wet. “Leave those unholy thoughts to me, angel.”

Aziraphale presses a kiss to the side Crowley’s face, right above the snake sigil. It’s the only spot he can reach without peeling his husband off him and he has no plans of that.

“How did you know? How could you tell?”

Crowley’s eyes give away how he’s hurting, despite how much practice he has had over the millennia in schooling his voice to perfect dispassion. He looks like he would like to tuck away out of sight again, but the cradle of Aziraphale’s hands keep him still.

He turns his face, pressing into one of Aziraphale’s palms. His lips part there against the salt and sweat of hands that have spent all of history keeping him still.

He says, “Didn’t smell like you.” And suddenly Aziraphale understands.

This body has carried him soundly since the Beginning. Even if his core had been burned away, the body left behind would have presumably smelt like his cologne, or his books, or whatever it was he’d eaten last. Of course, it’s something the archangels would overlook. It’s something they wouldn’t think to copy. It’s something intimate and human.

‘I know what you smell like,’ the demon had snapped at him not long ago.

Oh, to be so known, to be so loved. Aziraphale could cry for days if he let himself linger on the notion.

“Let me take you home, sweetheart,” he says, speaking the words into Crowley’s hair. “Where I can keep you close to me.”

Crowley hums what is probably an assent, but when Aziraphale glances into his eyes, he finds them turned away from his own and uncomfortably fixed; staring without blinking at the archangels who let him think Aziraphale was dead.

Aziraphale touches Crowley’s face with his free hand, a brush of his fingers against a sharp cheekbone. Love swells in his chest like pain.

“You’ll have to let them go sometime,” he says with a lightness he doesn’t feel.

“No I don’t.”

Truly, the remarkable creature might find it within the realm of his imagination to trap them as they are for eternity. But…

“I don’t want them on your mind, darling,” Aziraphale says, both gentle and unrelenting as he turns Crowley’s face back towards his, so that those slitted eyes have no choice but to follow. “I don’t want them in your thoughts. Let them go.”

Crowley bares his teeth, sharper and longer than usual, and snaps his fingers. A wall of hellfire appears at his whim, curving around Uriel and Sandalphon in a vicious mockery of the trap that had held Aziraphale, standing at easily ten feet high.

“They can puzzle their own way out,” he sneers, and only then does the time in the room reorient itself to the rest of the universe.

Aziraphale doesn’t wait a moment longer. With a thought, he brings them home to the flat above the shop. The bed has turned itself down for them, pillows plump, sheets smooth and cool.

He walks Crowley backwards, lays him down. Crowley's hair is a glorious spill of red against the pale pillows, but his eyes are still manic and afraid, his fingers clutching fistfuls of Aziraphale's clothes as if to keep him from disappearing again. “As long as you need, Crowley,” Aziraphale assures him, pressing their foreheads together. “I’ll hold you just like this as long as you need. We can lay here until the end of the world if you like.” Crowley makes a watery sound that might have, an hour ago, counted as a chuckle. “Until you get peckish, you mean.”

Humor is always how they've dealt with a blow. Aziraphale smiles at him, thumbing a rogue piece of coppery hair back behind Crowley's ear.

“For you— and only for you, mind— I would be willing to go without.”

“Hah!” Crowley's death grip on Aziraphale's shirt has loosened. The hairline slits of his pupils have rounded out a bit to something less likely to panic. He's giving himself, ever so slowly, back into Aziraphale's hands. “Who are you, and what have you done with my angel?”

“It's me, love,” Aziraphale says. “I'm here.”

It ruins their little joke, but he has to say it, now that he can.

Crowley's eyes get very bright, the same way they did in the Garden, and Aziraphale is certain that Crowley heard him loud and clear this time.

[maeglinyedi]

The Serpent That Devours Us, 2

The Serpent That Devours Us

Pairing: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle

Rating: Mature

Read it here on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22132261/

Chapter 2

“What?” Harry gaped at the basilisk, mouth hanging open. He knew he must look the fool but he was too shocked to care.

“How thick are you?” the basilisk – Tom! – asked him. “I’m a wizard. I need your help.”

“No, I got that part. Just...how did this happen? Is it an animagus transfiguration gone wrong? I’m an animagus, so I might be able to help you.”

The basilisk – Tom – shook his massive head. “I’m an animagus as well, but I became one years before this happened and my form is not a basilisk.” Tom looked away from Harry. “I performed a ritual, but...I was betrayed. The sorceress who gave me the ritual knew this would happen. She wanted this to happen.”

“What kind of ritual? I’m really not well-versed in rituals, to be honest.” Harry shrugged helplessly. Of course he wanted to help this wizard, but his expertise was magical creatures, not magical catastrophes.

Tom ducked his head, his coils tightening for a second. “It was a ritual of longevity. Do the ritual, have a guaranteed 1000-year-long lifespan, that sort of thing.”

Harry couldn’t help himself. He snorted. “So the ritual did work. Basilisks do live that long.”

“Yes, thank you,” Tom snapped. “I had realized that a time or two or five hundred since I got stuck like this. Wait, what year is it?”

“It’s 2013.”

Tom visibly recoiled, his yellow eyes widening. “It’s 2013? I knew some decades had passed but I thought it might be the eighties.”

“When did you get stuck like this then?” Harry asked, his heart aching for this guy. No wonder he got cranky sometimes and tore up the forest. “How old are you?”

“I was born December 31st, 1926. I performed the ritual on midsummer’s eve, 1953,” Tom whispered.

“Wow. You have been stuck here for a long time.” Harry considered the situation and knew at once what to do. “Come with me.”

Tom’s head snapped up. “Are you mad? I’m a basilisk, in case you haven’t noticed. I go beyond this forest and the whole world will hunt me down.”

Harry’s smile was wide as he slipped off his backpack and pulled out his suitcase. “Oh mate, the world won’t know you’re with me.” He placed the suitcase on the floor and flipped open the lid. “Just follow me. You’ll fit, don’t worry.”

And Harry quickly climbed down the stairs into the main area of the suitcase. Newt had charmed it, much like his own suitcase, to have a main holding area with many habitats bordering it, with a small apartment off to the side. Harry heard scales sliding above him and he watched quietly as Tom lowered the bulk of his body inside the holding area, forked tongue flicking in and out of his mouth.

“This is quite impressive,” Tom said, carefully sliding along the floor as he checked out all the different habitats.

“Plenty of space for you to move around in until we can reverse the ritual.” Harry crossed his arms, leaning his hip against a support beam as he watched Tom get familiar with the place. “I don’t have any animals with me now. My owl, Hedwig, always travelled with me but she died a few years ago. I use the habitats for sick creatures or ones that need relocating. I’m a magical zoologist,” he added, not sure if he’d told Tom that yet or not.

“And a Gryffindor,” Tom said with a sigh as he poked his head inside Harry’s living quarters where Harry kept a Gryffindor flag above the sofa. “Of course you had to be a Gryffindor, blundering your way inside a basilisk’s lair as you did.”

“What’s wrong with Gryffindor?” Harry asked with a grin and then realized something. “Wait, are you British? Did you go to Hogwarts?”

Tom gave him a disbelieving look before rolling his eyes. “Born and raised in London. I’m a Slytherin. Prefect. Head boy, even. I had the highest NEWTs score, at least until then.”

Harry chuckled. “You sound like the boy my friend Hermione complained about after she went through Hogwarts’ student records. She wanted to be the best and she was determined to beat your scores but she couldn’t quite manage it.”

“Well,” Tom said with a smug look. “It’s nice to know I left some kind of legacy behind.”

“So, what do you think?” Harry gestured around the space. “This way we can take our time getting you back to yourself, and in the meantime you get out of the forest and I can do my job.”

Tom stared at him for a moment. “I suppose that is acceptable. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

“Great,” Harry said, but he sobered after a moment of excitement. “Just promise me you’ll be careful with your gaze. I might be immune but the rest of the world isn’t.”

“I can shield my gaze with my third eyelid temporarily.” Tom demonstrated by raising an opaque lid over his bright yellow eyes. “But perhaps it’s wise to not let anyone else down here.”

Harry nodded. “The suitcase is warded. No one can enter without my express invitation.”

“Good. There is one thing left to do.” And with that, Tom raised himself up and slid out of the suitcase. Harry jumped up the ladder and followed him out. Tom led him deeper inside the cave to a part where it was almost too dark to see. “You’ll need to bring this for me.” Tom nudged his nose against a small rocky ledge.

Harry leaned closer to see what was on it. “Is that your wand?” he asked after he managed to identify the object in the near darkness.

“Yes. If you could grab that for me I would be much obliged.”

Harry did and the moment his fingers closed around the pale wood an almost familiar warmth shot up his arm. “What’s it made of? It feels almost like my own wand.”

“Yew and phoenix feather.”

“Ah.” Harry reached for the holster in his sleeve and pulled out his own wand. “Holly and phoenix feather.”

“Might be from the same phoenix if they are that similar,” Tom suggested.

“Might be,” Harry agreed. He placed both wands inside the holster. “I’ll take good care of it until you can hold it again, I promise.”

Tom was quiet for a moment before he whispered, “Thank you. That wand is what has kept me sane over the years. Knowing it was there, that it was mine, that I was a wizard, it kept me from giving up.”

Harry placed a hand on Tom’s scaly side in comfort. “We’ll get you sorted out, Tom. I know a lot of brilliant people. They’ll help.”

Tom nodded his head and without saying anything else he slid back to the suitcase. Harry followed him with a sense of purpose brewing in his chest. He would help Tom get back to himself and in the meantime he had a companion for his travels.

Before Harry climbed down in the suitcase he aimed his wand at the cave. “Accio shed basilisk skin.”

Three long almost translucent skins came flying towards him. One, the oldest, was too far gone to be of any use, but the other two were still in good shape. Harry folded them with a wave of his wand and ignored Tom’s amused look as he carefully stored them in an empty trunk.

“The rent doesn’t pay itself,” Harry said, closing the trunk. “I’ve got to sell things I find to fund this operation.”

“You should milk some of my venom. That should earn you a nice pile of Galleons.” Tom briefly opened his mouth to show off his enormous fangs. “If you dare,” he added with a hissed laugh.

“If you let me I’ll dare.” Harry offered him his cockiest grin. “Gryffindor, remember.”

“How could I forget. Though what the Sorting Hat was thinking in placing a parselmouth in Gryffindor, I’ll never understand.” Tom stretched his coils out before getting more comfortable.

“Well, it hadn’t seen a parselmouth in a long time,” Harry offered. “Dumbledore told me I was the first parselmouth in Britain in centuries.”

Tom reared his head up with a terrifying hiss. “Dumbledore is full of shit. I’m a parselmouth, which I told him when he came to give me my letter when I was eleven. He never trusted me afterwards. And now he’s erasing my existence altogether.” Tom’s eyes positively glowed as he glared at Harry.

Not knowing how to respond to that, but slightly cowed in the face of a basilisk’s fury, former human or not, Harry lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

Tom seemed to deflate slightly. “I realize it’s not your fault. It just angers me beyond belief that Dumbledore would do such a thing. That man has never given me a fair chance.”

“So I guess asking Dumbledore for help is out of the question? Because he’s at the top of my list to go to, if I’m being honest,” Harry said carefully.

Tom’s eyes started glowing again. “That man is still alive? And yes, going to him is definitely out of the question. I’d rather remain this way than ask him for anything.”

“Okay, point made,” Harry said, meanwhile wondering what the hell Dumbledore had done to this man to make him hate the headmaster that much. To be honest, Harry had never had much to do with Dumbledore. His parents were friendly with him, his dad had business with him through his work from time to time, and his mother, who worked as a healer in St Mungo’s, had called upon the headmaster for his expertise in transfiguration in a few difficult cases. But Harry himself, especially after he became a zoologist had never garnered much of the headmaster’s attention. Then again, he’d never been an exceptional student outside his interest in creatures and his talent on a broom.

Harry had figured out years ago, after a few nights drinking wine or whiskey with Severus and listening to some of his stories about his time at Hogwarts, that Dumbledore was the kind of man who surrounded himself with talented people who could solve his problems for him. Severus wasn’t overly fond of the man for his abysmal treatment of Slytherins, and Blaise had always had lots to complain about the headmaster as well, and Harry realized Tom might very well have similar experiences as those two when it came to the headmaster and Slytherins.

Best to respect his grievances and find help elsewhere.

“I’m getting a sandwich. Do you need to eat?” Harry moved inside his small apartment, amused when Tom stuck his head inside the door to see what he was doing.

“No, I ate two deer just the other week. I don’t require much sustenance.”

“Let me know when you get hungry. There’s plenty of deer and wild boar in the world.” Harry prepared himself a simple roast beef sandwich and a cup of tea and flopped down on the sofa to eat it.

Tom flicked his tongue in and out. “I miss tea,” he sighed.

“I think I would, too,” Harry said between bites. “What possessed you to do such a ritual in the first place?”

“Stupidity,” Tom replied with a bitter laugh. “Arrogance. Ambition. Immortality.”

“Immortality? Really? That sounds a bit...much.”

“I have, since being stuck like this for sixty years, come to the conclusion that immortality is overrated, yes.” Tom’s gaze was miles away. “I wonder if this was the sorceress’ goal when she gave me the ritual. I’d spent so many years trying to lose my humanity and yet, now I would do almost anything to be human again.” And with that Tom pulled his head back and disappeared into the holding area, leaving a baffled Harry behind.

[cheryl-in-a-barrel]

Leave A Message - Choni Oneshot

Read on Ao3 

Cheryl feels the first tear roll down her cheek when she’s 15 seconds into Toni’s first voicemail. There are 9 more messages to follow, but she doesn’t know how the hell she’s going to get through them when she’s already crying on the first.

“Hey…I just left the hospital and you weren’t there? The doctor said you went home with your mom but something about that just doesn’t sound right. I’m coming over to yours now, I know your mom will want to kill me if I show up there, but i just have to make sure you’re okay. Call me back when you get this.”

Cheryl lowers the phone down from her ear, and clicks onto the next message with a sniffle, wiping at her eyes even though the action is useless against the inevitable tears that are sure to continue.

“Okay, something’s definitely wrong. Your mom said you’re in Switzerland?? I know she’s lying but the thought of you being so far away still really freaked me out. Is that…weird? I just never want to be that far away from you, ever. I don’t know where you are, but I swear I’m going to find you, okay? Please if you get these messages, call me.”

Cheryl takes a shaky breath as the message ends. Toni’s voice sounded so worried, even scared, and the knowledge that she was so anxious over Cheryl’s whereabouts, pulls at the girl’s heartstrings. She’s never, in her entire life had someone worry over her like that. Even Jason, for as much as he loved her, had too many of his own problems to be fussing over Cheryl all the time. He cared about her, of course, but Cheryl never heard that kind of pure concern in Jason’s voice for her.

She gets up from her desk chair, and shuffles over to sit on her bed. Once she’s seated cross legged right in the middle of her queen sized mattress, Cheryl presses down on the next message.

“Hey, it’s me again. It’s been hours…and I’ve asked around but no one’s heard from you since yesterday. You’re really starting to scare me. You were…so paranoid about your mom and uncle… god, Cher did they hurt you? I don’t even want to think about that, but it’s starting to look more and more likely. I actually wish you were in Switzerland right now, at least you’d be safe there, but now, for all I know you’re in pain or something and I just, I don’t know how to help you. I’m not going to stop until I find you though. I’ll force my way into Thistlehouse for answers if I need to. Don’t worry, Cheryl, I’m coming.”

A small smile appears across Cheryl’s lips as she hears Toni’s determined words echo through the speaker. That’s her girl, stubborn as always. She admires Toni so much for the way she never backs down from a challenge. The serpent girl would do absolutely anything for the people she cares about, and Cheryl is forever grateful for that fact. She doesn’t know why Toni decided to care about her, of all people, but she’ll spend the rest of her life showing Toni her gratitude.

“Hey...last night was hell. I can’t sleep knowing you’re probably in danger. I talked to the serpents about it, and Sweet Pea and Fangs were so down to help me break down the door to Thistlehouse and interrogate your mom…but the more I thought about that, the more I realized that’s probably a bad idea. I can’t exactly help you if we get arrested or something, and I think we both know your mom will call the cops the minute she hears the engine of our bikes.” Toni sighs frustratedly on the other side of the phone. “I’ll need a different kind of backup for this. I’m going to talk to Josie and Veronica today, they should be able to help. We’ll have you back in no time, Bombshell, just hang in there okay?”

Cheryl tries to hold in her quiet cries. Toni’s voice hitched at the end of her sentence, a clear sign that the other girl was also getting emotional at the time of recording the message.

It’s overwhelming. The amount that Toni cared. All the trouble she went through. Cheryl would have assumed anyone else to give up after the first couple of hours of not getting ahold of her. But to hear that Toni couldn’t even sleep without knowing where she was, it’s shocking to Cheryl. How did she get so damn lucky?

“It’s me again. Is it stupid that I still think you might answer one of these calls? It probably is, but I don’t know, part of me is still hoping you’ll pick up and tell me everything’s okay and that I’ve been a nervous wreck for nothing.” Toni pauses after that, and it takes a few long seconds before she starts speaking again. “It’s been 24 hours. I think this is the first time we’ve gone a whole day without talking since the movies. I also think this is the first time I’ve ever…missed you. I mean, I’ve been freaking out since yesterday, but this is the first time that I actually really miss you. I like being around you, Cher. Just, come back to me already. I can’t stand this.”

Cheryl’s crying into one of her pillows, her mascara further staining the silk white pillowcase with each tear that falls. “I missed you too,” she whispers aloud to her empty bedroom, her voice raspy from how emotional she is.

When the next message starts, Toni sounds more worked up then the others, breathy and rushed, with anger lacing her every word.

“I’m going to kill your mom. I know she’s behind this! She’s so manipulative and cruel and ugh! How did you put up with that monster for 16 years? Josie, Veronica, and I just went to see her. Unfortunately, I have more questions than I did before, but at least now I know for sure that she did something to you. She hurt you, and once I get you back, I’ll make sure you never have to see that evil bitch again.” Toni’s anger starts to simmer, and then she turns a little softer, her words becoming quiet. “I…Josie’s out. Your mom, she…she showed her some drawing you made? I didn’t really know what it meant but Josie explained, and, well, I don’t blame her, really I don’t, but, it doesn’t change anything for me. I don’t want you to be scared that it does, because it doesn’t one bit. I still…you still mean so much to me. Veronica is still here too, and she’s going to help me figure this out. I’m going to save you, Cher.”

In the back of Cheryl’s mind, she always thought that Toni would eventually leave her, once she discovered one too many layers of how fucked up she was. It was one of her biggest fears when she started falling for Toni. She tried to tell herself that catching feelings for this girl was going to hurt her. That even if Toni liked her back, she wouldn’t once she learned all the horrible things she’s done. Because really, what kind of girl smiles when you tell her you burned your house down. Toni’s the only girl, Cheryl’s sure of it. Toni’s the only girl that would smile, and playfully retort “That’s badass, bombshell,” without missing a beat. Toni’s made for Cheryl, she has to be.

“Don’t be mad at me.” Are the first words that rush out of Toni’s voice when Cheryl starts the next message. She sounds so guilty and conflicted, and Cheryl’s demeanour softens, and she smiles sadly when she hears it. “Please please please don’t be mad. Your Nana called me, said something about you being with the sisters? She didn’t get anything else out after that, but it gave me some ideas. I had to tell Veronica about…us. Not that there is an us! I mean, unless you want there to be,” Toni awkwardly clears her throat. “This is so not the time to be talking about this, I know. I told Veronica about…you liking girls. And then well, we told Kevin too. I’m so sorry I betrayed your trust, Cher. I promise, I would have never done it if I thought there was another way to get you back. But you don’t have to worry, I already threatened both Kevin and Veronica that I’d cut their tongues out with my switchblade if they told anyone so, you’re good. I’ll totally understand if you hate me though. Just, let me get you back home safely, and then, you can yell at me all you want, deal?”

Cheryl let’s a watery chuckle escape her lips as the message ends. She can only imagine Kevin and Veronica’s frightened faces when Toni threatened them. She never thought she’d be so happy to have a gang member for a girlfriend. But perhaps it makes perfect sense. Cheryl’s always had a flare for the dramatics, and having a significant other so ready to engage in violent acts in order to defend her honour, is just the right amount of dramatic for her taste. Although, in this case it isn’t necessary. Cheryl doesn’t really mind that Toni told Veronica and Kevin about her sexuality. She trusts them, and the only person she was ever really hiding it from was her mother, anyway. Now that Penelope is out of the picture, Cheryl’s ready to start learning how to be proud of who she loves. Regardless of anyone’s judgment of her.

“Okay, I think we know where you are. Maybe. I don’t know. Kevin was able to help us get some information about the Sisters of Quiet Mercy, and it’s our best bet right now. On the one hand I hope you aren’t there, because, fuck Cher, if you’re there, going through…gay conversion therapy, god, I’m never going to forgive myself for letting that happen to you. But at the same time, if you are there, that means I can finally get you back, It means I finally know where you are, and I want that more than anything. We’re going later tonight, and I’ll burn that place down to the fucking ground if I have to. Anything to get you back. Anything.”

Cheryl doesn’t dwell too much on that message, she can’t take the way Toni sounds so close to the verge of tears. So close to the verge of completely breaking down. She knows it’s in the past, but even so, hearing the girl so hurt, makes her whole chest feel tight, and makes her heart pound painfully against her ribcage. She lifts one of her hands to furiously wipe the tears on her cheeks before quickly pressing on the next message.

“Hey, I don’t really have an update, I just… wanted to hear your voice.” Toni sniffles. “I’m going crazy waiting for the sun to set so we can finally go break you out. I know it’s smart to wait until it’s dark and all, but, if it were up to me, we would have went the second we got the lead…Hey, we should watch the sunset together some time. It’s really beautiful, and well, you deserve really beautiful things.”

They still haven’t done that yet. Watch the sunset together. Cheryl makes a mental note right then and there, to watch the sunset with Toni. It sounds peaceful and relaxing. She doesn’t want to see it for it’s beauty like Toni said though. She already has the other girl to look at for that.

With a shaky thumb, Cheryl presses down on the last message.

“Cheryl, this is like the tenth message i’ve left…wherever you are, I hope you’re hearing this. My voice telling you that I’m right there, I’m by your side. You’re not alone, Cheryl. Not ever again…I’m leaving now, to come get you, and I won’t let you go this time, I promise.”

Cheryl clicks off of her missed messages after that. Letting her phone fall on the bed beneath her, while she stares off into the distance of her bedroom with a heavy sigh.

She sits there, a million thoughts running through her brain but not a single one coherent enough to actually focus on. She doesn’t know what to think, or how to feel. All she knows, is she has the overpowering thought of Toni at the very forefront of her cluttered mind. Her heart is beating in the rhythm of the other girl’s name, and her shaky hands ache to thread her fingers through Toni’s.

Toni, Toni, Toni.

Cheryl moves to pick her phone up again, intending to dial the other girl’s number that she has memorized by heart, but before she can, she shakes her head and stuffs her phone into the pocket of her hoodie instead.

Toni’s voice isn’t enough, not this time.

She stands from the bed, grabs her car keys, and leaves Thistlehouse.

The drive is quiet. She has soft music playing lowly from her radio, but she isn’t really paying attention to the gentle melody flowing into the car. Her mind is much too distracted.

It’s only when she reaches Sunnyside Trailer Park, that she feels nervous. She didn’t exactly call ahead, she doesn’t know if Toni will want to see her right now. What if she’s overstepping?

She clutches the steering wheel tightly in her hands and closes her eyes, willing her insecurities away. That isn’t her voice in her head telling that Toni doesn’t want to see her, it’s her mother’s voice, and she’s tired of giving in to it.

Cheryl pulls her phone out and plays the most recent message one more time.

“…You’re not alone, Cheryl. Not ever again.”

She takes a deep breath. With those words acting as a shield of armour against her deepest, darkest fears and doubts, Cheryl steps out of her car.

She knocks on the door to Toni’s trailer. Her uncle was never home in the evenings, so she isn’t worried about the older man answering instead of her girlfriend. She didn’t know if Toni was home for sure though, and she anxiously scuffs her shoe over the welcome mat as she waits for the sound of any movement inside.

Thankfully, the sound of light footsteps reach Cheryl’s ears, and she breathes a quiet sigh of relief when they do.

“Cher?” Toni questions in concern as soon as she swings the door open. “What are you doing here?”

Cheryl doesn’t know what to say. She stares at her girlfriend’s worried face, all the words she wanted to get out disappearing as soon as she stares into those dark eyes that she’s grown to love so much.

“Baby?” Toni pries gently, tilting her head to the side.

Cheryl moves forward, capturing Toni’s lips in her own.

Her hands immediately tangle into stands of pink hair, and without more than a second passing, Toni’s hands are on her waist.

Although taken by surprise, Toni reciprocates the kiss without missing a beat. Kissing has become second nature to the two girls even in such a short amount of time. It just felt right. Their lips fit perfectly together, and even when it’s messy or awkward, it still feels like they’re kissing the girl they were always meant to kiss.

They break apart slightly to catch their breaths, they both still have their eyes closed, their lips just brushing against each other’s.

Cheryl is the one to pull away first, looking at her girlfriend with so much love and appreciation in her eyes.

“You’re not alone, Cheryl. Not ever again.”

“Do you wanna watch the sunset with me?” Cheryl blurts out, those being the only words she seems to be able to get past her lips.

Toni smiles fondly, and reaches out to hold the redhead’s hand. “Okay,” she agrees easily.

They end up driving to Sweetwater River. They’re silent the entire ride, choosing to wait until they reach their destination to start talking. It’s good though. They both take the opportunity to collect their thoughts, and they still hold hands over the console the whole time Cheryl’s driving. Having Toni finally touching her seems to have calmed some of Cheryl’s overwhelming anxiety. The other girl was the closest thing to a lifeline she’s ever had.

When they arrive, they exit the car, and decide to sit up on the hood, looking out over the water, where the sun has just started to make it’s descent, leaving the river basking in an orange glow.

“So,” Toni breaks the silence first, “I take it you listened to my messages.”

She looks almost, embarrassed. The prospect of that confuses Cheryl, those voice messages were the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for her.

“I did,” she nods, scooting closer to Toni.

The other girl wraps her arm around Cheryl’s shoulders without a second thought, pulling her into her side, and kissing the top of her head.

“You never told me you left me messages,” Cheryl says curiously.

Toni just shrugs. “After you lost your phone, I didn’t think you’d ever hear them, and I don’t know, I was kind of embarrassed to bring it up. How did you get them, anyway?”

“I got my new phone today,” Cheryl tells her, “Everything was restored, I guess the messages just transferred over.”

Toni nods.

“They were, really sweet,” Cheryl starts slowly. “I don’t think anyone’s ever said that kinda stuff to me before.” she pauses, and then, “Did you mean it?”

“Every word,” Toni answers honestly, “Every single word I said on those messages, I meant.”

Cheryl’s breath hitches at the sheer sincerity dripping from Toni’s voice, and before she has the chance to respond, Toni continues.

“Cher, losing you was pure torture. And it wasn’t much but, calling you, hearing your voice for even just a couple seconds, and then leaving those messages, it felt like I was really talking to you. It kept me sane, honestly.”

Cheryl moves her head back to look at the other girl, watching her closely, and seeing nothing but the truth in her face. She doesn’t understand it. Why did the most perfect girl on this whole planet, choose her? Toni could have anyone, and almost anyone would be more worthy of her unwavering love and support than Cheryl.

Toni grips Cheryl’s chin gently to meet her eyes. “Stop that,” she says.

“Stop what?” Cheryl shakily breathes.

“Whatever’s going on in that beautiful head of yours. Whatever lies it’s trying to tell you,” she kisses Cheryl’s forehead. “Stop listening to them.”

Cheryl moves to Toni’s lips and kisses her again. She wasn’t always the greatest with her words, but she knew how to show Toni how much those words meant to her, even if she didn’t know how to tell her.

When they pull back, Cheryl whispers, “Sometimes it’s hard to stop listening.”

“I know, baby,” Toni sadly smiles, pulling the girl back into her side again, allowing for Cheryl to rest her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder, and look out towards the stunning sunset ahead of them once again. “I’ll spend forever proving those voices wrong, if I have to.”

“Forevers a long time.”

“With you? Not long enough.”

They’re quiet then. Watching the sunset together in peace. Nothing around to distract them or interrupt them from what’s truly important. Which is just being here, in each other’s arms, where no one can hurt them. No sadistic nuns, masked serial killers, or rival gang leaders could touch them here.

This town seems to attract chaos with a magnetic pull, preying on it’s vulnerable small town values. It turns the best of them into monsters, and turns the monsters into sinners even worse than the devil himself. It’s astounding, really, that they’re all still there, that they all don’t just leave. They give into the storm of disarray as if it’s normal. As if men with black hoods and a thirst for blood is commonplace, and as if incredibly wealthy families tearing entire communities apart with nothing more than a checkbook and a strong mob mentality is standard protocol. Riverdale is the closest thing to hell that either of these girls has ever seen. And yet, sitting here, watching the sunset from a river that holds enough horror stories for an entire lifetime of terror, they know they’d never give it up. Because without this town, they wouldn’t have each other. The one beam of light through an avalanche of mayhem. They hate this town and what it’s done to them, but they wouldn’t trade it for the world.

[gwyvian]

Heart of the Forge

[Author’s Note: shout-out to my good friend @differentrunawayengineer, who prodded and helped me greatly, until I finally finished this chapter! Go read his stuff!]

Chapter 9: Moments

“Where is a Roekaar when you actually need one?” Ryder grumbled, chest tight and knuckles white as she gripped her gun. She coughed from the grit coating her throat the moment she opened her mouth, the air leaving an acrid taste on her tongue.

Based on the allocation of Initiative people it is likely that Akksul was aboard a vanguard shuttle with the Resistance, SAM intoned.

Ryder let out a shaky laugh that almost turned into a sob. “Not helping, SAM,” she replied. “Can you map what happened? Where each shuttle went down?” Her eyes went to the wreckage she saw in the distance near the silos; all the men and women those shuttles had been carrying were either dead or locked in combat with RemTech bots likely none of them had ever seen before.

It will take me a moment. Please continue surveying the area to reconstruct the attack.

“I can already tell where some of the Resistance landed,” Ryder nodded in the direction of the silos, “he could be there in the thick of it. He might already be dead for all we know!”

It is a possibility, Pathfinder. I will be able to tell more with a completed map.

Holding her weapon as steady as she could, Ryder carefully walked around the shuttle’s immediate vicinity and began her scans as SAM requested, keeping one eye on the battle nearby in case one of the bots spotted her, but she didn’t go very far; the Moshae was still in the shuttle, unconscious and helpless. Noxious fumes swirled red and blue as the jungle around the silos burned, making visibility dodgy at best, but even if it made her lungs sting Ryder was grateful for it; probably the smoke was the only thing that kept her alive at the moment. After the quick sweep, she determined the perimeter was clear and decided she could risk taking a moment to consider what to do next while SAM compiled the data she’d gathered.

Analyzing, SAM said, then fell silent.

None of the bots were close enough to see her where she had stopped, but she was sure that if this was the targeted strike she suspected, sooner or later the bots would notice not all the shuttles successfully brought down short of the silos had been destroyed; getting the Moshae out and away as quickly as possible was imperative. Only… the tightness in her chest increased as her eyes strayed to the smoldering piles of debris again littered all around the field where the bulk of the escort shuttles had gone down. A light rain began to sprinkle over them, the pleasantly cool droplets on her face making her wonder how long it would take for those fires to go out if it rained proper. After a moment she wiped water out of her eyes, hand shaking as she started to shiver; the cooler air clung to her armor, chilling it.

I recommend we wait here, SAM said finally.

“What?” Ryder asked, frowning. “SAM, I can’t protect the Moshae from that, not alone,” she gestured to the battle, though she felt foolish for doing it. If Akksul saw her now, he’d probably start a derisive monologue about anthropomorphizing the AI in her head, or something to that effect. Suddenly the volume of the yells and screams of human and angara alike seemed to drop noticeably; that definitely wasn’t a good sign. “What’s to say the bots won’t sweep the area and eliminate all organics or something? Sounds like they’re doing a good job of it already,” she added grimly.

It is likely that in the event of his survival, Akksul will forego the main battle to search for the Moshae, and this is the most likely place for the shuttle to have gone down based on the available trajectory data. In your current condition I would not advise confronting a force this powerful, waiting is preferable for the moment.

“Right,” Ryder nodded, buoyed by sudden hope bubbling in her chest. He could find me still, she thought with relief. The tightness eased a little and she suddenly had to contend with tears in the back of her throat, but she managed to swallow them; SAM hadn’t promised her anything, but somehow the way the AI had phrased it, she could draw strength from it. “Right. The shuttle is useless, it might as well have been wet tissue paper against whatever it was that hit us and an intact shuttle is a target. We need to get the Moshae out and ready her for transport when Akksul gets here.” It was when and not if; the former Roekaar leader was nothing if not too stubborn to die.

I would recommend waiting only a short amount of time, however. The Resistance and Initiative engaged with the enemy will not last much longer.

“Is it safe to stay here? Do you think we’d be targets around debris?”

Much less so than an intact shuttle. The kinetic barriers failed the moment we were hit, I do not believe it will come online again unless we repair it, but it would be time consuming.

“Then a soggy safe spot will have to do.”

Ryder closed her eyes for a moment, straining her ears and praying that the silence gradually settling over the area like an uneasy sunset meant the enemy had either moved on or her people and the Resistance had managed to disengage and retreat. Even if that were true though, the casualties were already high the moment they were shot out of the sky; the butcher’s bill was going to be hard to swallow no matter what.

“We lead them into a slaughter…” she said softly, opening her eyes again before climbing into the shuttle to retrieve the Moshae. It made her feel sick, but she could only spare a bare moment to mourn the dead; she had to focus on who she could save. Moving Sjefa as gently as she could, Ryder tried to carry her out in such a way that her injuries didn’t get worse from all the tussle, but some bumps here and there were inevitable; she hoped she wasn’t making the situation worse by moving her. On her way out she clumsily extracted a blanket from one of the shuttle’s compartments, but she couldn’t quite reach the med kit with her burden.

There was nothing to indicate this would be the result of our actions, Pathfinder, SAM said.

“Those bots never saw the light of day before we released them,” Ryder snapped, not willing to partake of the comfort SAM offered. “Just… don’t try to make me feel better, SAM.”

Yes, Pathfinder.

She laid the angaran scientist on the ground hidden in a bed of mist behind a hollow carved out by bits of another shuttle and draped the blanket over the area to shelter Sjefa from the rain, but before she could retrieve the med kit to treat the angaran’s wounds, a noise made her draw her weapon, focus flooding her mind. Surely a bot would not creep up on her stealthily, they had all the advantage here, in numbers if nothing else, so it would have likely resorted to a direct attack; however, it was just as dangerous for her allies to come up on her unawares in the increasingly poor visibility, so she crouched low in front of the Moshae, shielded by the earth bank dug up during the crash and waited quietly.

Another snap.

Slowly counting the seconds in her head as no one and nothing emerged from the thickening smoke, Ryder finally took a steadying breath, slowly getting up from her crouch before moving towards where the noise had come from. The light sprinkle turned into a steady downpour that battled the flames around the field, smoke roiling in response like coiled serpents lashing out in anger at the sky. It stung her eyes a little and the air burned in her lungs, each painful breath misted before her and her hands trembled from the cold, every exposed part of her soaking, but she ignored her discomfort. After walking the perimeter one more time, she began to relax, heading back to the Moshae’s side. It must have been an animal, frightened away by something in the increasingly inhospitable field.

Without warning, a figure emerged directly in front of her and her gun was up and aimed in seconds, but she let her arms drop again almost immediately: Akksul was there, blue blood smeared across his face and chest, expression grim, though in his eyes Ryder saw the same surprise she herself felt; he must not have expected to stumble across her and the Moshae so quickly, or at least not in this particular spot.

“Akksul,” Ryder gasped with relief, barely stopping herself from rushing up to him. Instead she looked him up and down, looking for injuries to account for all the blood on him, but it must not have all been his; there wasn’t a visible wound on him anywhere apart from a small gash across his brow, but that certainly wasn’t large or deep enough to account for it all.

“The Moshae?” the former Roekaar leader asked in a tight voice.

“Alive but injured,” Ryder replied, looking over her shoulder to where the angaran scientist lay. “I haven’t had a chance to do more than bring her out of the shuttle, in case the bots would target .”

Akksul growled deep in his throat as he approached the unconscious woman and touched the blood on her, and Ryder, suddenly wary of him, kept her distance. There was no telling how he would react to his mentor’s injury sustained in her company, and she wasn’t at all confident that he would stay his hand from harming her if he thought her somehow responsible. It was idiotic, just looking around clearly showed that something – someone – else was responsible for their crash, but she would never accuse Akksul of being overly rational that way, not with his history. Her heart went out to him as she thought it, though; he had gone through so much, and no matter how confident he was now she knew that inside he was still broken. It was why he was unstable in the first place, why he had turned xenophobic – and who could blame him really? She didn’t forgive him for what he had done, but she understood and sympathized with the wounded soul inside him.

“When I get my hands on her,” Akksul said venomously, straightening and looking around the devastated field; theirs wasn’t the only ship to scar the soil with deep gouges, leaving all manner of flora flattened and smoldering in its wake. “All this for what? To make me become a better leader? Why they even bother with the fiction that they’re after the Moshae for my sake, I don’t know, but this,” he nodded at the wrecked shuttle, “this would never have happened if they hadn’t locked us down there. Did they think I would just sit still? After threatening the Moshae?”

Ryder almost swallowed her tongue in surprise. For once in his life, the man blamed the real enemy instead of the entirety of all aliens. She narrowed her eyes as she studied him surreptitiously; was it possible that she’d actually made an impression on him, changed his mind about more than just herself? Or was he struggling to change his attitude because of her? Either way, she wasn’t about to put this newfound understanding between them to the test by diving into the subject of Zivrel and her role in the death and destruction cascading all around them; she decided keeping the ball rolling was the right play here.

“We need to get the Moshae to safety, Akksul,” she said. “Did anyone come with you? Is your shuttle intact?” she asked, not really believing either thing possible, but hoping all the same.

Akksul shook his head. “The Resistance engaged the enemy; I volunteered to find the Moshae. My shuttle, along with our pilot, is in pieces.”

“Of course they did… and of course you did,” Ryder sighed.

“Don’t forget ‘of course it is’,” Akksul continued the thought, surprisingly wry for the solemnity of the moment.

“Funny,” Ryder smiled slightly, but her flicker of good humor was quick in passing. The problem was, moving was increasingly urgent and the jungle was definitely not much safer than lingering here in a field of wreckage. A stretcher would have been a nice idea, but with only the two of them, they would be defenseless for precious moments while one of them dropped the handles and reached for a weapon; after meeting some of the native species in this fluorescent jungle, she didn’t want to chance being out there without one of them going guns ready.

“I wanted to find you as well, though I did not say it,” Akksul said abruptly. Ryder opened her mouth, perplexed, but he continued before she could utter a sound. “Don’t think too much on it.”

Ryder compressed her lips, but she did not pursue it. “Help me with her, I’ll cover you,” she said instead, approaching the Moshae, while trying not to sound like she felt, which at the moment was infuriated, confused and alone. Perhaps his intention had been to reassure her that she was important, too, but then he had to invalidate it like it meant nothing; was he toying with her?

Akksul frowned. “I know this terrain better than you, I should be the one guarding.”

Perhaps ‘understanding’ was too strong a word to apply to their changed relationship, Ryder thought bitterly. More like they were still temporary allies in a forced partnership; the more time passed the more she did not like it. After this whole episode ended and they reached the daar perhaps she would let Akksul take over and go find her people by herself. She very much wanted to go home to a place where she was in control; she would have access to resources and hot showers alike, Lexi would fix her up under SAM’s guidance and then the Roekaar would truly feel the honored distinction of being in the crosshairs of the human Pathfinding Team.

For the moment though, her reality was that she was still cold, miserable and destined for possibly hours’ worth of relentless arguments with Akksul unless one of them relented to the other. Ryder gritted her teeth, returning her eyes to the Moshae helplessly. Now that she was so close, Ryder noticed Sjefa’s tunic had shifted from all the movement earlier to reveal several bloodstains that seemed worse now than before in the shuttle. Biting her lip, she thought through the situation and finally came to a decision.

“Fine!” she said to Akksul, looking anywhere but at the man. “But I don’t think we should move her before treating that wound,” she nodded to Sjefa’s left side, where her tunic was dampest from blood. When Akksul didn’t move, she glared back up at him. “That was an invitation to help me,” she said pointedly.

Thankfully, Akksul didn’t need telling twice; in fact, he quietly handed her everything she asked for as she tended the Moshae’s wounds. Glancing around, risk calculations started whirring in the back of her mind and by the time she was done with the wound, she decided they were safe enough for the moment to check for any other serious wounds and treat them. She could feel Akksul’s disapproval at her slowness as she began feeling for broken bones, but to her relief she didn’t have to delay them any longer – the Moshae was in as good a condition as could be expected, considering that she still hadn’t regained consciousness. That worried her, but she didn’t dawdle in scrambling to her feet, lifting the angaran scientist over her shoulder with Akksul’s help.

“Make sure you follow my footsteps exactly,” Akksul said, hurriedly stuffing the medical equipment they had unpacked into a startling amount of pockets he had on his person – including her gelpacks. She decided to let it slide for the time being.

Ryder clenched her jaw. “I’ll try,” she said in a tight voice, then firmly started off without him.

Muttering, the former Roekaar leader caught up with her quickly and took the lead, but not before giving her a flat look. There was a hint of dryness about him, though; Ryder rather thought that she was finally rubbing off on him. Or at least, he knew her well enough by now to know that arguing with her would only end with him having to admit – at least to himself – that he was wrong; clearly the man learned from stepping in that particular pit several times now with her.

 It didn’t take long for the Pathfinder’s and the former Roekaar leader’s quiet cooperation to begin to fray, unfortunately; it was hard to keep in step with the angaran while staggering under the Moshae’s weight after they had been walking – and dodging carnivorous beasts every other minute it seemed like – for over an hour, if Ryder judged the passage of time correctly; it was hard to tell from the ground. The sounds of the tail end of the battle were long faded behind them, and the only evidence that there was something amiss in the jungle were the plumes of smoke rising off in the distance and the occasional distant cry; and they only even glimpsed that the few times they reached a break in the dazzling deep blueish-purple canopy.

Craning her head skyward, she glimpsed a dirty silver stream again, much smaller against the yawing stars than the last time she’d seen one. “Alright,” Ryder gasped, unsteadily approaching a giant glowing mushroom before slinging the Moshe down as gently as she could to lean against it, the older woman’s chin falling to her chest limply. “That’s far enough, we’re stopping now.” Before Akksul could even growl in protest, she sank the rest of the way to the ground beside the Moshae, then rolled on her back, groaning.

“Those are poisonous!” Akksul exclaimed, rushing over and pulling the Moshae away.

“Not sure I care,” Ryder said hoarsely, gripping her ribs in agony. She felt oddly compressed after jumping around with someone on her shoulder, but already she felt better, feeling the relaxation of being free of her burden run numbly over her, making her feel drowsy.

“You could have killed her,” the irritating man grumbled, a voice that strangely lulled her in that moment; it didn’t matter what he was saying, so long as he was saying something. She let the sounds of the jungle wash over her, the strange calls of wild animals native to this strange place out of a fantasy, the feel of the gentle evening breeze on her cheeks, rustling her hair...

Surprising, cool fingers found hers as her arm was lifted around Akksul’s shoulders and that jolted her awake well enough. She gasped when he suddenly pulled her up, then helped her a few feet away, before setting her down, a little unceremoniously, beside where he’d already lain the Moshae in the hollow of a giant tree that looked like dripped wax, all melted together with holes in between.

“Thanks,” she muttered, remaining sitting up as best she could to keep from falling asleep. The ground seemed so invitingly soft at that moment that she wondered at how she had never observed that before about it, but in the back of her mind she knew it was her body screaming for rest and fooling her mind into thinking anything was comfortable enough for a little sleep right then.

“You could have killed yourself, too,” Akksul said hesitantly, trying to inject severity into his voice but not entirely succeeding in the venture. He was going soft on her!

Ryder smiled wryly. “You’re just used to helping me now,” she said.

Akksul snorted, but didn’t deny it; and then, a silence began to settle between them – an uncomfortable one. Ryder’s eyes slid to the Moshae, feeling hesitant to speak in front of the woman about what she really wanted to find out, even though the woman was clearly unconscious. A glance at Akksul told her that he was just as uncomfortable with the idea.

“So,” Ryder said after a long moment, finally unable to bear the unspoken questions any longer. “You said…” she tried to make herself continue, but she quickly gave up and just hoped he would infer what she was asking.

A muscle twitched in Akksul’s jaw. “So,” he repeated slowly, looking a little unsure, clearly as if he didn’t know what she was getting at and just as clearly determined to wait her out, judging by his expression.

Ryder sighed in frustration. “Well, you’re not much of a conversationalist,” she forced out a laugh.

“And you are good at deflecting your inability to speak to me,” Akksul pointed out.

“I wasn’t!” Ryder exclaimed, laughter vanishing. She rather felt like she’d just been goosed of all things, but surely he wasn’t right. Was he? “How..?” she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, but anger quickly replaced it. “Oh, so suddenly you pay attention and have mapped the human psyche? You think I’m evading?” she scoffed. “You’re one to talk.”

“You’re doing it again,” he said simply, smirking.

Ryder glared. “Well I don’t see you bringing up anything without prodding,” she snapped.

“I will carry the Moshae from now on, but we must move.” He got up and she copied him with some difficulty.

“That’s it?” Ryder frowned at him. “We’re not talking?”

“You may talk if you wish,” Akksul replied with a nonchalant shrug.

“Now who’s changing the subject and evading?” she crossed her arms. Instead of arguing like she expected however, the infuriating man clearly began to politely wait for her to do all the talking. It wasn’t fair, she decided. Of all the times to start being an attentive listener like she had wished so many times, it had to be now? She sighed wearily. “Fine, just… let’s rest for a few more minutes.”

Abruptly he stepped closer before she could move to sit by the Moshae again, gazing down at her seriously and letting an entirely unexpected worry show in his expression. Ryder realized she must have looked beat; she felt pretty used up. Perhaps she should ignore her aching body and just push through, but just the thought of fighting their way through the jungle the rest of the way to the daar made her want to curl up and fall asleep, even if she wasn’t the one carrying Sjefa the rest of the way. Trying to reassure Akksul that she was fine, she gave him a small smile and started to turn away, but he caught her arm, pulling her back and even closer than she had been before; his eyes were on her lips, and suddenly she felt it – the kiss that had not yet happened, but that he was definitely thinking about. She swooned a little closer, unable to stop herself even had she wanted to, surprised at how ready she was to give herself over to whatever it was sparking between them. She reached up to touch his face, but hesitated.

“Neither one of you… knows how to talk... about feelings,” the Moshae said weakly into the moment, startling both of them. They jumped apart, though on his part Ryder thought Akksul was not nearly as embarrassed as she was; by his expression, he was merely happy to see Sjefa awake again.

“Shovaan!” Akksul exclaimed, going to her and taking her hand. “Are you alright? Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” Sjefa replied, using Akksul’s arm to sit herself up despite his grunt of protest. “But I will live, I think.”

“Professor, you hit your head pretty hard, it would be best if you stayed lying down,” Ryder said, going to the angaran scientist’s other side to crouch beside her.

“Nonsense,” the Moshae shook her head, though a wince of pain gave her the lie. “Where are we?” she looked around at the jungle, blinking a little groggily as she fully regained consciousness.

Ryder’s eyes caught Akksul’s and she felt herself react involuntarily, nostrils flaring as her heartbeat quickened, but she quickly broke eye contact. That seemed to fix the problem of the unbidden, shockingly salacious thoughts that the former Roekaar leader evoked in her in that moment – for the time being, at least. She couldn’t do anything about her suddenly burning face, though. Why did he have to addle her senses just when the Moshae woke up? She needed to keep her wits about her around the angaran scientist and thinking about Akksul’s warm, electric touch or the hunger in his eyes – just like they had been on the night they had spent together – was not helping. She almost groaned, realizing that she was thinking about what almost happened anyway; getting lost in the details, in fact. She cleared her throat.

“We were attacked,” she said calmly. “Whatever we unleashed, it’s… it’s far worse than we feared. Hundreds, if not thousands, of bots were pouring out of the silos when I last saw them, killing our people who were shot down closer to doors than we were.”

“From the silos – from the inside?” Sjefa asked, startled. “Are you sure?”

“It’s a little hard to miss,” Ryder said wryly, but her momentary humor evaporated instantly as she recalled what she had witnessed.

“I must see it,” the angaran woman said firmly.

“Moshae, I don’t think you understand what I’m saying,” Ryder replied a little reluctantly. She didn’t want to be put in a position, again, where she got on Sjefa’s bad side, but this whole expedition had been a terrible idea to start with; continuing on despite everything going wrong already seemed like an even worse idea. “If we go anywhere near those things the only thing that will remain of us are stains to be trampled into fertilizer underfoot to that horde.”

“You said they were emptying out – that will eventually stop, if it hasn’t already,” the Moshae insisted.

Akksul buried his face in one of his large hands. “You have been seriously injured, Shovaan,” he said pleadingly.

“You will help me if I need it I imagine,” she looked around herself as if looking for something. “I still have perfectly good legs that can walk.”

“It’s a war zone back there!” Ryder tried again.

“Pathfinder,” Sjefa pinned her down with a sharp, clear stare. “Enough excuses. From both of you,” she added, glancing at Akksul. “I always knew there would be danger, one does not study the Remnant without expecting the worst – I may be old compared to you, but I am not as frail as you seem to think.”

“We just went to all the trouble of carrying you away from there,” Ryder said weakly. Just remembering the experience made her muscles bunch up painfully; the woman wasn’t exactly easy to balance on her shoulders while avoiding having her ankles bitten off.

The Moshae didn’t even deign to reply to such a pathetic argument, she merely gave her a flat look, and Ryder couldn’t really blame her for it. She had been unconscious at the time, and therefore unable to make her wishes clear; though truthfully, the thought had likely crossed both their minds that she would have wanted to stay, they had wanted her spirited away back behind the safety of Daar Toshaar’s impressive walls. Akksul looked away for a long moment, evidently contemplating.

“The both of you have turned insufferable since this foolishness with the Roekaar,” Sjefa broke the silence. “Before this neither one of you treated me like an invalid. So what has changed?”

Akksul looked troubled by her words. “It is different now,” he said finally.

“How?” Sjefa demanded.

He shrugged uncomfortably, eyes fixing on the ground in shame. “I created them, Moshae… and now they are coming for you. It would break me if something happened to you because of what I have done.”

“You’re already broken, Akksul,” the Moshae said gently. “Do not let that guide you. You’ve learned better than that by now.”

Finally he nodded, shoulders relaxing visibly. “You are right, Shovaan. I will double back and make sure the bots are gone. If I’m not back by dusk, do not follow.” Without another word or even a glance in Ryder’s direction to get her input, he left.

“As to you,” the Moshae said once Akksul’s light footsteps faded away, piercing gaze once more on Ryder, “why do you feel it your personal responsibility to take care of me?”

Ryder felt like squirming, but she schooled herself to stillness. “I would take care of anyone injured under my command – not to say I have authority over you,” she amended hastily at the dangerous flashing in the Moshae’s eyes, “I mean to say, I try to look out for people on my team.” That wasn’t much better, but at least she didn’t feel like the angaran was going to skewer her with her gaze any longer.

“You do it for him,” Sjefa said speculatively after a moment. “I wonder what he would say to that?”

“No,” Ryder spluttered, mortified. “No! I act on my conscience alone, I do not pander to others like that.”

“I never said you did that,” the angaran scientist replied. “I do not blame you for trying to connect with him through me, but you should know that there are far deeper things in his heart where I have no place, I am no key to him. I know I told you earlier to help him if you can, but you must be careful not to lose yourself in the process – be wary when exploring those depths, they are treacherous, even if he is not, at least not intentionally.”

Ryder let out an incredulous laugh. “There isn’t anything I could say to the contrary that will convince you I’m not interested, is there?”

“Do not insult my intelligence,” Sjefa said sternly. “He is like a son to me – I know when someone holds his heart.”

Ryder stared, not sure how to respond to that. Holds his heart? she wondered inwardly, then felt something inside her loosen in defeat, eliciting a long sigh. “I… don’t know what to make of the situation,” she said despondently. “One minute he’s my enemy to the death, the next I find myself in his arms, and ever since then I haven’t been able to make sense of anything at all. I don’t know what I feel, let alone what he feels – I don’t even know if he’s still my enemy or not sometimes!”

The Moshae smiled, rather smugly. “He’s not your enemy anymore, I should think. I had no idea things had gone that far!” The delight in her voice made Ryder blush furiously; she hadn’t intended to be so forward about it, but she realized she desperately wanted to talk about the whole relationship with someone who understood Akksul. The Moshae didn’t have to sound so pleased about it, though, as if Ryder was a much groomed child who recited her lesson perfectly. “He has many flaws,” Sjefa continued, “but disloyalty is not one of them. If he managed to see past the fact that you are human and if he bonded to you, he will consider you in that light from now on.”

Ryder snorted. “He sure has a funny way of showing it sometimes.”

She remembered again the almost kiss that had passed between them earlier; maybe the Moshae was right, maybe he did see themselves as being… what? They had been in a hopeless situation, locked together and desperate; it hadn’t exactly been a romantic moment of realization that they felt something toward one another. Now that she thought about it though, he had been acting differently around her, though; as if he struggled as much with where to place her in his life as she struggled with him. Could he think that now they were in a relationship? What even constituted an angaran relationship? She felt like her head was going to explode from the burning questions dodging around her mind like mad pinballs.

“What do you suggest I do?” Ryder asked finally.

“Be patient,” Sjefa replied. “These things tend to work themselves out.”

Ryder nodded. It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but she also happened to agree.

A comfortable silence settled between them, the Moshae settling back into the hollow to rest while Ryder stood and walked around, weapon ready, making sure nothing snuck up on them while they waited, but she stopped frequently to watch the angaran breathe. The medigel was doing its work on Sjefa’s wounds, but Ryder still wasn’t sure whether the blow to her head had been bad enough to warrant concern. The tightness around the scientist’s eyes indicated that at the very least she had a headache, but she had seemed alert during their conversation and her words hadn’t been slurred, so perhaps she had been spared a serious concussion. Or maybe angaran physiology was different that way; she would have to ask Akksul about it privately and figure out how to treat someone who was so adamantly opposed to doing anything that hindered her work.

 When Akksul finally returned in what seemed like an eternity later, Ryder glanced at the sky, noting that he had cut it fairly close; the light was fading fast, entering the twilight hour. Looking over her shoulder at where the Moshae was resting, it was obvious she had fallen asleep; that afforded them a moment to themselves, but disappointingly Akksul merely looked vaguely uncomfortable as he approached her, finally just giving her a nod that the coast was clear before going to Sjefa’s side to wake her. Ryder holstered her weapon and with a sigh approached the two angarans. Undoubtedly Akksul would insist on taking point again and she would have to assist the Moshae; but when the angaran woman stood, she waved Ryder’s help away, so instead she took rear guard.

“SAM, can you detect the bots?” Ryder asked quietly, ignoring the disapproving frown Akksul shot her over his shoulder.

Not directly, but I may be able to track them if you interface with a Remnant terminal at the silos. There may be information on their destination and purpose recorded there, SAM replied.

“Right, well, lucky for you that’s exactly where we’re going.”

The three of them made their way back slowly and cautiously, listening and watching for any indications that bots were nearby, but nothing stirred – nothing at all, not even the usual wildlife roaming the jungle. That made Ryder nervous; when the animals went silent, danger was always close behind. As they drew closer they finally did hear something: distant screams, roughly from the direction the bots had entered the jungle, which gave Ryder a rough idea of their movements at least, but she still wished SAM could detect their immediate presence so she could make absolutely sure they weren’t being tracked. She would not like to meet one of those arachnid bots in the increasingly dark jungle armed with weapons that evidently weren’t effective enough against them; the battle from earlier in the day was indication enough of that.

“The silo doors are closed again,” Ryder remarked as they finally entered the field where their shuttles had been shot down, squinting at the massive structures. The smoke had dissipated by now, but the smell of ash and burning synthetic materials were still thick in the air, with hints of the sickening, sweetish smell of burning flesh that made her want to gag.

“Yes, they were already closed when I came,” Akksul said.

Ryder gave him a flat look. “You didn’t think to mention that?” she asked dryly. “That’s a pretty significant change.”

“You would have seen it sooner or later,” he replied in much the same tone.

“Come, children, no more bickering,” Sjefa said before Ryder even opened her mouth to reply.

By the time they reached the silos and climbed up the massive roots seemingly swallowing the structure to where the angaran scientists had previously opened what looked like a maintenance entrance on the rim of the giant doors, the jungle was bathed in a blanket comforting shadows that hid the scars left by the battle that had raged there hours ago, the luminescence of the plants dappling the landscape like a sea of fairies. From as high up as they were, Ryder thought she could have made out the closest daar had there been more light, although the jungle likely still obscured much of what the angarans had built. Even though Havarl was healing again since her team had landed here, the jungle had had a lot of time to grow right over everything, against all attempts to hold the diseased flora and fauna at bay.

“Any sign of activity?” Ryder called out softly to Akksul, who had entered first to make sure nothing was lurking in wait.

A long moment passed.

“Nothing,” he finally called out, and without waiting the Moshae immediately stepped in after him.

The first thing Ryder noticed was the frosty blue snaking along the walls and the architecture of the place: again, there was something rigid about the way the hallway they entered bended, as if someone had painstakingly measured every degree of every block to make sure that it was a perfect zig-zag. It wasn’t exactly unexpected, Ryder had been in Remnant sites that were unlike any others she had seen and she thought it foolish to assume that the Jardaan were a single body without any differences or even cultures, maybe even species; after all, humanity itself was far from homogenous and every age they lived and built things produced designs and styles that varied greatly from that of the previous eras. There was something very different about the dead sites, though, she was increasingly certain of it; she wasn’t sure she could put her finger on it exactly, but there was a difference.

Akksul noticed, too; he gave her a meaningfully grim stare before moving deeper inside. The Moshae took the lead after a few steps to guide them to where her team had been researching the site, which she explained was the closest room to where she approximated the doors to be, though there were no windows or exits to indicate that anything was beyond that point except for what their own eyes saw from the outside. Ryder expected more of the same oddness once they reached it, but instead what greeted her was a room almost exactly like the one Akksul and she had visited before the flooding began, with a single green-lit pillar pulsing in the center; the only difference was, this one wasn’t broken and it wasn’t blocking anything. Instead, she saw the floor had been designed to cut away around it and the pillar went down a very long way.

“The symbols,” Akksul said, reaching out a hand to the pillar but stopping short of touching it. Touching unfamiliar RemTech in dead sites was something they had both learned to be extra cautious about.

“Are they the same?” Ryder asked.

Analyzing, SAM answered.

“I think so,” Akksul said.

Ryder, I believe I have part of the puzzle.

“What?” Ryder demanded, holding up a hand to Akksul when he opened his mouth in confusion. He understood suddenly that she was conversing with SAM and snorted softly, shaking his head.

Based on the similarities to angaran languages and Remnant data you have gathered, these inscriptions might translate as ‘mother of vengeance’, or perhaps ‘return’ may be a closer word.

“It says ‘mother of vengeance’ of all things,” Ryder repeated in bemusement to her companions.

“You can interpret this dialect?” the Moshae asked, brow lifting in surprise and perhaps a hint of respect.

“It’s that thing in her head, not her,” Akksul said before Ryder could respond.

“Either way,” Ryder gritted her teeth, “I think it means we are all in a lot more trouble than we thought before.”

“Extraordinary,” the Moshae said, studying the room.

[xoheatherkw]

You Broke Up With Me

Bughead, post 2x05, speculation for 2x06

Read on AO3 / FF

Loosely inspired by Walker Hayes “You Broke Up With Me”

Toni is there, very briefly (also, I’m so sorry!). It’s still very much bughead you guys. My brain has a habit of “this definitely isn’t going to happen- so I gotta write it anyways.” But this is probably less angst than 2x06 tonight! Silver lining?

Side note, I know nothing about fixing cars.

I barely have time to look over this before 2x06 airs, soooo unbeta’ed and all mistakes are my own.

Woah girl, simmer on down a notch Ain't nobody making you watch me get my forget you on No girl, can't touch my good as gold I know it's difficult to see me on a roll But hey, you broke up with me Yeah, what can I say babe, you broke up with me

-          Walker Hayes “You Broke Up With Me”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jughead didn’t quite know how he got himself in this mess, just that it had been one hell of a day.

The day started off normal enough. The usual metal detectors at Southside High, serpents trying to push back against the town (this time, specifically- the Ghoulies). Then Sweet Pea just had to throw the first punch. The Ghoulies knew what they were doing, going after the most hot-headed of the serpents to cause a fight.

Jughead wanted to keep the peace. So, he went to the one person who knew how to handle the Serpents.

He went to see his father. After all, he was the leader of the Serpents for the better part of two decades. He knew how to keep the peace, while Jughead was just starting to figure it out. If he could only prevent Sweet Pea from opening his big mouth, or from throwing punches, they could’ve handled it a bit better.

“This is about territory. Challenge them,” his father said.

Seemed simple enough. There was one thing the Serpents and Ghoulies agreed on, it was how to settle issues. A street race.

Which is how he landed himself in a southside garage with his father’s car, his second Archie, and his girlfriend. Wait, ex-girlfriend.

As much as his brain was constantly telling him to just avoid her, he couldn’t help but stare when she wasn’t looking. The subtle differences didn’t go unnoticed to his eyes. The dark circles under her eyes, the slight bloodshot eyes that could only be from crying or lack of sleep, the almost imperceptible flinch she had whenever someone’s phone went off.

Something was definitely up, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask about it. If he did, he’d likely cave and beg her to give them another shot. And after sending Archie to break up with him, he couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk the fragile pieces of his heart that were left behind in her wake.

He kept repeating Archie’s words over and over again to prevent him from saying anything at all.

She doesn’t want to see you anymore.

She’s been wanting to break up with you for weeks.

She’s been agonizing over it.

Since you crossed the dark side, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

She saw where you were headed, Jughead. We all did.

She knows you can’t be with them, and with her.

She was tired of slumming it with him, just as he predicted.

So Jughead was doing what he did best, be invisible to his “friends” on the northside.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Betty wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold out. She kept itching to say something to Jughead. Which is why she sent Archie to (temporarily) end things with Jughead. Or at least that’s what she was telling herself to get through the day. Hell, just to get through the hour.

It seemed that The Black Hood had temporarily given her a break. She did as he asked. Ended her friendship with Veronica, ended her relationship with her first love, then ended her friendship with Kevin (though that wasn’t too difficult considering he was still pissed for how she spoke to Veronica), and now cut ties with Archie. At least with Archie she could explain, that The Black Hood found out that she had confided in him, even though he never mentioned Archie in the beginning.

She was doing- well not fine, but surviving. And that was as much as she could hope for. At least until The Black Hood decided to torture her some more. But she would do it to protect the people she loved. A small sacrifice for the greater good, for preventing murders.

She didn’t even want to be here, but Archie argued that they couldn’t get anyone else last minute. And besides, did she want to risk Jughead getting injured from a shotty repair?

So, she kept busy. She was putting the finishing touched on the engine. Despite the minimal use, the engine didn’t suffer too much. The battery and alternator were in good shape, she just needed to replace a few spark plugs and then check more minor issues.

Archie’s phone went off in three successive tones, which caused Betty to jump. She let out a shaky breath after the realization that it wasn’t her phone.

“Hey uh, I have to go check on Veronica,” he said. He was out the door before either could protest.

Betty couldn’t take the stares and silence anymore. “Can you hand me that wrench?” She pointed to the workbench.

Jughead crossed the garage and retrieved it. He handed it to her. His fingers acted on their own accord and waited a few beats too long before pulling back. She must have noticed.

She shook her head to clear the memories of her and Jughead. If she let herself pretend even for a second, she’d give in and spill everything to Jughead. “Thanks,” she murmured. She reassembled the engine, tightening the last of the bolts. Just focus.

The garage door swung open, and the pair turned around expecting Archie. But it was Toni instead. She waltzed directly over to Jughead, with a fierce determination in her eyes.

Before Jughead could react, she walked right up to him and placed a featherlight kiss on his cheek. The gesture did not go unnoticed by Betty, who turned back around to the car. Had she waited a second more, she would have noticed the grimace on his face and how he shifted away from her touch. Despite Betty’s will, a single tear ran down her cheek.

“Hey Juggie,” Toni said. “How’s the car coming along?”

“Uh, fine,” he replied.

That kiss felt just as wrong as the other night, just as it was wrong to hear “Juggie” from anyone other than Betty.

He didn’t have the energy to talk to Toni and explain that it wasn’t going to happen. Even if he and Betty were over, he didn’t want to be with anyone else. He just didn’t know how to approach the conversation with Toni. So by default, he said nothing since that night.    

Jughead caught Betty in the corner of his eye, her arm coming up to wipe away the stray tear. He didn’t even take his eyes off of her when he spoke. “Hey Toni, can you check on Sweet Pea? Make sure he’s not getting the Serpents into anymore trouble?”

“Sure thing,” she replied.

“The car will be ready in about an hour,” Betty offered. She just had to check the tire pressure and change the oil.

“Thanks for the update.” Toni nodded in acknowledgment before stepping out.

“What’s up with you?” Jughead asked.  He crossed his arms and glared at her.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why are you upset?” His voice grew louder with each word. “I can do whatever the hell I want. Because news flash, you broke up with me!”

What are you doing?! This is the exact opposite of what you wanted to say to her! Tell her you love her, you idiot!

“I didn’t mean to break up with you,” she whispered. She focused intently on the floor, not wanting to meet his gaze.

He couldn’t allow himself to hope that Archie had made the whole thing up. Surely he wouldn’t have said to call Betty if that was the case.

“What are you talking about? You sent Archie to break up with me. Archie! And now what, you’re planning to break up Veronica and Archie, so you can have him to yourself?” He heard about the falling out between Betty and Veronica from Archie, only now realizing what Betty’s true motives could be. She just used him as a temporary placeholder until she could get her hands on Archie.

She finally met his eyes, terrified at the anger she found there. What exactly had Archie said? “I didn’t break up with you, I said we should just take a break from each other,” she clarified. “I didn’t expect you to move on,” she whispered.

“Yeah well, I don’t think you agonizing over breaking up with me for weeks is what I’d call taking a break. So I can do what I damn well please, with whomever I want.” He was fuming at this point, and that little voice that was talking him out of the argument could barely be heard. The little voice that wanted to tell Betty nothing was going on with Toni, at least not from his perspective.

“Is that what Archie said? I told him to explain it to you, that we just couldn’t be together right now.” She took a step forward, reaching out to him. She thought better of it and firmly planted her arms at her sides. “I didn’t want to break up with you Jughead,” she reiterated. The words were nearly on the tip of her tongue- The Black Hood made her do it.

That caught Jughead by surprise. Why would she break up with him if she didn’t want to? She was Betty freaking Cooper, the most headstrong person he knew.

“What do you mean?”

“I uh- I,” she started.

Toni burst into the room. “Jug, you need to get out here. Now! Sweet Pea is pushing his luck with the Ghoulies.”

“Just a second,” he replied to Toni. He turned back to Betty and ran his hand down her arm. “We’ll talk later?” he asked softly.

She couldn’t resist the pleading in his eyes. “Sure,” she agreed. “Yes, we’ll talk later Juggie.”

He smiled at the use of his nickname. It only ever sounded right when she said it.

The little resolve she had left was gone. Maybe, just maybe, they could figure things out together.

“Hey Jug,” she called out to him. “The car will be done soon. Good luck out there, okay?”

“Thanks, Betts.”

“Be careful too.”

“You got it.” He smirked at her before running out to prevent Sweet Pea from making things worse.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After the race (which Jughead won, just barely) nearly everyone had gone- the Serpents to celebrate and the Ghoulies to admit defeat.

Jughead caught Betty in the garage. “Hey Betts.”

Having already silenced her phone (which felt damn good to do), she was ready to confess everything to Jughead. “Hey yourself,” she responded. “Great job out there.” She wasn’t quite sure how to start.

“Thanks. Look Betts, I kind of got into it with Archie. And he said it was all blown out of proportions, and that I should just talk to you.”

Her eyes went wide, not having expected Archie to try to repair things between them when he was the one to blow things out of proportion in the first place. “Something like that,” she started. “Look, there’s something,” she continued.

“Do you love me?” he interrupted.

She crossed the few feet and brought her hands up to his face. “Of course, I love you Jug. I never stopped.” She ran her thumbs across his cheekbones and watched his eyelids flutter close as he exhaled.

“Thank god.” He quickly closed what little gap was between them, pressing his lips to her own. She immediately brought her hands around his neck, as his arms circled her waist and pulled her flush against him.  His fingertips landed on the bare skin between her shirt and jeans. She deepened the kiss and ran her fingers through his hair. This was what he had been missing.

“I love you so much Betty,” he whispered in between kisses.

“I love you Juggie.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In the end, she confessed everything. Jughead beat himself up about not being there for her, but they were determined to work through it together.

They still had a lot of obstacles to tackle. Building that trust back up from the damage Archie (and Betty) had done to break up with him. The Black Hood. The civil war still brewing between the northside and southside.

But they had each other, and that was enough.

[writevswrong]

FANFIC * NESSIAN * PART EIGHTEEN

Nessian Part Eighteen by L.J. LaFleur

Nesta:

I adjusted against the wet floor, unable to stay asleep. The fabric of my tunic provided little cushion between the stones and my ribs. I exhaled heavily, hoping my worries would flee with my breath. Usually Feyre’s lullaby would put me right to sleep but I couldn’t get the echoing roars out of my head.

“Do you need a distraction?” Eris asked quietly.

Awkwardly shifting into another uncomfortable position, I gave up, lying flat on my back. “I’m fine,” I lied.

Eris began to sing in a language I had never heard. His gruff voice transitioning into something angelic.

I tilted my head towards him, opening my eyelids just enough to not seem too interested.

Fire danced from palm to palm, a story to match the flow of his hymn. Amber eyes watched me through the rising fire, no doubt observing my lack of stealth. Flickering flames lit his face, dancing shadows unveiling his many masks.

Staring at the little fire figures, my breath hitched. Two amber bodies, hand in hand as they walked through a burning forest. I swear I could hear their laughter as Eris continued singing. Entranced by the two beings, I turned on my side to get a better view.

Entangled within one another, I could hear their passionate moans. My soft cheeks tinted red in response. Howls in the distance spooked them. The figures quickly stood, leaving their clothing behind as they booked it through a maze of foliage.  

My eyes glanced to Eris, a single tear trailing down his face. I looked back at his hands, at the breathless creatures he held so tenderly. The wolves closed in, launching towards the smaller figure first.

His voice cracked, another tear escaping his long lashes as he watched the pack surround them. The song grew darker, shifting to an ominous tone. The wolves edged closer; my heart erratically beating as I heard their pleas for mercy.

I wiped the tears from my eyes, knowing all too well what was to come next.

But the wolves disintegrated, a different picture being created as he twitched his fingers upwards. I stole a look at Eris, he was focused on his palms--his voice softening. The bodies of fire slowly danced from one hand to the other and back again.

I found myself utterly attached to his foreign words.

Before the song ended, I felt myself drift. Even as I tried to pry my eyes open to watch the ending—I couldn’t stay awake. One more glance and the silhouettes had slowed to a stop. They were barely moving, wrapped up in one another to form one large flame in the center of Eris’ palm.

My aching heart softened, the rhythm matching that of his song. I let the darkness swallow me. Sleep welcoming me with open arms.

The hallway seemed longer than before or maybe it was just the anticipation that slowed my steps. I needed to see what I had done. I needed to witness the aftermath of my burning rage. I quickened my pace, pausing just before the doors of the library.

I held my breath, carefully pushing the doors open.

Exhaling quickly, my eyes nearly popped out of my head. The demolished library had been fixed. Lacquered shelves nailed to their original place; hundreds of books replaced. No trace of the carnage I had left behind yesterday.

I grinded my jaw, the unnerving feeling of being watched tingled the hairs on my neck. I ignored the warning signs, the smell. Instead I headed to the right side of the room, towards the section of poetry I had shredded just before the end of my undoing.

Guilt had filtered through the cracks of my anger. Tearing the pages became more difficult as the seconds ticked on. But I kept going…until he stepped forward. It wasn’t until after he left, after I cried for what felt like hours—that I had a moment to focus on the devastation around me.

My bloody fingers brushed across aged parchment. Blurry eyes focusing on the beautiful handwriting. The name and title ripped away; a mystery because of my own insanity.

 You are the mountains

I am the sea

Both rumble, sometimes unheard

Sometimes unseen

 You are the moon

I am the sun

Both light the infinite darkness from here

And beyond

 Mates, I pray

Mates, you say

 You are the mountains

I am the sea

We are infinite

In time, in death

We are one

It’s destiny

 Mates, you pray

Mates, I say

 Why that poem had caught my eyes then, why the pages of several more sonnets of the sea drove me mad--I didn’t know. But I needed to read, I needed to find some peace in this prison.

My healed fingers traced down the edge of the shelf, hunting for a title that might stand out.

Guilt riddled me to my core, years of it taunting me. It was more finetuned now, focusing on the worst parts of my past. I knew that I was exhausted but I needed to stay awake. If I didn’t…I, I drowned. Asleep or awake, I was drowning--in that fucking cauldron, all over again.  

Not only did I need to stay awake for my own sanity, but for Elain’s too. She wasn’t the same. Whatever she faced, whomever it was, it changed her forever. It took her innocence, her heart.

I didn’t trust any of them, even if Feyre did. She had trusted Tamlin once. Feyre had loved him, his people—the same ones who came for me and Elain.

And one day, I would kill them all. For Feyre, for Elain and for me.

I lost track of looking for the book of poetry. My trembling fingers paused at the end of the shelf as I tried to control my uneven breathing. The darkest parts of me threatened to escape, to embrace the fragile heart in my chest.  

“No tantrums today, Nes?” Cassian quipped from the doorway.

He was here the entire time, watching me as I internally struggled. I knew that much. Inhaling through my nose, I adjusted to his overpowering scent. As much as it corrupted my senses, it somehow comforted me. It even smelled warm, if that was possible--like an ageless fire.  

Devastatingly slow, I turned to face him. “Do not call me…” I stopped while scanning his hard body. Lines of blood slid down his obsidian wings, “you’re injured.” I scowled, pressing my lips together in a solid line.

Memories flashed before me, blocking reality. Images of his twitching fingers lifting towards me as crimson gushed out of his shredded wings; his fading light. My stomach churned, the burning acid rising.

Cassian shrugged, “I’m still healing, I guess.” He bit his lower lip, holding back.

“I thought you were immortal,” I pushed. Why was I still talking to him? Why did I care?

“Immortal in a sense. But it doesn’t mean we don’t bleed.”

My eyes traced over him again, “are you following me?” The sight of his blood stirred the nausea further.

Terrors of that nightmare sunk their teeth in my mind. A puddle of blood formed beneath his boots, spreading across the floor as it had on the day my human life ended.

Cassian’s pupils flared, his tone darkening, “what is it?”

“Nothing,” I snapped before thinking.

His brows rose, the familiar smirk retreating.

I observed the sweat that dripped down his neck, as if my vision had zoomed in like a magnified glass.

Cassian sighed, releasing the words that plagued him, “I’m sorry.”

I stayed silent, raising my chin as I studied him further. A face of confliction, of determination and angst yet unnerving sadness still lingered. His dark hair tied tightly in a bun; loose strands tapered off in different directions like snakes. He flew here, on damaged wings and a broken soul.

“I’m not one to break promises,” Cassian shuffled forward, trapping me against the wall of poetry. “What they did to you…” Ponds of hazel ignited, an endless inferno.

The knot in my throat grew as I thought back to the cauldron again. I straightened my spine, our bodies nearly touching.

“What they did to me?” I asked softly, a taste of sweetness before the deadly poison. “You have no idea. Not even an inclination as to the…” I paused, my voice close to breaking. “You are not the first to fail me, nor will you be the last.”

Cassian loosened a low growl, “is that supposed to enlighten me?”

“It’s supposed to humiliate you.” I spat out; pulse sputtering. I pressed my hand into his burning chest. He was so hot to the touch, yet the color was leaving his naturally bronze cheeks. “I was a fool to think a lowly bastard would keep his word. Would protect me and my family.” I withdrew my hand and stepped around him.  

A snarl shook the shelves around us. I froze mid-step, waiting for his cruel reply. 

His raspy voice barely above a whisper, “I held on because of you.”

Turning on my heel, I barked, “held onto what?”

Cassian crossed his arms, crimson lines threatening to stain his clothing. His expression fell--the anger peeling off of him, replaced by frigid stone. “I’ll leave.”

“Well, bastard commander, please do.”

Cassian bared his teeth, sending shivers down my back. He bit his tongue before saying his retort.

A silent apology filtering out of his eyes.

He had noticed, shit. I didn’t…I didn’t mean to show my emotions. I wasn’t flustered before, I wasn’t so distracted before the cauldron.

That damn cauldron.  

Cassian’s demeanor shifted, a serpent tongue licking his lips seductively. “When you come to accept this sick twist of fate, when your bones quake with longing and your heart beats with desire. Just know, Illyrians have had hundreds of years to practice,” his eyes lingered over my breasts then back up, “to fuck.” Cassian smirked at my flushed cheeks, “whenever you’re ready, Nes,” he winked while stepping away.

“Pig,” I breathed, I could feel the warmth racing to my chest. Rosy patches filtered up my neck, threatening to stain my skin forever. “You’re a disgusting pig,” I muttered. The anger distracted me from my moment of shame and weakness.  

Cassian’s deep chuckle cut off. His eyes widening as blood dripped from his mouth.

“Cass? Cassian?” I sternly asked, my brows knitted together as I watched him drop to the floor. As the oozing crimson seeped out of his ravaged wings, I heard his cries of pain.

The surrounding books began to rattle violently. Library walls crumbling beside us.

I launched forward, crumbling to my knees, towards Cassain’s limp body. “Wake up,” I begged, “wake up…”

Where we once stood, a tomb of knowledge, had disappeared completely. The room became clearer as I whirled around…I knew this chamber. My gray-blue eyes flickered to the small dais that led up to the cauldron.

“No…” I whispered, my eyes darting from Cassian to the cauldron. Not here, I couldn’t be here—not again.

Cassian laid on his stomach, his torn wings spread out. Tendrils of scarlet racing towards the cracks in the floor.  

Feyre, Rhysand, Mor and Azriel…all of them with a clear picture of horror on their faces. A blend of rage and agony—all helplessly watching.

My eyes burned with tears as Elain was thrown out of the cauldron, riding a wave of death till she smacked into the floor. Before I knew it, I screamed—threatening curses rushed out of me in between roars. Hands tightened around my arms, restraining me from leaping forward.

The King of Hybern lifted his chin towards me, “the hellcat now, if you’ll be so kind.”

I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak. My focus on Elain shifted to Cassian. He had sworn to protect me, to protect her. The pounding in my chest shattered my ability to speak. Cassian wasn’t moving—slumped on the floor in a pool of blood.

The penetrating ringing in my ears muffled all other sounds.

He was gone.

Dead.

Guards hauled me forward—towards the cauldron.

I pulled and shoved, I fought and I would fight until they killed me. I would not go in. My nails dug into their armor, shredding what skin I could reach. I threw my leg into one guard’s groin; bucking with every step. But the guards were too strong, there were too many.

My racing heart, my hollow breathing…I was not enough. I could not save Feyre, Elain nor myself.

They hoisted me up to the water of my demise. My bare feet hit the waiting liquid. It was cold and wrong, making bumps race across my skin. Something was beneath the surface, I—I couldn’t see it. But I somehow knew.

The dark water whispered my name, beckoning me to sink.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta…

I thrashed and kicked, I would not go in. I couldn’t go in. Cursing roars rushed off my tongue but I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel anything as I looked one last time at Cassian. His hand was in a different position than before, like he had reached forward but failed to move any further.

Could he be?

I was thrusted in, dark water up to my covered shoulders. My last chance, I thrashed forward—liquid spewing at the guards who held me down.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

An icy thing touched my bare foot, caressing up my calf—I screamed.

My bloody fingernails clawed at the men again. This time scratching two in the face, nearly taking out their eyeballs. No, no…I couldn’t go beneath the surface—for whatever was waiting for me, I would surely die.

“Put her under,” the king hissed.

Three guards shoved my shoulders down, then pushed on the top of my head. I kicked my legs, hoping to stop whatever creature waited beneath. Freeing my arm of one guard’s grip, I pointed in defiance. Baring my fangs, I delivered a cursing finger, a death promise for Hybern’s head.

At once, all three men crammed what little of me remained above the surface into the pool of fate.

Frigid water enveloped me, caressing every curve. An icy hand dragging me deeper. I didn’t look down, afraid of the monsters that swam beneath. I was scared to face what latched onto me.  

I had to get out, I had to swim away.

The singing whispers grew louder, piercing my eardrums the farther we went.

I slammed my foot on the monster’s grip until I was released. My arms reaching towards the light as I attempted my escape.

The icy grip pulled on my ankle, tightening when I jerked in response. A bloodcurdling scream evaded my chest. Water entered my mouth, flooding my lungs. The iron hand adjusted around me, tighter and tighter as it dragged me down.

The more I coughed, the more ice entered my core. My eyes bulged, staring at the distant surface. I could feel life escape me, the only thing keeping me awake was the burning sensation that tore apart my throat.

The descent into darkness stripped me of my human form. Corroding the flesh of Elain, of me. Tears drifted out of me, engaging with the body of water I was trapped in.

This is where I die; where this world ends and another begins.

 Cassian:

It was too fast—everything that was happening. How out of control the situation had become. Spreading my wings, I let the searing talons of magic shred through me. Horrific screams released from my core. The only way I knew I was still alive, that I was still fucking breathing was because of her screams.

The King of Hybern seethed, “put her under.”

My legs locked into place, scraps of my wings remained but I pushed forward. An inch, barely that—as I lifted my arm towards her. Blinded with rage and agony, I tried to get up. I had to get up.

I had promised her. I gave my word that I would protect her and her sister. It was too late for Elain, but…I had to reach her.

The gods-damn guards pushed her in, shoving her beneath the surface.

“Nesta...” I breathed, a surge of fire bored through me as I stared up at her. She couldn’t hear me, instead she had lifted a finger—a vow to end him.

I had never been prouder.

Sliding to position, I waited till their focus turned to Feyre who was vomiting across the floor. Pulling myself closer to the cauldron, little by little as the room remained focus on the other Archeron sisters. Moving forward, I released a muffled moan…my bloody hand reached forward. I dug my fingers into the crimson cracks and pulled. A trail of red behind me; I kept moving.

Close. So damn close. I could make it.

I launched to my feet, nearly passing out from the pain and dived into the cauldron. Multiple guards tried to pry me out but I swam deeper, faster—as if my entire future depended on it.

Light filtered down, illuminating Nesta’s body. Her eyes nearly shut, she was fading. Nesta’s limp arms held out towards the surface. She had to know I’d come for her. My lungs burned the farther I went, but I was too close now. Coils of blood swirled in the water, clouding the distance between us.

Blindly, I reached out for her hand.

I clutched onto an icicle. Nesta. I needed air. I needed to get us out. I tugged, pulling myself down to her. Blue lips and a pale complexion…

Nesta…

Wrapping my arm around her waist, I shot us to the surface. Something grabbed at my boots, trying to drag me back down. I raised my leg, putting what remaining strength I had into that kick.  

Whatever it was, it had let go. We were free.

My wings held us back, a weight of despair piling on. I couldn’t lose her.

Breaking through the surface, I gasped for air. The bloody water drained off our faces. Slamming my body into the side of the cauldron, we tipped over. Red hued water gushed onto the floor, our bodies sprawled next to one another.

“Nesta?” I got to my knees, quickly crawling towards her. The shattering pain in my spine made me cry out it pain. “Shit!” I yelped as I nearly collapsed on top of her. “Nesta…” I flipped her on her back, forcing my calloused hand down. “Breathe, Nesta. C’mon…” I muttered, pressing my lips to hers.

A wall of tears built in my eyes, “get up—wake up.” I slammed my hand on her again. “Breathe, damn it!” the burning in my eyes increased as I felt the warm tears rush down my face. “Nesta,” my voice cracked, “get up, Nes.” I pressed my quaking lips against hers, tears dripping onto her pale skin.

Water spewed into my face as she coughed. Nesta gasped for air, struggling to get the oxygen down her windpipe fast enough. “Don’t…” Nesta breathed heavily, “call me, Nes,” she finished, still choking on her words.

Without hesitating, I collapsed beside her, our raspy breaths piercing the silence.

“You’re alive,” I nearly cried in relief. My fumbling hand found hers. They were cold, but increasing in temperature.

Nesta stayed silent, still catching her breath.

My eyes adjusted as the stone chamber shifted into something new. Walls of pink, hundreds of shelves filled with novels. We were in her head again, in the place she had never let anyone in. 

“I thought,” I shakily exhaled, trying to keep my emotions in check. “I thought I lost you.”

Nesta turned her head to face me. I could feel her eyes scanning over my silhouette.  

 Nesta:

The ache in my throat prevented me from speaking. Was he here? Or was this another dream? Was there a difference anymore?

“How are you here?” my hoarse voice barely recognizable.

Cassian tilted his head towards me, “I don’t know.” He raised his hand toward my face, wincing in pain as his palm rested on my neck. Cassian’s thumb brushed up and down my jaw line. “You’re alive.”

I nodded, closing my eyes as I let his touch continue. My galloping heart settled, in a trance from his warmth.

“Where are you?”

My eyes shot open, “no.”

“Tell me, Nesta,” his thumb stopped moving. Copper eyes penetrated me, searching for any clue I would give away.

“No,” I sobbed, traitorous tears flooded out of me.

Cassian shook his head, pulling me closer until our bodies collided. “I know you’re in the Autumn Court. I know it was Eris. Where are you?” he demanded, his voice thickening with malice. “Why…why won’t you tell me?”

“Because…”

“Why?!” His voice raised, shaking the surrounding walls. “Why?” He asked again, this time with more control.

I bit my lip, watching as the amber tears didn’t burn his golden skin. Several minutes had passed before I could finally speak.

“You will lose me either way. Whether I’m trapped here or back in the Night Court.”

He exhaled heavily, nearly giving up—but I knew better.

“I won’t stop searching for you.”

“I know.”

“Then tell me,” he stood to his feet, reaching out a hand for me to grab.

For a moment, I saw the damage I had done, the melted flesh of his arm. I sighed, closing my eyes to clear the image. The bastard was head strong, I’ll give him that.

“You don’t…” I grabbed his hand, feeling the electricity pulse through us. Stuck, my words were lost on the tip of my tongue. Something snapped in my chest, a heartstring, perhaps?

Cassian wiped his face, clearing the frustration off his skin, “please…”

“When you come here. When you find me. What will you do?”

“Take you home, wherever that may be for you.” Truth laced his words, the color in his face returning.

I debated whether or not to tell him. Whether I should keep my mouth shut, save him from me. “Maybe I deserve this…the torture, the pain. It’s what I’ve inflicted on everyone else for so many years. It was about time it caught up to me.”

“Save your gods-damn speech for your sisters. You could have murdered a whole village and I would still come after you.”

“Liar.”

He shook his head again, balling his fists as he bit his lip so hard he bled.

Staring at the floor, processing his words--it came to me. “After I take your life, who will be next?” I asked him, repeating Mor’s words that had crushed me.

Cassian’s face fell, transforming into something between anger and realization. “Is that what she said to you?”

“Who?”

“Mor.”

My spine stiffened, mental shields dropping in surprise. The smell of the dungeon filled the air, suffocating our breath with a retched scent. Cassian’s eyes widened. I turned behind me, towards the windows facing the magnolia trees.  

The windows had vanished, unveiling my cell. Eris moved towards me with a worried expression. “Nesta?” He asked, fear rising in his voice. “Nesta?”

“The dungeon,” Cassian said through clenched teeth. Fury lit in his hazel eyes, his inner monster released.

“Cassian, don’t….” I begged, “please”. He needed to stay away, he had to stay alive. They needed him, the family—Velaris.  

“If he lays a finger on you…” he warned, his voice turning guttural, “I’ll kill him.”  

“Cassian,” I pleaded, pulling at his scarred arm, “don’t.”

He wasn’t listening, instead he focused in on Eris, on my cell. Soaking in every detail he needed to find me.

I slapped him, the only thing I could think of. Cassian’s hand lifted to his jaw, holding the sore spot as his eyes ravaged me.

“Listen to me…” I snapped, my heart thundering so loudly that it reverberated off the rosy colored walls. “I will not lose anyone else I lov…” I stopped before I could finish, before I revealed more than I wanted to.

“What?” Cassian’s hand dropped, his questioning eyes searching deeper and deeper into me. “What were you…?”

I swallowed hard, wishing I had just kept my mouth shut. “If you come here, if you die,” my voice shook.

Cassian raised his chin, “I have failed you,” he cleared his throat, “…in more ways than I care to say.” His calloused thumb brushed over my cheekbone. “I refuse to do so again.”

“No…” I begged, “no.” Shaking my head as amber tears grew with a vengeance.

“Flaming beauty,” he smirked, disappearing from my head.

“Cassian!” I screamed, reaching for him only to swat air. “Cassian!” I cried.  

  “Wake up woman,” his voice rang against the stone walls. Eris shook my shoulders violently, fire spreading down his hands and onto my shoulders. “Nesta!”

I gasped for air, unable to focus my eyes on anything in particular. Blurry, everything was just a blend of autumn colors.

“For cauldron sake, woman.” Eris breathed, fire circling down my arms. “Nesta?” He asked more calmly, waving a hand in front of my face.

“What happened?” I asked, hissing at the searing pain on my wrists.

“You were whimpering…then screaming.”

My eyes focused on his auburn hair, dropping to his amber eyes. “Get these things off of me,” I demanded. I winced again, this time from the overwhelming nausea.

“If I take those off, what will you do?”

“What?”

“Who will you…?” Eris stopped, his back as stiff as a column. His chin turned slightly to the left, a pointed ear raising.

“Eris…”

Eris glared at me, a warning. He turned on his heel, “brother, what brings you here so early?”

“I could ask the same for you,” Aedin stepped into the cell, his ravenous eyes finding mine.

The battle of brothers. Words forged with steel. A deadly end for one, if not both.

Aedin laughed without humor, “Ferron wants to see her.” He moved one step too close.

Eris stood next to me, closer than before. He positioned himself between me and Aedin. Eris’ wicked smirk displayed, as he looked me over then back to his younger brother. “I have plans for her first.”

“Father demands it.”

Eris growled, his body turned primal as he quickly grabbed my wrist. Winnowing us away before Aedin could react.

The shadows sung to me, calling me to step away from Eris. Urging me to move through the darkness and swim beneath the surface that separated this realm from another.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta…

“Eris…” I whispered. Before I could say another word, the darkness disintegrated. We were in someone’s chambers, a bedroom built for the future High Lord of the Autumn Court.

Golden leaf sconces lit with orbs of fire. Tapestries hung on every wall—similar to the ones in the throne room. Carpets with copper threading sparkled in the dim lighting.  

I walked around the room, praying the edge would wear off by doing so. A large bed was displayed in the middle of the chamber. Decadent velvet fabrics hung off the copper frame of the bed.  

“Your room?” I presumed, as I stared at the overtly autumn décor.  

Eris shrugged, “not my taste.”

“What is your taste?” I asked to distract myself from the growing anxiety. Though we were out of the darkness, I could still hear the singing whispers.

“You swam among us. You walked through darkness. You danced in the deep. Until you found, your way to victory. Come play with us,” the voices echoed, “come play with me,” a single, hollow voice sung to me.

Bumps raced across my skin.

His voice.

Not Cassian’s, not Eris.

Not Hybern’s.

The one who haunted me whether I was asleep or awake. A corruption of what little sanity I had remaining.

“Nesta…” He sung to me.

The restraints glowed brighter as the fire in my core sparked. “Ronan...?” I mumbled, glancing to every corner of the room.

His sickening laughter echoed through the chamber.

Acid rose up my throat, searing my esophagus. “Go away,” I muttered, my heart beating so loud I could barely hear his humorless laughter.  

“You need to eat,” Eris interrupted, his bushy brow raised, “who’s Ronan?” He took a long sip from a silver goblet.

My eyes flashed to Eris, to the cup he sipped from. If that was wine or ale, really any form of alcohol--I wanted it. “No one,” I replied, “what were you saying?”

“You need to eat before we enter Ferron’s dungeon. You need your strength,” he said sternly, still keeping a watchful eye on me. Eris held the goblet towards me, “Autumn Court specialty.”

I reached towards the shiny cup, “I thought I was in the dungeon.”

“We have several.”

I could feel myself sink, at an unstoppable momentum as I thought of the hundreds—thousands—who have died on this soil. “How many beings must rot beneath your feet.”

“I’m in the south tower, separated from the others.” Eris observed me as I downed the sweet and spicy cider.

I wiped my mouth, relieved as the alcohol swiftly eased my nerves.

“I couldn’t stand to hear their screams at night,” his voice trailed away, distant memories plaguing him.

“I’m not hungry,” I mentioned, in attempt to reel him back in.  

Eris laughed at my growling tummy. “You say that, but your gurgling stomach says otherwise,” he winnowed out of the room.  

I pressed on my stomach, the chains invading my tunic with a blistering chill. I didn’t bother to protest any further, not to an empty room at least.  

He reappeared with a large tray of food. Setting it on the wooden desk that overlooked the farm lands in the south.

Instantly, my appetite was spoiled by the plate of red.

“Our traditional breakfast. It’s not bad, if you enjoy a healthy amount of spice in your food.” He tried to crack a smile but scowled instead, shaking his head as he focused on the farthest tapestry.

I stared at the bloody sausages, the side of eggs spiced with specks of black and red. The lump in my throat grew as I scanned over a bowl of sliced pomegranates and another filled with spiced gray mush.

Eris pulled out a chair, beckoning me to sit, “is something wrong?”

All I could focus on was the scarlet dripping out of the sausages. Images of Hybern’s detached head flashed before me. I looked at my hands, at the crimson stains I would never be able to wipe off. Vomit threatened to expel from me. Tunnel vision prevented me from looking anywhere else but this damn tray.

Eris slid the food out of view, “what do you like to eat?”

“Hm?” I asked, snapping out of my daze. The orbs of fire grew brighter, illuminating the dark corners of the room.  

“Eat. What do you like to eat?” His amber eyes narrowed, “anything in particular?” Frustration hardening his posture.

“I’m not hungry,” I retorted. Ice racing threw my veins, making its way up my forearm.

Eris sighed heavily, “hopefully your stubbornness will get you through Ferron’s sessions.”

“How many?” I asked coldly, focusing on the farmer’s young son helping guide the horses.

“How many?” Eris asked perplexed, his eyes settling on me.

I finally peered up at him, “how many has he tortured?” The ancient cold from the faebane chains had slithered up my arms, invading my shoulders.

“Enough,” he murmured, wetting his soft lips.

“Will he...?” I couldn’t say it, Tomas and Aedin’s laughter stalked me. Their words slicing into my soul as if it were happening for the first time.

Eris scrutinized every line that struck my face. Every worry that I had felt since being captured. “He won’t.”

“How do you know?” I parted away from the desk, edging towards the window to gain a better view of freedom.

Eris stood beside me, his hands pulled behind his back. “Because I’ll be there to make sure he won’t.” He didn’t look at me, instead he studied a farmer raising his scythe. “Not everyone in the Autumn Court is as cruel as those you have met.”

The farmer brought down the long, curved blade. “You still have yet to convince me.” The penetrating ice worked its way over my shoulders…descending to my heart.

“Am I not proof enough?” He asked incredulously, his jaw tightening.  

Prying my blue-gray eyes off the field work, I observed one of the most dangerous men in Prythian…and criticized him, “you stole me away. You took me from my home.”

The corners of Eris’ lips twitched upwards, “if it was your home, you wouldn’t have run away.”

“I did it to protect them,” I argued, heat flushing my pale cheeks.

Eris’ body shifted, opening himself towards me, “from what?”

“From me.”

In case you missed the previous parts...

ONE

TWO 

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

[azkaabanter]

We are Animals

5k of SMUT AND ACTUAL PLOT… but mostly smut. I upload from my phone so I can’t italicize anything. If you want to see the version with italics, I’ll send you a link to where I posted the story. ANYWAAAAAYYYYY … I also apologize, but I don't know how to enable the 'read more' feature on my phone. I know it's annoying but unfortunately I can't do anything about it.

AU STORY!!

-

This is a Drarry fic based on a video on YouTube of the same title. Kind of post apocolyose/ homophobe universe. Hardcore smut so… yeah

-

“Men. The only animals in the world to fear” - D.H. Lawrence

-

“Findings from the National Center of Disease control released the results of a study which shows that the lifestyle of some homosexuals has triggered an epidemic…” The garbled voice of a newscaster comes out of the radio, along with small blasts of static. I walk down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, my shoes covered in red dust and the sun beating down on my shoulders, heating my brown leather jacket. I keep my hands in the pockets to keep them from shaking as the small radio I keep in the lining spits out more information.

“The ‘Gay Plague’ is the center of a political storm- the Moral Majority claiming that AIDS is God’s punishment for the gay lifestyle.” I close my eyes hard and use my shoulder to wipe the sweat out of them, and my messy black hair sticks to my forehead. In a hidden part of the thick jacket I can just hear the minute clinking of small pink pills that I live on in a small prescription jar. The pills in that jar, though, are anything but legal. The announcer continues.

“This isn’t just a disease we’re talking about here! These people are capable of murdering other humans when they-” The voice becomes inaudible from all of the static emitting from the cheap radio, so I take it out and hit it against my jean-clad leg until the voice is understandable again.

“C'mon…” I huff to myself, hitting the small box once again when it continues to cut out, until it finally continues.

“-and 50% of U.K citizens are favoring quarantine. We’re putting them in a nice, comfortable place-” The voice of the announcer is cut off suddenly by another person shouting into the microphone.

“Just isolate them!” The newcomer says, and I continue to listen, though it hurts. Looking up, I see the outline of a tall brick enclosure in the distance as my radio spouts more slurs. I would switch to another station, but these news reports are all that are broadcasted anymore. The second voice continues, though in a calmer tone than the one previously used. “We have received proof that the free world is, once again, in danger.

The radical group of homosexuals, known otherwise as the Death Eaters, have rallied together, more determined than ever to destroy the means put in place by our scientific and medical communities that keep us all safe, and healthy. Although we have created a protective quarantine, no one is truly safe.” I turn off the radio, no longer able to listen.

I can hear my mother’s voice in my head, pressing the bottle of pink pills into my hand. ‘Hide, Harry. Hide in plain sight, be a nurse, do whatever you can. Just don’t let anyone know who you really are.’ So here I am, in the middle of a field on a dirt road in August.

Eventually reaching the gate of an eight foot tall barbed wire fence, I look up and sigh, pushing it open and walking inside the quarantine zone.

The road is deserted, with various posters blowing about in the street, and the rusted shells of forgotten cars lining the outsides of empty buildings. My green eyes scan the chain link, looking at the various posters tacked up.

Seeing some of them closer, they look to all have some extent of coverage from green or black paint. I can even see a poster of the Queen with a large green skull with a serpent tongue covering her face. I reach out to touch the poster, but in pulling my hand back, the tips of my fingers come away glistening with green liquid. I then take a step back, look around, and continue on my way, eyes trained on the ground in front of me, and hands stuffed in my pockets, with the muffled sound of men’s screams permeating my ears.

I continue walking through the desolate streets until I reach a heavy metal door with the words “Caution: Quarantine inside. Enter at your own risk.” I don’t think twice before pressing my shoulder against the door to open it.

Inside, the sounds of suffering are clearer, but I continue on my way. Close by, I can hear someone with a hacking cough, a side effect of the numbing agent.

“Hey-” A hoarse voice calls out, and I look up in surprise. “you’ll help me…” An unkempt man sitting in a pile of trash lunges at me, trying to grab my ankle, though I manage to jump out of the way. “Help me!” He screams at my back as I walk away. “You selfish pig! You’re just like the rest of us!”

“L-leave me alone.” I say quietly, continuing, albeit at a quicker pace, towards my destination while the man screams behind me.

“You’ll get yours one day kid! You just… you fucking wait…” Is what I hear before he breaks down crying, and I keep going out of fear.

I turn a corner a small ways from the man to the front of an unassuming building, manned by two armed guards wearing respirators over their mouths and noses. The man on the left looks me up and down, before stiffly asking- “Identification?” I take out my security pass and he runs it under a machine, which beeps to signal my clearance. “Put out your arms.” He says, taking out a metal detector and waving it over my whole body.

As it runs over my side, I pray with every ounce of my sinning soul that the pills won’t be detected, even though they never have been before.

“He’s clean.” The guard says once the detector has run over me multiple times. He gives me a look of sadness, and motions to his partner to open the door. “Good luck in there, Potter.” I nod in response and walk through the door into the cool, dark building.

My whole body shakes as I walk to the bathroom, the intercom of the building playing more messages like the one I heard on my way to work. “Several members of the Death Eaters have been arrested for vandalizing property, writing messages that spread their hate and lies…” I listen intently at the door to the restroom to make sure that it’s deserted, before entering and locking the door behind me. “The authorities have transferred the detainees to a nearby clinic for immediate neutralization.”

I walk to the sink, not bothering to look in the mirror because I know what I would see; the tired eyes of a liar, and the messy hair and smile-less lips of a sinner. I take the plastic container out of my pocket and crack it open, depositing the pills into my hands, looking at them with distain and distaste, before I hear a creak behind me. I look up and turn to the side, the sudden appearance of a heavily freckled red-haired man taking me by surprise, causing me to drop the container of pills and drop to my knees, scrambling to pick them all up.

“I-it’s not what it looks like-” I stutter, fear taking over my whole being, because if he knows what these pills do-

I look back at him after all the pills are put away, and I see a sad smile on his face.

“I should have known you were on Celibron-” he says, his accent thick. I narrow my eyes at him before looking away, my heart beating a million miles and hour. “I know exactly what you’re going through. You’re doing a really good thing-” I look back up at the man, who looks hardly older than I. How could he possibly know what I'n going through?

I narrow my eyes again, and stand up straight, slipping the bottle into my pocket. “I can’t eat… I can’t sleep… these- these things are fucking poisoning me-”

“These things saved my life.” The other man says calmly, resting his hand on my arm, which I immediately pull away. I turn my back, and put my hand on the doorknob, figuring I can just take the pills somewhere else. “Do you want to get better?” He asks, and my grip falters, before steadying again.

“There’s nothing wrong with me.” I say. “It’s just a precaution.” And I walk out of the room, leaving the red haired man alone, once again.

About an hour later, I’ve nearly forgotten the experience. My mind is numbed by the Celibron coursing through my system, and my shoes loudly hit the ground in the quiet hallway leading up to my patient’s room.

I’ve traded my leather jacket and jeans for dark red scrubs, and my hands are unable to stop fidgeting as I walk up to the one-way glass that shows me my patient.

I look in and see him sitting on a table, wearing nothing but white shorts, and I swallow thickly, before mentally berating myself for it. He has neat bleach blonde hair and wears a look that would seem horrible on anyone except for him. His lean arms are pale and his stomach is toned and blemishless. When he looks up I can see stormy grey eyes and a strong chin. I open the door and walk into the room, trying to avoid eye contact with the beautiful man.

I go to the cart positioned directly next to the man, whose feet are bound to his padded medical chair. I pick up his file and graze my eyes over it, before having them rest on his name. 'Draco Malfoy’ I glance at him and look back at the chart blankly when I find that he’s looking back at me.

I walk around the back of him, glancing at his forearm and seeing a tattoo of a green skull and serpent right beneath the hinge of his elbow. His voice takes me out of my stupor.

“So… what’s it like?” I return to his side and look him in the eyes, before glancing away again. “When they cut it off?” Draco asks me morbidly.

“You’ll be anesthetized-” I reply quickly.

“Mm-mm. No, I want to feel everything-” my neck heats as I feel him look me up and down. “even pain.” He says everything with a confidence that I don’t understand. I don’t understand how he could be confident and level headed in the situation that he is in.

“We can’t do that. That’s… inhumane.” I tell him, still keeping my eyes on the tools that I’m fiddling with for no reason other than to distract myself from the strength of his gaze. He thinks for a moment before replying.

“Since when did that stop anyone?” I pause for a moment before continuing my distraction.

“I-I’m sorry. The government requires that every patient be numb from the waist down for this procedure…” His eyes burn into the back of my neck and I can feel the pills working against the feelings rising up inside of me. He smirks.

“What do you feel down there, nurse boy? I could smell you a mile away. Your body’s strong… it’s resisting those pills-” I turn to face him, an easygoing smile decorating his features, and anger boils up inside of me.

“How did you know that?” I ask with a mixture of anger, fear, and curiosity. His blonde hair flops into his eyes and he brushes the strands away with gentle fingers.

“Did you ever break sodomy law?” I stop again, the heat from my neck spreading to my cheeks.

“T-the what?” I stutter, trying to play innocent as I lean back against the wall. He just smiles and shakes his head, as if he can’t believe my ineducation on the subject.

“Sodomy, sweetie. Mmm, sodomy.” The blonde nearly hums the words, before turning back to me with an amused expression. “C'mon, everyone knows that the clinic staff are all a bunch of gays…” He looks me up and down hungrily, and says more quietly, “my nose never fails.” And my anger boils over. I slam the supplies on the cart, push off the wall, and walk right up to Malfoy. “Look, I don’t know what shit you heard, but it’s wrong. I’m straight.” I tell him matter-of-factly, walking to the other side of the room to pick up the sphygmomanometer. He clicks his tongue.

“Yeah, so is spaghetti 'till you get it wet…” He pauses before continuing at a whisper. “and hot…” His eyes are filled with lust, and it’s getting harder and harder to keep my composure under his grey gaze.

“I-I need to t-take your blood pressure-” I keep my eyes trained on the ground as I walk the few steps over to him, my fingers brushing his warm skin while I strap the contraption to his right bicep. He breathes in deeply,the muscles in his chest rising and falling as he chuckles and softly says

“You’re strapping it to the wrong limb-” I cut him off.

“You’re about to be castrated. Doesn’t that bother you?” I ask him irritably, giving in to my want for just a moment to rake my eyes up his body. He still acts indifferent, and I can’t tell if he’s really courageous or really stupid.

“Hell no.” He says, and I begin pumping up the pressure in the arm band of the sphygmomanometer. He throws his head back and then looks at me with a grin. “Turns me on, what can I say?” I rip the Velcro and take the band off of him, throwing it to the side in anger.

“This isn’t a game! People are dying because of this!” I exclaim, running my hand through my already disastrous black locks, and he suddenly turns serious.

“I live out there…” He looks down at his bound feet for a moment, before bringing his eyes up to mine once again. “I know what it’s like.”

“You’re a freak.” I say, going around to the other side of the chair back to the cart, my anger boiling over. I look at him again and his sarcastic smile is back.

“Might be hard- er, difficult- to do the procedure, if I’m… y'know.” He says, and I look up. He flicks his eyes downward, and I notice the bulge in the thin cotton pants.

“Oh… yeah…” I say.

Suddenly, Draco’s lunged out and grabbed my hand, pulling me to the side of his chair on my knees, putting my hand over his growing hard on, pressing it down, and moving it so that I’m cupping him. He’s strong; even as I’m struggling against him, I can’t get my hand away from it’s place against his cock.

“How does that feel?” I can hear the smirk in his voice. “Yeah, just squeeze right there-” he exclaims to me when I inadvertently clench my fist around him. I can’t say that I’m not enjoying feeling what must be a rather large cock through those thin pants, though I know it’s so fucking wrong.

I stop struggling, and look away guiltily as I squeeze down his cock, though not bare I can feel its’ heat, and I have Draco writhing in his chair. I can tell that his moans are hardly contained and I have to thank god for these scrubs hiding the bit of hardness that I’ve acquired despite the pills.

“Fuck-” he moans quietly, more like a gasp when I flick my wrist hard. His hand is gripping my wrist as I go faster and faster; my panting becoming audible. It’s so…

wrong.

But…

It’s also… so

right.

“Fuckfuckfuck…” Curses spill from his lips as I take my hand off of him just to put it down the waistband of his pants and actually touch him. He’s heavy and throbbing and I have the sudden urge to put my mouth on him, but banish it from my head immediately.

'This is plenty wrong enough…’ The thought crosses my brain when I swipe my thumb over the head of his dripping cock, lubricating my hand in his precum as I continue to jack him off.

His other hand is pulling on my hair as moans continue to fall from his mouth.

“Tell me your name. Tell me your name so I can shout it when I come.” He gasps to words, and his cock twitches in my hand.

“Potter.” I say, and he’s already started his orgasm.

His hand grips my hair roughly and he arches his back. I bring my eyes to his face; grey eyes closed, and biting his lip in ecstasy.

“Fuck Potter!” He gasps and I can feel his come on my hand as he pants and moans and curses, finally collapsing in the chair, his chest rising and falling quickly. “You… you’re good at that-” he says as I stand up not a moment before the door opens behind me, causing me to run into the cart in surprise.

The surgeon walks in, completely indifferent to my reaction, and walks over to the cart, turning to me. My white covered hand is hidden behind my back.

“Where’s the scalpel?” He asks me, and I look over at Draco with wide eyes, who smirks, winks, and lunges at the surgeon, putting the blade in his neck and pulling it back out when the man has fallen to the floor.

He then takes my wrist in an iron grip and pulls me out the door and through several hallways.

“C'mon c'mon!” He says back at me, before throwing me against the wall near a guarded door. He attacks the guard, taking him down by brute force, punching him several times, then coming over to me, hauling me up, and dragging me over to the door.

“Open the door.” He says into my ear, raising hairs over my entire body, but I still struggle against him, until I feel cool metal against my throat. “Open. the door.” He repeats, pressing the scalpel in more, until I relent and put the code into the door.

Once unlocked, people come rushing out of the armored room in hysterics. All homosexuals. All people like Harry. I turn to run, but he’s come up behind me.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks me, picking me up.

A sudden hit on the the back of the head has me out cold, and I can vaguely feel myself being thrown over a shoulder and carried…

-t.s-

“Ow…” I say when I awaken with a pounding headache, rubbing my forehead. I look around, and my heart rate rises when I see that I am no longer in the clinic.

I’m in a cloth tent, alone.

I scramble to the door, ignoring my headache and climb out into the light of a setting sun. Music, laughter and yelling reach my ears from somewhere nearby, and I decide to investigate. I know that I’m getting close, as I can hear Draco’s voice:

“Yes! My fellow Death Eaters! I promise you that we will stab at the opposition! We will be treated as people in this cruel world! We. Will. Be. Victorious!” He screams, the voice of the man permeating my ears. An excited scream rises from the other people in the group. “Stripped of our dignity, under the guise of a disease, an epidemic, that has nearly wiped us out. And now we appear! Without out meds! Because we won’t hide anymore. This is OUR freedom!” His speech hits a crescendo when I round the corner of the rocky path, and crouch behind some bushes.

In the clearing I can see Draco, standing on a rock next to a blazing fire, and a rather large group of cheering followers who are dancing and talking. Among them I swear I can see the red haired man from the bathroom.

I crouch lower behind the bush when I see Draco looking around the edges of the clearing, praying that he won’t see me. But he does. His eyes lock onto mine and I swear I see him lick his lips, before I back up, trip a bit, and then run as fast as I can in the other direction, thoughts racing through my mind.

'I’m not one of them. I’m straight, I’m normal. I won’t be killed and there’s nothing wrong with me.’ Desperate thoughts fill my head as I run, and I can hear him perusing me.

“You can’t go back! You have nowhere to go-” he yells after me, but I just keep going, my chest heaving and my legs burning, yet I still run with tears in my eyes.

I run until I trip, falling to the ground on my back, and within thirty seconds Draco’s reached me.

He kneels behind me and pulls me up onto my knees, one hand on my throat and holding my ear to his mouth, and his other arm around my stomach holding me in place as I struggle against him.

“You can’t go back. The government’s declared you a renegade-” He says into my ear, his fingers and thumb digging into my cheeks and squishing my mouth.

“I-I can’t be a part of this-” I say, and he stretches my head back so that my neck is completely exposed, and puts his lips next to my ear.

“You’re here, just do it.” He says, and pushes me down so that I’m flat on my back, his knees on either side of my hips and his hands on either side of my head. I stare into his eyes, which have a softness that I didn’t see in the clinic.

“You felt something didn’t you?” He asks with a smile, stony eyes gleaming. I swallow thickly and try to ignore the pangs of want throbbing in my chest. “That’s the pills wearing off.”

Our breathing heavy and deep, it’s my turn to talk. “Was that your plan? To hold me hostage until the pills wore off?” I challenge him, and he smirks at me, his lips now mere inches above mine.

“A man’s not a man until his pills wear off…” He looks at me thoughtfully. “I’m doing you a favor.” He licks his lips, and takes the hem of my shirt in his fist, ripping it over my head, leaving my tanned chest gleaming in the darkening sky. His eyes look at me hungrily.

“What are you doing?” I ask, though all logical thought is being clouded with lust.

“Freeing the dragon.” He smirks, and all thought goes out the window. With a surge of strength, I push Draco off of me onto his back, and reassume his old position on top. The man beneath me looks vaguely surprised, but he doesn’t have long to retain the face because I’ve started attacking his lips.

I kiss him with a passion I’ve never felt before. His lips are soft and supple, and when his tongue snakes into my mouth it feels like it was made to be there. I bite his bottom lip hard in ecstasy, and when I grind my hips down into his for a split second, he groans into my mouth.

I rip his shirt off of him, running my hands over ever inch of uncovered pale skin all the way up his arms to his wrists, which I pin over his head while I start attacking his neck with hard bites and kisses, all the way to his collar bone. We’re both panting like animals at this point, but I couldn’t possibly care less.

“Shit-” he gasps, pressing his hips into mine, presenting me his already throbbing cock through yet another pair of thin pants. I take my hands off his wrists and he immediately puts one in my hair, and the other is running down my back, pushing me onto him.

He grabs me by the sides, hauling me into a sitting position without ever taking his lips off of mine.

Draco licks all the way down my neck and onto my collar bone, his cock pressing into me and mine prodding him in the stomach. I grind into him and he throws his head back in a loud moan, thrusting his hips up against me.

“Fuck…” I sigh, because it seems to be the only word in my vocabulary right now.

Within seconds of my moan he has his fingers in the waistband of my pants and is almost ripping them off, leaving me bare in his lap. I immediately climb off of him and pull his pants off of him, but the second they’re off he’s got me back on top of him, assaulting my lips and squeezing my ass.

My thighs are wrapped around his waist and every time I move my cock rubs against his stomach until I can’t take it anymore.

“I-I need you-” I gasp in his ear, and his mouth is immediately off of mine.

“If you want me, you’re going to need some preparation.” He whispers in my ear, not taking any more time and putting me down on my stomach, spreading me, and putting his tongue in my hole.

“Goddamn, Draco!” I gasp as he puts it as deep as it can go, working me loose. My hands pull at his once neat blonde hair, and he works his tongue in me until he has me writhing. But he doesn’t stop there. He puts two fingers in his mouth, covering them with saliva, and puts them in in place of his tongue. I moan, and he starts to talk.

“You’re going to look so fucking gorgeous with my cock inside you.” He pumps his fingers faster, earning himself a strangled gasp. He takes my head and turns it so that my eyes are on him while he finger fucks me. “You’ll be taking all eight inches whether you like it or not, baby.” I throw my head back in reply because he’s started curling his fingers and I can’t comprehend anything but the feeling. He smirks, grey eyes crinkling. “Good.” He says, taking his fingers out and leaving me with an empty feeling. “I need you to lube me.” I quirk an eyebrow, and he chuckles. “Suck me a bit. Just a little. I don’t know how long I would last in that mouth.” I blush but bring my mouth down to meet his glistening head all the same.

His cock is warm and full in my mouth and I try to take it as deep as it can go, getting it as wet as possible. All too soon he’s pulling it out.

“I-I can’t…” He pulls me on top of him again, but doesn’t have me sit. He looks me dead in the eye. “After I’m done with you, you’re not going to be able to sit comfortably for a week.” He growls the words into my ear and I moan. He takes that as the signal to start lowering me onto him.

Inch by inch he fills me, and it burns and hurts but it hurts so good that I don’t know whether to scream or moan. His girth is stretching me and I wrap my legs around his waist. After a bit of adjusting, Draco is in me all the way to the hilt, his tip brushing lightly against my prostate every time he moves. He puts his forehead against mine and kisses me when he starts thrusting; slowly at first. In the beginning it hurts, and he swallows my cries. But then it starts feeling good… suddenly, he isn’t going fast enough.

“Faster.” I gasp into his ear, and he has no problem fulfilling my request. My cock rubs against Draco’s stomach with every thrust, giving me more pleasure than I know what to do with. My nails scratch at his back roughy, surely leaving dozens of marks.

“Faster.” I say again, because I want more. So much more. “Harder.” And he goes harder, but still not hard enough. I pull his face down to meet mine, and look into his darkened stormy eyes. “Fuck me ask hard and fast as you can.” I say to him, and he grins.

“As you wish, Mr. Potter.” He says, before pulling out, putting me on my hands and knees, going back in, and fucking me so hard that he hits my prostate with every thrust.

“Draco!” I scream, his hips slapping my ass where they meet, and his hands pulling me by the hips to meet his frantic thrusts. I take myself in hand and jack myself off harder and faster than ever before because I’m so painfully hard that I don’t know what to do with myself. Soon, I can feel the coil tightening inside of me. “I-I’m going to-” is all I get out before I come the hardest I ever have, and he’s still fucking me as hard as ever.

Draco pulls me up so my back is against his chest and he takes my now soft cock in hand, moving his hand in time with his thrusts until I’m amazingly hard again, and he himself is grunting. But his orgasm comes with dirty talk.

“I’m so glad I got to fuck you open. I want to split you down the middle with my cock, and never stop fucking you. I got you hard again so I could suck you, feel all 7 inches of you, Harry. Fuck… Fuck!” He screams, riding out his orgasm inside me. The second he stops coming, he pulls out, moves down and gives me the most aggressive blowjob ever, which ends with my come all over his face.

“Scared, Potter?” He asks me, panting.

I give him a wry grin.

“You wish.”

-

“And so, in response to this new aggression, we are launching a new effort…”

[jugandbettsdetectiveagency]

The Serpent and The Swan - Ch.6

Goodness this was a long time coming, and I don’t think I’m entirely happy with it, but if I look at it anymore I fear I may explode! Thank you so much for being patient with me and continuing to shower me with such wonderful support for this fic, I hope you enjoy!

Ch.1 / Ch.2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch.5 / Read on AO3

It no longer surprised Betty when she would find herself looking forward to her meetings with Jughead. She wished she could say it had crept up on her slowly, the way Caramel would creep along the swell of her pillows on silent paws just before dawn, pouncing suddenly on stray strands of her hair and gnawing at them between tiny mewls. Bothersome but heart-warming all at once. But in reality she knew, despite herself, Betty had felt something for Jughead right from the start.

Initially she could blame the stirrings within herself on annoyance, frustration, and the sheer distress of knowing that they were to be married before they even had a chance to hear the sound of one other’s voices. But feelings as intense as these demanded motivation, and once Betty began to seek out such stimulus her mind would only supply her with one word: jealousy.

At first she thought it was just the sight of Cheryl, as competition for her future husband’s affections before she’d even had the chance to vie for them. This, coupled with her past experiences being pushed aside for the more appealing woman, had made her think that it didn’t matter who the man was and she was just programmed to feel the bitter taste of bile rising to the back of her throat whenever she was being treated as second best – something she felt doomed to happen for the rest of her life.

But then something unnerving happened, throwing Betty’s own view of herself off kilter for yet another instance in the course of a few weeks.

***

“Your Highness?” Ethel’s timid voice had floated through the crack in her chamber door following a light knock on the wood.

“Yes?” Betty asked unassumingly, not bothering to turn from where she was perched at the foot of her bed, dangling a feather on the end of a string to lovingly taunt her pet cat. She giggled as Caramel attempted to clap the soft down between his paws, quirking his head in childlike confusion when she pulled it away at the last second. When no reply came she looked up, finding Ethel stood nervously in the doorway, her expression worried. “What is it, Ethel?”

“You have a visitor waiting in the library for you, Princess.” She took a breath. “It’s Prince Archibald,” she winced.

Betty instantly schooled her features into one of impassiveness as she gathered her skirts and rose from her position, sweeping past her maid with rigid determination. The steady patter of the soles of her shoes on the floor helped measure her breathing as she walked, hoping the hitch in her throat wasn’t too noticeable to anyone other than herself. The door wasn’t closed when she finally stood before it, unfortunately not giving Betty the time she wanted to compose herself before she locked eyes with her former flame.

Archie was pacing nervously, clasped hands against his lips when he finally noticed Betty, stilled at the threshold. His thick eyebrows were drawn low over his eyes, bright hair mussed.

“Prince Archibald, I wasn’t expecting your company,” Betty addressed him stiffly, tilting her chin upwards. She buried her hands in the folds of her skirts, fingers flexing restlessly.

“Betty, come on,” Archie sighed, his look pleading. “It’s just us. I’m still… me. Don’t be like this,” he begged. Behind his eyes Betty could still see the boy she used to think she would spend the rest of her days with, the boy that she had grown up believing she was in love with. She averted her gaze, stepping further into the room and pushing the door until it was ajar. If anyone walked by it would still be considered inappropriate for her to be alone with the recently married Prince. She wandered over to a nearby bookshelf, running her fingers over the spines for something to do.

“I have every right to be upset, Archie,” Betty mumbled. “It wasn’t fair what happened, and it was made even worse by the fact that you didn’t even seem to care!” Archie flinched, moving to step towards her before thinking better of himself. “Did I really mean so little to you?” She bit her lower lip to prevent it from quivering in betrayal.

“I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like this. We were friends before we were anything else. Believe me, Betty, the last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you.”

“It’s a little late for that,” she exhaled. “Why are you here, Arch? You haven’t seen fit to apologise before, so why now?” she asked tiredly, abruptly feeling the strong urge to crawl back beneath her sheets until tomorrow came. The prince didn’t say anything, far more interested in his shoes all of a sudden. Betty turned to face him fully. “Did she make you come?” Archie paled. She wanted to flee but the curiosity in her rooted her to the spot.

“Listen, Veronica knows what happened between us, or what was supposed to happen anyway. And she feels bad, really she does, and she wants a chance to make amends.” He strode forwards, resting his hands gingerly on Betty’s shoulders, as if he were afraid she might disappear at any moment.

“What for?” His hands felt like deadweight.

“Because we can do better than our parents. Because we can bring the factions together when it’s our turn,” he suggested, voice tipped in childlike excitement. She shot him a look that if it were spoken out loud could only have been captioned as oh, Archie.

“You really think that’s all it’s going to take?” She had to appreciate his unfiltered optimism. The chasms between factions had been splintering decades before they were born, and she had only assumed they’d continue that way long after. Her history lessons were all but nil, no one wishing to relive the age that brought so much discord to the people, but a few texts buried in the library had taught her there used to be unity, that one ruler commanded the whole realm. The idea seemed so impossible to her now. But, she supposed, with the union between Archie and Veronica, and soon to be herself and Jughead, there was no telling where they would stand come their coronations. Something such as this had never been attempted as a fix before. The union between Betty and Archie had come only as an attempt to marry two neighbouring factions when one was in need (at least, Betty still assumed they were in need). No one seemed to have accounted for such variables as love and scandal, sending the whole plan into an unwinding spiral.

“It’s worth a try, right?” His thumb brushed gently against the skin of her neck as he searched the depths of her eyes for agreement. The movement was sweet and familiar, although Betty was surprised to find out that that was all. The action didn’t spark adrenaline through her veins, or churn acid in her stomach. It was simply a touch.

“I suppose so,” she relented finally. Archie’s cheeks widened with his familiar boyish grin and Betty couldn’t help but return it with her own soft smile.

“And I need you to know that I’m truly sorry for your… circumstances now. Just, my father became wary after Polly… and then when I met Veronica…” His voice faded out as he struggled to sum up the joyous emotions she could see springing to the surface. Betty cut him off, saving him the trouble.

“It’s alright, Archie. I understand.” Dark hair and stormy eyes floated before her vision, and Betty was struck with the notion that she might just understand a little more than she realised.

“If I’d known that they’d try to get you to marry a Serpent…” Archie’s face crumpled in distaste as the word left his tongue. Betty felt her shoulders straighten, her eyes narrow, his hands suddenly feeling more unwelcome on her body than they ever had before. She wanted to ask him what. What would he have done if he’d known? For all his amiable qualities, Archie Andrews had always had trouble controlling his need to satisfy his own desires first and foremost. The defensive question died on her lips as another voice filled the air.

“Betty?” The figure in the doorway startled her. She took a quick step away from Archie, his hands dropping from where they still rest on her shoulders. Jughead tread cautiously into the room, surely having heard the murmur of voices from out in the corridor.

“Jughead! G-good morning,” Betty stammered, every inch of her becoming flustered at his sudden appearance. He looked between the pair, trepidation colouring his features.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, and Betty couldn’t decide if the sharp edge she could hear in his voice was real or imagined. She crossed the short distance between them, resting a delicate hand at his elbow in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture. Little touches like this had slowly slipped into their interactions, his hand on her lower back, brushing her hair away, hers on his forearm, or straightening the immaculate lapels of his jacket. There was an unfamiliar tingling sensation building up from the tips of her fingers as she watched him size up Archie cautiously. Having become quite well acquainted with the betraying signs of jealousy herself, in her few short years, the look Jughead was sending towards the redheaded prince before them had anticipation spiking in her veins.

“Of course not,” she replied, gesturing towards Archie demurely. “I don’t believe you’ve had a formal introduction. Jughead, this is Prince Archibald. Archie, I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Prince Forsythe Jones of the Serpent faction.” Betty’s voice was unwavering in her introductions, surprising herself. It was the first time she’d presented Jughead as hers. She couldn’t describe the sensations running through her body in that moment, perhaps only knowing that they were something akin to excitement. Being on Jughead’s arm made her feel powerful, dangerous even. It was as if a connection to him heightened her confidence in a way she’d never experienced before, being so used to derogatory dismissal. Betty realised with a start that his undesirable background didn’t frighten her anymore – it thrilled her.

“I know who he is,” Archie replied, rather rudely without a hint of the pleasantries they’d all had drilled into them as a requirement of being born inside castle walls. Out of the corner of her eye Betty caught the corner of Jughead’s mouth tilting up in a masterful smirk, clearly sensing how his presence riled up his opposition.

“Prince Archibald,” he greeted, bending minutely into a bow while never taking his eyes off the man eyeing him like dirt upon his boot. “I trust married life is treating you well.” Archie visibly bristled.

“Yes. Thank you,” he bit out, clasping his hands behind his back as he rose to his full height. Betty hadn’t noticed until now but Jughead was a few inches taller than Archie, though he was a collection of lean lines and willowy muscle, while Archie was built bulky and noticeable strong. However, caught between the standoff happening between the two men, Betty definitely noticed how imposing Jughead’s presence could truly be. Instead of making her recoil in fear, like it may have once done, she basked in it, looping her arm tightly around his, reminding him of her presence next to him as much as she was confirming her place at his side.

Jughead’s shoulders lost some of their tension at her affirming touch, his eyes finally breaking away from Archie’s to look down at her, a mixture of caution, concern and comfort waiting within their depths. Betty’s breath hitched as the full force of his expression, reserved for her only, washed over her. His forehead smoothed as she arranged her full lips into an enamoured smile.

“Betty, that’s not all,” Archie interrupted slowly, confusion pressing his lips into a hard line. Betty turned to address him, her expression clear. “When I was talking about our future, a-as allies,” he hastened to clarify. “It’s because, well, Veronica and I are expecting.”

Betty waited for the world to drop from beneath her feet. She stood, completely motionless, as she waited for the ground to rise up and meet her head. She waited for the hot sting of tears in her eyes and the sickening swoop of abandonment in her stomach, but nothing came. The bubbling waters of the fountains still filtered up through the open windows, the late morning sun rays remained slanting through and spilled across the plush, red pile of the paisley rugs covering the floor, and her breathing continued, slow and steady, as the seconds of apprehensive silence kept ticking by.

“Oh,” Betty heard herself saying when she finally found her voice through the surprise. “Congratulations, Archie,” she cheered warmly from her spot beside Jughead. She could sense the heat of his stare on her profile, checking for cracks in a façade she wasn’t even wearing anymore. Somewhere, without her noticing, Betty has slipped out from under Archie Andrew’s spell. “That’s such wonderful news. You’ll have to bring Princess Veronica to our ceremony if she is feeling well enough for the journey, so I can congratulate her in person.” Betty felt giddy upon her new realisation, unable to rein in the blinding grin she could feel herself sporting. Archie still looked nervous, eyes flickering between her and Jughead as the pieces clicked almost audibly into place for him.

“Err, yeah. Of course. Thank you, Betty,” he said softly, relief evident in his tone despite his confusion. Betty turned her face towards Jughead, the expression gracing his handsome features so soft that she struggled for air for a few moments. She knew it was a little ridiculous but she could have sworn he looked proud of her, and that notion settled with a comforting warmth in the pit of her stomach for the rest of the day.

***

“Princess Elizabeth, please concentrate,” the stern voice of her tutor reprimanded through her poorly stifled giggles. Jughead coughed indiscreetly, the corners of his mouth twitching as he supressed a smile, Betty’s own bypassing her half-hearted efforts until she had to cover the expression with a delicate hand. She snatched the paper frog that Jughead had folded from one of the sheets she’d supplied him with and had sent bouncing across the table with just a flick of his finger, trying to adopt her most intimidating stare.

The chastisement was becoming a regular occurrence from the old mistress within the walls of the Cooper’s library. Jughead, after her initial invitation, had begun attending Betty’s lessons frequently, much to Mistress Geraldine’s chagrin. While she found him to be an intelligent young man, and an avaricious reader, he was nothing but a distraction for the princess. Mischievous glances and quick-witted comments were thrown across the table at every opportunity, and although the aged woman was pleased for the young girl she had known since birth it was still her duty to get her to learn something.

Betty had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed by her actions, but the expression slipped again as soon as Jughead made a sardonic comment about how droll the ancient philosophers truly were. Mistress Geraldine closed the book before her with a decisive thud, throwing her wrinkled hands into the air in defeat.

“Alright, you’re dismissed for today,” she sighed, watching with subtle fondness as the couple rose from their chairs hastily and scurried towards the exit. “But if you’re not careful I shall ban him from all future lessons!” she called after them good-naturedly.

Betty and Jughead burst from the shady confines of the castle and into the warm sunlight with laughter still falling from their lips.

“She doesn’t like me,” Jughead stated as they fell into step beside one another. Betty rolled her eyes at him, knowing he wasn’t in the least offended by the assumption by the way his lips settled into a smirk.

“Oh, she does. She’s just used to more well-behaved students,” she teased. Jughead nudged her playfully with his elbow.

“What do you say to more riding lessons?” he suggested, eyes sparkling as he edged towards the path that led to the stables. “It’s a nice day for it,” he added, tipping his head back to let the sunlight wash over his face. Betty took the moment to look at the way his olive toned skin soaked up the beams, how it made the constellation of freckles across his cheeks more prominent, the rich chocolate tones in his dark hair coming alive. He really was beautiful. It took her a beat to realise she still hadn’t replied.

“Yes, I’d like that… but only if you humour me with another archery lesson afterwards.” Jughead let out an insincere groan, humour still evident in his movements. He hadn’t been as receptive to her skill lessons as she had to his, and their archery sessions would usually end up with Jughead having to scale whatever unsuspecting feature of the Cooper’s gardens he’d managed to lodge his arrows in while Betty giggled prettily behind him.

“You drive a hard bargain, Cooper,” he accused with narrowed eyes. Betty bit her lip, as she often did whenever he called her by her last name.

“It’s in my genes, have you met my mother?” she retorted dryly, revelling in the way Jughead threw his head back in laughter after staring at her for a beat. The creases from his usually sombre forehead shifted to around the corners of his eyes as he allowed her a rare glimpse at his entirely unguarded underbelly. He could tell her what he wanted about riding, but the feeling of creating a carefree Jughead with her words was all the rush she seemed to need.

When his guffaws had simmered down to light chuckles he shook his head fondly, murmuring under his breath, “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t.” Her fingertips brushed against his as their hands swung between them, and Betty’s mind couldn’t help but take her back to the unforgettable whispers of an overheard conversation.

“You met when you arrived here, didn’t you? That was the first time?” she probed, glancing towards him but returning her gaze to the floor before he could meet it. She could sense his confusion.

“Yes, she met us as the carriage,” the lilt in his response encouraging her to explain herself further. He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “What is it, Betty?”

She sighed, finding whatever it was she was looking for in Jughead’s eyes that made her speak. “Jughead, I think our parents–”

“Your Highness!” The shout startled them apart, Betty having not realised how close they had been leaning towards one another up until he dropped his hand and she took a fumbling step backwards. They turned towards the maid expectantly, taking in her heaving chest and pallid face. “Your mother has requested your presence, urgently,” the girl added, hastening back beneath the archway she’d appeared from.

Before she could think better of it Betty grabbed Jughead by the hand, lacing their fingers easily as she pulled him alongside her.

There was an eerie silence within the walls of her home as they walked brusquely in the direction of the maid. It didn’t mirror the one she had grown accustomed to throughout her childhood, but instead lay suffocating and ominous across her back as she tried to swallow her heart from where it had become lodged in her throat.

The maid didn’t hesitate before bursting through the doors to her parents’ private chambers – an act alarming enough in itself – and Betty caught a glimpse of the myriad of people waiting behind the thick oak, crowded around the limp form beneath the bedsheets. Her head spun, knees faltering as they tried to keep her weight from collapsing, fingers squeezing Jughead’s in a deathly grip. He pulled her towards him by placing his other hand on her waist, steady and reassuring.

“Betty, look at me. It’s alright. Whatever has happened, I’m here,” he promised firmly. His hand rubbed up and down her side in slow, soothing motions, and Betty tried to match her breathing to its pace, feeling her heartbeat slow but not lessen in intensity. Shaking legs carried her forwards and through the throng of people all attending to her father, as white as the sheets he lay on.

“Daddy,” she whispered, her voice sounding unfamiliar and choked. His head rolled at the sound of her speech, his lips attempting an exhausted smile in her vague direction. His skin was coated in a sheen of sweat, eyelashes fluttering rapidly against his sullen cheeks.

“Oh, Elizabeth,” her mother wailed, sounding far less composed than she’d ever seen her. She clutched at Betty’s arm as they both stared down at the most important man in their lives. “It was so sudden.”

“What’s wrong? Is he…?” She didn’t want to think about the ending of that sentence, let alone allow it to slip into the air, tangible and possible. Expecting to see a sadness that matched her own on Alice’s face, Betty looked up, only to lose her breath once more at the hardness waiting in the tightness around her eyes and the pinch of her lips. In the silence that followed, not even the birds dared chirp.

“Only time will tell,” the physician eventually told her, frowning. “I’m not yet sure what has caused this episode, I’ll have to conduct some further tests, but I’m afraid it may not be conclusive. If we could clear the room,” he said hesitantly, worried about incurring the wrath of the Queen, no doubt.

Alice backed away slowly, joints in her neck shifting as she set herself with an impenetrable coldness. “This family is cursed,” she spoke hauntingly. “Infused with an incurable venom.” Her last sentence was accompanied by a sharp look towards Jughead, glaciers in her eyes glinting like steel. Jughead’s head snapped towards her in shock, before his face blanked.

***

The King’s condition remained stable over the next few days, and while it did not worsen it also barely improved. He had managed to sit up, taken small amounts of food and water, and tucked Betty close to his side as she read her favourite passages to him throughout the afternoons, pressing his cold, dry lips to her forehead in an attempt at comfort that only made her shudder.

Her time with Jughead dwindled considerably, no matter how much more appealing the sensation of the wind combing through her hair as they rode together was suddenly becoming. In the evenings, though, she sought him out, in their courtyard by the library. He was always waiting. She sat beneath his arm in the shadows of the babbling fountain and pretended that her only concern was finding herself slowly falling in love with the man at her side.

In amongst all the chaos, her mother had still managed to schedule a fitting for her wedding dress with Master Kevin. Of all the things of import at this moment in time, Betty failed to see how this managed to climb so high on the list.

Instead of his usual light-hearted jokes and conversation, Kevin seemed distant and distracted. He had hardly tried to pry for any information about the budding relationship between her and Jughead, something that would have previously relieved Betty but now only concerned her.

“It’s a little early for all this, isn’t it? Why has my mother insisted on moving this fitting up so much?” she said, twisting her arms back and forth to examine the white lace pinned there. It was beautiful, it made her feel beautiful, and the creeping sensation of panic she expected to feel upon being sheathed in her bridal gown had failed to come, leaving only anticipation tingling in her gut. “Kevin?” He hadn’t answered her.

“Hmm?” he hummed, staring blankly for a moment before he blinked and seemed to shift back to himself. “Oh, well, yes. We wouldn’t want to upset your mother at a time like this,” he replied with a consoling tilt of his head. “And, after all, Rome wasn’t built in a day!” he quipped, attempting something more akin to his usual conversation.

“My wedding dress is going to be comparable to Rome?” Betty squeaked, eyeing the rolls of white chiffon bundled in the corner apprehensively. Kevin didn’t say anything. “What is the matter with you today? That’s the third time I’ve felt you almost stick me,” she grumbled, somewhat more irritably than she’d intended. He dropped his hands, rubbing one swiftly across his forehead.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” he sighed, turning his face towards her with genuinely apologetic eyes. “Everyone is just a little on edge at the minute, don’t you think? Joaquin said– ” He cut himself off suddenly, eyes widening.

“Joaquin? You mean Jughead’s servant?” Betty asked, eyebrows nestling together. Kevin nodded slowly, colour draining from his cheeks. “You’ve been speaking with him?” He nodded again, backing up into the edge of his work bench.

“We may have… met,” he supplied vaguely, unable to meet her eye. Betty knew about Kevin’s preferences in relationships, had promised to keep his secrets from the judgemental eyes of the people, especially in the court. But she also knew that most of them had secrets of their own they would hate to see the light of day. Kevin was her friend, and she’d do anything to protect him, if necessary. But right now, he was giving her pause.

“And?” she prompted. “What did he say? About what? My father?” She knew she was bombarding him with questions, but she couldn’t help it. Her mother’s face as she’d turned on Jughead that day in their chambers wouldn’t leave her mind’s eye, the hissing of a snake ringing in her ears. The fabric of her dress unexpectedly felt too tight against her, like a second skin she wished she could shed.

“Betty, please. I can’t say anything…” She had never seen Kevin look at such a loss; he looked painfully torn. “I know you love Jughead.” The statement caught her off guard, having never heard the words out loud before.

“Yes,” she whispered before she could even think, even question how he knew, her eyes watering beyond her control.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered back, blinking away his own tears.

“Why would–” A loud gathering of people passing outside halted their conversation, Ethel coming in a moment to say that her father had requested Betty’s presence by his side. When she turned back, Kevin was already rounding the corner.

***

King Forsythe had left the castle early that evening, citing important business in his faction that simply couldn’t go without his attention. Betty was supposed to accompany the Serpents back to their faction for her stay at Castle Fosse, but given the circumstances her protests were well-received. Jughead also refused to go.

“I’m going to stay with you, until your father recovers,” he murmured solemnly, finding her once his father’s carriage had left the grounds, cupping her cheeks in his hands and dropping his eyes to her level. The conviction in his promise made something in her chest flutter uncontrollably.

He didn’t tell her about the suspicious fuss FP had made upon learning of Jughead’s intentions. His desire to stay at Castle Aeris has sent the man into an unexpected fury which Jughead hadn’t stuck around long enough to learn the outcome of – he knew he was staying no matter the consequences.

“But what about Jellybean?” she asked quietly, hating the idea of him changing his mind and following them in their path, but having to check anyway. He knew his father was insistent on the little girl accompanying him home immediately. She didn’t miss his somewhat sharp intake of breath, the way his shoulders hunched.

“She’ll be alright,” he said, more for his own benefit than hers she suspected. Betty wanted to argue more, but she was so tired.

“Okay,” she consented, the word barely breaching the quite air around them amongst the stacks. He pulled her close and she gratefully tucked her face into the crook of his neck, shirt in her fist, breathing in the scent that lingered uniquely on his warm skin, a mix of spices she was unfamiliar with, but found utterly intoxicating nonetheless. His hand rubbed circles on the small of her back as the day began to slumber. “I’m glad it was you,” she breathed after some moments had passed.

“What?” She lifted her head reluctantly, praying her nerves held out.

“I’m glad it was you that I was betrothed to. That I’m going to marry,” she told him shyly, thankful that the evening’s darkness had already descended, neither of them having moved to light the lamps, shielding her from his perceptive eyes.

“Me too,” he replied, and she could hear the smile in his soft voice. “The thought of being away from you, for any length of time… It doesn’t seem conceivable anymore,” he confessed nervously. Betty liked how the open emotions looked on him, gaze darting to his parted lips quickly. His sentiment reminded her of something else, though.

“I got a letter from Polly today. She had a boy.” Betty’s voice was quivering as she played with Jughead’s long fingers. “I have a nephew, and I don’t know if I’ll get to meet him, if he’ll get to meet his grandfather. I just–” A sob burst out of her chest before she could stop it, Jughead hurrying to ply her with gentle hushes and consolations, stroking her hair back from the sticky trails her tears left down her cheeks. “How did all of this happen?” she cried.

Jughead seemed to consider something for a moment before speaking. “Do you know where Polly is living?” he asked, Betty’s head jolting back in surprise. She nodded.

“She sent me her address in one of her first letters,” she confirmed. Jughead stood and pulled her from their spot on the floor, tucked beneath the window seat.

“We’ll go to her. We’ll find her and bring her back to the castle.” Betty gasped at his outrageous plan, the certainty with which he spoke. “I’ve had a lot of practising getting in and out of places unseen, and Joaquin will help us.”

“But my mother…” she started to protest. Jughead spoke over her quickly.

“Surely even Alice Cooper will understand, given the circumstances.” Betty wasn’t sure that she would. She chewed her lower lip worriedly, the only thing stopping her fingers curling into the berth of her palms being his locked between them. He noticed the tension in the digits, turning over her hands before she could stop him.

Her old scars glowed silver in the moonlight pouring in from the large window and Betty tensed, watching him carefully. Slowly, as if approaching a spooked animal, Jughead brought the wounds to his lips, pressing them softly against the repaired skin, but with unmistakable purpose. When he looked back at her his eyes were burning.

“Betty, I know that we cannot fix everything the people before us have broken. But we can try and build something new, and I’ve never wanted anything more than to do that with you.” His gazed flickered between her face and her palms. “I don’t want anything to hurt you anymore, I want to do whatever I can to make it better,” he declared, voice breaking in the middle.

It only took her a second to take in his words before she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. It was nothing like her first kiss with Archie, she realised that that was exactly what that kiss had been – nothing. This kiss had a heat spreading throughout her every extremity, from the point they were connected right down to her toes. His breath filled her with a new lease of life as he gasped against her mouth. His hands grasped her waist, pulling her against the solid planes of his body as her fingers moved from his soft cheek to his hair, burying themselves in the dark locks. It wasn’t slow and unsure, as she expected their first kiss to be, tentatively testing out this relationship that was handed to them. It was hurried and desperate, his tongue quickly coming out to lick along the seam of her lips, asking for entrance. She willingly gave it to him, oxygen escaping her lungs as he stole it from her, tongue tangling together, dancing, as if time was running out faster than they could catch it.

He pulled away first, resting his forehead against hers as their chests heaved in unison. He let out an exhale with a hint of a disbelieving laugh to it, cheeks flushed, and she couldn’t help but grin at his innocent reaction to such a sinful kiss. It was enough to give her one last spark of confidence.

“Jughead…” A loud crash from the hallway halted her words. “What’s happening?” The doors burst open, Alice illuminated by the light spilling in from the hallway. Her eyes searched the room before falling on the couple.

“Elizabeth,” she said, her voice impossibly cold. “It’s your father. He’s dead.”

[tea-and-cardigans]

OTP Important Questions 1000 Followers - All Fills

Hi Everyone,

Thank you to everyone who sent in a request for this challenge, it has been a lot of fun to try and work through these prompts and I hope that you have also enjoyed reading them.

Below the cut is every fill for this challenge.

Happy Reading.

Also if you prefer to read on a different format I also have these posted under my Moments in Time fic on Ao3.

1: Who spends almost all their money on the other?

He stared at disbelief at the gift in front of him, it had to of cost her nearly her full paycheck. She looked up at him with eager eyes, searching his face, trying to work out if he was happy or not.

“Betts, this is too much,” he told her moving to return the gift to her hands, she crossed her arms over her chest refusing to take it back with a strong shake of her head.

“You need it,” she reasoned with him. “I got a good deal,” she lied. She had seen the disappointment on his face when his laptop had packed it in. The blue screen as he swore at the device, rifling through his bag to try and find his flash drive trying to remember when they had last updated it.

She had taken it to Dilton Doiley who had been able to work his magic and recover his files but not the computer itself, that was beyond saving.

Seeing him mope around his father’s trailer had filled her heart with despair, Jughead Jones wrote that was what he did, she could see him trying to write in his notebook, at the library and in the Blue and Gold office but it wasn’t the same. When she got her first paycheck from Pop’s she knew exactly where it was going. She took Dilton with her, wanting his expertise so she could maintain the surprise.

She had wrapped it earlier that night, it was still months until his birthday but there was no harm in an early birthday present.

“We need to take it back Betts, I won’t let you-” She put up a finger to silence him.

“It’s my money, Jug, I decide how I spend it.” Her face was determined and he knew that once Betty Cooper had decided something there was no changing her mind. He relented, letting his genuine smile spread across his face as he spread his fingers over the keyboard, and she felt a shiver down her back at this action, looking at the way they moved gracefully, getting a feel for the keys. “Just don’t forget to thank me when your published.”

As soon as he reopened his document he went to the start of his novel starting a new page, a dedication.

“To Betty Cooper, for giving me the strength, will and tools to write.”

2: Who sleeps in the other’s lap?

She lives for these moments, when it is calm, when there isn’t a murder investigation or a civil war occurring between two fractions of the same town, this. His head laid gently on her lap, his eyes closed, a small smile on his face as he dreams of who knows what. The movie is still playing on the TV in her lounge room, his Serpent’s jacket laid over a dining room chair. She takes in a deep breath and sighs sinking further into the couch, as his breath hitches and she thinks that she has disturbed him. She brushes his forehead gently, her fingers moving through the dark waves the fall just over his eyes and she swears his smile gets a little wider.

She feels lucky that he is able to feel comfortable enough with her to allow himself to be vulnerable asleep in her arms and she makes a vow to always be his safe place to land. With whatever may come their way, she will keep him safe.

3: Who walks around the house half-naked and who yells at them to put on some clothes?

“It’s hot,” she exclaims as her mouth forms a pout as she looks up at him from her reclined position on the couch as he rolls his eyes at her. She’s not wrong it is hot, hottest summer in 20 years, if you were to believe what they were saying in the news. She was reclined on their couch in just her underwear, a bowl of ice-cream in her hands while she read her magazine. He had already told her a number of times to put some clothes on that week but it was just the two of them in their small New York apartment and she couldn’t work out why he was being so difficult about this.

“You don’t see me walking around here in just my boxers, do you?” He was leaning with his hands braced against the back of the couch. She re-adjusted her pout into a smile that was much more seductive in it’s intention.

“I wouldn’t mind.” She raised an eyebrow at him, before bringing her spoon to her lips and taking a very deliberate lick. Savouring the taste of strawberry ice cream on her tongue. He stood there his mouth slightly open, his eyes following her movements. She placed the spoon in her mouth, sucking on the cool metal, until she was satisfied and let it slip from her mouth before her tongue swiped her bottom lip, at which he couldn’t help but groan, his hands gripping the couch tighter, his fingers digging into the soft material.

“I need to work on my assignment,” he mumbled, as she was bringing up another spoonful to her lips. She nodded passively at him, as he watched some of the ice-cream fall from her spoon, dripping down the curve of her breast, his eyes watching as it disappeared between the valley of her breasts leaving a pink trail behind. His tongue darted out to wet his lips subconsciously.

“Ooops,” she said coyly, her eyes full of mischief as she pulled the corner of her bottom lip in between her teeth. He practically leapt over the back of the couch leaning over her, his hands braced on either side of her shoulders up against the arm of the couch as he bent down to run his tongue along the sticky trail which had been left, she moaned at the sensation, his eyes meeting hers as he finished just below her collar bone, pressing an open mouthed kiss on her skin, and she leant further back in response.

“You know strawberry is my favourite, Betts.”

She did.

6: Which one reads OTP prompts and says “Oh that’s us!” and which one goes “Eh, not really”?

“Oh that’s us for sure,” she exclaims. Her finger pointing at one of the sentences in amongst the others.

“It’s really not, Betts,” he replied, as she looked at him a scowl crossing her face. She snatched the laptop from his hands as he smirked at her. Betty Cooper did not like to be wrong.

She faced the laptop to Veronica who was sitting opposite them at the booth at Pop’s. Veronica looked cautiously at Jughead before moving back to Betty who had the ‘remember your my friend’ look on her face.

“Number 4, that’s us isn’t it?”

“I’m not sure, Betts.” Betty let out a furstrated groan before turning her attention to Archie who was trying not to make eye contact, knowing he would be called upon for his opinion next.

“Archie,” she said and then a little louder “Archie!” when he did not turn towards her. “Number 4 on that list is me and Juggie, right?” There was an insistence in her tone telling him what the right answer was, he looked towards Jughead who shrugged his shoulders, before leaning back in the booth, leaving him to flounder on his own. He next turned to his own girlfriend Veronica who was staring at her milkshake intently as if it was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. Before he finally looked at Betty again who was watching him intently waiting for his answer, leaning forward towards towards the table her palms spread out on the surface. “Well,” she urged on.

“I guess,” he responded to the audible groans of Veronica and Jughead, who were both shaking their heads at him.

Betty meanwhile turned to her boyfriend the look of satisfaction all over her face, as she took some whipped cream on her finger from her milkshake and popped it in her mouth, winking at him as she did so.

Number 4: Person A is baking cookies and has to split their attention between watching the time and fighting off Person B, who keeps trying to steal the cookie dough from the bowl.

7. Who is constantly wearing the other’s clothes?

Wearing Jughead’s clothes had become a habit for Betty. It had started when she wore his light grey sweater after the Jubilee. The material swamping her body as she moved from their sleeping positions on what use to be his bed in FP’s trailer to get a glass of water. The material felt soft against her bare skin, and the remnants of his scent overwhelmed her. She felt his arms wrap around her from behind as she stood at the sink, looking out over the lounge.

“That’s mine,” he mumbled into her shoulder, before he pressed a light kiss on the side of her neck.

“I like it,” She tilted her head to the side, allowing him greater access to her neck, which he gladly took advantage of, placing open mouthed kisses along the exposed skin. “It smells of you.”

“Keep it.” He pressed a kiss just below her ear, delighting in the gasp that left her lips, giving away her sensitivity. “Just come back to bed.” She felt the wave of heat run down her spine at his words, turning around to face him, as he brought her hand up to his lips, brushing her knuckles with his lips, in a gesture so innocent compared to what they had just done in this very kitchen.

She did keep it though, and soon other items of his clothing were added to her little collection. A flannel shirt, a hoodie, a t-shirt, all neatly folded in the bottom drawer of her dresser, the drawer she hoped her mum would never open and have a panic attack about why her teenage daughter may be keeping items of her boyfriend’s clothing in her room.

She was also aware of the effect that wearing his clothes had on Jughead himself. How much he liked it. They were at FP’s trailer when he went to shower, a hard day working construction had left him tired and tense. She waited to hear the water running to take the opportunity to slip his flannel shirt on, before pulling the grey beanie on her head. She was laid herself out on his bed and waited. He soon emerged from the bathroom, towel hanging low on his hips as he took in the sight of her, his mouth dropping open.  She crawled slowly to the edge of the bed, looking up at him as she raised herself to her knees. He took in the sight of her, blonde waves escaping from underneath the woollen hat, his hat. He couldn’t contain the low groan that left his lips as she placed her hand on his neck, pulling him down and locking her lips with his.

He swore his clothes always looked better on her.

8: Which one spends all day running errands and which one says “You remembered [thing], right?”

She hated this, being shut up in her room all day and night completely dependent on others. It had been a routine hospital appointment, heartbeat was fine she was growing well, but there was an abnormality and further tests and investigations confirmed that Betty has pre-eclampsia. When she had heard the words she had squeezed Jughead’s hand so hard, that a grimace crossed his face. She wasn’t sure what it was but she had been so anxious that the mention of any kind of ‘condition’ set her on edge and her mind took her to the worst possible outcome.

The doctor assured her that it was nothing to worry about at least not if she followed the recommendations. She had let out a frustrated groan when he had mentioned bed rest and Jughead had smiled sympathetically, knowing how hard it was for his wife not to do everything and take some time for herself, which he had been urging her to do, not that she listened.

So here she was up in their bedroom, propped up on pillows like she was dying or something. She had written a list for him to follow, everything she needed done for the house, for the nursery that she was still setting up as well as some extras.

Jughead had paled slightly when he saw the list, wondering how one person managed to get so much done in one day, while staying sane. Jughead was a much more relaxed, go with the flow kind person, spreading out his errands, but he had assured her that nothing would be missed while she was laid up, it was all he could say to convince her to take some time for herself, to take it easy.

He dumped the arm full of groceries on the kitchen bench, placed the nursery items in the spare room and made his way to the bedroom to make sure that Betty was still following the doctor’s orders. He was relieved to see that she was still in bed, surrounded by more pillows than when he had left if that was humanly possible and a face on her that said she was not to be messed with.

“Did you have a nice day?” She looked at him incredulously, and he then knew the answer. She obviously was still had not embraced the ‘take it easy’ attitude.

“I’m going insane,” she huffed, crossing her arms in front of her, it had only been one day. “At least I have a Vanilla Malt milkshake from Pop’s to make me feel better.” She closed her eyes, licking her lips obviously imagining the taste of something from the outside world.

“Shit.” He slapped his hand to his forehead.

“You did remember it right?” There was a desperation in her voice, and Jughead had learnt quickly that Betty and pregnancy hormones did not mix well, and as he removed his hand he saw the tears behind her eyes starting to well, as she continued to look at him hopefully.

“I’m going now,” he said quickly, darting to the bedside to peck her on the lips before he was racing down the stairs and jumping into the car.

He could remember her telling him now, that she could ‘murder’ someone for a Vanilla Malt milkshake and he could only hope now that she didn’t mean him.

9: Which one drives the car and which one gives them directions?

“Why are you yelling at it?” He turned to face her briefly before turning his attention back onto the road. Betty tried to hide the smile that was on her face. Jughead and the navigation system in his car had a love/hate relationship. There had been a honeymoon period when he first got it, being in a new town, it had been a god send, he had sung it’s praises to anyone who would listen. Betty herself did not have the same unwavering trust in the system from the start, she travelled around the town for her work all day long, she knew the little shortcuts the system didn’t, what roads became gridlocked at certain times, but Jughead could not be dissuaded.

She had told him that day not to take the road he was taking, that although it seemed it would be longer if he took the side roads, they would get there quicker. But he had trusted the computer over her and she had simply folded her arms and sunk back into the passenger seat.

“I can’t u-turn! Can you not see the cars?!” She tried to stifle her laugh as he continued his rant at the car, which continued to advise him to ‘take a u-turn where possible’ to escape the gridlocked traffic ahead of them. He gesticulated wildly at the cars through the windscreen as if this would help the nav system see his point. She couldn’t help the little giggle that escaped her lips. He looked towards her again, his face softening as he realised the ridiculousness of their current situation. “Don’t start, Betts, just tell me how we get moving again.” His hands gripped the wheel tightly as she placed her hand gently on his shoulder and he felt the tension melt away almost instantly.

“Just follow my directions,” she reached for the mute button on the system, he preferred the sound of her voice anyway.

10: Which one does the posing while the other one draws?

“I cannot believe you talked me into this.”

“Just lift your arm a little higher, more relaxed, less rigid,” she stated as she moved over to him to take his limbs in her soft hands and place them where she wanted ignoring his half-hearted protests. Even though her touch was light and gentle he felt the weight of it, the warmth of her skin through his layers of clothing, as he held his breath as she continued to brush ever slightly up against him.

“You sure this isn’t something Archie could help you with?” His tried to get the words out without them getting stuck in his throat. Was that really what he would have preferred, Betty with her hands on Archie manipulating his body into the positions that she needed.

“He had football practice.” Her forehead creased in concentration as she stepped back from him, her eyes surveying how he was placed against the chair in the art room. He had scoffed at her, nearly choking on his burger when she had asked him. But she gave him that wide eyed look and he agreed without even hesitating. Betty needed a model for her art project and she had chosen him. Well actually that wasn’t true she had chosen Archie, but when he wasn’t available she came to him. He knew that he should feel bad to be the second choice but he knew the torch that she carried for Archie and just how oblivious his friend was to this, but he could only jump at the chance to be alone with her, without Archie’s all encompassing presence.

“Okay, hold it there.” She picked up her pad and started her work. Her pencil scratched against the paper as she would glance up to look at him every now and again, while he tried to keep as still as he could.

Just as she was examining him, he was her. He watched the way her tongue stuck just barely out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated. She would occasionally tap the pencil up against her chin as if pausing for thought, working out her next move. Then there were her eyes, every time they looked up at him, were trained on him, he felt a heat pooling in his belly, rising up to his cheeks before washing over him completely.

He knew he should tell her, make a move, kiss her, just… something. Instead he continued to sit back while she threw herself at Archie, wishing just once she would throw herself at him, cause he would catch her and never let go.

11: If they were about to rob a museum, which one does backflips through lasers and which one is strolling behind with a bag of chips?

Betty Cooper prides herself in giving everything she has to all aspects of her life. She doesn’t do things by halves. So when she found that they would need to break into the Mueseum of Natural History to expose Professor Smith she had spent hours researching the security system, in addition to setting up a lines of red string criss crossing all over her dorm room, much to the aggravation of her roommate who already thought she was a bit ‘weird’. She had been practicing making her way through the strings without touching, her cheerleader background had come in handy, her flexibility and balance enabling her to soon make her way through effortlessly. She knew then she was ready.

She pulled the black turtleneck over her head, pulling her ponytail tight as she pulled the black gloves over her fingers. Ready for a night of breaking and entering the last time she had done that was back at High School.

She looked at the pattern the lasers in front of her created, she had spent weeks prepping for this and now it was time to put it all to good use. Jughead well, he brought a bag of chips. She had stared at him in disbelief, and at her look he held out the bag to her encouraging her to take one.

“We are breaking into a high security building, Jug, and you brought chips?” she whispered the disapproval in her tone clear.

“I was hungry,” he replied as if confused by her question. She let out a sigh, and surveyed the lasers in front of her. She tightened her already painfully tight ponytail, a nervous habit she just couldn’t seem to shake, as she started to make her way through the lasers. A few well placed backflips had her moving well through the beams, as she moved closer to her goal. She was balancing delicately between two close beams of light, when a loud ‘CRUNCH’ broke her concentration, her head whipping around to see a sheepish grin on her boyfriends face as he slowly chewed and swallowed what was in his mouth. Before mouthing the word ‘Sorry’. She huffed before she cleared the last laser, pulling down the lever on the opposite side of the wall shutting the lasers off, as he made his way towards her, his bag reaching into the bag to pull out another handful of chips, before shoving them into his open mouth.

He held out the bag again, as she sighed loudly reaching in to take one as he smiled back at her. Despite his poor choice of breaking and entering snacks she couldn’t think of anyone else that she would want by her side while they did this.

13: Which one likes to surprise the other with a lot of small random gifts?

She farewells him at the airport, wiping the tears from her eyes as he gives a final wave as he leaves  through the departure gates. It’s only a month she keeps telling herself, a month out of a year, it’s nothing really. She knew that this would be part of the deal, he was a published author now, promotion was inevitable. He had delayed it as much a he could. He didn’t want to be away from her, he wanted to take her with him, but knew that she had her own commitments back in Riverdale.  

Their small house seems so empty without him, she finds herself looking for him when she enters a room, reaching out to feel the warmth of his body in their bed in the morning only to feel the bare cold sheets. She is sitting at her desk looking at the photo on her desk of the two of them at Pop’s diner in their usual booth, both smiling at the camera, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulder as she leant into his chest.

“Betty Cooper.” She looks up as she hears her name to see a delivery man, with a small box, looking around the room. She stands up, walking up to him, and he holds out a form for her to sign. She examines the small box, wondering what it could contain. She notices a few of her other colleagues looking over in her direction out of curiosity.

She opens the small package and takes out the item, a smile spreading across her face. It is a snowglobe, a little figure of the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building contained within, she gives it a shake watching the small specks of fake snow floating around in a flurry. She sets it on her desk next to their photo, and pulls out the small card in the box, finding in his handwriting, scratchy and barely legible, ‘Wish you were here, Betts. Love Jughead.’ She holds the card up against her chest, imagining him leant over a desk or counter writing the words and she misses him more than ever. She wipes her eyes with her sleeve, urging herself not to cry in her office, instead giving her snow globe another shake and finding the motion of the ‘snow’ inside relaxing and soothing.

A week later another package arrives and she opens it eagerly finding another snowglobe this time from Nashville, a large acoustic guitar surrounded by buildings, along with another note. ‘The music would sound better with you here, Betts. Love Jughead.’

Every week she gets a small package, always a snowglobe and a note. She speaks with him on the phone but neither one of them mentions the gifts as if it is something that would lose it’s magic and meaning if they talked about it, so they talk about everything else instead. His tour is going well but he’s exhausted and she misses him like crazy but is also keeping herself busy at home and at work.

It is the final week of his book tour and she is packing up the small army of snowglobes that has slowly started to take over her desk, she had tried to hide her disappointment that morning when she hadn’t received her usual package reasoning that he must be busy in the final week and she would see him soon anyway, in person, feeling giddy at the very thought.

She is placing the final one in the box, when she hears giggles from her co-workers, she turns around to see what amusement is happening in the office when she comes face to face with her boyfriend, a wide grin on his face and a small snowglobe in his hands. She lets out a shriek, before covering her mouth with her hand and he chuckles in response, her eyes dart to the object in his hands, a snowglobe for Riverdale, the iconic Pop’s diner, the town hall and the Maple trees. She can’t wait any longer as she wraps her arms around his neck, practically leaping into his arms as he pulls her close. Her lips capture his own, in a kiss that she pours all her feelings into, her longing and she feels him groan in response, and she forgets where she is, before there is an ‘ahem’ from her boss breaking them apart, both of them looking like two teenagers who just got caught making out, which isn’t too far from the truth.

He has to fly out again in the morning, to finish his commitments, but for that night he is home and they make the most of their time together. After they have carefully arranged all the snowglobes on the mantle.

14: Which one keeps accidentally using the other’s last name instead of their own?

“Name?” The usher standing at the ticket booth asked, from behind the small sliding window as they approached.

“Betty Cooper,” she responds confidently, looking back at her boyfriend Jughead as he waits beside her. When she heard that the Bijou was doing a special Tarantino marathon she just knew she had to get tickets. She had wanted to surprise him, but of course he already knew about it, there was no way a Tarantino marathon was going to happen in their small town and him not know about it.

“We don’t have you down here.” The usher replied to her and she shook her head confused. She could start to feel the steady wave of anxiety already rising within her, as she was trying to remember whether she had actually booked the tickets in her excitement.

It was a few weeks ago, her and Veronica had been in her room, when she had come across it on her phone. Her squeal of delight had made Veronica jump in surprise. She had been gushing over what a perfect gift it would make, and Veronica had stated how cute they were and how she wanted to be the maid of honor, knowing that she would have to fight Kevin for it, at their inevitable wedding. Betty had just giggled in response as she dialled the number to book the tickets.

“Um,” She leant closer against the small opening, lowering her voice, hoping that he couldn’t hear. “Is it under Betty Jones?” she whispered. She pulled back to give an apologetic look to Jughead, shrugging her shoulders. The usher looked back at her computer screen, before turning back to Betty, who leaned forward again.

“Here are your tickets, Betty Jones.” She said giving a knowing smile, as she looked briefly at the boy beside her. Betty graciously took the tickets in her hand and linked her arm with Jughead. Mentally scolding herself for once again slipping and using his surname as her own, it had happened a few times now, she loved the way it sounded, Betty Jones. She would say it out loud to herself sometimes just to see how it felt on her tongue. Betty Jones, it just sounded right.

16: Which one gives the other their jacket?

He handed her the jacket that he knew she was so wary of. She knew what was brewing in Riverdale, their very own civil war, and they happened to be on opposite sides. She was scared for him, he knew that. She wanted to protect him, but he was loyal, loyal to his dad and those who had sided with him and taken him under their wing. She took it reluctantly slinging it over her shoulders as they walked to her home.

They had been out to Pop’s as usual, but it was starting to lose the shine on it. They were no longer the love sick teenagers who had sipped on milkshakes and been relieved that a killer had been caught. That at least that mystery had been solved. Only leaving space for something bigger and in ways more sinister to take it’s place.

She knew that him moving to the Southside would have created a space between them, she knew when she told her mother that it would change things between them and it had. He seemed older now, more confident, yes, but the stress had taken it’s toll on him, just as she imagined it had on her to. She gripped the jacket tighter around herself, trying to keep the cold out as much as she could. The tighter she pulled it around her body the more she could smell his scent, and it made her yearn for him even though he was standing right there.

When they reached her house she didn’t invite him in. She knew he would refuse anyway, he was aware of what her mum thought of his current choices and Betty’s continued involvement with him. Instead she kissed him on the cheek, as she shrugged the jacket off her shoulders and handed it back to him. It felt so heavy in her hands, and the weight lifted as he took it from her and put it back on. They looked at each other for a moment each waiting for the other to say something to bring them back closer together. Instead all she said was goodnight.  

17: Who keeps getting threatened by the other’s overprotective older sibling?

“Jughead Jones.” He spun around to look in the direction where he had heard his name. Seeing a heavily pregnant Polly coming out of her bedroom. Betty was still downstairs helping her mum and dad get dinner ready while he had gone to the bathroom up stairs.

“Polly, hey,” he said casually. She didn’t respond instead moving closer towards him and he realises that he is now backed up against the wall of the hallway.

“I love my sister, Jughead.” her tone is not the usual friendly, light one that he is used to hearing from the eldest Cooper sibling. He simply nodded, as she moved closer to his face. “So I don’t need to tell you what I would do to someone who ever hurt her.” There was such an edge to her voice and her eyes had an intensity which made him swallow hard. It was such a contrast to the pretty pastel dress and pretty headband holding her hair back from her face.

“I would never hurt Betty.” He choked out.

“That makes me very happy to hear that, Jughead.” She moved away from him before patting him on the shoulder. “Because I wouldn’t want to have to do anything too strenuous in my condition.” She raised her eyebrows, staring at him making sure that he was receiving her message loud and clear. He was nodding again, his head seemingly on it’s own accord.

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” he assured her. While also looking anxiously around the cramped hallway, trying to map out an escape route. But she seemed satisfied with his answer as she plastered a happy smile on her face, her eyes loosing that intensity which had made him feel nauseous before.

“Great.” The unmistakable Cooper tone in her voice. And with that she gave him a quick hug, before turning on her heels and making her way down the hallway to join the rest of the Cooper family. Jughead braced himself against the wall with his hands, and he thought Alice Cooper was the scary one.

18: Who’s the first one to admit they have feelings for the other?

When she smiles at him like that he knows he loves her, that’s her special smile, the one that is just for him only him. It’s not the one she shares with Kevin, or Ronnie, or even Archie. No, that smile the one that tugs at her lips and crinkles her eyes just so, that’s for him. He is not sure how to handle ‘loving’ someone new. He has always loved Jellybean, his mother and to some extent his father, but this is something very different to that familial love. He cares for Archie he always has, he is his best friend, but again it is something different. It is friendship and that’s what he thought he had too shared with Betty, friendship. But as they continue to investigate Jason’s murder, when he kisses her in her bedroom that first time he feels a ‘tug’ in the bottom of his stomach which feels unusual. He feels it again when she takes his hand in hers as he walks her home, as he rubs his fingers against her knuckles, a feeling washing over him which he doesn’t think he has ever experienced before, contentment. When they sit alone it their booth at Pop’s and she shows him the open weeping wounds on the palms of her hands, he feels a pull, inside of him, a deep seeded need to protect her at all costs, from the world but mostly from herself.

She sticks by him, even when he tries, and he tries so hard to push her away, to save her, she sticks by him. Her trust in him unwavering, and that’s when he knows, all those ‘tugs’ in his stomach, the pull, the overwhelming need to protect is because he Jughead Jones is in love with Betty Cooper.

19: How good would your OTP be at parenting?

They were both sitting on the park bench watching over as their two daughters were set loose on the park. Emily, their youngest, went straight for the puddles as they knew she would, she was wearing her new gumboots and raincoat so some splashing was in order. She was a free spirit, and had a lightness to her like her mum. A smile that could make your day better in an instant and a kindness that just emanated from her.

Hannah meanwhile was the more cautious and reserved of the two. She was more like her father, everyone said how she was an ‘old soul’. She stood to the side of the park, more comfortable to observe than to participate. Except for those who were closest to her, those would see her true personality and her sardonic humour which she had inherited from her father which at times would frustrate her mother to no end.

“I think we’re doing all right, Betts.” Jughead leant over to his wife, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, pulling her to him and she snuggled up close, while they continued to watch.  It hadn’t been easy, Betty had struggled at first, she had always hated the word ‘perfect’ but for Hannah she wanted to be, for the first time in her life she wanted to be perfect but felt that she was always falling short. Jughead himself had realised that she needed help too late, wrapped up in his own pressures that he had put upon himself to be the ‘rock’ of the family, to not make the same mistakes as his father. But they had sought help together, with the encouragement of Alice and they had made it through. Each day still came with it’s own challenges but together as a team they made it through.  Betty squeezed his hand tightly in her own and looked up into his eyes.

“Yeah I think we’re doing pretty well.”

22: Who makes the bad puns and who makes a pained smile every time the other makes a pun?

She had been dreading Easter, she always did as it approached. It wasn’t for the usual reasons one might expect, awkward family catch ups, too much chocolate, the Easter egg hunt and inevitable fight that would happen between their two girls about who had found the most eggs. No, those she could deal with. It was the amount of puns that Easter gave way to. The opportunities for him to make them seemed endless.

She heard her youngest daughter’s exasperated voice from their kitchen.

“Muuuuuuum, he’s doing it again.” She walked in to see their youngest daughter Emily with her tiny hands on her hips, scowling at her father who was chuckling at the sight before him that reminded him so much of her mother. Betty looked at him and he just shrugged.

“All I said was that her Easter parade outfit was egg-cellant.” He raised his eyebrows for dramatic effect. Betty just gave her usual pained smile at his use of puns and nodded in agreement. Emily turned to look at her, her face pleading with her mum to make it stop, before she stomped off.

She took a deep breath as she approached her husband, placing a hand on his shoulder and he knew what was coming. He wanted to be the cool dad so badly.

“We talked about this last year, Jug,” she said softly.

“I know.”

“And I think we agreed we were going to tone it down this year.” She met his eyes, and he nodded in response. “Okay.” She breathed a sigh of relief, the conversation going easier then she would have expected.

“I mean I think you may be egg-agerating, but -” He jumped of his stool and ran as she gave chase, an exasperated ‘Juggie’ leaving her lips. Emily just stood in the lounge room, watching as they ran past her up the stairs,  shaking her head at her parents.

23: Who comes home from work to see that the other one bought a puppy?

She knew that the two of them were hiding something as soon as she entered the house. The hushed words and giggles were a dead give away. She mentally prepared herself for whatever was waiting for her in the front lounge. The hushed words and giggles stopped as soon as she entered the lounge room, two sets of eyes watching her carefully as she took off her coat laying it on the back of the couch and putting her bag down, she could see her daughter trying to hide something behind her back.

“Okay, what have you two done this time?” she asked, looking pointedly at her husband, the one she had left in charge or so she thought. She can see the sheepish expressions mirrored on their faces and she is again struck by just how alike the two are, that sometimes she feels outnumbered. While she waits for one of them to answer her, preferably the one who is the adult, a sharp bark fills the room.

Betty’s eyes immediately snap to her husband, who looks away. A small sheepdog puppy is soon in her daughter’s arms as she snuggles it. She wants to be angry, she wants to have a private word with him upstairs but seeing her daughter holding the small animal, while she makes cooing sounds and whispers to it, melts away any anger that had started to build. She continues to watch as she feels his arm wrap around her pulling her close to his body, as he presses a kiss on top of her head, and she lays her head against his chest.

“You are still in so much trouble, you know that right?” He chuckles at this and she feels the sound against her cheek.

“Worth it, Betts.”

24: Which one gives the other a piggyback ride when they’re tired?

“You’re joking right?” she had her hands on her hips looking him up and down, as she tried to process his suggestion.

“You lift people all the time, and my legs are killing me. I’m not used to this thing they call ‘physical exertion’.” He was sat on a nearby rock and Betty was regretting already the decision to take Jughead hiking. She wasn’t sure why it sounded like a good idea in her head. She had suggested that they do something a little different to their usual Sunday afternoon spent curled up either on the Cooper couch or on the couch in his father’s trailer watching movies and inevitably not actually watching the movie and making out instead. He had rolled his eyes when she suggested going ‘outside’ and gave an audible groan when the next words out of her mouth were ‘Let’s go hiking.’

“I lift cheerleaders, Jug, not teenage boys.”

“You could try.” He pouted, and she threw her hands up in defeat.

“Fine.” Jughead jumped up immediately having not expected her to take his request seriously. She bent over slightly and waited as he awkwardly tried to get onto her back, needing several attempts before he managed to hoist himself up and she locked her arms around his legs holding him steady. His arms wrapped securely around her torso, settling just above her bust. She took a deep breath before she tried to move her legs, she was only able to manage a few steps before she became unsteady and felt herself begin to fall.

He fell with her and they landed on the ground in a mess of tangled limbs, and giggles.

“Let’s never try that again.” Betty managed to get out in between her fit of giggles and trying to untangle herself from her boyfriend.

“Agreed. We are never going hiking again,” he said with a wink as she playfully swatted his arm.

25. Which one competes in some sort of activity and which one does the overzealous cheering?

Jughead took his seat reluctantly alongside Kevin. Betty had let known her wishes for him and Kevin to be closer. At lunch Kevin had suggested that they go and watch the football game, Betty had clapped along excitedly at this, and he couldn’t say no, could he, not when her face lit up like that at the prospect of the two of them getting along. They had awkwardly waited at the concession stand together after Betty had run off to join the rest of the River Vixens, before they grabbed their snacks, Kevin shooting a questioning look towards Jughead at the sheer amount of food that he was holding in his arms to which Jughead had simply shrugged.

They had found some seats where they could easily see the game and were directly in front of where the River Vixens would be supporting their team. Now Jughead had never actually been to watch a football game before, sure he had hung out occasionally waiting for Archie to finish his game before they would go to hang out at Pop’s but he’d never actually watched the game or taken an interest in the cheerleaders, it just wasn’t his scene.

He gave a sheepish wave to Betty as she came out with the others, her short skirt swinging with every small movement she made and her ponytail bouncing with every step she took.

“You know how lucky you are don’t you?” Kevin broke the silence that the two had established ever since Betty had left them to get ready. “She’s special, our Betty.”

“I am aware,” he responded, his eyes never leaving Betty as she started to complete her warm up stretches. He was mentally kicking himself for not coming to a game before this one, he was not sure how he felt having a cheerleader for a girlfriend, something like that was from a world so foreign to his own, but he was still a teenage boy and watching Betty lift her leg high up above her head as she stretched made a heat begin to pool in his belly, he could barely hear Kevin above the sound of his own blood pumping, his mouth dry.

“You’ve never seen her perform before have you?” Kevin asked already knowing the answer. Jughead only shook his head, his eyes not leaving her as the music started and she began to sway her hips in a way that he had never imagined good girl next door Betty Cooper would. He watched intently as she danced to the routine in what he assumed was perfection, or it was to him anyway. As the routine finished and she started to wave to the crowd and give him a wink, he was on his feet before he knew it clapping enthusiastically as Kevin looked up as if someone had replaced the Jughead Jones that they all knew and left another in his place. When he let out an uncharacteristic whoop, Kevin grabbed him by the arm pulling him back down into his seat, which seemed to remind Jughead where he was, as he ducked his head in embarrassment, seeing some of the other cheerleaders whispering to Betty, and pointing up to him in the stands, before Cheryl was barking orders at them to get back into formation for the football players to arrive on the field.

He managed to restrain himself, barely for the rest of the game, as he tried to keep himself still during the cheer routines, having no idea what was happening in the actual game, but very highly aware of where Betty was at all times. He wasn’t ever going to miss another game again.

26: Who takes a selfie when the other one falls asleep on their shoulder?

She delicately tried to move her hand to her jeans pocket, slipping it inside and pulling out her phone in a move that was precise and controlled as to not wake her sleeping boyfriend. They had been reading over the submitted articles for the Blue and Gold, when he had drifted off. They had been reading for hours now, in his father’s trailer, hoping to find something that would be worth publishing for their latest edition. She had noticed the change of his breathing as she read out loud one of the articles on the latest football game, the slow steady breaths against her neck sending a tingle down her spine.

She didn’t have a nice picture of Jughead on her phone, he wouldn’t let her take one, she had plenty of ones of him scowling at the camera, and a few where he had pulled a face, but none where she could capture the true essence of her Jughead Jones. She pulled up the camera app on her phone, switching the camera to self mode, and directing it at herself and a sleeping Jughead on her shoulder, smiling slightly she took the picture. The sound of the ‘shutter’ filled the room, and she cursed the noise, the phone slipping from her hand as Jughead woke looking around the room, still groggy from waking. He looked towards Betty who just smiled back at him as she slipped her phone back into her pocket. He apologised for falling asleep, before pressing a quick kiss to her lips, gathering the pages that were still on his lap and starting to read the one on the top of the pile.

Back in her bedroom, after he had dropped her off, she opened her phone and smiled at the picture she had taken, her favourite one so far.

29: Which one holds the umbrella over both of them when it rains?

She had opened the umbrella and walked over to his crouching form when the rain had started to get heavier. He had been knelt down looking at the gravestone in front of him, talking to it when the rain started up, he had barely even noticed the droplets falling on him. He felt her hand soft on his shoulder as she covered him. He could feel himself about to break, but he held on, knowing that he needed to be the strong one. He was a grown man now, with his own family, realising his dreams of being a published author and although he had worked hard to get where he was so much of the highlights of his life were down to the name that was now across the cold piece of stone in front of him.

Forsyth Pendleton Jones II, Loving Father, Grandfather and Devoted Husband.

She held him when he cracked, as he turned his body towards her, sobbing into her chest as she wrapped one arm around him pulling him closer while the other continued to hold the umbrella above them, keeping them protected. She would protect him always.

30: If your OTP went on vacation, where would they go and what would they do? Who would take the pictures?

He still couldn’t believe the twist and turns that his life had taken. When he first agreed to help Betty with writing the Blue and Gold he never imagined that he would fall in love with her and that she would ever return that love, but here they were in the city of love itself, standing on top of the eifel tower as he took pictures of her, her wind tousled by the wind, her laugh echoing across the walkway. When he had received his first royalty check from his novel he had booked the tickets without hesitation, she deserved, for those late nights where he would stay up writing, while she went to bed alone, for the numerous agent meetings that kept him away from their small apartment. For the cancelled dinners when an urgent draft or change was needed, and she would simply nod her head, saying that it didn’t matter when he knew she was disappointed.  

He surprised her with the tickets at her work, a special delivery of flowers before he came in himself, whisking her away to an impromptu lunch in the park, carrying the picnic basket filled with french bread, cheese, terrine and a small bottle of wine. She had just been telling him how much he spoiled her when he pulled out the envelope, saying that he wanted to spoil her further, and give her a proper French picnic in Paris, she had looked at him confused until she opened the envelope, her eyes growing wide before she leant over to hug him, burying her face in the crook of his neck, while he breathed in her scent.

They had gone to all the usual tourist-y places, Notre-Dame, the Louvre, and finally today at the Eiffel Tower. She was bending over looking through a set of binoculars near the edge of the railing as his fingers ran over the small box in his pocket. The velvet soft against his fingers. She turned around to look at him, before smiling and beckoning him over to look with her. He ran his other hand through his hair, taking a deep breath before he headed over, ready to take the plunge.

[dontenchantme]

garden of eden - part three

Rated E, Satan x MC.

[no rad au] he was the serpent who had lured her out of paradise. she ought to hate him, but she didn’t.

fics masterlist

It was dark outside. She glanced at the time and exhaled, reaching up to knead her shoulder. Just a few more minutes and she should be able to head home.

God, when did she become this stiff? She should look for a good massage parlour this week. A reward for finally getting rid of that leech, maybe. Oh, and she ought to put up an ad for a new flatmate too. The rent was due soon, and some extra cash would come in handy.

Taking one last look at the report, she was satisfied there was nothing more she could add so she saved the file, finally able to switch off her laptop. It was already past eight, and she was one of the few people still in the office. She rose from her chair, her bones aching, and looked down the hallway. The lights were dim, and it threw the whole passage into shadow.

It wasn’t the first time she had stayed this late, but she never liked how the office looked after-hours. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, not exactly, but the silhouettes of the desks and printers and empty chairs just seemed so much more…eerie when there was no one around.

Deciding to pack her things, she paused when she opened the cabinet and saw the dagger gleaming back at her, the jewels twinkling under the office lights. Just looking at it made her chest tighten. She still didn’t know what to do with the weapon, and simply staring at it wouldn’t help her make up her mind. She had to talk to Satan.

Talk to Satan. She snorted. As though it would be that easy to even contact him. She still had no idea why he showed up in the washroom this morning, but he seemed like the type to do things as and when he wanted, and it wasn’t like she knew how to summon him either.

Well, he did tell her to get angry if she wanted to see him. But rage was a complex emotion – it wasn’t like hunger or boredom or exhaustion. She couldn’t get mad without a trigger, and she didn’t intend to search for one either. Upsetting herself would be nothing but counterproductive.

She grabbed the dagger, hiding it within her coat, and picked up her bag. It was time to go.

The trip home was fairly uneventful, at least until she got off the bus.

She was pretty sure there was someone following her, and she quickened her pace, hoping that she was just being paranoid. The back of her neck prickled, and she tightened her grip on her bag. She knew some basic self-defence, so if it came down to that…

Her apartment wasn’t too far away. Once she went into the building, she should be safe. The streetlights were still on, but the illumination they provided was of scarce comfort when she could sense her stalker following her still, likely waiting for the best opportunity to strike.

What did they want? If it was money, she didn’t have much. But if it was something else they wanted…a shiver ran down her back, and she swallowed, her throat dry. All of a sudden, the darkness seemed so much more foreboding. Her nails were stabbing her palm and it stung, but the pain grounded her; without it, she might end up having a panic attack.

She thought she could hear the sound of footsteps approaching, and she resisted the urge to peek over her shoulder, trying to convince herself that she was imagining things. She was fine. She would be fine. There was nothing to worry about.

Why did this week have to be so crappy? Work was terrible, her good-for-nothing ex cheated on her, and now this. Maybe it was time for her to go back to church or something.

As she hurried down the street, trying not to look behind her – she was curious, but she didn’t want to frighten herself – she walked past an alley. Without warning, a hand snaked forth and grabbed her, dragging her into the darkness. An instinctive scream rose within her throat, but before she could make a sound, she felt another hand cover her mouth, muffling her.

“Shh.” She inhaled – it was a familiar voice, smooth and seductive, a lover’s caress against her skin. “He’s searching for you now, and if you scream you’ll just give yourself away.”

She nodded, and he released her, his fingers lingering on her cheek – she glanced back and saw Satan smiling at her, green eyes almost glowing in the darkness. “Why did you save me?” she whispered, puzzled by his sudden magnanimity.

“I thought it might be interesting to see how you’d react.” His smile widened. “You sensed it, didn’t you? That someone was following you. But there’s no need to be afraid.” He gestured towards her coat, and her hand instinctively reached up, resting over her hidden dagger.

“You want me to use this on him?” she asked, her voice trembling. He shrugged, looking her square in the eyes, his gaze unflinching.

“I don’t intend to help you, you know. If you know another way back to your apartment from here, then I’m all ears.” She heard a hint of challenge in his voice, but she lifted her chin and stared back at him, unwilling to back down. If he thought she was going to beg him to save her, then he didn’t know her in the slightest. She wasn’t one to admit defeat so easily.

Maybe there was another way back to her apartment from here. Deciding to follow the passageway, she went deeper into the darkness, Satan trailing casually behind her. It was a winding path, and the further she walked the less she could see – part of her mind began to wonder if this place even existed before today. She didn’t remember seeing this alley before.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” Satan’s voice floated out from behind her, and he sounded amused. She gritted her teeth, tempted to retort, but she held her tongue – it was probably better to focus on finding her way out. The alley was just barely illuminated by the faint light of the moon, and she walked slowly, carefully, hoping she wouldn’t trip.

Perhaps going out of the alley to confront her stalker would have been a better idea.

Doubt strangled her heart, her breaths coming out quick, nervous. Was this a trap? Did Satan trick her into doing what he wanted? Maybe something worse than a random mugger waited for her at the end of this path. Maybe he wanted to force her hand, make her use the dagger so that her soul was his for the taking. She wouldn’t put it past him to try such a thing.

“You think too loud,” Satan said, his tone conversational. She jumped, startled out of her thoughts, and whipped around to glare at him, her heart thudding in her chest.

She could barely make out his face, his features shrouded in shadow – though his green eyes continued to gleam, bright and feline. “Can you read my mind or something?”

“I can’t. I’m a demon, not a fortune-teller.” She couldn’t be sure if he was mocking her or not – his tone remained light, almost gentle. “But I can sense fear, and it radiates off you in waves. You’re scared, aren’t you?” His voice was a murmur. “Scared of what awaits you in the dark.”

“I don’t like what I can’t see,” she answered. He laughed, and she flinched when something brushed against her cheek. Then she realised it was his hand, cupping her face, his thumb stroking slow circles over her skin, and she exhaled, his proximity calming her somewhat.

Funny, how she’d run from a stranger but fall gladly into the arms of one of the seven princes of Hell. “Such a straightforward response. I’d find it charming if you weren’t so vulnerable.”

She frowned. “Vulnerable?”

“Mm. Like a lamb to the slaughter.” His hand on her cheek dropped to her shoulder, and she let out a cry when his nails dug into her skin, on the verge of drawing blood. “People believe that we demons only devour souls. That we never eat anything else. But that’s not quite true.” His breath fluttered against her jaw. “Once in a while, we do enjoy the taste of human flesh.”

Her heart seemed to stop in her chest. She could almost see the smile on his face. Before he could say anything else, she swung her bag forward and felt it knock against him – his grip on her loosened and she took off down the passage, determined to get away. Her shoulder still felt sore, her flesh throbbing as she fled, but she refused to be distracted by the pain.

She’d tend to her wounds later when she got out of here. If she managed to get out.

Her hands were outstretched, reaching before her so that she wouldn’t crash into anything while escaping. There were no footsteps behind her, and she wondered if he’d really let her go just like that or if he had something else up his sleeve. Did he seriously intend to eat her?

Something rough hit her palm. The brick wall. She flailed about, trying to figure out where to turn next, and felt a sudden breeze picking up towards her left. Relieved, she spun and went down the passage, hoping she’d find the exit soon.

Time passed. She wasn’t sure how long, and she didn’t want to pause and look at her phone either, but her pace had slowed now that she was confident Satan wasn’t following her. It was almost…comfortable, walking through this place. Here, her mind was free to wander, and she didn’t have to think about things like her career or her finances or her broken relationship.

Eventually, she saw a pinprick of light at the end of the path and her spirits lifted, the promise of freedom beckoning to her. She hurried towards the light and finally burst out of the alley, into the open night air – then she blinked when she realised she was back where she started.

She looked up and down the street. Yes, this was exactly where Satan had pulled her in at the beginning, though right now there was no one else around. Her mysterious stalker must have given up on looking for her. Reaching for her phone, she glanced at the screen and her eyes widened when she noticed that the time had barely changed since she got off the bus.

How could this be? She felt like she had been stumbling around in that alley for ages. Yet her phone’s clock beamed up at her, showing that barely even five minutes had passed since she first noticed someone following her down the street.

Confused, she slipped her phone back into her pocket and glanced over her shoulder. The wall faced her, weathered and worn. The alley she had just left was nowhere to be found.

She lay in bed, the dagger under her pillow, just waiting. She wasn’t sure why, but she had a distinct feeling that Satan might visit her room tonight, and she wanted to be prepared.

Something creaked outside, but she couldn’t tell if it came from the street or the hallway. Her hand, tucked beneath the pillow, tightened around the dagger’s hilt. The air felt thick, almost viscous – her heart was pounding in her chest, her body trembling with anticipation.

The worst part was how she couldn’t tell if she was nervous or excited. Frightened or eager. It shouldn’t be a question – she ought to be terrified. Satan had outright said that he wanted to eat her. Yet here she was, so much tension in her body that she was practically vibrating.

Her gaze flicked towards her clock. The luminous numbers glowed back at her. Almost three. Some little corner of her mind remembered that three in the morning was witching hour; the time when witches, demons and ghosts were supposed to be at their most powerful.

Another creak. She stiffened, her head turning – that was a lot closer than the first time she heard it. The sound was followed by the slow drag of a bedroom door yawning open, the whisper of footsteps against the carpet. She stared in the direction of the entrance, trying her best to remain still.

“Did you miss me?” His voice came from the other side of her bed, and she whipped around, her heart almost leaping out of her chest. There he was, grinning at her, and her first thought was that if she was killed tonight, no one would know – no one cared enough to look for her, now that she was alone. “It was fun watching you run around in that maze.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Enjoyed teasing the human, didn’t you?”

“Kind of. It’s been a while since I last met someone as fearless as you.” He paused. “Though I can’t be sure if you’re truly brave or if you’re just an idiot. It’s hard to differentiate sometimes.”

“You know, for the Avatar of Wrath, you’re pretty cocky. You sure you’re not Pride?”

For a moment, she thought his eyes flashed red. “Don’t compare me to Lucifer.” His words were calm and measured, but she felt the overpowering rage that suddenly swept through the room, hiding behind that empty smile, and she shuddered, her chest tightening.

But just as quickly, the moment passed and he was back to his usual self once more, polite and genteel. “You know, I wasn’t joking when I talked about wanting to eat you.”

“Why don’t you, then?” she challenged, forcing herself to smile at him, forcing herself to stay in bed even if every instinct screamed at her to run. “Why didn’t you do that from the start?”

He cocked his head, seeming to consider. “Well, I always thought that human flesh tastes so much sweeter when it’s tinged with fear.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Unlike my brother, Beelzebub, I have a little more respect for the food I consume.”

“You could show me even more respect by not eating me,” she countered.

Satan leant in, reaching for her face. She allowed him to touch her, his slender fingers cool against her skin. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he whispered. “You can always change my mind, you know. I’m not so ravenous that I can’t appreciate a good discussion.”

“I wouldn’t taste good at all. I eat so much junk. Potato chips and ice cream and everything.” Why were they talking so normally? As though he hadn’t just threatened to eat her. “And I wouldn’t have a good meat-to-bone ratio. You probably want someone a little fleshier.”

Satan’s laugh was like warm, sweet honey. “You put up a fair argument. But bones are pretty good for stew, you know. And I find myself craving some delicious meat stew tonight.”

It was unfair how seductive his voice was. God, what she wouldn’t give to just sink into him – but she reminded herself that if she didn’t play her cards right, she could quite literally end up a part of him. “You could consider going vegan. It’s good for your health.”

“Us demons don’t need to think so much about our health,” he answered, his fingers stilling on her chin. “There’s not much that can kill us. You, on the other hand…”

She sensed the shift in mood, saw his face come closer and instinctively, she swung the blade hidden beneath her pillow, encountering resistance as it bit into flesh and bone. Black blood, hot and sticky, splattered against her face, running in rivulets down his arm. She could hear a faint hiss as the blood dripped onto the carpet, and slowly she turned back to face him.

Satan looked surprised. He didn’t seem to be in any pain, but he stared down at the wound with something akin to wonder in his eyes. She tugged on the dagger, trying to work it free, but the blade was stuck firmly in his arm, and it refused to budge. “How interesting,” he said, and he didn’t sound anything like how she’d expect a grievously injured man to sound. “So this dagger can hurt me. I didn’t know that. Well, we’re always learning, aren’t we?”

“How are you not in pain?” she asked, wriggling the dagger. The blade scraped against what seemed to be bone and she winced, but Satan still seemed entirely unbothered.

“As if I’d be hurt by something of my creation,” he said, sounding more entertained than she thought he would be. “You have some spunk, don’t you? Maybe it was right to pick you to come to, out of all the mortals constantly calling my name. You’re rather lively.”

Lively was not the word she’d use to describe someone who just tried to kill her. “You’re sick in the head, Satan.” She pulled again, and the blade finally came free, more blood spurting out of the gash. It made her feel a little ill. “You’re bleeding. Look at you.”

“Why are you worried about someone who wants to eat you?” he asked. As he spoke, he passed a hand over the wound, and she saw faint green light emanating from his fingertips – before her very eyes, the wound knitted itself up, leaving behind no trace of a scar. She stared, taken aback by what she just saw. Proof of magic? Or his demonic powers, perhaps?

“I…I don’t know,” she admitted. “But the more I think about it, the more I feel like you were just – that you weren’t serious.” She met his gaze, and he cocked his head, studying her. “If you wanted to eat me, you could have done so already. There must be something else.”

“Clever girl.” He chuckled, sitting on the bed beside her. She scrambled back to give him space, unable to look away from the dark splatters she could see on his shirt. “It was a test, and nothing more. I said I’d give you what you wanted if you impressed me, remember?”

Her mind went back to the conversation they had in the morning, at the office washroom. “Wait. What?” She didn’t know what else to say. Frightening her, threatening her, getting injured by her – so all this was nothing but a test?

She didn’t know whether she ought to get angry or not. “Why do you sound so surprised?” Satan asked, his smile dimming. “There’s no fun without a little fear, don’t you think? And I wasn’t about to force you to use the dagger. That’d defeat the purpose of temptation.”

“I still used it though. On you, I mean.” She swallowed, looking down at the sharp blade in her hand. It felt cooler now, no longer as warm to the touch as it once was. The jewels decorating the hilt seemed less beautiful as well. Almost cheap, like costume jewellery.

“Doesn’t count.” He shrugged. “No weapon will hurt its maker. At least not in the way it was intended to.” He reached for the hilt and she let go, her chest feeling almost hollow as it was taken from her. “Why, do you miss it already? It’s quite pretty. Even if I do say so myself.”

“Why did you come to me?” She shook her head, running a hand through her bangs. They fell in front of her eyes, hiding her line of sight so that she didn’t have to look at him. “Now that I’ve met you, now that I’ve used that weapon – I don’t know how to feel, Satan.”

“Why?” She felt his fingers slide underneath her chin, tugging her face up. His touch was strangely gentle, almost loving. But what demon could love? “I was bored, I suppose. And I must say that this is the first time I’ve seen someone so capable of restraining their anger.” His other hand reached up, brushing her hair away from her forehead. His face was impassive. “I just wanted to see how far I could push you. There’s no other reason, I’m afraid.”

How far he could push her? Like she was some sort of toy. She felt a flicker of rage bloom in her belly, a malicious heat that reached to her toes. “I’m not a game to be played, Satan,” she breathed before she reached out and curled her fingers in his shirt, yanking him down. Their lips met, and she swore that she found home in his arms.

He countered her, fierce and powerful, two souls playing a twisted game of dominance, and when he bit her bottom lip she gasped, hot blood welling up to meet him. He feasted on the salt of her pain, and her fingers ripped at his buttons, seeking out more – more than what he was offering, more than what was good for her. Satan withdrew, an unspoken question in his eyes, and she nodded, impatiently scrabbling beneath his shirt, nails raking down his back.

“You’re going to regret this,” he murmured, though it was hard to believe him when he was holding her this way, his teeth at her throat, at her pulse, leaving purple-blue marks that would be impossible to hide once the sun rose.

“Convince me,” she rasped, and he laughed, the vibrations sending tingles across her skin.

“If that’s what you want, human. If that’s what you want.” And part of her wondered what she had gotten herself into – the rest of her just wanted him, and she wanted him now.

Maybe she would regret this when she woke up. If she woke up. But for now, she couldn’t care less.