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moiraineswife · 2 years

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In Vulnerability - A Moiraine/Lan Fic

ANGST TIME. Just when you were all starting to recover from 1x05, I arrive to remind you of all that pain. Right in time for the next episode.

Title: In Vulnerability

General Warning: Some intense emotional content ahead here. Very minor content warning for self-harm, where Lan hits his hand against the floor in anger and bloodies up his knuckles.

Summary: Post 1x05 - Rewrite of the Funeral scene from Moiraine's perspective, then extended to allow for her to comfort Lan in the aftermath.

Teaser: ‘The bond leads her to a nearby room, a small storage chamber, and she slips inside, channeling it locked so they will not be disturbed. She adds another swift weave to contain any sound to this chamber. She wants him to be able to grieve freely with her.

Then she looks around for him. Lan has collapsed just to the side of the door, as though his knees had simply buckled the moment he felt he had escaped the expectations of the rest of the Tower. He has both hands clamped around his head, as though that will help him hold in the awful thoughts that she feels tormenting him. His face is contorted with pain, tears staining his skin. But the bond, still widened by her will, is all but silent. Terrifyingly so.'

Link: AO3 or Read Below:

Her ears ring with the steady thumps of fists against chests. A resonant heartbeat to pound the one that no longer can. To give his memory life, for but a brief instant, to let them say goodbye.

The bond scars her soul with his grief. Raw and untempered as yet by time or distance. She takes it in through her connection with him and holds onto it as she wants to hold him. As she does, she wishes that, in sharing it, she could halve the pain that he feels. But all she can do is be there with him.

There is a ritual to this. As ancient as the stones of this tower. He has his place in it, and she has hers. She will not shame him by breaking that. But in her heart she wants nothing more than to pull him into her arms and bring him what comfort she can. All she can do, all she will do, is press that want through to bond to him. Though she does not think it even makes contact through the ravaging grief that claws at her like a starving wolf in a cave. But it will be there when he is ready for it. As will she.

He meets her eyes as he kneels at the side of the brother he could not save. That look in them, that grief, that pain- It could have broken her. But she knows that she must be strong for him. She knows that she must lend him all the strength she can. So she does not flinch. She does not waver. She holds his gaze, and holds back the tears in her own eyes, and let’s him draw from her everything that she is, and everything that he needs to survive this.

Their bond is a tangible thing in the space between them. It pounds like a second heartbeat with his pain. She takes it. She takes it all. And grips onto it, and him, with all of the strength that she has.

Bracing herself, she lets their bond widen. The thin ribbon of feeling expands, until it engulfs them both, like two tides meeting. She soaks herself in his agony, and he blinks, nodding, knowing what she has done for him, and why.

Taking that resolve from her he manages to turn back to his duty, away from her. Trembling, she feels the effort it takes him to do this. The grief he lets flood him, as a matter of duty, and a matter of guilt. His hand pounds against his chest in rhythm, and she feels the bruising strength of it as though he has slammed it into her as well. He barely even registers it himself. So great is the rest of his pain that his burning nerves barely feel it.

Swallowing tightly, feeling tears sting at her eyes, Moiraine joins him. Given permission by their bond, and by her love for him, she leads the Aes Sedai. She thumps her own hand over her heart in time with him. She stands tall, and proud, and does not break, because he still has need of her. But she cannot stop the tears that fall free, as much for Lan as for Stepin.

As the pounding beat reaches a crescendo, the tension winding tighter and tighter in the hall, Lan’s scream brings relief for those watching. As it is intended to do. He is the vessel for all of their pain, the one who will sink into it, then let it go so that they might all begin the process of healing from this loss. He takes the burden for all, and carries it, his charge, his duty.

Moiraine feels no relief from her Warder, though. He does not share in what he brings to the watchers. Indeed, it only seems to aggravate his own grief. Making it sharper, and rawer, his place in this mourning ceremony highlighting the guilt, and the belief that it is his fault.

His second scream tears something open in her heart. For she feels everything he forces into it. Even while trolloc poison coursed through her body, the fevers gripping her, making her body burn with the Dark One’s own fire, none of that pain came close to what she feels now.

The ritual completes itself with the red bruise over Lan’s heart a symbol bared for them all.

Silence comes and brings with it a strange sense of calm. There is a feeling in the room that something has been released, that their grief has been set free, by the completion of this ceremony.

Lan simply looks broken.

Only to her, she suspects. She can see in him what the others cannot. And she still has the bond. Which has gone as silent as the room around them. Merely an echo of the pounding heartbeat remains. He has retreated from her. Numb. And quiet. And empty.

As she moves forwards with her sisters, barely thinking, they surround Stepin, and she positions herself at Lan’s back. She only has time to place a brief hand on shoulder, but she knows that he feels her presence, her support. Even if he does not look at her.

He does not move. Even as the Aes Sedai complete the final part of this funeral. Drawing on Saidar, they cause flames to rise up around the body. Bright, white flames of pure heat and power. They return him to the Light, and to his light, his Kerene.

Lan remains beside him as the fire takes him. Moiraine can feel the fire burning his skin, burning away his tears, yet never touching his grief. He remains, and Moiraine takes care with her weaves, making sure that they press the flames away from him, keeping him safe, sheltering him from what pain she can. It is not enough, she knows. She doubts he even notices it, slumped in his misery, but that is not why she does it.

The funeral completes itself. Moiraine, as Lan’s Aes Sedai, is the one wraps the ashes up in weaves of air, scattering them out into the world beyond the Tower, so that Stepin’s spirit may leave, and seek its place beyond, where Kerene will guide him to her once more.

“May the last embrace of the Mother welcome you home,” she murmurs, her voice calm, and resonant, as the moment deserves, even as she struggles with the swirling emotions of herself and her own Warder.

The ceremony complete, Lan rises slowly, feeling disconnected and unreal to her. Distant, even with their bond to anchor him to her.

He bows deeply to the now empty bier, then to his brothers, then he withdraws. Calm and stately as if he were simply leaving a banquet hall.

Moiraine remains just long enough to avoid causing a scandal, then follows after him. She runs for him the moment she is free of the eyes and ears of the others. They can think what they will of her departure, of her not lingering with the other Aes Sedai to make their customary tributes. She knows where Stepin would rather she be right now, and that is by Lan’s side. Where she belongs.

The bond leads her to a nearby room, a small storage chamber, and she slips inside, channeling it locked so they will not be disturbed. She adds another swift weave to contain any sound to this chamber. She wants him to be able to grieve freely with her. Then she looks around for him.

Lan has collapsed just to the side of the door, as though his knees had simply buckled the moment he felt he had escaped the expectations of the rest of the Tower. He has both hands clamped around his head, as though that will help him hold in the awful thoughts that she feels tormenting him. His face is contorted with pain, tears staining his skin. But the bond, still widened by her will, is all but silent. Terrifyingly so.

Kneeling down beside him, she takes his hands, gently, in both of her own, and draws them away from his face. One hand remains gripping his, though he does not hold onto her in turn. He just sits there. Limp. With her other hand, she cradles his face, drawing him closer so she can press her forehead to his. He does not pull away, thank the Light, but neither does he lean in or respond as he usually would.

The bond remains as still and silent as a frozen mountain lake, undisturbed for centuries. As though he has masked it, though she knows he cannot. He has simply gone numb, and cold, and is so very far away.

Yet she knows him, knows even without the bond to guide her what will plague him now more than grief or pain ever could. She knows what it is that has made him retreat within himself like this. Knows what he will be thinking, even if he cannot say the words, or even feel the emotions of it now.

“You are not to blame,” she whispers to him, and though her voice shakes, there is nothing gentle about her words, nothing soft or meek, “Not even for a moment ,” she says, gripping his face and pulling him more tightly to her. “This was not your fault. This was never your fault,” she swears, with as much fervour and devotion as she had sworn her Three Oaths, squeezing his hand as tightly as she can. “Do you hear me?”

Slowly, he raises his head, as he had in the hall of mourning, and meets her eyes. But this time he does not seek strength or solidarity from her. He seeks something she cannot give him: condemnation. For a sin that only he can feel.

“I did this to him,” he breathes.

She shakes her head, rejecting that thought with all she is, but that only makes him pull away from her touch. As though he cannot bear to contaminate her with his shame, and his guilt.

His voice is hoarse and ragged from his screams, that still echo through the hollow places in her heart where he has carved a place for himself.

“I did this to him,” he repeats, the words dull and flat, spoken with the same emotion with which he might quote the definition of a word or a mathematical truth.

“No-” she begins, shaking her head, and reaching out to try and take his hand again.

He pulls away, more violently than before, so much so that she instinctively moves back from him, giving him space. There is something remarkably like hatred corrupting their bond as a poison might seep through blood. Though she knows that it does not seek to harm her, that does not make it better to feel.

“I did this to him,” Lan repeats hoarsely.

Her heart clenches at the sound, and she knows then that the only thing worse than hearing him flatly say those words like the last hopeless confession of a dying man, is hearing it from him in this broken, ragged whisper.

Yet she also knows that he needs to get this out . This guilt that is ravaging him like a caged animal set loose upon its tormentors. He needs to unleash it upon something, and if that is her, so be it. So though it kills something within her, she stays silent, and still. She does not reach for him, or seek to comfort, or quiet him. That will come. For now, he needs to purge this from himself.

“I all but stabbed him with that blade,” Lan grits out, his muscles locked and rigid, as he kneels in penance before her. The bond throbs with rage and guilt, feeding one another inside of him. He raises his head to meet her eyes and grinds out, “As I all but stabbed you that day with that trolloc’s blade.”

She had known that he had not come to terms with that quite yet. Kerene’s death, and Stepin’s grief over losing her had kept fresh in his mind what he had almost lost to the trolloc’s poison. It was something, she had let him work through it on his own. He had not approached her about it, and though she had made it clear that he had saved her life, she has not pressed him hard on it. Now, at last, that wound too is ready to bear its grisly fruit.

Moiraine forces herself to sit back, hands clenching in her lap, to save her the temptation of reaching for him.He needs this space, this time, this freedom to say what he must without interruption. She gives it to him. Though it tears something apart within her with every word to hear him speak this way of himself.

“I left him,” he whispers. As his voice breaks on the words, so too does her heart.

She wants to scream that it is not true. That he was not given a choice. That he cannot be blamed for Stepin’s determination to join Kerene again. But she bites her tongue.

Lan is not someone who expresses difficult emotions easily. If she attempts to stop him now, this moment of raw grief that has torn open this wound in him, she will do him more harm than good. He must be allowed to bleed for a time, or she will stitch him up with poison remaining in his heart, to fester and claim him later.

“I told him that I would stay with him,” Lan says, fist clenched in his lap, body starting to shake, “I knew that he should not be alone. I knew someone had to protect him from himself, and from his pain.” He looks up at her then, meeting her eyes, and the self-loathing in them makes her flinch back from him, in spite of herself. Shock takes her at the sudden chasm she feels gape through the bond, threatening to swallow her with him. She holds herself on the edge, and holds him, too, fearing what should happen if he loses himself to that abyss.

“From that pain that I came so close to knowing after I failed you in Emond’s Field,” he breathes out, his eyes darkening as they find her shoulder.

She shakes her head, unable to stop herself, throat tightening, but he is still going on, relentless as blood pouring from a fresh wound.

“I failed you then,” he says, hands clenched into fist, nails grinding against the harsh stone floor beneath him, “I failed you again with Logain,” he grits out, his eyes distant, and she knows that he is back in that cavern. Back in that moment, “I should have been there with you when you confronted him. I should have stopped Stepin that day, when he tried to kill a man wreathed in power. I should have reached you sooner, to protect you, to take that blade for you.”

It is almost physically painful not to reach for him. To leave him alone like this, while she sits only inches away. Even though she knows that he needs her silence, and this space, to utterly break himself apart, before he can allow her to begin putting him back together once more. It hurts her more than she wants to admit.

“And I did fail you in Shadar Logoth,” he continues, his voice darkening, “ I lost them. You searched for all that time, you sacrificed so much to find them. And I lost them. You warned me not to go there. You told me it was too dangerous. But I brought them in, and I let them go, as I nearly let you die.”

Voice hardening, he turns away from her again, self-disgust trembling through every taut line of his body.

“I have failed over and over and over again,” he growls, punctuating every word with a sharp pound of his fist against the floor, splitting the skin between his knuckles. Red blood oozes out, forming a narrow river of crimson between the stark white of the stones. “And Stepin has paid for it. As you almost paid for it.”

His whole body shudders at the thought of that and she finds herself trembling with him. That strikes a nerve too close to her heart. For Stepin’s death was awful in its own right. But paired with her own fears, her own dreadful imagination, that could so easily put Lan in his place-

When Lan had found his body that morning, his pain had burst through the bond like an alarm bell calling out across a city. She had run to him, not knowing what had happened, simply knowing that he needed her.

What she found when she reached him has haunted her since. The image of him sitting there with his lost brother, looking and feeling as much a corpse. And the twisted memory in her mind that showed Lan slumped in the shadow of the Warder’s statue, a blade piercing his heart.

Slowly, cautiously, as one might try to reach out to a wounded animal, she extends her hands towards him, gently trying to hold him. He reacts as though scalded, pulling away from her, pain twisting his features in an awful grimace.

Moiraine hesitates, then something snaps inside her, and takes her patience with it. She has sat here and watched him tear himself into bloody chunks in front of her. She will not let him reject her now. She will not let herself be so easily turned aside and pushed away.

So she seizes his hand, and simultaneously seizes the bond, with all of the fierce strength that he has helped train in her through their years together. And she does not let him pull away from her. He raises his head, blinking as though coming awake after a long coma, and finds her blazing like a defiant flame before him.

“al’Lan Mandragoran,” she intones, imbuing each syllable of his name with all of the power she can draw from their history, from every moment that lives in her mind, remembered each day, and for every tiny moment she has forgotten the shape of, but that her heart has held onto for these twenty years she has travelled with him.

“You are my Warder,” she tells him, gripping onto his hand as though he is a man drowning, and she the only thing that allows him to draw breath, “My closest friend. My dearest love.”

Even with all of her emotion, all of her fierce devotion to him, all of the love for a man she has spent more of her life with, than without, the words are not enough. They never will be. They never can. Theirs is a bond that cannot be reduced to idle concepts defined by words. Things like ‘partnership’ or ‘friends’. Their very souls are bonded beyond words, beyond the understanding of any who have not experienced it. Every bit of her was bound by the Light to every bit of him, and they have only grown closer since that moment.

Yet she tries to find those words she does not have. Because he needs to hear this from her. And burn her, but she needs to say it. So she gives him everything that she can, and fills each empty word with as much depth, and promise, and love that she can gouge from her tattered heart and tired soul.

“You are my sword, my shield, my heart, and my balance,” she murmurs to him. “You have saved my life more times than I can count, the last time but a month ago. When I would have succumbed to that poison without you, and would be dead if I did not have you by my side.

She reaches out and touches his face again with the very tips of her fingers. A cautious, fragile thing, because she does not think she can bare it if he pulls away from her touch once more. He bows his head slightly, and she reaches out, holding him in her hand, the metal of her ring cool against his cheek.

“You are a better man, and a better Warder, than I could ever have asked for,” she breathes.

Each word she speaks is necessarily true. And she does so with no twisting of technicalities, no half-truths wrapped in false promises, none of the things the Tower has trained her to do more unconsciously than breathing.

This is the rawest, most honest thing she has said in a long time. She wills him, with all of her might, to see and understand that. For even though he knows she cannot lie, she knows too well that does not mean he will simply believe what she tells him now. She must make him feel it.

“You have done more, and given more, and endured more for me than I have ever had a right to ask of you. And I never have. Because you have never made me,” her voice trembles a little now, and she feels tears sting at her eyes for this man again. “You have only ever been where I needed you. At my side. Standing between me and the harshness of this world, seeking to protect me from it all.”

Her voice shakes more audibly through those last words. She lets it. For he is the only one who can see and hear her now. This man who has saved her life so many times that it is his. Several times over. And if she cannot give him her vulnerability, and her tears, after all that he has given for her, then she does not deserve to call him hers.

He does not need logical truths right now. He does need her to repeat the empty things he already knows. That Stepin would have found a way. That he had drugged Lan, and taken away his power to help. That someone can only give help when it will be received. That there was nothing more he could have done. They exist within him already, and will bring him solace when he is ready to listen to them. From her he needs feeling, and emotion. He needs to be reminded that they are both alive, and here. He needs her to fight for him. And she fights with everything she has.

“You have never failed me,” she whispers to him, “You have never failed anyone who needed you. You have never even come close,” she all but growls at him, with a fierce pride rising within her for this man she names her Warder.

She takes his hands between hers and lifts them, bloodied, to her mouth. Pressing her lips to them, she presses in her power also, and Heals the split skin, still weeping tears of red.

Meeting his eyes over their clasped hands she takes a deep breath, and says with all of her strength, “And I will not stand for you saying otherwise about the man who is the only reason I am still here and have even a shred of sanity left to my name after what this world has tried to do me. Tried, and failed. Because you have stopped it. Every time. Every time.”

He bows his head, breathing hard, tears splashing to the stones. She is trembling, still clutching to his hands. They are both raw, their nerves sensitised and humming with the emotions they both usually keep tight leashes upon.

“I am here,” she murmurs to him once she finds her voice again, giving his hands a tight squeeze, “And I will be here for as long as you need me. I will do whatever you ask of me. Whatever you need of me you shall have. And whatever I can give you is yours,” she promises.

Silence overtakes them. Through the bond, he feels raw and spent, as though he’s just dragged himself out of a week-long battle, barely alive.

She remains kneeling on the cold stone floor in front of him, eyes closed, controlling her own emotions and radiating soft waves of peace and comfort through the bond. Care is taken as she does not wish to entirely smother his grief, just making sure that there is something other than despair for him to feel.

“Moiraine,” he says suddenly, voice hoarse.

“Yes?” She prompts, opening her eyes and shifting in place, trying not to let her flutter of concern show through the bond.

“Will you do something for me?” he asks, not looking at her, the tone of his voice flat and dead.

“Of course,” she says, giving his hand a small squeeze, “Anything you need, as I promised you.”

“I want you to mask the bond.”

She physically recoils from the very notion of it.

Early on in their partnership, she had told him that she could mask their bond, to stop the share of emotions. She had said that she could do it at will, and that she would if he requested privacy from her, no questions asked. Except for nights he has spent in bed with one lover or another, he never has. Never for anything even remotely like this. Never. In twenty years. Until now.

“Lan-” she begins, throat tight, shaking her head slightly.

“I do not want you to endure this with me,” he says, head still hanging, unable to meet her eyes.

“We endure together ,” she growls fiercely, reaching down for his hand and gripping onto it, lip trembling, “As we always have. As we always will.”

He looks at her then, his eyes empty and cold, pulling his hand away from her, “And I do not want to feel your peace and calm trying to comfort me,” he adds, the words cutting all the more for how flat and emotionless they are.

She flinches before she can stop herself. He turns away again, hunching his body away from her, his eyes closed.

Moiraine sits in the dark, cold room, staring at her Warder, inches from her, but feeling more distant than he has in decades. After all they’ve been through, all they’ve done, all they’ve survived . He has never asked to withdraw from her before.

Staring at him, she tries to understand why he does not want her now, why he wants to pull away from her when needs her the most. Then she realises, as the bond ripples between them, like the torn banner of a fallen house stirred by a breeze carrying the scents of carrion and despair from battle. He feels that he is not worthy of her, not worthy of their bond.

She had sworn to him that she would do what he asked of her. But she does not think that she can bring herself to do this. Not after all they’ve been through tonight.

“Lan,” she says, her voice sounding small and scared, even to her ears. “Lan please,” she whispers.

Tentatively, she reaches out and takes his hand again. He allows her, thank the Light, and she feels herself almost collapse with the relief of it. Normally she would never allow such vulnerability, even for Lan, to reveal how scared and small she feels at the thought of facing this world alone. But she is as raw and exhausted as him. There has been too much grief in this Tower, too much suffering, too much loss for her to keep up her usual walls.

Moiraine waits, holding his hand, until he raises his head at last and meets her eyes. When he does, she finds the strength to speak.

“I do not want you to be alone tonight,” she says, shaking her head and clinging a little more tightly to his arm in unconscious emphasis of her point. “And I do not want to be alone, either. I do not want to be parted from you. Not after today.”

He closes his eyes, his face pained, as he tastes her grief through the bond. She had kept it from him, not wanting it to heighten what he was already enduring. But now she no longer has the composure to shield it from him.

Since Kerene died, every time she has looked at Stepin, every time she has beheld his grief, she has seen Lan’s face. His agony. His self-destruction. At Stepin’s funeral today, as the flames wreathed his body, all she could see was Lan. The thought of leaving him to that, abandoning him to that grief and pain, is so sharp within her she can feel it in her chest. That is what it would feel like, to cut him off now. And she cannot bear it.

“I will do this for you, if you ask me again,” she says, even as the tears gather in her eyes, “Because I promised you that I would do whatever you wished of me,” she reminds him, even as it breaks something in her, the knowledge that she will be bound to those words by her Oaths, that they will compel her to do as he asks, ”But I-”

She falters, the words stuttering out like a candle run out of wick as her throat tightens. The thought of trying to endure tonight, with all of her grief, and all of her fears, alone. Completely alone. The bond still and dead. Without him.

A single tear spills from her eyes as she presses them closed. She jumps in surprise as she feels a sudden gentle warmth against her cheek. Lan has reached out and scraped his thumb across her cheek, wiping away her tears. More fall free in response, but he brushes those away as well.

“Lan,” she whispers, shaking her head, struggling to get the words out through her tears, but needing him to hear, needing him to know , “I do not want it. And I ask you- I beg you,” he flinches slightly at the sound of that word, his eyes widening in shock. Because she does not beg. Ever. She rarely even asks. She simply demands that the Wheel weave as she wills. “Please do not make me,” she murmurs to him, “Please don’t make me leave you now.”

“Moiraine-” he begins.

She shakes her head, and presses a finger to his lips, for she has one final thing she must say to him, one final thing she needs him to hear from her, before this is through.

“I love you,” she says, voice suddenly soft and faint as a whisper amidst the cacophony of emotion that still crashes through them both.

It is a thing they rarely say to one another. Not with words. They usually have no need to state it aloud. It is something they feel with every breath and beat of their hearts. But she says it now. For it has never been so clear to either of them that their time to say it at all is short, and opportunities for it should not be treated lightly, when they might all be snatched away so easily by the turning of the Wheel.

“I love you, too,” he whispers, and it feels like an apology, as a single tear falls from his eyes.

She reaches out, as he had done for her, and catches it with her thumb, brushing it away with gentle force.

He meets her eyes, and she feels him finally break down through their bond a moment before the sobs begin to wrack his body.

They move together, with instincts honed by twenty years of battle and companionship. She at last pulls him into her arms and holds him to her as his grief overwhelms him. He has been her support for so many years. He has leant her his strength when hers has failed. He has carried her when she’s been too exhausted to move. He has been an unwavering pillar of support for her throughout their years together. Now he needs her, and she is there, embracing him, as he at last lets her comfort him.

Moiraine presses a kiss to his temple, holding him there against her. She rubs his back, trailing her fingers steadily up and down the length of his spine, in time with her slow, even breaths. Tears prickle on the edge of her awareness, and she lets them fall with his. Lan’s body shudders as though it is being wracked by a winter storm. But she holds him through it, and does not let go.

So many people see this man at her side, a sword upon his back, and the will and knowledge to use it in his eyes. They see a grim threat of retribution if they should even think to harm her, and nothing more. They think of him as nothing more than a stoic warrior. A silent bodyguard, an empty lapdog.

Moiraine has been bonded to this man for twenty years, and she knows the depth of his emotion better than anyone else in this world. Yet sometimes it still overwhelms her, in moments like this, when he is laid bare before her, and she feels all that he feels.

Murmuring to him, she softly strokes her fingers through his hair, soothing him with gentle touches and quiet words. It helps. Moiraine knows that it helps. But she also knows that it is not enough. If she could take it all away, draw all of his pain into herself and free him from it, she would. She would take every bit of it and leave him only with peace. But even with all of her strength, all of her knowledge, all of the weaves that live within her, she does not have that power. She wishes that she did.

At last, exhausted, he slumps still against her, head pillowed on her shoulder. The bond is at once raw and numb, his soul wrung out, his body utterly spent. She knows that it is time.

Taking his hand, she helps him to his feet, then puts an arm around his waist, helping to support him, letting him lean upon her so that she might share her strength. She guides him back to her rooms; she does not want him returning to his chambers tonight, not even with her.

Once they are safely sealed within her private quarters, she tentatively lets him go. He sways slightly on the spot, but stands, though his eyes seem empty and distant.

Murmuring quietly to him as she works, she begins to gently undress him, removing his funeral garb. It is a sign of how lost he is that he doesn’t even attempt to protest at her doing this for him. Not even when she gets down onto her knees to remove his boots. He simply stands there, letting her care for him.

With the care and reverence she would use to remove the crown of a king, she tenderly removes his hadori, letting his hair spill free around his face. She maintains eye contact with him the entire time she takes it off, making sure that he knows she is doing this for him to make it clear that she expects no strength, no fight, and nothing from him except him this night. She places it down on the cabinet beside her bed. His eyes track it, but he nods slightly, trusting her, and allows it.

Standing before her, he watches as she begins to unbutton her shirt. Stepping forwards, his hands press hers away, gentle but firm, and he takes over. She smiles a little, as he undresses her the way she had undressed him, leaving them both naked together. Briefly, she embraces him, resting her head on his bare chest, just over his heart, taking a moment to let herself listen to the steady beat of it.

Gently, she nudges him down onto the bed, then settles in beside him. They lay on their sides, still naked, and she presses in close to him, arms around him, tangling their legs together. It feels natural to be with him like this. For them it is about closeness, and intimacy. About being together in this moment, with nothing separating them but skin and breath.

Head resting against him, she strokes her fingers through his hair, long and loose around his face. He pillows his head against the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent, taking comfort in it, and in her.

“I can use the bond, and my weaves, to help you rest,” she murmurs to him, pressing a soft kiss to his temple, “Shall I?”

Lan does not speak, but he nods, one hand seeking hers. She laces their fingers together and closes her eyes. Drawing on the bond in a way she has never done without his consent, she uses it to ease him tenderly into sleep. With the One Power, she extends herself to shield his mind, weaving for him gentle dreams of the rolling wilderness they have together travelled for so long. His home, on the back of Mandarb, with her at his side.

She remains awake with him all night, carefully guarding him from nightmares, making sure that his rest is peaceful. For he will need it when he finally wakes and returns to the harsh world of grief and pain that they have carried between them for so long. For herself, she takes comfort in the feel of his body pressed against hers. The slow steady rhythm of his breathing, and the beating of his heart against her at last bring her a sense of peace.

****

please yell ur comments to me. they Feed me.

#wheel of time #wot on prime #moiraine damodred #lan mandragoran #lan x moiraine #molan #molan fic #my fic #wot fic #missing scene #missing show scenes #text post tag #long post #mine #wot missing scenes fic #they made me so emotionals #this made me emotions #just #lots of emotions

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onetwothreefarkle · 3 years

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nah can I have this dance is THE portwell song and it is for portwell ONLY

I mean, if you want to do this, we can do this.

I assume this is in response to this post, in which I said that I thought that Right Here, Right Now would be a better portwell song than Can I Have This Dance, so let's talk about both of these songs.

First, Right Here, Right Now. This song is about not knowing what the future will hold, but not caring because in the moment you have each other, it contains the lyrics “tomorrow can wait… right here, right now there’s you and me” and "a bend in the universe/is gonna make/everything in our whole world change/and you know that where we are/will never be the same" and I think that fits portwell really well. Gina's entire life has been uncertainty, and she's been so afraid of making connections to other people because of it. Gina letting herself fall for EJ knowing that their time together might be short (either because she has to move back with her mom, or he has to leave for college, or both) is such a beautiful arc for her, and that's reflected in Right Here, Right Now.

Now, Can I Have This Dance. Yes, this song is also about an uncertain future (that’s what the whole movie is about, they're seniors in high school), but Can I Have This Dance is less about holding onto the moment while it lasts and more about knowing, in your core, that no matter what comes, you’ll still have each other. Just look at the lyrics "Let it rain, let it pour/what we have is worth fighting for/you know I believe/that we were meant to be" and “Oh, no mountain's too high and no ocean's too wide/'Cause together or not, our dance won't stop”-- it's about being deeply confident in your relationship, and it uses the metaphor of a dance that never ends to express that feeling.

And that's the part that I've seen sited as why it's a good portwell song, the dance metaphor. Because Gina is a dancer. But is dance a big part of their story? I don't think so. I mean Gina and EJ have never actually danced together. Maybe a little bit in 1x05, before they even really liked each other as friends, so that hardly counts. Dance is a significant part of Gina's story, obviously, but it's not really something she's shared with him.

You know which couple’s story has been repeatedly connected to dance since the beginning? Seblos. Because in 1x05 Carlos taught Seb the dance steps for Sharpay, because their very first big scene in that episode is them dancing together, because when Carlos asks Seb to homecoming the focus is on the fact that they would be dancing together in public, because in 2x05 Seb talks about being inspired by Carlos’s dance video. And in 2x10, not only does In A Heartbeat contain the lyric "you'll never dance alone" but they once again dance together in that scene.

I love both ships, but I'm claiming Can I Have This Dance for seblos, sorry. Gina is a dancer, but so is Carlos, and Carlos's relationship to dance has played a much bigger part in seblos's journey than Gina's relationship to dance has played in portwell's journey.

#god damn this got long #HSMTMTS #seblos #portwell #anonymous #asks #what a silly ask tbh

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claremont-psychiatric-hospital · 3 years

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Why do birds suddenly appear?

With the mention that a part of ‘What would Freud say?’ sounds like a heartbeat, it got me thinking, around the 1:15 mark, doesn’t it sound reminiscent of birds chirping?

Birds are a huge part of the symbolism used in this show (starting with Sunshine, then all the swans…), but bear with me about this theme in particular.

During episode 1x15, dream!Sophie asks Martin

‘Why did you do this to me?’

‘Oh, well, I mean… that's up there with life's great questions, isn't it? What's at the center of a black hole?’

Since Martin is often compared to a void or a black hole, it doesn’t seem like the writers chose a random ‘big question’, it’s rather an apt metaphor of what Sophie is just asking: What’s at the center of Martin’s destructive actions? Incidentally, this unknown drives much of the show’s plot, particularly Bright and Ainsley’s actions

What I’m getting at is, the next question Martin uses as an example is not random either

‘Uh, why do birds suddenly appear?’

This seems like a reference to the song ‘(They Long to Be) Close to You’, and the question itself gets a nuanced answer here (Check it out! So enlightening) But the gist is, birds ‘suddenly’ appear because the singer is in love, and that makes the object of affection look enchanted and/or the singer more appreciative of the surrounding world.

So! Going to the scene in 1x05 that gives the theme song its name (or the other way around?), the chirping-like bit effectively starts playing as Malcolm sees Dani smiling…

Dani: [...]What would Freud say to that? Malcolm: That unresolved emotional conflicts often manifest in dreams, because a representation of the true problem in our subconscious is far less damaging to the ego than processing the actual object in the conscious...

And ‘What would Freud say of the song?’ That birds suddenly appear when Bright(or whoever the song is playing for in any given scene)’s heart is beating for someone/something. He did set up his agenda for future dreams since this moment...

(So.corny. And such a well-rounded theme!)

Another example, independent of the theme song, of birds ‘suddenly appearing’ when an affectionate feeling is at play would be when Bright plays Eve’s message one last time. Previously he had regarded it as a somewhat unsympathetic break-up voicemail, but here he’s being genuinely appreciative of Eve and their relationship. It’s only then that he pays more attention to the barking in the background...

‘...And a bird?’

#malcolm bright #dani powell #brightwell #sunshine #what would freud say?#martin whitly #eve blanchard #ainsley whitly #death's door #like father...#bad manners #so...when will sunshine reappear?#i do love the chirping every time he's spotting details #with death's door we also get an idea of why he hates being called a terrible father #the trip #and now 'proving her worth' is like the opposite version! eerie!

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years

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Hey! you up for Witcher requests? All good if not!just skip the next bit, but I was I thinking of something real angsty of a geraltxreader inspired by Hostage/Watch by Billie Eilish? Maybe something about unrequited love and Geralt and the reader having this really close nearly intimate relationship? She wants so badly to be with him and they get close and than Yen comes into the picture? Just a suggestion! If you have another idea go for it of course! You're the writer 😁😁 a good one too!

A/N: Aww babe thank you!! I absolutely loved this prompt!! It’s such a good one and I think it’s helping me out of my writer’s block shit because I punched this out in three hours I think This takes place the night before the events of Bottled Appetites (1x05) before Jaskier finds Geralt at the river hunting for the Djinn.

Warnings: implied smut but no actual smut, nakey Geralt and reader, short tempered Geralt because he’s a sleepy baby. oh and angst because it was in the request and I love me some good ol angst :)

Note: I did this part with Hostage by Billie Eilish while the next part will use Watch by Billie.

The room was a little more than warm with the help of the fire in the hearth across from the bed you were laying in with Geralt. The air was heavy with the scents of lavender and sex. Prior to your time with the witcher in bed, you burned lavender in hopes that the scent would calm him down and help him rest.

Your hair was a tangly mess and Geralt’s white locks were left down, tousled and not even close to being parted accurately.

A thin layer of sweat covered your skin and his too, but that didn’t make you shy away from him. You were on your side facing the White Wolf tucked beneath his bulky arm and into his side. One of your hands rested on his chest while one of your legs was bent so your knee crossed over him just above his groin. One of his hands rested on your lower back, his calloused thumb brushing circles into your soft skin. This was your favorite position with the witcher after your more intimate moments together. It was a warm and comforting position, one that assured you he couldn’t slip away while you slept without waking you up. One that assured him that you would always be by his side, always be there for him.

I wanna be aloneAlone with you, does that make sense?

The both of you had been quiet for the last nine or ten minutes, catching your breaths and coming down from your highs.

You cheek pressed against the front of his shoulder, your eyes watching his chest rise up and down slowly, steadily. You brushed your fingers across him, enjoying the soft scratchy feeling that came from his sparsely hairy chest.

Your fingers glided over the cold metal from his medallion every now and then but you never made an effort to actually touch it. It was just an accident. He didn’t like when anyone messed with the medallion.

“You think you can sleep now?” You finally decided to speak, wanting to hear his gruff voice.

“No.” His answer was quiet but his voice was deep and gravely, even more so than usual. His voice post-sex was a sound you could listen to for the rest of your life.

You lifted your head from his shoulder to look at him. His golden eyes were focused on the ceiling above you two. One of his hands was propped behind his head.

“Perhaps another go….” You trailed off quietly, unsure that you could last another round with the witcher. His round usually lasted an hour at the very least. His stamina and strength combined with his gentleness and desire to please made him the best lover.

He grunted softly at your suggestion but didn’t decline. It was like he was thinking about it.

“You should sleep. It’s been a long day.”

“I’ll sleep when you do.” You put your head back down to settle against his shoulder. “I don’t mind staying up to keep you company.”

He fell silent. This usually happened. He wasn’t big on talking. He much more preferred to be silent than speak. You learned over the years you’d known him that a lot of times he didn’t talk because he knew many didn’t listen to him. They didn’t care what he had to say and they didn’t care to waste their time with him.

You, however, always encouraged him to talk. You always listened to him, taking in every word he told you and keeping it sealed away in your heart for safe keeping.

I wanna steal your soulAnd hide you in my treasure chest

“You know that I’m here for you if you’d like to just talk, right?” You asked him quietly, looking up at him through your lashes. He turned his head to gaze down at you with those liquid honey eyes you adored so greatly.

You chose to lift your head once again to get a better look at him. His eyes followed you as you propped yourself up on one elbow. His hand on your back moved to your thigh, softly groping your flesh.

His silence was eating away at you. You wished you could see inside his mind, hear his thoughts. It would be easier to interpret what he was thinking if you could. You were usually very good at reading people, but Geralt of Rivia always looked grumpy and irritated. You, however, could look in his eyes and decipher his emotions - most of the time.

Right now, you couldn’t figure out what was going one behind those beautiful honey orbs.

“Say something.” You murmured, rubbing his chest.

Still, he watched you for a while. Was he trying to think of something to say?

And then, after what felt like eight hours, he leaned over to kiss you. His lips didn’t find yours like you’d hoped, but instead chose to kiss at your jaw. His teeth gently scraped across your jaw just below your ear and then he moved down.

Your head lulled to the side, offering him easier access to your neck. Your eyes fluttered shut and your fingers curled into his chest.

His lips were cool against your flushed skin, his tongue swiping out every now and then to tease you. His hand on your thigh squeezed you a little tighter and you shifted closer to him - if that was even possible.

I don't know what to doTo do with your kiss on my neck

And then he was pulling away from you, not even giving you a chance to return the kiss. You thought maybe he was just readjusting himself to get into a more comfortable position or perhaps to lay some other way that would make kissing you easier. But instead, he pulled the linens back and slipped out of the bed.

You frowned, brows drawing together as you sat up. You clutched the sheet to your chest though you really didn’t need to hide yourself from the witcher.

“Where are you going?” You sounded like a scared child, your tone weak and brittle. This happened sometimes after the two of you engaged in sexual activities. He’d leave you to go elsewhere. Oftentimes if you fell asleep afterwards, he’d leave without saying a word, leaving you to wake up alone in the morning.

“Down to the tavern.” He answered as he pulled on his trousers.

You licked your lips and brushed your hair over your shoulder, trying to think of what to say next.

His belt was put on next and then his boots.

Your throat felt scratchy and your nose tingled, itching with the urge to cry. Why would he leave after you offered to keep him company? After kissing you like he had just done?

As he was tugging on his tunic top, a soft gray color, you bit your bottom lip. The laces at the top were left undone. You knew what he was going to do and your stomach twisted into knots while a weight formed on your chest.

“Please, just stay.” You whispered, bringing yourself to look him in the eye.

I don't know what feels trueBut this feels right, so stay a secYeah, you feel right, so stay a sec

He held your gaze for a few agonizingly long heartbeats before softly shaking his head.

“I can’t.”

“Sure you-Sure you can.” You choked on your words. “I-I’m here and we can just-,”

“I said no, Y/N.” His voice hardened as he tied his hair back.

You dropped your gaze to the linens where he’d once been. Your heart was thumping loudly in your ears and you were sure that you were trembling. From what, you weren’t too sure. Your stomach churned and churned, threatening to make you vomit at any moment.

His actions towards you often gave you whiplash. One second he was soft and sweet to you, calling you gentle pet names and making love to you like you were the only woman on the continent for him. The next, he’d push you away, his tone cold as he told you he had plans with a woman in town or he was going to a brothel.

Sometimes when he left you after sharing a bed with you, he’d go to a tavern and find another woman, one who he’d stay with for the rest of the night.

It had gotten worse lately. He was more restless, more eager to never settle down. He couldn’t sleep and the fact that his nights were so restless made him frustrated. Sex and ale were his way of coping, you guessed.

And let me crawl inside your veinsI'll build a wall, give you a ball and chain

But it frustrated you knowing that while he treated you this way, you were quick to accept his soft touches and gentle caresses. You couldn’t say no to him. You couldn’t turn him down. You were all he had right now. Jaskier was away with his on-off lady friend and performing to make coin for himself.

Your hands fisted the linens until your knuckles turned white. You didn’t realize you locked your jaw so tightly until you opened your mouth. Your jaw ached.

“I can’t believe I’m stupid enough to stay.” The words were harsh and cold as you gazed down at the linens.

He stopped moving about and instead chose to look at you, his brows drawn together.

“You-You do this every time.” You shook your head, tears blurring your vision. “And I’m an idiot for thinking that you’d change.”

“You aren’t an idiot, dove.” He murmured. “But if I stay, nothing good will happen.”

“Nothing good?” You finally brought yourself to look up at him. “Nothing good will come if you stay here and lay with me in bed? If you-If you talk to me and let me know what is going on inside your head?”

He sighed heavily through his nose but said nothing.

“Are you saying I’m not good for you?” Your voice was frail and soft. He could hear how close you were to losing it.

It's not like me to be so mean, you're all I wanted

“Get some rest, Y/N.” He spoke in a hushed whisper.

Without another word, Geralt left the room.

The second the door closed, you took in a sharp breath. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth. You knew he could’ve heard you. His hearing was ridiculously good.

Your head fell forward as you sobbed into your hand, doing your best to muffle the noise.

He thought you weren’t good enough for him. You weren’t good. But of course you weren't. You weren’t like every other woman who he had come across. You weren’t as thin or as flirty. You weren’t as dainty or soft as them. You didn’t wear dresses and you didn’t carry yourself around like a lady should.

You should’ve learned from your mistakes, from doing this with him before. It was a bitter cycle but you couldn’t let him go. His hold on you was far too powerful, too strong for anything to ruin it.

Just let me hold youLike a hostage

The Next Morning

The warm sun beat down on your skin as you basked in the sunlight, sitting in a bright green patch of undergrowth on the embankment of the river. You leaned back on your hands, your head resting on your shoulder as you listened to Geralt throw the net back into the water. You took the opportunity to rest your eyes, having not gotten any sleep the night before.

You and Geralt hadn’t spoken since the night before, save for a few words here and there when you were riding atop Roach with him to your current location. You couldn’t find the right words to say to him. You kept wanting to be angry and upset, but also comforting and apologetic. You decided that you’d let him speak first. When and if he decided to do so, you’d answer as neutrally as possible. You didn’t want to sound needy or rude.

When Geralt let out a heavy sigh, you opened your eyes to see what he was up to. He threw the net aside and gazed out over the river before his eyes found you. You shifted a little in your spot, taking a soft deep breath.

Then he was moving towards you. You sat up, straightening your top and brushing your fingers over your hair. You weren’t too sure what you were doing but you wanted to keep your hands busy.

Wordlessly, he sat down next to you in your sunny little patch of green. His knees were bent just slightly and his arms rested atop his knees.

“M’sorry for last night.” He couldn’t meet your eyes as you looked at him, your head turned so you could admire his profile.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” You told him, mentally cursing yourself. Why would you say that? Going so long without proper sleep had made him moodier than usual so you had to give him a pass on this.

“But I do, though.” He picked up a thin stick from the ground beside him and began to mess with it. “I care for you, Y/N. I really do. But I shouldn’t be treating you the way I have, like you're disposable.”

“I-I don’t mind it.” You lied, dropping your eyes to your hands. “I’d rather you use me than leave me.”

He finally looked up at you, his brows drawn together in pain. It hurt him to hear you say those words.

“You don’t deserve that sort of treatment, Y/N. I’ve been using you and it’s not okay-,”

“But what if I’m okay with it?” You turned to face him a little more, moving around so you sat on your knees.

You were frustrated that his focus returned to the damned stick in his hand. You took the stick from him, discarding it over your shoulder before you grabbed his hand.

Gold on your fingertipsFingertips against my cheek

You placed his open palm against your cheek, your eyes fluttering shut at the feeling.

“You’ve no idea how badly I need you. You…. You’re the only person I’ve got in my life.” You let out a shaky breath.

When he said nothing, you released his hand, thinking he’d pull his hand away. Instead, he kept his hand there, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone.

You opened your eyes to find his honey gaze on you.

“You deserve someone much better than me.”

“But what if I want you?”

Gold leaf across your lipsKiss me until I can't speak

He said nothing and instead chose to lean in and seal a kiss on your lips. It didn’t last long and it was chaste, but your heart still raced. A little smile came to your face.

His hand fell from your face to your knee as he looked out over the river once more. You knew he was thinking about that damned Djinn.

“You need to sleep.”

“I can’t.” He sighed heavily, standing to his feet.

“You haven’t tried.”

You saw the way he locked his jaw and you heard the deep grunt come from within his chest.

He was so damned stubborn.

You recalled just a few months prior when the two of you shared a bed. You were tucked into his side like always and his arm protectively held you against him, afraid to let you go. He had kissed you softly and with such a fondness that your head spun just from recounting the memory. The two of you had laid in bed for hours, talking about nothing and everything, just keeping each other company until the other passed out. You, as usual, were the first to succumb to your drowsiness.

Gold chain beneath your shirtThe shirt that you let me wear home

You recounted how you woke up the next morning and went to dress, only to find your shirt had quite literally been torn. Geralt was restless the night before and impatient, not being able to wait for you to untie the laces properly. He gave you his shirt, smiling a little arrogantly as he kissed you.

You blinked back to reality, seeing that Geralt was back to throwing the net into the river. He was exhausted, you could see it in his eyes and in the way his temper was short. His patience had grown thin with just about everything. He snapped at a few civilians on your way through town that morning, something he rarely did unless provoked.

You sighed as you pushed yourself to your feet and made your way over to him, brushing the back of your trousers off.

“We can come back for this Djinn later on tomorrow, Geralt.” You spoke softly to him. “We can go a few towns over to that nice inn we passed. We could get a room and take a bath.” You placed your hand on the back of his arm but he shrugged your hand away.

“I need to get the Djinn, Y/N. Once I get it, we can do whatever the fuck you want.” His tone was harsh but he sounded irritated.

“I’m worried about you, Geralt.” You admitted to him. “You aren’t immortal. You’re human too, and you need to rest your body and your head.”

“M’fine.”

“Geralt, I really think-,”

“Y/N, I would really appreciate it if you just leave me to my work.” He cut you off, glancing to you out of the corner of his golden eyes.

You opened your mouth to snap back but you couldn’t bring yourself to be upset with him. Perhaps you were just irritating him, poking the sleep deprived bear.

“Okay, Geralt.” You nodded your head, forcing a smile to your lips in an attempt to not cry. “I’ll, um, I’ll go keep Roach company.”

At least she doesn’t push me away. Gold's fake and real love hurtsBut nothing hurts when I'm aloneWhen you're with me and we're alone

Taglist: @riviawitch3r @notyouraveragemochii @dev1lbella @rosyghosty @merendis @lalalalemonade11 @wayward-dream @whatanicepanohthatsjustme @tshuuls @havenoffandoms @queen-sands @crazzyter @katiejmac @bucky-did-nothing-wrong @jennylovelyheart @whitewolfandthefox @itsallyouhavegotinsideyourhead @hm-fck @mactho @msgeorgiarae @tragicmisfits @randomzxx @alwayshave-faith @rahdaleigh @lizliz3107 @turtlefordestiel @d14n4ol @asix122747483 @minervalavender @agniavateira @hina-chans-stuff @dressed-up-heartbreak @persephonehemingway @bitterstar88 @scarlettwitcher @ayamenimthiriel @romancebibliophilia @jessevans @xoxoarts @jocelynscloset

#geralt of rivia request #geralt of rivia angst #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt angst #geralt request #geralt x reader #the witcher netflix #the witcher #henry cavill #request #queenxxxsupreme

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fleabaged · 4 years

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no hate to the soft!villaneve fans but like i feel like the “toxicity” is part of their relationship lmao. i hope they dont try to make them into this normal couple. i kinda got that feel at the end of season 3. like they were really missing a lot of their tension and obsession this season. which mightve been in response to the backlash from the s2 finale lol. but like thats what makes them so interesting!! i dont think we’ll ever get a reunion like 1x05 and 2x05 again which is a shame ://

lol I really hope they didn’t pay attention to season 2 ““““backlash””””... the show still got nominated for an emmy soooo, like, it wasn’t a flop. and it was overall highly rated.

yes, definitely I felt the heartbeat of the show was the tension and obsession, and it was sooooo missing this season.

But, they need to move the characters forward in a more meaningful way. I don’t think you need to lose the tension aspect tho in the process...?

i will hold 1x05 and 2x05 very near and dear to my heart. those are once in a lifetime sexy sapphic toxic babbeeeeeyyy.

who knows what season 4 will bring. there needs to be some kind of conflict. let’s hope it’s in the sexy tension building direction and not the “let’s be separated on our own journeys” type conflict lol

#asks

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ofthingschanged · 5 years

Text

Bunch of Hope wanted plots. Like if you like to talk doing one of these plots

College au. Hope jumped into Malivore and when she comes back no one remembers her. Freya was trying to find Rebekah (who had been kidnapped) only to be lead to HOpe because she did a spell to call her to Mikaelson blood. Hope ends up back at the compound and starting college/ Landon and Rafael finished the Salvatore school and ended up finding a home in New Orleans. Landon working at a local restaurant that Hope always comes into for lunch, the two of them flirting and at some point, Hope asks him on a date. It isn’t after the first kiss but after the first time sleeping together does all memories coming back to everyone. The angst of it all and them going about their relationship now.

Also, presidents party girl daughter who has been assigned a new secret service bodyguard. He has no idea what he’s in for or the trouble she attracts. She has a problem with the word ‘no’ and he likes to say it a lot.

AU on 1x05 of Legacies: Hope turns around, kisses Landon and then decides to go with him

someone take Hope bowling and let her win or better yet, take Hope bowling and get her drunk

I want a twisted what if plot where Hope and Roman went to a witch in Mystic Falls and bound her werewolf side, her mother was let go and Hayley finding out her daughter did the unthinkable.

So this is cheesy but assuming Klaus rarely comes back to Mystic Falls it could work. Normally, I never have Hope anywhere near Mystic Falls if she never knew her dad but au on an au where Hope goes to the Boarding School or goes to Mystic High and Klaus comes to town to see this kick-ass red-haired girl that has eyes that shine bright golden when she is angry, does magic freely, and has been sipping blood for days and he can smell it

Freya going to Hope’s parent-teacher conferences and Alaric saying that she doesn’t listen to him. “What do you want me to do?” Freya asks. “Maybe if you stop treating her like some magical little pony that can be used and thrown away she would listen better.” Hope sitting in the chair next to her aunt texting on her phone pretending not to listen to everything that is going on.

I love verses where Hope grows up not knowing one of her parents because she is different there and it is like magic. But in canon, Hope deserved a hell of a lot better like KNOWING her father instead of having to guess the little things. She didn’t get to ask questions about his likes and dislikes, instead had to read about him to feel connected to him. She couldn’t ask him what his favorite drink was or what he likes to do besides painting.

So I have a private verse of Nashville based but another verse based on it would be amazing. Handon, Hosie, Hizzie. all with Hope being Juliette

I still want Hope going dark full tribrid and Hayley coming back to life because someone has to stop her daughter and angsty feels

AU Handon: Reincarnated lovers, again and again, these two always find each other again. Set more if Hope had been born after her father broke the curse (If he had done it back when Katherine was still human) and Hayley was born much earlier. Anyways, immortal Hope chasing after her not so immortal true love and all of the angsty moments. Flashbacks of Landon and Hope in different eras living completely different lives doing their thing, Landon dying young for some reason or another until he ends up being born a phoenix (or golem. I need to research both of these really) and just this whole thing is cheesy and overdone but still going to put it in my wishlist tag

A verse where Landon was pushed into the pit would be interesting or even one where Landon was pushed and then Hope jumped in to destroy said pit and two years later both Landon and Hope come back and find themselves in a middle of a field

So plot idea. Hope and Landon go about their lives and Hope becomes pregnant. She has the baby and with that, she uses the 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐬 𝐕𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢 to bring back both Klaus and Hayley. Like how Davina used Hope’s birth as a 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐬 𝐕𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢 to bring back Mikael.

Hope would bring back Mikael just to torture the fuck out of him, She hates the fact that Mikael brought her family pain for their immortal lives. Hope would make him beg for death. He thinks her father is an abomination so keeping him in a nice cellar for her own pleasure would be fine by her.

Davina and Hope should draw together! Aunt and niece quality time

I really don’t need to do the whole let’s rewrite the Originals with Klayley but man, now since watching the first episode I want to do it differently. Starting with Klaus being the one there for Hayley when Agnes does her shit, him in the pool with her. give them the freaking pregnancy they should have gotten even with Klaus being Klaus. I blame by sudden Hayley muse on rewatch and reading fanfiction. So while this isn’t a Hope plot it is a plot

You know, why didn’t they just bring Finn back from the dead and shove the Hollow into him? He didn’t want to be a vampire and that way he could stay together forever. Instead of taking Hope’s mom and her dad from her.

No, but for real. Klaus flipping the fuck out when this teenager comes claiming he is daddy. Hope throwing her phone across the room and shattering it when she sees her mother’s name pop up on the screen. Klaus doing the same thing he did to Hayley in canon of pinning her to the wall by her neck, Hope knocking him on his ass with magic. Hope being locked in the place that Roman had been in when it comes to canon. Hayley showing up and threatening to rip apart Klaus’s hybrid army if he doesn’t start talking about where her daughter is. The two of them getting physical upstairs and Hope hearing the yelling and screaming. Marcel sneaking down to take a peek at this teen that claims to be Klaus’s daughter and ending up distracting her from the fighting. Hope ending up bonding with Marcel from the start. They play tic-tac-toe with different colored rocks (one color for o’s and one for x’s). Hayley throwing a royal fit to find her kid and Klaus ordering Elijah to go get the defiant teenager. Hope coming back up, having to be physically dragged by Elijah and the moment she sees her mother start’s crying her eyes out. Hayley finally hearing a heartbeat that isn’t Hope’s because Hope had cloaked it with magic until she was out of state going to find her father.

In just a Marshall. Hope running to find her father when she finds out she is pregnant. I can just see it in my head. Plot idea for sure here!

Muse A is a single parent of a very young child, just getting back out there and dating because it’s terribly lonely sometimes. They’re out at a bar and meet Muse B, who’s got a reputation for being a heartbreaker. One thing leads to another and Muse A invites Muse B home for a one-night stand. That morning, Muse B awakens to Muse A’s very small child sitting on their chest, asking if they are their new parent.

A thread or verse where Gretta killed Hope right in front of Hayley and spent two hours torturing and taunting the mother that just “lost” her child. Hope laying on the floor the whole time and all of a sudden Hope wakes back up in transition and hungry, enough that she r breaks the chains and sends both Gretta and Roman onto the ground with magic, pinning them to the floor as she frees her mother and Hayley kills Gretta by taking her heart out while Hope shoves a piece of wood into Roman. Give me Hope dealing with that she died, give me Hope killing someone when feeding and becoming a full tribrid. give me Hayley dealing with the fact that her daughter had kidnapped her first.

So in the adopted or so they hoped verse. I had this idea of how they had Marcel down in the basement and only Mikaelson blood could know where he was and hear him. What if Freya spelled a room in the house for only Mikaelson blood could enter and or hear what is being said and Hope sits down in the kitchen when they all come down and Hope asks, “So what are we going to do about BLANK.” asking about the thing the Mikaelson family just talked about before they came down.

Okay but a college au with Lizzie, Josie, and Hope sharing an apartment that has three bedrooms. Hope meeting Landon later in life and brings him home one night. Lizzie stopping to admire his backside. The girls fighting over the bathroom, struggling with homework, going out partying, paying bills, and just everything that goes with it. Each of them having their own lives but coming together sort of thing.

Give me Hope going back in time to help her mother find her family. Give me Hope appearing in Freya’s dreams when Freya was with Dahlia. Give me Hope going back in time to the very day she met Landon or even when Landon was locked in the transitional cellar. Give me Hope collecting blood every day and taking it with her when she goes to save Landon and instead of her jumping into Malivore, she dumps a hell of a lot of blood into the pit. Give me that it works and she saved the day. Give me when Josie lit the fire in Hope’s room and Hope goes back in time to spot it. Give me Hope deciding to take a different path and becomes friends with the twins after the events of the Originals (After going back in time). Give me Hope going back in time to when her father is human and using magic to show him the life he is going to have for him to have hope for the future. Give me Hope going to the future where she has kids and is married. give me normal Hope going to see Ripper Hope. Or Mikaelson Boarding School Hope going to the normal world.

Princess Protection Program AU because why not?

Once again Supernatural royal but freaking everyone wanting to be in the favor of the Mikaelson family so wanting their kid to make Hope fall for them so that way it has protection for life.

So I am so freaking cheesy but royal aus ONLY supernatural. Two rival kingdoms that have been fighting for thousands of years decide to stop the war if there was an alliance so the parents get together and decided that the firstborns are going to get married

So I want an au where Hope is kidnapped by Greta instead of Hayley. I want Hayley and Klaus saving their baby girl instead of Hayley dying. I want Hope binding her werewolf side or even worse, them binding her witch side and Freya has to figure a way to fix it.

So thread based on Hope turning Rafael back into wolf form. Bonus points if he found human (that he couldn’t harm for some reason? Didn’t exactly chase her down sort of thing) and she is living off the land in this old crappy cabin and Rafael comes back often. He tells her about this school for people like them. Hope going by her middle name and Rafael just finding a really good friend in her. Could turn Rafael x Hope romantic or stay platonic.

Hope has been in a mood for the past couple days. Give her children! Give her angsty pregnancy threads. I mean, she fears having a child but wants them. She doesn’t want her kids to be feared like she is.

Hope body painting Landon would be funny as hell. “Stop moving.” “I swear to god if you tickle my side one more time Hope!” I can see these two spending a lazy Saturday together like this. Hope painting his back while Landon lays on the bed with his head turned watching scifi movies. It wouldn’t be something she would do if her dad was in the house because she doesn’t need him barging in saying, “Alright! Party’s over!” even if she is an adult.That gives me a good idea for her way to tell him she is pregnant if they were together. Alright, so I can see it as Hope sort of using her nursery for inspiration. Hope painting a beautiful sort of nursery set up with a rocking chair that holds Landon and a blanketed baby in like a yellow color so it isn’t that traditional pink or blue thing (even more so because at that time they wouldn’t know what they are having). A sign that hangs on the wall above the crib that says something really cheesy like “Loading…” and see you in ten months (Or maybe even like thirteen? Since Hayley had been pregnant longer with Hope but that most likely was an error in the continuing of the storyline). Hope taking a few pictures when it is all dry that she will edit on her laptop and send out in emails or if they decide to make a social media announcement that they could use the painting as a way to say, “Get ready for another Mikaelson!”

Handon freaking teen pregnancy; young parent au with everything being the same with them being supernaturals.

Handon only a twisted thing sort of based on the drabble I wrote. Hope ending up like Landon’s mother (pregnant) after coming out of the ashes of what would be Malivore. The moment Hope sees Landon again, all his memories of her flash before his eyes.

Okay but the just pretend world for me but with instead of Landon going to Mystic High when he finds out about Hope being supernatural. It being kind of legacies where Hope goes to stop the Catholic church to save a werewolf (Rafael), without her dad knowing and well, instead she drives them to New Orleans with Rafael sleeping in the back seat and somehow Hope manages to convince her dad to let them stay just for a few days which turns into a few months.

So writing Legacies? A thing I want, starting from the moment Landon asks her to stay with him. Her crawling into bed with him to keep him calm because of small spaces. Alaric deciding that he can stay. The knife still ending up being taken by him like in the show but instead of finding a fire breathing witch / dragon in the woods, it comes on campus wanting the knife.

Handon first apartment though. Hope and Landon painting walls, getting into a paint fight. Moving day. the first night at their new place. Give me them buying furniture and fighting over silly things. Give me soft kisses in the room that is going to be their room even.

AU where Hope goes with Landon to find his mom. So drinking coffee every morning with him at the coffee shop with Landon while his mom works. Going to motel rooms and just giving her a taste of what could have been. Plus, I mean imagine Hope with Landon when he was given drugs, she would be still standing and his mother would be all, “What the fuck?” Just Handon road trip really.

Okay but an au where Landon’s mom kept him. Where when Landon’s mom woke from being in the pit, she ends up working for the Mikaelson family. Landon and Hope growing up together and ending up being the best friends to lovers trope. Landon’s mother being hired to keep Hope safe from threats of the Mikaelson family. Even though she thought of supernaturals as monsters that shouldn’t exist, it was good money

Okay but Hope starting a school of her own when her kids are growing up with Landon. They set up the school in New Orleans for Hope’s pack, the witches, and the vampires that come back into town. Headmistress Mikaelson and Headmaster Kirby.The two of them raising their kids together without shame of being this completely unheard of species. Everyone treated like they should be. Just feels. Married Handon with a school though?

Dark Hope and Landon. Blood covered, murdering couple of the year, I am totally seeing Mr and Mrs. Andreason episode of Criminal minds. The couple fucked near the dead body and just killer couple trope right there. Totally twisted and fucked up, tribrid and her boy. Just give me darkness. Two people that will kill anyone but each other.

So, in general, the idea of Hope wanting to murder Roman being a thing. She clearly wouldn’t know her mother is either at the school or lurking about able to sneak into her world undetected. My thought is he is like his mother (because there is no way he is innocent in my mind) so if there was even a thought she was pregnant he would suggest getting rid of it or even trying to kill Hope himself. Either way, I have this image in my mind of Alaric holding Hope back from killing him in the middle of the field at the school and someone (Namely Alaric) mentioning that Hayley wouldn’t want Hope to become a murder and well, of course coming in and making her opinion known on the subject, maybe even killing Roman herself. The whole thing of watching your baby grow up almost overnight and is going to have her own kid that she is willing to protect

Struggling actress that gets to work with a child actress that has always been the center of attention.

Makeup artist and actress/model were they are dating but have to pretend not to be

two costars that are dating in real life but on their show, their characters hate one another so when they come home from work they are all sort of hot and bothered because wow those words your character said to mine left me wanting you.

Actress/Actor relationship where they hooked up and opps three months later the other is at their door crying because they are pregnant and what is the press going to say?

Reckless rich kids that have never been told no that secretly wish their parents bad attention to them so they start dating their parents rival (could be an actress/model/instagram famous person as well)

Honestly, just give me all the angsty human aus

or even make these not human and have them be their supernatural selves as well.

So Hope coming back to the school as Andrea Marshall and makes friends with Lizzie and Josie, starts dating Landon Kirby, asks for fight training with Alaric Saltzman. Just a big do over

Handon, Hizzie, Hosie plots set after the season one final are something I am living for in the moment! But also anything with the Mikaelson family in general really.

#** ❰Out of Character❱ She signs her letters with X’s and O’s #** ❰Wanted Plots❱ When she wants something she gets it

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fanfoolishness · 2 years

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Onto the Next

(Spoilers for The Book of Boba Fett, 1x05.)

There’s always a next.

For a long time, it was the next job. Next meal. Next place for the covert to hide. A rhythm found itself in hunting and hiding, Mando’a and mantras, and that was enough, even if his days were lived in dark and shadow.

And then it changed. Next job to keep the Crest flying among the open stars. Next meal for two, better food than he was used to, balanced for a growing child. Next place to try to find the kid safety, under gentler suns than he’d seen in years. Many nexts, all unexpected: the next line to cross.

The next burden, unasked for, to add to the list.

The next loss.

His leg sears, the burn an agonizing throb roaring with every heartbeat. The Darksaber weighs on him nearly as much as the wound. His fingers brush, just barely, against the leg, and his other hand clenches so hard it hurts. It’s not enough.

There’s always a next, though. (Until there isn’t, but that’s not —)

He just has to make it to the next floor. The next elevator. The next step.

He trembles, breathes in, breathes out. The leg threatens to buckle, and he drags himself onward.

On to the next breath.

#the mandalorian spoilers #book of boba Fett spoilers #din djarin #return of the mandalorian #my Mando fic #bedtime drabble #maybe this will go somewhere maybe not #but it’s something!

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habibialkaysani · 7 years

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Strange Bedfellows (Rosaline/Benvolio; G)

Ships: Rosaline/Benvolio

Summary: Set during 1x05. True to his word, Benvolio sleeps on the floor. Rosaline starts to feel guilty.

A/N: So I am new to this fandom, but not to writing, so I hope this fic is one of many! :) Enjoy.

Shoutout to Meg/@jeffersonjaxson for reading this over and helping me with a title.

Read at AO3

Read at FFN

Rosaline can’t sleep.

Granted, she hasn’t been able to for a while now - since Juliet’s death, or even before then, when Juliet took the potion, if Rosaline is to be completely honest with herself - but tonight it seems worse than usual. She tosses and turns fitfully, childishly keeping her eyes shut as if pretending to sleep will help her actually sleep.

Finally, she opens her eyes and stares at the ceiling, thinking, thinking. She goes over and over Friar Lawrence’s words in her head, willing her mind to focus on the mission and not stray to -

Benvolio.

She keeps her eyes fixed on the ceiling, not wanting her gaze to betray her by looking at him. She should feel guilty, really, for the way she stared at him as he towelled himself dry earlier that night, but she doesn’t. She was just… appreciating the view. And a good view it was. Benvolio is certainly handsome - she can admit that, now that they have established that they are no longer enemies. There is something… soft about him, and it feels hard to explain even to herself what it is that draws her to him.

And yet it goes against every sensibility she has to be falling for him, the very man she had sworn she did not want to marry. She was supposed to end up in a convent, for God’s sake.

Despite herself, she can’t help but glance over to Benvolio, and to her surprise she finds he’s staring at her intently. When their eyes meet he looks away hurriedly, and Rosaline’s brow furrows in confusion for a moment.

“Can’t sleep, Capulet?” Benvolio says eventually.

“Too much on my mind,” Rosaline replies, just as he chances another glance at her. She watches as he shivers, having no blanket to cover him, and a pang of sympathy goes out to him at that. “You?”

“Too cold,” Benvolio says. “I won’t pretend the floor is actually comfortable. But no matter. We only have one blanket between us, after all.”

Rosaline groans inwardly, wishing she didn’t have so much of a conscience. After a few more seconds, she sits up and relents. “Come here,” she says, already regretting the words but nevertheless beckoning to him.

Benvolio raises his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re cold and uncomfortable and you can’t sleep because you’re on the floor. At least if you’re in the bed, one of us might be able to get an hour’s sleep before nightfall.”

“But… would that not be - improper?” he asks, and that insufferable smirk is on his lips and in his voice and it's impossible not to let him get under her skin.

“It would be,” Rosaline says, making to get up, “which is why I’m going to sleep on the floor.”

“But then you would be cold and uncomfortable.”

“Are you suggesting we share?” she asks, trying and failing to seem aghast by what he’s suggesting.

“We have little other choice,” Benvolio reasons. “If it helps… I know not to grab a woman without her permission.”

“You mean you’re not a savage,” Rosaline says sarcastically. “Oh, joy.”

“If you feel uncomfortable, then let me stay on the floor, Capulet.”

Rosaline sighs, giving in. “Fine. Come on, then.”

Benvolio gets up, and Rosaline moves to the edge of the bed as he gingerly pulls the blanket over him and gets into the bed. He keeps his distance from her, and at first Rosaline doesn’t notice but then she realises he’s barely covered by the blanket. She sighs again, moves back to where she was before on the bed, and after a moment Benvolio copies her, moving so he’s no longer on the edge of the bed at risk of tumbling off it. Her back is to him, and they’re not quite touching, but their limbs are close to each other, close enough for Rosaline to feel Benvolio’s breath on the back of her neck.

“What’s on your mind?” Benvolio asks quietly. Rosaline turns around at that, and she lets out a little gasp when she realises how close his nose suddenly is to hers. She moves back a little, cursing the person who made this bed and thought it was big enough for two people.

“My sister,” Rosaline says half-truthfully. ”I’m just worried about her.”

“You know, when I saw you with your sister, you reminded me of something.”

“What’s that?”

“That I should still have faith in humanity,” Benvolio answers.

“I don’t understand.”

“Even before Verona was out for my blood… I never thought much of people. I felt they only cared for themselves. I only cared for Mercutio and Romeo, and then… then I had no one. I have no one.”

“You have me,” Rosaline says before she can stop herself.

“I do,” Benvolio says, and he seems genuinely touched, “and for that I have no doubt that I am grateful. But when I saw you with your sister - I realised it was still possible to be selfless, to love someone with all your heart and expect nothing in return. To love someone, be responsible for someone, so unconditionally that you would drop everything to save them -”

“As you would have done for Mercutio or Romeo,” Rosaline says, “in a heartbeat.”

“When they were in my life,” Benvolio says heavily. “Which they are no longer.”

“I am your friend,” Rosaline says firmly. “And before you make a crack at me being -”

“A Capulet?” Benvolio asks with a smile.

“- the last friend you have, I was going to say -”

“Now, now, Rosaline, you cannot possibly think that I will emerge from this unscathed.”

“Perhaps not. But I am sure of one thing, Benvolio.”

He looks up with something that looks like hope in his eyes. “And what's that?”

“Your innocence, of course,” she answers. “And that… gets you further than you think. In the eyes of the Prince, anyway.”

At the mention of Escalus Benvolio’s expression hardens somewhat. “How can you be so sure of this?”

“Because…” Rosaline hesitates, then says, “I know the Prince. We know each other from childhood. And I know that he is a good man. I trust him to do the right thing.”

Benvolio doesn't seem surprised at her revelation. He just nods slowly, as if coming to an understanding, and then he turns on his side so his back is to her. Rosaline exhales softly, and it's as Benvolio jerks his head forward sharply that she realises her breath is kissing the back of his head. Still, she doesn't move from her position; now he seems to have warmed up, the heat Benvolio exudes is oddly comforting.

(She learned that last night when they huddled for warmth together.)

“Well, I trust you,” Benvolio says, and his sudden words catch her off-guard. “And if you say the Prince is a good man and he will be fair to me, I believe you. I just hope for my sake that you are right. But it doesn't change things.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… being a wanted man - the Prince’s kindness notwithstanding - puts things into perspective. It makes you understand the more important things in life.”

“And what are those things?” she asks. She's curious, now, because he still won't look at her. He surprises her, then, by turning around so he's facing her again, and to her further surprise he reaches down and searches for her hand, not stopping until their fingers are laced together. Rosaline finds herself squeezing his hand, so his hand and hers are tightly twined like vines. Benvolio opens his mouth, lips slightly parted, and he looks like he's about to say something, but then his hand slackens in hers and he turns away once more.

“Actually… it doesn't matter,” Benvolio mutters.

“Benvolio…”

“You were right,” he says, and he gets up and out of the bed, taking several steps away from it and her. “This is… improper.”

“So is running off with a man in the middle of the night,” Rosaline counters.

“And I know I am to blame for that too,” Benvolio says ever so bitterly.

“No, I chose to come with you. Just like I chose to be your friend rather than your enemy. And I chose to let you into this bed because I trust you. With my life.”

“You trust me with your life?” The incredulity in his voice is not lost upon Rosaline.

“Of course,” says Rosaline. “That's… usually how things go when someone saves your life several times in a row.”

Benvolio smiles a rare smile, and now he sits on the bed next to Rosaline, who is still under the blanket.

“And here I was thinking you had forgotten the first time I saved your life.”

“I'm not very good at being grateful,” she admits. “Something my uncle and aunt like to remind me of.”

“You don't need to be,” Benvolio says firmly. “Not ever. But for what it's worth… I am grateful to you.”

Rosaline tries not to feel pleased but there's no mistaking the pinkness suddenly on the tips of her ears.

“For what?”

“After Mercutio, and after Romeo… I was lost. And then you hurtled into my life -”

“Kicking and screaming, if you'll recall.”

“- and it was like my life had purpose once again when we first started investigating Friar Lawrence. Together.”

“For what it’s worth?” Rosaline says after a moment.

“Mm?”

“I’m glad I was betrothed to someone I could be friends with.”

“As am I.”

Rosaline pulls back the blanket and pats the space next to her. “Now, since we have improprieties out of the way,” she says, “how about you get back to bed?”

“I never thought the day would come that a Capulet would be asking me to be her bedfellow.”

“Keep talking like that, Montague, and you’ll be back on the floor.”

Benvolio laughs, and it’s a glorious sound in the face of the adversity that is sure to come for them both. He gets into the bed, and for a moment their limbs squash together as he gets comfortable and moves to what has become his side of the bed.

“Wake me up in an hour,” he says, and with that he falls asleep, almost instantly.

Rosaline closes her eyes, too, knowing she won’t be able to sleep, but nevertheless comforted by the warm presence beside her.

“I’m coming to get you, Livia,” she murmurs. Then she pauses, and she amends, “We’re coming to get you.”

Tagging: @accras @yahanabih @thesushimonster @stungunmilly2 @dailypassionateobsession @rainfiresnowearth @fallinfor-youreyes @artemisodinson @indolentwanderer @livierinforeva @zerotolove @glowysweetfab @ikekehfan @bisexualjamesollsen @superwomanlanalang @redvelvetcupcakes21 @plum55 @-cort- @sweetdiva21 @ourcoffeeaddictme @queenstephaniaa @sugarysweetzee @queenofchildren @chocochocolatelover @therealpamlisa @miiandatrey @always-the-big-spoon @laurelbonnieallison @strangefellowsinhertime @misfitwriter @miiandatrey @shelovesthebeard @seasickmermaid @ginger-elf-queen @lyanaalvarado @potatoonthebookshelf @sincerelyemmekay @lilzipop @beerlula @darisu-chan @illtakefiction @lyanaalvarado @gentlesleaze @la-petite-fadette @britay83

#rosvolio #rosaline x benvolio #rosvolio fic #ssc fic #ssc fanfiction #rosaline capulet #benvolio montague #mine #my fic #still star crossed #fanfic

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riverdalefiction · 7 years

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The Horror’s After

Summary: Jughead comforts Betty after the encounter with Rose Blossom.

Rating: T

Genre: Hurt, Comfort, Missing Scene

Pairing: Betty x Jughead

Timeline: Chapter Five: Heart of Darkness (1x05)

Word count: 1,256

The horror, the horror! - were the words Jughead used to describe the old lady before the duo, but the real horror came once Betty stormed out.

There was about a gazillion thoughts running through the boy’s mind. There was also about a gazillion and one he couldn’t grant time right now, seeing as his companion was likely to get lost in the Thornhill mansion.

“Betty!” he called out, once out of the room. “Where are you?”

He shouldn’t have yelled, that’s for starters. People were still downstairs but his voice was loud enough to be heard from even there. They really didn’t need the Blossoms asking questions.

He paced around the hallway, taking a turn after a turn in search for the blonde. She couldn’t have gotten far, and there were faint footsteps echoing somewhere nearby.

“Betty, where are you?” he called again, in a lower voice this time.

With the back of his hand, he wiped away the sweat from his forehead. He should’ve taken the suit off before going running around; he wouldn’t have gotten so hot then.

Instead, he did it now, half-sweating already. He unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt, thankful for the suspenders that were keeping the lower part of his suit in place.

It was winter, he was overheating while running after Betty Cooper. Who would’ve thought?

He found her in one of the empty rooms - it looked like it might’ve been Jason’s - and the sight nearly broke his heart.

Even though there was a queen sized bed not even five feet from her, she opted for the floor instead. Her bared knees were brought to her chin and even though she wasn’t crying, her eyes were puffy and her cheeks red. She wrapped her hands around her knees, pulling them so close yet he could still see she was shaking.

Her jacket lay on the ground beside her, thrown away carelessly in a matter that was entirely unlike Betty. Even the way she crouched on the floor, not daring look up to him, was nothing he’d expect from her.

He knew she wasn’t made of stone, but seeing her in a situation where she bares it all made him feel ill.

“Betty,” he whispered. “Bets.”

When she raised her chin, he felt a wave of emotion wash over him.

This is wrong, he thought. She shouldn’t be hurt like this.

The blue in her eyes intensified; they seemed bigger, more vulnerable, weaker. There was nothing left of the strong Betty she tries so hard to be, nothing. The girl in front of him was Elizabeth Cooper at her weakest and there was something devastatingly heartbreaking in the way she looked at him.

He crouched before her, without a word. Not once did they break eye contact; the temperature went up for a few degrees, he could’ve sworn.

A single tear ran down her cheek and she swallowed dryly. Her lower lip trembled; his eyes remained on it for a heartbeat too long. There wasn’t a part of him that didn’t want to wipe it away, wrap her in his arms and keep her safe until she gets better.

Betty’s lips parted and he waited in anticipation, but she closed them with a brief shake of head.

He returned a nod; soft and warming, he hoped.

“Are you cold?”

She shook her head again. Her eyes flickered to the coat in his hands and he knew she was lying. Carefully and gently, he placed it around her shoulders, fingers lingering a moment too long.

He cleared his throat. “This is a mess, Betty, but you’ll get through it.”

Her eyes found his again, this time with plead in them. Plead and pain, lips quivering.

She didn’t have to say it out loud.

Jughead didn’t know what to do. In all his years of life, he’d never been in this situation. So, not having any better idea, he sat next to the quiet blonde.

They were going to have to leave soon, they both knew that. He thought he should maybe remind her, but every time he’d try, the words would stuck in his throat.

Betty might’ve not been crying, but he would’ve taken it more easily if she were. This - the empty look on her face - was a dozen times worse, a million times harder to watch.

His hand found hers and he squeezed it lightly; Betty looked at him, before leaning her head against his shoulder. Next thing he knew, his other hand was wrapped around her and he pulled her close, making sure his coat covered all of his body.

There weren’t words he could’ve said to make it better. He could’ve tried telling her it was going to be all right, but he knew better. It was just going downhill from here.

All she needed was someone who wouldn’t let her be alone in moments like these, and Jughead intended to be that person.

When it was high time for them to leave, he gave her a little nudge. His back hurt from keeping both their weight and he was a little cold, but Betty’s breathing had finally steadied and any movement he’d make would make it bad again.

He didn’t want to leave. It felt like they were frozen in time, just the two of them; their worries were still there, still looming over their heads, but they didn’t feel as bad. Here, in some Thornhill bedroom, they were safe from the horrors waiting for them.

But they needed to leave.

He woke her up gently, by removing a strand of hair from her face. She nuzzled her head against her neck, bringing a heavy smile to his lips; they needed to go.

“Betty, c’mon.”

He helped her stand up, watching her every move. She avoided eye contact.

“We need to leave.”

He picked up her jacket and laced arms with her. There wasn’t even a question from either side about this; Jughead thought he was doing this because he was afraid she might collapse if he lets her do it on her own.

Truth was, he did it also because he felt like letting go of her would expose her to the cruelty of the world. She didn’t deserve it.

Nobody noticed them when they left, not even their friends. He escorted her to her doorway and when they checked none of her parents had come home yet, he followed her to her bedroom.

“You didn’t have to come all the way.”

It was a wonder, to hear her voice. He’d almost forgotten how sweet it sounded.

Jughead shook his head, looking at her without a smile on his face. “I needed to make sure you’re okay.”

They didn’t talk again until she was in her bed, resting. He’d stayed with her until she fell asleep, because she didn’t ask him to leave. Knowing she wasn’t alone made him feel better, because he felt like he’d been at least partially guilty because of what happened today.

She looked peaceful, for the first time since the encounter with Grandma Rose. More than anyone he knew, Betty Cooper deserved a few hours of warm, blissful peace.

He left the residence before her parents came home.

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