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Sea Salt: Two

Summary: As a noblewoman from a small (and nefarious) kingdom in the Stepstones and quiet Lady-in-Waiting to Princess Elia Martell, she is accustomed to being looked through rather than looked at. The only exceptions to this rule are Prince Oberyn and Lord Willas Tyrell but they are often far from the dark shadows of the Red Keep or Dragonstone. She finds comfort in her quiet friendship with the princess and the delight of the darling royal children. But as Prince Rhaegar places a wreath of blue roses in the lap of Lady Lyanna Stark and rebellion starts to rage, she knows she will have to live up to her reputation. But luckily, she seems to have two allies lurking in the shadows.

Pairing(s): Willas Tyrell/F!Reader/Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand

Word Count: 24.6k (T_T)

Rating for this chapter: NC-17 for a bit of violence and mention of blood and warfare, my over-use of italics and using time jumps, and my love for ASOIAF lore. Ellaria is the only one in this relationship with a functioning braincell and reader is always happy to learn new things (ie: they have sex. they like it) If you have any questions about the lore or who is who or need clarifications, please just ask! I’m playing fast and loose with a bit of it, and a few ages, too. But I’m always happy to answer any questions you have! Thank you to everyone who was so kind about the first chapter and gave me ideas for this one. I love you.

(Banner by my darling @starlight-starwrites)

Chapter Two: Salt of the Sweat

Read Chapter One Here!

Or read this chapter on Ao3!

The quill was running dry as she finished the missive. A knock came at the door and her uncle Hammond walked in. “Are you ready?”

Y/N nodded and sealed the letter, knowing the ink would smear in her haste. She handed it off to a handmaiden to be sent as soon as they were aboard the small, unmarked ship, before bending down and gathering both Aegon and Jon into her arms with a now-practiced ease. The two babies each pushed out a hand to wrap their little fingers around the silver hanging beneath her collar, enjoying the warmth the delicate metal exuded. The sun charm glinted in the growing moonlight.

Hammond nodded, a bit sad, and kissed her forehead as he stepped to her side. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too.”

Prince Oberyn- The babes are growing strong. We depart Skilliga tonight. Thank you for the gold and for the necklace. I have sent Arthur and Dawn home with Ashara. Please be gentle with her, she is my last true friend aside from you and Willas. I do not know when I shall be able to write to you again, but I will try.

Ashara had arrived on the sharp rock shores of Skilliga only a few weeks after Arthur had come, holding a bag of gold from House Martell and a small box with a delicate silver necklace tucked inside—a long chain of braided silver and two charms hung at the bottom; a shark and a sun. It was beautiful, truly. Far more beautiful than anything Y/N had ever owned. Skilliga, for all its charms, did not favor pretty things. “Elia had the finest smith in Sunspear craft it for you—it was supposed to be your nameday present.” Her smile was sad. “She swore me to secrecy, you know. Wanted it to be a surprise.”

And the babies were fond of it, too. Their little hands always searched for it when she held them and she would dangle it above their cribs when they would fuss at night, letting the moonlight catch the polished silver. They seemed to like it.

My Prince- Rhaenys has taken to reading to the boys at night—I think she has memorized the story you sent. It hardly leaves her side. It was the book your mother read to you and Elia when you were younger, was it not? Filled with sparkling waters and talking turtles. She grows stronger and brighter every day. I know you would be proud of her. I know Elia would be, too. I miss her more than words can say. I try to tell Aegon and Elia all I know of her, and I tell Jon what I can of Lyanna, but I feel I am a poor replacement for their true mothers. I know you and Prince Doran are biding your time and I have taken your advice to not stay in one place for too long. But I do hope I am able to see you again soon.

She spent her lonely nights reading about the history she was not taught in Skilliga—of the flight of the Targaryens to Dragonstone before the Doom, of Garin the Great of the Rhoynar, of magic she did not know could be real. All of it. The world seemed so much smaller and larger now, somehow at the same time.

Her book snapped shut at the sound of one of the boys starting to cry in their bassinet. She rose from her cushioned chair and stepped toward their room, ready to help soothe him but was unsurprised when she saw Rhaenys leaning over Aegon’s crib, humming a little tune as she rubbed at her brother’s tummy, a move Elia was fond of when her children were fussy—Rhaenys must have seen Elia do it before…well, before. Aegon’s cries quickly quieted and Y/N smiled at Rhaenys who looked a little bashful as she turned and spotted her in the doorway.

“Would you like some honeyfingers, sunshine?”

Lord Willas- Lys was strange. But it kept Aegon safe—his silver hair did not look out of place here. But Rhaenys did. A man at the market spotted her—tried to steal her from my arms and screamed of how the Usurper would grant him gold and titles if he brought her back to Westeros. I lost my favorite dagger in his neck. We set sail in just a few moments.

Pentos had been next. And a handful of years passed in the shadows of a Pentoshi tower. The children still kept close to her, hiding behind her legs in the market when someone walked too close or looked too long. But they were growing each day.

Balerion, who was now very large and very mean to anyone he did not like, was the one constant in their lives, it seemed. He had grown even meaner since they had started to travel through Essos, purring contentedly only if in the laps of Rhaenys or her brothers—he would only grace Y/N with his presence when Rhaenys was busy with her studies and he knew not to disturb her and Jon and Aegon were involved with the tutors she managed to hire. He would curl up in her lap and she would have to remain very still if she did not want his razor sharp nails to puncture her breeches (again) in retaliation for being woken from his nap before he was fully rested.

But his fur was very soft and he made the little ones smile—she could take a few moments to breathe, nowhere to go, no one to meet, if it kept the cat happy. But today he was batting at the slip of parchment she was trying to read. It was from a Pentoshi Magistrate named Illyrio or something—Balerion had shredded the bottom—who was hoping to meet with her (and the children he had heard rumors of for ‘quite some time’) and promised more riches and more ‘protection.’ He had ulterior motives, she was sure, but she needed all the help she could find.

Balerion gave up on the shredded parchment and leapt from Y/N’s lap before stretching for a moment beside her feet. His big, fluffy head turned this way and that, as if looking for something. And then, as if on cue, Rhaenys darted out of the manse’s solar and scooped the cat up into her arms and placed a kiss on the top of his head. It earned her a rumbling purr in return.

“How would you feel about meeting someone for supper tonight, sunshine?”

My Prince- Congratulations on your newest daughter! An even eight—you must be so proud. The way you write of Ellaria is fit for songs. I know your daughters will flourish with your guiding hand. I will tell Rhaenys and Aegon of their new cousin, they are always happy to hear of their family. They miss you. I miss you.

The dinner had been just as dull and filled with lies and platitudes as any other meal they had shared with noblemen and dignitaries over the last handful of years in Essos. Illyrio was very self-assured and tried to tell Y/N that he wanted to see a Targaryen on the throne of Westeros again. “It is better for business, you see. This whole Rebellion has greatly affected my profits.”

“And that is all you care for? Profits?”

Illyrio’s smile was slimy but Y/N curled her fingers into the loose silk of her skirts to avoid reaching for the knife balanced on the edge of her plate. It would not do for her to threaten a(nother) host. “I would not be opposed to being raised to the Master of Coin when the rightful heir takes his place on the throne. It was nasty business what happened to that Dornish Princess.”

“Her name was Elia,” Y/N ground out.

“But I do suppose she served her purpose, bringing these beautiful children into the world.”

Y/N let go of her skirts and reached up to touch the knife. If he said another word, it was going into his eye and she would just steal everything she could hold. Perhaps that was a better plan than listening to him talk anyway. She glanced to her left to see Rhaenys looking down at her lap, little hands folded over her skirt. Hearing anything about her mother usually made her grow quiet and sad. Y/N, not even thinking of what it meant, moved her hand from the knife to cover Rhaenys’ hands. Providing comfort instead of violence.

(Mayhaps that could still come later.)

Rhaenys looked up at her and gave her a small smile, followed quickly by three squeezes to her fingers, a silent signal they had developed over the years to let the other know they were well.

“I swear it, your grace,” Illyrio said, staring at Aegon, another slimy smile on his face. “I will see you on your throne. You shall be king.”

“He is a child,” Y/N bit out. “Do not push him for something he cannot be sure he wants.” Aegon was barely speaking in full sentences that made sense, how could he know if he wanted some stupid crown? Just last night, Rhaenys had pulled her featherbed into her brothers’ rooms to sleep near them because they would not calm down until she was near them. He was a child. Born to royalty, yes, but a child still.

Illyrio laughed, a grating sound that had Rhaenys tightening her grip on her hand. “Of course, but you must teach him his responsibility. In secret, I know the highborn of Westeros are toasting to your survival, stitching dragons into their tapestries, and will come to your aid when you call for banners.”

That would have been a nice thought if anyone knew he was alive. Oberyn and Doran both had told her that most spoke of how they ‘knew’ Rhaenys and Aegon had been killed when the Lannisters sacked King’s Landing—and some others ‘knew’ that Lady Lyanna and her unborn babe had both died at the Tower of Joy before the end of the Rebellion. “I’ve been more preoccupied with keeping him breathing.”

“I don’t wan’ be king.”

Everyone turned to look at Aegon who seemed near tears.

“What, little one?” Y/N asked as she pulled him into her lap. His hand instantly grabbed at the necklace and he pressed his face into her shoulder.

“No king.” He sniffled and shook his head. “Rhaenee is king.”

The magistrate guffawed and Y/N once again looked at the knife. She could do it. “You will be king.” His smile did not falter. “But I do have gifts for you all.” Illyrio, unaware of how close he had come to death, waved a hand and a servant quickly came and placed a large chest on the table, rattling the cutlery and plates.

Jon startled in his little raised chair at her side but Rhaenys was immediately intrigued, even as she reached out to calm Jon with a gentle hand to his back. The lid opened and…

It was a…rock. A pretty rock, but a rock. It was a smoke color with ripples of orange and yellow. Illyrio waved a hand again, indicating she was allowed to grasp it, and she did as Aegon continued to press against her chest. It was heavier than she thought it would be and a little cold to the touch. Her eyes drifted to the small stack of gold also in the chest.

“What am I to do with this rock?” Y/N held the thing aloft with an arched eyebrow, holding back the sneer she felt growing. “Should I crack it open? Will it give me the ability to breathe life into my dearest friend’s lungs again? Will I be able to kill the usurper on the Iron Throne from across the Narrow Sea?”

“It is a dragon egg, my lady,” Illyrio said, enunciating each syllable as if that would help her understand. “Extremely valuable.”

Y/N turned and handed Rhaenys the egg, watching her little fingers curl around it immediately. She reached out and scooped out the gold and stood. The three children quickly did the same, little Aegon still in her arms and Rhaenys grabbing Jon from his chair. “I thank you for your time and meal, Magistrate. I shall think on your offer.”

Illyrio hurried to stand as well. “Yes, as their regent, I do value your opinion-”

But they were already turned away and walking out the door.

Lord Willas- I wish I could show you the gardens of Volantis. I am sure they pale in comparison to Highgarden, but they are lovely even if the people and customs are intolerable. The dried petals you hid in the folds of your last missive were a welcome surprise—a merchant woman insisted I have them turned into a perfume and it is a delightful scent. I can almost imagine the green grass and pink roses you have told me about so many times. I hope I will be able to see them soon. The air here is so heavy, it gets hard to breathe. Aegon and Jon do enjoy the elephants that the noblemen insist we ride everywhere. My sunshine likes to steer the large animal when the streets are clear, too. But please, tell me more of your home. Has your father filled the aviary with more hawks? Are the pups growing strong?

Y/N pulled the sword out of the back of the last man, listening to him gurgle on his own blood before he dropped to the worn wooden planks of the dock. Two more bodies were half submerged in the water a few paces back.

Volantis had turned on them, too. But the gold she had taken from the bodies of the would-be kidnappers (or assassins, she had not stopped to ask) would give them a little more cushion when they arrived in Lorath.

“Y/N?” Rhaenys called out from her hiding spot on the small ship docked just behind her. Her head appeared over the railing of the boat as Y/N wiped the blood off her sword onto her breeches before placing it back in its scabbard. “Did you get the pomegranates?”

Y/N turned and shuffled back a few steps to pick up the large bag she had dropped in the scuffle and held it up with a smile, ignoring how she could feel blood drying on her face. “I did, sunshine!”

Little Shark- Ellaria has been insistent that I introduce you as soon as we are able. I believe you would make dangerous friends. Lorath may not be the most exciting of places to hide, but I know you and the little ones will be safe. My family owes you a great debt. Doran has had to stop me from loading up my family and sailing to wherever you have landed. I have dreamt of you, little shark. I remember how you would smile and laugh. I remember how the scent of the sea seemed to be pressed into your skin. All of this has haunted me. You have haunted me.

Rhaenys was fond of just holding the silly little dragon egg and seemed to find a strange comfort by simply being near it, even as the years continued to trickle by and the stone egg was unchanged. “It feels warm, does it not?” She asked, holding out the egg toward Y/N.

But it did not feel warm to Y/N as she brushed her fingers against the strange orange ripples. It felt like cold rock. “Maybe I do not have the magic touch,” she said with a wink.

“Rhaenys!” They both turned at the shout of her name. Aegon and Jon, now seven and eight, rushed toward them. Little wooden swords clutched in their hands and their trousers covered in dirt. She had left them, only momentarily, to whack at each other in their garden.

Rhaenys was nearly bowled over by her brothers as they leapt at her and she tried to catch them, always protective. “What troubles you?” She asked as she managed to right them, batting away their swords as they absentmindedly still held them pointed up, ready to spar, while still holding onto her precious dragon egg.

“There is a strange man at the door.”

Ice went down Y/N’s spine and she hurried to push the children toward the back of the room, hiding them away in the back of the wardrobe. She handed Rhaenys a blade of her own, barely larger than the girl’s hand. “Remember what I taught you, sunshine?”

“Eyes, throat, thigh,” Rhaenys said, voice shaking just the slightest bit.

“Yes. And do not come out until I come for you.” She kissed each of them on the forehead and shut the door quietly, hoping against hope that it would not be the last time she would see them. But she steeled herself and patted at her breeches, feeling the four hidden blades there, and then the other four hidden in her tunic. She would fight. She would fight until her last breath.

Slowly but with her head held high, Y/N made her way toward the door and braced for the worst—a haggard Westerosi knight in search of gold and glory. A Braavosi bravo who wanted adventure across the Narrow Sea. A Sorrowful Man. A Faceless Man.

She peeked outside the window nearest the door and frowned. The man standing outside looked familiar and the longer she stared at him, the more she realized she knew him. A knight who had stuck to the Mad King’s side every time she had been forced to go to the Red Keep.

A Targaryen loyalist.

Maybe.

Slowly, she opened the door and stared at him. Willem Darry looked haggard—near death. He smelt like it, too.

“I have been searching for you,” he said, voice rough on her ears.

“What do you want, Darry?”

“I know that you have the little dragons.”

“You are mistaken.” Her hand started to inch toward the knife she had at her back. She could kill him. It could be quick and most people would not bat an eye at a bit of spilled blood. She needed to keep the children safe.

“I’m not. Queen Rhaella told me of a missive Elia wrote to her brother before the Sack of King’s Landing.”

Her hand curled around the hilt. “I know of no such letter.”

“I do not care of what you do or do not know. I am here because I need you. They need you.” He turned and called out for something—she did not care to listen. But the gate at the edge of her property opened and she felt her heart clench. Behind him stood little Viserys Targaryen and his sister, Daenerys.

Her grasp loosened. “Oh.”

My lady Y/N, Braavos sounds wondrous. I must admit that learning you have found two more dragons was a welcome surprise. It seems you collect them now. Prince Oberyn has been adamant that I visit the palace of Sunspear but I am afraid I will only embarrass myself further. The Usurper has started having a brood of his own. He grows more complacent by the day. Mayhaps I will be able to come to you someday soon. Your letters have become a most cherished treasure to me—even if my little sister Margaery does try to read them over my shoulder at every opportunity. I wish I could tell her about you, about how brave and beautiful you are. But I have promised Prince Oberyn to keep you a secret. And my secret you shall be.

Ser Willem Darry quickly moved Y/N and the children into his house. It was larger, equipped with better possible hiding places, and seemed to blend into the background of their particular road, hard to pick it out from its neighbors, aside from the red door. Darry made the servants aware that these four new faces were to be obeyed just as he was. He was a bear of a man, but gentle.

Rhaenys and Daenerys were thick as thieves, the older of the two quickly schooling the young girl in all things a good, highborn lady should know, and several more things a lady should not. More often than not, Y/N would find them practicing with bits of sharpened wood, stabbing the air with clumsy grips which Willem tried to rectify to the girls’ delights. Viserys had caught them once or twice and had snapped the bits of wood in two and dragged Daenerys away by the end of her silver braid until Y/N stepped in and made him practice his calligraphy until the sun set as punishment for making the girls cry. He was a terrible child, always holding his nose too high in the air and telling Aegon and Jon that he was king because his mother had crowned him at Dragonstone before she died.

“She only did that because she thought Aegon was dead or would be soon,” Rhaenys said, fire in her eyes.

“I don’t want to be king anyway!” Aegon would always shout from the next room over.

It was best to keep them separated.

My Prince- I am tired. And I must apologize for the tone of this letter. But Ser Willem is not long for this world, his stomach grows more troublesome for him by the day, and Viserys has been burning letters he will snatch from my hands, not allowing me to know their contents. Rhaenys, Aegon, and Jon are still flourishing in Braavos, however. They have asked that I send you this small wooden snake—and you know I am unable to tell them no when they ask so sweetly. Rhaenys has insisted that she read the books you have sent to her brothers and little Daenerys. I had to keep Viserys from stealing the book from her hands more than once. He is a terrible young man. If Aegon were not so attached to him, I might not be so protective of him. But I would not do anything which would bring a frown to Aegon’s face. He has also taken to dyeing his hair blue, to better blend with the Braavosi crowd, letting any passersby think he is just a Tyroshi boy. He is so smart, my prince. He and Rhaenys—and Jon, too, when he is not sulking—are growing to be true heirs to their throne. I hope you will be able to see them soon, just as I hope to meet your daughters and Ellaria. Lord Willas has told me that you are quite the doting father. I miss you.

Aegon and Jon grew stronger and more adventurous with each passing moon while Viserys did try to seem like his nephews’ company and would tell them stories of court life in Westeros, of how Rhaegar was a valiant knight, and how King Aerys was loved by the people.

Y/N had been quick to tell them the truth as she tucked them into bed each night but that did not stop the boys from wanting the older boy’s attention when Ser Willem was deemed ‘un-fun’ when he tired so quickly.

That sentiment quickly soured in their little mouths when Y/N had to explain that Willem had joined their mothers in the Seven Heavens and would not be…around anymore.

“Just say it, he’s dead,” Viserys commanded with an upturned lip.

“You might be crass, Viserys, but that does not mean I need be, too.”

“Why not? Your pathetic little kingdom would not stand under the might of the Seven Kingdoms. That is why you’ve run-”

“Will you braid my hair?” Daenerys’ soft voice cut the tension and Y/N happily turned to look at the youngest dragon.

“Of course, Dany. Go grab your brush.”

“I have a ribbon you can use,” Rhaenys said with a small smile. She reached out a hand toward the younger girl who happily took it.

As Daenerys scurried away, Viserys shot Y/N another glare before marching off. Jon had been watching the entire exchange with his usual pout and Aegon was looking between Y/N and the door where Viserys had disappeared as he fiddled with the pommel of his practice sword.

“I do not understand his dislike of you,” Aegon said.

“He doesn’t like that he is second best,” Jon said. “Or third.”

Y/N snorted and shook her head. “Have you two finished your Valyrian lines?”

Aegon and Jon looked at each other and then darted from the room without a look back, as Y/N knew they would. Daenerys came back in with a smile, her brush, and the bit of ribbon Rhaenys had leant her in her hands. Y/N sat behind Daenerys and carefully brushed her hair. Daenerys seemed to preen under the touch, much like Rhaenys did when she was her age, happy to feel friendly fingers taking care with her hair. She plaited it and tied it off with the purple ribbon, knowing it would probably be a mess by the time dinner was served.

“You will not leave us. Not like Ser Willem, right?” The little princess asked as she turned to look up at her.

Y/N pressed a smile to her face and bit back the words she felt bubbling at the back of her throat. How could she tell a heartbroken little girl that she could not decide when she left this world? She traced a finger down Daenerys’ cheek before gently cupping her chin in her hand. “I promise I will be at your side for as long as I am able, princess.”

Daenerys paused, violet eyes searching her face for answers before nodding. “What are we having for supper?”

My Prince- Thank you for the wonderful gifts for Rhaenys’ ten-and-four nameday. I cannot believe she is almost a woman grown. I cannot believe it has been so long since I have seen you, so long since my flight from Dragonstone. How fares little Dorea? Has she recovered from her sickness? And what of Sarella? Is she still masquerading in the Citadel? She truly is your daughter. Please give Ellaria my love and I will give Aegon, Jon, and Rhaenys yours.

It had been quite a few years since she had heard Rhaenys wake herself up in a fit. Y/N quietly padded over to her room and let herself in, seeing the princess sit in a mess of blankets, a hand on her chest, obviously trying to slow her racing heart. Y/N stepped inside as Rhaenys spotted her sat on the edge of the bed and smiled as Rhaenys quickly swirled around on the blankets to place her head on Y/N’s lap. Her fingers reached up and tangled with her necklace, thumb brushing against the sun pendant as she had done hundreds of times before.

“What troubles you, sunshine? Let me help you.” She curled her hands over Rhaenys’ shoulders and side, cradling her just a bit—like she did when she was a small child. “The nightmares have come back.” She did not look up at her, only keeping her focus on the metal sun.

“Tell me what you see.”

Rhaenys sighed. “You’ll think me foolish.”

“Never.”

“There are ice dragons—bigger than castles, bigger than mountains. They come from the cold and have riders made of snow on their backs and swords made of ice, too.” She shivered and her hand dropped from Y/N’s necklace and she curled further into Y/N’s grasp. “The dead walk with them.”

“The dead?” Y/N asked, her face scrunching in confusion.

“They follow them, mindlessly. Like they have no control.”

Y/N pulled Rhaenys a little closer, feeling something cold trace its finger down her spine. “You’ve been dreaming of the cold since you were a child.”

Rhaenys was quiet for a moment before finally looking up at her. “I don’t think they’re dreams.”

And that gave Y/N pause. She had read about Daenys the Dreamer who saved her family from the Doom. She had read how the priests and priestesses of the Mother Rhoyne were gifted with visions of things not yet come to pass. “You have been seeing this since you were a babe, sunshine. Tell me. Tell me what you think it is.”

Rhaenys was quiet for a moment before sighing. “I’ve read the book of legends Uncle Oberyn has sent. Of the Rhoynar, of my mother’s people. It said that some were gifted with something called the Sight. The ability to see things as they happen from across the world, or things not yet come to pass.”

“Like the Dragon Dreams of the Valyrians.”

Rhaenys nodded and finally dropped her hold on the necklace.

“And you think that this cold, these beings, are coming?”

“I know it sounds like nonsense-”

“Almost every country in this world has legends of a night which lasted generations, of cold which reached across the seas. And history repeats itself, my sunshine. It is possible that you have always had the Sight. Do not discount yourself.”

Rhaenys looked up at her, dark eyes shining in the moonlight. “Then I am seeing what is to come?”

Y/N pulled her a little closer. “It is possible. But magic has been gone from the world a long time.”

“But if the cold can come again, magic can as well.”

Y/N nodded. “And I shall be here with you if it does.”

“My father,” Rhaenys grumbled the title, “was fond of prophecy, was he not? The Targaryens always said ‘the Dragon has three heads’ or something like that.”

“Why can there not be four?” She sighed. “Or five. Would not more be better? Surely there is still strength in numbers. And we shall need all the strength we can muster.”

Rhaenys opened her mouth to say something when the door burst open. On instinct, Y/N grabbed the knife she’d hidden in her sleeve and hurled it at the intruder. It missed Jon’s head by pure luck. He only glanced at the blade once before turning back to them. “Something’s happened.”

Y/N stood from the bed with Rhaenys at her side and they ran through the manse, following Jon’s steps but their haste did not change the outcome. Viserys and Daenerys were gone.

Lady Y/N- Thank you for the information you have discovered about from the Iron Bank. It is most welcome and has helped us continue to truly know how poorly and precariously the Usurper is sitting on his stolen throne. If you discover anything else, I would be grateful. Please give the young ones my love. -Prince Doran, Lord of Sunspear

“Again,” Y/N said, standing on the edge of the stone platform.

Aegon and Jon both groaned but Rhaenys held up her sword, ready for the next drill to be called out.

They had been training since the sun came up. While the breeze off the water kept them cool, sweat still poured down their necks to wet their tunics. It was a familiar sight—Y/N could remember her own time in Skilliga’s training rooms when she was younger than them.

It felt like ages ago.

She called out the next set of drills and watched as they worked through the steps, each with a bit of room for improvement, but not entirely terrible. As they worked through another set, and then another, Y/N reached for her own wooden sword and leapt up onto the platform as they caught their breath. Perhaps it was time for only one more exercise.

“If you each manage to land a blow, we can call it for the day, hm? I’ll even have honeywine brought in.”

The siblings looked at each other, a silent conversation, before they all turned like a three-headed beast and raised their swords and charged.

When it was all finished—Y/N had only two more sore spots on her arms but she still had honeywine and let them drink the entire bottle themselves. They had earned it. The manse grew quiet after their small celebration and Y/N sat in her room and listened to the sea beat against the city’s walls as she ran a cool, damp cloth across her face, trying to wash the day’s dirt and sweat away. It was strange, to know that she did not need to make sure that the three did not require a story to help them sleep. They hadn’t in several years. But she still found herself wanting to rise from her cushioned seat to check on them as the air grew still and soft.

A knock at her opened door had her turning and Rhaenys was walking into her room with her lips pulled tight. “Dany is alive.”

“How do you know this?” Y/N asked, rising from her seat. For almost a year, she had heard nothing of the two lost dragons. She knew someone had seen them, she had always known when someone was keeping a secret. But they never told. Again and again, she had thought she would learn of their deaths from a sneering nobleman or one of her missives from Westeros. But she had heard nothing.

“I’ve seen it. I’ve dreamt it.”

My Y/N, Thank you for the lace and silk. You are a generous soul; I had been searching for the right materials for my Obella’s nameday dress and your package arrived the next day. Oberyn speaks of you often, of little Aegon and Rhaenys, and Jon too. I hope to meet you soon, to finally know your face as I know your name. To know you.

It was two years later that she finally heard of where the two silver-headed dragons had gone.

The Dothraki Sea.

“Why would they go there?” Rhaenys asked with a frown.

“Viserys probably hatched some plan. Brokered a deal he did not fully understand with a man smarter than him.”

“A horse is smarter than him,” Aegon muttered. Rhaenys slapped his arm but Jon roared with laughter.

“Well, we must go to them. To Daenerys, at least,” Rhaenys said as she stood from her seat.

And that was how Y/N found herself selling most of their earthly possessions and setting out away from Braavos with an honest guide whom she trusted and paid well. (Balerion hated the wheelhouse but preferred it to being sat on Rhaenys’ lap on her horse. He curled himself around the petrified dragon egg and mostly slept through the day.)

From Braavos to Norvos and then down the banks of the Noyne to where it met the Rhoyne, the days trickled by.

For only a few hours, she let the three bask in the beauty of the ruins of Ny Sar—of the city Nymeria, their famed ancestor, had once called home—before they continued on. They could not afford to linger.

But she grew more and more fatigued with each passing day.

“What ails you?” Rhaenys asked as they stopped for the night.

“I never sleep well this far from the sea, sunshine.” She pressed a smile to her face and tugged at the silver lock of hair at Rhaenys’ nape. “I will rest when we find Daenerys and I can hear the waves crash against the shore again.”

But she asked again a few nights later as they settled again to make their small camp, quiet and hidden. They were too far south for the Pirates of Dagger Lake and too far north for the Volantene galleys to spot them, but it was still best to be cautious. Even in Skilliga, Y/N knew of the dangers of the Sorrows. And Y/N gave her answer. “We are too close to the Sorrows for me to sleep soundly, sunshine.”

They both settled on the high hill at the edge of the grasslands where it met the sparse forest, and watched the cursed fog slowly roll over the unseen waters she could only barely hear. It was strangely quiet here, in this desolate part of the world.

“This is where the Rhoynar made their last stand—before Nymeria and her ten thousand ships set sail and landed in Dorne.”

“Yes. Centuries ago, Chroyane, this was a proud and fertile land. Filled with celebrations and water magic. A place of laughter and prosperity.”

Rhaenys sighed as she looked out at the curling grey mist and barren trees. “But not now.”

“Before the Doom, when the Valyrians still ruled Essos, they tried to conquer the Rhoynar. Wars raged and, for a handful of years, the Rhoynar were able to hold the dragons off. But that did not last. In a last attempt to make the dragons rue the day they set their purple eyes on this part of the Rhoyne, Garin the Great called down a curse on the Valyrians after being captured.”

“And the waters rose and the fog rolled in, sweeping them beneath and holding them there beneath the waves for all the ages to come. The fog turned their skin to stone, matching their stone hearts and took their minds, too.” Rhaenys nodded. “I remembered that part. Mother would tell me stories of the Rhoynar when father was too busy wish his prophecies to sing me to sleep.” The young girl at her side heaved a heavy sigh as she watched the mist curl across the water. “This is my mother’s bloodline. Snuffed out by my father’s.”

Y/N huffed and knocked her shoulder against Rhaenys’. “You are not your parents. You are not some bit of rock that maesters scribble about in their chambers. You, my sunshine, are both Martell and Targaryen. You are the Sun and a Dragon. The fact that you are here means that the impossible is possible. You are water magic and fire in skin. You are the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. You are your mother’s daughter—her sunshine, my sunshine.”

Rhaenys was quiet for a moment before she nodded and stood, sweeping her hands against her trousers to brush the dead grass from the fabric. Y/N expected her to say that she was retiring again for the night. But Rhaenys always kept Y/N on her toes.

She was suddenly sprinting down the hill toward the water and the cursed fog.

“Rhaenys?! What are you doing?”

Rhaenys would succumb to the curse, to greyscale—what was she doing?! Y/N sprinted down after her, pumping her legs faster and faster to try to catch her—but she was again too late. And she screamed as Aegon darted in after his sister.

But the fog did not engulf Rhaenys’ form. It did not choke the air from her young lungs. Instead, it curled around her ankles like Balerion had done so many times as a kitten. It was welcoming her. Welcoming her home.

For a moment, Y/N could only watch as the unnatural fog almost seemed to sparkle and shine as Rhaenys reached out her hands toward it. She knew Aegon was yelling, saying something to Rhaenys. But she couldn’t hear it. And she doubted Rhaenys could either as the fog closed around the pair.

She could only wait, with a panicked Jon at her side and a strangely calm Balerion in her arms.

“All will be well,” Y/N heard herself saying.

“Are you certain?” Jon asked in return.

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

And when the sun rose in the morning, for the first time in hundreds of years, it shone on Chroyane. The fog lifted. She could see the broken yet still beautiful arches and marble columns of towering stone. Grand palaces jutting from the sparkling waters. Overgrown trees, once foreboding and covered in grey moss, had shining green leaves as large as her arm with delicate pink flowers blossoming. And it was beautiful—even with the bodies of the stone men piled, almost neatly, on the banks of the river. Finally at rest.

Y/N turned her head at the sound of splashing and saw one of the famed large turtles the Rhoyne was known for, sliding through the water, content.

In the center of the river, the water slowly moving by, stood Rhaenys and Aegon.

Jon sprinted to his siblings’ side. “What happened? What did you see?”

Rhaenys only smiled.

The siblings had insisted that they take a handful of days to explore the newly ‘recovered’ city. And Y/N could not tell them no—both out of familial duty and personal curiosity. While Aegon and Rhaenys traipsed through the ruins as if they had been there thousands of times before, showing Jon everything they could and telling him of the Rhoynish history, Y/N explored on her own.

The ancient scars of the last battle against the Valyrians were still seen, now dulled by the constant presence of the river water but she could see bits of armor beneath ivy and trees, sun-bleached bone where the water was shallow.

But the river was clear and cool and Y/N let it soak her breeches as she jumped from the small skiff she had found so she could look through the ruins of what appeared to be an ornate bathhouse. Mud and damp greenery sloshed underneath her boots as she walked through, trying to envision what this place looked like before the war and curse. But even now, it was beautiful.

Something clanged against her boot and she looked down to see an edge of a sword. Y/N frowned as she pulled the sword from the muck and wiped it clean on her already-disgusting trousers. The pommel had a head of lion and was inlaid with fine rubies and gold. The blade was long—too long to be wielded by one hand as she had trained to do—but it was far too light to be common steel. Y/N held up the blade to let it reflect the sun and saw the swirling patterns as her heart leapt into her throat.

This was Valyrian steel.

She spent the next handful of hours combing through the mounds of debris on the edges of the river, making sure to listen for where her three charges were and to know that they were safe, and collecting any bits of Valyrian steel—armor or weapons—she could find. And if she had to shake a few bones loose from it? That did not matter. This was not supposed to be the resting place of the dragonriders. This was not their land. So, she supposed that the Valyrians’ former belongings were free game.

They would catch a fine price anyway.

Balerion was perched on a moss-covered rock, watching another large turtle and probably mulling over if the creature was friend, foe, or food.

But Rhaenys eventually pulled her brothers from the ruins and said it was time to move on—“we will come back. I’m sure of it.” And no one argued with her on that, or asked how she knew. They all knew to simply trust her.

The wetlands of the Rhoyne gave way to the grass of the Dothraki Sea and their guide promised that he knew the fastest way to Vaes Dothrak, the one true Dothraki settlement where Daenerys had last been seen. And his promises were kept, thankfully. Y/N was sure if anything else had caught her off guard, she would have fallen off her horse and never risen again. She was so far from the sea. She could hear no river or ocean. No water.

The heat was nearly unbearable. She had nearly thrown herself from the saddle when the seventy-sixth bead of sweat trailed its way down her neck to pool in the back of her tunic. But Rhaenys remained ever positive.

“We are nearly there, I can feel it.”

Even when they learned that Daenerys and what was left of her husband’s khalasar had left Vaes Dothrak and started toward Lhazar, she still voiced her positive outlook.

And it paid off. As Y/N knew it would—eventually.

As the sun set on the fourth day after leaving Vaes Dothrak, they spotted the remnants of a khalasar surrounding what looked like a giant funeral pyre as a red comet bled across the dark night sky. Y/N slowed her horse to a stop and dismounted as she squinted toward the group, trying to find Daenerys. The silver hair quickly stood out and she felt her heart lift, unweighted for the first time since they had left the Chroyane. But it suddenly tumbled down to her stomach as she watched Daenerys light the fire and then edged closer to the heat.

“Daenerys? Dany!”

But the girl did not hear her. Did not turn. Did not blink as she stepped into the flames.

Y/N ran toward the fire but was held back by a strange man—Y/N barely registered that he was not Dothraki—who muttered something about not needing more death tonight.

Sudden movement at her side had Y/N turning and she could not stomach the cry that ripped its way from her throat.

“Rhaenys? What are you—Rhaenys!” She screamed and screamed and leapt toward her only to be too late—again—to stop the carnage. That was her curse.

Rhaenys stepped into the funeral pyre, the egg she had treasured for years held out in front of her like an offering.

Aegon and Jon were screaming for her, for Dany, to come out—come out of the flames and we can go home! We can go home!

But the pair of girls did not. They did not emerge from the flames. Around the large funeral pyre, the remnants of the Dothraki khalasar moved to their knees, watching at the fire burned higher and hotter. And all Y/N could do was watch.

She had failed. She had failed and she didn’t know why. Why did the girls walk into the fire, so sure of their fates? Why did they welcome it with open arms? Why? Y/N sank to her knees and wept. She cried for the first time since Arthur had died at her feet, wept even as the heat from the pyre drenched her in sweat. She had failed.

By the time the sun rose and smoke dissipated, she was certain she would be staring at the bodies of her two girls and once again facing immeasurable loss and now having to handle her boys’ own anger and sadness.

But then she felt her heart leap into her throat.

Surrounded by ash and soot, were Daenerys and Rhaenys. Unharmed. Unburnt. Alive.

And four baby dragons.

“Oh.”

The remaining onlookers yelled out something in their language, hands raised toward Rhaenys and Daenerys.

Blood of their blood.

Y/N, Aegon, and Jon stepped over the piles of ash and still burning embers and toward the two women, naked, and covered in soot—but smiling. Y/N pulled off her overtunic and wrapped it around Rhaenys’ shoulders as Aegon draped his cloak around Daenerys.

“I saw you come again.” Daenerys reached out and grasped at Rhaenys’ hands and the young women cried. “I saw you.”

“I saw you, too,” Rhaenys whispered before shaking her hands free of Daenerys’ grip only to wrap her arms around her aunt in a tight embrace. “How could he hurt you so? You did not deserve to be treated like that.”

Y/N watched Daenerys’ brows furrow over Rhaenys’ shoulder. “What did you see?”

But the answer would have to wait as Aegon and Jon, tired of waiting, all but threw themselves at the pair, and berated them for their actions but thanked them both for surviving.

“I don’t know what we would do without you,” Aegon murmured.

Y/N sighed as she watched them, watched the small group cry and laugh and smile. Aegon did not know how true that statement was—and she hoped he would never know what the world would be like without his sister and aunt.

Rhaenys stepped away from her brother from a moment and held out a soot-covered hand toward her, urging her forward. And Y/N quickly took it, not minding the strange heat. The yellow and gold dragon hatchling on Rhaenys’ shoulder chirped as Y/N stepped closer. Its little neck craned as she kissed Rhaenys’ forehead, trying to see what Y/N was doing to their mother.

“Never do that again, my sunshine.”

There had been a bit of an argument between Daenerys and her guard—Jorah Mormont, Y/N had learned what his name was—and Rhaenys and her brothers as to where they would go next. They could not stay in the Dothraki Sea. The other khalasars were still a threat.

Jorah suggested Asshai-by-the-shadow.

Their guide suggested traveling back to Norvos—and when that was turned down, he took his payment and left. “You will die out here,” was all he said. Charming.

But Daenerys, watching the red comet still bleed across the crystal-blue sky had a different destination in mind. “What is that way?” She asked, finger pointing toward where the comet was flying.

“Qarth, khaleesi. The Queen of cities.”

Daenerys smiled at the sound of it. “We shall go to Qarth.” She turned and looked at Rhaenys who nodded, both of them unperturbed by the dragons using their limbs like a crib. Aegon and Jon were both looking at the pair of young women with awe and almost-smug knowing on their faces. Like they had predicted this very sight. And mayhaps they did.

Magic had come back into the world. With water and fog and fire and dragons.

It had come back.

My dear Willas- I am not sure if Qarth is to my taste. I do not like how these merchants ‘princes’ and warlocks stare at my charges and their dragons. I do not like how they lathe attention and treasures on the children…young adults, I suppose. I know that these people, man, woman, whomever, they only mean to get their hands on the dragons. And Balerion truly poses more of a threat than the dragons do—and the cat is getting old, he is still something to behold, but his paws move slower now. The hatchlings are defenseless little things even if they are starting to learn how to breathe fire. But I suppose the comforts of this famed city are better than the alternative of getting lost in the Red Waste. But still…I could hear the whispers and feel the people of Qarth all around us. Even our host, Xaro Xhoan Daxos, who had been the first to welcome us into the walled city and has given us an entire wing to call home in his immense estate—I cannot trust him. There is a Shadowbinder here who seems to appear at all hours of the night and day, speaking in whispers and vague prophecy. Truthfully, if she spoke plainly I might actually like her. But enough of that! What news do you have from Westeros? The new set of hounds—are they still growing strong?

For now, in this strange city, they were comfortable. She could hear the four laugh and see them smile. Daenerys told them of her time at Viserys’ side, told them of how her brother had told her that Y/N and Rhaenys, Aegon, and Jon no longer wanted the pair at their side. She told them of how they had become wards of Illyrio Mopatis who had promised to help them retake the Seven Kingdoms—a familiar promise. He had brokered a deal with Khal Drogo, all but selling Daenerys to the khal in exchange for the large khalasar who was supposed to help Viserys reclaim the Iron Throne. It churned her stomach, it hurt her heart. “You know that you are family,” Y/N had said. “You are always welcome, always loved.” And that gave rise to the question: did any of them actually want the Iron Throne?

And the answer, unsurprisingly, was complicated.

Aegon and Jon wanted to stop running. Daenerys wanted a place to call home, truly. And Rhaenys, her sunshine, revealed her steel core. Rhaenys was quiet for a moment before she stood and set her shoulders back. “Westeros will be mine. It will be mine as it should have been my father’s. As it should have belonged to my mother. The usurper and the lions stole it from her and I will wash them from this earth. I want it. The Seven Kingdoms belong to me—and I will have them.”

Y/N nodded. “You will, sunshine. I promise you that. You are the eldest. By Dornish right and custom, it belongs to you.” Y/N reached out and curled her finger around the silver strand at her ear, and she was suddenly so aware that Rhaenys was growing up. She looked so much like Elia. Where had the time gone? Her hand dropped back to her side. “You will be queen.”

“Y/N!”

She turned at sound of her name and saw Rhaenys walking toward her, draped in a silken Qartheen dress, and her little yellow dragon in her arms. She had named her Vēzos—it meant Sun in High Valyrian. She knew what Rhaenys meant when she had named her dragon. Elia was the Sun of Dorne. Rhaenys had been her sunshine. And now Rhaenys had a sun of her own. Beautiful and terrible and all hers. Y/N could not be more proud. “You are up early, my sunshine. Your brothers and aunt are still resting like the dead.” Last night a grand reception had been held by their host, filling his gardens with all the elite of the city. The Pureborn, the Thirteen, Warlocks—all of them, had descended on the lush grounds and had their fill of fine wood and drink while whispering about the ‘uncivilized’ Dothraki and stealing glances at the dragons while trying to make conversation with the four guests of honor.

It had been exhausting. Most of the party had been spent with Ser Jorah, trying to keep the Dothraki from pilfering anything worth value or Balerion from destorying the guests' fine dresses. Truthfully, Y/N wouldn’t’ve cared but Daenerys said it would not be kind to their host. Oh well.

“They drank much more than me,” Rhaenys said with a smile. Y/N patted the cushioned seat next to her but Rhaenys shook her head. “I have something to show you.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow but stood and followed Rhaenys out of Xaro’s manse, grabbing one of her swords on the way out and sliding it into the belt at her waist. The city was still sleeping and strangely quiet—quiet enough that Y/N could hear the ocean. The port of Qarth was one of the great ports of the known world and Y/N had grown up hearing of the treasure her parents had once plundered from the Jade Gates—it had been the trip they had taken just after they were married. Strangely romantic. The port was a little busier than the quiet of the city and Y/N stepped closer to Rhaenys as they neared the unfamiliar crowd. But, Rhaenys paid no one any mind until she spotted a man with a plumed hat who bowed when she stepped toward him.

“Right on time, Princess! Are you ready?”

Y/N had barely any time to ask what was going on before Rhaenys took her by the hand and ushered her onto the Swan Ship and it pulled away from the port. “Are you kidnapping me, sunshine?” She asked with a laugh.

“Only for a few hours.”

The ship made quick work of sailing through the Jade Gates and toward the East of Essos. And while the sun grew higher in the sky, Rhaenys steadfastly evaded any questions Y/N posed about their destination and she only grew more confused when the ship slowly stopped, rocking in time with the quiet waves—no land in sight.

And Rhaenys’ smile only widened. “Welcome to the Jade Sea.”

Y/N had to laugh and little Vēzos chirped at the noise. “Oh, sunshine. You never fail to surprise me.”

“My ladies!” The captain called out from behind the helm. “We only have a few moments before the Qartheen galleys stop us for taxes—I recommend you make the most of it.”

And that was how Y/N found herself diving off the side of the ship into the cool waters, uncaring that she had left her only weapon on the deck of the boat. Rhaenys was next to her, the folds of her dress floating around her like a sparkling sea creature. And little Vēzos, still unable to fly just yet, had taken to the water too, strangely enough. She flitted around the pair, yellow wings keeping her afloat.

This was paradise.

Oberyn- I cannot believe little Dorea has celebrated another nameday. It feels like yesterday you have told me of her coming into this world. Did she like the little jade sun we sent? Aegon had it commissioned at the market here in Qarth. The deal between the Pureborn and our little band of Dothraki and displaced regents is nearly solidified. We will have nearly twenty galleys with the small mountain of Valyrian steel we had reclaimed from the Rhoyne. (I, of course, have hidden several bits of armor and the lion-headed sword, and a few other weapons I had found, outside the city. Just in case. I am saving a spearhead I have found for you. I do hope you like it.) But it does seem like the deal is taking longer than I had ever anticipated. Or perhaps I should have anticipated it—the Pureborn, the warlocks, no one wants Valyrian steel. Not when dragons have come again. For now, everyone is safe. Thriving. I know you weren’t particularly keen on any of the names chosen for the hatchlings but I am still mostly unable to tell them no when they ask so sweetly. Drogon does seem to be the largest still, followed by Vēzos, then Aegon’s Viserion, and Jon’s little Rhaegal is still…little. Mayhaps that is a cosmic joke. But you should see them when they are all together. There is something magical there, powerful. The sun shines brightly on all of them. I am so proud. Please give Ellaria my love.

On the end of the fourth moon of their time in the city, the woman in the lacquered mask, the Shadowbinder Quaithe who still did not speak plainly no matter how much they insisted, appeared again in their rooms.

“You have not left the city, dragonriders.”

Y/N drew her sword but the masked woman did not flinch.

“What do you want?” Aegon asked.

“I have told you. You did not listen. Soon, you will not be permitted to leave the city. You all must learn the truth. And you must-”

“Pass beneath the Shadow,” Jon finished, obviously having heard the request before. “There is nothing for us in Asshai. Truth or otherwise.”

“You will learn.” The woman paused. “Do not trust the whisper.” And then she vanished, as if conjured by shadows herself and the door to their chambers burst open and the small khalasar filled in, shouting something in their language Y/N was still learning—but she caught “dragons” and “gone.” And that was all she needed. And her four charges all let out screams of anguish, as if they had lost limbs with the news. Perhaps that is what it felt like.

They all poured out of their temporary home and into the garden, past the dead bodies of a handful of Daenerys’ handmaidens, to see Pyat Pree and Xaro waiting for them. Y/N would not be able to recall anything they said, only the gist.

The other warlocks had stolen the dragons, seeking power. Xaro and Pyat Pree would lead the four (Aegon, Jon, Rhaenys, and Daenerys) to the House of the Undying, the warlocks’ seat of power in Qarth, where they were holding the hatchlings. In exchange, the two wanted Daenerys and her khalasar to help them establish a ‘new order’ in Qarth. They wanted to be kings.

In short, Daenerys agreed. She wanted nothing more than the hatchlings back and her niece and nephews happy again. But there were, of course, conditions. Only the four could go.

“This is ridiculous,” Y/N muttered.

But the four wanted to go, feeling the need—no matter how unsafe—to be near the hatchling that had chosen them.

“At least take a knife,” she said, pressing one of the (many) daggers she had into each of their hands when Xaro and Pyat had turned their backs. And that was all she could do. They would not be argued with. Y/N could only wish that she had been left in better company than Ser Jorah Mormont who seemed to be already in love with Daenerys. She did not like it. But she knew she could not always fight every battle for them, even if she wished she could, even if she wished she could shoulder the burden she knew they felt on their too-young shoulders. Their heartbreak, their anger, it was hers, too. And she would do anything she could to help make them smile again. And now? It seemed that meant waiting.

As the sun rose in the sky and then set and the moon soon followed, Y/N had not moved from the seat she had taken on the steps leading inside. Jorah had spoken to her, about his life in Westeros but she did not particularly care. He seemed to have received a lenient sentence for his crimes. But he had been proven loyal to Daenerys while Viserys had traded her to Drogo. An ally was an ally. Sending him away when they had so few this side of the Narrow Sea would be unwise.

Smoke rising on the horizon made her finally move from her seat.

But then the gate opened again and Rhaenys, Aegon, Jon, and Daenerys came rushing back, each with their hatchling carefully held in their grasps.

“We must go! Now!” Daenerys said—she quickly said it again in Dothraki and the assembled khalasar splintered, quickly picking up anything worth value as they moved.

“Khaleesi? What happened?”

Daenerys did not answer—but Jon did. “It was a trap. We’ve killed them. We must leave.”

“Where are we going?” Y/N had to ask, following them back inside to gather her things and to help pilfer.

“We will figure it out later! We must go!”

With a sword in one hand and a golden candelabra in the other, Y/N felt a chill slide down her spine and she turned to see Quaithe again. The woman simply stared at her, unmoving for a heartbeat or two, and then she slithered from the shadows. “You are their shadow, my lady. The sharp shadow. A shark with dark teeth.”

“That is not helpful!” Y/N hissed in return.

“You will learn. Just as they have—they listened. They did not trust the whisper they heard.”

“Y/N! We must go!”

She turned at the sound of the outburst to see Aegon, arms full of sacks filled with thieved treasures and Viserion on his shoulder. When she turned back to Quaithe, she was gone. Again. Y/N pushed out a sigh and turned, dashing out of the manse and not looking back. They only stopped for a moment for Y/N to dig up her buried treasure.

“You could not help yourself, could you?”

“Now is not the time, Jon.”

When they reached the port, she could already hear the screams coming from the city. Whatever had transpired at the House of the Undying was clearly more than anyone could have anticipated. Some of the Valyrian steel they had meant to sell to the Pureborn was handed over to a captain of a large ship—large enough for them and the small khalasar—and fast enough, too. Quickly, she bought a bit of ink and parchment from a vendor who seemed nonplussed at all the commotion.

She needed help.

She needed Oberyn. She needed Willas.

I do not know where we are going after Qarth, I only know that both Rhaenys and Daenerys seem to be answering a call I cannot hear. Aegon and Jon follow where they lead. Toward destiny or ruin or both, I do not know. But I do know that I cannot do this without you. I cannot guide them without you. I need you. Please.

She wrote a few lines more on each of them, asking them to bring who they wanted, pleading with Oberyn to bring Ellaria, asking Willas to continue to write to her if he could not or would not come. All of it. For the first time in over a decade, she prayed to any of the deities she could remember as she signed her name. She shoved the pair of missives into a familiar captain’s hands along with a small sack of gold and told him where to have them sent as their small group boarded the boat. All she could do was hope.

Astapor would not have been her first choice.

It would not have been her fifteenth choice. But Jorah had convinced Daenerys that they needed an army, a true army, not the small khalasar that they currently had. The famed Unsullied of Astapor could provide that…supposedly.

But there was a certain set to her jaw, and an unspoken look between Daenerys, Rhaenys, Aegon, and Jon that had Y/N thinking they all had ulterior motives. She had seen that same look between Ellia and Oberyn years ago, a silent conversation only they would understand. While it made her sad, it also made her hopeful. Hopeful for a future where they could all love and care for each other without fear.

Fear. A terrible thing.

Another reason why Astapor would have been avoided if she had been asked. But Ser Jorah had Daenerys’ ear and had filled her mind of thoughts of Unsullied. An army made entirely of men who would follow orders without question, who were thought to not feel pain or fear.

But, Y/N found that his words had soured the more he spoke of their ‘training’ and they stepped into the red-bricked city. Daenerys grew furious when they were given a ‘taste’ of the Unsullied and the good master, a terribly mustachioed man named Kraznys, had bragged about how they did not feed them or give them water for a day and a night and they would stand guard until they dropped. ‘Such is their obedience,’ his translator, a delicately beautiful young woman from Naath named Missandei said. All of it made Y/N’s skin crawl.

“Khaleesi. The Unsullied are chosen as boys and trained-”

“I have heard and seen all I care for about their training!” Daenerys hissed before she cracked a slap across Jorah’s cheek, tears glistening in her eyes as they retired back to the manse they had ‘graciously’ been given for the night.

Y/N glanced back at Aegon and Jon who suddenly found the manse’s ceiling very interesting but Rhaenys kept her eyes firmly trained on her aunt.

Jorah clutched at his reddened cheek. “If I have displeased my queen-”

“You have displeased me greatly, Ser. If you were my true knight, you would never have brought me to this vile sty.” Daenerys’ bottom lip trembled as if she wanted to say more but she kept quiet and turned to Y/N. “We should not have come here; I am so sorry.”

Y/N shook her head and drew Daenerys into her hold. She did not have words to soothe her. What could she say? But she watched Jorah slink from the room and kissed Daenerys’ forehead as she had done hundreds of times in Braavos. Before all of this. Before dragons.

“I want to help them,” Daenerys murmured as she pulled back from Y/N’s arms. “They are people in need of help. They do not… they do not deserve this. If we are in a position of power, should we not help them?”

“Our position of power is fragile and small,” she stressed the word. “We must be smart. There are thousands of them and only a few dozen of us.”

“That has never stopped you,” Rhaenys said with a smirk that had Y/N sighing. “And there might be thousands of them but we have dragons.”

“Baby dragons,” Y/N murmured.

“But dragons all the same,” Daenerys said, reaching out to Rhaenys who quickly took her hand.

“We have been running all our lives, unsafe for who we are. Unsafe because of something we did not chose. If… if I am to be queen, I do not want to know that there are people in this world in shackles when I had the power to help them.”

Aegon and Jon stepped up, hands on their swords. “We will help you.”

Y/N nodded. “In Skilliga, all people are free—we were looked down upon because of that by the supposed Free Cities and the Valyrian Empire before the Doom. I will fight this battle beside you. As always.”

And that is how they found themselves back in the revolting company of the good master. At first, they offered the small mountain of Valyrian steel. But, just as in Qarth, the ‘good masters’ of Astapor did not want Valyrian steel. They wanted dragons. And Kraznys always posed his questions to Aegon and Jon—as if Daenerys and Rhaenys were not there at all. Missandei, however, seemed to understand immediately that it was the women who were truly steering this possible transaction.

Y/N liked Missandei.

“We will need time to think of your offer,” Aegon said as he stood from his seat. The rest of them followed suit. There was no way any of the dragons were going to be forfeited for an army, but Kraznys did not need to know that just yet.

Kraznys sneered as he looked at them and Y/N did not need Missandei to translate his next insult. And she really didn’t think ‘stupid sunset girls’ really applied to all of them. At all. But that did not matter. When they arrived at the manse and one of Daenerys’s handmaidens, a petite woman named Irri, greeted them at the door, she was speaking rapidly, and pointing toward the manse’s solar.

For a moment, Y/N had the horrible thought that the hatchlings had been stolen again but then she caught the words “sun” and “prince.” And then she and Daenerys were darting away from the group and running toward where Irri had pointed.

She could hear them before she saw them.

But she turned a corner and saw a head full of brown curls and a familiar, shining black cane and her heart leapt into her throat as he turned to face her.

“My lady-”

She threw her arms around him in a hug and held him tight. “Oh, Willas. Oh my dear, sweet Willas. You’ve come.” And she nearly wept when she felt his arms wrap around her back and squeeze, she didn’t even care that the handle of his cane was digging into her spine. She didn’t care. He was here and in her arms.

“You have not changed at all, my lady,” he murmured as he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. “Your latest letter was a…most welcome surprise.”

His warm hand gently cradled her cheek and she felt tears stinging at her eyes at the soft touch. It had been far too long since someone had touched her…at all. Especially with such care.

“I’ve missed you,” Willas whispered.

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, to tell him that she had missed him more than she could have ever put into words and so she did not try, but then the rest of her brood were rushing by her and into the solar.

“Uncle Oberyn!” Rhaenys nearly wailed.

Y/N pulled back to see Rhaenys fling herself at Oberyn who was crying into her two-toned hair with a broad smile on his face. He was older now, true. But still as handsome.

Willas’s hand gently grasped hers and led her a little further into the room. “Let me introduce you to my fair traveling companions.” He smiled at her, as if feeling her sudden nerves through her hand as it clutched his. “They were kind enough to let me stowaway on their ship after we received your letters.” He laughed but then waved a hand at the woman nearest to him. She was tall with thick, wavy black hair, dotted with golden jewelry and soft yellow samite wrapped around her in a beautiful dress with a copper belt around her waist. “This is Lady Ellaria Sand.”

Ellaria was even more beautiful than Y/N could have ever imagined. She had a regal beauty and kind eyes. Her hands were soft as she reached for Y/N and she happily let the other woman pull her into her grasp in welcome. “It was kind of you to think of me.”

“I would not have Oberyn part with the love of his life,” Y/N said as she stepped back, still smelling Ellaria’s fine perfume. “It was kind of you to join us across the Narrow Sea. I hope your daughters did not mind the waves.”

Ellaria turned and smiled at the young girls who were already surrounding Aegon and Rhaenys and cooing over the still-growing hatchlings who preened with the attention. “This was their first ship ride of this length. But they are simply happy for a bit of adventure.”

Three more women were sitting with Jon and Daenerys, speaking quietly in the corner. “That is Nymeria, Obara, and Tyene,” Willas informed her in a whisper.

“Sarella is still at the Citadel?” Y/N asked.

Ellaria nodded with a chuckle. “I am sure it was a heavy decision for her. Oberyn has promised to bring her back all the relics our ship can hold.”

“And I shall deliver on that promise, will I not, my love?” Oberyn said, appearing at Ellaria’s side and kissing her slowly at the corner of her mouth before turning to Y/N. Before she could even try to think of an appropriate greeting, Oberyn reached out and his large hands were grasping at her face and he was kissing her. She was frozen, like a scared little mouse cornered by a viper. But he tasted delicious—like citrus and spice and heat. And as soon as it started, he stepped back. His smile was large, large still as he looked at her confused face. “It is good to see you, Little Shark.”

Willas’ warm hand on her back pulled Y/N back to reality before she glanced at Ellaria who only winked at her. This did nothing to ease her growing confusion but Y/N shuffled the group toward the small hall the manse provided, telling everyone to sit more comfortably instead of standing.

Oberyn told them of how the Usurper was dead and how the Seven Kingdoms had fallen into war. The War of the Five Kings they called it. “Your mother’s family,” Oberyn said as he looked at Jon, “seem to be the largest threat to the Lannisters. They have captured Jamie Lannister.”

Jon seemed pleased with that, in his own quiet way.

“Perhaps an alliance could be made,” Ellaria said. “It would be good to have a Northron ally,” She turned and smiled at Willas, “Aside from our sweet Willas and his band of fair flowers.”

Willas’ cheeks bloomed with color at Ellaria’s words. “My grandmother and I are ready whenever we are needed. Right now, we are letting Margaery play at being queen. She knows it will only be temporary, but she has been…trained by my grandmother in all the ways she knows to sway the opinion of the low and highborn. I am sure by the time we make landfall, they may be waiting for you all with open arms.”

“I do not believe it will be hard to sway them when Cersei Lannister and her little golden children are waging war and starving them,” one of the older Sand Snakes, Obara, muttered. Y/N liked Obara.

“But enough talk of Westeros! Tell us of your lives here in Essos.”

And so they did. They started from the beginning—the four of them told their family of how they jumped from city to city, evading assassins and would-lords in search of gold and glory, all while learning of their family and former homeland across the Narrow Sea. Rhaenys was nearly glowing as she recounted their time along the Rhoyne and everyone at the table seemed entranced, too, promising to see for themselves the land that had once belonged to their ancestors. And all of that led to Astapor and the possible deal with the good master.

“You cannot truly be thinking of giving him a dragon?” Tyene asked.

“I will play his game.” Daenerys slid her hand down Drogon’s neck and the ever-growing hatchling trilled as he looked at his mother, as if agreeing to what she wanted. “He will simply not know that it is my game, my rules.”

The rest of the night was spent filled with terrible Astapori wine and shared food and laughter. Y/N was yawning but smiled when she felt Willas’ fingers trace across the back of her neck as Balerion was curled contentedly on his lap beside her. He seemed to realize what he was doing and his hand snapped back to his side, disturbing the old cat who meowed, displeased, before leaping across the table to settle in Rhaenys’ hold.

“Sorry, my lady.”

But she shook her head, still smiling. “Never apologize.”

They spoke for a little longer before Dorea and Loreza started to fall asleep in their seats and Ellaria excused herself to tuck them into bed, letting Aegon lead the way to one of the guest rooms. The group dispersed, little by little, until it was only Y/N, Willas, and Oberyn left in the hall.

“I must take my leave, my lady,” Willas said with a yawn. “I am sure I will need all my energy for tomorrow.” He looked at her then, and she could not read his face though she tried. But his intentions became clear as his lips touched her cheek before his cane tapped against the floor as he retired for the night.

Y/N nearly leapt out of her skin when Oberyn’s hand enveloped hers when he settled beside her as she watched Willas walk away. But he only chuckled. “Peace, Little Shark, peace. It is just me.”

She huffed out a laugh and let her other hand cover his. “It is good to see you, truly. You and your family…you all seem so happy.”

“We are. My daughters are healthy and happy and Ellaria is the light of my days. And you,” he squeezed her hand, “you, little shark, have raised my sister’s children. You have kept them safe and healthy and happy.” He untangled their hands only to touch the sun pendant around her throat for a moment and a brief, sad smile pulled at his lips before he reached up to grasp her face again, gentle and warm. “You. Do not think to undermine yourself to me. You love them as they love you. You have taken on a responsibility you needn’t call yours—all because you loved my sister.” He kissed her forehead. “You have loved my family.” He kissed her right cheek and Y/N felt her breath stutter in her lungs. “You have helped them bring magic back into this wretched world.” He kissed her left. “And you…you still smile like the girl I knew all those years ago.” And then he kissed her again, brushing his lips against hers with a happy sigh and all Y/N could do was let him guide her, let him rob her lungs of air for the second time that night, let him fulfill a dream she had selfishly kept since her girlhood in Westeros.

But then she remembered Ellaria. Her hand found Oberyn’s chest and she gently pushed.

“What is it?” He asked, voice soft. “If I have overstepped-”

“The mother of your youngest is asleep in the other room, My Prince.”

“And she would take the time to kiss you properly as well. And she will, when or if you give her the opportunity.” His familiar roguish smile made her stomach twist with pleasant butterflies. “My heart may have found its match with my love, Ellaria, but that does not mean yours does not call to mine as well. We were made to delight in all the gods have given us. Ellaria and I often share in our delights. If you, my little shark, are amiable, I would like to keep kissing you. I would like for Ellaria to have her chance to kiss you, too.” And when she went to bed that night, slipping under her blankets, her mind hazed with thoughts of soft lips and kind words and the scent of roses she could not place.

The next day, they solidified the deal with Kraznys. He had tried to say he would only give them all of the Unsullied for all four dragons, but Daenerys stood firm and only agreed to one. The biggest. Drogon.

“And I shall take you as well,” Daenerys said as she turned to Missandei. “As a mark of a deal well struck.”

Missandei quickly translated to Kraznys who then waved a dismissive hand, allowing it. As if Missandei were not a person. It turned her stomach.

As soon as they were back at their manse, Rhaenys took the thick collar from around Missandei’s neck and threw it into the hearth, letting the leather smoke and burn.

“Is there a family on Naath we might reunite you with? A father, a mother?”

Missandei shook her head. “There is no one left of my family on Naath, your grace. This one is…alone.”

Daenerys reached out and gently took Missandei’s hands in her own. “You are no longer alone. You are with us. You are a free person—if you ever tire of our company, simply say so and we shall let you go wherever you wish. We will give you gold, a ship—anything you may need. I swear it.”

Missandei’s dark gold eyes searched Daenerys’ face before looking to Rhaenys and doing the same. “I will be able to leave?”

Rhaenys nodded. “Now, tomorrow, ten years from now. If you want to leave, we will make sure you are given all you require to make a comfortable life for yourself.”

“And what of the Unsullied who become yours tomorrow?”

Daenerys and Rhaenys wore matching, Cheshire smiles. “We have plans for them.”

“Are you certain of this plan?” Willas whispered as he watched Y/N place one of her (many) swords into its scabbard around her waist. They had been speaking all morning, of his time at Highgarden, of him traveling to Sunspear under the pretense of meeting with Princess Arianne, all of it. And she found herself realizing how easy it was to speak to him—how easy it had always been. But then the topic suddenly changed as he ask of the plan Daenerys and Rhaenys had hatched.

“I am,” she said.

“They are all destined to rule, in one way or another. They are queens; I am only an advisor. I must trust in their judgement.”

“And if it fails?”

“It won’t.” She slid another blade up her sleeve. “But I am never unprepared.” Y/N turned to Willas and smiled as she reached out to press a hand to his cheek. The mustache he had grown since she had last seen him suited him. He was always so handsome. “It is good to have you here. I shudder to think of the state of my nerves if you had refused my call.”

Willas smiled and reached up to cover her hand with his. “You know I could never refuse you, my lady.”

Y/N wanted to say more—wanted to say something, anything—but Aegon appeared in the doorway of her chambers before she could. Her hand snapped back down to her side. “It is time to go, Y/N.” His dark purple eyes shifted to Willas, “and you as well, my lord.”

Y/N nodded and stepped away from Willas with a strange, shaking smile.

In a strange procession, their group, growing by the day, arrived back at the Plaza of Pride (a stupid name). Drogon had been wrestled into a small cart that morning, his little belly filled with fine steak and Daenerys had peppered kisses along his scaled head before she had sealed him away. The battalions of Unsullied were all standing at rest, spears and shields held in front of them. Slowly, Daenerys walked to the small cart and undid its strappings, pulling Drogon from his makeshift cage with the chain on his foot. He pulled against his bonds as he neared the master. He knew.

“Is it done then? They belong to us?”

The master answered and Missandei translated. “It is done. You hold the whip.”

But the master continued talking, once again calling them all a bunch of bitches and mongrels but Daenerys did not flinch. She merely turned toward the army she now commanded and held up the whip.

“Unsullied!” Daenerys called out in her perfect High Valyrian. Y/N watched Missandei’s head snap around to look at the petite woman.

They instantly moved to attention.

“March forward!” They did. “Halt!” They did.

Y/N looked to Daenerys and then to the other three, seeing them all strangely calm. They were conquerors. They were blood of Old Valyria. They were Nymeria’s heirs. They were her charges.

“Tell the bitch the beast will not come,” the master said as Drogon continued to pull against his hold.

Daenerys slowly turned to face him, still holding the whip. “A dragon is not a slave.”

“You speak Valyrian?” He asked, aghast. But still not embarrassed.

“I am Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, of the blood of Old Valyria. Valyrian is my mother tongue.”

Aegon had to hide his smile behind his hand.

But then Daenerys turned back toward the Unsullied, her face set in stone. “Unsullied! Slay the masters, slay the soldiers, slay every man who holds a whip, but harm no child. Strike the chains off every slave you see!”

And they did. In the next breath, the handful of masters walking at the flanks of the Unsullied had spears through their backs.

“I am your master!” The man screamed. “Kill her! Kill them all!”

“Dracarys.”

Y/N watched Drogon open his mouth and scream. Fire consumed the ‘good master’ and he screamed, too. It was a glorious scene. And, all at once, the square devolved into chaos. The assorted masters, who had come to witness the glory of the dragon, were killed where they stood. Jorah drew his sword but Y/N simply crossed her arms and watched everything unfold.

And, it was over within a span of only a few moments. The slavers were burnt and bloody. Dead. As they should be. But they were not finished.

Daenerys and her niece and nephews mounted their horses and rode through the Unsullied ranks. “Unsullied!” Daenerys called out. “You have been slaves all your life. Today, we give you freedom.”

“Any man who wishes to leave may leave, and no one will harm him. We give you our word,” Aegon said next. Y/N looked out to see a few of the helmeted men covertly glance up at him.

“Will you fight for us? As free men?” Daenerys’ voice rang out and was met with silence. For a moment. And then a single spear was smacked against the sand. Another joined. And then another. And another until the plaza was filled with the sound of the strange sound of the spears in sand.

They had their army. The city was theirs.

They did not leave Astapor immediately. They could not leave the city unguarded or without a stable ruling body. And a way to stabilize the economy.

The city needed to rebuilt from the destruction and just…overall. It was not well kept outside the former masters’ manses. Weeks turned to months as they met with the city’s population, trying to establish a ruling council of men and women who knew the city best and wanted to see it thrive. The Valyrian steel they still had was traded for brick and mortar, food, and medicines. Weapons. And while the city seemed to be getting its metaphorical feet back under itself again, it did nearly deplete their coffers. The gold from the dead masters was seized and redistributed to the freedmen to make sure they could provide for themselves as they settled into the new normal of the city and started their new lives.

The new Kings and Queens of the city took up residence in one of the manses and Balerion found the large open windows a favorite place to nap when he was not harassing the hatchlings, unafraid of their literal ability to breathe fire.

Rhaenys met with a small council of freedmen who had been in charge of the city’s infrastructure and had devised a plan to irrigate the city and its surrounding lands by diverting the water from Astapor’s river, which had been called Worm since the city’s inception. A terrible name, if Y/N was being honest.

But the irrigation was quickly done with new aqueducts and small orchards for plums and olives and lemons were planted, the small khalasar carrying in the plants from outside the city. A vineyard for persimmons was also widened in the center of the city, as Rhaenys knew that Astapor had the ability to make a fairly expensive and tart wine with the fruit. It made Y/N smile to realize that Rhaenys had a gift for creating (an albeit small) fertile wetland out of patch of a desert landscape.

Schools were fitted into the empty manses and training schools were established. It was slow work, true, but Y/N could not argue with the tired smiles that she saw on her charges faces each night as they gathered for dinner.

Jon and Aegon were fond of training alongside the Unsullied who were also helping other freedmen learn how to handle a sword and shield. The army was a force to be feared, truly. Grey Worm, the man they had elected to speak as their commander, had become another advisor. He spoke only High Valyrian as the rest of the Astapor did, but Missandei had been taking the time to teach who she could the Common Tongue. He was a man of the sword in all ways—but Y/N did see how his eyes softened ever so slightly whenever Missandei was in his presence. Small rebellions from former masters were quickly dealt with. There would be no room for it under their new rule. Oberyn and Willas were firm and fair advisors to the four younger regents. When to dispense bloody justice and when to stay their hand, how to broker trade with foreign kingdoms and settle arguments and disputes between their subjects—they provided guidance that Y/N and Ser Jorah could not. Missandei was a voice of the people and helped them truly know their subjects. She was the strongest of them all, Y/N was sure of it. Ellaria had a strength of her own, endearing herself and the young regents to anyone and anyone she encountered by showering them with gold for their trades and commissioning songs.

And the hatchlings were growing even faster, larger by the day. Y/N often went to market in the mornings to buy goats and cows to feed them when the others were still asleep, trying to keep the dragons from eating someone’s livestock without being compensated for it (again).

Drogon nudged her side as she dragged the fresh meat toward him and she patted his warm snout in greeting. “Good morning to you, too.”

Viserion and Rhaegal were still sleeping, curled around each other over the remnants of a fire that had been burnt last night. But Vēzos was already high in the sky, yellow and orange scales glittering in the early morning glow. But she landed after spotting her breakfast and let out a puff of smoke around Y/N’s face in thanks before she devoured her share.

“Y/N!”

She turned abruptly at the sound of Jon’s voice and frowned when she saw the unhidden panic on his pale features. Rhaegal suddenly rose from the embers of his bed and huffed, sensing his bonded’s dread. “What is it?”

Mayhaps Y/N should not have been surprised to see Xaro amongst the ‘envoys’ from the other slaver cities. It was not as if they had left Qarth on the best of terms…or unscathed.

“We will give you all the boats and soldiers you want or will need to retake Westeros, as long as you leave Slaver’s Bay. Immediately. And allow us to rectify the mess you have made of Astapor.”

“Removing shackles is a mess? Freeing men, women, and children is a mess?”

Drogon and Rhaegal both rumbled from behind their parents and the envoys all stumbled back, some tripping over their ornate robes and gilded slippers.

“It is our way of life!” Someone from Yunkai shouted, voice trembling.

“And their lives have value—more than the coin that line your palms.”

“Astapor is prospering,” Oberyn said. “Our coffers are twice as plentiful now with our wines and citrus and olives as they were when they traded in flesh and bone.”

“And your slaves have heard,” Rhaenys said. She looked regal on the throne beside her brothers and aunt. The Astapori gown she had commission from a freedwoman was made of a beautiful soft yellow linen and her hair was braided with a pair of golden bells at the end, a gift from Irri who had said she had earned it by helping take Astapor and the defeat of the Warlocks in Qarth. “They have heard of our people prosper. How they are free.” And that was true, there had been whispers of a start of an uprising in Yunkai and Meereen since they had taken Astapor.

“You are suggesting that we should free our slaves for a chance-”

“You were the ones to demand an audience,” Daenerys said. “And we were gracious enough to grant your request. But now that you are here, we do have a request. Free your slaves, pay them for their labor from the time you have sought to own them, and set aside your whips and chains.”

“We will not!” “Never!” On and on, the envoy refused.

“The Harpy will have her due!”

Aegon moved in front of Rhaenys, not even bothering to put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “The Harpy is a legend. A statue you have all built from the gold you have accumulated through the blood of innocents. We have four very real dragons and an army better trained and better equipped than your pampered slavers. Send your harpies.”

Y/N groaned as she saw yet another slash she had not remembered receiving when she was readying for bed that night. She had taken to sparring with Jon and Aegon alongside the Unsullied who were not on guard or patrol duties. It had apparently been far too long since she had dedicated time to training of that caliber—not that any of them could even hope to compare to Grey Worm and his compatriots. For now, the threats from Yunkai, Meereen, and Qarth had been unfulfilled. But they were still on their guard. But she did take a few moments of the day to help Dorea and Loreza and Obella work on their fighting stances. Elia, the eldest of the Sand Snakes born to Ellaria, was already very comfortable with her spear and had been taking to training with the Unsullied. Well, they were very patient with her and very gentle—as gentle as they could be. They were a fearsome bunch.

Y/N pulled the linen chemise over her head and reached for her dressing gown after cleaning the small wound.

“My lady,” a soft spoken handmaiden stuck her head into the chambers. “You have a visitor.”

“Send them in, please. I am just about decent enough for company.”

The handmaiden laughed quietly and nodded as Y/N tied the sash around her waist.

“Willas has been quite beneficial—he seems to have a magic touch when it comes to those persimmon trees. They bloom more every day.”

Y/N smiled as she turned to see Oberyn walking into the room. “Well, I have been told he is quite good with anything green. I would not be surprised if he and Rhaenys managed to raise a forest to rival Qohor from the sand.”

Oberyn chuckled and he held out a hand toward her. “Come, take a walk with me before you rest for the night. The night is cool enough for us to enjoy the moonlight.”

Y/N happily took his offered arm and let him lead her out to the gardens around their manse. And it was true, the air was cool and she could hear the faintest rumblings of the sea alongside the murmurs of the city. The gardens were still blooming with flowers despite the heat and the strange flora was a welcome respite from the red brick and sand of the city. It curved and cornered in a strange maze, leading around small fountains, and statues of legendary creatures, never reaching higher than their waists.

“How are your daughters finding the bay?”

“They find the air much like that of Dorne, so they do not mind the heat. But they do enjoy putting their Valyrian lessons to use and trying to learn all they can from the Unsullied.”

“They are formidable.”

Oberyn chuckled. “I would have them no other way. Dorne may be kinder than the other kingdoms of Westeros, but I would not have them unprepared for the rest of the world.” He squeezed her hand. “Just as you have made sure that the four under your care are prepared as well.”

“I have tried my best, my prince.”

Oberyn pulled them to a stop as they neared a bench and they settled next to each other and watched two of the dragons test their wings above them. “We have entered a new world. Dragons have come again. The Martell bloodline is conquering cities.”

“They want to make it a better world. And I want to see them succeed.”

“I will help them in all of their goals, I swear that to you.”

Y/N smiled, knowing what he said was true. She had never known him to break an oath.

“It seems, little shark, that we are not the only ones who thought of admiring the gardens tonight,” Oberyn whispered. He pointed toward the other side of the maze with a growing smile. Willas was standing at Ellaria’s side, looking as red as could be and trying to hide it behind his hand. Ellaria was smiling at him as if she hadn’t a care in the world—but the glint in her beautiful eyes told Y/N that Ellaria knew exactly the effect she was having on the lord.

“He does not quite know how to hold his wine,” Oberyn said with a smirk. “If given too much, he would accept any challenge.”

“Is that why there is now a golden pearl on his ear, my prince?”

Oberyn only chuckled. “You must admit, he looks quite dashing.”

“Yes, he does. But you know I’ve always been fond of his shy smile.”

“And he has been fond of you.”

Y/N clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Perhaps when I was younger, still a young wife in the making with connections to a royal court or two. It has been ages since I have made him smile like that.”

Now it was Oberyn’s turn to shake his head. “Little Lord Willas, heir to one of the most powerful kingdoms in Westeros, has remained unmarried and unattached since you disappeared from Dragonstone, little shark. And it is not for lack of trying from the many unmarried women who know of his status.”

It would be a lie to say that her heart did not clench when it was said aloud and so bluntly. “It would be foolish to think-”

“Despite his family’s animosity, he and I have…become friends.”

“Friends?” Y/N parroted with an arch of her eyebrow.

Oberyn’s wolfish smile made her stomach flip, as it always did. “You know I treat my friends well.”

Y/N shook her head with a smile, biting her lip. “No wonder he has remained unmarried. Who could compete with the Red Viper?”

Oberyn’s warm hand settled over hers and squeezed. “You know I am not opposed to having a married person in my bed. It was not me who kept him from calling someone wife.”

Y/N scoffed. “You cannot be insinuating that I-”

“I’m not insinuating anything, little shark. I am telling you. The man has been in love with you since you first came to Westeros. When he was still a shy young thing and you were the foreign maid who acted as my sister’s shadow.”

“We haven’t seen each other in over a decade. I am now old enough to be considered an old maid-”

“And the heart wants what the heart wants. He has come half way across the world because you asked him to. Now, tell me, why did you ask him?”

“I…” She tried to think of an answer. Because he had helped her flee. Because he was a friend. Because because because. But none of those reasons seemed like the truth. “I do not know.”

A small skirmish had broken out on the borders of Astapor. The sellsword company known as the Windblown had allegedly been hired by Yunkai to deal with the ‘dragon kings and queens.’ It, of course, hadn’t worked and they were pushed back the Unsullied.

The fight had only given them all credence to continue to feed the rebellions in the other cities and slowly cut off their supply chains at the mouth of the bay. This morning, Y/N was reviewing the takings from the ships they had seized when she noticed a familiar face was missing.

“Where has Oberyn gone?” Y/N asked as she entered the kitchens, finding Ellaria there, pouring a bit of honey over a bowl of berries.

“He set off in the night, some mission on his mind.”

“You did not go with him?” Y/N asked as she slipped into the seat beside her, plucking a handful of berries from the bowl. “I am surprised he would not have you at his side.”

Ellaria chuckled and shook her head. “He asked, but I did not think our daughters would like to be too far from the excitement of the cities.” She popped a berry between her beautiful lips with a growing smile. “And I did hope we could know each other a little better. Oberyn always speaks of you so fondly. I feel as if we are friends already.”

Y/N felt a wash of warmth as she looked at the other woman and nodded. “I feel that way as well. But I would be honored if I could steal a bit of your time today, if your daughters would not mind.”

Ellaria gave her another dashing smile. “I am sure they will survive a few hours without me.”

And so, Y/N let Ellaria lead her around the city, mostly through the markets that Y/N had not had the chance to truly peruse. And it was true, they had settled into a camaraderie that usually took years to build. Ellaria might have been the most beautiful woman Y/N had ever seen, but she was also kind and funny and had a sharp wit with a matching, striking smile. Y/N only wished she’d had the fortune of having her as a friend years ago—but Y/N would take what she could get now. And hold to it desperately.

“This?” Y/N held up a pale lilac bit of silk, they had been trying to find the right fabric for a new dress for Y/N—apparently Ellaria found Y/N’s lack of dresses something to be rectified.

Ellaria shook her head and picked up a stretch of red lace, filled with delicate flowers with tiny golden thread woven within. Ellaria draped it over Y/N’s shoulder with a smile. “This suits you. The flowers. Just a touch of gold. It is delicate—like you.”

Y/N chuckled and let her finger slide against the edge of the lace. “I do not think I have ever been called delicate.”

Ellaria’s soft fingers gently grasped Y/N’s chin and there was a steely determination in her gaze as she looked into Y/N’s eyes. “You are delicate, Y/N. Your skin and soul may have been forged in steel, but your heart is delicate. You have a soft, gentle heart. And you are ever the more beautiful for it.” Her hand moved to cradle Y/N’s cheek, surely feeling its warmth. “Do you not see yourself as I do?”

“Apparently not,” Y/N said with a shake of her head, not too rough to have Ellaria’s touch leave.

“You are,” she said and then leaned close enough to just barely brush her lips against hers before she pulled the lace from around Y/N’s shoulders and turned back to the merchant. “We will take all of this. Thank you.”

And then Ellaria was all but hauling her back into the cooled shadows of their manse and out into the gardens again, dropping their lace and silks off into the hands of a smiling handmaiden who giggled as they walked by.

It was just the pair of them in the garden, listening to the trickling of water and the wind as it rustled the rigged leaves and branches of the maze. But all Y/N could feel, see, hear, was Ellaria.

Ellaria and her beautiful lips.

Ellaria’s mouth was soft as it moved against hers. And she sighed so prettily when Y/N tangled her fingers into her thick hair and tugged.

“Oh.”

Y/N pulled away from Ellaria’s beautiful mouth to see Willas standing near one of the fountains, a pink tinge to his cheeks and a white-knuckle grip on his cane.

“Lord Willas,” Ellaria called out, her voice husky, “join us.”

Willas looked away, cheeks still roaring with color, and shook his head. “I am afraid I would only…get in the way.” He cleared his throat and turned. “Please, excuse me.”

Y/N watched him go, mind clearing for a moment, and frowned.

Ellaria dragged her lips against Y/N’s cheek. “He will join us when he’s ready. I promise you that.” She sponged a kiss at the corner of Y/N’s mouth. “But I do not want to be interrupted again. If you are agreeable, I want to see what you have hiding under this hideous tunic.”

And well, Y/N could never tell her no and led her back to her chambers and locked the door.

Ellaria was even softer beneath her fine, silk dress that Y/N slowly pushed down her arms to greedily cup her full breasts in her hands.

“Eager,” Ellaria said with a breathy chuckle.

Y/N could only whine against her mouth as she felt Ellaria’s nimble fingers slide easily beneath the tops of her leather breeches. They were pushed down her legs and her loose tunic was pulled up and over her head before Ellaria all but shoved her back onto the featherbed, watching her bounce with a smile. Y/N didn’t even have thought to be a little shy over her nakedness—she just wanted Ellaria close again. And then Ellaria was crawling up the bed and settling across Y/N’s stomach, warm thighs bracketing her ribs. And there was something nearly magical with knowing she was the cause of the slick spot she could feel growing just above her belly button. She had made Ellaria feel like that.

Y/N’s hands slid up her smooth skin to hold her hips and Ellaria’s hands settled over hers with a widening smile.

“I like seeing you like this,” Ellaria said before leaning down to lick across Y/N’s mouth before kissing her thoroughly, oh so easily stealing the breath from her lungs. Then she moved. Her lips trailed down Y/N’s neck, to her chest, teeth scraping against the curve of her breasts as she slid down Y/N’s body, and dragged her slick lips against Y/N’s skin. Her mind was a warm mess—all there was, was Ellaria and her beautiful mouth. Ellaria and her perfect hands. Ellaria and her wet tongue.

Ellaria slipped between Y/N’s legs and kissed her left hip and then her right before licking a bold stripe against Y/N’s folds, wrenching a broken moan from her lips. “So pretty,” Ellaria cooed. And her grip tightened. Again and again the Dornishwoman’s tongue curled and twisted and Y/N could feel an unfamiliar coil start to tighten in her stomach as her thighs suddenly clamped around Ellaria’s head. The woman only laughed against her core and the vibrations had Y/N moaning, hands reaching down to tangle in Ellaria’s perfect, perfumed hair. Ellaria managed to wriggle her hand between them and curled one finger and then two into the wet heat of Y/N’s core and started to slide them in and out, in and out, wet sounds filling the air alongside Y/N’s growing moans.

It was perfect. She was perfect. And as soon as Ellaria curled her fingers, the coil snapped and Y/N sobbed. Her heart was racing, sweat and dotted her chest and brow but she felt beautiful and her vision cleared and she looked down to see Ellaria pressing her cheek against her hip, drawing shapes against her heated skin with the dull nail of her forefinger.

“You must teach me how to do that. I want to make you feel like this.”

And so…Ellaria did.

The next morning, Ellaria was still sleeping peacefully, tangled in Y/N’s silken blankets as she rose with the sun. Y/N gently pressed a kiss to her cheek and slipped away from her comforting warmth to ready for the day and found Daenerys sitting on one of the manse’s balconies, watching the four hatchlings soar above the gardens as the sun grew hotter and higher in the sky. Y/N sat beside her and had a bit of food brought out so they could break their fast together. Daenerys seemed…happy. Truly. Happier than she had been since Y/N had seen her last, as a child. But there was something she was not saying. Y/N knew it.

“Tell me what is on your mind, Dany.” She reached out and gently grasped the young princess’ hand and squeezed three times.

“I do not…” She paused. “I was born on Dragonstone. I am the princess of the rightful ruling family.” She pushed out a long breath. “I will see my niece on the Iron Throne and I know the kingdom will be better for it.”

“But?” Y/N asked, knowing there was something else that needed to be said.

“But I do not know if Westeros is my home. I have no memories of it. Jon and Aegon do not either but they still feel some sort of calling, a need to go back.” The wind blew a bit of her silver hair across her face as she looked out across the bay. “I do not feel that. Viserys sold me for the throne he thought he deserved and I found a small bit of solace in my few friends in my khalasar and then more here with the Unsullied and the freedmen of the bay.”

Y/N watched a few emotions flitter across Daenerys’ face before she turned back to the bay, too. “You have been pushed and pulled to one place or another your entire life, Dany. Finding a place where you feel at home is something to be proud of. Do not let other people’s opinions or aspirations dictate yours. You deserve a home. Peace.”

“And where is your home? Skilliga?”

Y/N shrugged. “Skilliga has housed me and raised me just as much as Westeros and Essos has, I suppose. I know my uncle and cousins are safe and happy there. I know that I will be able to hear and taste the sea from my rooms again if I ever went back.” She sighed. “But I think I have seen too much of the world to be happy on my little island again, for the rest of my life.”

“Mayhaps you can find a home with Lord Willas. I have heard how he calls on you—ever so sweetly.”

Y/N groaned. “Not you as well, Dany!”

The girl only laughed.

Y/N sighed. “Either way, if you want to stay in Essos, you can. What is a few thousand miles to a dragon, hm? Nothing. Your family will never be too far.” She tugged at the end of Daenerys’ braid and listened to the Dothraki bells she had earned ring. “But you mustn’t think of it just yet, Dany. We still have so much more to do.” She pressed a smile to her face. “We have time.”

Daenerys giggled and shook her head. “And we still have so much to do this side of the Narrow Sea.”

It had been ages since Y/N had thought of sacking a city. She used to dream of it as a little girl, bringing home riches and other pretty things to fill her rooms and make her parents proud. But perhaps her parents were more bloodthirsty than the rest of Skilliga—and that had been why Uncle Hammond had sent her away to Westeros, to try to quell that need for violence with the niceties of a foreign court and responsibility. But, she had to ask herself as she looked over the maps of the cities and waterways and tunnels, that hadn’t quite worked, had it?

Obara and Nymeria were near-master tacticians, easily finding ways Y/N did not see to surround the city and infiltrate even the thickest of defense walls. But their true expertise, it seemed, in planning diversions.

“I can take a small battalion of freedmen to the west gate and use the two battering rams we have made from the scraps of Valyrian steel.”

“That will give Grey Worm’s host enough of time to march through the South Gate which will be raised by Belwas.”

Dorea was seated on Y/N’s lap, as she often was during war room discussions, moving the pieces across the war map along with her sisters’ plans. Y/N never did mind when she first crawled atop her legs without invitation but had welcomed her every time it happened. She reminded Y/N of the quietly intelligent but playful Rhaenys used to be.

“I like this color,” Dorea said, holding up the Martell orange token embellished with the familiar red dragon of House Targaryen.

“It is pretty, is it not?” Y/N answered. “Can you put that at the West Gate for me?”

The little girl did happily.

“Thank you, Dorea,” She said as she gently swept Dorea’s hair away from her forehead, it had fallen from the intricate braid Ellaria had woven this morning. “We shall make a strategist out of you yet.”

She happily laughed and it drew more smiles from Obara and Nymeria. “I’m hungry.”

“I think the kitchens are just about ready for luncheon, little one. Why don’t you go see?”

Dorea leapt from Y/N’s lap and scurried away with another laugh.

“You are good with her.”

“I have had plenty of practice.”

“When you have your own, I am sure even the nurses will know less than you.”

Y/N huffed at Nymeria’s well-intentioned remark. “I am not sure if I will have any of my own.”

“Why not?” Obara asked, arching one of her dark eyebrows. “It is obvious you crave for some of your own.”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond when the door to the war room opened and Tyene ran inside, her pale cheeks were filled with color and her eyes darted to her sisters.

“Someone has breached our walls.”

Y/N was running out of the room before she could hear the rest of what Tyene had said—she sprinted toward the kitchens, where she knew her charges were probably gathering for their next meal.

And she was, unfortunately, correct.

And it seemed the intruder knew their schedule as well.

Two men with golden harpy masks had Daenerys at the end of their swords. Little Dorea was standing behind her, eyes narrowed. The bodies of the kitchen maids were on the floor, crimson puddles staining the marble floors.

Y/N had meant to sneak up on them. Truly. They hadn’t noticed her presence just yet-

But Aegon and Jon burst in through the other door and drew the harpies’ attention. They pivoted and their swords raised. Y/N shoved Aegon out of the way and felt the warm steel sink into her stomach. And then it happened again, the blade finding the bone of her hip as it broke through. Blood bubbled in her mouth with her next breath and she watched, in a haze, as Jon took one of the men’s head from his shoulders.

“Y/N?” Rhaenys’ voice was fading in her ears as she fell to her knees, she barely saw her eldest standing in the kitchen doorway.

There was a scuffle with the other man, but she hardly noticed, feeling her heart beat in time with the warmth coating her hands. It drip drip dripped onto the marble in an uneven staccato.

It took her a moment to realize that both Rhaenys and Daenerys were trying to speak to her, their little hands pressing over her wounds and trying to staunch the bleeding.

“That hurts,” Y/N said, words tumbling from her mouth without thought. Of course it hurt. She had been stabbed.

“I cannot do this without you,” Rhaenys cried.

“You will be just fine, sunshine.”

Daenerys was yelling for the healers as Aegon and Jon held the other Harpy on his knees.

“Don’t speak like that,” she whispered. “I need you.”

Y/N wanted to say something, wanted to say that she knew Rhaenys and her brothers and aunt would be fine—they would shape the world into a better place with Oberyn, Ellaria, and Willas at their side. She knew because she had seen it—that maybe a bit of the old magic had finally stirred in her foreigner blood. But her blood was currently filling her mouth and her world went dark.

She remembered very little from her time under the healer’s hands. Pain, the smell of Milk of the Poppy, someone was crying. And then nothing. Nothing.

Nothing until a warm, soft hand gently cradled her cheek. “I will wait,” someone whispered. “I have waited years, I can wait a few moons longer.”

But she woke, fully, as soon as she could and was told that her movements would be stilted and painful for some time.

Willas was at her side when her eyes opened, clear for the first time in weeks even if her brain did still feel fogged with the Milk of the Poppy. “It is good to see your beautiful eyes again, my lady. We have all missed you.” She spotted Balerion at the foot of the featherbed, looking more content to be in her presence than he had ever been before.

Y/N reached out and scratched behind Balerion's ears before she touched Willas' hand and watched his shoulders sag, as if he had been carrying some unseen weight across his back and had finally been relieved of it. “I mean this in the best way, my lord. But you look as if you have not rested in weeks.”

Willas huffed. “I have not. Most of us have not. We have been taking shifts to be at your side. The healers have said it would be best to keep an eye on you. Lady Ellaria just left, she has been the most dutiful to be at your bedside beside Her Grace, Rhaenys. Oberyn has been diligent in making sure your wrappings were changed.” He squeezed at her hand. “Do I truly look so unwell?”

Y/N smiled, feeling her dry lips crack with the motion. “Still handsome. As always, my lord.”

“Please, call me Willas.”

“We are alone, I suppose it could be appropriate-”

“Always, please, simply call me Willas. We have known each other long enough. Willas. I am Willas just as you are my Y/N.”

“My Willas.” She liked the sound of it. She liked it even more when his cheeks once again bloomed a pretty pink. “Tell me, my Willas, what have I missed since I have come to this bed?”

Apparently she had missed quite a bit.

Yunkai and Meereen had both fallen under the weight of the combined armies of the Unsullied, trained Freedmen, and the Second Sons—and bolstered by the revolts Aegon and Grey Worm had started by slipping into the cities under the cover of darkness to speak to anyone who would listen. Daenerys had united almost all of the Dothraki under a single khalasar and had been named the Great Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, commanding a group of Dothraki the world had never seen. Ser Jorah had been sent away after it had been discovered that he had been sending information to King Robert about the movements of Daenerys and Viserys and had been the reason assassins had been able to track them across Essos. Norvos and Qohor had freed their slaves without the threat of dragons—both cities cited the coming of dragons and magic and prophecy (but Y/N hypothesized that the Dothraki might have ‘helped’ their decision). It was all very…strange. Whispers from the red priests and priestess of the Red God of R’hllor, the Lord of Light, were spreading through all of western Essos, calling the four The Princes who were Promised. Azor Ahai, a prophesized hero. And Oberyn had contracted his old sellsword company, the Second Sons, bringing them under his employ to help bolster their forces. That was where he had gone, apparently he had returned only a few moments after Y/N had been carted off to the healers. Blood was still covering the kitchen when he had come in.

“I have only seen him so distressed once before,” Willas said, still holding her hand.

“Oh?”

“Yes. Lady Ellaria, after bringing little Loreza into the world, she kept…bleeding. And Loreza was called ‘sickly’ and ‘weak.’ The maesters told him to expect to lose them both before the sun went down. I have never seen a man so in love and so enraged. He raged at the world. Pleaded with the gods, cursed them. Oberyn threw the maesters out of the palace and sent for a healer from the Orphans of the Greenblood, an elder wise woman who kept the old gods of the Rhoynar. And she came. When the moon rose, Ellaria was holding little Loreza to her breast and she was smiling.” His thumb drew small circles on the back of her hand. “He only smiled again when he kissed them, moon high in the sky and with river water on his skin.” He sighed and a small smile pushed up his lips. “And then he saw you, covered in your own blood and about to welcome the Stranger with both arms. And I saw that desperate, raging man again.”

Y/N looked at him then, watched his untamed, dark curls fall over his forehead and she reached out with her free hand to gently push them back. Willas leaned into her touch and her heart leapt into throat when he turned his face just the slightest bit to slide his lips against the pulse of her wrist. “But I am here now. I am healing.”

“You are. But there is much more to do, is there not? And you will not stop. Not while your hatchlings, Aegon, Rhaenys, Jon, and Daenerys, still need you.” His grip tightened on her hand just a moment. “You will not stop,” he repeated.

“You know I cannot.”

“Then I will be beside you until this is finished.” He brought their joined hands up to his mouth and he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “And I still have more to tell you.”

The declarations of war from Lys, Myr, Tyrosh, and Pentos were more of what she was expecting. The might of Braavos and the few war ships little Lorath had were pledged to the Martells’ and Targaryens’ cause.

War had come to Essos again.

Y/N supposed she should not have been surprised that a few hundred people decided to leave the Bay and follow them toward the Free Cities. Leaving a city in search of a better life was something she had done, many times over.

Volantis had fallen, surrendered and another city had been added to the growing empire. Like in Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen, they had settled in the city and weeded out possible uprisings and subterfuge while redistributing the former masters’ wealth and resources to those who deserved it.

When they continued on, part of their army was left to help protect them and help the new council of Freedmen who had pledged loyalty to Rhaenys, Aegon, Jon, and Daenerys.

But before they moved on toward the Free Cities, who were already warring with Braavos and a few battalions sent by Qohor and Norvos, they stopped, once again, at Chroyane.

“I have never seen anything more beautiful,” Oberyn said, a large smile splitting his face. “Even in ruin, she is magnificent.”

The two littlest of the Sand Snakes shrieked at the sight and all but leapt from their horse and into the clear river water. Ellaria laughed as she watched them before tying up her skirt to follow suit.

It was a welcome reprieve. Y/N’s scars ached when she moved too quickly sometimes and the constant jostling of her mare sometimes only made it worse. It felt good to dip her feet into the cooled waters and listen to the children laugh and splash in the river. Balerion once again watched one of the giant turtles with calculating eyes as he let the sun warm his black fur.

Oberyn settled at Y/N’s side on the bank of the river and watched the sun set in a quiet companionship. “I never thought I would see this. I never thought the sun would shine on this part of the world again. And here it is, as beautiful as ever.”

“It is almost as if the Mother Rhoyne was simply waiting for them,” Y/N said, tilting her head just so to indicated Rhaenys and Aegon who were now splashing around with Ellaria and her daughters, dodging Tyene and Nymeria’s hands as they tried to dunk them into the slow moving waves.

The four dragons trilled above them in the crystal blue sky, as content as their bonded.

Oberyn’s roughened, warm hand settled over hers on the bank. Without a word, he leaned into her and pressed a slow kiss against the side of her neck but she felt him smile against her skin as she shivered. “You are magnificent, little shark. I owe you, my family owes you a great debt.”

“I am owed nothing. I only want to see them grow and succeed. I love them.”

“And they love you,” Oberyn said as he sat back to look at her, smile at her in the sun. “My family loves you. I love you.”

Her heart stuttered. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is. You have made it easy.”

Y/N dropped her chin to her chest, hiding her smile before Oberyn’s finger hooked under her chin and he kissed her briefly.

“Papa!” Dorea called out. “Come play with us!”

Y/N drew back to see his daughters waving him forward, all of them positively drenched. “Go,” Y/N said with a laugh. “You are being summoned.”

Oberyn kissed her cheek before rising and then making a show of running and jumping into the river near them, splashing them all in one motion.

Y/N roared with laughter at the scene but quickly stood when she saw Nymeria and Ellaria turn their gazes to her, hands cupped with water and ready to splash. “Not today!” Y/N stumbled to her feet and managed to evade most of the aimed water as she laughed.

She walked barefoot through the ruins and over the riverbank, seeing their traveling party all partaking in the clean water and cool air. For a moment, there was peace. She spotted Missandei and Grey Worm quietly speaking on the broken stone of a palace, their feet in the water. Irri and Jhiqui were happily watering their horses further downstream while a few other members of the khalasar were racing their mounts through the tall, green grass. Daenerys and Jon were both pulling more weapons from the muck at the opposite bank and handing them off to whomever was by.

But it was Willas, sitting a little further away from the river, which caught her eye. He was cross-legged on the green grass, fiddling with something on his lap while his cane was settled beside him. The sun was shining on his dark hair, curls once again a bit mussed.

“What are you making?”

“A crown,” Willas said, cheeks once again blooming with color as she sat beside him. “My little sister taught me how to do it a few years ago. We would sit in the fields around Highgarden and pluck wildflowers to string together. Hers were always much more polished than mine.”

Y/N leaned a little closer to see that while it might not have been perfectly braided, it was still tightly woven and the flowers were in full bloom. “I think yours is well done, Willas. Will you teach me?”

Y/N laughed as Willas dropped the haphazard crown of white blooms onto her head and it nearly fell over her eyes. “I will let you have mine,” he said, but he did tried to teach her—until Y/N’s indelicate fingers ruined her third crown and she gave up, throwing herself back into the soft grass with a laugh. She reached up for a moment and grabbed the back of Willas’ tunic, pulling him down beside her.

They spoke for a little bit, of magic, of Highgarden, of their adventures in the Bay—now affectionately and rightly dubbed Dragon’s Bay. It was easy.

“If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”

Y/N hummed at the question, mulling the answers in her mind. “I have lived and crossed the Narrow Sea, the Summer Sea, too. I have tasted and tested the Jade Sea. The Shivering Sea holds no value to me and that only leaves…”

“The Sunset Sea.” Willas nodded. She might have noticed a bit of pink touch his cheeks but she did not mention it. “The Mander, the river in the Reach, rushes by Highgarden and empties into the Sunset Sea.” He cleared his throat. “I could… House Tyrell has barges which sail that route easily. I would be happy to make sure you see your wish fulfilled.”

Y/N smiled and shook her head as she turned in the grass to look at him. “You are far too kind, Lord Willas. But what of you? Where would you go?”

The pink was raging on his cheeks now. “I would wish to only be at your side.”

Y/N felt her next breath stall in her throat and she looked at him, his cheeks still filled with pink but his blue eyes were so earnest—they had always been so lovely. “I suppose I do provide a bit of adventure.”

“You provide much more than that. I promise you.”

She wanted to say something. She wanted to say that he provided so much more than anything she could have hoped for but, it seemed that fate had other plans. “Y/N!”

She sat up from the grass to see Daenerys and a still-damp Rhaenys waving her over. The ground shook as both Drogon and Vēzos landed. They made quite a pair, the black and the yellow. “What is it, my loves?”

“We are taking them up to test their wings with riders again.” It had been a new practice, apparently, for all four of them to take their dragons to flight. They were surely large enough for it now.

Daenerys quickly climbed onto Drogon’s back and Rhaenys did the same.

“Come with me,” Rhaenys said, extending a hand toward Y/N. “Fly.”

Without thought, Y/N took Rhaenys’ hand and let her pull her up onto Vēzos’ back. And then, with a rumble, they were taking to the sky, the cool air whipping over her skin as she held, probably too tightly, to the spikes along the dragon’s back. But she listened to Rhaenys laugh and saw Daenerys smile and her momentary fear vanished. They were happy.

And she was flying.

When they landed, a small group of Freedmen were waiting for them and asked for an audience with Rhaenys which she quickly agreed to, always willing to hear anything her subjects would bring to her.

“Your Grace,” one man said, a timid smile on his face. “It would be a great honor if we could rebuild the palace for you and your family. The city.”

Rhaenys shook her head as she reached out toward the man and gently took his rough hands. “Your life is your own. You do not need to rebuild the city simply because I find it lovely.”

The man ducked his head, smile growing. “We know it is not an order you would give, Your Grace. We have made a…” he frowned, searching for the word, “council, as you have in Astapor and Yunkai and Meereen. And we want to stay here, rebuild. The soil is fertile, the trade possibility is strong. We could build a home here, beautiful and strong like it once was.”

Y/N watched Rhaenys’ eyes fill with tears and she diverted her gaze, letting the young queen compose herself.

“And you truly believe that your families could be happy here? It could take years before it is fully rebuilt.”

The man nodded and looked at Rhaenys, his small smile growing. “It will be hard work, but I know it would be worth it, Your Grace. A new home for us, for your family.”

Rhaenys was quiet for a moment before she squeezed the man’s hands again. “Then it would be an honor.”

The Disputed Lands had been feuded over and razed and rebuilt over and over again since the Doom. Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr all laid claim to them and would war with the others over the fertile soil. But they now belonged to Rhaenys and her brothers and aunt.

Braavos and Lorath were making almost embarrassingly quick work of conquering the cities with the help of another set of sellsword companies from the north and east, and with the Dragons and their armies making war on them from the west and Y/N and Willas led a small fleet of ships outfitted with weapons salvaged from the Chroyane sailing from the South, it was finished within a few short moons.

The Sealord of Braavos met them just outside the high walls of Pentos, presenting them with the signed surrender of the magistrates and city prince—and a few extra ‘gifts.’ One was the head of Illyrio Mopatis. The next two were faces she barely recognized—and truly, she recognized their names more than their persons. Tyrion Lannister and Varys both had chains around their wrists but seemed pleased with the situation. “They say they want to swear loyalty to your dragon kings and queens.”

“Yes, well,” Y/N’s eyes dragged over the pair, distrusting. “Most do after they see dragonfire.” The fire still blazing behind the walls scented the air.

Y/N left her charges to speak politics with their ally and went to check on the dragons as they rested in the fields. The four had fought bravely, if not a little erratically. They were still getting used to battles and they were still young. They were fearsome though, and Y/N loved them as their riders did. The large creatures huffed in welcome as she neared and she patted their sides in hello.

Oberyn carefully walked toward them, knowing that the dragons recognized him but was still cautious. When they accepted his familiar scent, they either lowered their heads to rest again or nudged him once in greeting. “They are protective of you,” Oberyn said as he watched Y/N stroke at Drogon’s nose, content. “You may not be their bonded rider, but they know you just the same.”

“I think it is because their riders smell like me.”

Drogon huffed.

“He disagrees,” Oberyn said with a laugh. “They recognize you because they feel what their bonded riders feel.”

“I would not argue with a dragon,” Ellaria laughed as she joined them in the field. She reached out and stroked Rhaegal’s side. “They are calling for the Queenmaker,” she said as she watched Rhaegal’s wings stretch.

Y/N sighed. She had earned a few monikers during the conquest of western Essos. She had been called Queenmaker. The Sea Dragon. Preposterous names, truly. The four had given themselves their crowns, forged their own paths. She just made sure they had survived to this point. She did not make them. And she had no dragon of her own. But she answered to the monikers anyway. It was less of an argument. “What has happened now?”

Ellaria chuckled. “I do believe it is to settle a dispute between a few of your Corsairs.”

Y/N nodded and excused herself but was stopped when Ellaria grasped her wrist. She kissed her quickly with a smile. “Come back soon. It has been a long day.”

And Y/N quickly hurried off, a smile on her face.

They settled in Pentos. The throne that once belonged to the Prince of Pentos had been divided into four equal chairs, just as all the thrones of the cities they had conquered had been. The rooms were thankfully spacious and an entire room had been filled with the scrap Valyrian Steel they had taken from the ruins and mud of the Chroyane. It would provide food and protection for their new empire if spent correctly—and Willas was already making sure that food was being traded responsibly and fairly between the cities while the sellsword companies they had paid were continuing to be paid to keep their loyalty. And he was also mostly in charge of the ‘care’ of their two Westerosi guests. Tyrion and Varys had proven mostly useful with their knowledge about the political turmoil currently engulfing the Seven Kingdoms and bringing news of the “terrible” death of Tywin Lannister while also providing possible battle plans when they finally did make land for Rhaenys’ crown. But Y/N still did not like them.

But that was not her mission for the day (despite realizing how handsome Willas looked while poring over the parchment detailing food storage and trade routes in his chambers with a slumbering Balerion on his lap). No. Aegon’s ten-and-six nameday was nearly upon them and Y/N had the perfect present in mind. She had given a set of Valyrian Steel-tipped arrows and a dragonbone bow to Rhaenys for her ten-and-sixth nameday, and now it was Aegon’s turn. The stupid lion head pommel was not Valyrian steel so she had no problem seeing it hacked off and reworked. The smith was quick and skilled, easily melting the gold into a puddle to be reformed. She watched him work, perching on the rickety stool in the corner and talking with him as the smoke and steam from his work clouded the forge. He was a genial man, happy to tell his story and hear hers in return. “They are blessed to have you, the little kings and queens.”

Y/N laughed and shook her head. “No, no. I am the blessed. They have been the lights of my life.”

“You have no children?”

Y/N nearly choked on her breath at the blunt question. “N-no. I have been… They have been my children, I suppose.”

The smith nodded at that and then continued to work in silence, attaching the new pommel to the rest of the jeweled hilt. He made it look easy and handed over the sword, now topped with a sun. It was perfect—and finished just in time.

She presented it to him at the end of his favorite meal and laughed when he tried to hug her, still holding the blade out in front of him.

“Let me see it!” Oberyn said with a laugh and Aegon happily handed it over to his uncle who inspected it with a practiced eye. Y/N did not expect the laughter that bubbled out of Oberyn’s throat but it made her smile either way. “Did this have a lion’s head, little shark?”

Y/N nodded.

Oberyn handed the blade back over to Aegon with a flourish. “You are holding the Valyrian steel sword that House Lannister once wielded. I find it…poetic that you will now call it your own.”

“But it needs a name!” Jon said. “All good swords need a name.”

Aegon held the sword up as Rhaenys and Daenerys cheered alongside their family. “It shall be called Sunshard.”

Perhaps she could convince him to change it later or Jon would come up with a better name for the Valyrian Steel axe she had stowed away for his next nameday or the dagger she would give to Daenerys for hers. But for now, she let Aegon swing the sword around like he was a little boy in the training grounds again.

For now, they were happy.

When the celebration died down and they dispersed for the night, the taste of honeycakes and lemon still on their tongues, Y/N found herself surprised to find Daenerys and Rhaenys waiting for her in the small solar connected to her chambers.

“This is a surprise, my loves. How may I help you?”

Rhaenys reached out her hands for Y/N to take and squeezed them both three times with a smile as she pulled her down on the cushioned bench between them. “Today was a joyous day. One finally filled without war or training or bloodshed.”

“We have all fought hard for it,” Daenerys murmured.

“You were a child yourself when you took us with you to Essos. Where had your childhood gone? The court at the Red Keep. Running and hiding with three babes who were not yours through a foreign land.”

“I made that choice. And I would make it again-”

“I am asking you to make the choice to be happy. To let yourself have an adventure without worrying over us.”

“I will always worry over you.”

“Just as we worry over you. You have been our guiding hand, our fiercest protector and staunchest supporter. Our most loyal older sibling. You have loved us. We love you. And we want you to be happy.”

Y/N turned to Daenerys as if that would provide some sort of answer. “Are you asking me to leave your side?”

“Never!” Both Rhaenys and Daenerys shouted.

“We will never send you away. But, we want you to know that if you are called to someone’s side, we want you to be happy.”

“What has brought this on? Have I said something?” The words caught in her throat but Rhaenys simply squeezed her hands again. One two three.

“No. But we have realized that you have set aside everything for us. And we simply want you to be happy.”

They each leaned forward and kissed her on the cheeks. The three spoke for a little longer, calming Y/N’s strange fear of being sent away, before they excused themselves with matching yawns. But Y/N could not sleep. Not with that strange revelation singing in her ears.

She pulled on her dressing gown and padded down to the gardens of the palace. She could hear the sea and it was a small comfort. But she turned at the familiar tap of a cane against stone and smiled as Willas settled beside her.

“You could not sleep either?”

He shook his head, curls sliding against his ears. “I suppose I am now accustomed to a little more excitement during the day to tire me out.”

Y/N chuckled and angled her head up to look at the glittering stars. “But it was a good day. I can sleep late tomorrow.”

The pair was quiet for a moment, the comfortable silence between them only broken by the inconsistent chittering of a bird or the sea crashing against the city walls.

“When this is over, will you rest?”

Y/N frowned at the question and turned to look at him. “Rest?”

“When the little hatchlings are settled in their kingdoms and safe. Where will you be?”

“I…” She tried to find the words she needed but she did not know the answer.

Willas reached out and gently grasped her hand. “You deserve rest too, my lady.” He looked at her, blue eyes shining and a familiar pink tint to his cheeks.

The quiet moment was cut short by a violent scream—one Y/N knew too well. She leapt to her feet and dashed back into the palace. Y/N pushed through the hall and burst into Rhaenys’ room to see her shivering on her bed. “Oh, my sunshine.”

Rhaenys reached out for her and Y/N instantly wrapped her arms around her as they sunk into the plush featherbed. “They have come again,” she whispered. “The cold. The ice. The terrible dead men. They are haunting me again.” Rhaenys reached up and played with the sun pendant. And then she was a little girl again and Y/N was reading her a story about talking turtles to help her sleep. “We have to go back to Westeros,” Rhaenys said, voice soft but steady. “They are coming.”

A/N: Please let me know what you think! Your reblogs, likes, and comments mean the world to me!

(and another banner by the lovely @thesadvampire)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @pettyprocrastination @evyiione @elinedjarin @xsadderdazeforeverx @revolution-starter

#Oberyn Martell x Reader #Oberyn Martell imagine #willas tyrell x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf #oberyn martell #willas tyrell #ellaria sand

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entertainment · 4 years

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Entertainment Spotlight: Genneya Walton, #blackAF

Genneya Walton came to acting through a passion for dance and performance. Once on screen, she starred as Bryden Bandweth on Project Mc², as well as taking on roles in The Resident, 911, Criminal Minds, School of Rock, and Extent. Up next, Genneya will be playing the role of Chloe Barris, daughter to Rashida Jones and Kenya Barris, in his new mockumentary #blackAF. Loosely inspired by Barris’ irreverent and honest approach to parenting, relationships, race, and culture, #blackAF uncovers the messy and often hilarious world of the fictionalized Barris family. We had the opportunity to chat to Genneya about her character on the show, experiences on set, and what it means to be a young woman of color in the world of film and television. Check it out:

You wake up tomorrow as the character you play. What do you do first?

If I were to wake up as Chloe, I would freak out first but I think that’s a given. Secondly, I’d go through her closet and try everything on because her style is incredible and I can only imagine what her full wardrobe looks like.

In #blackAF, you have a lot of siblings. Do you have a large family IRL? If so, were there any similarities to your rapport with your on-set family? If no, did the experience make you glad or sad you don’t?

In real life I only have one older sister -- far less than the 5 siblings I have on the show! My parents' style of raising kids is not at all the same as Kenya and Joya’s, so I can't say there are really any similarities between my real and tv family in that aspect. Although with both of them I am lucky to be able to share my honest thoughts and feelings with them even if it’s hard at times. Even though growing up I did want a baby brother, I wouldn’t want to change anything about how my family functions now, but it was definitely an experience to almost live another life in a household that’s run so differently.

Describe the premise of #blackAF to a five-year-old?

#blackAF is about a teenager that is filming her family’s everyday life to send in to her favorite college in hopes of getting in. With parents like ours and six kids, things can get crazy at our house. We act a little more “out there” than a typical family so I don’t think it would be appropriate for a five year old, but you can tell your parents to watch it ;)

What’s the first thing that you remember being a fan of?

The first thing I remember being a fan of is Barbie. It was one of my favorite toys growing up and the movies are actually what inspired me to perform. Second, I think it would be Usher’s Confessions album. I had no business singing his songs as a child, but those songs are certainly timeless!

Can you tell us about a funny experience you had on the set of #blackAF?

When you’re working with Kenya and Rashida something funny is bound to happen everyday. We had a moment of downtime on set and Kenya was showing off some dance moves and Rashida hopped in and it turned into an impromptu dance battle. All I’m gonna say is they both can do a mean robot. Certainly a sight to see and I’m happy to say I’ve witnessed it in my lifetime.

You began your career dancing before you moved on to acting. Has dancing taught you any valuable lessons for your acting career?

Dancing has certainly shaped who I am today and I’ve been able to apply those lessons to everyday life. I used to be the most sensitive person on the planet, and although I still have my moments, the tough love from teachers gave me a thicker skin that is necessary to have in this industry. Particularly from being a competitive dancer I learned the value of teamwork and trust. A scene is a collaboration, not a solo, and when you have a scene partner you have to put your full trust in that person in order to let go and be vulnerable. Also, in competition you can’t win them all, and that’s certainly the case with this industry, and I learned from a young age to come to terms with things not always going as planned and to push on and work harder. The long rehearsal hours and high expectations to perform well every time prepared me for work days on set that could sometimes be 14+ hours. All of the hard work that goes into finally performing a 2 minute dance piece is similar to the endless preparation before a new project only for the final cut to be x amount of minutes long and that’s all people get to see. After all it’s about the journey not the destination right? Being a dancer instilled a lot of important lessons within me and I owe my current position to dance aka my first love.

Without spoiling anything, did you have a favorite scene in the show that was fun to shoot?

While on vacation things got a little heated between Chloe and Drea and we really had the opportunity to take it there. Both Iman and I have sisters and were able to relate to our characters in that moment. We were both completely understanding of the situation and each other's emotions that it almost made it feel as though we were truly sharing that moment together as sisters. It was a special moment for myself and it definitely brought us closer. It was a very fun challenge and I’m so happy to have been able to share that with her and portray the ups and downs that siblings have.

How do you embody the mission of #BlackExcellence365 in your everyday work?

I think that black excellence is our drive and ability to go for, and accomplish the great things we do despite the boundaries that have been set in front of us. We have so much power within ourselves and such a great ability to impact lives. As a kid, I only had a handful of young women of color to look up to and I am grateful that they have paved the way for young actors like myself. I am now in the position to possibly be that for today’s young girls, and it is truly a dream and a huge responsibility that I am thrilled to take on. I hope to take part in roles that can positively impact and inspire young girls to be the best versions of themselves that they can be. Representation on screen is so important and the media has the ability to shape young minds. So far I've had the honor to play a past role of a teenage genius who is a master at coding and is not afraid to be herself or speak her mind. I now get to play a young adult who attends a great college and is setting up her future. Those characters within themselves are what I believe to be some great representations of black excellence and if they positively affect at least one person I am proud of that. I’d like it to be known that it took almost two years of being unemployed before I landed my current role. At times it was tough and I honestly had a fleeting moment where I considered giving up, but I kept pushing and would have never gotten to experience being Chloe if I didn’t hold faith in myself! As my career goes on, I intend on using my platform to be vocal about things that matter most to me and inspire and pave the way for those after me. This is all bigger than myself and each accomplishment and even failure on the way to success that we share is an embodiment of #blackexcellence.

Do you have any advice for young women of color who are looking to get into the acting business?

When wanting to accomplish anything in life it requires hard work, resilience, and genuine belief in yourself. You will get more no’s than yes’s, but you cannot let that discourage you. When you know you have something special to share with the world, you have to keep pushing on. I’d highly recommend surrounding yourself with people that are like minded so you can uplift and push each other towards your individual goals. An African Proverb that I think describes this well is, “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” So finding a strong support system whether that be within your family or your friends, I personally find to be helpful during the journey. When things get tough it is easy to get lost or caught up in this all, but remember to stay grounded and true to yourself. There is no one else like you, and that alone holds so much power!

Thanks for taking the time Genneya! #blackAF is now streaming on Netflix.

#entertainment spotlight #blackexcellence365 #genneya walton #blackaf

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crybabytoy59 · 3 years

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M&S shopping trip....

That morning was like any other for me a short trip to the local food store during this persistent lockdown full of rules & crap lonely times watching endless movies & eating 🤣....As I pushed the trolly thinking I had kind of become almost robotic in my shopping now knowing each shelf & item off by heart I wandered around aimlessly looking at the others masked up doing just as I was when something took my eye ...I figure I noticed in the opposite isle from behind I thought I recognised ? My heart started pounding at the thought, No couldn’t be...so I walked slightly faster with the trolly, as she went around an isle I try’d to catch up but she was gone in the crowd.

Chuckling to my self I resumed my shopping thinking I was being paranoid half way down this isle I felt a hand on my shoulder pull backwards....as I turned I stood speechless.....stunned by who stood before me ! Something Very unexpected happened....I started welling Up !!!

As if reading me she stepped behind me embracing my chest “Hey it Ok”....I truly fought so very Hard.....But she spoke again “Do you need it tighter cuteness” I nodded as the first tear rolled down my cheek...

She hugged me in a very tight embrace bringing back memories flooding through my mind of her love of making me Cry....

“it’s ok cuteness Let go I won’t let you fall....there we go Clever Baby”

I was lost now crying openly as she turned me around “Hey there There now what’s the matter ?”.....I couldn’t speak for the lump in my throat...

But she spoke for us both.....

“Cuteness are you still having those feelings?” I nodded to her....”But I thought you were over them ?.....

I took a Deep Breath ...Th’They came bb’back.....

She put her hand on my trolly “You won’t be needing this cuteness, push mine & Not a word Madam Look at Me ! ....Clever Baby..... Do What Your Told When Your Told ...Ok ?”...I nodded ....as I pushed her trolly she started putting items in that I knew what they were for! She leaned in to my ear after gathering all she needed as we approached the till she spoke “Am going to hurt you for your lies ...But not like before Baby....this time am going to hurt you really really Bad!”..

She smiled to the shop assistant then we left I put her shopping into her car & she opened the back of the car “In we go cuteness ...Are you in a disposable?” I nodded...she simply smiled as she put on my seatbelt “Wet & Mess it before I get you home...As Crybaby Sweetheart You know what happens if You upset Nanny !”

We drove off as I pushed hard knowing I only had a short time....

Nanny was looking in the rear view mirror at me....A wicked smile that gave me shivers as I knew what she was capable of...such Wicked cruelty one could only dream of this girl was A sadistic who knew how to make me terrified of her....As I looked back at her I gave a grunt loudly as She had trained me to Do all those years ago.....

“Clever girlie Crybaby that’s good....All of it you know your to be empty or else !”.....a 20 min trip then her car pulled into her driveway...”Are you excited to be back at Nanny’s house ? ( I nodded to her ) Clever girlie that pleases Nanny as she is Very pleased today has taken such a wonderful turn for you Baby !...Now let’s get you in so Nanny can prepare baby for her evening Punishment session...Yes Baby Girlie Nanny is going to punish You severely for your naughty LIES !!!!!!.....as she knew you still had submissive little feelings.....O’& Crybaby Not a fucking Word ....Only Your Goo’Goos & Ga’ga’s Or Else Madam !!!”....

She pushed me down her hall way ..then spoke into the special cupboard...yes baby it’s still set up....Nanny will be with you shortly as she has things to prepare Darling”...

As I opened the cupboard a familiar sight greeted me ! My heart now pounding as I crawled into the small cupboard, it was around 4” in height & three foot wide by a foot deep....the back wall had an old wide studded Dog collar screwed to the wall at my neck height, then at my waist height a similarly old padded weight belt was screwed fast to the wall, a leather sleeve hung to the side, just under the weight belt were two more Dog collars attached to climbing arrest pulleys bolted to the wall a meter apart, the loose rope dangling down from each had a loop for pulling....

Holding my right foot as I knelt against the wall I fitted the cuff, then turned to my left cuffing that ankle also I took hold of the two hanging loops ! Taking a Deep Breath I pulled hard in one motion knowing there would be No turning back now. As my legs pulled both out wards & forward into an unnatural bent position at the side of each hip...next came the belt around my waist tightly I was breathing much faster now due to the restraints & the fact I was incredibly excited over doing this again !

Putting the collar on I was now ready for the one last thing pulling my arms up unnaturally I got them into the leather sleeve to the side of me pausing to catch my breath I then pushed Down hard into the sleeve ! Hearing the Zippering behind me ! As my arms were forced into the centre behind my back by the heavy spring that held the sleeve & the zipper !

I was done now....But knowing it was myself that had put these items in place for Nanny, gave me strange pleasure to know she had after All this time Not removed them !...

My thoughts were short lived as Nanny spoke ..

“Clever girlie Crybaby that’s very well done But Nanny just fix you Properly” she pulled hard on the pulleys as I gasped as she pulled on the ropes, she kicked my legs each one in turn so I was spread further apart.

Then Nanny pushed at my inner thigh into the muscle? She picked something up sliding it under each knee, I felt her buckle a leather strap around my lower shin & thigh tightly! Then I heard a clicking sound ? Suddenly I realised what she was doing Nanny had fitted a mechanical spreader bar between my legs & was now spreading them wider ! I squealed loudly as a cramp hit...she then spoke to me “Relax sweetheart & it will pass cutie...she then wrenched the belt up two further notches having me Exhale to get them so tight ! The arm sleeve she put a belt from the collar that had five horizontal belts from around my arms pulling each one until my skin bulged from each I was now whimpering, but this was short lived as she barked at me “Open Wide Crybaby Sweetheart” As I did she fed cotton makeup pads into my cheeks pushed upwards & downwards between my cheeks and teeth !

Agin Nanny spoke to me “lift your younger cutie” she fed a pad each side of my tongue, then lifted a lime it had been cut top & bottom & now had a makeup pad top and bottom to cover each hole.

This she worked into my mouth, then once in she again “Keep your headie backwards looking at me Crybaby!”

She lifted the black rubber with the large stem from in ! ( This item I had made for her from a lorry inner tube, I had cut to fit me perfectly up under my lips & covering my gums, I had glued a foam oval to this that fitted into my fully opened mouth, then over this was glued a bicycle tube much thinner this caused a raised oval around 20mm out just beyond my lips.But the last part was an idea Nanny had when the gag would move sometimes..From a motorcycle tyre tube I had cut a lower jaw mask with a hole at the front for the valve, but due to the very little give in the inner tube this I had found was quite painful to have fitted & removed ! Nanny Was overjoyed the day we first tried it as after fitting it she kissed my cheek as a tear rolled down in Nanny had whispered into my ear there & then...”Crybaby Sweetheart I love what you have done so am going to reward you cute, with Spankings that baby will remember for days...she had not been kidding !) Next she put her knee at my neck holding my head...then spoke

“Here we go Crybaby Sweetheart have you missed your feeding gag ?..I didn’t get a chance to answer as she pulled the cruel rubber over my face it’s crushing force making its self known instantly ! Tugging it into place under my chin till it was just under my nose the rubber curved up the back of my head too a point at the back Then curved downwards too a similar point down my neck at the back !

Now smiling down at me she wound a 4” Wide vet wrap around my head at my mouth, then ran it over my lips & chin ! She stopped briefly to put small buds into my ears then a cotton pad over each ear she wound the Vetwarp over my head under my chin, then forehead, only my eyes & nose were now uncovered, pulling a roll of black electric tape she wound this over my mouth around my head then under my chin over head back up at an angle to the side of each nose crossing between my eyes, the wound around my forehead...I now had a black pvc tape hood !

She patted my New bound form & spoke...

“Much better Crybaby girlie....Ok let’s explain what’s going to happen cutenesses...Nanny is going to finish up with some preparation then she is going out for a while so that will give Baby time to reflect on her Naughty Lies !!!!

Then later Nanny is going to return with some very close friends she has just called to help with your punishment.....& Crybaby I assume you know what Nanny has put in your mouth ? (I gave a Ga’ga ..she giggled at this) Clever girlie so best keep still ...Try to rest cuteness as Trust Nanny You Are Going To Need It Fuck Toy !!!”...lifting the bag with the tube from it She screwed the tube to the valve from my mouth, the little clear rubber oval I could see was frozen..

Behind me I heard a Very familiar sound ! Nanny was peeing into a jug, this was poured into the bag, then Nanny chuckled at my whimpering...

She then simply closed the door enveloping me in darkness, knowing the warmth would soon melt the Ice Dam !!.....What had I done ?????

Suddenly my ears burst into life as I heard familiar Crying ! One of my old recordings ! Nanny loved to record me when I would “Break” then she would play this to me at nights as she slept ! As this made me Very emotional & ready to Cry at the smallest of things....Nanny loved Tears......Deep WKD tears of complete surrender to her will.........now alone I could smell my soiled nappy ..waste & urin filled the small cupboard I tested the bonds, perhaps I could get free as I was Now getting scared Remembering just how Wicked Nanny was......

As I panted in the bonds the bottom pad was getting wet, the lime juice now going to work my mouth started watering wetting All the makeup pads ! As they swelled up I had to swallow my saliva.

This part took great concentration to do so as not to choke! But Nanny had done this

many times until I could do this unsupervised, as I swallowed I could taste something else in the back ground not just the lime...? But was puzzled as my mouth was not yet filling from the piss bag ?

I burst out crying knowing what Nanny had done ..She had threatened me with this punishment but we had never actually carried it out !....Suddenly warmth spread into the wadding & I had to swallow slightly faster...I was now in NO doubt what Nanny had done to the lime !!!!!...I started crying as the recording stole my mind with subliminal messages of old.....

Three hours later I heard the front door then voices but the cupboard remained shut only occasionally could I hear sounds of laughter & banging noises.....a further hour & a half later the door opened....

“Well ladies this is Crybaby....she has been a Very Naughty girlie & Told Lies to Nanny so what do you think ladies shall we give her a Punishment she will remember for a Very long time ?....I heard a strange voice ...

“Crybaby Close those Naughty eyes tightly ! Now Pain Toy !!” Suddenly something was put over my eyes then pulled tightly holding my eyes still in some sort of cups !..

Then I felt the bindings being unfastened as another new voice spoke..

“Crybaby we are going to punish you So bad that You will beg us to be Obedient !!..Have you shit your nappy Crybaby !”....I was smacked very hard on the back of my thigh, even through my jeans it hurt ! As Nanny barked “ Answer Aunty Dee !!” ...I whimpered out a Ga’ga!! The voice spoke again....”Don’t fret Crybaby You won’t be shitting for a few days after we’re done Pain Toy !”

I heard them laughing...as Nanny put a collar & lead on me.....”Heal Pain Toy !....let’s get her prepared ladies !”...

I was tugged along on all fours !!....

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durmstrange · 4 years

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First Snowfall - Draco Malfoy

Hello and welcome to another Draco one shot. I hope you enjoy, as this might be my favorite thing I have ever written!

word count: 3,304

_____________________

It took very little time from the moment Draco Malfoy got to know you to begin question everything that was ever certain in his life.

Draco was complicated, to say the absolute least, and you were not. In fact, you were far from it. You were as easygoing and kind a person as they come, and it infuriated Draco that he adored this about you so much. You wore your heart on you sleeve, something Draco never truly did.

On a cold, rainy November day, you wore the heaviest sweater you owned, which happened to be a pale yellow cable-knit, with tight black pants and a white knitted hat as you walked hurriedly towards the greenhouses for the extra credit work you signed on for. In your rush, it slipped your mind to grab your parka, and you were now chilling to the bone in the dreary weather. Nonetheless, you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself and kept your head down as you neared the greenhouses.

As you flung the door to greenhouse two open, your heart lurched in your chest as you spotted a figure bent over the Valerian plants you had planted only weeks ago. “What on earth are you doing to my plants?” You snapped as the figure stood and turned, reddened and mad at someone catching him. Draco Malfoy spotted you then, arms crossed and clothes damp, standing in the doorway.

“Your plants? You do not own the plants in the greenhouse,” he snapped back, pocketing something. You approached him then, half stomping, and grabbed his wrist in your pathetic grasp.

Without even hesitating, you pulled his hand from his own pocket, revealing the Valerian roots he was trying to take. “And what are you doing with this? Draught of Living Death, Draught of Peace?” You interrogated harshly and tilted your head to the side. Potions was your best subject, and rattling off possible uses for the plant came to you like second nature.

Draco pulled his wrist from your hand and huffed. “That is none of your concern,” he snapped at you and began walking by quickly. The anger on his face was rather similar to the look he normally held.

You remained in the same spot, arms crossed over your chest. “If you’re making a Sleeping Draught, you need sprigs of Valerian, not the roots,” you added, watching as he hesitated a moment mid-step.

Draco turned, just slightly, so you could see the side of his face. Simply by this action, you could tell that you were right. “That’s not correct,” he replied coolly, making you laugh a little. Your anger subsided rather quickly, and as you leaned against the large table in the center of the greenhouse, you shook your head at the boy.

“Potions is my best subject,” you explained and took some trimmers from the long table. As you began trimming sprigs of Valerian off, you spoke, “So, I happen to know for a fact that Sleeping Draught needs sprigs. Come here,” you instructed as you moved to the table, using the spool of scratchy brown twine attached to the center of the table to tie a bundle of them together.

Draco didn’t move towards you, but turned completely to watch as you tied the twine expertly, not too tight to damage the plant, but not so loose that it was useless, and held it out to him. “Come on now, take it,” you urged him. Draco hesitated, but stepped forward just far enough to take it from your hands.

“Why are you here?” He questioned then, taking a few steps back.

As you turned again, with your back to him, you began to put gloves onto your small hands. “Extra credit,” you answered and began tying your hair back. “I missed quite a few lessons a couple weeks ago, as I was ill in the hospital wing for about a week,” you explained. Draco frowned as you turned to him again, damp hair pulled back and a small frown on your own lips. “Now, if you don’t mind, I promised Professor Sprout I would care for the plants in greenhouse two every Saturday for a month.”

Draco nodded, and moved towards the door to leave you in peace, but as he opened the door, he glanced back at you one more time. Your back was to him and he was deeply disappointed, as he wanted to see your face one last time before he left.

~.~

A week later, to the day, Draco was seated at the table of greenhouse two, waiting for you to arrive. It was sunny today, but rather cold, as winter came upon them fast. He had already lit the fire in the corner of the greenhouse, warming it up slightly, and now waited for you patiently.

Half passed ten in the morning, the door to the greenhouse opened and you entered, not noticing him sitting at the long table. After you shrugged your heavy jacket off and hung it up on the pegs by the door, you turned and gasped, finally spotting Draco. “You’ve really got to stop scaring me like this,” you exclaimed and held your hand to your chest dramatically.

For a split second, you thought you saw a smirk form on his lips, but he quickly looked away. “I never thanked you for your help last week,” Draco explained in a tight voice as you approached him with curious look on your face. “And I never introduced myself. I’m Draco Malfoy.”

“I know who you are,” you replied with a faint smile on your lips. Draco furrowed his eyebrows slightly. “I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and you don’t need to thank me,” you replied softly and leaned against the table next to him. “Was I correct? You were making a Sleeping Draught?” You asked him out of your own curiosity.

Draco looked at you, his lips pressed into a tight line. “You were correct,” he admitted. You could tell he hated to admit he was wrong.

With a smile on your lips, you laughed. The smile was one of the sweetest and most genuine things he had ever witnessed, and it made his heartbeat speed up greatly. In combination with your airy laugh, he fought to keep himself from shifting from the odd fluttering feeling his stomach held. “What did you need the draught for, if you don’t might me asking?” You questioned with the same smile on your lips.

Draco looked away and hesitated, truly not wanting to answer you. Getting the hint, you spoke quickly. “You don’t have to tell me. I was simply curious. I apologize,” you added quickly and ducked your head in embarrassment. Draco simply watched you, his face barely peppered red. “However, if you ever need more, I would be more than happy to brew it for you. As I said before, potions is my best subject, and I truly enjoy it and am quite good at it. Professor Snape can vouch for me for that,” you added with a sweet smile on your lips.

The ghost of a smile played on his lips, if you could even call it that, and he nodded gently. “That is very kind of you,” he answered in a quiet voice and stood from the stool. “Now, we should get started on caring for the plants.”

You almost didn’t catch it, but as you nodded, you froze and tilted your head to the side in confusion. “We?” You asked curiously as you reached for gloves on the table.

Draco did the same and nodded. “Correct, that is what I said,” he answered nonchalantly and turned to you. “Tell me what you need me to do,” he instructed and watched you closely.

Quietly, you laughed. “You don’t have to help me.”

“I know.”

The smile on your face made Draco’s heart leap in his chest and he struggled to keep a straight face because of this. Nonetheless, he ducked his head slightly, hiding the fond look on his face as you thought for a moment. “I actually need to trim the Valerian again. Do you mind?” You asked him and held out the trimmers for him to take.

Draco shook his head and took the trimmers, turning away from you to begin his assigned task. “You can just leave them on the table. I’ll tie them up later,” you instructed further and turned away as well, working on your own tasks.

As you worked, Draco began to speak. “What house are you in?” He asked in a steady voice, something you envied him for. You tended to share your emotions in your voice quite often.

“Ravenclaw,” you answered without skipping a beat. “You’re in Slytherin,” you said rather than asking.

Draco fell quiet for a moment, trying to decide if there was disdain in your voice. He didn’t detect any, but still decided to tread lightly. “That is correct,” he agreed. “Do you hate us, too?” He asked then in a snide voice, unable to help himself.

What he didn’t expect was for you to laugh. He wasn’t meant to be funny, in fact, it irritated him a little bit that you laughed. “Of course not. Don’t be silly,” you answered before he could make another angry comment. Draco’s face drained of color out of guilt. “Why would I hate an entire house? Sure, there are some of you that are simply horrible people, but same goes for every house. There’s some pretty nasty Ravenclaws, too.” Draco turned, staring at the side of your face as you worked. How were you so optimistic about his house? He was sure every other house hated his.

He watched you, an unintentionally appreciative look on his face, and spoke in a quiet voice, “You mean to say - ” he began, but you interrupted him shortly.

“No, I do not hate you,” you answered his unasked question, as if you could hear his thoughts. You turned to him, kind eyes searching his cold ones, and gave him a small, sorrowful smile. “I have no doubts in my mind that you can be horribly nasty to others, and I don’t care much for that, but it would be unfair of me to judge you when I do not know you very well. Only twice we have met, and I actually like you quite a bit,” you admitted to him boldly with a face that felt hot.

Draco stared, his face hidden of all expression. It made you anxious that you may have made yourself vulnerable to him, but you were honest with how you felt, and you had the tenancy to show this frequently. Draco smiled then, which was entirely unfamiliar to you, but made you smile as well. His eyes fell to the Valerian in his hand. “I’ve come to like you too,” he admitted in his normally confident voice.

You smiled even wider. “I am incredibly happy to hear that, Draco,” you responded. Draco turned then, placing the Valerian on the table as you had instructed and continued to do his job.

With the smile on your lips refusing to fade, you continued your job as well, taking turns asking each other basic questions as roughly an hour and a half passed. By the end of the time, as you took your gloves off and tossed them on the table, you felt like you truly knew Draco far more than you could have ever imagined you would. “Thank you for the help, Draco. I really appreciate it. I would have been here for another hour or two if it weren’t for you,” you admitted and leaned onto the table in the center of the greenhouse, watching as he, too, removed his gloves and dusted off his expensive looking black jacket.

With a faint smile, he nodded. “I am happy to get you out of this extra credit early,” he told you and nodded towards the door. “Can I walk with you back to the castle?”

You glanced at the door, and nodded. “That sounds nice,” you answered simply and picked up the bundles of Valerian and other plants the two of you collected today. With the trimmings in your arms, you started walking side by side with Draco. The cool fall air cut right through the jacket you wore, and you shivered lightly as Draco closed the door behind the two of you.

There was a familiar smell in the air, one you recognized instantly, and you sucked a sharp, excited breath in. You spotted the small, barely visible snowflakes falling from the sky, and with your barely free hand, you grabbed Draco’s arm. “Draco, it’s snowing!” Your voice was giddy with excitement and Draco squinted, confused. He barely noticed the light flakes falling. “The first snowfall!”

Draco’s eyes wandered from the ground of Hogwarts, back to you, and a softness developed in his heart that he didn’t know he was capable of having. Seeing your excitement, the liveliness in your eyes, the look of pure bliss on your face, all of it made a feeling of adoration form in his otherwise cold heart. “I reckon you like snow?” He asked with a chuckle in his voice.

Without even thinking, you moved your hand from gripping his forearm, to looping your arm through his. “Oh, it is my favorite,” you sighed heavily and looked to him with a dreamy look.

He chuckled again, not moving to remove your arm from his, and began walking in sync with you. “Why do you need this extra credit, anyways?” He asked you as you held the trimmings in one hand, and squeezed his forearm with your other.

“I missed a fair bit of class last month,” you explained with a small frown on your face. “I fell from my broom while playing a mock game of Quidditch with some friends. Didn’t wake up for a week, and couldn’t leave the hospital wing for another week after that, for monitoring.” Your face was red from both the cold air and the embarrassment you felt for admitting this.

Draco sucked a sharp breath in. “That must have been quite the fall,” he commented with a low whistle.

You laughed nervously. “Yeah, it was. The bludger wouldn’t leave me alone, until it got me. Rumor has it one of the other houses tampered with it, making it go after the keeper,” you explained in a sad voice. Draco dug through his brain, trying to think of any possibility that he knew who did it. The scenario sounded so familiar, but he couldn’t place his finger on it. You shrugged, a sad smile on your lips. “That’s just rumor, though. I’d like to believe that it was just a rogue bludger, or something. I’d hate to think someone would be so evil to hurt someone like that.”

As you spoke, Draco realized how pure you were. Pure, innocent, and everything he wasn’t. He ducked his head, ashamed at the thought, and shook his head. “It would be quite evil for someone to do that,” he admitted gently as you neared the castle. “How are you, now? Completely healed?”

The concern in his voice threw you off. He wasn’t one to care about others, it seemed, but he appeared to be so worried about you. With a small laugh, you shook your head. “If only,” you told him with a tight smile. “I’ve been getting right nasty headaches lately, and sleep has proven to be quite difficult.” Draco gave her a confused look, pushing her to continue. “I keep dreaming that I’m falling,” you explained and looked away, embarrassed.

Draco felt so much pity for you. You were so kind, and so innocent, and he couldn’t fathom why someone would dare to hurt you. However, a nagging thought in the back of his head led him to believe he doubtlessly knew people who would do that to anyone, or worse. “Well,” he began tightly as you approached the castle. There were many students outside, shouting and cheering about the first snow of the season, as it began to stick to the grass. “I haven’t been able to sleep much lately, either. If at all. So, if you’re unable to sleep, you’re welcome to join me on my nightly walks,” he offered you with a slight redness to his cheeks.

“But, Draco, you know we can’t be out past curfew.”

Without a word, he pushed his jacket to the side, revealing the shiny Prefect pin beneath. You raised an eyebrow, quite impressed. “Cheeky,” you murmured to him and rolled your eyes gently.

He chuckled as the two of you came a stop outside of the castle. You let go of him, letting your arm fall to the side, and opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it. “Come here,” he instructed and took your elbow, steering you around a column, out of sight from the others outside. You furrowed your eyebrows, confused, and watched as he dug two neatly folded, white handkerchiefs from his pocket. Curiously, you watched his every move. He took his wand out, pressed the tip of his wand to the handkerchiefs and uttered a spell you didn’t recognize.

Draco held one of them out to you to take. Skeptically, you looked at it closely before taking it into your hands, running your fingers along the silk, confused. “What did you do?” You asked him curiously.

With a proud smile, holding one of them in his own hand. “Turn it red,” he instructed.

Slowly, you reached down and placed the plant trimmings on the ground, in the growing snow. You reached behind you, taking your wand from where it was tucked into the back of your pants, and did as you were told. You transfigured the handkerchief red. “I don’t understand,” you began as you looked up to him, spotting as his handkerchief turning red in his hand. You gasped unintentionally, realizing what he had done. “Protean charm?” You questioned him incredulously. “That’s extremely advanced magic!”

With a proud look on his face, he waved his hand in dismissal and ran his hands along the fabric in his hand. “Now, if you want to ever meet me, you only need to do that, and I’ll meet you at the Ravenclaw common room entrance.”

You shook your head with a smile on your lips. “You are unbelievable,” she murmured and watched as the handkerchief returned white on its own. “But what if you don’t have it out, to watch it turn colors?”

Draco pocketed the silk square back into its place. “It heats up when its changing. Not enough to hurt you, but just enough to make you notice.” He explained and leaned against the column.

“Can I turn it any color?”

With a chuckle, Draco nodded. “Any color.”

You rocked back and forth on your heels. “This is incredible,” you laughed incredulously once more. You put your wand back where it was and leaned down, picking up the plant trimmings you had dropped previously. “It’s a date, then. Be on the look out for a purple silk handkerchief,” you told him with a cheeky smile on your lips.

Draco’s face reddened at the mention of a date. You giggled at his response, watching as a surprised look formed on his face. You began backing up. “I assume it works both ways?” You asked him. Draco nodded numbly. “Alright then, if you need me, turn it blue. That’s my color, after all,” you ordered and gave him one last wave and sweet smile before turning the corner, leaving him to his thoughts.

He leaned his back against the column, letting a slow breath from his lips. You were a sweet, crazy whirlwind, and Draco had no idea the trouble he had gotten himself into.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #Draco Malfoy fanfiction #Draco Malfoy fanfic #harry potter #Harry Potter fanfic #durmstrange #draco x reader #harry potter fanfiction #hogwarts

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theanxietylifes-blog · 3 years

Text

The Anxiety Life

Entry 1

I cast my mind back to 2o13, black 2013......

My karate sensei announced he was quiting teaching classes, after 4 years and several belt grades into my training under his guidance. A teacher of not only karate, but a teacher of life, a figure I and so many other students looked up to, and were inspired by.

That's where it all came crashing down around me, that's what I believed to be the trigger.

The mental illness I would eventually come to nick name as the black dog.......

Back in the late 80's, in a time I consider some of the best times of my life, the nostalgia of those later high school years where I felt invincible, achieving in mostly anything I put any kind of time and effort into. Excelling in sports and music, all the things that the "in kids" were into.

Back then, as it probably still is today there were different social classes, or I guess a social pecking order at school. At the top there were the really cool kids, who were usually tough, and bent or broke the rules often, rebelling against any form of authority. At the other end of the pecking order, you had the straight laced somewhat dorky misfits and bookworms, you know the types, that would often go on and peak in life, becoming highly successful long after school days were long gone. I was neither at the top or the bottom of that pecking order, rather, some where in between. I had a good group of friends, and came from a good middle class home where home life was also pretty good.

Even in those salad days, as early as my later high school years It was there.....

and my first recollection, that I could remember when it started.....

Standing at the light switch in my room, the last thing to do before I hopped into bed," ok turn the light switch on, then off, then on, then off, how many times was that,

it has to be six times, ok jump into bed", my head voice now in full gear, loud, and relentless.

"You better get get back up, and back to that light switch or something real bad is going to happen to you". Now back at the light switch again",1,2,3,4,5,6 on off on off", this cycle occurring over and over, before that inner voice was silenced, and I could finally go to sleep.

Entry 2 Black 2013

I think it was a month or so after my sensei, and life mentor left the Dojo when it began....

I woke around 2am in the early hours of the morning, feeling uneasy, but what was more unsettling was my racing heartbeat, and the horrible feeling like I couldn't take a decent breath in. The more I tried and couldn't, the faster my heartbeat raced, and the more I panicked.....waking my wife up in the process I remember spiraling into a frenzied terror.

My wife was trying to calm me down, telling me to try and calm down and focus on measured breathing. But it was to no avail, I couldn't be calmed, I just kept yelling in desperate panic "feel my pulse, feel my pulse im having a heart attack, I can't breathe I feel im going to blackout at any second", but right at the point where I really felt like I was going to pass out, I got control of myself, I started to feel my breathing return back to normal, and after a while my heart rate slowed down, and although shaky from the ordeal after about half an hour and some comforting from my wife I felt ok.

Things got worse, a couple of nights later I had the same night repeated all over again, only this time, in my sheer panic, of once again feeling all the symptoms of a perceived heart attack, the heart palpitations, some chest pains, difficulty with breathing, (hyperventilating), this time, t frantically threw some clothes on at the end of my bed, slipped past my still sleeping wife, and without any rational thought, grabbed my car keys, got in my car and sped off like a mad man, to the closest hospital emergency department, which was about 10 minutes away. I had totally lost it, thinking I was going to die, I sped through red lights, driving as fast as I could, with only the single thought in mind, of making it to the hospital before I passed out,

I got there still frantic, I pretty much ditched the car anywhere I could, close to the emergency department.....

After some hours past, and a panicked wife that woke to realise I had gone MIA....

I got the all clear from the emergency doctor, and I made my way back home.

ENTRY 3

I have been in the workforce now for over 30 years, and I still don't know what I want to do in my working life, in fact as the years roll by I've certainly discovered more and more about what I don't want, but feel lost when it comes to finding my purpose in working life, and for that matter life in general.

I hate my job, I feel like i'm surviving, not really living, and I feel like my only friend

once i've clocked on, is time ticking away, until It's tools down and I can go home.

I'm constantly in search for a possible career change, I covert all the online employment guides, and career guides, I also take online career adviser tests, constantly trying to find my fit, but nothing has ever jumped out at me, screaming here I am, the career choice that's right for you....don't get me wrong, I am not afraid of further study and or training, or putting the work in, for the right role, but my fears lye in the fact that I am getting to, if i'm not there already, an age where a career change would be very difficult, especially when I still don't really know what my best career would look like.

ENTRY 4

People and socialising can make me feel tired, I feel like it takes a lot of energy to go out on a social outing and have to socialise with groups of people, even family social gatherings can wear me down quickly. It's not like I don't like people, I work in a job role that sees me interact with people throughout my day, I know that I mentioned that I hated my job in my last entry, but it's not necessarily, the interacting with people part that I dislike about the job, I feel it's more the overall picture of my job, and how it fits with me as a person.

I feel my social skills have declined, particularly in recent years and especially the older I get. I find the art of small talk particularly hard, I think mainly because i'm of the philosophy, that if you don't have anything "real" to say, or something that has meaning, It's better not to say anything at all. Perhaps this has been one of my downfalls in recent years, and why I don't have many friends, particularly close friends. The other point is, I guess I don't put in the effort required to maintain a friendship either, I suppose this all comes back to putting in the required time, and effort, into building friendships, something I haven't felt a strong need to do. Maybe it might just be that I haven't found people that I naturally find interesting and I can relate to, friends that I don't feel the need to make forced, awkward conversations and interactions with, where I don't feel uncomfortable if I don't have something to say for the sake of filling in silence, where socilaising is actually enjoyable, and doesn't feel like it's soul draining.

Sometimes I wonder if I am normal. as I really like my own company a large percentage of the time. I have interests that I like to endulge a lot of my time with, and I am a very goal orientated person. For the sake of keeping my identity anonymous, I have chosen not to disclose my interests, only to describe how they play a part in my life.

ENTRY 5

I am a very nostalgic person, I find myself reflecting alot about the past.....I often sit and think about how the past always seems to have been the best times of my life, and how the present can never measure up to be as good. I often think back on the fond memories about late high school life, and my first years as a young adult, post high school in the late 1980's and early 90's.

Partnered with my frequent daydreaming and reflecting on life and the past, is my life long love for music. I think music is one of the greatest gifts in life. to me, there is nothing that can conjure up emotions and can elevate your "mood," whether it be, sadness, happiness, aggression, or any other state of mind, quiet like the power of music. One of the many joys of music is it's ability to serve as an audible photo album, a sound track to our lives. How many times have you heard a song on the radio, and it's a song that you may have forgotten about over the years, which you haven't heard since you were a teenager, all those years ago, in a certain time in your life, and then bam! those familiar song notes hit your ears, and there it is, and you are instantly transported back to that time, only, unlike a photo, a still frame captured in time, music is alive it's a truly awesome thing, that for a moment, can take you right back to that time, the smells, a girlfriends kiss, or some special accomplishment back then, a special thing that only the power of music can deliver.

ENTRY 6

Back in black 2013, I had many trips to the hospital, with varying symptoms that seemed like heart attack symptoms.....

It was on one particular occasion, where the hospital ran a thorough range of tests on me, which all came back normal, the doctor started asking me questions i'd never heard before, followed by a paper questionaire. This included questions like, have you ever thought about killing yourself, and do you often feel like you have a lack of motivation in life, and other questions along those lines. After submitting my answers to the questionaire, the doctor came in to discuss the outcome with me, and in summary, concluded I had Anxiety depression issues, and perscribed medication, and discussed having me see a phsychologist.

A couple of days after that consultation with the ER doctor. I woke up early one morning feeling like I wanted to jump out of my skin, I felt terrible, on edge and my heart was beating 100 miles an hour, and I felt myself loosing control, and spiraling into yet another panic attack episode.

Apart from that, I also had other horrible underlying feelings like, an over whelming sense of helplessness, and feeling like everything was just too hard to deal with, and I was just too tired to face the realities of life.

mental health

anxiety

depression

#mental health #anxiety depression

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morrigan-writings · 4 years

Text

The God Father

Warning(s): none

A/N: Alright so this is a piece I wrote for an assignment a year ago, and I decided to go ahead and post it here because I was so happy with how it turned out (and I got an A!), and part of me wants to write some little blurbs that continue the concept.

Basically this is a fictional piece based on ACTUAL Norse mythology and NOT the Marvel versions. I got the idea for this off the writing prompt tumblr that was along the lines of "you write down Loki as your childs godparent as a joke, but he actually takes it seriously". I loved it so I used it. Enjoy!

PS -- I realized later that it maybe wasn't 100% clear, but Astrid was adopted, hence why she's "old enough" to play tea party, maybe 6-7. Only a handful of days passes over the duration of this piece.

It was all a joke, really. A complete farce, a “good laugh.” At least, that’s what it was meant to be. The Ohlsons had just welcomed their daughter, Astrid, into their lives, and they had crossed all the T’s, dotted all the I’s, but one last question remained: who to appoint as the girl’s godparent? Erika and Ingrid Ohlson immediately turned to their respective families of course, but almost every option was eventually decided against. Both grandparents were already far up in years; Erika’s parents already living with an in-home nurse, and Ingrid’s own father refusing to ever speak to her. Erika was an only child, so Ingrid’s brother was next to be scrutinized. However, despite being close in age, he still acted a child in a grown man’s body, making poor investments, partying all weekend with numerous friends, moving from girlfriend to girlfriend. Absolutely not someone able to take care of a child (much less himself), and immediately scratched off the list.

Friends were next, but...... there weren’t many options. The two new mothers weren’t incredibly social people to begin with, and as such only had a select few friends. A few were married with several children already, and Ingrid insisted they not add the potentiality of another child to the mix. Their other friends ranged from being either unequipped to raise a child, too busy with their own specific line of work, or just not close enough to be considered for godparent. Options had now all but disappeared, and the two women had resigned to perhaps just skipping over this particular notion.

About a week later, during an evening of movies and a couple drinks after putting the young Astrid to bed, Erika began giggling to herself, the sound growing to full-on laughter which she hastily struggled to stifle in the small apartment so as not to wake the child. Ingrid, simultaneously confused and curious, glanced over at her wife, a single brow raised.

“What in the god’s names has got you so hysterical?”

Pulling in a gulp of air, Erika turned to Ingrid, tears in her eyes. “Listen, okay, what- what if...... hear me out here- what if we......we......” she could still barely speak from her incessant giggling.

“Dear, please, what is it?” Ingrid sighed, her curiosity starting to eat at her.

“Okay...... okay so......” the woman finally composing herself to a degree. “What if, for just absolute shits and giggles....... what if we named a Norse god as godparent? Like a literal GODparent? Just, what if. For the hell of it.”

Ingrid, the resident librarian of the house, blinked. “You want us....... to name an ancient, all-powerful, Norse god of old..... as our daughter’s godparent?”

“Ingrid, hun, look: we have literally no options at this point. Maybe eventually we’ll have a friend become a better candidate later in the years, and if so, we’ll write them down as godparent instead. But for now..... come on, it’d be funny and it’d be an absolute hoot to see the look on people’s faces when we bring this up,” Erika then smiled more deviously, “plus I know you can’t pass up a good pun.”

Giving a smile of her own, Ingrid sighed. “Alright fine, lets do it. Which god did you have in mind?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Deep in a labyrinthine cave, hidden away from the known world, sat two ancient beings whose existence had all but been forgotten and reduced to mere myth. A restrained fire giant, face scarred, auburn hair now matted and lank, with a monstrously large serpent sat poised above his head. His wife, Sigyn, a goddess in her own right, yet often left out in stories even in the days of old, sat ever faithfully by his side, her own face gaunt, exhaustion and fortitude lining every inch of it. In her own scarred hands she held a bowl aloft as the only barrier between his face and the beast above as venom drip, drip, dripped into the small basin, the sound now akin to what the mortals refer to as a clock, the deity’s only semblance of time.

The god had long since lost his unhinged anger for this life sentence, had since devolved into simply being..... exhausted with the ordeal. Relieved that his wife remained by his side, but also guilty that she stayed in such a horrid place with such a tiring task despite having no orders herself to be here. He had grown weary, maybe a touch apprehensive, with the smallest hint of boredom even. They had been stuck down here for centuries now. Or at least physically. The god found he maintained his ability to project an astral form of himself wherever he wished, and this is what he utilized to learn of the world through the long years. He only wished he could share this illusion of escape with his spouse.

As the centuries passed, he watched as humanity started to turn from the old ways, began to write off the gods as only myths and legend, not beings worth worshiping any longer for the most part. He watched as the rest of the gods slowly accepted this and drew back into their homes amongst Asgard and Valhalla and even Hel, only sitting back up to take notice if something truly important occurred on Midgard, but otherwise ignoring it, as they themselves were ignored. And why shouldn’t they? There was virtually no point otherwise anymore. But today........ today somehow felt different. The imprisoned god cracked open an eye as something seemed to shift in his awareness. Not...... worship, not really. But..... something new. Someone, somewhere, it seemed, was inscribing him as a guardian. To their child. And for supposedly no particular reason that he could even fathom. This was definitely new. The god began chuckling quietly before he could stop himself, the whole concept incredibly humorous.

However, before he could share this new discovery, that dreaded time came again when that hatefully small bowl filled to the brim, and Sigyn sucked in a sharp breath as she suddenly flew into motion like clockwork. She rushed to pull the bowl away and dump the acidic liquid before too much harm was caused before she could return to her original post, but it was never fast enough, it was impossible to be. The second the obstruction disappeared, the snake’s venom began dripping onto the imprisoned god’s face, his eyes and cheekbones burning with each drop as if on fire, bellows of pain being loosed from his lungs all the while. His wife returned the bowl to its original position, frantic and remorseful apologies spilling from her lips as always, him waving them off with a shake of his head and a forced smile. Once resettling, Sigyn peered down at her husband with curiosity.

“What was it that made you laugh so genuinely after so long?”

He smiled once again, remembering. “The gods may no longer be revered as they once were, but.... a fascinating development has occurred in the mortal realm: I have apparently been named as guardian to a young child, for whatever reason.”

The goddess raised her brow in surprise. “Guardian? I mean no offense, my love, but surely it must be in jest? And as you stated, we both know worship is no longer practiced on Midgard, so why this sudden change?”

“No, I agree, I find the whole matter quite amusing. However. Due to the absurdity and the rarity, on the chance that this is meant sincerely in any way, I feel inclined to follow it through. I am named guardian, I am now bound to comply, I believe.”

A warm smile, the first he’d seen in decades, grew upon his wife’s face, as even her dulled eyes began to slowly light up again at the idea he presented. “Then by all means, you should go. All I ask is for you to bring me back stories of this child when you return.”

He returned the smile, the same genuine warmth mirrored back to her. Letting out a long exhale, the god settled back onto his rock best he could, closed his eyes, and cast out his consciousness to the mortal world, empowered by the promise of new mischief to come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been only a couple days since Ingrid and Erika had filled out the paperwork to appoint their god of choice as the godparent to Astrid. As was anticipated, they were given a strange look from the clerk assisting them when he read the name. “A family friend,” Erika waved him off with a smile. The two new mothers had a good laugh on a the walk home that day, imagining all the potential hilarious scenarios in which to share this information.

Ingrid was playing tea party with Astrid as Erika was in the middle of cooking dinner when their doorbell rang. Intrigued as to who could possibly be visiting them at this time of night, Erika walked over and cracked the front door open, only just wide enough to see the person waiting outside.

There in the hallway stood a man, nearly six and a half feet tall, with a lean build, and immaculately well groomed and dressed. A tailored suit was his attire of choice, a dark forest green, with gold buttons stamped with intricate designs, and cuff links that resembled a wolf’s head. His long, fiery red hair seemed to gleam faintly in the light as if metallic, the top half of it tied back out of his face, a couple small braids interspersed throughout. The man’s features were both fascinating and eerie, mostly made of sharp angles with smiling thin lips and darkened hazel eyes that almost seemed to flare gold (but it was probably just a trick of the lights). However, the only oddity about this figure was the scarring around said eyes, so faint you could only see it when the light hit his face just right, but still curious to see.

While the strange man gave a tentative smile and made no move toward the open door, keeping his hands in his coat pockets, Erika had become confused into silence, trying to rapidly figure out just how to ask who the hell this man was in the politest way possible. Ingrid, also interested in who their late night visitor was, quietly came up behind her wife and peered past her shoulder to the figure outside. Ingrid, apparently, was quicker on the draw.

“Excuse me, but who are you? We weren’t expecting anyone this late, we’re in the middle of dinner.”

The stranger smiled knowingly, bowing his head slightly. He raised one hand up toward his face, snapping his fingers and causing a small flame to ignite above his index finger, pulling a gasp from one of the women.

“I do apologize for the late hour, unfortunately the concept of time has slowly left me over the years. But I am Loki of the Aesir, and I do believe I am young Astrid’s godfather.”

#loki #norse mythology #original story #norse gods #sigyn

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athena-karras · 5 years

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Prompt 54: Time was always a measurement of this relationship and we finally ran out. (Bill Weasley x F! Reader)

The scent of open bottles of iced pumpkin juice, freshly turned soil, and the previously sun-dried large flannel blanket you laid on tickled your nose while a symphony of crickets in the surrounding tall sea of grass played. On your lips and tongue lingered the taste of Bill Weasley, who like you, laid naked under the canopy of stars and heavy full moon.

This night had been like most nights that summer… well the past two summers if you were being truly honest. Once Bill has graduated from Hogwarts, you had been without the frequent kisses you two often stole between classes and the dark hours spend at the edge of the Forbidden Forrest had become an almost painful memory while you pushed on with classes. Luckily, however, he has written to you what seemed like every other day and when the end of your 6th year came, the letter arrived.

“Will you spend some of your holiday at The Burrow?”

After getting permission from your parents, who adored Bill, you accepted.

His mother, Molly, fussed about the moment you arrived and from that day on had seemed to unofficially adopt you as a new member of her family. The woman had a way of making you feel as if you were truly her very own daughter with the way she prodded about our studies, future plans, and had even taught you her tricks around the kitchen when Bill went off to his apprenticeship at Gringotts.

Like this summer, you shared a room with his youngest sibling, Ginny, who like her mother had seemed to accept you into the family. Perhaps one of the best things about her though was she had no problem surely pretending to be asleep whenever you would sneak from the room late at night and join her oldest brother for a few hours. This year, however, you were officially graduated from Hogwarts, and now the summer between you two could go on for as long as you desired.

“What are you thinking about?” Bill asked, pulling you from your daze as he wrapped his firm arms around you. Reaching up to play with the loose locks of his red hair, you turned your body into his, nuzzling into his chest.

“I’m thinking about how happy am,” You grinned, your hand now tracing down to his neck, “And how much I’d like another bottle of that pumpkin juice.” Bill kissed the top of your head, giving your hair a quick ruffle before pulling on his dark button up shirt and pants and reaching into the small ice filled cauldron only a few feet away,

“Aww,” You frowned playfully when he handed you the last unopened cold bottle, “I was enjoying the view.” Taking a deep swig, you also put your own clothes back on, noticing that Bill didn’t take his eyes off you the entire time you did so.

“I can’t have you getting tired of me, can I?” He said, taking a small sip of the juice, “Plus, I think I’m the one who gets to look at the better view.” Bill always had a way of doing this; To look and touch at every scar, freckle, or “imperfection,” and make you feel like you were an artistic masterpiece. He put his arm around you, this time kissing the top of your head.

“Never,” You replied, “I could never get tired of you. But I guess I will get to see more when we go to Shell Cottage.”

“Exactly,” Bill murmured into your hair, his willowy fingers caressing your shoulder. “I’ve been wanting to bring you there for a long time. I used to… well all of us used to go there during the summers. When I was a kid I swore I would live there one day.”

“I can only imagine what you were like as a little boy,” You teased after finishing off the last of the pumpkin juice, “I’m sure you drove your poor mum mad.” Bill laughed at this and shook his head, but his ears turned a bright shade of scarlet proving that you were right.

“Nah, that was all Charlie, and the twins. They started with their mischief as soon as they could lift their heads up.”

“Liar,” Giving him a playful nudge, your fingers touched his hot ears. “They always give you away. Let’s hope that you never have to lie on your job because you’d be ousted instantly.”

“That, or I’ll just keep my hair long. Now that is something that will drive Mum crazy.” Bill began to gather the several bottles of pumpkin juice and butterbeer that you two had drank, as well as a half-eaten pumpkin pasty that had been split and placed them in the small cauldron.

“Well, I like it; Your ears, and your hair.” Bill helped you up from the blanket, being sure to place a kiss on your forehead, as he frequently did, and with a wave of his wand had the blanket neatly folded up in the cauldron.

“I love everything about you,” He grinned, but his blue eyes became solemn and bore in your own with an intensity that you were sure would have scared off an army of Dementors. “I mean it,” He continued on, one of his free hands starting to stroke ends of your hair, “I love you, all of you. I don’t want anything to ever come between us. My job, us getting older, anything.”

“Bill…” You began as your brows started to furrow together, but the somber look in his eyes stopped you.

“You’re my best friend, my everything. I want us to always be together. I want…” Bill looked away, pulling his hand from you. His other hand fumbled around in his pocket as he let out a frustrated grunt. “I’m an idiot.”

This time you couldn’t help but laugh and you took his face in your hands. He truly seemed to get more handsome every time you looked at him, and he was yours, and you were his.

“Not at all,” You said with a slight smirk at seeing your normally cool and collected lover in such a tizzy. While you were dying to know what was on his mind, you knew he would tell you once he was ready. Secrets were foreign to the both of you. “You are wonderful, handsome, smart, and the farthest thing from an idiot. It is you and me together, and we always will be, I promise.”

“You’ve no idea how much that means right now.” He smirked, a look of relief washing over his gentle face. His hand still fumbled around in his pocket, a habit you weren’t used to seeing from him, and from a brief look you managed to steal, it looked as if there was something besides his hand in the pocket.

“What’s that?”

Again, Bill’s ears became crimson and he pulled his hand out, holding nothing.

“I tell you what, I’ll show it to you in the morning before we start to pack for the cottage. Deal?”

In truth, you were more than just a little curious to know what was setting Bill so on edge, but for now, you decided to settle.

“Deal,” You agreed with a nod of your head before you let out a small yawn. “I’m getting tired anyway.”

The two of you gathered the last of your things, piling them into the cauldron, Bill insisting he carry it back to the Burrow which was several yards away. Your fingers interlaced with his during the walk back and little more was spoken until you arrived back home. To your surprise, Molly and Arthur were both in the kitchen despite the late hour, each holding a cup of tea. Molly especially wore a bright expression, but her own face seemed to be fighting itself in an effort to make it appear neutral.

“I’m sorry,” You began to say, “I hope we didn’t cause any alarm.”

“Oh no, of course not, dear!” The grin on her face suddenly began to melt, however, when Bill walked in behind you. Quickly turning, you could have sworn you saw a shaking movement from his head from out the corner of your eye, but it was too fast to be sure. It felt like there was some sort of inside joke or secret that they all knew but had decided not to make you privy to. Arthur cleared his throat, looking back and forth between you and Bill.

“Molly and I just wanted a spot of tea before going to bed. Decided to go on a late-night picnic, then? You two need to start packing soon for Shell Cottage don’t you?”

“We do!” You nodded, although you still couldn’t shake the awkward feeling in your belly. You had never felt this around the Weasleys, Molly especially who doted on you as if you were her own daughter.

“Well, don’t let us keep you then, we’ll also be to bed soon.” Arthur replied, looking over your shoulder at Bill. “Your mum and I would like to just have a talk with you quickly if we could, son. Ran into Claudia Cooper today.”

Claudia Cooper you knew to be Bill’s main boss at Gringotts, a strict but talented witch, he had said, and one who took a sharp eye on his budding career. Was this that could be what had Bill acting so strange earlier? Was his job on the line, but he couldn’t find the words to tell you? Whatever it was, they clearly wanted to talk about it as a family before bringing you in the picture.

“Oh, um, I’ll just grab a shower and head to bed then. Good night Bill, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.”

“Good night Dear.” Molly said, Bill throwing you a soft, yet still somber smile as you went up the stairs.

O.o.O

You were sure you fell asleep before your head had even hit the pillow, but as easy as it had come, sleep did not stay with you. For most of the night you had tossed and turned until you could stand it no more. You were not sure how much time had passed, minutes, and hour, or three, but the only sound in The Burrow you could pick up was the gentle whistling of Ginny’s nose as she slept.

“Jealous.” You thought as a grumble emitted from your belly. As it turned out, a few bites of a pumpkin pasty weren’t enough to settle an empty stomach but was indeed enough to keep you up. “There should still be some buns or something from dinner last night. Just something to hold me over.”

Taking great care not to wake Ginny, you silently rose from your bed, painfully being slow with her creaking door, and started to tip toe downstairs. Telling from the now dark navy sky, you guessed that you had only managed two hours of sleep. Silently chastising yourself for the wreck you’d surely be today, you were stopped by the hushed tones of Molly and Arthur, both still at the kitchen table. You froze, silently debating on your next move. True, you were hungry, but whatever had kept them awake until know what clearly too important to interrupt over a loud belly. Still, the nosy side of you suggested to nestle into the dark corner at the top of the stairs and listen to what they were saying.

“I’m not doing that to them,” You resolved until the next moment, you heard your name on Molly’s lips.

“He loves her Arthur, and she’s a good girl that is clearly just as crazy about him. That’s what we should be wanting for our son. Not some dangerous lifestyle!”

You curled yourself into the tightest ball you could manage as your butt became well acquainted with the wood floor and the shadows that cloaked you.

“I’m not saying I don’t want that. I do. It’s just that… he’s so young and has this opportunity handed to him on a silver plate. Egypt Molly, Egypt. Cooper didn’t have to tell me that this is a once in a lifetime offer for this job, even I know that. If he turns this down, Bill could be disenchanting disgruntled tea kettles for the rest of his career.”

“If that is what makes him happy!”

There was the sound of a teacup clanking angrily against its saucer that it was enough to almost make you spring from your shape.

“Bill was offered a job in Egypt… and didn’t tell me about it?” You murmured. No, there had to be some mistake, there were NO secrets between you two, especially not when it came to Bill’s dream job of being a curse breaker.

“Molly, it won’t make him happy, please, you know our son. He’s in love, but-”

“How can you say that? He was going to propose to her tonight and he’s going to do it this morning once we leave. If she calms Bill down into a more domestic life than I am for that Arthur. I don’t want our firstborn hopping around in ancient ruins and getting himself killed! For all we know, Claudia Cooper is just angry and wants to send Bill away because she doesn’t care for him clearly being the next in line for her job.”

“Cooper has taken Bill under her wing since the day he walked into the Bank. You know that. Molly, I adore Y/N, I do. I couldn’t have picked a better wife for him, but he has wanted this since he was a boy, despite our best efforts. Gringotts isn’t hiring on and she has no experience yet so it isn’t like she can just go with him. Bill isn’t taking the job in Egypt because he doesn’t want it, he isn’t taking it because of her. This is his dream Molly; his dream and he is letting it go for her.”

Your head began to spin as the bitter taste of iron laden saliva filled your mouth. Your stomach turned itself inside out and right side in back and forth so many times that if it had not been for the awkward explanation that would have had to follow, you’d have vomited. Although, truth be told, you had awoken several times these past two weeks with an ill stomach and a dizzy head but thought nothing of it. Slowly, you started to crawl from your spot and back into your bed.

“Bill, Bill… why didn’t you tell me?” Your head repeated this several times as Mr. Weasley’s words rang through your head as loud as a bell.

“This is his dream Molly; his dream and he is letting it go for her.”

You always knew Bill had wanted to be the very best curse-breaker since the day you had met him, hell, it was sometimes all he had spoken about during school. And he was throwing away his dream…for you. What had Molly said… Bill had meant to propose? Tears started to swell up in your eyes and as tempting as they were to spill into your pillow, Ginny began to stir and the last thing you wanted was to answer questions you didn’t have answers to.

Mr. Weasley had been right, there would be no place for you in Egypt, especially with your parents being as old as they were and your lack job skills from being a fresh graduate, all you would be is a burden.

“I can’t let him do this, I won’t let him give up his dreams for me.”

You would leave in the morning as soon as day broke, before Bill had a chance to propose. You wouldn’t ruin his life, especially not for you. As you fought the tears and pounding headache, the words you never thought you’d have to say to him played out in your head. It would be easier if he hated you, a cleaner break, but no matter how many scenarios you thought of, the idea of hurting him tore you apart. That was, until, the memory of Bill first telling you his dream of being a top Curse Breaker sneaked to your mind.

“I’m going to make something of myself one day. I’ll find the oldest treasures, break the most powerful curses, and travel the world.”

Swearing, you buried your head in your pillow, tears soaking the soft fabric when they broke free from your eyes. It was the way things would have to be; Time had run out on you both, life had that nasty habit, and it was time to let him go, to let Bill live.

O.o.O

When you awoke, your nose was raw and crusted into your pillow. Your eyes were still sealed as well, and it took a rather embarrassing amount of effort to pry them open.

“No, no, no!” You gasped, realizing your mistake in falling asleep. You neck twisted uncomfortably to Ginny’s bed, your belly dropping when you saw it empty. The whole family, of course, including Bill, was surely already awake, which ruined your original plan of simply sneaking out and dropping him an owl. You’d have to face him.

With a wave of your wand you would fill the empty basin besides your bed with warm water and took great care in washing your face. You were meticulous and slow in doing every could to delay going downstairs and facing your nightmare that YOU would have to create. After pulling on a simple, yet comfortable, set of clothing, and running a trembling comb through your hair, you sluggishly made your way out of the room. The Burrow was silent, save for the chimes of the family grandfather clock and the clucking of chickens from outside, which filled you with the brief hope that perhaps that whole family had gone out and left you to sleep.

“Maybe there is still a chance.”

Still, your feet dragged as they trudged down the stairs into the dining room. The moment it came into full view, your heart seemingly dropped into your belly with a single thud.

The whole room had been stunningly decorated with silver strands of twinkling lights that hung from the rafters reminding you of the stars that you and Bill has spent so many nights under. Tiny bouquet of bluebells had been entwined in the wooden columns and held together with more silver bells of light. It was all a very intricate and surely complicated enchantment and the wizard who had assuredly spent hours making sure it was all perfect looked at you with a wide grin before saying your name.

Bill wore his best robes; A deep purple velvet that was fitted perfectly to his body. His shoulder length hair had been brushed and smoothed back and tied in a loose ponytail revealing the sharp high cheekbones that you had run your lips across countless times. He was nothing short of utterly beautiful. Again, your name came across his full lips, and it was almost enough to make your resolve melt.

“Bill…” You muttered, feeling yourself involuntarily pull back to the first step. Using all your resolve to keep your eyes from his, they instead fell to the incredible decorations that he had charmed, and tears once again threatened to fall.

“I’m sorry if it flashy, I just wanted to make sure it was perfect. I tried to get it to look like our spot in the Forbidden Forest.” Bill let out an uncharacteristic nervous chuckle, his eyes unable to look away from you. His ears were already beginning to turn the scarlet red they always became when he was nervous, and his hands began to fumble with a blue box that you’d somehow failed to notice earlier.

“Where is everyone?” It was all you could manage to say, the words you had rehearsed somehow seemed to have up and vanished in the emotional fog of your mind. Bill’s grin grew, his willowy fingers still fidgeting with the box.

“They went to Diagon Alley. I asked Mum and Dad if they wouldn’t mind giving us an hour or two. Turns out there was some shopping they had to do… and I needed that hour to ask you something.”

Finally, you allowed yourself to look into Bill’s blue eyes and almost instantly you regretted it. Countless nights had been spend being held in his arms and gazing into his deep eyes. They had always been a source of comfort but now…now all they caused was pain.

“Bill, please…whatever you are going to ask, don’t.” Your tongue buzzed and your lips became numb as the smile started to drop from his gentle face. His hands finally stopped toying with the box and his brow arched.

“What…what do you mean?” It wasn’t like Bill to stammer. Even in the face of the Cursed Vaults he had always remained cool and in control but now he almost resembled Ben Copper for a few brief moments.

“All of this,” You answered pointing to the lights and flowers, “You can’t ask me whatever you’re planning.” Your eyes focused on his mouth as you found you no longer had the emotional strength to see the confusion in his eyes. If you were to do this, you needed every ounce of control you could muster.

“I.. I am…I was going to ask you to marry-”

“No.” It has come out harder and louder than you had intended but if he had finished, you knew you couldn’t hold out. “You need to live the life you wanted. The life you promised yourself…please.”

“No…?” Bill repeated looking down at the box, “I don’t understand.”

“I’m leaving today Bill.”

“What?” Bill placed the box on the table, the top opening. His long hands reached out to yours, but you were quick to pull them away. “Leaving? Where? What’s happened?”

“We happened,” You replied crossing your arms, “Time was always a measurement of this relationship and we finally ran out. I don’t want to throw my life away on some silly teenage romance. School is over, the summer will be over soon, and I need to focus on what I want to do with my life. Marrying you was never part of that. This,” You pointed to the decorations, your eyes now firmly focused on the dark tie Bill wore. “All of this. It is too much. Way too much for something like us. Now if you excuse me, I’m going to gather my things and get my life together.”

You turned on your heel wanting to run as far away from him as possible. An ocean could have appeared between you both and still you would have felt too close to the boy who was first in your heart. He said your name again, his voice low and unwavering, but you knew him well enough to know that his heart was breaking. This was enough to finally force you to face him. His eyes were heavy but his brows furrows, any color on his pale face had drained.

“How long have you felt like this?”

“Long enough, Bill. I’m sorry if I lead you to believe this was more than what it was. I’m going to get my things.”

You didn’t remember going up the stairs, packing your things, or casting the weightlessness charm on your trunk. Your stomach turned with the same nausea that had plagued you the past weeks, but you paid it no mind. Whatever this bug seemed to be; you were sure it would pass, and you wanted to leave before any of the Weasley’s came home or worse… falling to your knees and apologizing.

#bill weasley #Reader x Bill Weasley #MC x Bill Weasley #female reader #angst #prompt #drabble #harry potter: hogwarts mystery #harry potter #the burrow #summer #hogwarts mystery #breakups #mc #reader insert #molly weasley #arthur weasley

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perspective-series · 5 years

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A Third Perspective (12)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Fear, and unwanted grabbing/touching

(Check the reblog for the links to the previous chapters!)

Roman raced home, taking the stairs up to his apartment two at a time as his bag swung to the side. Biology seemed to last longer than ever before today, as Roman’s mind had been preoccupied for the entire two hours with a certain tiny friend. Finally Roman reached his own door, swinging it wide open as he waltzed inside.

Despite knowing there was a borrower in his bag, the human was not being careful at all. Virgil found himself sliding back and forth in the bag, becoming disoriented and even hitting the wall with his sore arm. Which sent a sharp pang up it. He groaned as the bag finally calmed down, allowing him to sit in the middle and calm himself.

He was suddenly much more worried for Patton’s state if this was how the human had been treating him.

Roman plopped down on the couch, setting the bag down on the cushion next to him. He turned to it, viewing it like a child coming down the stairs on Christmas. Not wanting to wait any longer, Roman reached his hand in and grabbed the borrower inside, pulling them up into the light.

Virgil expected it, as soon as the bag had stopped moving and he felt it being set down, but he really wasn’t prepared for it. He tried to scoot away, but the hand grabbed him no problem. He struggled within the grip as he was taken out of the bag and suddenly face to face with another human.

“Ah!” Roman let out a startled shriek at the unexpected tiny person. In his surprise, Roman’s grip loosened and the borrower fell back into the bag.

Virgil yelled as he fell back into the bag, groaning as he landed on his arm. “What the heck?!” He yelled up before realizing what he did.

Roman winced, peering into the bag to get a second look at the stranger. “My sincerest apologies. I just…. I wasn’t expecting you.” Roman gazed around the rest of the bag. “Wait just a moment, where is Patton?”

Virgil hadn’t expected an apology. That was...weird, coming from a human. At the question, he shrugged. He knew Pat was probably with Logan...but what would this human do with that information?

“And who are you?” Roman squinted suspiciously, not sure if the borrower was holding back information. Roman found himself now bursting with questions, pulling the borrower back out in a loose fist.

“Ah, hey!” Virgil yelled at being picked up again, before closing his mouth tight. What was with him and suddenly yelling at a human. Did he have a death wish? Either way, he found himself struggling within the grip.

“What’s your name?” Roman turned the tiny person this way and that, inspecting him from all angles. “Where’d you come from? Why were you in my bag?”

Virgil bit his tongue and didn’t even look at the human as he continued to struggle in the grip. If this was Logan, he’d be inclined to answer because he knew what Logan would do if he didn’t. But maybe...he could get away with not speaking?

Probably not, but he was going to go as long as he could.

“...Why are you so quiet?” Roman frowned, already missing Patton’s bubbly demeanor. What had happened to that little guy, anyhow? Roman felt a large mix of anxiety and fear brewing inside of him as he began to think where the borrower might be. After all, Roman was the one who had told Patton nothing was going to happen. If Patton was in trouble, it was Roman’s fault.

Virgil simply glared at him, giving the human a look as if to say ‘why do you think?’ His struggles continued, but he could already feel himself getting tired.

“Oh, that’s right.” Roman thought back to when he and Patton had first met. It felt as though it was only yesterday. Mostly because, well, it was. “You’re afraid, aren’t you?” Roman looked down at the borrower with a brief look of pity.

Virgil stopped at that, to send the human another glare. “Well duh!” He couldn’t help but say. His heart beat hard and fast inside his chest. Yes, of course, he was scared. Who wouldn’t be when faced with a literal giant who has you in their grasp!

“It’s okay!” Roman chuckled slightly at the response he got, glad they seemed to be getting somewhere. “You don’t need to be afraid of me, lil’ guy! I’m not going to hurt you, I swear it.”

“You already have!” This was what Virgil hated, the human’s saying one thing but doing another.

“Wait, what?” Roman’s eyes widened, quickly moving his hands about so that the borrower sat in his cupped palms. “I’m so sorry, I truly didn’t think it was so far of a fall…”

While Virgil was glad the fingers were no longer constricting him, being in the hand was still less than ideal. “Not just that, but your carelessness walking up the stairs and just letting the bag I was in swing whichever way it wanted! Honestly, I’m worried about the state you left Patton in!” Virgil glared at the human for a moment, before realizing what he had said, about Patton. His hand flew to his mouth. Crap.

Now the human would know that he did, in fact, know about Patton.

“Now hold on just a moment!” Roman transferred the borrower so that he was only cupped in one hand, using the other to point an accusing finger. “Granted, I may have been a bit careless then, but I am doing my best. I never laid a finger on Patton! I would never dream of it. Patton is my friend, all I want to do is protect him and keep him from getting hurt. And if you have any information about his whereabouts you’d better spit it out so we can find him before he gets himself into trouble.”

If Patton was where Virgil thought he was, then he was already in some serious trouble. At the very least he was sure that Logan wouldn’t be revealing their kind. But that didn’t mean Logan was going to stop with his ‘research’ either. A sudden picture of Patton being held in a beaker broke his heart and made him worry about Patton even more.

But this human didn’t seem much better, honestly, no human would be better. So despite his worry for Patton and his fear towards this human, he glared. “And what if I don’t?”

“Well, I, ah…” Roman found himself momentarily at a loss for words, his finger dropping back down to his side. He hadn’t actually thought that far.

“I suppose I’d just find him alone then, eventually.” Roman shrugged. “But I would certainly think very poorly of you. Especially if you truly think of yourself as a friend of Patton’s. How could you live with yourself knowing that Patton suffered longer simply because you didn’t trust someone who was trying to help?”

Virgil froze, gritting his teeth. “Don’t.” Virgil stood up and glared at the human. “Patton is my best friend. And the only reason I’m not telling you where I think he is, is because I’m protecting him.”

Virgil wanted to get Patton away from Logan. He really did. But he didn’t want to trade Logan for this human either. Despite how intimidating Logan is and all his research, Virgil was never hurt. So while Patton might be scared and stuck in a beaker at least he would physically be fine.

But with this human? Well, he had only been with him for a few minutes and he had already been hurt. This human was careless and could very well be lying to him. So if he had to, he would find a way to get Patton away from Logan himself.

“Protecting him from what?” Roman scoffed. Honestly, this borrower was so judgy.

“From you!” Virgil exclaimed, almost as if the answer had been obvious. Which, to Virgil, it was. He didn’t let up on his glare.

“I am not the enemy here!” Roman emphasized his point by bringing his free palm to his chest.

Virgil scoffed. “You keep telling yourself that.” The borrower crossed his arms and looked away, even though the action sent a spike of panic in him.

“I will, Mr. doubtful dormouse.” Roman huffed. He was determined to prove he was worthy of all borrower’s trust, even this stubborn one who still had refused to share his name.

Virgil highly doubted that. “Can you put me down?” Virgil decided it was at least worth it to try to get the human to put him down.

“...Oh, right.” Roman realized that he had been holding the little guy for a while. So, he set his palm down on the coffee table.

Virgil was actually kind of surprised that the human had listened. He slid off the hand and onto the coffee table, looking up at the human before looking away. His arms were back to being crossed. He looked at the apartment around him, already trying to come up with a plan of escape.

Roman slid off the couch, coming to rest on the floor in order to be more eye level with the table. He crossed his arms, placing them on the edge before resting his chin atop.

Virgil looked back towards the human at the movement. Watching him warily. As the human settled and looked at him, Virgil couldn’t help but ask, “What?”

“Now will you tell me about Patton?” Roman said, daring to be hopeful with a small smile.

“No.”

Roman deflated slightly, but he didn’t give up. “Come on, what’s it going to take for you to trust me?”

“Leave and never come back.” Virgil deadpanned.

“Stop being so dramatic.” Roman pouted. He tried to think back to the things he knew Patton enjoyed. “We could watch a movie. Are you a Disney fan, too?”

“Disney?” Of course, he knew what movies were, but Disney was another thing. He had never heard of the word before. Was it...a type of movie?

“Oh, you poor soul.” Roman reached across the table, grabbing the remote and turning the tv on. Netflix was still open from earlier that morning when he and Patton watched Aladdin. “That’s Disney,” Roman said, pointing to the screen.

“Huh.” Virgil had to admit he was kind of intrigued. Not that he would let the human know that. “Looks boring.”

Roman made a noise of offense. “Blasphemy!” He declared, already clicking play. “Disney is a series of beautiful masterpieces, this being one of them. Prepare to be enthralled, oh ye of little faith.”

“Oh joy.” Virgil looked back at the TV as the human clicked play. Virgil, while actually interested in the movie, didn’t feel like watching it.

He was then struck with a sudden realization though. If the human was distracted by the TV, he just might be able to escape! This was perfect! So, Virgil pretended to watch the movie but kept an eye on the human.

Roman, meanwhile, was keeping an eye on the borrower. He had already watched Aladdin earlier in the day and was more focused on gauging his new friend’s reaction. Unfortunately, the little guy seemed to spend more time turning back to face him than actually watching the screen. Then he would quickly turn back, as if hoping Roman wouldn’t take notice. Roman frowned, wondering what was up. Was the borrower still just frightened? He did seem a lot jumpier than Patton. Although thinking back, Patton was pretty jumpy too.

Virgil was getting frustrated because the human was paying more attention to him than the actual movie. Virgil mentally groaned. How was he supposed to escape now?

“Are you enjoying it?” Roman asked hopefully, wondering if this was just how all borrowers watched movies.

Virgil had no clue what was even going on in the movie, spending all his focus on the human. “No.”

Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he was seemingly trying to annoy the human, what with him being a human and all, but Virgil had to admit it was kind of fun. But he couldn’t ignore how dangerous it was either.

Roman let out an irritated exhale so strong he could see it ruffle the borrower’s hair.

“Well, you could have just said so!” Roman was disappointed that he had both not enjoyed the film and hadn’t felt brave enough to speak up about it.

“Could I have?” Because Virgil had a feeling Roman would have tried to make him watch it regardless.

“Of course!” Roman reached over to the remote again, clicking back to the menu. “There are plenty of other Disney films we can watch.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “And what if I said I didn’t want to watch anything.”

“That’s fine.” Roman insisted, shutting off the screen. “I was just suggesting something for us to do, and I knew that at least Patton enjoyed this so I thought you’d be the same. Nevertheless, it is clear you are two very, very different individuals.” Roman pasted his signature smile back on, determined to stay upbeat. “So! What do you want to do then?”

Virgil thought about answering, but he decided to stay silent. Even though it didn’t go well for him with Logan.

Roman glared down at the borrower. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool despite the fact that this emo nightmare seemed determined to test his patience.

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vechkinfan · 6 years

Text

End of Me ~Part 2 (Bucky Barnes)

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this second installment. I’m thinking of making it a few more parts longer. So if you’d be interested in more, please let me know!!!

Words: +4k…. (I know, its ridiculous, I can never seem to make this short and sweet)

Warning: angst, sadness, HYDRA dreams, Bucky being and idiot

Summary: Calin’s vivid dream about her past has her breaking her promise to Bucky. Seeking him out in the dead of night for some comfort, however comfort is the last thing she gets.

Part 1 // Part 3

The room was cold, unbearably so, just like it always was when they had her inside it. Her bare skin exposed to the frigid temperatures causing a shiver to run through her body as they lowered metal restraints onto her arms. Locking them so tight it had instantly started to cut off the blood supply. Making her hands tingle, feeling as if a thousand needles were being poked into her skin. They always did this, harnessed her in before an experiment, before the pain would come. If they didn’t, it would have most certainly ended in all their lives.

Calin was biting down hard onto the rubber mouth guard, growling loudly when a guard dressed in black brushed his own hand up along the length of her arm. His fingers deftly smoothing her bare skin until he got to the strap of her sports bra, where he snapped it against her skin painfully. Her eyes flooded with darkness instantly, her inner demon being beckoned to the surface. It didn’t appreciate the confinement or the touching, especially when this seemed to be the only time Calin let it take over. When she was desperate…. and weak, when her emotions were at the highest. That’s when she allowed it in.

Spitting out the mouthpiece, she turned her attention to the man, grinning playfully.“Touch me again, and I will rip your throat out.” Her voice was no longer its own as she spoke. The noise so guttural that if her mouth was not moving you would have never knew it was from her. “Oh how I would enjoy seeing you bleed out.” She laughed out, as the man began to lower the vibranium harness down on top of her shoulders, the only thing that had successfully kept her caged.

“I see we are not speaking with Calin now, so who is this today?” From the corner of her eye she saw movement. A large man in a white lab coat, hobbling his way towards her. The same man who had bought her, the same man who had done all this to her.

“Does it matter who I am?” Calins black eyes glow brighter in excitement as she saw the brief flash of fear cross the man’s face. The man visibly gulping back the terror she smelled coming off him in waves. It amused her demon, to see the terror it invoked on its creators. Is this not what they wanted? Did they not want someone so powerful that they could take down an entire army by themselves?

“Perhaps I may speak to Calin, if you are not willing to cooperate?” He grew closer, busying himself at the stainless steel tray that was a few feet away.

His hands gliding over the various instruments, staring at each one of them with interest before moving onto the next. Calin watched cautiously, growling out when the man finally landed on a large syringe. The needle filled to the brim with a red substance, one she had only come to know as liquid fire. The concoction was something that they had been trying for years, just different variations. It was their attempt to find away to control her demon, making it manageable, make it complacent instead of the hostile creature it was now. They wanted a soldier not a loose cannon who would kill anyone and everyone that got in its way.

“Calin is asleep, there is no need to wake her.” She bit, her arms struggling in the bindings roughly. Trying to see if there was a weakened bolt or sauder. Something to snap the restraints, so she could kill them all. “I believe she has experienced enough from you shit heads.”

Narrowing his eyes at her, he just watched with a quizzical gaze. It was the same song and dance, every time they went about experimenting. She’d threaten their lives but was never able to follow through, unable to break the confinement. All she needed was a flick of her fingers and their necks would be snapped. But they had never given her the opportunity, they had been very vigilant with keeping the bindings tight and secure.

“Oh I’m afraid this is still just the beginning, my child.” A sick smiled spread acrossed his greasy, drawn in face. One that had even her demons skin crawling in disgust.

He didn’t move very quickly, drawing out his little sick fetish for torture. Spinning the needle in his hand he glided towards her. Hesitating only a moment to look up into Calins eyes, before a toothy grin spread across his face again, letting the tip sink into the flesh of her upper thigh causing her to scream out. A scream so ear piercing that the objects in the room began to shake violently. The substance coursing through her veins like liquid fire, the skin around the puncture mark already blistering up. With each pump of her heart it pushed it deeper into her body, magnifying the pain even more. Her muscles all stiffened till she was lifted off the metal chair, struggling against the restraints with more vigor. Desperately trying to get away, get far away from the pain.

Gritting her teeth, her vision blurred as she watched the man step back. Placing his hands in the pockets of his lab coat, silently waiting out the episode. But she couldn’t keep this up, she couldn’t stand another one of these injections. So with what little strength she could muster she tried to move her hand. The appendages the only thing numb at the moment, making it so difficult to move. But somehow she managed to will her fingers to twitch slightly, giving her a glimpse of hope.

Just as another surge of agony pulsed through her body, she screamed out again. It was just want she needed though, the hatred and rage inside her at the moment allowing her to clench her fist. Which instantly had the man flying into the air. Gasping for breath as his fingers clawed at his neck, desperately trying to pry away the things strangling him. There was nothing there, so the struggling would just wear him out quicker and make this death to fast for her liking.

Flicking her fingers she threw him against the concrete wall, his body making a horrid bone snapping thud as he fell to the floor. Causing a grin to tug at the corner of her lips, the suffering she knew he was feeling, fueled her. It gave her life, like nothing before.

“Y-you kill me… I will have them kill him.” He spat, dark crimson liquid spattering against the grey concrete. His shaky arms coming out to help hoist himself off the ground.

“Kill who?” Calin growled louder, her hand moving downward causing the man to be shoved to the floor again. Her powers crushing him, making him squirm under the pressure. He never answered though, his hearty laugh filled the room instead, echoing off the walls menacingly. Taunting her with hints of information like they always did. “Kill fucking who?” This time she screamed it, and that’s when the world went dark.

Calin violently jolted awake, her body nearly cerening itself off the bed. The fucking bed she so desperately despised, but had hoped it’s softness would truly engulf her body into nothing. Oh how that plan royally backfired. Her heart was was currently slamming against her chest, it’s rhythmic beat so hard and fast she could hear it pounding in her ears. The adrenaline coursing through her veins making it nearly impossible to calm herself, which wasn’t good.

This wasn’t the first time this nightmare plagued her dreams, and frankly how could it truly be a nightmare if she had experienced it in reality already. It was just a memory, a bad fucking memory, that seemed to haunt her like a angry ghost. Even more so since Bucky asked for a break. It had been almost a nightly occurrence now, the minute she’d close her eyes she’d be back there in that musty old concrete room. Strapped down, unable to move or fight back, just waiting for the pain to start all over again. It played on a constant mentally draining loop.

Running a shaky hand over her face, Calin let out a breathy sigh. Her body felt like it was on fire still, like the serum was coursing through her veins ten years after the last needle punctured her skin. It made her tremble, and a cold sweat to form in a thick sheen across her face. Even the sweatshirt she had worn to bed was completely soaked through. Clinging to her chest and arms uncomfortably.

Glancing over to her bedroom door Calin had hoped to see Bucky standing there. Leaning against the wooden frame with his usual small heart melting smile. Hoping he would be close by to help calm her down, to tell her everything was going to be ok. She had done that for him more times then she could count, striding over to his room when she heard the restless noises coming from within. In truth she also did it for herself, because being next to Bucky had a weird effect on her. It was like his presences sucked all the shit HYDRA did to her away. He made her feel like she wasn’t so broken.

However when her eyes panned the darkened doorway, her heart sank further into her chest. There was no one, the door was shut and the tower seemed to be completely silent. In that brief moment Calin had wished she didn’t pull away from him because he asked her to. She wished she had fought for their… their friendship, especially if that’s all she’d ever share with him. It had been almost a month of her waiting for him to come back, waiting for him to finally end this break but days drew on and she found herself losing hope. And there was no chance she was going to demand him to come to his senses, this was his decision, Calin had no right to deviate from what he asked for.

The burning sting of tears washed over her, causing Calin to aggressively wipe at her eyes. It was uncomfortable, feeling the urge to cry, to just let all her emotions out. Wanda had told her a good cry every once and awhile was good for a person. That it helped clear a foggy mind or ease a troubled soul. But she could never bring herself to that point. Calin had spent to much time locked in a cage with her hands plastered over her ears, trying desperately to shield herself from the sounds of HYDRA agents shooting kids she was held captive with. Any sign of weakness, any cries or pleas was met with a bullet. And even though she had escaped them years ago, the images still plagued her, they still held power over all her actions.

Throwing the covers off herself aggressively, she shook her head trying to clear her thoughts. The last thing she needed was to dwell on her past, it would only upset her further. So she found herself getting to her feet, the cold wooden floor sending shivers up her spine as she wandered towards the door.

She knew it was a bad idea but she needed him, her Bucky. Even if it was just to sit on the floor at the end of his bed. His proximity would hopefully ease her tense body in ways that it would take her hours to accomplish. Calin just hoped he would let her in. Afterall he was seeing someone, so he had every right to refuse her at the door. Bucky could slam it right in her face if that’s what he wanted to do. She just hoped he wouldn’t, because the thought had her already aching heart hurting even more. It was a pain, like someone jabbed a red hot poker straight into her chest, causing her breath to hitch and her heart to tighten.

Wrapping her arms around herself she found her way out of her room and down the hall. Her pace was slow and cautious, giving her every opportunity to turn around. To slink silently back to her room and pretend everything was fine, like everything was just fucking peachy, like she usually pretended to do. But Calin wasn’t about facing anytime soon, there was a part of her, deep down, that wanted to see what he’d do. After all she had done for him, would he even reciprocate a fraction of that back to her, even if it was only for a moment? Because a moment was all she needed, a moment to wipe her mind and try to start fresh. To reset herself.

The short trek down to the end of the hall had Calin stopping in front of his bedroom door. Typically she would have just reached for the knob to let herself in. And the path she had just taken had been so ingrained in her mind from the years of following it, she actually found her hand reaching for the handle. However she stopped herself, just before her fingers touched the metal, knowing it wouldn’t be appropriate. Instead her knuckles gently rapped on the wooden door softly. The sound barely audible, but she knew he would be able to hear it.

She stood there quietly, arms still wrapped around her aching body, waiting… and waiting. When he didn’t answer she knocked once again, this time slightly harder. But with each passing second she knew her stupid idea had become a horrible idea. Bucky never even made an attempt to come to the door. There was no movement or shuffling around, just the low garbled sound from the television.

Frowning to herself, Calin finally turned around and started the seemingly long walk of shame back to her room. At least no one was around to see the dejected look on her face at the moment. If Tony had been watching he would have made sure everyone, and she meant everyone, knew about what an idiot she was for even thinking for one second Bucky Barnes truly cared. He’d happily spend thousands of dollars for banners, balloons and probably a fucking parade, if it meant telling her ‘I told you so’. He had warned Calin numerous times from the start about Bucky, she just never saw what Tony did. The Bucky Tony knew wasn’t the same man that became her friend… at least that’s what she thought originally. But she was wrong, she had just been used until the convenience wore off. Just like HYDRA, only needed when they deem the situation useful.

Calin couldn’t contain the low growl that escaped her mouth as she continued down the hallway. Her fists balling at her side so tightly, her knuckles turned a ghostly shade of white as a new wave of betrayal and anger consuming herself. She needed to calm down, especially after that fucking nightmare which her body was still coming down from. It wouldn’t take much to set her over, and with Bucky refusing to help, Calin knew it was only a matter of time before she’d crack. A monster can only be contained so much before the constant pounding on the glass barrier between it and her shattered. And oh boy was it on the near brink of shattering currently.

“Calin, what are you doing up?” She had been so busy in her head, she never saw Steve round the corner nearly running into one another.

Even from where he stood Steve could see she wasn’t alright. Her normal sun kissed skin had turned to a sickly shade of white. So pale that it seemed like she hadn’t seen the sun in years. Sweat beaded on her forehead in tiny droplets, only vanishing when she used her sleeve to wipe them away. Even her eyes were darker, the usual jovial Calin was now shadowed by a version that sent chills up his own spine.

“Couldn’t sleep.” She answered simply.

“Kid you don’t look alright,” Steve carefully started to reach for her, wanting to push a wayward strand of dampened hair out of her eyes. But her hand moved at an inhuman speed to grip his wrist, stopping it in midair.

“I… I just had a nightmare, nothing to worry about.” She cautiously let go of his hand, knowing Steve was ever the worrier and would do all in his power to figure out what was wrong.

Narrowing his eyes slightly at her hunched form, he settled his hand back at his side. Steve knew she had a past, one that would give anyone nightmares. Not unlike Bucky, she was found in a HYDRA facility, but by Tony several years back. She had been locked in a four by four cell… if he could even call it that. It was hardly big enough for his former self, let alone a girl who shared his current height. Tony never did figure out what they had been doing with her, by the time he arrived files had been burned and people who knew anything shot. And it wasn’t like Calin was ever going to tell them. She had refused to speak on the subject, even to this day. When ever the topic was brought up, she would get agitated, on the verge of meltdowns sometimes. To top it all off, the mere mention of being checked over by the doctors had her locked in her room for days until finally Tony gave up.

The guy had a soft spot for the girl, and even if she didn’t recognize it, Tony loved her like a daughter. He’d spend any amount of money to help, but you can’t help someone that doesn’t want it.

That’s why Steve assumed Calin and Bucky were so close. They shared a similar history, a similar story that tied them together on a level no one else could ever be. The friendship had grown so quickly, even Steve was surprised. But in the past weeks it had seemed to crumble away to nothing. Years of being friends thrown away, over what? He’d never know. Bucky shrugged off his concern when he noticed their pull several weeks back, but even then Steve knew his friend was keeping something from him. Whatever it is was Calin must have been at the receiving end, for she turned cold quickly, refusing to address Buck at all, she barely even glanced his direction.

She was hurting, and the worst part was she’s prefer to suffer in silence. Years of HYDRA brainwashing he supposed.

“Come on Kid, I have a nice hard wooden floor calling your name.” Steve gave her a small smile, hoping it would lift her spirits.

Calin knew her friend was only concerned for her well being. Steve would always be a constant positive presence in her life whether she wanted it or not. So when he offered her a spot on the floor she returned his small smile. “I would very much appreciate that.” Running an absent minded hand through her disheveled hair.

Steve shrugged softly, leaning over tentatively wrapping a strong arm around her shoulder, pulling her against his side. When he noticed no sign of protest he relaxed a bit. His hand rubbing up and down the length of her upper arm through the thick damp fabric of one of his old faded hoodies, trying his best to soothe her wandering mind. He was taking a page from Bucky, cause it always seemed to calm her down to some extent.

“Steve?” Calin quietly called out as they began their journey towards his room.

“What is it kid?” Tilting his head he watched her from the corner of his eyes. Seeing Calin take a few swallow breaths, the hand at her side stiffen a bit.

There was an inner monologue being spoken silently as she continued to walk. One that she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to say out loud. She was torn between suffering in silence or being a normal human for once and just telling them she needed help. But the thoughts, the visions of her friends dead at her feet, the blood on her hands. To wake up after her demon finally broke through her last wall of resolve and to see that. It was a sobering moment that had her stopping in her tracks. Turning so she could look at Steve.

“I…. I need help.” It was a statement so unlike her Steve wasn’t even sure he heard Calin correctly. “It’s getting worse everyday, and Bucky isn’t around to help. I’m on the verge of cracking, Steve, and if I do… I don’t know if you guys could stop me.” Her voice got increasingly more pleading. Knowing this was really her only chance at conveying her issues.

Steve sighed softly, pulling the girl into his chest, Calins body tensing a bit at the sudden intimate contact but soon relaxing against him. “We’ll talk with Tony and Bruce in the morning, if anyone can help it will be them, ok?” Calin nodded her head silently, Steve was right the two might be able to help. But deep down she knew that likelihood was slim. “Do you want me to get Buck? He cares you know, no matter what is going on between the two of you right now. He’d be here if he knew you were hurting like this.”

Calin shook her head from the moment the word Bucky spilled out of Steve’s mouth. “No… I don’t need to bother him.” It was a lie, a big fat fucking lie but it was clear Bucky didn’t care. And a part of her didn’t want to break Steves vision of his best friend.

“Ok, if you’re certain.” Tugging her body easily, Steve had them walking back down the hall again heading towards the elevator. He was just thankful his room was only two floors above.

Bucky had just returned from the kitchen with a glass of water when he heard voices. His brows furrowing instantly, recognizing the two starkly different tones even before he peered around the corner. What he didn’t expect was to hear Calin so defeatedly say they didn’t have to bother him. She could bother him all she wished, and he wouldn’t even care. He craved it actually, this month break bullshit that his nightmares started was wearing him down. Bucky needed her, even if it took being strapped down in vibranium restraints every night so he wouldn’t hurt her. He would do anything at the moment.

It hurt him to watch Steve comfort his girl, something Bucky should be doing. He might have never expressed his true feelings to her, but she was his, on levels no one else could ever come close to. It caused his metal arm to whir softly as his fist clenched, watching Steve wrapping an arm around her as they spoke. Touching was a gestured earned by trust, it took Bucky almost a year to even be able to hug the girl. He knew what was acceptable and what would make her flinch. Skin to skin was still a no fly zone, he had tried to trace her bare back with his metal hand one afternoon hoping to feel her heat even more than usual. The instant she felt her sweatshirt being tugged on, it was a whirlwind of panic. Bucky nearly lost his arm again that day.

Steve didn’t know those unspoken rules, he didn’t know what Calin needed… Bucky did.

As Bucky watched them slowly disappear down the hall, he let out a sigh. He vowed to himself that he’d get her back, make her understand why he did what he did. Things he should have done to begin with, instead of being an idiot. Bucky knew it was going to be a struggle, Calin had been expertly evading him since the day he asked for the stupid break.

He’d get his girl back, even if it was going to be the end of him.

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ekedolphin · 3 years

Text

The Final Countdown

"One day more... Another day, another destiny On this never-ending road to Calvary..."

--Jean Valjean, "Les Misérables"

----

The sun was setting in the city of Little Rock, Arkansas on February 17, 2005. The end of another day. He watched the magnificent yellow and orange orb descend dispassionately, knowing that he was another day older, another day wiser (so he hoped), and another day closer to the end of his wrestling career.

He sat on a park bench, listening to the birds, and feeling the wind blow through his short blonde hair. Closing his eyes for a moment, he allowed himself to feel pleasure from the gentle sensations of nature-- truly, they were a gift from God. It'd been a long time since he'd given himself over to a simple longing like this, the longing to be closer to nature that had been imbedded in the heart of man since time was time.

Of course, man had historically misinterpreted that desire as a desire to take over nature, and perhaps that was how the human race had gotten into its current predicament. How can human beings live what they consider to be the "ideal" life without destroying the environment or allowing themselves to become complacent? There really wasn't a good answer to that question. Or perhaps the answer to the question was, "They can't," as illustrated in concepts like The Matrix trilogy-- mankind became too dependent upon machines, and were conquered by their own creations.

He grunted at that thought, and unzipped his leather jacket a little bit, pulling out a Wint-O-Green Life Saver and sliding it into his mouth. He resisted the temptation to immediately chomp down on it as he recalled that night in his youth, long ago, in which all the kids at church camp had been given a Wint-O-Green Life Saver and chomped down on it simultaneously. The flashes of light had surprised and delighted him, and the small, thumb-sized candies had been his favorite sugary treat ever since.

This time he decided to hold it in his mouth, allowing its minty freshness to permeate through him. It, like the wind, felt quite nice. It was always delightful to be able to enjoy such simple sensations when one is in an introspective state of mind-- such as he was. Ever since he'd accepted Jade's invitation for one last night, one last highlight and-- hopefully-- one last reign as World Heavyweight Champion, his mind had wandered, thinking about the things that had happened to get him to this point.

As the old church bells rang six times, he listened to each one as they marked the times of his life. He was nearing the end of his story-- at least, the end of the wrestling chapter of his story, and the beginning of a long-awaited new chapter. But every story...

...Every story... had a beginning.

-----

One sweetly solemn thought Comes to me o'er and o'er; I am nearer home today Than I ever have been before.

--Phoebe Cary

----

The thing that first struck him as he stepped out of his family's brand-new 1982 Ford Escort was the August heat. He'd never experienced anything quite like the sweltering heat just outside Arena Lucha in Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico. This month-long family trip-- from Juneau, Alaska to Guadalajara and back-- had taken them through the Yukon Territory, British Columbia, Alberta, Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, New Mexico, Texas, Chihuahua, Durango and Zacatecas.

Steve Grant was a precocious young nine-year-old, but a trip like this was far beyond anything he'd ever experienced-- or thought he would ever experience-- in his entire life. The first thing that had come out of his mouth when his father, David, had announced this trip six months ago had been, "Why can't we simply fly to Mexico?" Certainly, it was well within the family's means. David Grant was a world-renowned neurosurgeon, making in excess of $1 million annually, with offices in Juneau and Los Angeles. The five-member Grant family-- parents David and Melinda and children Steve, Rachel and Brian-- could easily have afforded to go first-class to whatever city they wanted to, and wouldn't have missed the money.

His father's reply to his question had been hard to argue with. "Nobody ever learned anything flying in an airplane all over the place." Steve had opened his mouth to protest, but his mother's warning look had informed him that his parents had already made up their collective minds about this, and that any further argument would meet with severe consequences. The youngster had learned long ago that he might be able to turn one of his parents to his point of view if they weren't on the same page with one another, but if they presented a united front, he could forget about it.

So he'd had the task of telling his siblings-- six-year-old Rachel and three-year-old Brian-- of the planned trip. Much to Steve's chagrin, Rachel had immediately exclaimed, "Oooh, family trip!" and her enthusiasm had quickly rubbed off on Brian, who'd started bouncing on his bed exuberantly. Steve had muttered something like, "Thanks a lot for [i]your[/i] help," and had walked out of the room.

Looking back on their trip so far, Steve had to grudgingly admit that his parents and siblings had been right-- although he'd be damned if he would admit that to them out loud. So many things they'd seen, so many of the world's wonders. Yellowstone National Park. The Alamo. The Canadian Rockies. British Columbia's Mount Revelstoke National Park, which contained part of the world's only temperate inland rainforest. Colorado's Black Canyon, with walls so deep and narrow that very little sunlight shone through them, making them appear black.

Before the trip had begun, Steve had never been out of his home state of Alaska. He'd been born in Juneau on February 23, 1972. Certainly he'd gone to other cities in Alaska, sometimes even on school field trips. But now Steve could say that he'd been to Canada, Mexico and the contiguous United States. He'd never really gotten a sense for, well... how big it all was, until they'd packed up the gold Escort and taken off.

Certainly, it was a trip that Steve would never forget as long as he lived. But unknownst to him, on this day when he and his family walked into Arena Lucha, he'd remember the exact date-- for this was a day that would change his life forever.

August 8, 1981.

****

"Wow, look at how [i]big[/i] this place is!" Steve exclaimed, leading his family into the Arena Lucha's main colosseum area. His mother smiled. "Yes, Steve. Careful, let that man through." Steve had been told by his parents to walk in front of them, "where we can see you," and Steve's reaction had been to simply nod in understanding. Steve had seen sporting events on TV in which the crowd had become an angry mob, and knew that that tendency typically increased when there was alcohol involved-- as there was here. His parents were keeping a close eye on him for his own protection, which re-assured Steve that they loved him and were going to make sure he was well taken care of.

His father was giving Brian a piggyback ride, and his mother held Rachel's hand, glaring at anyone who came near Rachel in the way that mothers do. So even surrounded by 40,000 wrestling fans, most of whom didn't speak English, Steve felt completely safe.

The Grants' seats were one section back from the ring, which had prompted an immediate protest from Steve when he'd heard the news. "Aww, why can't we sit in the front row? We could afford it, right?" His father, ever the wise parent, had replied, "By sitting one section back, we're afforded a better view of the action. Sit in the front row and you won't be able to see most of what goes on."

Steve took his seat and realized that Dad had been right. His view of the ringside area and entrance ramp was perfect, obstructed only by the ring itself-- and even then, he'd be able to see a fight if it broke out on the opposite side of the ring. Maybe not in perfect detail, but he'd get the gist of what was happening.

If Steve were more mature at this age, he'd reflect that everything his father had told him so far had proven to be wise. He wasn't quite at the age, though, where he'd accept that he wasn't the smartest person in his universe.

A fanfare broke out, and the crowd rose to its feet, even as his mother was ordering popcorn, Pepsis and soft pretzels for the Grant clan. A well-dressed Mexican ring announcer slipped underneath the ropes and made some pronouncements in Spanish, which he'd then translated into English for the benefit of the visitors from the United States. "Please don't throw anything into the ring, please don't touch the wrestlers," et cetera. Steve imagined that every show had these same rules of conduct, and most of the time they were followed-- but when they weren't followed, chaos and panic ensued.

Finally, the ring announcer called out the names of a four-man tag-team as the four individuals entered the arena to a funky Latin beat. The crowd stood and cheered in appreciation, and the masked luchadores took the praise, reveled in it and played to the crowd, which brought a smile to Steve's face.

After the técnicos had entered the ring, the rudos were introduced, and Steve realized that they were much bigger as a group, much more dangerous-looking, and two of them were even unmasked. The crowd booed and hissed at the bad guys, and when they entered the ring, all hell broke loose.

The referee regained control of the situation after a short time, and the match reverted to eight-man tag-team rules-- but with a twist. In addition to having standard tags, if someone was ejected from the ring the next person on his team to enter the ring became the legal man. The high-flying maneuvers were fast-paced, exciting and seemingly never-ending.

Steve sat in awed silence, gazing at the contest with large blue eyes, as the high-risk maneuvers just got more and more crazy...

****

It was a bombshell his parents had never seen coming. Several days after watching the Arena Lucha show, the Grants were on the road again, headed back north on the long trip that would take them back home, when Steve said, completely out of the blue, "I want to be a wrestler when I grow up."

Normally, any parent would say something like, "That's nice, dear," and promptly forget about it-- after all, how could a nine-year-old possibly know what he wants to be when he grows up? And how many times in his life would a nine-year-old have said, "I want to be a fireman," or "I want to be a vet," or "I want to be a marine biologist," while having absolutely no idea what that entailed, and pursuing no study to achieve that goal?

But with Steve, his parents had no reply for a moment. Because this was the first time Steve had ever said he wanted to be anything when he grew up. He'd made no bones about the fact that he was undecided-- there were so many wonderful things he could be, and so much time in which to make that choice, so what was the hurry?

Furthermore, several days had passed since the wrestling show, so David and Melinda Grant knew that Steve didn't say this in a sudden burst of youthful enthusiasm. He said it with a completely serious voice, as if to say, "That's what I'm going to do, dammit, and you can't tell me that I won't be one." His face matched the seriousness of his voice, and his parents realized that they had an interesting task ahead of them.

They hadn't commented on it at the time, but after the children went to sleep that night in a Best Western in New Mexico, David and Melinda stood outside the porch, talking about Steve's revelation. It was just past midnight, and clearly they weren't of the same mind about this one. Melinda thought that the idea of her son becoming a wrestler was horrifying, while David's argument was, "If that's what the child wants to do, let him follow his own path."

In the pale moonlight, Steve and Rachel realized that their parents were no longer in the room, and had crept, barefoot and in their pajamas, over to the window. They crouched down in front of it and were able to make out some-- but not all-- of the conversation.

Rachel giggled girlishly as she realized that her parents were debating about her older brother. "You're really in for it now, Steve," she said, curling and uncurling her toes in relief that she wasn't the one in trouble.

Steve rolled his eyes. "You're no help, Raych," he replied. But he was a little concerned. If Mom had her way, he'd grow up to be a doctor-- but it was something he had no interest in, or aptitude for. He much preferred his father's reasoning-- that you couldn't force that decision on a child. Steve had the suspicion that even Dad secretly hoped he'd "grow out of it," but when he'd watched those luchadores, Steve had had a moment of clarity that he'd never had before in his life. He knew, instinctively, that he wanted to be a wrestler-- not only that, but he knew he had the drive to be a [i]successful[/i] one.

"You think Mom's gonna turn Dad against your wrestling dream?" Even though she liked to tease him, Rachel had also seen in Steve's eyes that he was 100% serious about being a wrestler, and she knew that once big brother set his mind on something, he gave it everything he had. It was part of the reason she looked up to him so much.

"I hope not," Steve sighed. "Because I'm not sure I can do this without the support of my family."

Just then, Mom and Dad walked back towards the hotel room, and the two young Grant children dove into the bed, quickly covering each other up with the blankets. The door opened, and Steve jammed his eyes shut, resisting the temptation to make an "honest to God, I'm sleeping" snore, because he knew it'd sound fake. But before long, he'd drifted off to sleep for real, despite the feeling of his brother and sister's cold bare feet against his.

****

The following day at breakfast, Steve was in the middle of chewing one of his scrambled eggs when Mom said, "Steve, your father and I have something to say about your revelation last night. The wrestling thing."

Steve steeled himself for disappointment. Of course Mom and Dad wouldn't understand, or would think that he was better than being one of those crazy athletes who put their bodies on the line for the enjoyment of fans. Mom was an eighth-grade social studies teacher, after all, and Dad was a neurosurgeon.

Mom looked to Dad expectantly, and he took a sip of orange juice before speaking. "We've decided that if you want to be a wrestler, we're going to do whatever we can to help you achieve that goal."

Steve couldn't believe his good fortune. He stared at his parents in stunned silence for a moment before letting out an exultant "Whoo-hoo!" and hugging Rachel, Brian and finally his parents.

David Grant let his oldest son celebrate for a few more moments, but then held up a warning finger. "I should tell you, Steve, that nothing worthwhile was ever achieved in this world without effort. Saying you want to become a wrestler and becoming a wrestler are two different things. And you have to keep in mind that very few wrestlers make enough money to support their own family, let alone ride around in fancy limousines like that Ric Flair character you're such a fan of."

"WHOO!" Steve immediately replied. He couldn't help himself. Beside him, Rachel laughed, having seen that one coming a mile away.

His mother gave him the look. "But if you're willing to put forth the effort, we're willing to help you however we can. We'll sign you up for wrestling and martial-arts classes, and we'll work with some doctors and personal trainers to help you put together a fitness regimen. No more cheeseburgers for you, Steve, except under very special circumstances. You're going to have to eat right and exercise regularly from now on."

"In addition," his father said, "you're going to keep those grades up, or so help me, we'll pull you right back out of the wrestling and martial-arts training. Don't assume you're going to make money doing what those wrestlers do. If something happens, you're gonna have to use your brains to make a living for yourself. We won't be supporting you 'til you're 47."

His parents looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for Steve to reply. Steve turned all these things over in his head, and finally said the words that would set him on his life's new journey--

"Bring it on."

----

"And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years."

--Abraham Lincoln

----

It was September of 1997, a full sixteen years after Steve had set himself on this path, and he still couldn't believe it had actually happened. Oh, he already had some ring experience, to be sure. He'd trained in the WCW Power Plant for the last two years, learning valuable things about not only the way to have good matches, but the nature of the business itself. Sgt. Buddy Lee Parker had admired his commitment, and a year ago had recommended he be called up to WCW.

World Championship Wrestling hadn't done so, though. Indeed, for three months they hadn't given any answer at all, and when they had, they'd insisted Steve was "not ready for prime-time". His phone conversation with the World Wrestling Federation's Jim Ross had gone much the same way, and Steve hadn't even considered Extreme Championship Wrestling, discarding it as being "garbage wrestling".

Steve stuck in there for six more months, learning absolutely everything he could from Sarge, but had become disheartened by WCW's lack of confidence in him and his abilities. "How can they stick their nose up at me," Steve had commented, "when they've got a 90-year-old champion who can't wrestle his way out of a brown paper bag?" Steve was referring, of course, to "Hollywood" Hulk Hogan.

Three weeks later, WCW had released Steve from his contract, and left with nowhere to go, he went to Japan. He wrestled in New Japan for two months, primarily as a jobber to Japanese luminaries like Jushin "Thunder" Liger, Super Delfin and Mitsuharu Misawa. Along the way, he befriended fellow American wrestler "The Warrior" Nick Wolf, a native of Arizona who'd allegedly been raised by wolves in the wilderness (Steve hadn't quite yet worked up the courage to ask Nick if that were true or not).

Unbeknownst to them, scouts from Internet Championship Wrestling (ICW) had been watching in the crowd when Steve and Nick put on a 20-minute technical wrestling clinic against each other that had resulted in Steve tapping out to Nick's Pretzel Lock submission hold. The scouts introduced themselves backstage later, handed them both plane tickets back to the States, and said "Maybe you should come see us."

Steve and Nick had waited until the scouts left, looked at each other for a moment, and simultaneously exclaimed "Boo-yeah!" while high-fiving one another.

Now, a week later, they were backstage, three hours before they'd both debut on ICW's Monday Night Metal show. Steve would go up against a guy with the unlikely name of Jumping Terror, while Nick battled a man named Joey Richards. They entered the locker room together, and were immediately agog at the number of wrestling legends they were sharing the room with.

"Holy shit, man," Nick exclaimed as he changed into a white wifebeater and a pair of ripped blue jean shorts. The 5'10", ripped African-American was clearly star-struck. "Everywhere you look, there's someone you've seen on TV."

"I know," Steve replied. "Silencer Chris Fry, Stunnin' Steve, Jason Bagwell, Destructo, even 'Bad Ass Brian Marcotte! And they're all right here, in this federation! We could learn a lot from these guys."

Nick nodded his head in agreement. "Damn straight. So, have you talked to this Jumping Terror guy yet?"

"We're supposed to meet in about an hour to discuss our spots," Steve replied. "This is his 'real' debut-- I mean, he didn't wrestle in Japan or anything. He's completely fresh."

"Oh, boy," Nick said, rolling his eyes ironically. "God save the world from rookies, eh?"

Both of them laughed-- the joke, of course, was that both of them still were rookies [i]themselves,[/i] despite their experiences in Japan. And they were both in a joking, jovial mood, because tonight was the night that they'd finally wrestle in front of a live crowd in their home country. God bless the U.S.A.

"Come be a part of the best thing going today," a voice called out. "Death Valley, soon to be the greatest stable this sport's ever seen! Sick of not having anyone to watch your back? Become part of Death Valley today!"

Steve's ears perked up, and looking next to him, he saw that Nick's had, too. "A stable?" Nick asked, in wonderment. "This could be a big thing for us, Steve. There will be plenty of guys waiting to stab a knife in our backs, especially if we achieve the kind of success we're looking to achieve. And that guy distributing fliers is a big, big guy-- rather have him on our side than against us."

"That's certainly true," Steve said, but there was more to it than that. As he looked at the big guy handing out fliers to disinterested-looking wrestlers, something clicked inside Steve's mind. Suddenly, he knew without a doubt that this was something he had to do, something that would change the course of his whole life. To be part of a team, be part of something larger than oneself, was extremely important to him. Just like that day in 1981 when he'd realized he wanted to be a wrestler, now he knew that he had to be a DV member.

Steve and Nick walked up to the big guy, and realized that the tank-top-wearing man wasn't that much bigger than the 6'9" Steve. Of course he dwarfed Nick, but then so did most guys in the locker room.

The man had a frustrated look on his face, as he'd so far gotten a grand total of zero takers for his stable formation idea, but he put on his best customer-service face as he handed a flier to both Steve and Nick. "Come, be part of something great," he said. "Join Death Valley, the alliance that will turn the wrestling world on its head."

Steve and Nick, much to the man's surprise, replied in unison, "All right."

----

"I too shall lie in the dust when I am dead, but now let me win noble renown."

--The Iliad by Homer

----

It was over. The crowd knew it, the announcers knew it, and without a doubt, TANK Thomas knew it. Oh, the kid had certainly fought hard to get to this point, and had earned the World Champion's respect. Definitely the kid would be able to get here again, and maybe sometime down the line, he'd be World Heavyweight Champion.

But not tonight, he decided, grinning in anticipation of his victory. He lifted the tall blonde onto his shoulders, prepared to deal him the devastating powerbomb that had won him so many matches in the past...

****

It's not over. Screw what the crowd thinks, the announcers think, and what TANK Thomas thinks. Steve Grant knew he was in a lot of trouble-- he'd taken quite a pounding the last few minutes after a battle that had see-sawed back and forth-- but he didn't allow himself for a moment to think his fight was over.

Nor did he accept the possibility of failure. Failure was something he never allowed himself to experience as long as there was fight left in him; to give up simply wasn't the way he was taught. Two weeks earlier, he'd gone through three men in the same night to win the inaugural Lord of the Rings tournament, and he knew that no matter what happened in the future, he'd always be able to say, "I was the first man to win the Lord of the Rings tournament."

But never did it occur to him to simply settle for that distinction. The LotR victory had transformed him from a tag-team star (indeed, a former four-time World Tag Team Champion) into a singles star overnight. It had propelled him from being one of DV's junior members into the unquestioned leader of Death Valley-- certainly, something he never expected would happen so soon.

Yet he knew that this World Title shot, guaranteed him by winning the tournament, was something he had to take full advantage of. LotR winner or no, he didn't know how long he'd be able to maintain his spot in the upper echelon of New Extreme Wrestling, and had absolutely no idea how many opportunities he'd have like this. An opportunity not only to win the World Heavyweight Championship, but to do so against a man that, up until a month ago when he suffered back-to-back losses to Grant's DV teammate Doomsday (including the second loss which cost Thomas the U.S. Heavyweight Title), had put together a tremendous undefeated streak.

But right now, Steve was in tremendous pain. His head, neck and back were agonized by the continuous assault of the World Champion. He'd just about been knocked unconscious by some of those blows, and was grateful he hadn't been, because he knew Thomas would have immediately capitalized and pinned him to retain the title. As Steve was lifted onto Thomas' shoulders, the crowd let out a collective gasp, as if not believing that Steve's first title shot would end like this. But they'd seen this scenario on many occasions, and probably weren't particularly surprised by it. Oh, well, somewhere down the line TANK had to lose to someone, right?

They couldn't possibly have any idea that they were about to witness the coronation of a blossoming legend.

****

"TANK Thomas lifts Steve Grant up for the powerbomb! This is gonna be the end of it, folks...!"

"Wait... what is Steve Grant doing?"

"He's punching away at the champion's head as hard as he can! There is still life left in the Blue Inferno after all! Come on Steve, you can do it, kid!"

"Steve Grant has managed to climb off the stunned TANK Thomas' shoulders! He's lifting him up onto his own shoulders... Death Valley Driver! Steve Grant has hit the Death Valley Driver on TANK Thomas!"

"That's the move he used to defeat EGANRAC two weeks ago in the Lord of the Rings tournament finals!"

"Steve Grant's trying to shake off the abuse he suffered only a few minutes ago... he's crawling over to make the cover... do it, kid! Take your place in history!"

"He's slumped down on top of TANK Thomas, and he's got his leg hooked!"

"One...

"Two...

"THREE! Steve Grant has done it! Steve Grant has done it!"

"I don't believe it!"

"Ladies and gentlemen, your winner... and new World Heavyweight Champion, 'Blue Inferno' Steve Grant!"

****

It didn't seem real, but there it was. Referee Mark Pence handed Steve the World Heavyweight Championship belt and raised his hand to signify his victory. Steve stared at the title belt in disbelief for a moment before slumping down onto his knees and weeping tears of joy.

Finally, he'd done what he'd set out to do. Finally, the world knew him as its Heavyweight Champion. He'd proven wrong everyone who'd ever doubted him, and he'd earned the admiration and respect of wrestling fans all over the globe.

Nick Wolf was the first to slide into the ring, and he embraced his friend, his partner, his brother. He, too, was shedding happy tears, as happy for Steve as he would've been if it had been Nick who'd won the championship. More friends and loved ones entered the ring... Hawk Manson, Steve's girlfriend Jessica Riley, "Warhammer" Kano Kumira, "TombStone" Adam Holiday. All of them embraced him not only as their friend, but as their champion.

Later that night, Steve knew, he'd propose to Jessica as he'd planned to do. He had the ring in the inside pocket of his leather jacket, which he'd left in the locker rom. Tonight he'd ask her to marry him, and they'd be very happy together, because Jessica was the woman he wanted to be with for the rest of his life.

He knew that the anxiety wouldn't set in until the adrenaline from his victory fully wore off, so he allowed himself to bask in the glow of his successful challenge, knowing that a far more difficult challenge-- marriage-- could possibly be awaiting him in the very near future.

----

"Aren't you beginning to feel time gaining on you? It's like a predator, it's stalking you."

--Tolian Soran, Star Trek: Generations

----

March 28, 2000 was a date that would be forever embedded into his mind. It was perhaps the most memorable day of his life-- more memorable than his first World Title victory, his first day of school, or even the day he got married to his wife.

Memorable, yes-- but not all memories are good memories.

****

Steve was frantic in those moments that he stood helplessly, waiting for the paramedics to arrive and carry away the woman he loved. Who would have thought that things would come to this? Who would have thought that, by winning a #1 contender's match against Sport Jones only nine days ago to earn a title shot against the World Champion, Trent Raven, harm would come to his family? And not just his family-- his wife!

Steve knew how important the World Heavyweight Championship was, having held it on two previous occasions. To someone in this business, the World Title was everything. It was the culmination of everything that you'd worked towards in your life, the one thing you could point do and say, "See this? This means I'm the best." While Steve had held it, he'd referred to it in promos as "his life", a comment that had been slightly tongue-in-cheek. In reality, sure, the belt was important to him, but he was always mindful of the fact that there were other things that were of far more worth-- to him, if not necessarily to anyone else.

At the absolute top of the importance totem pole was the woman who right now lay bleeding in his locker room. Four days earlier, while Steve had been out shopping, Trent Raven's posse, "Trent's Rave", had kidnapped Jessica from her home. Steve had immediately summoned the police, but when they'd caught up with The Rave, Jessica was no longer among them. With no evidence to make a case against them, the police had been forced to let them go.

No evidence. Steve rolled his eyes angrily at that notion. As if the fact that Trent had left his signature flannel sweater "calling card" at his home wasn't evidence enough. Steve knew, without a doubt in his mind, that The Rave had been responsible for the kidnapping, and whatever they'd done to her between then and now, she was clearly in need of immediate medical attention. She was bleeding profusely from the stomach and groin area, and underneath her torn clothing he could see that her once-beautiful skin had lines of blood drawn down it.

The paramedics arrived within thirty seconds of Steve's summons, although from Steve's perspective the time seemed to stretch on forever. Steve had seen some strange things in his life, and been part of some brutal matches-- including the inaugural "Mall Madness" match against Damien Simons and Chaos twenty-four days earlier in which he'd Inferno Kicked Simons off the mall balcony into a fountain.

But this...

Steve's mind simply wasn't coping with this, and he had no strength to resist or even acknowledge as he was gently led into the ambulance.

****

When they reached the hospital, Steve was gently ushered into a waiting room. It was then that his resistance began to return, as he cried out, swore, and tried desperately to stay by Jessica's side. Somehow-- Steve couldn't remember exactly how it had happened-- they'd talked him down from the verge of violence, and managed to get him to sit in relative peace and quiet, waiting for word.

Although Steve's exterior demeanor was rather calm considering the circumstances, his emotions were rolling over top of one another, some of them conflicting and many not making sense. He should have been there, he should have... gotten to the locker room sooner... should have paid to have the groceries delivered instead of leaving Jess alone in the house... should have allowed Sport Jones to beat him for a change... hell, he shouldn't have gotten into the wrestling business in the first place.

There it was. Although obviously Steve hadn't done this to Jessica himself, and had, obviously, gone insane with worry as he'd done everything in his power to find her, the fact remained that if not for the decision he'd made on that hot summer day in 1981, Jessica wouldn't have been kidnapped, and wouldn't at this moment be fighting for her life in the emergency room of St. Joseph's Hospital in St. Louis. The fact that if not for his wrestling career, he and Jess would likely never have [i]met[/i] didn't cross the anguished man's mind. All he could think was, It's my fault... it's my fault... oh, my God, Jess is going to die because I wasn't strong enough... wasn't good enough...

Steve would later look back on this waiting process with curiousity. Earlier, it had taken the paramedics less than a minute to get to Jessica while she'd been bleeding in the locker room-- even though it had seemed like hours to Steve. But as he waited four hours for word of his wife, the only person that, in the final analysis, meant anything to him at all-- when the news came, it felt like only minutes had gone by. He'd been lost in deep meditation, praying to God to intervene, to please let Jessica live... Jessica, who'd never stepped on an anthill in her entire life, let alone Death Valley Drivered the living daylights out of the people she worked with. Please, make me die, Steve had thought on more than one occasion, but not her. Please, there aren't nearly enough gentle spirits like her on earth... and there are far too many savages like me.

His conversation with God had alternately taken the forms of pleading, bribing, begging, demanding and finally, when he'd had no alternative, trusting. Trusting that whatever was planned for her was the way it was going to be, and Steve had to try and prepare himself for life without her. Even though life without her seemed absolutely inconceivable.

Steve looked up into the kindly eyes of an old, gray-haired male doctor, wearing wide glasses, aquamarine hospital scrubs and a nametag on his right breast that read "K. Thompson". Belatedly, he realized that the gentleman had been trying to get his attention for the past minute or so.

He rose to his full height of 6'9", towering over the doctor by over a foot-- yet Steve had never felt quite so small.

"Mr. Grant," Dr. Thompson began, formally and with sympathy in his voice. He spoke in technical terms for a few moments, but all of them rolled off his mind when he said, "I'm sorry, there's nothing we can do for her."

****

Steve slowly crept into Jessica's hospital room, still far too much in shock to shed tears. This was impossible, this couldn't be happening, he'd wake up any minute now and Jess would be sleeping right beside him, with that same beautiful smile that she'd reserved only for him even in her slumber. He'd go downstairs, make her breakfast in bed, make slow, passionate love to her and tell her that he'd never let her go, not ever.

But as he saw her lying there, being pumped full of IV fluids and continuing to lose so much blood despite the doctors' best efforts, his personal mantra was shattered. This was real, Jessica was dying, and if he happened to die and go to hell, his personal torment would be reliving this moment for the rest of eternity.

He sat to her right, and gently took her hand in his. Her skin felt so cold and clammy to the touch-- nothing at all like the warm, sensuous Jessica he'd been married to for the past 17 months. Only seventeen months of marriage, dammit! She was only 24 years old... she could have had sixty, seventy more years of life left in her! And they hadn't even made time to have a family yet! Why did it have to be like this...?

Her eyelids fluttered open, and she looked at Steve with momentary confusion, as if trying to remember who he was. Steve's heart sank for that instant-- but melted again when she gave him that smile. Somehow, though she was dying, that smile still had a lot of life left in it. What she had was a gift, a gift for making people happy, for taking care of people. That gift was why she'd become a med student in the first place. What sane person could ever want to harm her?

"Steve," she said simply. She clearly had to strain even to say that one syllable. Her eyes seemed to be glazing over slightly.

"I'm here, baby," Steve said, choking back his tears. "I'm here now, and everything's gonna be all right... we're gonna go home soon, and I'll sing you into a beautiful new world..." He didn't even know half the things he was saying right now, overwhelmed with the sense of loss and grief he was experiencing.

Jessica laughed, though the laughing sounded like croaking in her throat, and looked at Steve in the same way she did when she knew he wasn't being serious. "Silly boy," she gurgled. "You... you don't have to lie to me... I know we don't have much time left..."

The tears were flowing freely down Steve's face now, and he struggled to control the anguish in his voice as he said, "We'll... always have time, Jessica... our world is only you and me, baby..." He kissed her then, for the last time, as he remembered the first time he'd kissed her three years ago on that beautiful Sunday evening. Where had the time gone, and why had it been taken away from them so early?

When he broke off the kiss, it didn't take him long to realize that Jess had died while they'd been kissing. Much later, when he was in a more reflecting, more stable state of mind, he'd decide that he was happy her final moments were pleasant moments.

But that time was a long ways off...

****

What happened in the next few hours was a blur to Steve, even looking back on it in the present-day. All he knew for sure was that he'd gone back to his hotel room, almost completely destroyed the place, and gone outside and burned his Blue Inferno tights in the hotel parking lot. With a pair of scissors, he cut all of his hair from the base of his neck to the base of his skull. He found an old pair of black jeans, black tank-top and boots, and walked out of his hotel room, got into his car and zoomed off into the distance.

He swore that the Blue Inferno was dead. In his place was The Dark Warrior, a man on a mission of vengeance. He'd no longer sit idly by while people suffered-- he would inflict judgment on those who had wronged him. The first person on that list would be the man who was chiefly responsible for kidnapping his beloved wife-- Trent Raven. Their World Title match was eleven days from now. If Trent had kidnapped Jessica thinking he'd hold some kind of power over whether or not he kept his title, he was going to find out that he'd made a horrible mistake.

****

"Grant! Grant! I killed Jessica, you stupid son of a bitch!"

Those words startled Steve out of his reverie. Less than a minute earlier, he'd easily defeated Trent Raven to win his third NEW World Heavyweight Championship, and was now in the process of beating the living hell out of him with a metal folding chair. Throughout the course of the evening, Steve had surreptitiously eliminated the members of Trent's Rave-- attacking various members in the locker room, parking lot, backstage "gorilla position", everywhere and anywhere he could find them. He'd done that for only one purpose-- to prevent their interference in both the title match and the aftermath he'd planned. Oh, yes, it was shaping up to be a very long night for Trent, indeed.

But the words spoken by TYRANT on the massive ExtremeTron above the arena brought Steve up short. The surprised look on his face quickly twisted into an expression of rage, and for an instant he walked towards the entrance ramp, prepared to head backstage and beat the living fuck out of him. But the camera zoomed out, and he could see clearly that TYRANT wasn't in the arena-- indeed, he was probably nowhere close to the arena.

He was sitting on a crate in an old, apparently abandoned warehouse, accompanied by his vile henchman, Demonic. Both of them looked smug at seeing the look of furor on the face of The Dark Warrior.

Steve stared at a ring attendant as if to say, "If I don't have a mic in my hands right now, I'm gonna beat the hell out of you." The ring attendant got the idea and quickly tossed him a microphone.

"TYRANT, you're a dead man! A dead man. At our next pay-per-view, it's going to be you and me... for this," he said, gesturing to the belt. "And whether or not you leave that match alive is gonna be entirely up to me."

----

"For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night."

--Psalms 90:4

----

The time had come for Steve's World Heavyweight Title defense against TYRANT. It was taking place in none other than the "World's Most Famous Arena", Madison Square Garden in New York City. And as Steve walked down the entrance ramp to the thunderous roar of "Hells Bells" by AC/DC, an equally thunderous roar rose from the crowd as they realized that instead of walking out in the black-and-white colors of The Dark Warrior, Steve had returned to his roots as The Blue Inferno.

He'd intentionally avoided his family and friends since he'd begun his campaign of vengeance, but Brian had tracked him down earlier that night in the boiler room. "You've got to stop this," Brian had pleaded. "If nothing else, so you can defeat TYRANT. Only good can conquer evil. TYRANT may have taken Jess from us, but he did something even worse to you-- he twisted the goodness inside of you. Don't allow him to have the satisfaction of destroying a good man."

What Brian had said made a lot of sense to Steve-- as it almost always did. Steve and Rachel had used to joke that it was a good thing their younger brother was so good at talking his way out of danger, because he certainly didn't have a size advantage on most people. Though Steve was 6'9" and Rachel was 5'11", tall for a woman, Brian was only 5'9". He could still wrestle with the best of them, but his greatest attribute was his mind-- which had convinced Steve to throw away the Dark Warrior colors once and for all.

And though Steve had only been able to find a blue pair of adidas track pants with the characteristic three white lines going down the sides, the symbolism was very clear to everyone in attendance. The Blue was back, and he'd use the power of his goodness to destroy the power of evil.

But as Steve looked TYRANT in the eyes, his message was clear-- Dark Warrior or no Dark Warrior, he'd still inflict the most heinous example of DV ass-whipping that the world had ever seen.

****

Twenty minutes later, after the most hellacious battle of his life, Steve Grant held his NEW World Heavyweight Title belt unsteadily above his head after his successful defense. He'd vanquished TYRANT with not one, not two, but three Death Valley Drivers-- which was far less than the son of a bitch deserved, but when he saw the concerned look on the face of Brian sitting ringside-- the look that said, "Don't do anything they'll lock you up for"-- he'd finally pinned him and ended the suffering-- for now.

But suddenly the lights in the arena went out, and when they came back on, Steve jumped back in shock as he was face to face with the menacing visage of Ragnarok. Ragnarok was TYRANT's soulless minion, an intimidating figure that wore a characteristic black mask and apparently felt no pain. Men had hit him with everything in their arsenal and he'd popped right back up. And when Ragnarok hit you, it hurt like hell-- like slamming into a brick wall.

Steve looked into Ragnarok's evil eyes and knew that he was in no condition to fight off an attack by him-- nor would he likely have been in any condition before the contest.

But Ragnarok wasn't looking at him-- he was looking at the fallen form of his master, TYRANT. Steve stepped to one side, and Ragnarok walked over to TYRANT, helping him to his feet-- and then he lifted him up for a piledriver!

The crowd went apeshit, and Steve watched in stunned silence. Ragnarok tore off the mask, and it was none other than Ben Genesis-- a wrestler who'd recently disappeared with no apparent explanation. There was the answer.

"That one was for my mother! This one's for my father!" Genesis said, and hit a second piledriver. "This one's for my brother!" WHAM! "This one's for my sister!" WHAM! "And this one's for me!"

He connected with yet a fifth piledriver, and when TYRANT slumped to the mat, his neck was bent at an odd angle. Steve had no doubt that the evil man's neck was broken.

Two days later, in his first promo since the title match, TYRANT would take a gun to his head and (apparently) shoot his own brains out. Looking back on Genesis' stunning annihilation of TYRANT later, Steve would realize that he could have saved TYRANT if he'd chosen to-- but he'd deliberately stood there and watched as Genesis effectively ended his life.

And what's more... he didn't feel the least bit bad about it.

----

"As if you could kill time without injuring infinity."

--Henry David Thoreau

----

It was a proud day for Steve Grant. Two years ago, he'd opened the Inferno U. wrestling school with the intention of giving back to the industry that had given him such a wonderful life. He'd put his days of wrestling in the past, and focused on teaching the next generation what he'd learned, so that perhaps they could achieve the same kind of success that he had.

Steve had not allowed any of the potential applicants to become complacent. 319 wannabe professional wrestlers had showed up the first day he'd opened this gym in San Francisco, California. Many of them had clearly been in it just to be on camera, or had reasoned that "wrestling is fake" and therefore anybody could do it. Steve had been more than happy to disavow them of that notion, although he'd been careful not to cause serious pain to any one of them-- after all, many of them had been kids with delusions of grandeur.

He'd invited forty-seven back the following day. 24 of the 47 students made it to the third day, and that number was cut in half the fourth day. The "Original Twelve" had all been serious about becoming wrestlers and making it in the business, they'd all been in tremendous physical condition, and each of them had a solid work ethic-- the exact characteristics that Steve had been looking for.

He put those twelve students through hell for one week, seeing if any of them could distinguish themselves. Immediately, three names had jumped to the forefront-- Antonio Mason, Lee Conway and Mark Alizandro. Steve even coined nicknames for two of them-- "The Wild Child" for Mason, due to his intensity in the ring, and "Lee Charisma" for Lee Conway, for the way he really got the audience involved in his promos and ring work.

Following the "Week of Hell," as some of the students later referred to it as, Steve had released five individuals-- and told the remaining seven that they were Inferno U.'s Class of 2004. He'd taken them to DV Headquarters in Expedition, Alaska, shown them all of DV's accomplishments, and then said, "You see all this stuff? To hell with it."

He'd paused, and taken a sip of water. "All that you've worked towards right now, it represents only an opportunity I'm trying to help you build. An opportunity to prove to yourselves, and to everyone else, that you can make it into this business. But even if you do graduate from Inferno U. in two years-- which, I assure you, is not a foregone conclusion with anyone-- I'm not promising that anything will come of it. You have to be willing to make the effort, but just as importantly, you have to be willing to make the right decisions. Because anybody can put a lot of effort into doing the wrong thing."

Some of his students had taken that lesson to heart, and some hadn't. In the following two years, Inferno U. students had gone through an intense training regimen that had made NFL training camps look like kindergarten. Each of them had suffered an injury at different points throughout their "education". Many of them hadn't been able to make it-- in fact, five students washed out of the program before graduation. Steve hadn't cut any of them-- they'd simply decided one day not to show up, or walked out in frustration after taking one too many bumps. Even Mark Alizandro, whom Steve thought had good potential, had one day called the university and said he wouldn't be returning.

There had been many days that Steve wondered if he should be upset with the five who couldn't cut it. But not long ago he'd come to the conclusion that he shouldn't be frustrated with the students-- or himself-- if 99.3% of the people who'd walked into Inferno U. on that first day hadn't made it long enough to see today. If he could say without a doubt that he'd trained two students that had a very good shot at making it to the top of the wrestling business, then the past two years had absolutely been worth it. And what was more, "The Wild Child" Antonio Mason and Lee Charisma could smile when they looked back on this day, knowing that it had only come through intense work and sacrifice.

So on this day, November 17, 2004, Steve watched proudly as Mason and Charisma put on a thirty-minute wrestling clinic, mixing fast pacing with exciting comebacks and brilliant technique. The planned ending came off perfectly-- Charisma went for a Frog Splash, only to find that Mason was no longer where he'd been only a second before. Charisma rolled over onto his back, clutching at his stomach, and that was all Mason needed to climb the opposite turnbuckle and hit a spectacular Phoenix Splash. Nick Wolf, the referee, counted the pinfall.

As it ended, Steve and his brother Brian rose from their seats, applauding in appreciation as Nick held up Antonio's hand. As the Grant Brothers showed their respect for the talents of the two young men, they were joined in a standing ovation by the night's special guests-- the Conway and Mason families, gathered here together on this very special day.

Antonio reacted to their admiration with his typical small half-smile, and helped Lee to his feet, embracing him warmly. Mason and Charisma had become good friends as they'd spent the last two years bleeding, suffering and learning together. And they both knew the match they'd just put on was the best they'd wrestled in their lives thus far, so they were more than entitled to this moment.

Brian muttered to Steve, "Great kids you've got here, bro." Steve didn't disagree. They'd done everything he'd asked of them and more, far more. He knew there was nothing else he could teach them that wouldn't be superfluous. Soon, it would be up to them to make the right decisions in the industry and in life.

"Lee, Tony, if you'd be so kind as to exit the ring and come here. Oh, Jay, did you get all this on video?" The cameraman, Jay Wilder, gave the thumbs-up signal. Steve would give several copies of the match to both Tony and Lee, so that they could send them out to whatever federations they were interested in trying out for. The last time Steve had asked, Lee told him that he was looking into probably going to Japan for awhile. Tony had been less forthcoming about his plans, but Steve respected his privacy enough to leave it alone.

Lee Charisma and Antonio Mason stood in front of Steve and Brian, trying very hard not to be too obvious about basking in the glow of their great match. Steve chuckled at their failed attempt to repress that emotion as Nick tossed a bottle of water to each of them. Lee took a large gulp of it, while Tony sipped it gingerly.

"Gentlemen," Steve said, "you've done well to make it as far as you have. You've defied expectations, extended the boundaries of what you once were, and hopefully learned something about yourselves along the way." He reached down into his gym bag, which was underneath his chair, and pulled out two plaques. "And so on this day, November 17, 2004, I recognize you, Lee Charisma, as a graduate of Inferno U."

The tall blonde received a round of applause as Steve presented him the plaque and shook his hand, and then Steve said, "On this day, I recognize you, Antonio Mason, as a graduate of Inferno U." Steve handed Tony his plaque, shaking his hand as well.

And for the next four hours, Inferno U. had its first party, as the families of the school's first two graduates congratulated their sons, their brothers, on completing one of the most difficult tasks of their life. But Steve knew that he'd only shown them the door to opportunity, and where they went from there would be entirely up to them.

Steve smiled as he saw Lee, and even Tony, grinning from ear to ear. Lee had always had that quick smile from the first time he'd walked into the school, but it didn't come quite so naturally to Tony. In a way, it looked almost... bizarre on him.

He chuckled. If doing this was his life now, he had no complaints. He'd left the in-ring portion of his wrestling career behind him, and he'd been more than happy to do so.

So he thought.

----

"Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest someone else spend it for you."

--Carl Sandburg

----

When six minutes had elapsed since the sunset, he listened to the distant bells of the old church some miles in the distance. Church bells told a strange tale, they told of completion... finality... the knowledge that God had given us all a limited time to be here, and when it was over, there was no turning back.

The Wint-O-Green Life Saver dissolved fully in his mouth, as he'd known it would do. There was something about the inevitability of that that comforted him. It had dissolved into the nothingness from which it had come, as all things eventually did. Nothing on this sphere was eternal; not even the sphere itself was eternal. Seasons would pass, this year would fade into the next, and the next, and the people he'd known would grow old and die, as would he. He prayed that the generations that would follow would take better care of themselves than this generation had. What was that old saying? "Each generation grows weaker and wiser"?

The number of quotations he'd recalled recently about time might even be enough to drive his Zen-like younger brother Brian insane. It wasn't as if Steve was particularly old, although he'd gotten ribbing from the boys about his age. He was only 32, dammit, but on days like this, he felt time gaining on him.

"Feeling introspective today, Steve?" Steve looked up to see who had spoken, and smiled. It was his former student, "The Wild Child" Antonio Mason.

"Just been one of those days, Tony," Steve replied. "Please, sit down." Tony complied, and the two men sat in silence for a few moments. It was Steve who broke the silence. "I heard you signed with PWK. Congratulations, they're a good federation... they treat their people right."

"So I've heard," Tony replied. "I heard you've decided to come back one last time yourself, for the final show in the history of New Era Wrestling."

Steve nodded. "That's what I've been sitting here contemplating... thinking about what's past, and wondering what's to come." The look on Tony's face told Steve that he knew all about the career of The Blue Inferno-- and had even thought of some of those moments from his own perspective, as a fan watching those images on television week after week.

"This is a great time to be a wrestler, Tony," Steve said. "You're young, you haven't even begun your career yet-- you're talented, but you've still got a lot to learn. I hope that you learn from the decisions I made... some of them good, others terribly unfortunate. I wish better things for you than I received myself."

Tony smiled, but it was clear his perspective was different. "If I could come remotely close to accomplishing everything you've accomplished, I'd consider myself to be a man of achievement," he said. "It meant a lot to me to graduate from Inferno U., but that's just the beginning for me."

"I know. I think you knew from the moment you walked in the door that you'd be sitting next to me now, the beginning of your wrestling career inching closer and closer. You earned everything you got, and so did Lee, and that makes me feel good. No political bullshit like NEW and especially NEGWA loved to pull. Just two guys, working their asses off because they believe in the business, and believe they have a future in it." Steve grinned. "Now if I can only find a class that's anywhere near as talented as my first one, I'll be a happy man."

"That's kind of you," Tony replied in a tone that indicated that he was trying to be polite, but was beginning to get a little tired of all the praise. "But you've got a mission to accomplish first. The NEW World Heavyweight Championship... a belt that I know means more to you than any material thing in this world. You're gonna go out there nine days from now, defeat everyone in that battle royale, and then introduce yourself to Will Storm by shaking his hand and then kicking his ass and taking his title.

"And you're going to do it because you're Steve Grant, dammit, an NEW Hall of Famer, and it's your destiny to become NEW World Champion for the rest of your life. And all the rest of it is bullshit."

Steve chuckled. "Long week ahead of me," he said. "I'll probably spend most of it lost in memories of years past. But the 26th may end up being the most memorable night of my career-- the very last night, before I turn the wrestling over to the young-uns like yourself."

Steve rose, and Tony walked side-by-side with him as they left the park. Every man faced a day when he had to ride into the sunset, and if Steve was doing so, he'd be damn sure he was carrying fifteen pounds of gold along with him.

----

"The only limit to our realization of tomorrow will be our doubts of today."

--Franklin Delano Roosevelt

#bisg #e-wrestling #rp #oc rp

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halfway-happyyy · 7 years

Text

Anywhere I go, There You Are

Anonymous request: So, seeing as we’re both from Canada, I figured that you might be willing to write something where Bill’s girlfriend is Canadian & she goes to Sweden with him for the first time (maybe her first impression when they arrive in Stockholm is: ‘well, the cold weather’s definitely familiar to me’). Anyway, he takes her on a series of mini dates which revolve around sightseeing/relaxation; then, for the last one, he takes her on a very fancy dinner & proposes.

Disclaimer: Sorry in advance if you aren’t Canadian! Just close your eyes and picture yourself surrounded by a bunch of igloos and majestic moose, sipping on a large double-double coffee with two creams that you paid for in loonies, with a bowl of steaming poutine sitting next to you! 🍁🇨🇦💙

It starts off as a playful conversation between two long-term lovers. You’re seated face-to-face, the only source of light in the darkened room emanating from varying degrees of melting candles. “If you could have anything for Christmas this year, what would it be?” Bill’s arm is slung over the back of your wooden chair, his other hand resting loosely around the stem of a white wine glass.

You push the almost empty plate of food out of your way and steeple your hands under your chin. “This is a loaded question.”

Bill shakes his head grinning, he lifts the glass to his lips and takes a hearty sip. “Its not, because I have a feeling I know exactly what you’d like. I’d like to hear you say it.”

You take a sip of your own wine, savoring the slightly bitter tannin against your tongue and set the glass down with a resounding clank against the marble tabletop. “I’d like to travel to Sweden with you. More specifically, Stockholm. You’ve been home to Canada with me a few times. You’ve met my family and vice versa, but it’s just… time.”

Bill tips the last of the wine into his open mouth, his gaze lingering on yours. “Well,” He beams brightly and produces two folded sheets of paper from his denim pocket. “I can’t even begin to fathom how much more beautiful Stockholm will be with you in it.”

Eleven hours and thirty minutes, and you don’t think you’ve ever been more excited to travel to a place in your life. Just as you begin your descent into Stockholm, Bill turns to you and murmurs, “I should warn you that it’s not very warm this time of year…”

You cock your eyebrow in mock surprise and fold your arms over your chest matter-of-factly. “Were you aware that the coldest day ever recorded in Canada was -63°C? We live for the cold. It’s what makes us Canadian.”

Bill tilts his head back and elicits a laugh, nodding his head. “Fair point, my love.”

Stepping foot into the Stockholm Arlanda airport is a welcome reprieve from any of the airports back home; there isn’t a single person gawking embarrassingly at Bill, there are no tacky cameramen or autograph hunters. It’s delightfully peaceful and Bill is absolutely reveling in it. Retreating out into the evening Stockholm air, you’re quite prepared to pull your jacket tighter around your body but when you realize that it’s actually only -2°C, you turn to Bill. “This? This is your perception of cold?”

Bill’s green eyes widen and he throws his hands into the air. “When you’re used to the climate in California anything below zero is considered cold!”

Though it’s incredibly dark out, and Bill’s brother Sam is driving inherently fast, it’s easy to see how beautiful the city of Stockholm truly is. You can’t help but feel utterly giddy about what Bill and his family have in store for the next two weeks. When you arrive to Bill’s mothers house in the south of city, she is still awake and standing on the porch outside the house. Sam exits the car and heads to the trunk to grab your luggage but Bill’s already halfway up the sidewalk. You stay behind to help Sam with the bags, but he simply smiles and gestures to his mother. “She’s been waiting weeks to see you both. Go on.” You watch in awe as My cradles Bill’s head between her hands and kisses both of his cheeks passionately. He gives her hug and makes way for you, which she does a variation of the same greeting. “So happy to finally have you both here.” She smiles warmly at you and leads the way into the brightly lit house.

You’re pretty much dozing off on the couch to the sounds of Bill, Sam and his mother speaking fervent Swedish. It’s such a beautiful lull that you don’t want to leave but Bill eventually takes your hand and says, “Its been a long travel day. Let’s get you into bed love.” Bill actually drifts off to sleep before you, a small smile etched across his delicate features.

You’re jolted awake after what only feels like a few hours of sleep, to the sound of arguing in the kitchen. Tentatively, you stretch your arm over to Bill’s side of the bed, which is cool to the touch. A bright morning sun filters in through white lace curtains and you strain to make out the cacophonous voices in the distance. Bill says something in Swedish and before the sentence has even left his mouth, a female voice interrupts him. You grin in spite of yourself.

Eija.

You throw on a pair of pants and a sweater of Bill’s and pad out into the kitchen where, sure enough, Bill and his sister Eija are having a heated debate over two cups black coffee at the kitchen table. As soon as she spots you in the corner, her blue eyes light up and she excuses herself from the table to wrap her arms around you. “Y/n! So happy to see that Bill has finally brought you home to the motherland!” She tosses a cheeky wink in Bill’s direction, to which he simply rolls his eyes at. “What have you guys got on the go for today?” She asks, and returns to the table to take a sip of her coffee.

You glance expectantly over at Bill who is already shrugging his shoulders. “It’s a surprise.”

Eija nods her head, checking something on her phone. “Well as long as you’re both back here before dinner. Dad and Megan are doing a family dinner tonight.”

“Here?” You ask, slightly confused.

Bill shakes his head and removes himself from the table to rinse out his empty coffee cup. “Mum and dad live on the same block.”

You spend about an hour getting ready to go out before Bill proposes that you wander around downtown for the day, (which is exciting in itself because it means you get to shop). You’re quite content to be by Bill’s side regardless of what it is you’re doing. This occasion just happens to be particularly special because Bill is home, he is happy and you don’t know if you’ve ever seen him this relaxed. After a few hours of gallivanting around downtown (and an hour’s worth of relaxation during fika) Bill suggests you retreat to famed art hotel At Six. It’s a beautifully modern, stone structure. Seventies vinyl’s play softly in the background of the lounge; Bill glances at the menu and orders what he would like in Swedish. When it arrives to the table, it is an ornately decorated ceramic teapot. You eye it cautiously and Bill grins. “Its gin. Try it love, you’ll like it.” Sure enough, it is gin and it’s going down fast. Halfway into babbling nonsensically about something unimportant, and trying in vain to ignore the way Bill is amusedly watching you, he slides his hand over the table to cup yours. “I don’t think I could ever describe in words how happy I am that you’re here with me.” The only thing you can do is sip more of your alcoholic tea and nod your head happily. Bill’s about to order your second pot when he manages to catch a glimpse of the time on the underside of his wrist. “Shit,” He breathes out. “We’ve got to catch a taxi to dad’s.”

Stellan Skarsgård is leant against his front door, full glass of red wine wedged within his grasp. He lifts a hand in greeting, passes his wine glass to Bill and wraps you in a bear hug. When he pulls away, he’s grinning from ear to ear. “Sweden is a lot more beautiful with you in it tonight, Y/n. Come in and make yourself at home.”

It’s a full house this evening; all of Bill’s siblings are in attendance and Eija is seated next to her mother at the end of the table. You join her there, finding a seat between the two. “I should warn you now,” Eija leans in close to you so that she can whisper this into your ear. “It will inevitably get quite loud in here.” And sure enough; after the feast of pickled herring and traditional Swedish meatballs has been consumed, plates are cleared and conversations are started. Eija, who seems quite intent in not getting involved, eventually finds herself in another heated debate, this time with Alexander and Valter.

Stellan finds a seat next to you, and pours what is left of a red wine bottle into your glass. He bends his head to your ear and simply says, “I’ve taught them everything they know. I tried to teach them to question everything as children and they’ve become perspicacious, opinionated conversationalists because of it.”

You can’t help but smile softly at this. “That’s what I love so much about Bill.”

Stellan chuckles at this, clapping a broad hand over your shoulder. “Ah Billy… He’s found an absolute gem in you I’m afraid.”

The evening continues on in that fashion, late into the night. Every now and then you’ll catch a glimpse of Bill’s gaze on you from the other end of the table. It’s tentative and happy, and when you fall into bed that evening, sleepy and drunk and entirely too content, Bill wraps his strong arms tightly around your body and tells you sincerely how much he loves you.

“Bill?” You ask, sleepily.

Bill nuzzles in closer to your neck, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “What is it baby?”

“Can’t wait to marry you someday.”

A week and a half vanishes by as quickly as it had began. Lazy days spent traipsing around Stockholm, visits to the National Library of Sweden, art galleries and bars, and even lazier evenings spent in the company of family and amazing food. You were in a constant state of denial over the idea of ever leaving Sweden but somehow you knew you were going to be making trips back regularly. “You must visit again soon,” Eija pleads on your last full day there. “Honestly… just come without Bill if you want to.”

You giggle softly at this, and press a gentle kiss to the apple of her cheek. “I know I’ll be back again, Eija. You couldn’t keep me away from this exquisite country if you tried.”

You’re halfway through dessert and cocktails at the most beautiful restaurant that you’ve ever been in. Oaxen Krog is a wonderment of a building; a quaint glass encasement floating on the harbor of the Baltic sea. Your flick your gaze to Bill’s and ask teasingly, “If you could have one thing for Christmas this year, what would it be?”

Bill shifts back in his seat, the dim light of the restaurant casting him in the most beautiful glow. You study him intently from across the small table, his green eyes alight and blazing happily. “You.” He simply says. You roll your eyes with a smile but Bill stops you, shaking his head. “No, no. I don’t just mean I want you in a, ‘I want to rip the clothing from your body and have my way with you on this table here’ kind of way…” He hesitates and you can feel the heat begin to pick up in your neck and cheeks. “I mean I want you, in the most simplest of terms. I want you warm and raw, and real. I want you beside me when I wake up in the morning, and beside me when I fall asleep at night. I know how greedy this is all sounding but life is short and I’m a fucking idiot if I don’t get this out now.” Bill falters and your breath catches in your throat. “I would like to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re my best friend; I couldn’t imagine not spending the rest of my life with you. I want the fights, I want the memories, I want babies,” You laugh at this, sending a tear rolling down the length of your cheek. Bill reaches for your hand over the table, interlocking your fingers with his. “Do me the honor of being my wife.”

You’re already nodding your head before you can get the words out, wiping the tears away with the pads of your fingers. “Of course, my love.” Bill produces a ring from the pocket of his trousers, sliding it on to your finger with ease.

He comes around your side of the table and holds your head between his hands, pressing a kiss to the center of your forehead. “Look at that, huh? A Canadian getting engaged to a Swede, in Sweden.”

“Doesn’t get much sweeter than that, does it?” You giggle, peering down at the brand new breathtaking piece of jewelry on your finger.

Bill brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear, taking your hand and pressing it to his lips. “Sure as hell doesn’t, y/n.”

#this is long af #where my canadian girls at #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard fluff #bill skarsgard imagine #bill skarsgard x reader #writing #request #it's also super difficult to write about a place i haven't (yet) travelled to #so i tried my best

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stevecanmakeanythingnerdy · 5 years

Text

Battle #32

Mountain: Climbing! ( Side 1 )

Vs.

Loverboy: S/T ( Side 2 )

Mountain: Climbing! ( Side 1 )

In early 1969 Leslie West put together a band with Norman Landsberg (keyboards, bass) and Ken Janick (drums) and began playing gigs and recording demos. They were experimenting with a heavier guitar sound West had developed, along the lines of Hendrix. They were joined by a few others to round out the sound. Naming themselves "Mountain", after West's 1969 solo album, the group played shows on the West Coast before getting to play their third concert as a working band at the 1969 Woodstock Festival in Bethel, New York. That’s right, their THIRD EVER GIG was Woodstock, and a very large reason why they achieved quick success. Shortly after some lineup changes occurred and that edition recorded the now classic debut, Climbing! The whirlwind began and the band was largely active from 1969-1972 at which time inner turmoil (and drug use) took a toll on the band. She nice they have reunited occasionally but by and large are rooted in the 70s. Probably most famous for their hit and lead single on this album, “Mississippi Queen”, the band now lives in relative obscurity as far hard rock bands go. They are a footnote, it an important one, as their sound is often cited as a building block and foundation for the sound and shape that formed a later important musical movement known as heavy metal. So that aforementioned “Mississippi Queen”...you know it by heart. That riff. It’s haunting, and now you can totally tell it’s metal, right? Well in 1970, NOTHING sounded like that. Black Sabbath heard the call and took off running. Cowbell cowpoke screaming leads that bleed. There is no denying the locked in groove and the killer production too. You 100% know the Ram Jam. Guitar Hero popularized it again for a time too when that was a thing. “Theme for an Imaginary Western” is next. It’s a little surprising considering the previous. Singy songy on this one. Operatic vocals and heavy keyboard trippy-ness. Just more hippy than I expected, but they did play Woodstock so... Next up is “Never In My Life”. Much like Mississippi it’s redux in a way. Similar riffage and feel but that’s just fine. It obviously works for them. The last tune (I know, I know...only 4!?! Keep in mind this was PRIME 8 track era, so 8 cuts constitutes an album. 4 on one side, 4 on the flip) is called “Silver Paper”- yeah it’s jam rock, but there are plenty of mellow yellow parts to keep you hydrated and catch your breath. So many good lead riffs! This band has their formula down to a science. Open your heart and let the sunshine in. Honestly this is probably the longest song on the whole album. It was much shorter than I anticipated, clocking in at just around 15 minutes. 70s all the way...up to and include the super annoying gatefold cover. Gatefold is fine, but it’s the kind where the opening of the sleeve in on the INSIDE crease, not the outer and APPROPRIATE edge. You have to over open it to get the platter out or in. The sludge guitar sounds great and is certainly a precursor to metal. This places firmly between hippy rock and 70s hard. A decade separates today’s two competitors, but they have more in common with rock roots.

Loverboy: S/T ( Side 2 )

You might recognize the name Loverboy from their highly energetic and catchy “Working ForThe Weekend”- an 80s staple and many an office’s theme song. Well, believe it or not, they’re an import. Loverboy is a Canadian rock band formed in 1979 in Calgary, Alberta. Throughout the 1980s, Loverboy accumulated numerous hit songs, both in Canada AND the United States, earning four multi-platinum albums and selling millions of records. After initially being rejected by many American record labels, they signed with Columbia/CBS Records Canada and began recording their first album in March 1980. By the end of that year, this very self titled album began to chart. The rest of the 80s were much the same. Success seemed to follow the band with each new album. Their success culminated In 1984. Loverboy recorded the United States Team theme for the 1984 Summer Olympics, "Nothing's Gonna Stop You Now". The song originally appeared on The Official Music of the 1984 Games but not on any of their albums or compilations to date. They would often play it on tour mixing it in during the performance of "Queen of the Broken Hearts".

So this debut does have their earliest hits. Unfortunately they are all on side one. The sign of a truly good band, though, is that their material is pretty consistent, and I would say Loverboy achieved that on this debut. You may not have heard of all of the songs I am about to describe, but some of them are on the same level as the hits. As they like to say in the industry, “B-sides” if you will. “Little Girl” is just one of those. The song is fast paced, in an almost punky manner. Devo-esque. Actually add in some Romantics style riffs and you have it. Very 80s, and that punk rock tempo never lets up. It’s probably the best number to start with since it has a driving bounce. “Prissy Prissy” mixes up the flavors. A little bit of disco is introduced (ummm...) but the chorus is redeeming though. I would say this backside burial is probably the best placement for this one. Filler in this instance. “Teenage Overdose” is the next blast, and Loverboy are back in the game. Some good solo moments with plenty of start/stop action and rugga chuggas. It’s a slower jam with some nasty distortion to kick it off. I think this is probably my favorite so far. I think the title says it all. “D. O. A. “ follows...(#iseewhattheydidthere) and is mid grade shock rocker. In a way, it really IS a continuation of the previous number. The final tune is named “It Don’t Matter”. Literally there is not one single hit off of this side, but still Loverboy shines and captures your interest. Wait a minute...is that...do I hear sax? Random sax on this new wave rock record? Did Big Sax make some kind of deal with record executives in the 80s to sneak on to records? This seems to happen a lot. Loverboy, I will ask sincerely, Huey Lewis put you up to this didn’t he?? DIDN’T HE??!?!! I digress. Anyhow pretty decent debut. Equal parts REO, and Romantics, and Devo. Actually the keyboards make them more Van Halen than VH1. If you get the chance, check out side one with all the hits like “Turn Me Loose” and “Kid Is Hot Tonight”.

So in today’s challenge (the final of season 6!) we saw Mountain, climbing the ladder of rock and playing their mountainous riffs (#seewhatididthere). They burned through 103 calories over 4 songs and 15 minutes. That is 25.75 calories burned per song and 6.78 calories burned per minute. Mountain managed to earn 10 out of 12 possible stars. Loverboy on the other hand played aggressively and over 22 minutes. They burned 157 calories over 5 songs. That’s an average of 31.40 calories burned per song and 7.14 calories burned per minute. They earned 10 out of 15 possible stars. Loverboy not only titled themselves, but took the title of winner today!

All right! That’s it! Season six is officially in the books! Check back soon for the seasons top performers and playoff style tournament to determine the seasons highest calorie burner!!

Loverboy : “Teenage Overdose”

https://youtu.be/qpzLzQHOnvY

#Randomrecordworkoutseasonsix

#Randomrecordworkout

#randomrecordworkout #randomrecordworkoutseasonsix #80s #vinyl #records #80's music #80s music #mountain #loverboy #70s rock #70's music #70s

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jetsnacks · 7 years

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Bulletproof chapter 5

HELLO NAUGHTY CHILDREN ITS PLOT TIME! I’ve been really exited to mush these two plots together for a while now so I hope I pulled it off! This is also where the actual lamp starts, so get hype! Logince is still gonna be a bit of a focus, but I’m really exited to write all these dynamics as they develop. I’m a worried this was heavy handed and a lil ooc on Roman’s part. Also, I’m a big ol cheater with names. I kno.

also. The oranges line was inspired by a real experience from yours truly I shoot u not. :/ like I literally was handed an orange.

—- denotes pov change! The povs are alex (anx), Patton, then Logan if it’s unclear.

If you want to catch-up, all the fics are tagged ‘bulletproof’ on my blog!

Warnings: hicky mention, ableism mention

Chapter 5:

The sandwich wasn’t bad, if he was honest. It was better than the microwave ramen Alex had been living off of, anyway, which didn’t take much. But hey, if your standards were low you get disappointed a lot less, right?

Alex looked up from where he was hunched over his plate. Patton Moe, as he’d introduced himself, was a talker.

“Most people at work call me Moe, since it’s be to obvious that the place was named after me if they called me Patton. I mean talk about getting a big head, right?”

Alex just nodded along, occasionally making noises of agreement or sympathy, or snarky comments. He wasn’t much of a talker, never had been. Sitting around, eating free food (he gave up paying when he found out the guy owned the place,) not really participating in conversation, looking at some dumb cheery idiot do cute shi- wait.

/when did I start thinking umbrella guy was cute?/

Alex looked at him, trying to pay more attention. Patton was talking about a local farm he’d been buying from. Apparently they let him pet the baby goats. Apparently, petting baby goats is life changing, because Patton had a look on his face like he was talking about witnessing a miracle.

“And Jodie said the little guy liked me! Can you believe it? He just followed me around all day head butting my leg till I paid attention to him! I didn’t even give him food or anything! It was the sweetest! And-”

Alex spaced out again for a bit, watching him talk. He had never been a fan of optimists. Especially squeaky optimists, who did things like buying local and carrying bright umbrellas.

They always seemed nice, at first, always fighting for a good cause, but as soon as they got to know you it was 'you should really come to yoga with me’ and 'have you tried this kale from my friends garden it’ll really help’. It made him want to scream things like 'yes, I know vitamins are good for you, but an orange won’t cure my depression, martha.’

But Patton didn’t seem to care about that. He wasn’t teaching a lesson, there wasn’t a moral to it, he was just… really exited that a baby goat liked him. Alex shrugged off the glimmer of hope. /he probably just doesn’t know you enough. Once he finds out you aren’t vegan or whatever he’ll act just like the rest./ He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach as he watched Pattons dimples light up his face. Ok. Yeah. Maybe cute was the right word. Unfortunately.

—-

Patton was halfway through a story about how he fell into the feed bin because he was trying to get the goat to stop eating his shoe when the door chimed. He looked up, expecting another late lunch customer, but did a double take, perking up even more before falling into a sympathetic frown. “Logan! It’s been too long- oh no, honey what happened?” The sweet hearted busker he met earlier looked at him funny. “He looks calm to me.” Alex muttered into his food. (He ate like he thought someone was going to steal it. It made Pattons protective instincts go haywire, and he had to ignore the urge to follow him home to stock his fridge. Or. Haha. Stalk his fridge. Focus, Patton, dang it.)

After giving himself a mental smack on the head, he turned back to his friend. He would be the first to admit that Logan was hard to read, but after years of slowly getting him to open up with free pastries and suggesting decaf when his eye bags got overly pronounced, he considered himself literate. Loganrite. Nice one. (Focus, Patton.) Logan let out a long breath, pulling a up a chair and crumpling into it. His posture was too loose, his fingers tapping too fast.

“That bad, huh?” Logan nodded. Patton got up, tutting gently. “You try to relax, I’ll get you something to eat, ok? Oh!” He whirled back around to the table.

“Probably not a great time for introductions, but, Alex, this is my old friend, Logan! And Logan, this is my new friend, Alex! He might be a little prickly and introverted at first… you know what, you’ll get along great what am I talking about.” Patton shot them a brilliant smile and fussed his way back to the kitchen, collecting empty plates and cups as he went.

—-

Logan tried to pull himself together, noticing the other man at the table for this first time. He must be more upset than he thought, if he missed details like that. Alex was finishing off one of Pattons sandwiches, slouched in the chair, black hoodie covered in crumbs. A guitar case was slung over the back of the chair. He was eyeing Logan carefully from above giant dark circles. He clearly didn’t sleep much.

Logan was intimately familiar with eye bags. He had made a color key at some point. Alex was somewhere near purple-green, on his way to practically having a bruise all the way to his cheek bones. Logan had seen those in the mirror too many times to not recognize them.

That wasn’t a voluntary all-nighter. That was a 'couldn’t sleep if you tried’.

“What.” Alex spit, accusingly. Logan shifted his gaze. “The guitar case. I’ve seen you busk here before.” Alex shrugged. “Yeah. Probably. So?” “You’re good.” He blinked, sitting up in his chair slightly. “I’m- what?” “I said-” “No I heard you. I just. Uh. Thanks? I guess?” It was Logans turn to shrug. “It was just an observation. You know, Patton would hire you if you asked.” Alex scoffed. “Yeah, I’m not great a waiting tables. Keeping a smile on my face for that long hurts my face. And my soul.” Logan brushed off the hyperbole and went on. “I meant as a musician.” Alex furrowed his brow, but didn’t say anything, so he continued. “Patton has hired live musicians before, for the patio or indoors. I haven’t seen him do it in a while, but it might just be him forgetting entire aspects of his business again.” He let a small smile curl his lips, leaning in closer. “He forgot they had a coffee machine for 5 months until he stubbed his toe on the box in the back room.” Alex let out a small laugh. “I feel like you’re lying to me but I also feel like that could have happened.” Logan pulled out his phone.

“I have evidence. I record him admitting it whenever he does something particularly scatterbrained. There’s a 'days since our last moe disaster’ board in the kitchen, too.” Logan smirked. “But he never remembers to change the day number.”

Alex chuckled, leaning in to listen to Patton being coaxed into telling the phone what he did. They listened to a few recordings together, Logan feeling the heaviness from the morning lifting off his shoulders. Alex was funny, quick witted, and more than ready to poke fun at Pattons antics. His dry humor was the perfect distraction, and Logan found himself hoping more and more that Alex would start playing regularly indoors.

Eventually, all the food was gone, and Alex was hefting his guitar back over his shoulder, looking out the window. “Looks like the rain cleared up… I should probably take the spot again before someone else does.” Logan bit back disappointment.

“You’ll look into what I said, right? About the job here?”

Alex looked at him. Logan wasn’t good at reading emotions, but he looked surprised, then it melted into something soft, almost sad, that Logan couldn’t name but it made him want to pull Alex back down into the chair and not let go of his hand. “Uh. Yeah, I’ll. I’ll think about it.” Alex gave him a little smile, then headed outside to set up. Logan heard Patton bustling around the kitchen, cars running through puddles outside, the bubbly music spouting from the radio. He saw Alex start playing, and stretched his senses to listen, catching a note or two occasionally.

He tried to focus on clearing his email, but it was no use when his frustration with Roman started creeping up his spine again. He watched Alex play out of the corner of his eye until Patton came over, a gentle hand on his shoulder and a large pile of food.

The more upset he got, the more food Patton gave him. He must look really upset, judging by the plate. Or maybe Patton was just in 'dad mode’ today, trying to feed everyone he met. Logan always paid for it all, but Patton never charged for what he didn’t finish. The leftovers usually went into Pattons fridge for the next time Logan needed a change of scenery.

He started to eat, telling Patton bits and pieces of what happened between bites, when something caught his eye. Alex had stopped playing, and was talking to a well put together man with white slacks and a red button down shirt, who looked strangely familiar.

The man turned to hand something to Alex, and the collar of his shirt slipped, revealing a dark bruise. A very familiar dark bruise. With teeth marks. Logan stood up very suddenly, a storm crossing his face. Patton broke off mid sentence as Logan strode across Pattons plants and swung open the door. Roman had spotted him and, seeing the now pretty obvious rage, elected to make a run for it. “I- think about my offer, I should really go-” “ROMAN?” Logan hated it when his voice broke, but it had the desired effect. Roman flinched back, pushing sunglasses back up his nose instinctively. “Yup. Time to go.” He made a swift retreat to a black car waiting on the corner, followed by Logans glare the whole way. The car sped off, leaving Logan to run a hand through his hair aggressively on the curb. Alex looked from the card in his hand, to Logan, to the car retreating down the street, and back to the card. “I have so many questions.”

#lamp #polysanders #sanders sides fic #bulletproof #jetwrites #ss fic #long post//#logince #moxiety #analogical #mogic

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believe-that-you-can-my-friend · 7 years

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Summary: Five snapshots of Jughead’s and Betty’s life when Jughead had nowhere to stay and Betty was hiding him in her room.

Read on AO3

(Okay, I know this is long; I know. But seriously I can’t help the fact that I want to fill entire books with how adorably cute those two are! <3 So grab your snacks and drinks and dive in hahaha! Also I’m sorry if there are any typos, it’s really late and I’m way tired to notice my mistakes. I hope you all like it guys!!!)

Two days had passed since the night Betty Cooper had stormed inside the Blue & Gold office like a wild force of nature, catching Jughead on the act as well as learning about his secret of not having a place of his own anymore, and coexisting under the same roof was going smoothly for the two friends. Every morning they would wake up way earlier than most people in their town, and especially than Betty’s parents, and Jughead, although not being a morning person, would sneak out with a grateful smile plastered on his lips and hands full with every new snack Betty seemed to always prepare for him, and every night she would sneak him back in once she knew her parents were retired to their bedroom for the night. Their system seemed to be flawless.

Today was a low-key Wednesday night and the first time they had the house entirely to themselves, since the Coopers had yet another late night at the newspaper, the two teens finally enjoying some peace and quiet without closed doors and hush whispers. Betty was sprawled over the bed, text books and colorful markers all around her as the blonde girl was trying to finish her homework, elbow holding herself up and chin resting on her palm, head aching over an answer sheet and calves crossing and uncrossing behind her. Jughead was over the window with blinds shut – he had made Betty promise that his secret would stay between them – sitting comfortably on her white desk chair and having his long legs crossed at the ankles, outstretched against the wooden window frame, while typing furiously on his laptop that rested on his lap. Since no one was at home he didn’t have to lurk at his usual booth at Pop’s. Plus, he found Betty’s presence a very good remedy for writer’s block.

“What are your thoughts on artificial intelligence?” Betty wandered out loud, disturbing the casual silence, with eyes still glued on the paper in front of her.

Jughead’s running fingers came to a momentary halt and he blinked a couple of times to adjust his mind around her question. Not being fazed at all and going on with his typing, he answered. “I mean machines that probably are cleverer than half, if not the entire, human population? How will this affect humanity in the long run?” he voiced his opinion, his computer screen illuminating his frown.

“So I’m against it…” Betty muttered, putting the pencil she was holding in use.

“I’d use skeptical. Against is a very strong statement.” He offered back, rewriting an introductory sentence about Cheryl’s and Jason’s odd sibling bond.

“Hm.” She titled her head in thought and tapped the edge of her pencil a couple of times over the floral notebook next to her, while going over the sentence she just wrote. “Skeptical it is then.” The girl concluded and erased any sign of lead under that question with the back of her pencil. “Which chapter are you on?” she asked him, as she was conducting a small paragraph about her so called opinion.

“Just started six. Had inspiration these days.” Jughead let her know subtly.

“Cool.” Betty nodded to herself, moving to the next question. “Which changes society has to undertake in order to adjust to this new, robotic filled reality?” she went on to read out loud.

Without even stopping to breathe, he answered quickly. “Reforms of the civil law so to include robotic machines.”

Betty scribed that down quickly, her lips forming a reverse smile in genuine awe; she would have never thought of that. “How is people’s approach to the subject? Are there any examples from literature and/or theater, cinema etc. that approach it?”

“Easy.” Jughead scoffed, so done with the lack of originality in teachers’ quizzes. “Terminator was pictured as fearful, Robocop was designed as a sign of hope; it seems that there is only black and white in people’s mind, not in between. As for how ethical this whole ‘humans playing God and creating super-creatures’ is? Well, Arthur Clarke shared that concern in Space Odyssey years ago but still there isn’t a satisfactory answer.” He concluded and Betty’s lips let a huff of admiration, struggling to keep up with his fast pace while quoting him on paper.

Satisfied, she looked at her finished science paper and grabbed her neon yellow folder to put it neatly inside.

“Am I done doing your homework?” came Jughead’s sarcastic comment, Betty rolling her eyes amused behind his back.

“Yes. And thank you.” She replied in a teasing tone.

“And anyway in what world is Betty Cooper unable to fill in some simple, let alone piece of cake for her, questions?” he went on, briefly taking his tired eyes off the computer screen to look at her over his shoulder.

“I was bored and wanted to be done with it.” She flinched adorably, throwing her books recklessly to the floor and falling back to lie on her duvet.

“So you just used me?” Jughead turned his torso more to face her, narrowing his eyes in fake offence, their color shining with mischief.

Betty let a melodic laugh that put a smirk on his lips. “Pretty much, yeah.” She admitted with another round of laughter, once she saw him pretend to curse under his breath in fake self-pity, before she was left there just smiling, taking him all in with her doe eyes and taking a weird liking at the way he looked in a plain black t-shirt and dark blue sweatpants, one of the rarest times seeing him this homey and casual.

“It’s just that with everything that happened, Jason’s funeral, Archie, Ms. Grundy, my mom… my mind can’t really focus on homework, you know?” her eyes took their usual melancholic shade once again and she turned her stare away, feeling the need to pick on some loose threats of her jeans but knowing his eyes were hot and heavy on her profile.

“You have one mind and that is a crowd of people to think of.” Jughead sighed, wanting to ease some of her heartbreak, if possible. “Do you wanna talk about it?” he hesitantly asked.

Betty exhaled the rather large breath she was holding. “No, it doesn’t matter.” She turned to face him again, smile in tack. “It truly doesn’t.” she insisted with a vigorous shake of her head and smiled more, once seeing him unconvinced. “Everything’s in the past and I am really ready to move on.” She announced cheerfully, raising her slim, jean clad, legs to rest on the white headboard of her bed, sliding her arms over her head and stretching blissfully, like a cat enjoying the warm sunrays of June.

And even if he didn’t entirely believe her, Jughead knew there was a rich dose of truth in her words; she eventually was going to be perfectly ok. So he smiled that adorable boyish smile he always had reserved for her and her only, not really able to restrain himself when she was being that cute, with bright pink toe nails drumming against her floral wall.

“What’s so funny?” her voice made him avert his eyes from her legs and run them up to her body until they reached her face, silly smile on his and her lips.

“You.” He let with a chuckle and a shake of his head, putting his laptop as a shield in front of his face. He didn’t know why he was acting like a nervous spaz around her and he hated it with all his passion.

“I’m glad that you find me ridiculous.” She teased and took her tongue out at him, Jughead sending her an amused – slash flirty, but he wouldn’t dare admit that to himself – glare under his eyelashes over his laptop. “Honestly, those two days are probably the most I’ve seen you smiling all those years that we know each other.” Betty smirked, feeling a small flattering on her chest every time she saw the corners of his lips tug into even the smallest of grins.

Jughead knew that and he had a very good theory as to why this was happening but he wouldn’t say that out loud, and especially to her. So, he just smirked and started his typing again, offering one of his usual sardonic responses. “Oh, you know me, big fan of morbid murder scenes and intense people drama, which we have plenty nowadays.” He frowned teasingly and titled his head up to look at her, Betty’s eye roll in sync with her rolling off her bed.

“Ha-ha.” She let a dry laugh and got rid of her dusty pink cardigan, the loose silk white camisole she wore underneath complimenting nicely her shoulders and collarbones which didn’t go unnoticed by him. “I’m gonna make some snacks. I’m assuming you in?” she announced walking to the door.

“Please and thank you.” Jughead replied with a delightful groan, cause really at this point he was just a sucker for anything this girl made, and she laughed before disappearing down the hallway. Her cheerful hopes down the stairs and light humming of a foreign tune made Jughead smile against the letters of the document in front of him and he went on with his previous task. Living with Betty Cooper wasn’t so bad after all.

“Shh! We’re gonna get busted!” Betty whisper – shouted, with her hushed voice trembling from laughter as her finger came over her lips to signalize what she was saying.

“I can’t believe you vomited on your dad’s lap during family Christmas lunch!” Jughead was holding his stomach laughing his heart out at the picture but trying to be as quiet as possible, a five feet ten, all limbs, dark guy rolled up in two shaking from silent giggles like a cheerful toddler. “I’m not even mentioning the you being drunk part; that is a thing I deeply regret missing in my life.” A new series of laughter hit him with more force and a throaty chuckle escaped his lips, Betty’s eyes widening in fear and the blonde grabbed one of the numerous pillows from behind her head and smothered him with it, feeling the vibrations of his chuckles against her palms making her not able to hold back her giggles too at that unusual sight of him.

It was Friday night, way over midnight but they didn’t even bother with time, and the two of them were lying casually on Betty’s bed playing a game of twenty questions. It was all normal at first, with Jughead’s favorite girl sneaking him in her house once her parents were asleep and them starting their usual chat about their day which usually led to deep conversations until one of them was soundly asleep. Tonight, though, it seemed that both of them were in an awfully good mood.

“It was my first time drinking something even remotely close to alcohol and, seriously, how can you laugh at my misery? My grandma was appalled! And of course I don’t need to mention my mom’s reaction, you’ve met her.” Betty fell back into her pillows and focused her eyes on the ceiling, the events of last year’s Christmas day still vivid in her mind. “Kevin really owes me for this.” She promised in fake threat.

Jughead let a series of small coughs, unburying his face from under the pillow that smelled like her and focusing on the ceiling too, amused smile still on his lips. “Thank you, Bets, really. That was the best thing you’ve ever told me.” He coughed again and fixed his hair, or rather messed his raven locks more, and Betty turned to reply with a mean comeback but failed. It was one of the rarest times she was seeing him without his trademark beanie – in fact that was actually the first cause every other night he would take it off after each had been settled into their “beds” – and she had to admit he looked smocking without it too, if not more so.

“Ask away, I’ll handle it.” He scoffed amused, knowing it was her turn to fire a question, feeling her gaze on him in the dimly lit room before turning left over his pillow and coming face to face with her. He had left a safe distance between the two of them – mostly for his sake and his mental stability – but even that wasn’t enough to restrain him from getting lost into the most beautiful pair of blue eyes he had seen in his life.

Betty bit her lip – mostly because she wasn’t expecting his stare to be so intense over her – but asked anyway. “Why do you always wear that beanie?”

He lied; he couldn’t handle it. In the sea of questions she could have asked, the girl responsible for some of his recent sleepless nights went and asked this one. Jughead took a deep breath and focused his eyes on the pillow that now had fallen between them. Of course he would answer; he had learnt that keeping secrets from Betty was a rather difficult task, let alone lying.

“My mom had sewed that for me when I was five.” Jughead confessed and felt a lump forming in his throat but pushed it away, before putting a brave face and facing her again.

She just smiled sweetly at him, knowing that whatever happened with his parents was still really hard on him and hating herself for not noticing sooner. “Well, it does really suit you.” She nodded with a girly pout and ruffled his mop of hair lightly, Jughead bucking down from her touch and groaning a chuckle, grateful that she understood him and knew when to change the subject. “Your turn.” She instructed, rolling over to rest on her elbows, closing the distance between them by an inch.

“Well, well…” he sighed in thought “Okay, what are the things about me that you particularly like and what is the one thing you don’t like?” Jughead went kind of bold there but it was only fair after a question like that. Plus, her laugh as an answer to his challenging smirk was a delight to his ears.

“One? Only one? That’s an understatement there, my friend.” Betty started teasing him and he smacked her head lightly with the pillow, making her squeal and fire back a punch on his shoulder, Jughead delivering another pillow smack on her back before she knocked him off with a rather strong hit of her elbow against his ribs that made him leave a groan of pain, all while they were lowly giggling like happy fools.

“So I don’t like how stubborn you are and you have an ego as big as your head and you don’t ask for help and you’re secretive, awfully prideful, messy as hell—” Jughead let an offended ‘hey’ at that but Betty ignored him and continued listing things with the help of her fingers “you can drive anyone and especially me to the wall, you lose track of time—”

Jughead put his palm over her mouth to stop her, feeling her plump lips against his skin for the first time and indeed losing track of time and place at that very moment. “Do you even like me at all?” he used sarcasm as his chronic defense and with great difficulty removed his hand from her lips, leaving them parted and weirdly begging for more.

Betty collected herself quickly – Juggie was her friend, she shouldn’t even go there – and found her easy going, teasing self again, the one she always had around him. “Sometimes yeah.” She nodded with sass and he shook his head in amusement, rolling his eyes at how much spank she had in her and at how much he came to like that.

“In all honesty, though” she paused and adjusted herself on the bed, elbow resting on her pillow and head titling to rest on her palm, her golden locks falling over one side making Jughead fight back the urge to play with them “you are a pretty amazing person. And I’m really glad that I get to learn more about you every day.” She smiled genuinely at him and he did too, nodding once before resting a palm behind his head and turning his happy eyes to the ceiling, thinking that he definitely had it bad for the first time in his life.

“Sooo as a well-deserved payback for that…” Betty started and Jughead internally groaned “tell me, Jughead Jones the Third, who was your first kiss.” She gave him a challenging smirk, feeling a light blush starting to form on her cheeks but she wasn’t going to back out, she was curious to know – or that’s what she told herself – and she saw him closing his eyes and huff in exasperation, Betty taking pride at the fact that she was one of the very few people that brought Jughead out of his comfort zone. “And no” she continued in warning “I don’t mean silly kids’ stuff, I mean like a proper kiss.”

“Betty…” he whined through his teeth, eyes still closed and frown lines between his eyebrows deep, really not wanting to share something like that with her, first of all because it was embarrassing and second, well, it was really embarrassing.

“Are you blushing?” she squealed in surprise and full on fluffiness and it was indeed very true, Jughead could feel his skin starting to burn from the back of his neck slowly all the way to his cheeks. “Come on, it can’t be that bad!” she encouraged him with a light shake of his shoulder.

“It was awful.” He groaned like he was in pain and she shrieked a laugh, immediately a hand flying to her lips to cover the sound. “Okay, I need full disclosure here and you’re not allowed to laugh.” He pointed a warning finger in all seriousness and Betty smacked her lips shut, nodding and taking a breath to calm herself.

“Well, it wasn’t really my initiative, I was caught off guard…” Jughead flinched, remembering the dreadful event two summers ago that scared him for life.

“Wait, did somebody actually jump on you?” Betty’s voice went an octave higher in shock and amusement and full curiosity to learn more and he hesitated by nodded. “Shut up! Who was it?!” she begged for more, drumming her palms on his arm in anticipation.

“You’re taking this to the grave.” Jughead warned her once more, and she huffed at how ridiculous he was being. “It was… Ethel.” He chocked in a breath and flinched again, even more now.

“WHAT?! NOO!” Betty fell back against her pillow, a hand coming to cover her lips that opened in shock, feeling amused mostly but a part of her a tad jealous?

“It was awful” he repeated again and closed his eyes to shake away the images “face first, way too much tongue…” he made an expression of vomiting and Betty brought her duvet to her lips to muffle her now hysterical laughter at his face expressions. “I remember I stood there like a statue and when it was over I ran so fast, I arrived home with asthma!” he ended the story with a scoff, feeling second hand embarrassment for his younger self and wishing to somehow erase that entire day from his memories, the day he vowed not to kiss a girl ever again.

“Wow!” Betty lay there stunned, resting a palm on her chest and feeling her raging breath calming down. “That is some first kiss story.” She admitted teasingly.

“Oh please, I die of embarrassment every time I think of it.” Jughead scoffed, narrowing his icy eyes to the ceiling. “Thank God, she never mentioned it or tried anything like that again.” His eyes widened in fear.

“Well, on the bright side, not many guys seem to cause such reactions.” Betty offered half-teasingly, half-true because really she could picture girls going crazy at the sight of him. His bad boy, Judd Nelson vibe really did something to the female population, she thought, or maybe it was just her.

“Not helping.” Jughead replied sarcastically, turning to face her. “And since we are at it” his face suddenly lightened up, his self-pity long forgotten “how about you miss Cooper?”

“Oh no, no, no!” she refused with a vigorous shake of her head. “You don’t get to do that!”

“Says who? There are no such rules!” Jughead objected with a teasing smirk of his own. “Come on then what about your first kiss?” he didn’t really want to make her feel uncomfortable nor did he want to know all the gory details about how dreamy it was and how Archie was an amazing kisser – because seriously the two of them had been best friends since forever, he had to be her first kiss – but he was masochistically curious about it to say the truth.

“Well, my very first kiss—” Betty started and tried to bluff but he cut her off.

“You said so yourself, no silly kids’ stuff. Plus, I know.” He raised an eyebrow.

“You do?” she asked surprised; even she, herself, hardly remembered her first barely kiss.

“Reggie. Fourth grade. It was Archie’s birthday party at Pop’s and you were eating a sundae. He smacked his lips at yours and you spit a very generous mouthful of vanilla ice cream to his face.” Jughead told the story with a pleased smile and Betty’s lips fell open in surprise at how he still remembered all that. “Honestly, that was the highlight of that day.” And that was true because as heartbroken as ten year old Jughead felt seeing another boy, that boy being Reggie, kissing his crush, he felt the happiest kid alive upon seeing her reaction before skipping happily to him and Archie. “Now, I was very sharing with you. Plus, it can’t be worse than mine!”

“Fine!” Betty snapped in annoyance; she should have known that this was going to have a boomerang effect on her. “You’re taking this to the grave.” She repeated his words and Jughead rolled his eyes.

“Is it Sherriff Keller?” he boldly asked with his usual creepy - interrogating expression.

“What!? Ewww!” the blonde made a face of disgust, pushing him away by his shoulder.

He laughed. “I’m just messing with you.” He admitted and sent her a “spill” glare.

She rolled her eyes, annoyed. “It was Veronica.” She shrugged, not looking at him.

Jughead opened his mouth to say the answer he had already prepared but last minute his mind caught up with her words and registered that she indeed had said something entirely else than he thought she would say, making him close his mouth abruptly, open it again and close it again at a loss of words.

“Veronica? As in Veronica Lodge?” the words burst out of his mouth, the boy not actually believing his ears. “Veronica got here a couple of months ago and, like, she is a girl?” well, generally Jughead prided in him being a very open-minded person and, he truly was, but Betty Cooper kissing a girl was a little hard to grasp.

“Both statements are true.” Betty replied matter-of-factly, hesitantly raising her eyes to look at him, waiting for his reaction.

“Are you trying to tell me something, Bets?” Jughead narrowed his baby blues at her and titled his head lightly to the side, feeling his stomach drop a little in disappointment if that meant what he thought it meant. Whatever makes her happy, he truthfully thought at the end.

Betty flinched at the misunderstanding. “No! I didn’t mean it like that; I’m just saying what happened!”

“Wow!” it was his turn now to turn flabbergasted. “If I ask how it was, would it be total douche behavior?” he did really wanna know… for science, of course.

The girl next to him laughed. “It was not bad; Veronica certainly has moves.” She admitted with an appreciative nod, Jughead staring with his lips slightly parted as his mind was working around the new information. He truly would not be able to see B and V together with the same eyes ever again.

“Wow…” he muttered again under his breath.

Betty smacked his chest with the back of her palm. “Stop imagining it.” She laughed and he opened his mouth to say something but she bet him to it. “And no, you’re not allowed to include this in your novel.” He pouted and she grinned, shaking her head at his unexpected behavior.

His chuckle was interrupted by a yawn. “I think we humiliated ourselves enough for a night.”

Betty smiled at how adorable he was, trying to keep his eyes open but failing as they got heavier and heavier, the boy blinking a few times to fight his fatigue away but clearly it was a losing battle. “Yeah…Good night, Juggie.” She whispered but she wasn’t sure if he actually heard her, Betty moving as smoothly as possible to grab his blanket from the floor and cover them both, since they were lying over her floral duvet. She adjusted her pillow more under her head and sneaked her hands between her curly hair and her lavender pillowcase, taking a minute or two to stare at him through the darkness, all relaxed and without any of his usual walls around him as a shield from human interaction, just simple Jughead, clutching a pillow to his chest and letting even, soft breaths through his adorably parted lips.

And Betty felt a tugging at her chest, a tugging she had previously experienced a couple of times upon seeing Archie in the past, but that wasn’t the case with Jughead, it couldn’t be, she made herself believe so to not spend a sleepless night stirring and turning. The boy next to her moved subconsciously further down and closer to her, his head falling left so he was inches away from her face, and there was that smile again on her lips, that silly smile, as Betty moved a finger to brush away the deranged black waves that fell against his eyes before running it lightly over his jawline and making him hum in his sleep. Betty Cooper might indeed have had a sleepless night after all.

“Gotcha!” a cheerful Betty Cooper popped her head from the threshold of the kitchen, causing Jughead to do a sudden one-eighty, an almost empty bowl of food resting on his hand, fork in the air and hints of spaghetti spilling out of his mouth as his eyes were rounded in shock that he got caught.

“Juggie!” she scoffed a laugh. “You already had two overloaded plates of pasta carbonara and you’re still going? I thought you only did that with burgers at Pop’s.” she came in the room, resting a hip against the counter in front of him. “Plus, that was my dinner!”

The tall boy shrugged adorably, forming a sheepish smirk with his full mouth. “I guess I’m sorry?” he finally swallowed and Betty rolled her eyes. “And even though I could eat burgers for the rest of my life, no, my appetite includes any form of fine cuisine.” Or any of what the blonde girl next door prepared with her magic hands.

“It’s fine.” She waved a hand to brush it off, opening the fridge to peak through its contents. “I didn’t want it anyway; I’ll have a salad or something. Don’t want Cheryl over my head going on and on every day about how much of a size zero I’m not.” The girl used one of her signature grimaces, being fed up with the captain of the River Vixens but bottom line falling into the trap of embracing society’s standards about cheerleaders and girls in general, something that she felt guilty about.

Jughead’s eyebrows rose in disbelief at how much of a bitch Cheryl Blossom could actually be, saying those things about anyone and especially Betty who was stunning and totally model-material regarding her looks and body type in his humble opinion. “Screw that evil ginger!” he scoffed in his usual apathetic manner and slouched back on the counter. “You know what they say about gingers having no soul? Well, Cheryl bombshell is the epitome of that statement.” He went on in his clever tone and Betty couldn’t help but laugh.

“Uh, I might agree with you on that.” She offered her aloof response, closing the metallic door of the fridge with her hip. “So, what I came here for in the first place, I’m doing laundry. I gathered some of your shirts too but I don’t know if there’s something else you wanna throw in.” She exited the room and Jughead followed close behind her, down the narrow corridor next to the staircase and into the laundry room at the very back.

“You shouldn’t have, I’m fine.” He spoke somehow uneasily, not really used to that much of attention or being taken care of.

“There’s this thing called laundry machine and it actually does wash clothes by itself so don’t feel so entitled to return your gratitude to me.” Betty teased him and he snorted a laugh, doing that adorable nose flick that the girl across him came to love. “Take off that too.” She pointed to his jeans and busied herself with pulling out some detergents off a cupboard to her left, Jughead’s eyes growing wide in an instant. Did she actually want him to strip for her?

Betty’s ponytail swayed as she snapped her head to face him again, doe eyes looking clueless and way too innocent for her to mean something like that. “The shirt you have around your waist, Juggie.” he heard the words and his hands fisted the red flannel that fell on his sides, eyes blinking a couple of times to help his mind return to its previous zen state. “I’m washing colors; I should put this in too.”

“Yeah, uh, okay.” He quickly unfastened it and gave it to her, his palms sweaty from his short lived – thankfully – moment of awkwardness.

“Jug, there’re two buttons missing from this.” Betty’s candy cane voice turned even more sugary, finding kinda adorable his goofiness and the ‘so what?’ eyebrow he raised at her statement. She just shook her head and let a girly giggle. “Hold on, I’m going to fix this.” She disappeared off somewhere not before instructing him to unload the plastic basket next to his feet inside the washing machine.

He did so, of course, grabbing the basket by its handles in fear of coming into contact with any of Betty’s clothes or, worse, any of her underwear and throwing all the garments inside, thinking that if a couple of months ago somebody had told him that he would be living with Betty Cooper and doing laundry with her, he would seriously have considered him a lunatic. He went to leave the basket to its previous place on the floor but something red on top of his brown boots caught his attention and bended his knees to grab it. A totally bad idea considering that he regretted it the minute he understood what it was, because there he was Jughead Jones holding a red bra – a burgundy very lacey and very see-though bralet to be exact, not that Jughead knew any of the difference – that belonged to no other than the infamous blonde who even without her presence and her perfume could turn his mind into a worthless piece of musk.

Ever since that Friday night he accidentally had fallen asleep at the blonde’s side, Betty refused to let him get back to sleeping on the floor which led to them sharing a bed every night and having Jughead deal with, up to now, foreign for him mind and body reactions. Something that was happening at that very moment too, the boy literally feeling his raging blush coloring all of his face at the sight of the lace that was tangled around his slender fingers. He felt surprised, that Betty Cooper actually owned something like that, and possibly, maybe – honestly, he didn’t even know, he had never ever felt that before with anyone – a little turned on at the thought of seeing her with that thing on. Although it might have been a pain putting it on and taking it off, Jughead briefly thought, examining the almost invisible little clasps at the back in a typical clueless boyish fashion. God, stop thinking about taking things off!

But bottom line he was feeling so beyond ashamed that he suddenly had such thoughts for her, her that he knew all his life and she was such a precious sweetheart, or even worse, that he couldn’t seem to be able to take his eyes nor his hands from that red lace. Something had awakened in him, something he never knew he would experience as a person, as a man, but only from his author point of view and that scared the hell out of him.

“Jug…” Betty’s voice came and he jumped, hands trembling and letting the tiny garment fall down again, now even more ashamed that the person that made him feel so many new things was surely going to be disgusted by him and his primal tendencies. He wasn’t the definition of a gentleman but he prided to be way more mannered and thoughtful regarding women.

“I’m sorry” he started stuttering, bending down in reflex to gather the tiny undergarment and his dignity, Betty doing the same once watching with wide, ashamed eyes what was all about “I didn’t mean to pry on your—ouch!” their foreheads collided with a thud, Jughead’s head bouncing back with a flinch of pain and frustration at how much more of a fool he could make himself to be.

“It’s fine, don’t sweat it, it’s fine.” She kept on muttering like a rehearsed mantra under her breath, rubbing the spot on her forehead that certainly was starting to redden from the hit only to match the bright red blush that decorated her cheeks. She hadn’t put anything remotely private of hers in that basket on purpose, for exactly that reason, for not risking Jughead seeing anything he wasn’t supposed to see and her dying of utter humiliation right on the spot, because she wasn’t that attractive or sexy for that matter and she didn’t want to see another boy that she had maybe starting to like reject her again. So she hid the damn thing inside the back pocket of her jeans and closed her arms insecurely around herself, not daring to look him in the eyes.

Jughead licked his lips to find the right words, upon seeing how defensive she got. “I wasn’t snooping through your stuff. It just dropped off the pile of clothes and I picked it up, I’m sorry, please don’t think anything bad about it.” He pleaded with sad blue eyes and Betty dropped hers to the ground, replying with a small voice.

“I’m not thinking anything of you…” she admitted truthfully, kicking the machine that separated them lightly with her heel of her converse just out of spite. “I’m just embarrassed that you saw…that.” Her grimace and full on doe eyes, had him smiling at how adorably cute she was.

“Well, my experience with girls might be limited to none but I’m not a Neanderthal, I do know that all of you wear such stuff.” Jughead used his self-sarcasm to make the situation lighter and cheer her up. “Plus I could have found something worse like pink razors or, God Forbid, tampons, just everyday things that gross out any macho guy that respects himself and his unsuppressed masculinity, right?” he went on in his typical sardonic manner, Betty cracking a smile and shaking her head at how actually amazing he was.

“Get out of here, you dork, and let me do laundry.” She pushed him out of the way, lovey-dovey smile intact while messing with some buttons on the washing machine panel.

“Yes, traditional gender roles!” Jughead threw his head back and groaned in fake delight before straightening up his back. “And like the man I am I’m gonna go out and hunt our food.” He announced like a bad caricature of a caveman.

“Are you really?” Betty played on amused, raising an eyebrow.

Jughead slouched back to his normal posture, resting an arm against the wooden threshold. “No, not really.” Betty chuckled loudly at his beaten expression. “But I’m going to buy you the most delicious, extra filled burger that I’ll find at Pop’s along with those Texas bacon cheese fries you like.” He said with a sweet smile that Betty returned biting her down lip because she was scared her face would break with how much she was smiling right now.

“And a milkshake?” she asked shyly with her look under her eyelashes that had him sold.

“And a milkshake.” Jughead nodded once, being at her service. “Vanilla as always?”

“Nah…” Betty shook her head and said in a sweet, almost flirty voice. “I’m up for some strawberry right now.”

Jughead smirked and winked, leaving Betty behind to deal with a slightly big problem of butterflies in her stomach.

“Alright, I’m taking a shower.” Betty announced from her vanity and Jughead nodded to nobody else but himself as he was scrolling through his phone, back resting on the headboard of her bed. It was Tuesday morning and the two teens were once again alone in the house, Betty’s parents leaving in the middle of the night for the newspaper since some shockingly news about Jason Blossom’s case had sprung to life.

The blonde damsel of Jughead’s stories moved quietly around the room gathering her stuff before she made her way to the bathroom and he finally made the decision to get out of bed and start getting ready for another specifically long day at Riverdale High, filled with gossip and hushed whispers. The atmosphere would be a tad heavy today, the larky boy thought, just like it was in this room since they had woken up, an air of awkwardness and teenage angst lingering between the otherwise drama-free duo.

Because today Jughead and Betty didn’t wake up like they always used to; wrapped in each of their covers and to their respective sides. They woke up all wrapped up with each other and in a tangled up mess of limbs, not knowing where he ended and where she began.

The blipping of his alarm along with the simple chime of her phone receiving a text, that being her mom informing her about hers and her dad’s whereabouts, were what brought the two friends away from dreamland two hours ago, both groggily cracking their eyes open and freaking out internally at the state they were in. Jughead was lying on his back with both his arms around Betty, slender fingers laced together on her waist over the cotton material of her grey t-shirt and Betty was practically on top of him, head resting on his chest, an arm being thrown over his stomach and fingers even lingering on the small patch of bare flesh on his hipbone that his rolled up t-shirt left uncovered, not to mention one of her miles long legs that was comfortably rested between his bony ones, delicious hitched over a part of him that Jughead didn’t quite know functioned before those days spent with her.

Their reaction was straight out of a comic book, both flying far back to either side of the bed and blushing scarlet without knowing what to do or say since they’d never been in a situation like this before. They behaved really maturely about it and decided not to exchange a single word all morning, their only communication being Betty informing him that her parents were gone and that she was going to take a shower just minutes ago, both ashamed to even look each other in the eye anymore, like if they did, a ticking grenade was going to explode between them.

Jughead sighed and kicked the covers off his legs, momentarily focusing on the space between them where Betty’s smooth leg was lying for God knows how many hours, the boy mentally slapping himself for envisioning again and again their up close and personal morning. He got out of bed grumpily and run a hand through his untamed waves, deciding that it was time to stop brooding over it, they just cuddled, it was nothing and obviously it meant nothing to her so end of story, everything was cool.

Seeing as Betty was going to take a couple more minutes in the shower, Jughead decided that it was high time he got dressed for the day, quickly taking off his t-shirt and getting rid of his sweatpants, after making sure the blinds were intact and Archie wasn’t getting a private show, but the abruptly crack of the door had him once again deep in humiliation for the second time this morning. Someone up there must have had great fun torturing him.

“My mom is here!” Betty Cooper stormed in the room like wild wind, hair disheveled and horrified expression shading her pretty features, Jughead’s heart starting to pound in his chest at the news but mostly at the fact that he was, well, naked in front of her.

“Betty! I’m not decent!” his shaky voice raised an octave and subconsciously his hands flew to cover his manhood over his boxers, at least thankful that his choice of underwear was plane grey and not his pizza print boxers that he loved but wasn’t exactly supposed to be seen by people. “And obviously you aren’t too.” His words slowly died on his lips once he noticed her full appearance, her pajama shirt still intact but the matching shorts nowhere to be found underneath it, just a long view of legs just for him. His eyes couldn’t help but scan her lower part, Jughead gulping once, twice even three times in difficulty at the sight of her tanned legs and he felt something stir where his hands still laid protectively.

“God! I’m sorry!” the blonde groaned flushing dark red again, doing an one-eighty to face the door and turn her back at him, not helping at all with the boy’s situation since her gorgeous behind was in full display for him, semi covered with her shirt and semi revealing a dark peppermint green lace peaking from under it. Jughead’s head snapped to the left in reflex, feeling a tad of guilt for seeing his long term friend like that and secretly loving it. His eyebrows rose and his lips formed a soundless “oh man”, cause really when did Betty stop being Betty, all-American sweet girl next door, and became that hot woman? All he remembered from their swims at Sweetwater River when they were kids was a chubby little girl with always the brightest choices of swimwear. Now all he could see was female curves that, damn, were a sight to look at for days.

“It’s that I was about to get in the shower but I heard mom’s car rounding the corner, the tires make a hissing sound so I recognize them, and I panicked, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to storm out on you and like that…” Betty kept rambling on, biting her lip nervously, because really today wasn’t the best day for them. Not that she was complaining that he saw him without his buggy dark clothes. It seemed that they did hide a lot of interesting things, Betty thought and blushed even more, biting her lip harder and filling thankful that he couldn’t see her face right now.

The sound of footsteps jogging up the stairs interrupted any train of her thought, naughty or nice. Betty actually feared for their lives.

“She’s coming up!” she freaked out in a shrieking whisper, running to a terrified Jughead that desperately was trying to find a place to hide while gathering in panic the stuff he had thrown around. “Under the bed, under the bed!” Betty instructed, pushing on his bare shoulders, him easily slouching down and rolling into his hiding spot, the girl kicking with her foot his combat boots under the bed with him too and throwing his jeans with force against his bare chest, Jughead letting an “oomph” of surprise just as the bedroom door opened and an imposing Alice Cooper appeared.

“Mom, hey!” Betty greeted her way too cheerfully and even Jughead raised a disbelieving eyebrow in unison with her mother. “I-I thought you were at the paper.” She moved to the bed as if she was fixing her deranged covers, but only just to be within reaching distance in case her mom came over to inspect her room further, giving Jughead a view of her panties in all their glory, the raven haired boy dropping his jeans to his eyes and squinting them close, praying to God to blind him cause after this image he surely didn’t know if he could go on with his life.

“Yeah, I’m not staying. Just dropped by to take some papers your father forgot.” Alice informed her in her usual cold manner, frowning when noticing that her daughter’s focus wasn’t her but the floor next to her. “Are you alright?”

“Of course, yeah, I am, totally fine!” Betty babbled and Jughead could feel his life ending, one, because of all that he endured that fine morning and two because of the fact that Betty was a terrible liar. “Just getting ready for school.” She tried to sound aloof and grabbed a pair of jeans from her wardrobe, jumping lightly to slide them on her legs. He wasn’t going to admit it but Jughead did pout upon seeing them finally covered.

“Hm.” Alice hummed suspiciously. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it smelled like a boy in here.” He tried to catch her in her lie and the stray boy under the bedframe could have bet money that they were busted.

“B-boy?” Betty chocked on her breath and laughed uneasily. “Mom! Come on! How could I have a boy in my room without you noticing?” Betty scoffed like that was impossible, shaky fingers clumsily pushing up her window for fresh air to fill the room in reflex to her words and Alice seemed to back off, even though she wasn’t entirely sure about her daughter’s mental state.

“Alright.” She shrugged. “Since I am here, I’ll drive you to school.” She offered.

“Mom, no, I’ll walk—” Betty tried to object but her mother bet her to it.

“Betty, put a shirt and take your things. I’ll be in the car.” She left no room for further discussion and left the room, both her daughter and the boy she was hiding letting the breath they were holding.

Jughead popped from under the bed but the girl shushed him, twirling around like a mad woman not wanting to waste any time, because she knew her mom would be storming in her room again if she wasn’t downstairs in seconds.

“There are spare keys inside the second drawer of the dresser next to the front door.” Betty curled her sneakers and her bag to her chest while giving him hushed instructions. “Don’t forget to lock it behind you. I’ll see you at school.” She snatched her jacket and a shirt and walked quickly out of the room to get changed before Jughead heard her hop down the stairs and minutes later Alice Cooper’s car speeding down the road. And just like that he fell back on the floor contemplating life and thinking that getting involved with a girl in any sense was indeed very tiring.

It was an hour later that the Jones boy passed the wide entrance of Riverdale High with headphones intact and loud music blasting through his skull, blocking away the offensive whispering of the people around him about yet again Jason Blossom. He went straight to his locker and started rearranging some of his books, his eyes wandering around and catching a glimpse of her from across the corridor doing the same. As if she knew his baby blues were on her, Betty looked at him and she smiled apologetically to him, mouthing a sorry for the crazy morning they had. He just brushed it off with a shake of his head and gave her his usual smirk, not really managing to stop his eyes from wandering further down to take in her appearance. Amongst all the blue of her jeans and her sweater something plaid red was peaking from her collar and her waist and his eyebrows shot up in shock. On an onlooker it might look like she was spicing up her outfit with some color but to somebody that knew it would look so strange since Betty Cooper didn’t own even a single plaid shirt and that very one was something that Jughead Jones was sporting day after day.

He subtly pointed to his collar praying that he understood her signal but Betty just looked down at her in confusion before looking back up at him and shrugging in a silent “what?”. Some girls from her science class approached her and their eye conversation cut short, Jughead pushing his text books for first period in his bag and closing his locker, before sprinting to the blonde’s side.

Kevin was a tad faster than him. “Hey, Betty, cool shirt. Isn’t it Jughead’s?” he raised an eyebrow looking between the two of them, Betty’s crimson red blush appearing to her cheeks again, now coming to understand her gaffe. Somewhere between her morning humiliation and her hurry so for her mom not to suspect anything more she had ended up picking the wrong shirt, that shirt being Jughead’s.

“Yeah, she was cold so I lent it to her.” The other boy came to her rescue, nodding down at her with a cute side smirk, Betty agreeing with a vigorous shake of her head.

Thankfully the bell ringing didn’t leave any space for more conversation and the three friends started walking towards their chemistry class. And as Kevin was in front of them bubbling happily about his very first official date with Joaquin, Jughead, feeling rather bold after the events of that morning, placed a soft palm at the small of Betty’s back, leaning to whisper next to her hear. “You look good with my shirt on.” He complimented her and saw even her freckles turn a lovely shade of red before offering him her sweetest grin and whispering a shy thank you back. Yes, getting involved with a girl was tiring but in Betty’s case it was all worth it.

Where are you? Please just let me know you’re ok. I’m worried about you.

Betty’s trembling thumps typed quickly the message and she pressed ‘send’, the new blue bubble that appeared on her phone screen joining the three other unanswered ones that held a similar content. She waited two seconds and then threw her phone on the duvet next to her with venom, snapping her eyes shut and letting fresh tears run down her already soaked cheeks. She wasn’t crying because she had been yelled at for barely an hour by her dear mother nor because she was grounded for the rest of time.

She was crying because he left and because he probably wouldn’t want to speak to her ever again.

It had been the perfect afternoon. Betty had done amazing in her cheerleading practice, even earning a compliment for the very first time from Cheryl Blossom herself, and once practice was over, Jughead was there waiting out of the school gym, left leg bended by the knee and resting to the wall behind him while he was watching something on his phone, looking dangerously handsome in some black attire, insisting on buying her a triple extra sundae at Pop’s since he now had official employee discount, the old man finally offering the boy the job he desperately needed.

Today it was the first time they hugged. Betty couldn’t really help but jump in his arms with a happy squeal upon hearing the news, because she knew first-hand how hard everything was on him and because his happy smile was the best thing she’d seen in her life and the true highlight of her day. And of course she got to have that sinful sundae – with extra topping, as he requested – the two of them spending hours at Pop’s, just talking and laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

Today was the first time they held hands; like proper hand holding not the usual brush of touch sometimes they happened to have. They were walking back to her house, their chat animated and still going strong, with Betty seeing Jughead for the first time being so optimistic and genuinely trouble-free and loving so much that side of him that wished for everything to come in his life the way he dreamed, because he deserved it, he of all of them. And just as she was busy thinking how happiness suited him and he looked even more handsome under the stars that night, she felt his long slim fingers dance around hers ever so lightly, before finding their place at the space between hers and locking there like they had clicked, like they were designed to fit perfectly with hers and hers only. Betty eased his nerves with a bright welcoming smile and a light squeeze of her palm against his and Jughead exhaled a nervous sigh through his smiley lips, glad that they were taking it one step at a time and she was following his pace.

And today was the day it all came crushing down between them as far as they reached the porch stairs of the Coopers’ residence, the two teens getting ambushed but a ready-to-kill Alice Cooper that turned their lovesick smiles into ice.

After that it was just a mess of screams and insults, Betty’s mom having found the backpack of Jughead’s belongings as she once again went snooping in the girl’s room, shouting at how disappointed she was at Betty and her tendencies of always getting involved with the wrong crowd, addressing Jughead with words like stray and lowlife and delinquent, him just standing there and looking at the ground and Betty crying and screaming back how she hated her and how much of a awful mother she was being. And mist the fire of it all, the raven haired boy that never seemed to have a chance to happiness, had pushed his backpack up his shoulder and walked away, doing what he knew best; disappear.

Hours had passed since then and not a single text of hers about his wellbeing was answered, Betty being locked up in her room and crying her pretty eyes out for the boy that made her heart meant and beat again, even faster than ever before. She had never cried for anything or anyone that much in the past, not even for Archie, having that sinking feeling inside her chest, that burden that left her there breathing with difficulty and sobbing hard with trembles of sorrow running down her spine.

Didn’t find him anywhere. You want me to tell my dad? Her phone chimed and she rushed to read the text, momentarily hopping that it was from him and he was ok, but it was just from Kevin, the poor boy offering to go out looking for Jughead once Betty had called him with hiccups interrupting her sobbing words, asking for his help.

She was about to text him back to do so because at that point she was really worried but her blurry eyes were making this a difficult task, the blonde beauty swiping a hand violently under her eye and trying to gain some control of her messy state. Her mind was spinning with all the possible scenarios, with mostly bad to worse popping up first, and she was so caught up in her thoughts that didn’t even hear her window being opened behind her and the boy she wished to see more than anything else right now climbing inside her room.

“Is there any room for me?” Betty heard his voice, soft and soothing, and her reflexes where never that quick before in her life, turning around on her bed and gasping a loud relieved sigh that he was there and well before storming in his arms.

“Juggie…” she sobbed against the hard material of his denim jacket, her whole body shaking from the force of her cries and Jughead shushing her and holding her tight.

“Hey, hey, please don’t cry for me…Bets, please, it’s okay…” he kept saying and trying to offer her some comfort, alternating his hands from running up and down her sides and his arms from wrapping securely around her.

“I was so worried about you, I thought something bad happened.” She pulled back to look at him, placing both her palms on his face and examining him closely.

He did the same, taking in her way too puffy eyes, their breathtaking color a tad less bright, and her flushed cheeks, his heart breaking a little at the sight of her, knowing that he was to blame. “I’m fine. I told you I know how to take care of myself.” he assured her, bringing his thump to brush away some tears that still lingered under her eyes.

“I’m so sorry about my mom…” Betty started in a low ashamed voice, knowing that everything her mother had said was out of line and unfair to him. “What she said—”

Jughead cut her off. “Alice Cooper has called me a sleaze at the age of ten; the time I cared about her opinion is long gone.” He replied with a shrug. “No offence.” She just shook her head at his way of still not wanting to insult her or her awful of a mother. “I didn’t leave for what she said to me, I left for you. It’s not fair for you to go through any of this trouble for me.” He confessed with sadness in his eyes, feeling awful that she had to go through hell just because he happened to be in her life.

“And it’s not fair for you to deal with everything on your own.” Betty insisted with such intensity in her eyes that left him with zero comebacks. “Where are your things?” she wondered, looking down around him and taking a step back, the two teens getting untangled from each other. “Don’t tell me you went back to the Blue & Gold.”

Jughead shook his head no, burying his hands inside the pocket of his jeans. “I talked to Archie…” he started and saw the girl across him raise her eyes at that. “That’s why I wasn’t replying to your messages, I’m sorry…” he felt really guilty at that, guilty that made her worry so much for him. “Told him everything, how I lost my home, staying here, what happened with your mom… He was bumped that I didn’t go to him from the beginning but we did that bro thing which we give each other a clean slate and start back again.” He let a small chuckle at this but composed himself immediately, regarding the situation.

Betty smiled, even though she knew this meant he was going to leave her behind just like that. “I’m glad you patched things up with him.” She was, really.

He nodded. “Fred said that I can take their spare bedroom for the time being and Archie and I are planning to rebuild their garage; make it my bedroom and a joined man cave.”

It was Betty’s time to nod, pretending to be ok with all that, but her eyes betrayed her as the waterfalls threatened to spill from them again, the girl looking away and biting her lip to hold back another round of stupid tears.

“Hey, hey, hey…” Jughead rushed to her and enveloped her in his arms again, leaving a butterfly kiss on her temple. “What are you crying for now, huh? I’m here, I’m well and you’ll still gonna see my stupid face every day from some meters away.” He tried to lighten the mood and cheer her up, pulling back to look down at her with a loving smile, his hands dropping to her waist and fingers playing with the hem of the blue and yellow blouse of her cheerleader uniform, Betty still haven’t been bothered to change with all the events that happened tonight. Jughead liked her in that uniform; the tiny skirt was leaving her legs uncovered and he had come to realize that he had a soft spot for them as much as her eyes.

“It’s just” she took a deep breath and brushed her palms over her eyes stubbornly; she was so sick of crying “I liked having you here, you know?” she admitted and Jughead rewarded her with his boyish smirk which immediately pull something in her heart. “Ever since Polly…left” she chose carefully the word “this house had been so damn silent!” her voice broke at that and Jughead frowned in sympathy; he knew that feeling very well. “Those days that you’ve been here, they reminded me of the ones I got to spend with her and it made me feel so much less alone.” Betty sobbed the last part and some mascara filled tears run down her cheeks, making Jughead hold her close again, leaning back to rest against the small wooden bench of her window, letting her water his jacket with salty tears and just rubbing her back, offering hushed promises that everything was going to be ok.

They didn’t know how much time they stayed like that, just holding each other and Betty spilling everything that’s being pilling up inside her, but eventually her cries died and the only sound around them was their even breaths and the crickets chirping away in the night sky.

“Thank you for making me feel less alone.” Betty raised her head from his shoulder to look at him.

“Thank you for making me feel that I wasn’t invisible.” He mused back and caressed her cheek, his thump drawing patterns against her faint freckles, and he saw her eyes shine again, shine with something else that he hadn’t seen before, something so intense that even authors can’t find the right words to describe it.

Jughead heard her take in a sharp breath and it was as if she had commanded him to lean closer, their faces inches away from each other, noses almost bopping. Her long eyelashes fanned against his face, her eyes blinking rapidly in what seemed like anticipation and he felt her melt against him once he titled his head slightly to the side. The raven haired boy felt at a loss, like he didn’t have any control of his mind and body, like everything was on autopilot on his part, not really sure what to do or how to do it but going with his gut and placing his other hand on her waist, making her jump up straight and sigh against his chapped lips. The action caused him to drop his eyes to her own lips, full, pink and always inviting, and he saw her tongue coming out to lick them, Jughead knowing right there that he needed to kiss her, to have even just a small taste, otherwise he would die at that very moment.

“I think I’m gonna kiss you, Betty Cooper.” His lips formed the words almost against her lips and she closed her eyes, angling her head in a delicious way, waiting for him to go on with his promise.

“You better do.” Or I’ll die, she continued in her mind before feeling the slightest of touches against her petal lips, excitement shooting through her system like a drug and having her asking for more by lacing her arms behind his neck.

Jughead felt her mouth part in invitation and her fingers deliver the softest of caresses at the sensitive skin of his neck and he dove in for real this time, kissing her with all the build-up tension he had inside him, bringing her flat against his body by her waist and opening his mouth to savor hers with all he got, both of them sighing in the kiss, pushing, pulling, nibbling, sucking. And when the slightest of moans left her sweet like candy cane and strawberries mouth and vibrated through him whole, Jughead couldn’t help but attack her with new passion, leaning all the way towards her and seeking entrance with his tongue, something that Betty gladly accepted, squealing in delight and tugging at his mess of raven hair to bring him even closer.

“So that’s what a real kiss is like…” the boy murmured inside the kiss awestruck, Betty pulling back lightly to giggle and him following her mouth blindly, not ready yet to escape the sweetest flavor he had ever tasted.

“Not quite bad, huh?” Betty smiled against his lips and pecked them once, twice, three times while caressing up and down his jawline, feeling the happiest girl in the whole wide world.

“Perfect is the only thing that goes with you.” Jughead’s low voice sent a shiver down her spine and she dropped her forehead on his in affection, before their lips met again in the sweetest battle of dominance.

Jughead Jones and Betty Cooper were finally not hiding anymore.

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #bughead fic #betty x jughead #jetty #jughead jones #betty cooper #betty and jughead #riverdale #riverdaleships #riverdale fic #otp:sundaes & plaids #mywriting

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