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livesincerely · 3 years

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it’s beginning to look a lot like... ch. 4 (END)

Also on Ao3. Chapter three here.

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The Twelfth Christmas

“You’re shaking the table!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes you are, you dirty cheater!”

“You’re just mad ‘cause I’m winning⁠—”

“You wouldn’t be winning if you weren’t shaking the table⁠—”

“Hey, chill the fuck out,” Jack interjects, wandering over to investigate before things can get out of hand. “We’re gonna get another noise complaint.”

“Charlie’s cheating!” Tony insists. “He’s shaking the table!”

“No, I’m not!” Charlie denies. “Tony’s just a sore loser.”

“I’m not a sore loser!”

“Well, you’re definitely not a sore winner!”

“I said, chill out,” Jack says firmly. “Or I’m gonna be the one sweeping the pot.”

“Aw, Jack!” they whine in unison.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Jack says. “Choo-Choo, stop shaking the table,” —Charlie ducks his head, pouting⁠— “and Racer, stop stealing from Charlie’s pile when he ain’t lookin’,” —Tony’s eyes go wide⁠— “yeah, Tones, I saw that.”

There’s a few grumbles, but no real arguments.

Satisfied that he’s halted World War Dreidel, at least for now, Jack goes back to the living room and crawls into the Pillow Fort.

“Everything okay?” Davey asks, lifting his arm so that Jack can snuggle back into his side.

“Just another throw down,” Jack says, resting his head against Davey’s chest. “You know how they get.”

“There’s no mercy in dreidel,” Davey says, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Only annihilation and bragging rights.”

Jack laughs softly. “Yeah, I think they’ve really taken that rule to heart, querido. They’re planning total domination and they ain’t afraid to go through each other to get it.”

He takes another moment to get good and comfortable—arms tucked around Davey’s waist, one hand slipping up under Davey’s shirt to sit against the curve of his stomach. Davey throws his legs over Jack’s, his arm a warm weight across Jack’s shoulders, and he tugs a blanket up to cover them.

Davey asks, “Good?”

“Go for it,” Jack murmurs.

Davey unearths the remote from their nest of pillows and hits play; the dvd picks up right where they left it before Jack got up, with Hiccup finding Toothless in the quarry.

They’re watching the movie and not watching the movie. They’ve probably seen it about a hundred times, it’s not like they don’t know what’s gonna happen, so it’s sort of just on for background noise and because it wouldn’t be Christmas without it. Mostly they’re just sitting together, enjoying each others’ company as the last few hours of the day wind down.

It’s been an impossibly hectic holiday season: Davey’s semester didn’t end until the 20th, leaving only a couple of days for frantic Hanukkah shopping and barely more than that for last-minute Christmas shopping. There’s still a handful of nights of Hanukkah left⁠—they’re spending the rest of the week at the Jacobs’ to finish out the holiday, then ringing in the New Year the night after, leaving tonight as the only lull in the madness.

Well, considering the muffled arguing he can still hear coming from the kitchen table, there’s never really a lull in the madness. But lying here, settled in with Davey’s fingers combing through his hair and his heartbeat beneath his ear, the boys happy and whole just a few feet away… Jack can’t imagine anything better.

He shifts slightly, tipping his head up just enough to see⁠: Davey’s looking towards the TV, his expression soft with relaxation and a hint of sleepiness, the fairly lights casting a gentle glow across his features and leaving specks of color dancing in his eyes.

Jack’s heart does a little loop-de-loop around his chest. He never gets tired of looking at Davey. He’s pretty sure he could spend the rest of his life looking at Davey.

“What’re you thinking about so hard, Jackie, love?” Davey asks after a while.

Jack curls around him that much more, his hands sliding up to splay wide over Davey’s ribcage.

“Nothin’,” he says, quietly content. “Still jus’ thinkin’ about tomorrow.”

Davey hums in acknowledgement, his nails scratching lightly at the nape of Jack’s neck. “Mama’s been hinting that she wants us down there as soon as physically possible⁠. She sounded pretty frazzled⁠—I think Les must be driving them all a bit crazy, waiting.”

“What, and she thinks adding us into the mix is gonna grant her some peace?” Jack asks with a snort. “Charlie, Tony, and Les might distract each other for a while, maybe, but there’s no way whatever Les is puttin’ her through now is worse than whatever the three of ‘em together will cook up and unleash. But either way, I’m not goin’ anywhere until we get at least two loads of laundry done because that sucked ass last year, coming home to a shit-ton of dirty sheets and blankets.”

“Yeah, I figured we wouldn’t be getting there until early afternoon-ish,” Davey says. “I told her maybe 2pm or 3? And, at this point I think she’d take the chaos if it meant she could get a few hours in the kitchen, uninterrupted, without Les trying to talk her into a round of dreidel. Apparently he’s taking the tournament very seriously this year.”

“There’s somethin more serious than whatever the fuck went down last year? I didn’t think that was possible,” Jack says. He pauses for a moment, considering. ”Oh, hell, what am I sayin’? This is Les, Charlie, and Tony we’re talkin’ about.”

“Yeah, Mama said the same thing,” Davey agrees. “She specifically mentioned that they’re setting aside a separate table just for dreidel⁠—somewhere safely away from any food or drinks or breakable glassware, presumably.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Jack says. “Though, I’m tellin’ ya now, if anyone ends up with sufganiyot in their hair again, I’m groundin’ both of ‘em ‘til Easter.”

“God, can you even imagine?” Davey says, laughing. “I thought Sarah was gonna murder all three of them.”

“I thought Racer was gonna shatter a window, with how loud he screamed when she started chasin’ him,'' Jack adds. “Then, remember? We found him hidin’ under your old bed?”

“Oh my god,” Davey says, his laughter bubbling up into a full on giggle. “I totally forgot about that!”

Maybe it’s the holiday getting to him. Maybe it’s the bit of eggnog he had earlier or the smell of pine and the hint of candle smoke in the air or maybe it’s just the way that Davey’s looking at him, expression bright and his eyes crinkled up at the corners, but suddenly Jack’s heart feels too big in his chest⁠—like his entire self might burst open.

“What?” Davey asks, still smiling, when he notices Jack staring at him. “What is it?”

“Do you remember when we were at your parents house?” Jack asks. “Not last Hanukkah, but the one before that? When you first started your grad program?”

“What about it?”

“It was, like, a week before Christmas, a coupl’a days into Hanukkah'' Jack starts, thinking back. “I picked you up from campus right after your last test, already had the car packed and the boys bickering in the backseat, and between the snow and the holiday traffic, it took us, like, four hours just to get to your parents house, and I loved every fucking minute of it. ‘Cause you’d moved out, an’ you had classes an’ finals an’ a whole fucking graduate dorm an’ it felt like I hadn’t seen you in weeks, weeks, after four years of livin’ in each other’s back pockets an’ I missed you so fucking much. You weren’t even twenty minutes away but it felt like you were gone⁠, all’a the time—”

Jack’s rambling, he knows he’s rambling, and he’s not sure if he’s even making any sense. But Davey makes no move to interrupt him, listening with that quiet intensity of his, eyes wide and warm.

“⁠—and I’d spent all of fall looking forward to the end of your semester because then I’d have you for a whole month. A whole month, where things could be like they were, like they were s’pposed to be. I’d get to make ya coffee in the morning and hear ya singin’ in the shower and see ya reading on the couch when I got home from work. I was so excited, but I hadn’t realized yet, you know? I didn’t know.”

He pauses for a breath, heart fluttering a little in his chest, then continues.

“But then, that evening at your parents… you never sleep the night before you have a big test, always stay up too late studying and worrying, and sure enough, you were passed out before Jeopardy even came on, absolutely exhausted. I hadta carry ya upstairs later⁠; your Ma had made up your old room for us so I just tucked you in, then slipped into bed beside you. I didn’t think anythin’ of it ‘cause we always share and you didn’t even wake up, just kept on sleepin’. But then, the next morning…”

Jack raises a hand and drags his thumb gently over the ridge of Davey’s forehead.

“You always get a little wrinkle right here, when you ain’t been sleepin’ enough,” he murmurs, rubbing away an imaginary crease between Davey’s brows. “Tension, I guess. It’s how I can always tell that you ain’t been taking care of yourself. But that next morning, I woke up and you’d sort of curled around me in your sleep, half on top of me. My whole fucking arm was numb ‘cause of how you were lying on it but I didn’t dare move ‘cause you looked so comfortable. No wrinkle, no crease, no frown… and I just kept lookin’ atcha an’ lookin’ atcha…”

His hand slides down, cupping around the side of Davey’s face. Jack looks him right in the eyes and says, “And suddenly I thought to myself, ‘Holy shit, I am apocalyptically in love with this man.’”

There’s the tiniest sound of an inhaled breath, Davey’s throat working beneath his palm.

“‘Cause I hadn’t known, ya know? But once I did—once I realized⁠—then I knew. I figured out right then and there that all I wanted was you, that all I’d ever wanted was you, and the boys, and all of us together for as long as I could keep ya. That I’d wanted you since ya brought me that hat and scarf ‘cause you wanted me to be warm, an’ the phone card ‘cause you wanted us to be able to talk, an’ the sketchbook ‘cause you wanted me to have something just for having, and it hurt so bad because it was too late, you’d already moved out, you were pullin’ away, an’ I had a whole month of fucking torture because I had you right where I wanted you but I didn’t actually have you⁠—”

Davey leans that barest bit closer and kisses him, long and slow.

“You’ve always had me,” he promises. “Jackie, you’ve always⁠—”

“But I didn’t know,” Jack says. “And you didn’t know that you had me. But really, the whole time we could’ve been⁠—”

“We were idiots,” Davey agrees, pressing his forehead to Jack’s. “But what else is new?”

“I love you,” Jack says, reaching out to lace their fingers together. “I love you so much, Davey. You don’t even realize how much I love you.”

“Sure I do,” Davey says, his voice a little wet, giving Jack’s hand a squeeze. “It’s about as much as I love you. Now stop it before you make me cry.”

“Love of my life,” Jack says. “‘M so lucky to have you.”

“Jack.”

Jack smiles, lifting their clasped hands up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to Davey’s knuckles.

“Happy Hanukkah, Dave.”

“Merry Christmas, Jackie.”

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Tags: @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside, @corbinthecowboy

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #*the writing desk #*editor's note #*final cut #the domestic au #listen: i decided that more romance could only be a good thing #so here you go #its so sweet it could rot your teeth out #but im not sorry #happy holidays yall #<3<3<3

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sparklepines · 5 years

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Oooh you're trying out prompts? Then how about, uhhhhh, misc 8 for the "shattered echo" boys? (It's been a while since this au but I still love it)

Prompt: 8. “But I’ve never told you that before.”

“Happy birthday!”

Someone removes Anti’s blindfold and he sees all of his friends smiling at him. The mute man widen his eyes, seeing a birthday banner over Marzia’s bannister and a table full of candy. They are shaking their hands, already signing compliments while shouting, and Anti lets out a quiet laugh. Jack’s next to him, holding the blindfold, grinning like an idiot. He kisses Anti’s cheek and everyone comes to hug him. Felix ruffles his now ginger hair and Marzia kisses his forehead. The freckled man shakes his head, moving his hands up to his chest.

“You guys were really sneaky, huh?” he signs. “You didn’t have to do that… Thanks, guys.”

They’re quick to shush him and Jack pulls him closer to the table, urging him to grab a cupcake. Anti narrows his eyes but takes it, thinking that’s why the boy had flour on his cheek when he came home yesterday. The ginger-haired man bites into the cupcake, digging the Radiohead music in the background, and his face lights up. Jack raises his eyebrows, waiting for an answer, and Anti puts the cupcake down to sign again.

“This is peach! You made cupcakes with peach! I love peaches!”

“I know, you silly,” Jack snorts. “It was my first time doing those cupcakes, though. Marzia helped me… Bless her heart.”

Anti frowns. “But I’ve never told you that before.”

The brown-haired man says it doesn’t take a genius to realize that. That he’s always going for the peach flavour candies and that even Toothless has a toy plush in the shape of the fruit now. Anti’s cheeks redden but eats some more, looking around to see the decoration. Felix calls him, saying they have games to play and battles to win, and they snort. He’s gotten much closer to the Swedish man as time went by and he’s still so thankful that everyone learned sign language because of him. He remembers how they also helped him move out from that empty apartment. It’s been so different living with Jack now, but in a good way. It’s full of life and Toothless certainly appreciates her new cat tower. God, she’s spoiled.

Everyone gathers around the living room and Anti doesn’t stop a smile from kissing his face, content to have good people around him.

___________

Link to the story Shattered Echo

my ko-fi

#prompts #thanks ari!!!#janti #se #long post #ari-trash

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jafndaegur · 6 years

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Let Me Learn More

Hi! If your fic requests are still open, how about Hiccup bonding with Stormfly?

hey, @involuntarydiaphragmspasm!!! Finally got your request done! I actually had this written a week after you requested it, but I forgot to type it! So sorry! Hope you enjoy~

Let Me Learn More

A How to Train Your Dragon Oneshot

Rain pattered and dripped from the wooden overhang. Hiccup sighed and shrank back. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it was not so late. But with the near-midnight hour and the worsening thunderstorm that sent the little island of Berk shaking, he was hesitant to brave the weather. Trekking into the forest on its own was dangerous enough. Adding wet and vulnerable without proper sight significantly reduced his chances for a happy survival.

Still, he had a basket of fish, and no where to properly store it. He really wished training hadn’t ran so long. And he wished that he hadn’t gone back to the smithy shop and lost track of time there.

Another rumble of thunder shook the isle and Hiccup cringed. There was one place he could deposit the surplus fish. He didn’t like the idea. He didn’t like it at all. However…it was his best option since he could not see Toothless tomorrow. And leaving a strangely large amount of seafood lying about was suspicious at best.

Oh I wish I had a better idea right now, he cringed, eyes darting across the dark plaza to make sure there were no witnesses.

His fur boots squelched on the stone road as he scurried out, running from one overhang to another. The rain poured down harder, bits of hail pelting down and sending icy pangs across his skin whenever her ran out from under his cover. Sharp little gasps of “ow” and “oof” escaped his lips as he hurried to the Kill Ring. By the time he reached the stone tunnel, Hiccup’s vest, tunics and leggings, and fish-laden basket were all drenched thoroughly. His skin was freezing, and most undoubtedly he smelled of fear. But still, he stuck out his chin, and made his way to the Deadly Nadder’s gate. He had to be careful to open the large containment unit just enough to sneak through but not enough for the dragon to escape. Otherwise not only would every villager on the island have his head, but Gobber too.

He unlocked the heavy door, opening it just enough to creep in with his basket. At this hour, the dragon should have been asleep. So he should have been able to leave the food and go immediately afterwards. Should have.

Large, amber eyes watched him. Pupils narrowly slit as the dragon calculated whether or not it should attack first or wait for him to. In the meager glow of its eye-light, Hiccup could not even make out the shape of the Nadder. He knew it was there, he knew what the dragon looked like, he knew more or less its size. But he could not see it.

He should have brought a torch.

Swallowing slowly, based on the information he had gathered from observing Toothless, he eased the basket forward into the darkness. With caution, making sure the dragon’s eyes did not move, he peeled back the lid and tilted the container forward. A splatter across stone told him that the contents spilled out into the open for the Deadly Nadder to sense.

In an instant, a bright plumage of blue and yellow flame sparked to life and lit up the cell. The dragon never took its gaze from Hiccup as the wicker basket burned, keeping a bright and hot fire alive.

Inching forward with wariness, the dragon began to eat, its attention belonging solely to the fish after the first bite. It starvingly lapped up everything, the food disappearing down its gullet in a matter of minutes. Hiccup probably should have left, in retrospect, since the dragon was clearly hungry. But since the thunder rattled louder than ever, and the rain sounded more like the angry ocean waves that lapped at the shores, he slid down against the wall and sat on the floor. The Nadder gave him a brief flicker of focus before returning to its meal. That was perfectly fine for Hiccup, by all means. He observed with interest, noting that the Nadder had a much harder time slurping up the fish from the floor than Toothless had. It may have been better to have left the basket standing. Not that the dragon seemed to care. It munched happily, scales and tiny bones crunching and snapping between its sharp, curved teeth. It was almost done.

The Viking boy really should have left.

“It seems unfair, that we have to be enemies,” he said instead, wrapping his arms around his knees, scooting a little closer to the dragon fire.

The Nadder disregarded him.

“You’re a living, breathing, creature, same as me. You obviously get hungry. You must get tired, worried, scared, excited,” he egged on. “So why is it that we have to fight you guys?”

Flickering, the firelight dimmed a bit as the dragon shuffled to the back of the cave and settled against the hind wall. It blinked dully at him, its amber eyes holding mild interest. Puffing a cloud of smoke from its nostril, the Deadly Nadder gave a content squawk.

“Can’t you let me learn more about you?” Hiccup rested his chin on his arms. “I want to understand.”

Closing its eyes, the dragon rumbled as if replying, and allowed the boy to stay havened from the storm for just the night.

#fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction request #how to train your dragon #httyd #hiccup #stormfly #during movie 1 #soft fluff #just a small oneshot #drabble #hope you enjoy this #my httyd stuff is so rusty #i need to hop back into this fandom lol

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betweensceneswriter · 6 years

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Second Wife-Chapter 19 : Breakfast and Bairns

Second Wife Table of Contents

Second Wife on AO3

Previously - Chapter 18 : Not Gone The Sassenach was dead, but not gone.

"It's a nuisance," she said, looking up to see me still watching. "Everything to do wi' bairns is a nuisance, almost. Still, ye'd never choose not to have them."

"No," I answered softly. "You wouldn't choose that" (Outlander 675).

The time periods on my version are closer to the book than the TV show—on the show, Jamie leaves, exiled with Dougal, and Claire is called to Geillis’s shop the same day. In the book, it’s closer to two weeks after Jamie leaves that Claire is arrested.

By now, Jamie wasn’t surprised at any post-coital personality fluctuations from Laoghaire. She woke up and had nothing to say to him, wouldn’t even look at him as she dressed. He stretched lazily, rolled over, and ignored her. He needed to live his life independently of Laoghaire’s moods. If his attitude for the day was determined by her, he’d be miserable all the time. And he intended to enjoy the relaxed way he felt after last night’s sexual relations; if he was going to be married, he should at least feel this way occasionally.

Jamie closed his eyes. Last night after sleeping with Laoghaire he had dreamed of Claire and Frank. Having never seen the man himself, the Frank of his imagination was a strange mix of Jack Randall and his brother Alex. With hair cropped short, as Claire described it, he imagined a lanky, loose man, rather than Black Jack Randall’s rigidity, with a face he hated to the depths of his being. The man who wore that face had torn him from his family and vindictively marked his body forever. Jamie couldn’t see his back, and his chest hid the scar from removing Randall’s brand on his ribcage, but there was no forgetting feeling so used and broken and violated. Randall had stolen his manhood for a time, but Claire had stayed with him as he worked to get himself back.

In his dream, Claire’s belly was ripe with their child. But instead of her mounting him in the moonlit darkness in Paris, pregnant with Faith, she was climbing atop Frank Randall, pregnant with Jamie’s son. Or was it Black Jack he saw? “Find me, Jamie,” she had said. And God, he could have reached out and killed her. His baby, her body—and she was giving herself to Frank?

Ah, he thought, with a sudden flush, covering his face with his hand. That’s why Laoghaire was angry. It hadn’t been but an hour or two after they had fallen asleep that he’d dreamed of Claire, and he’d woken up with an erection. He cringed as he remembered pulling Laoghaire atop him, her legs astride his pelvis. She was sleepy enough that she didn’t initially object, and her body felt so much like Claire pregnant, voluptuous breasts and curved belly. His hands and mouth were hungry for her. But as her mind cleared and she woke, she became angry, pulled herself off him, and turned her back to him. He’d apologized, of course he had. But how could he explain himself? “I’m sorry, lass, I was dreaming of my first wife traveling forward in time and having sex with her first husband while pregnant wi’ my bairn; and jealous, I took advantage of you?” There was no excuse.

Jamie was grateful for the distraction of packing and family, going downstairs for breakfast once he had dressed himself. He was greeted with fervent cries of “Nunka Jamie!!” from four enthusiastic little boys when he entered the dining room, a smile from Joanie and from Ian, and silence from Laoghaire.

“Paul and I thought we’d visited aplenty yesterday and we could get much done today at home,” Maggie said apologetically. “But the boys insisted that they wanted to see ‘Nunka Jamie’ again before ye left.”

“And how could one say no to such faces?” Jenny grinned, placing more scones close to Maggie’s two urchins, mouths stained red with berry juice.

“Nunka Jamie,” toothless Angus announced loudly. “Mama has a bairn growing in her tummy.”

“Wawr!” roared two-year-old Anthony, raising his hands and turning them into claws.

“Not a BEAR, silly,” said Angus, turning to his little brother. “A bairN. A baby.”

“Bee-bee,” repeated Anthony, his forehead wrinkled.

“I dinna fink Anfony understands,” said Angus, shaking his head sadly. Jamie patted the little one on the top of his curly-haired noggin.

“Really, Cousin Maggie? Number three? Congratulations,” said Marsali, bringing in a plate piled high with ham slices.

“Do you want a baby brother or a baby sister?” Jamie leaned forward to the boys’ level and asked them.

“Baby…wabbit!” Anthony announced solemnly.

Angus dissolved into giggles. “Silly Anfony! Mama can’t make a wabbit!”

Jamie glanced at Laoghaire, wondering if the interchange was amusing her, but she looked absent, remote. He looked away.

Ian was choking on a bannock across the table. “Maggie,” he said, “perhaps ye should be teaching yer sons a little more about bairns and where they come from.”

“Anthony is two,” she insisted, shaking her head. “Plenty of time for that later, ya ken?”

“So much good news,” sighed Jenny, her hand on Ian’s shoulder, looking with pleasure around the faces at her table. “Kitty to be married, and another bairn on the way. And Marsali, a grown-up lass of fourteen!” She smiled across at Jamie. “We surely wish ye lived closer, or that ye could stay longer.”

Jamie had just taken a bite of blueberry compote. “Aye, but ‘tis planting season. We canna stay away for long.”

“Well, maybe the girls can come visit their cousins for a time this summer,” Ian offered. Wee Janet and Marsali grinned wide-eyed at each other.

The time for farewells finally came, and the Balriggan Frasers mounted their horses and headed toward home.

Laoghaire stared at Jamie’s broad back on Gaoth. She had woken up to his lust in the darkness. In a way she felt gratified—she had stirred him enough that he wanted her again, so soon. But she was also angry, bitter, and confused.

Years ago, he had looked at her, hungry and single-minded. Once his hands had been drawn to her body like a moth to a candle; once his eager touch and desire drove her mad. After he rescued her in the hall, after the moments in the alcove, Laoghaire had envisioned her future—Jamie as her husband, living with her, sitting across from her at the table, sharing her bed, taking her body, fathering her children.

And that is what she had now, Laoghaire thought, tears beginning to well in her eyes. Why was it failing? Why wasn’t she happy?

When Jamie proposed marriage after Hogmanay, Laoghaire had thought finally Jamie would be freely devoted. All hers.

Claire was finally, truly gone.

☆☆☆☆☆

Ever since Claire had confronted her in the kitchen, Laoghaire had burned with resentment and anger.

As she replayed the situation in her mind, she became more and more convinced that what she had told Claire was true. Jamie belonged with her. Claire was a usurper, a cuckoo chick that had pushed her out of the nest. Laoghaire wanted her gone.

But after seeing Jamie and Claire together in the hall that night, Laoghaire tried to tell herself to stay away. It would only hurt and disturb her to see Jamie with the Sassenach. She should concentrate on her work.

“Oh, Laoghaire,” Mrs Fitz called out to her as Laoghaire was about to head home after a hard day’s labor. Though she stayed with Mrs. Fitz many nights, her da depended on her help with the younger children, and several nights a week he expected her to come home. Those were the nights he stayed out late at the tavern, drinking. Laoghaire’s ma had died three years ago, but he still grieved her, and getting soused was the one way he could forget.

Mrs. Fitz drew close to speak to Laoghaire quietly. “Remember to bring clean clouts with you from home. I’m past that time so I dinna keep any now, and ye dinna want to be caught unprepared.”

“Gran, what d’ye mean?” Laoghaire asked, confused.

‘Isna it about yer time, m’dear?” With no mother to look after her since she was 12 when her ma died in childbirth, Laoghaire’s grandmother had taken on the mothering role in her life.

Again? Laoghaire groaned inwardly. The curse of Eve, her da called it. Just another sign reminding the world that God despised women for their role in leading mankind astray, a monthly showing of blood that reminded all that death came to the world because of women.

“Ye note my courses, Gran?” Laoghaire asked, dumbfounded.

“Yer as regular as the moon, wee one,” said Mrs. Fitz. “I imagine it will start anytime.”

As she counted backward, Laoghaire was astounded that her gran was right. Well, she would make sure to have a stack of clean clouts ready.

Walking down the hallway to head out to the stable, Laoghaire was trying to decide what she should make for her family’s supper. She wasn’t expecting it when John Robert suddenly appeared in front of her, so she startled and nearly fell, but he gently grabbed her elbow and steadied her, as smooth in his movements as he had been with his words.

Laoghaire pushed past him. “I dinna want to talk to ye, John Robert.”

“What’s wrong, lass?” he asked, his eyes registering the chill in her body language.

Laoghaire had one word for him. “Married?” It was more a statement, a judgment than a question.

“It’s no what ye think, lass,” John Robert said. His hand was on the center of her back, right above her corset, stroking her gently, his fingers tracing the top edge of her shift. “I love ye. Can I please speak my case? Meet me at the tavern, t’night after the moonrise.”

He was so handsome, Laoghaire felt a pang in her stomach. She wished she could get it back—the way it felt to float down the street confident in her beauty, hopeful about her future, no longer bitter about the Sassenach stealing Jamie from her. She should say no, but her heart and body said “Just this once.”

And so it was, that after she fed her family, saw her father head off to the tavern to drink, and tucked her younger siblings into bed, Laoghaire found herself skulking in the shadows to the side of the tavern.

When John Robert appeared, she hushed him and pulled him into the darkness by the building with her.

“My da is in there,” she said. “I canna stay. What ye have to say to me, ye need to say here.”

“I need time to speak to ye, lass,” John Robert insisted. “He willna find out.”

She shouldn’t trust him, she knew she shouldn’t, but she pulled the hood of her cloak down over her face and followed him upstairs. When they were sitting in the parlor, John Robert touched her arm compassionately. “What have they been telling you?”

“The truth,” she said. “That ye have a wife, and bairns.”

“Yer the one I truly love.”

“It doesna matter. How ye feel doesna change the facts,” she said. “Yer married.”

“I am married. And I’m miserable, lass.” John Robert lamented, his hand on hers. She tried to feel nothing, but he looked so woeful. “My wife is pregnant, aye, but she doesna want me. I’m starving for love and attention. Being with you was the first comfort I’d had in months. Her family are weak constitutioned, and I’m afraid she’ll die in childbirth. What will happen to me, if she is gone? Will ye wait for me?”

“How long?” Laoghaire asked.

“Not long,” John said, his eyes and hands straying to the laces of her bodice, “But will you jest let me see ye, look at ye? Will ye grant me something to give me strength while I wait?”

She tried to resist, truly she did, but he said such nice things.

He had been right, though. She crept home in the darkness and was in her bed before her da came crashing in through the door, tripped across the doorstep in his boots, and soon was snoring drunkenly in his bed.

When Laoghaire arrived at the castle the next day, the kitchen was buzzing with the newest gossip. Dougal’s wife had been poisoned, and Geillis Duncan’s husband had died unexpectedly. Or was it the other way around? Whatever the facts of the matter, the result, Laoghaire was finally able to gather, was that Dougal had been sent home to mourn his wife, and Colum had angrily sent along Angus, Rupert, and Jamie.

“They say,” whispered Saffron, “That the reason Colum is so angry is that Geillis Duncan is with child. And they say it’s not Arthur Duncan’s bairn.”

“No,” agreed Fiona, glancing both directions to make sure none but Laoghaire heard, “They say it’s Dougal’s!”

“And,” Saffron added, “Colum was so mad about Jamie dueling with the MacDonalds that he made him leave the Sassenach here at Castle Leoch.”

This was new to Fiona, who turned to Saffron with an empathetic look on her face. “Oh, what a shame,” she said. “’Twill be hard for the young lovers to be apart.”

Laoghaire tried to hide her pleasure, but she took some satisfaction in knowing that at least Claire and Jamie weren’t together. Instead the Sassenach had to stay in the castle, where she continued to work in her surgery, binding up wounds and pounding and mixing potions for any of the castle inhabitants’ ailments or complaints.

But as Laoghaire thought about ailments and complaints, she also thought of the clean stack of clouts she had brought back from home that now sat on a shelf in her cupboard in Mrs. Fitz’s room. Several days went by, three, then four. And still, her courses did not come. “Regular as the moon,” Mrs. Fitz had said.

As the days went by, Laoghaire also began to see John Robert in a more realistic light. She would come around the corner in the castle and find him leaning up against a wall, speaking flirtatiously to one of the ladies’ maids. The next thing she knew, he would be putting his hands on one of the ladies of the castle as he helped her up on her freshly-shod horse. It become clearer with time that John Robert MacLeod’s word could not be trusted.

She truly didn’t want to believe it, but as the days went by, Laoghaire became more and more convinced.

John Robert was a rake, and she was pregnant with his baby.

On to Chapter 20 : The Waning O’ The Moon Desperate times call for desperate measures.

#Jamie fraser #Laoghaire MacKenzie #CanonCompliant #Why did Jamie marry Laoghaire?#Why did their marriage fall apart?#Outlander fanfic #BetweenSceneswriter

18 notes · View notes

astrxd · 7 years

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Stopping Time (part 1)

A/N: Exc i te dh u mm i ng. Basically, they’re ridiculously close friends and Astrid’s been stressin’ but it’s okay because there’s cute conversations and jokes. I love ‘em to pieces. Modern AU. :) [AO3 Link (with part 2!)]

Hiccup loved Friday nights, because Friday nights were his Astrid Nights. Basically, after winter break drew to a close, they quickly became the only time of the week where Hiccup could actually spend time with his (human) best friend.

But hey, he was willing to take what he could get.

They alternated both their location and their activities weekly – some evenings were movie marathons in his living room, and others were game night at her house, but they’ve recently consisted of Astrid being too exhausted to do anything other than curl up on his bed and half-consciously mumble everything else it was that she had to do during the weekend, all with Toothless curled up at her feet as he kneaded at her legs.

And, really – with three AP classes on her plate, alongside various other extra curricular activities weighing her down, Hiccup couldn’t blame her for needing the occasional night dedicated solely to catching up on sleep that he knows she skips out on from time to time. Plus, what kind of person wasn’t there for their best friend when said friend was prone to suffering from sleep deprivation-induced hysteria? He was certainly no superhero, but that was a task even he could accomplish.

“I should review the budget for the school dance,” he heard her say from behind him. The statement was punctuated with the groan of his mattress moving beneath her weight, but Hiccup was quick to swirl around in his seat to face her, his pencil pointed at her in an accusatory manner. “No, you should be resting. It’s Friday, Astrid,” he implored her, waving the pencil in her direction in a manner that could just barely constitute as reprimanding. “The dance isn’t for another, what? Two weeks?” “It’s next Saturday, Hiccup,” she said, looking at him like he was crazy.

(Hiccup knew it was the upcoming weekend, though – of course he did. If it weren’t for Astrid’s involvement in all things school event related, he probably wouldn’t even know about the winter dance.)

The blonde swung her legs over the side of the bed, tipped her head back, and sighed, all while scrubbing at her eyes with the heels of her palms. Toothless hadn’t shifted in the slightest. “It never ends. I’m ready to physically and mentally implode, and it’s not even prom season. It’s just a winter formal.” Astrid seemed to cringe at the mention of prom season, and Hiccup couldn’t help but laugh. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he silently admired the steely resolve of her features. But only after he recomposed himself. “How about this,” he proposed, tapping the end of his pencil against his chin in thought. “I help you budget the dance tonight, and you… You’ll…” A wicked grin tugged at his lips, and he did very little to suppress it. Why should he, when Astrid was obviously in desperate need of a break? Even if she wouldn’t directly admit that she was tired, such didn’t cancel out the fact that she definitely was exhausted. He could tell. It was in her eyes – the ones that started to lack the same vigor and life that shone in them when she was actually well-rested. It was in her shorter fuse, her almost constantly barely knitted brows, her stiff stature and posture. Hiccup was more than capable of noting all of these little details, even if the last time he got a chance to really look at her was last Friday, so he’d be damned before he just brushed it all off in favor of just enjoying her company. “What are you thinking?” Astrid queried cautiously, but Hiccup could easily hear the note of amusement in her tone as she leaned forward and crossed her ankles. A lock of blonde hair seemed out of place among her braid as it spilled from the crown of her head, and Hiccup had to refrain from standing up, crossing the room, and brushing it away from her face. He twirled his pencil as a distraction. “Not that I’m denying your help just yet, even though you’re not even in student council, but I’m… Curious.” Hiccup smiled, knowing that he had already managed to get her attention and, if all went well, a solid confirmation. “Well, uh, you could start by agreeing to sleep over tonight and–and maybe, actually sleep? For once?” He joked, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. “You help me crunch numbers in exchange for me sleeping over?” Astrid said, almost incredulously. “You sound surprised.” “It’s just – you know, that’s not exactly very fair. It seems like you’re just getting the short end of the stick,” she continued, pulling one of the bed’s pillows into her lap so that she could hug it and drop her chin onto it. Toothless, vying for attention, sat up to press his forehead against her arm, only to promptly receive generous pets. It’s not something to be jealous of, but it also is. “Kind of a shitty deal, if you ask me.” “Well, what were you expecting? What did you want me to ask for, one of your legs?” Hiccup grinned as he quirked a brow at her, suddenly tapping his prosthetic against the carpet of his room. An unbidden – but no less amused – laugh left Astrid’s lips, and he watched as she tossed her head back.”It’s been awhile since you have, too. What’s the harm?” “Mm. You’re the worst,” she sighed, and Hiccup detected a note of fondness in her voice. She scooted over on the mattress and patted the vacated space. “Damn your persuasiveness. It’s a deal, though – but only if we’re ordering pizza.” “Who do you think I am? Someone who’d let a perfectly good, new pack of root beer to go to waste?” Hiccup snorted. He stood up and bridged the gap of space between them to sit beside Astrid, leaning against the pillows stacked against the headboard as Toothless shifts and makes himself comfortable in his lap, while the blonde retrieved a notebook and her laptop from her bag at the foot of the bed. She was quick to rejoin him, though, and soon enough, they were hip to hip… But looking at one another. Another one of her blinding smiles. His heart skipped a beat. He mentally cursed it for doing so, but it didn’t really help – not when it’s been doing that for at least the past few years of his life. “Alright, down to business, then. Let me run you through the supplies list, all the prices, and who needs to be reimbursed. Check my math?” “Yes, ma’am.” “Oh, and I rescind my previous statement, by the way. You’re the best again,” she said, handing him the pad of paper as she booted up her device. Hiccup scribbled with his pencil in a corner of the page. “Because I bought root beer and let you order pineapple on our pizza.” He responded, shaking his head.

“Well, yes, but also because you’re doing all this… For me. And it’ll only be on half of it, so don’t diss, Haddock.” She grinned at him, nudging him with her elbow. “You had all of middle school to back out of this friendship, so now you’re stuck with pineapple on our pizza.” “Duly noted. Maybe I just really like budgeting, though. Or–or, or maybe I want to be an accountant. You don’t know my story,” Hiccup half-heartedly defended. The two of them shared another look there, silently watching one another… …Before simultaneously bursting into the briefest fit of laughter. The mood lapsed into something much more them; much more comfortable. Astrid leaned her head against his shoulder and Hiccup sighed silently; contently. He laughed – they both laughed – because it was beyond obvious that yes, Astrid actually did know his “story.” She knew practically everything about him. ...Except for the fact that he’d been in love with her since they were in middle school. One of the many reasons why he hadn’t “backed out” of a friendship with her was because he had a strong feeling that it’d be the closest he’d ever get to knowing the girl of his dreams. So, yeah, she knew everything.

Everything except for that.

By the time midnight rolled around, the two of them ended up relocating to the living room downstairs. A nearly empty pizza box and several bottles of root beer were laying atop the coffee table in front of them. The winter formal had been successfully (re)budgeted and Astrid was making good on her end of the bargain – they were pajama-clad, seated on the sofa with blanket draped over the both of them, and had some movie playing on the TV. Toothless was perched comfortably on the cushions behind their backs and near their heads, sleeping soundly – yet again. He couldn’t think of anything that’d make the evening any better. That is, not until Astrid yawned and let her head fall against his shoulder once more. A brief glance at the wall clock in the room revealed that midnight was, in all actuality, several hours ago, and a small smile tugged at Hiccup’s lips as he flipped his gaze toward her. He lifted his arm to accommodate for her frame, which was automatically slotted against his own within moments. She then slumped against him, so Hiccup looped an arm around her shoulders, further drawing her into his side. “Hey,” she mumbled, though her voice was slightly muffled by the fabric of his sweater as she buried her face in his shoulder. That, and it seemed to be slightly tinged with drowsiness. “Hi,” was Hiccup’s only response, but half of it was a laugh. Astrid briefly pulled away to send him scalding look, but her expression was quick to soften as she nestled back against his side. “Thanks. For today.” “I hardly–” He was promptly interrupted by a tight hug. Astrid’s arms were looped around his middle and she was practically sitting on top of him at that point, with her legs swung over his lap. Not that he minded – in fact, he was more than happy to snugly secure the blanket they’d been sharing around her shoulders as she started up again. Cuddling – platonic cuddling. It was a common thing, especially between them. “Yes, you did. So shut it.” “I–” “Nope, shut up.” Hiccup… Hiccup only smiled. It was a small tilt of his lips as he regarded her, but it was a smile all the same. Fond, gentle, genuine. Astrid shifted a moment later, and he found himself staring back into inquisitive blue eyes. “…What?” Hiccup just barely furrowed his brow. “You stopped talking.” “You told me to shut up.” “I didn’t mean shut up,” Astrid snorted, suddenly appeased, if the way she curled up against him again and re-tucked her head beneath his chin was any indication. A quiet, contented sigh seemed to leave her lips. “God, I really needed tonight. Between dance committee and track season starting and school and life, it almost feels like I’ve hardly gotten to see you.”

“I mean, there’s before school, lunch, after school–”

Astrid sat up a little then, if only to stare at him quizzically. Her expression became somber.

“I get to school an hour before you for student gov meetings, I spend my lunches catching up on homework, and I have conditioning nearly every day after school.” The tone of her voice was almost grave and it held a note of sheepish apology.

Alright, fine. So, yeah – Hiccup had noticed a distinct lack of Astrid in his life over the past few weeks. Friday nights proved to be the only times he really got to see her, because passing periods simply didn’t cut it. While Hiccup wholeheartedly understood Astrid’s reasons for having been so absent, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t a little – or, okay, maybe more than a little – upset with the fact that he hasn’t been able to share some of her time with her. Hiccup knew wanting to monopolize it entirely was just childish, but he, at the very least, wanted to see her from time to time.

The thing was, when he did get those chances, he felt bad for taking her away from most likely more important things she could be doing. And that, in and of itself, was a terrible feeling.

“…Okay, valid point. I don’t mind, though. I get it: you’re busy. You can’t help it.”

Astrid frowned. “I just wish time would stop.”

“Well, we do have right now.”

“It’s past midnight.” “Stay for breakfast, then?” It wasn’t an outlandish request, surely. Not only would it give them some time together, but Astrid’s spent the night at his house so many times that some of her clothes and a toothbrush took residence in a drawer of his upstairs – in fact, even the pajamas she currently wore had been neatly folded and placed into said drawer. Their lives in general were so deeply integrated with one another’s that anyone who didn’t know that they’d known each other since middle school would think that they were dating. …Heck, people who did know them still thought that they were dating. The only thing that crushed him a little was how prompt Astrid was about shutting those people – and rumors – down when they arose. As if the very idea of them ever getting together was ridiculous and inane. Well, at least he could dream... But boy, did he dream. Dream of evenings, just like this, only where he could punctuate his sentences with kisses and have the liberty to blurt out those thoughts of how beautiful he thought she was.

“Maybe,” she hummed in response, drawing him out of his thoughts. “We can try doing pancake art again. Even though we both know how that ended up last time around.”

“It was supposed to be a whale–”

“–Ohoh, yeah, a sperm whale! That thing would have been perfect for middle school sex-ed classes.” She laughed, and Hiccup threw his head back in mock exasperation at the joke. He was pleased to find that the mood of their earlier conversation, the one that bordered just barely opening the can of worms he’d been avoiding, had shifted entirely, and lapsed into something much more casual.

“It looked–it was fine! It was just, just the flipping part that ended up distorting the picture, okay?”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Hicc.”

He didn’t mean to think out loud… But he ended up thinking out loud anyway.

“…Yeah, well, you’re right here, so.”

And he swore that Astrid hugged him a little tighter. It wasn’t very long before her breathing slowed altogether. There was a distinct sense of comfort that came with being this close to her. It was in the warmth of her person; it was in the slight part of her lips and the thick lashes catching the light of the changing frames of the TV, casting dim shadows across her cheeks. When it came to Astrid, Hiccup was awfully observant, but that much was probably a given. It was impossible for him not to be – not with the way she made it so…

So easy. Easy to laugh with her, to stare at her, to admire her. Now it was his turn to sigh. Craning his neck, Hiccup pressed a light kiss to her forehead – that’s as platonic as kisses could get – before mumbling words of how pretty and peaceful she was when she slept. She never failed to shock him with how effortlessly she accomplished perfection, but what shocked him even more was that (even if it were just as her best friend) someone like him was privileged enough to cradle her in his arms like this. Another moment was spent with half lidded eyes, looking fondly upon the Hofferson…

A meow made his head jerk to the side, where he found himself looking right into milky green eyes. It wasn’t odd to be eye level with Toothless, but Hiccup wasn’t the biggest fan of the look the cat was giving him.

“Oh, quiet,” he sighed, casting a lukewarm glare at the black feline that gave him a disturbingly knowing look. It wasn’t until Toothless set his head down that he felt a little more at peace… Even though he did end up lifting a hand to scratch the underside of his cat’s chin.

Toothless purred contently, Astrid breathed deeply… And he dreamed, about the same things and in the same way he did for as long as he could remember.

When Hiccup woke up, he found himself properly laying down on the sofa with his arms around a pillow. Though he hadn’t remembered taking it off, his prosthetic was propped up against the foot of the couch, and several blankets that he didn’t remember bringing downstairs were draped over his person.

On top of all of that, though, Hiccup woke up to a distinct lack of Astrid Hofferson.

And also a distinct lack of Toothless.

Not willing to stand for it (and also unable to stand for it, because he had yet to reattach his leg), Hiccup shook off the remaining wisps of sleepiness clouding his brain with a languid stretch. Thankfully, his father had invested in quite the comfortable sofa, so the pop of his spine was rather minimal. Nonetheless, by the time he had tossed aside the blankets and strapped on his prosthetic, Hiccup had registered the state of the coffee table.

Spotless. No pizza box, not a single crumpled napkin, no empty bottles.

Not at all perplexed by these revelations, Hiccup yawned and carded a hand through his hair, already well aware of who was behind all of the shenanigans. A brief thought pondering what he had done to deserve a person like Astrid in his life crossed his slightly drowsy mind, but it was fleeting, mostly because he was also wondering just what time it was.

The kitchen wasn’t far from the living room in the Haddock household. The size of the house was strikingly significant, but just beyond the actual dining room (otherwise known as the home of the all-too grand table that was much too massive for Hiccup and his father to use on a daily basis, and was instead reserved for special occasions) was the entryway to the kitchen, where Hiccup was certain he would find Astrid and Toothless.

His hunch proved to be correct, too. When he rounded the corner of the kitchen entrance, he leaned his shoulder against the archway outlining it, only to find Toothless perched on a corner of the island table, with Astrid humming along to the stereo on one of the counters as she stirred the contents of a bowl. Based upon the materials set out before her – eggs, milk, flour, sugar, and the likes – Hiccup could only assume that she was making pancake batter.

The slightest of smiles pulled at his lips as he watched her concentrate on then transferring the batter to squeeze bottles they had hidden away from their last attempt to make pancakes. There was a slight furrow to her brow, but with every passing second, Hiccup found his heartbeats grow increasingly more spread out.

The entire thing was terribly domestic, but if Hiccup didn’t know a domestic Astrid, then nobody did. He had yet to summon his voice and make his appearance known, but it wasn’t long before Toothless picked up on his presence and decided to meow as an announcement. That had garnered Astrid’s attention, causing her to look up at him while drawing a jokingly offended scoff (and a broad grin) from Hiccup as he crossed the rest of the room. He passed by Toothless’ stainless steel dish at the foot of the island counter, only to find remnants of food that was previously not there.

“Traitor,” he addressed the feline, shaking his head. “Thanks for blowing my cover.” Even then, he said it with a smile, but the cat expressed his pointed indifference by licking his paw. That, of course, didn’t stop Hiccup from both claiming the space beside Astrid and starting to run his hand over Toothless’ back.

“Well, good morning to you, Sleeping Beauty,” Astrid quipped, smiling wryly. “I already took care of his breakfast, but ours–” She gestured to the bowl in front of her. “–still needs to be finished up. Wanna take care of the rest while I clean up?”

It wasn’t so much of a question, and was more of a… Rhetorical request. One that Hiccup didn’t hesitate to fulfill, either. While he went about retrieving a pan and a spatula, Astrid started putting things away – and, really, the fact that she knew where everything was and where it all belonged was nothing short of astonishing. Granted, time and time again in the same kitchen would probably instill such things into her memory, but still.

As Hiccup poured a circle of batter onto the now-heated pan on the stove, though, Astrid seemed to stare blankly into the contents of the fridge.

“…Hey,” she started, slowly. Hiccup glanced up at the sound of her voice, but his attention was quick to drop back to the buttered pan heating up on the range. He thought little of it – because, if anything, she was just going to question the whereabouts of another thing in the fridge, or something, right? It made sense, and it was the first thing that popped into his mind. Maybe she needed to find the orange juice, or the strawberries or something.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

…Nope, not about strawberries. Something slammed into his chest like a truck and he tried really, really hard to keep looking down at the pan because something about the tone of her voice was worrying. “Oh-kay. Are you gonna tell me then, or what?” Astrid heaved a sigh and made her way over to him and leaned over the stove to turn off the heat. He was forced to face her properly, and the apprehension on her face did nothing to ease his nerves. Was it possible to best-friend break up with someone? Was that what was going to happen? Hiccup opened his mouth to speak– “Before I caught up with you yesterday after school… I kinda-sorta got asked to the winter formal,” Astrid blurted, looking a little flustered. And she rarely ever got flustered. When she started to tug at her hair, Hiccup knew this was a big deal. …Ouch. He could already tell: she got asked, and she said yes. Hiccup didn’t really do school dances – or dancing in general. The only reason he ever went to school events was because Astrid usually poured her heart into a handful of them. Since freshman year’s homecoming, the two of them attended every dance together, including junior prom the previous year. And never because Hiccup managed to ever get his act together and ask her properly. It was always just… An unspoken agreement. He picked her up, they headed to the school gym, then hung out afterwards. Nothing else to it. And that was where the problem was, he soon learned. He raised an eyebrow at her, pretending not to be as deflated as he was. “Is this a, a bad thing? You said yes, didn’t you?” “No! God, no,” Astrid assured him immediately, wrinkling her nose and shaking her head. Her fervent denial was more comforting than he’d like to admit. “I can’t believe you’d think I’d consider going with someone who’s not you.” “Oh,” he said – really lamely. “So, um, why are you…?” “It was just, it was kind of the first time anyone’s ever done something like that. There were flowers, and people holding signs, and it was such a surprise that I didn’t know what to say,” she prattled on, eyes elsewhere. Hiccup didn’t blame her. “It made me realize how not-normal my high school dance experiences have been And this is the last one before senior prom.” Yikes. That was his fault, wasn’t it? Hiccup visibly winced, but Astrid was quick to reach out and set a hand on his arm. She always was a step ahead of him. “No, Hiccup, I don’t regret turning him down. I was just, thinking that maybe–” “Maybe?” He said, and it was such an undignified little squeak of a noise that he feels like his voice was going through puberty again. “Maybe we can make this one – this dance – you know… Different. Or, more regular, I guess? Different for us, but the same as the rest of the school, or something.” He blinked blankly at her, obviously not following. Astrid sighed and shook her head, but something told him that she already anticipated needing to spell this all out for him.

“Well, for starters, maybe we could actually… Dance?” Now that was uncharted territory. Hiccup didn’t know what to say, but he didn’t have to – not when Astrid was, once again, thinking ahead. She held out her hands and he carefully placed them in her palms. Her hands were small, but by no means dainty. Astrid guided one of them to rest just beneath her shoulder blade and he suddenly realized how much taller than her he has gotten over the years. Hiccup tried not to swallow thickly as she set her hand on his shoulder and adjusted the grip of the one still holding his... So that he was the one doing more of the holding. “Okay?” She asked, and he managed to nod. She brightened a little. Astrid wordlessly guided them in what he assumed to be some simple ballroom dance that he never bothered to learn, all in their little pocket of space that was the Haddock household kitchen. He kept his eyes on their feet as he tried desperately not to squish her socked toes with every step he took. …Or, more specifically, his eyes clung to his false foot. He was pretty sure that Astrid quickly realized this, because minutes later (even though minutes had started to feel like hours – not that he was complaining), the hand on his shoulder was gone– –And was instead placed on his cheek. Hiccup looked up so quickly, he nearly got whiplash. Astrid was… Stunning. She was always stunning, but looking at him – only at him – allowed him to appreciate the icy blue of her eyes closer than ever before. He didn’t realize it, but the space between them was now nonexistent. And, for once, neither of them were half asleep. She bit her lip, and God, he’d much rather be the one doing so – which was exactly why he nearly fell over when she spoke up again. “…Would it be weird if we kissed?” He tried to say something clever – something like ‘not weird, just different’ or ‘I thought you’d never ask.’ Instead? Instead, Hiccup just barely managed to nod.

…

Her lips touched his, and time stopped.

#my writing #modern au #okay now i gotta work on finals LMAO #hiccstrid #fanfiction #i cant believe i DID SOMETHING #sorry for not adding the sequel to the og post! added!

188 notes · View notes

wolfie-dragon-rider · 7 years

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Fanfic: Back to the Great Beyond

A/N: I recently said that I wouldn’t post anything related to RTTE. However, I realized this week that I had never posted this story to tumblr (I wrote it about 18 months ago, before I had a tumblr). It was written back when I was still sort of enthusiastic about RTTE, and even though I am... less enthusiastic now, I still consider this story my best work by far. So I wanted to share it to my amazing tumblr followers as well. It doesn’t take place during RTTE, but it was inspired by the concept of Dragon’s Edge and The Great Beyond. So... consider this my late contribution to the RTTE fandom.

Summary: One-shot. Hiccup and Astrid always wanted to go back to Dragon's Edge and have another adventure. But after Hiccup became chief there was never any time, and they never went back into the Great Beyond. Now it's too late, but a gift from beyond the grave may show Astrid there are more ways to have an adventure than she thought.

Length: 3.4K words Rating: K+ for non-graphical character death Genre: Angst, tragedy, mourning, hope. It’s a sad story, so grab your tissues! Note: Loosely inspired by Pixar’s Up

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The house was empty when Astrid entered it. She sighed deeply, feeling exhausted after the long walk up the hill from the docks, before going upstairs. It was strange that there was no one to come home to, and no one to wait up for.

Toothless was already there, sniffing the bed. He could probably smell Hiccup on the bed, even though they changed the sheets after…

After he died in them.

Toothless walked towards his stone slab to sleep, but Astrid knew he wasn't okay. Toothless kept searching for Hiccup. He had even tried to swim after the funeral ship today. He had to be restrained until they could light it on fire, at which point Toothless just… broke. Astrid thought that, in a way, the dragon died with Hiccup. Toothless was still there, and he still moved, but there was no life in him anymore.

It was like he didn't know how to live without Hiccup.

Astrid took off the ceremonial armor she was wearing, and untied her braid. Untying her hair took a long time, since it had been so long since she had done it herself. She smiled when she realized that the last time she had untied the braid herself was when her hair was still yellow, instead of the shining white it was now. Hiccup had done it every night since they were married. Just like she took off his prosthetic leg every night. And that was a long time. Astrid guessed it must have been around forty years, but she didn't know the exact number.

At some point she just lost count. It always seemed like it didn't matter, that they would always have more time together. Hiccup would know how long they had been married. He was good with numbers. She turned around to ask him, before remembering she couldn't.

As she crawled into the bed she felt more exhausted than she had in years. But sleep wouldn't come. The bed didn't feel right without Hiccup beside her. There should be a warm body with mismatched legs next to her. Hiccup should be pulling on the sheets, hogging them like he always did. In the forty years they'd been together, there had only been a few nights they hadn't slept in the same bed. Usually when one of them was ill or wounded, or after Astrid gave birth. But the other would always be in the same room, sleeping in a chair next to the bed.

It was almost incomprehensible that that would never happen again. Suddenly she jumped up. She couldn't do this. She couldn't sleep in this bed. It was the bed Hiccup died on. She could almost smell the scent of death in the air, and she couldn't stand to be in the room for another moment. She ran down the stairs, trying not to cry. She had cried enough.

When her breathing had calmed a bit, she lit the fire, hoping it would chase the cold away, and sat down in her chair. She tried not to look at Hiccup's empty chair next to hers. It was wrong. When she sat in her chair, Hiccup should be sitting in his, designing some new dragon stables or using the little wheels under the chair to roll it between the table and his workbench without having to stand up.

Astrid averted her eyes from the empty chair with the little wheels that were so… Hiccup, and something on the table caught her eye. She reached out to pull it towards her.

She nearly burst into tears again when she recognized the sketchbook. Hiccup called it his 'adventure book'. He had taken it with him to Dragon's Edge when they were young, and drew scenes of their lives there. He took notes, studied dragons, and drew maps, but he did that in other books. This one was for his own drawings. She hadn't seen it in many years, but Hiccup had it with him just before he died.

He had another coughing fit, worse than the ones before, and the healers had gone in, leaving her to wait outside. When they came out again, their faces were grim. Hiccup wouldn't make it through the night. Astrid had gone inside, and Hiccup had lain there with a pale face, and she couldn't believe he would die in a few hours. They hadn't said much. Final goodbyes, thank you's, and a few tears. Neither really knew what to say. Finally Hiccup had given her the sketchbook, saying he wanted her to remember what was inside.

She hadn't opened it then, instead staying with him until he stopped breathing, and then she had put it on the table when they came to take away the body.

Sighing, she opened the book to the first page. Hiccup had drawn the dragon riders as they looked when they left Berk to go into the Great Beyond, as they had called it. She remembered it like it was yesterday. They had all been so eager to go into the wild, and have adventures. They all looked so happy, and young. She smiled when she thought about how Hiccup and her hadn't been together then. They were just too young and stupid to realize what should have been obvious.

She flipped through more pages, laughing when she recognized their base design plans, stuck in the sketchbook with Night Fury saliva. She snickered at the twins' boar pit, Snotlout's 'S'-shaped house, and her own fortress. As she flipped more pages, she smiled at more sketches and drawings of them at the Edge. Hiccup had always drawn himself looking so… cheerful, and she could feel the happiness radiating from every page. Then she reached the final page.

On the left page, there was a beautiful painting of the six of them in front of the clubhouse. Hiccup had used a mirror to sketch an outline, and he finished it later with paint. Hiccup and her were holding hands, they had just admitted their feelings to each other. Astrid looked in wonder at their expressions. The young Hiccup looked so content, so happy, like he was sure this wonderful life would never end.

She remembered that day. It was the day they returned to Berk. Stoick had called them back, saying they were needed home for now, and that Hiccup needed to learn how to be a chief. Hiccup had been sad that they had to leave the Edge, but he had been so sure they would return there soon.

She couldn't stop her tears when she looked at the right page. There was no drawing there. There were only big words, scrawled in Hiccup's blocky handwriting.

Drawings from the next adventure

Hiccup had never doubted that they would return to the Edge. That they would continue to have adventures, to discover new lands. But they never got the chance. Not long after they had returned, Drago attacked, and suddenly Hiccup was chief. A month later they were married. In just a month, their lives had changed completely. Hiccup couldn't vanish for a week to explore some far-off island anymore. He had to stay on Berk.

Hiccup and her never returned to Dragon's Edge. The remaining pages of the 'adventure book' had remained empty, because there hadn't been another adventure.

It's not that they didn't want to go. But suddenly they had responsibilities. They had to rebuild Berk after Drago's attack. They had to make sure there was enough food. Hiccup had to settle disputes and listen to complaints. Then the children came, and they had to take care of them as well. There was always something else to do, something else to build, something else to improve. Hiccup longed to return to Dragon's Edge, even for only a day. It was a permanent colony now, lead by Snotlout. He had wanted his own place to rule after Hiccup became chief.

Astrid shook her head at the irony. Snotlout would probably have given anything to be chief of Berk. And Hiccup wanted nothing more than to live in the Great Beyond. But they couldn't swap places, because of stupid lineage and tradition.

They wanted to visit the Edge, but something always came up. An argument between two villagers that threatened to grow into a feud. A visiting chief of an allied tribe. One of the children falling ill. But even when they became older, when their children grew up and had children of their own, there was never any time. Now their grandchildren had grown up, and would probably have children of their own soon.

A couple of years ago, a rumor arrived on Berk that a man named Leif Erikson had discovered vast new lands far to the west. Hiccup had wanted nothing more than to fly out and find this mythical new world, certain he could do it better on dragonback than Leif Erikson could with his ships. But even then, there had never been any time. They had always said: "Later," "After the harvest," "After the winter is over," "Next year will be calmer, and then we can go."

And now…

Now it was too late.

Astrid felt guilty, as she remembered how she used to believe that. She had kept thinking there would be more time. She should have done something. Convinced someone to act as chief for a few months so she and Hiccup could go out. But she hadn't, and now Hiccup would never have his adventure.

She couldn't look at the page anymore. Drawings from the next adventure. It would never be. With shaking hands, Astrid moved to close the book, but before it closed fully the page bent a little, and she could see a hint of charcoal on the next page.

The page that was supposed to be empty.

Frowning, she opened the book again and turned to the new page, and gasped. It was another of Hiccup's drawings, but one she had never seen.

It was their wedding. She recognized Hiccup in his ceremonial armor, her younger self in a dress she remembered hating. They were kissing as Gothi pronounced them married.

Astrid didn't understand it. Why would Hiccup have drawn this? Why did he do it in his adventure book? These pages were supposed to be for his next big adventure.

She turned another page, and saw more drawings. There was a drawing of them rebuilding the Haddock house. Another of her and Hiccup, flying through the air on their dragons. One of Astrid hugging Valka. Astrid remembered that day. It was the day she found out she was pregnant for the first time. Hiccup had been so happy. They had both been incredibly happy.

She turned another page, and couldn't stop the tears from flowing when she saw the next picture. It was them, holding a little bundle in their arms. Their firstborn son, Haakon. Hiccup had cried so much that day, because he had been so happy. Astrid suddenly wondered how Hiccup had drawn himself in these pictures, since he couldn't have seen himself, but she supposed they weren't literal images of how those moments really happened. They were the moments as he remembered them.

As he wanted her to remember them.

She flipped through the book, finding more and more pictures. Their other children being born. Stormfly and her attacking pirates. Fishlegs and Ruffnut marrying. Snotlout leaving for Dragon's Edge with a small fleet of colonists. A young Astrid training new dragon riders. Hiccup hopping around on his peg leg after he had broken his right leg. The children unwrapping Snoggletog presents. Hiccup and Gobber making something in the forge. She cried more when she saw the drawing of a burning funeral boat carrying a small baby, remembering little Magnus who had died way too young from a mysterious illness.

After that were more moments from their lives, both happy and sad. Sweet little Ingrid riding her Nadder, Airwalker, for the first time. Hiccup and Haakon posing for Bucket to paint a shield. Valka's funeral. Haakon's coming of age. Astrid embracing her first grandchild. Hiccup reluctantly leading an army during the Berserker War. Toothless and Hiccup hugging and playing. Astrid and Hiccup kissing. She smiled as she could see them become older as she got further through the book. Hiccup's hair became gray, and hers became white. In the last pages they were playing, and later talking, with their grandchildren, who also became older and bigger through the years.

Astrid smiled when she turned the last page and saw a beautiful painting of her and Hiccup sitting together in the Great Hall, surrounded by their friends, family and dragons. She suddenly thought about how Hiccup had drawn himself in nearly every drawing. He nearly always had a happy expression, except in the sad pictures of funerals and deaths, were he usually depicted himself hugging her.

Had he really been that happy being stuck in Berk?

She was about to close the book when she noticed more of Hiccup's handwriting underneath the painting. Her heart skipped a beat as she read the message.

Thanks for the adventure – Now go have a new one! Love, Hiccup.

She slammed the book shut and put it back on the table before burying her head in her hands. She didn't know how long she sat there, crying until her eyes hurt, but it must have been hours.

"Oh Hiccup. Even now you manage to surprise me," she whispered when her tears finally stopped. Her mind was racing with questions. Had he meant it? Had he really considered their life together his great adventure? Had he really been as happy as he looked in those drawings?

She mentally slapped herself for doubting it. Hiccup never lied to her. And now that she thought about it, he looked as happy in her memories of these events as he did in these drawings.

Maybe she hadn't failed in giving him an adventure.

Astrid pondered the other part of his last message. Have a new adventure? How was she supposed to do that?

How could she have one without Hiccup? What was she supposed to do without him? She had been married with him for most of her life, what could she do now?

Astrid grabbed the adventure book and flapped through the pages again while she thought about her life in the village. Now that she thought about it, it didn't feel like she had much of a purpose anymore. The children had long since grown up, and were about to have grandchildren of their own. They didn't need her guidance. She didn't have the strength to be a warrior anymore, she had only barely managed to draw her bow during Hiccup's funeral. The evenings spent talking and playing games with friends had become sparse as those friends started to die, one by one.

Who did she really have left in Berk? Snotlout still lead Dragon's Edge, but he was far away. They hadn't seen him in nearly a decade. Fishlegs had passed away peacefully a few years ago, leaving the Dragon Academy to his daughter. Tuffnut died in a flight accident nearly ten years ago, and Ruffnut stopped eating and sleeping after that, following her brother a month later. The older generation that she had always looked up to, Gobber, Stoick, Valka, Mulch, Johann, they had all died decades ago.

Even Stormfly was gone. The Nadder was shot through the heart during the Berserker War, which caused Hiccup to ban dragons from combat. It hadn't healed her broken heart, and she hadn't been able to bond with another dragon since. She would only ride on Toothless, with Hiccup next to her.

Astrid supposed she didn't have much left to help Berk with, now that she couldn't assist Hiccup anymore. Haakon would do fine on his own, he inherited his father's brains, and he had married a sharp and creative girl. He would probably move into their house now, since it was traditionally the chief's house, and Astrid doubted he would want his depressed old mother around all day. He had his own family to deal with now. Her generation was dying out, and it was time they passed the torch to the next one.

She thought about the rumors of Leif Erikson's mythical Vinland, and how eager Hiccup was to find it. With creaking bones she stood up and grabbed the adventure book from the table as an idea grew in her mind. She climbed the stairs into the bedroom, and walked over to the stone slab. Toothless lay still, but she knew he wasn't sleeping. The dragon hadn't slept since Hiccup died.

"Toothless? Toothless, wake up! You should see this!" she told the Night Fury, and after a minute of prodding the dragon reluctantly opened his eyes. Astrid smiled when she saw a little life return to Toothless' green eyes when he noticed the drawings. He warbled as she flipped through the book, showing him more pictures of Hiccup. At first the dragon seemed confused, but slowly his expression changed to happy.

Astrid flipped to the last page.

"Toothless! Hiccup left a message, and I don't think it was just for me. I think it was for you as well! Do you want to hear it?" she asked, and she laughed when the dragon made an excited growl.

"He says: 'Thanks for the adventure, now go have a new one!' Do you know what that means, Toothless?" she asked, and the dragon looked a bit confused again.

"He wants us to go on a last adventure! Would you like that, Toothless? Another long trip, like we used to do on Dragon's Edge? Just you and me? For Hiccup?" she asked, knowing Toothless would understand her. The dragon was smarter than most Vikings.

The Night Fury seemed hesitant, but when she showed him the final painting again, he finally smiled his toothless grin before licking her. Astrid laughed as she scratched him, happy to see the old lively Toothless again.

"Okay, bud. We have a lot to do to prepare, so let's get started right away!" she said before grabbing a large bag to store food and other supplies in. Toothless jumped out of the open window, reappearing a few minutes later with his old riding gear, which was stored in the shed behind the house. He sat very still as she put the saddle and fin on him, replacing the pedal with one for normal feet.

An hour later she had packed everything, and there was just one last thing she had to do. She grabbed a sheet of paper and Hiccup's favorite quill, and began to write her farewell letter. She explained what Hiccup had given her, where she was going, and why. She left messages for all the children, the grandchildren, and other Vikings she knew well. When she was done, she put the letter on the table, knowing Haakon would find it tomorrow.

She tied all her bags to Toothless, feeling younger and stronger than she had in years. Finally she took the adventure book and put it in the strongest bag, which she carried around her shoulder, close to her heart.

"Ready to go, Toothless?" she asked, getting a happy warble in reply. They walked outside, and Astrid took one last look at the village she had helped lead for the past four decades. It had grown stronger, bigger, and happier during that time, and she was sure Haakon would continue to make it better.

But she probably wouldn't be there to see it. Maybe she would return one day, if she found what she was looking for. But somehow she knew she wouldn't come back.

She climbed into Toothless' saddle and put the fin in the right position. As Toothless launched into the sky she remarked on how easy it was to just leave under cover of darkness. But she dismissed that thought. It wasn't important. All that mattered now was flying. They would fly west, further west than anyone had ever flown. They would fly until they found Erikson's mythical continent, and even then they would fly further, until they reached the end of the mortal world and entered the realms of gods and giants.

They would fly as long as there was another adventure out there. And even though Hiccup wasn't riding on Toothless now, Astrid knew he was with them. He was in the riding gear he had invented. He was in the drawings in the adventure book. And he was in hers and Toothless' hearts.

And that was all Astrid needed as they flew into the Great Beyond once again.

#fanfic #httyd #hiccstrid #hiccup #astrid #angst #sad #back to the great beyond #grab your tissues #up #rtte

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spicycreativity · 3 years

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A Place Where I Can Breathe - Ch 2

Chapter: 2/7 Additional Notes: See Ch 1 for more information. Read on AO3 under "WizardGlick." Formatting/italics errors are holdovers from AO3 that I was too lazy to fix. Chapter Content Warnings: Brief depiction of light dissociation Excerpt: Roman had already transformed the living room: metallic streamers of purple and black stretched across the corners of the ceiling, and shiny balloons spelling out A-N-X-E-I-T-Y hovered above the TV. "Uh, Princey?" Virgil said, tilting his head at them, but Roman wasn't listening. "Don't tell him," Logan advised, shoving down his own annoyance at the error.

Virgil peeled another poster off the wall and laid it down on his bare mattress. Without the sticky tack pinning it flat, it rolled itself back up into a tube shape. Quietly singing along to the music blasting from his speakers, Virgil adjusted it and rolled a purple rubber band down to its center. Then he put it with the rest of his posters, in an open-topped cardboard box exactly identical to the ones he’d been imagining up as necessary. The weight of his newly blank walls bore down on him hard and he chewed absentmindedly at his thumbnail before catching himself. He clenched his hands into fists instead and worried at his lower lip as he surveyed what was left of his room.

It would have been faster and easier to ask Roman for an assist. He could have had Virgil’s entire room moved (and renovated) in less time than it took him to wave his hands. And he would wave his hands, and give a self-aggrandizing little speech, and hold it over Virgil’s head until he found something else to congratulate himself for.

So, no, despite their fledgling alliance, despite the direct invitation, Virgil wouldn’t be asking Roman for favors anytime soon. And besides (not that he would ever admit it out loud), there was something undeniably grounding, something real, about doing the work with his hands. He just hoped his empty room would take the hint and follow him upstairs.

As he worked, he became aware of eyes on him. It was a slow dawning, an uncomfortable tingle in his spine that morphed into a full-body itch. Spite kept him from turning to look, focused on packing away the meager contents of his closet. He knew that Janus would come, and he was determined to not care. Let him face the consequences of his actions for once in his life.

From the doorway, Janus watched. He watched Virgil reverently fold imaginary band tees he would never have the courage to wear. He watched Virgil ignore him. He watched Virgil prepare to forsake the only family he had ever known.

The uneasy stalemate grew more tense by the second until they were both buckling under the weight of words unsaid.

It was Janus who broke first. Where the embers of Virgil's anger could smolder endlessly in his chest, Janus' temper reared up at the slightest provocation and struck with its fangs, and would not be satisfied until the threat was gone. "Tell me you didn't actually buy that little 'family' act."

Virgil's knuckles went white around the Paramore shirt he'd been folding. If Janus had come to patch things up, he was making a mess of it. "There's nothing to buy. They're not liars upstairs." He didn’t need to add ‘unlike here ;’ it went both unsaid and mutually understood.

Janus narrowed his eyes and doubled down in his attempt to make Virgil catch his meaning. "It's awfully sweet that you want to think that, but let's not forget that your precious Patton is the whole reason you're down here with the rejects in the first place."

"Yeah? Well, he’s also the main reason I’m heading up now.” Virgil resumed folding up his shirt. There was no sense in letting Janus upset him, not when it was Virgil who had the upper hand. He had made his decision.

"Yes, and I’m sure he and Roman weren't just being nice to spare their own feelings.”

Virgil was quiet for a long moment, methodically re-folding the shirt and placing it into the box with the others. "Would it kill you to just be happy for me?" he demanded, turning back to his closet without sparing so much as a glance at Janus. He stared at the few remaining shirts without really seeing them, heart hammering against his ribcage. He had been hoping to slip out quietly and let Janus cool down. Despite last night’s tension, he really hadn't intended to burn any bridges. But since Janus was being so generous with the kerosene…

In the doorway, Janus straightened. He dropped his hands to his sides, staring at Virgil like he'd never seen him before. Something uncomfortably like defeat crawled up his spine. "So you really think this is going to end well for you?" It went against his nature to speak plainly; even now the truth metamorphosed painfully on his tongue, becoming a venom-drenched mockery of itself.

Virgil had never liked the process of drawing the truth out of Janus. It always involved effort on one of their parts, and too often Virgil was the one left untangling the knots when Janus was the one who had tied them. He was just about sick of it. So he left the truth raveled up inside Janus' words and grabbed a shirt at random from his closet. "Yeah. I do."

Janus faltered and went still. Virgil could see it out of the corner of his eye, and the sick sense of satisfaction made him smirk. He really was tired of the eternal chess match that came with talking to Janus and it felt good to score a point for himself.

When Janus felt cornered, he struck. But this ? Virgil hadn't cornered him, he'd boxed him in . There was nothing to strike at. Just blank white walls and the chemical odor of lighter fluid.

For a moment, there was no sound but Virgil's music. Virgil imagined another T-shirt to fold. MCR. Long sleeves. Soft jersey under his hands.

Janus knew perfectly well what Virgil wanted from him. But courage wasn't in his function; neither was vulnerability. He stood still in the doorway. No motion but the rise and fall of his chest, the twitch of his irises as he watched Virgil tape up his box of T-shirts. It should have been an easy choice: his pride for Virgil's friendship. But the scales pitched and swung and refused to balance, and Janus was silent.

"Tell me why you came here," Virgil dared him, searching for yet another reason to not look Janus in the eye. He settled for imagining a Sharpie so he could label his boxes.

Janus was silent.

"I know you wanted something."

Silent.

"Say it."

Silent.

"Then go."

Silent.

Janus turned on his heel and walked away. Resentment bloomed in his chest. Virgil had gone for a weak spot on purpose, had set Janus up to lose one of two things he held dear. Let him leave, then. If it turned out to be a mistake, they would find out soon enough. And if it didn't, well…

At least Janus had his pride.

Virgil scoffed at the sight of Janus slinking away like a cat, head high and shoulders back.

Virgil had never expected to lose Janus, but he supposed it did make sense that things would end this way: not with the cheap words he threw around like a high-roller's banknotes, but with a chill and deadly silence.

"Whatever," Virgil said to no one. He picked up one of his boxes and headed for the stairs.

Janus was nowhere to be found; Virgil figured he was probably sulking in his room with the lights off, plucking at threads that would never hold knots.

That, or planning some sort of revenge. Virgil tried not to shudder. After all, there wasn't really anything Janus could do to him, not when Virgil had this much conviction in his decision. Janus preyed on insecurities, driving wedges of doubts into the cracks that already existed in the foundations of long-held beliefs. And Virgil had allowed himself no doubts. Not today. Not about this.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice Remus on the stairs.

Remus had been making no effort to hide, but, realizing that Virgil was going to pass by without noticing him, sprang forward to block his path. "Boo!"

"Fuck!" Virgil flinched and pulled the box in tighter to his chest. He glared at Remus and took in a few deep breaths, leaning against the bannister while he waited for his head to stop spinning. "What was that for?"

"Take a wild guess, Little Boy Boohoo." Remus slapped the top of the box just hard enough to make the contents shift and rattle, rage boiling in his chest. "Y'know, when you said you got Raptured, I didn't think you'd actually go through with it."

"Remus, come on." Sadness ached in the back of Virgil's throat. He hadn't wanted this. For all that Janus and Remus had teased him about spending time upstairs, he hadn't expected this kind of anger from either of them, was still reeling from their unabashed hostility. They were friends . Well. They used to be.

"Cum on what?" Remus asked, leaning in. "Your face? Your tits?" Fire blazed in his eyes and he made no effort to quell it; he wanted Virgil scared . It served him right for picking Roman.

Virgil seemed to read his mind. "You know I'm not choosing them over you guys, I just-- I can be friends with all of you. I can help. ”

"No," Remus said, meaning every word of it. "You can't."

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, forcing down his doubts. "But you guys are the ones making me choose. I-- Look, I'm sure if I told them how much you mean to me--"

"They'd start inviting us up for tea and orgies?" Remus bared his teeth. "Face it, Virgil. They want to change us just like they changed you," he bit the air in front of Virgil's face, "into a toothless little lap dog. And the second you stop playing by their rules, it's back in the dungeon with the rest of us wolves. And you know what wolves get: Dark screens and pens out of ink and knots that won't stay tied."

"Maybe I don't like being a wolf," Virgil said, sticking with the metaphor out of habit. It usually made Remus happy to have his ideas acknowledged. "Maybe I'm changing for my own sake."

Remus sneered at him, aiming to wound. "Patton must give really good head."

"Get out of my way," Virgil said, fury burning cold in his lungs. "I'll be back down soon for the rest of my stuff."

Remus stepped aside, but planted his boot on the railing opposite the wall before Virgil could take so much as a single step. Nothing about Remus could be repressed or contained, not his anger, not his glee, not even his sadness. It escaped now, despite his best efforts to get a leash on it. "I just never thought it would be you."

"What do you mean?" Virgil asked, studying Remus' wistful face. His heart gave a dangerous lurch. "Actually? I don't care. Move."

Remus let his boot drop with a heavy thud, forcing Virgil to step over it. "You're making a mistaaaake," he called after Virgil, pitching his voice up in a shrill sing-song lilt. A parting gift to the traitor.

Virgil winced, but kept walking. If he was making a mistake, at least it was his mistake to make.

At the top of the stairs, he batted at the doorknob until it turned enough to allow him to fall through the door. He kicked it shut behind him and paused to catch his breath.

Then Roman popped up from the couch, sweeping a hand through his hair. "Hey there, 5 Seconds of Bummer."

"Jesus!" Virgil jumped and fell back against the wall, chest aching.

"Careful, don't let Elder Patton hear you say that. What's with the box?" Roman looked Virgil up and down, examining the coal black eyeshadow and the way he cowered against the wall. Whatever he was doing, he seemed unharmed, if a little freaked out. Not that that was unusual.

"I'm moving," Virgil said, only just managing to hold back a sarcastic ' genius .'

"Really?" Roman's smile was so bright it was almost dazzling. "Say no more!" He straightened, puffing out his chest. "Let's see, where should we put you?" He paused, drawing mental pictures. "By Logan, I think. Right across from yours truly.”

Virgil squinted at him, but he realized Roman’s intent a moment too late. "Oh, I don't--"

"Shh." Roman focused on his desired effect, pictured Virgil's room and all its contents moving upstairs. He would have a bright purple door with a black iron door knob. Oh, and a little 'keep out' sign with a skull on it. And a new bedspread with purple patches, to match his hoodie. And of course, he couldn't forget Virgil's actual possessions (whatever they were) right where they were supposed to be. "There!"

Virgil ducked his head and raised his eyebrows, dropping his hands to his sides now that he had no box to hold up. He almost mourned the loss of it, the comforting weight on his chest. "'There'?" he repeated.

Roman beamed at him. "I moved your room for you!" Virgil opened his mouth, Roman assumed to complain about his precious privacy or whatever, so Roman raised a hand to stop him. "Now, now, no need to thank me." He paused, thinking it over, and regretted his choice of words. "No, wait, do."

"Uh, how about I hold off on that until I actually see my room?" Virgil stared expectantly at Roman, who bounced on his toes. "Lead on, Macduff."

"That's not the line and you know it," Roman complained, but he turned to lead Virgil to his room. "It's ' lay on, Macduff,' and--"

"Yeah, yeah," Virgil interrupted, already regretting his teasing. "And then they fight."

"Don't tempt me, " Roman said. Then he winced. "Ah, like, friendly fighting! Between bros! Good, old-fashioned, manly sword fighting between two dudes…" He paused to take a breath, faltering, hoping for a rescue that did not come, "who are friends. Friendly sword dudes." He cleared his throat and repeated, "Friendly sword dudes."

Behind him, Virgil smiled. For all his boasting, Roman really was trying to be more pleasant. Maybe Virgil should try to extend a hand as well. Unfortunately, "Sure," was all he could manage.

He followed Roman across the living room and up another set of stairs until they came upon a long corridor lined on either side with doors. "It's like a hotel," Virgil observed.

"Go in already." Roman nudged Virgil with his hip.

Virgil resisted the urge to smack him, reminding himself that Roman wouldn't know he was just playing. Instead, he shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets and walked down the hallway to his door. "It's purple."

"Oh, good, you're not colorblind."

"Was that a big concern for you?" Virgil didn't wait for a response before pulling the door open and examining his room. Everything seemed fine, from his band posters to his pet spider in its terrarium. Everything aside from the bedspread.

Roman kept glancing between it and Virgil, wiggling in excitement. "Well?"

"Um, yeah." Virgil forced a smile. "It looks nice. Thanks, Princey. I, uh. I like the purple."

"I knew you would!" Roman gave himself a round of applause and pushed past Virgil, throwing himself down on the bed. "Come feel. The purple patches are fleece."

"Okay…" Virgil crossed the room, trying not to look as tense as he felt. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and put his hand down on the fleece, mind frustratingly blank. "Yeah, that's soft."

Roman nodded in satisfaction. "So," he said, "how does it feel?"

"...Soft?" Virgil repeated, flicking his eyes to Roman's face for just a moment.

"Not the comforter." Roman sighed. "Your great escape! You're finally free from Bialysnake and Doom."

Virgil tilted his head. "Not your best work," he said, mostly to avoid answering the question.

"Oh, everyone's a critic." Roman examined his nails. "But come on, doesn't it feel better to know you won't have to deal with those freaks anymore? I can't even imagine how you made it this long, and that's saying a lot for me. Thank goodness you let us rescue you."

Virgil forced back the instinctive wave of anger that Roman would talk about his friends that way. They weren ' t friends anymore. And maybe it would feel good to vent a little. "I'm glad to be gone," Virgil said with conviction, imagining Janus and Remus listening at the door. "It's gonna be really nice not having to deal with all the mind games and, and random tangents and… weird communication problems."

"Go, Virgil!" Roman said, a little surprised at Virgil's candor. "That really must have been Hell for you."

Virgil, as a rule, avoided lying. Even white lies made him feel sick and panicky. But for just one incandescent moment, he lost control of his temper and let the bonfire blaze in his chest and the smoke pour out of his mouth. "Yeah." If he said it out loud, maybe he could make himself believe it. Maybe he could crush the remaining ache of betrayal, the longing for his friends. "It was Hell. I'm not going to miss them at all."

Roman gave a low whistle "I'm glad we got you out of there."

"Lucky me." Virgil rubbed his fingertips along a patch of fleece as guilt, cloying and viscous, lapped at the back of his throat.

It was funny, he thought, reflecting on the look of earnest conviction in Roman's eyes. When Janus said that 3 plus 3 equaled 7, he was getting at something. When Roman said that 3 plus 3 equaled 7, he believed it. That could be a dangerous combination someday. Maybe it was better like this. Now Virgil was in a better position to keep Roman and the others safe from whatever vengeance Janus and Remus might choose to inflict upon them.

"Hey," said Virgil, shaking himself out of his thoughts. "Maybe we should get out of here. Y'know, before you go all--"

"Fright Night?" Roman frowned, bored with the idea. "That's so last episode. Can't you just turn it off?" Almost to himself, he muttered, "A nifty little Roman trick."

"Turn off my anxiety?" Virgil repeated, incredulous.

"No, no, of course not." Roman waved a hand to dismiss the idea. "Just make your room a little less kooky, spooky, and ooky." He snapped his fingers twice.

"No?" said Virgil.

"Let's see." Roman indicated the switch on the wall he had just dreamed up. "Go ahead. Pull the lever, Anxiety!"

Virgil rolled his eyes. "It's not a lever."

"I could make it a lever," Roman said, a touch petulant. "A long one, too, so you can walk into it and jab yourself right in the ribs every time you try to turn the lights on."

"Alright, I get it," Virgil put up his hands placatingly. "I'm sorry I talked bad about your anxiety lightswitch." He got to his feet and flipped the switch, all the while staring expectantly at Roman. "Feel anything?"

"Profoundly unchanged." Roman stood up as well and rocked forward onto his toes. "Ah, well. I guess I wasn't in here long enough to tell the difference. Suppose that's why we leave the nerdy science stuff to the Great Logician."

“Where are the others, anyway?” Virgil asked, longing for an escape from one-on-one conversation. His nerves were already starting to fray.

“I don’t know.” Roman leaned against the wall and fidgeted with one of Virgil’s decorative spiderwebs. “Logan’s probably holed up in his room making a spreadsheet of Thomas’ vitamin deficiencies or something equally as boring.”

“And Patton?”

“I don’t know, man, it’s not like I keep them under surveillance.” Roman rolled his eyes, annoyed with the questioning. "I suppose I should summon them up to say hello." He gave Virgil a sidelong glance.

Virgil shrugged. "I don't really care either way, to be honest. But maybe don't bother them if they're busy "

Roman wasn't listening. "Let's see, probably shouldn't do it in your room… To the hallway!" He bounded out the door leaving Virgil to follow him at a shuffle.

It was fine, Virgil had to keep reminding himself. Roman meant well, and maybe his antics would keep Patton from rolling out the welcome wagon. The thought of special treatment made Virgil's toes curl. Just because he didn't want to be insulted all the time didn't mean he needed to be babie d.

Roman's voice cut through the noise in Virgil's head and he planted his hands on his hips. "You're not listening to me at all, are you?"

Virgil gave a fake smile. "I got caught up in the sound of your voice."

"Hm, well." Roman sniffed, playing the part. "My talents are wasted on buzzkill philistines." He paused. "Buzzkill-istines."

Virgil only made a face, so Roman sighed and brought up his arms to summon Patton and Logan, proclaiming as he did so, "Look who I rescued from the dungeon!"

"Hey," said Virgil, bristling, but the chaos was already underway.

"Yay!" Patton threw his arms out wide. "It's Anxiety!"

"You never say 'yay,' when I come around,” Roman complained.

"Hi, Patton," Virgil said, not wanting to be rude.

Logan chimed in, "Roman, it would be incredibly disruptive if Patton said 'yay' every time you entered a shared space--"

"I didn't ask for a read , you pirated nerd processor. I'm just saying a little appreciation would be nice."

"Anxiety is our guest !"

Patton still had his arms out. Virgil caught his eye. "Was that-- Is that for a hug or…?"

"Only if you want one!" Patton said.

Roman threw his hands up in frustration. "It's like I'm not even here! You never offer me hugs."

"If you are referring to Patton, he hugged you three times yesterday by my count." Logan paused and pushed up his glasses. "Possibly more times than that, if I wasn't present to witness them."

"Aw, Roman, did you want a hug, too? Group hug?"

"I would prefer not to--"

"No, no, that's quite alright."

"Does anybody want a hug? 'Cause my arms are getting tired."

" I don't," Roman said, obviously pouting.

Virgil pressed his fingertips to his forehead, exasperated. Then he stepped away from Roman and let Patton hug him like he obviously wanted to.

It was hard for Virgil to not shudder at the sudden heat and weight on him. With his senses already open and taking in more information than his brain seemed to want to process, touch was an added stressor, more unwanted sensory input.

But it was important to Patton, and his voice was genuine when he said, "Thank you."

"Ugh, enough already!" Roman said, dropping his arms so he could cross them again. "Isn't anyone going to congratulate me for rescuing our dark-and-stormy damsel?"

Virgil seized upon the opportunity to slip out of Patton's arms and step a healthy distance away. "I'm sorry, which part was the rescue? Was it the part where you ambushed me in the living room and took my stuff?"

"Roman, it's not nice to take what doesn't belong to you," Patton said.

"No, Padre. Ugh." Roman groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "I helped him move all his stuff."

"That does explain the new violet variance," Logan said, nodding at Virgil's door.

Roman muttered, "That doesn't make sense; you just wanted an excuse to use alliteration," but it was barely audible under the sound of Patton screeching in delight.

"Uh," said Virgil, wide-eyed. "How long do you think he's gonna go?"

"Three," said Logan, unphased.

"What?"

"Two."

"And one," Roman said.

Patton drew in a deep breath. "Kiddo! You're gonna live with us now?"

"Yep," Virgil said, ducking his head.

"This is so exciting! We have to celebrate!"

"We really don't," Virgil muttered, backing into the wall. The last thing he wanted was--

"A party!" Roman said, driving his fist into his open palm. If he couldn't be the object of adoration, then he could at least be in charge of something.

Virgil sighed, swallowing back a swear. He suddenly longed for the safe familiarity of Janus' gentle taunts and Remus' wild-eyed enthusiasm. He had grown so used to people knowing his limits, to having his needs anticipated and boundaries accounted for.

It crossed his mind to flee, to run back down the stairs into the basement with apologies on his lips. At least his old demons were familiar ones. He knew how to handle it when Remus got too wild or when Janus got sulky and jealous. And the ache, the ache of being so cruel, well, he knew how to ride that out too.

What Virgil did not know how to handle was the rambunctious enthusiasm of three (well, two) optimists who were far too excited about being his friends.

Oh.

Realization and guilt slammed into Virgil's chest, a flying tackle of empathy. All Patton and Roman wanted to do was be his friends, and Virgil had the nerve to be put off by it.

He shook himself and tuned back into the conversation just in time for Roman to address him directly, "And you just have to sit there and look pretty." A beat. "Pretty scary." Patton turned his disapproving gaze on Roman, who was already in the process of trying to extricate his foot from his mouth. "Ah, um, pretty… scarily… pretty . Because it scares us… how pretty you look."

Virgil decided to let that one go as a show of goodwill. "...Thanks."

"Yep," Roman said, utterly failing to stick the landing. "Anyway, enough talk! We have festivities to attend to!"

He sank out, and Patton after him, until it was just Virgil and Logan in the hall.

"I do not understand him," Logan admitted.

Virgil just shook his head, privately wondering if the same placating behavior that worked on Remus would work on Roman too. "Just go with it, I guess."

Logan nodded. "Before we join the others, I did want to tell you: Please do not hesitate to ask if there's something I can help you with."

"Hesitating is the name of my game," Virgil said, misunderstanding.

Logan adjusted his glasses, hiding his confusion behind his hand. "Perhaps that was a poor choice of words. I only meant that--"

It clicked for Virgil. "I get it, Logan. Thank you."

"You are welcome, Anxiety. I believe your presence here will be of benefit to us all." Logan sank out, studiously avoiding eye contact.

Virgil sank out after him, suddenly terrified at the idea of being alone with his thoughts.

Roman had already transformed the living room: metallic streamers of purple and black stretched across the corners of the ceiling, and shiny balloons spelling out A-N-X-E-I-T-Y hovered above the TV.

"Uh, Princey?" Virgil said, tilting his head at them, but Roman wasn't listening.

"Don't tell him," Logan advised, shoving down his own annoyance at the error.

"Just go with it," Virgil repeated, a reminder for the both of them.

"Took you two long enough!" Roman shouted from the kitchen. "Professor Necktie, get in here and help Patton with the measuring cups."

"I got it!" Patton exclaimed. "A third of a cup and a fourth of a cup are pretty much the same thing, right?"

"Oh," said Logan, already in motion. "No."

"What about me?" Virgil asked.

Roman popped his head through the kitchen doorway, nearly knocking into Logan. "I already told you, Sweet Coraline--"

"Da, da, da," Patton chimed in.

"--just sit there and look--"

"Scary."

"Is it Interrupt Roman Day?" Roman threw his head back and rolled his eyes.

"No," said Logan, before realizing the question was rhetorical.

"Wait," said Virgil, "So I'm just supposed to sit by myself in the living room while you guys…" He tried to remember what Roman had said before, but he really hadn't been listening.

"While I bake and Patton tries to drink vanilla extract," Logan said.

There was a sound suspiciously like a small plastic bottle hitting a formica countertop. "Uh, Roman, why don't you keep Virgil company?" Patton suggested. "You know what they say about too many cooks. Or… bakers, I guess."

"What do they say?"

"I don't remember! You'll have to chef back with me later."

Virgil winced. Roman shot him a commiserating look. "Fine, I guess we can both sit and look pretty. Comes naturally to me anyway."

"Great," Virgil said.

"Well, Simple Plan, do you want anything to drink while I'm up?"

"'Simple Plan'?" Virgil repeated, confused. "That one wasn't even a real nickname, you just named an emo band."

"Look, I can't be on all the time." Roman made a face. "Do you want a drink or not?"

"Could I have a coffee?"

"Coffee?" Roman stared at him. "It's 2:00 pm!"

"Oh, so there's a wrong answer?"

"Alright, alright. How do you take it?"

"With milk."

Roman nodded. "How much?"

"What?"

"How much milk?"

"I don't know, I don't measure it out," Virgil tried to keep the incredulous look off his face but couldn't quite manage it. "Just, y'know, with milk."

" How much milk, Virgil?"

"I don't know!" Virgil put up his hands. "Until it's a nice beige color."

"How beige?"

"What do you mean 'how beige'? Beige is beige!"

"Alright, fine," Roman huffed. "But you're not allowed to complain if it's wrong."

"Deal," Virgil said, nodding.

Roman turned to go back in the kitchen and Virgil threw himself down on the couch with a huff. Roman got wound up about the weirdest things.

Unlike Virgil, who only got wound up about normal things, like if the person at the door was really the pizza delivery person, or if they were secretly an assassin sent to kill Thomas.

Reasonable fears.

Virgil ran his hands down his face and sighed. Despite his earlier desire to be alone, and despite the reassuring sounds of controlled chaos from the kitchen, doubt crept into the corners of his mind.

He bounced his leg and tried not to look at the door to the basement. The living room and kitchen were technically common areas, even if the so-called 'Dark' sides usually kept clear of them.

Janus or Remus could burst in at any second and ruin everything. Roman, at least, seemed to be under the impression that Virgil had hated every waking moment as a Dark Side. If he ever found out that they had been friends...

Virgil forced himself to take several deep breaths. Everything would be fine. Roman, Logan, and Patton were his friends , and they wouldn't judge him for how he had acted before.

...Unless they did .

"Coffee!" Roman said, barreling into the living room with far too much confidence for someone holding a full coffee mug.

"Jeeze!" Virgil jumped and clutched at his chest, his pulse hammering against his hands. "Stop doing that!"

"Stop entering rooms?" Roman said sarcastically. He sat down next to Virgil on the couch and set a coffee mug on a mismatched saucer down on the coffee table. "There."

"Thanks," Virgil said. He thought about teasing Roman for having made it the wrong shade of beige, but decided against it. They were still getting used to each other and Virgil didn't know how far he could push without hurting Roman's feelings. "What about you?"

Roman held out his hand and he was suddenly holding a champagne flute full of sparkling water. "Don't you worry about me."

There was a crash from the kitchen, followed by a blithe "oops!" from Patton and a long sigh from Logan.

"How about them?" Virgil asked. "Can I worry about them ?"

Roman waved a hand and sat back. "I guess worrying is your job."

"Yep," said Virgil, glancing again at the basement door.

They fell silent for a moment, but Roman was never one to leave an awkward silence untouched. "So, what do you usually do for fun? Or was it more of a Cinderella situation?"

"You really think I'd take that kind of treatment lying down?" Virgil asked.

"Okay, so, what? Do you practice your eyeshadow for hours on end? Write angsty poetry?"

Virgil sighed, thinking about all the things he couldn't give away. "I mean, I guess I listen to music?"

"That's a great idea!" Roman said, a little too quickly and loudly. He waved his hand at the TV. "Go… Plug your phone into that, make it do the thing."

Virgil got up and began fumbling with the assorted wires at the back of the TV. "Are you sure? It's not exactly party music."

"Well, it's your party." Roman smiled. "You call the shots. And…" He hesitated, embarrassed. "Well, you know. We appreciate you, scary screamo-emo music and all."

After a fair amount of fiddling with the remote and plugging random cords into random sockets, Virgil finally got his phone hooked up to the TV.

"There!" Roman said happily, flashing his teeth again. " Now it's a party!"

Virgil sat back down on the couch and tried to make a pleasant face back. He had hoped that the music would make him feel more at ease, but all it did was bring back painful memories of bass filtering down into the basement, of complaining with Remus and Janus about their upstairs compatriots' taste in music.

Even now, the bass crawled into him and buzzed painfully against his bones, vibrating in his skull. With his heart already racing from the caffeine, the throb in his chest became almost painful. Virgil stared, wide-eyed, at the floor trying to keep his breathing in check. If he could just focus on what Roman was saying…

What was Roman saying? Virgil watched his lips move, but all he could hear was the thrum of the bass. Was this even real?

It took Roman a long moment to realize that Virgil wasn't listening, his attention turned inwards rather than outwards. Realization came with an unpleasant twist of concern in his stomach. Virgil was staring at the floor, his eyeshadow a sickly gray.

All thoughts of irritation and playful pouting fled Roman's mind in an instant. "Uh, hey. You okay?"

Virgil took too long to respond. "...Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He blinked hard, drummed his fingers against his temple. Awareness came back to him, marginally less unpleasant than it had been before. "Do you… do you mind if I turn the music down?" Surely that was no great transgression.

"Sure, be my guest" Roman said, truly ambivalent. He smiled a little and hummed to himself as Virgil fumbled with the remote.

"Hey, kiddos!" Patton stumbled out of the kitchen, Logan's hand firm between his shoulder blades. "Logan says I'm not allowed in the kitchen anymore." He smiled, unbothered, and sandwiched himself between Virgil and Roman on the couch. "Is this okay?" he asked Virgil.

"Yeah," said Virgil, unsure if he meant it. He leaned a little into Patton's side and decided it was okay. More than okay. Where it had overwhelmed him before, the gentle warmth of Patton's proximity now grounded him and calmed him down.

Like…

Like Remus did.

Roman, oblivious to Virgil's inner crisis, tossed his head. "Did you try to eat the dough again?"

"No," Logan called from the kitchen. "He tried to make glitter slime with the egg whites."

Virgil and Roman made twin faces of disgust; Patton only laughed and said, "I was egg-slime-ted to try something new!"

"Oh, no," Roman murmured, drawing one hand down his face.

Virgil raised an eyebrow and said, "Was it at least food grade glitter?"

"No," Logan answered, still out of sight. "It was craft glitter."

" What were you making?" Virgil asked, then realized his mistake. "Uh, before the egg slime."

"Cupcakes," Patton said.

"I already told you that," Roman said.

"Sorry, man." Virgil gave Roman a fake smile. "Sometimes when you start talking, all I can hear is refrigerator noise."

"Funky beets," Patton said, nodding.

Virgil stared at him. "You keep beets in the refrigerator?"

Patton wasn't listening. "Ooh! Brocc-n-roll!"

The conversation dissolved into increasingly dubious vegetable puns, which Virgil avoided contributing to. He was more than content to sit back and watch Roman's and Patton's energies bounce off each other as the conversation grew increasingly absurd.

It was moments like these that made Virgil think, maybe things would be okay after all. Change was scary but Virgil had his friends.

Logan emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later, uncharacteristically ruffled. Flour left chalky marks on his shirt and tie, and glitter clung to his fingers despite all his efforts at the kitchen sink.

"Hi," Virgil said with a lazy wave. "Please stop them."

"What are they doing?" Logan asked. "I stopped listening when they started making puns." He sat down in the chair that sat perpendicular to the couch and looked expectantly at Virgil.

"Still puns," Virgil said. "Endless puns."

"It's fine," Roman said. "We can be done with puns."

"Only if you ask nicely!" Patton said. They all peered at him expectantly. "You said no more puns," he said, confused. "Should I have made one?"

"No need, Patton," Logan said hurriedly.

"Digging the new look, by the way," Virgil said by way of pointing out that Logan was covered in flour.

Logan squinted at him, puzzled, then looked down at himself. "Ah. One of the many hazards of working in a kitchen." He imagined his clothes clean and nodded in satisfaction at the result.

Unable to help himself, Virgil added, "Other hazards include: Setting your stove on fire, setting your self on fire." He paused, thinking. "Ants."

Patton took his cue to counteract Virgil's anxiety. "But if you don't take the risk, then you don't get the reward!"

"Cupcakes!" Roman said with equal enthusiasm.

The oven timer beeped.

Logan frowned. "It hasn't even been two minutes."

"I got impatient," Roman said, and kept going to try to talk his way out of a lecture on hard work. "And besides, don't we all have better things to do than sit around and wait for cupcakes to bake? Such as eating cupcakes?"

"Roman's right," Patton said.

Logan considered this, pushing up his glasses. "I suppose I could use the extra time to get some work done."

"Wow, Teach, you're leaving us just like that?" Virgil said instead of asking Logan to stay.

"Not before cupcakes he's not," Patton said firmly. "Roman?"

"Say no more." Roman made an extravagant hand gesture, and a tray of cooled, perfectly frosted cupcakes appeared on the coffee table.

"I was going to frost them," Logan said. "And I do have to wonder what the point was of having Patton and I bake in the first place."

"Oh, it seemed like a good idea at the time." Roman waved Logan off. "Anyway, Purple Menace, it's your party. You get the first cupcake."

"Thanks." Virgil grabbed one at random before he could start worrying about if there was a right or wrong answer. "So," he said, forcing himself out of his comfort zone, "since it is my party and all… Do you guys think you might want to spend the rest of the day with me? Only if you want to. It's cool if not."

"Of course we will!" Patton said, only just resisting the urge to wrap his arms around Virgil.

"Yeah," Roman said readily, "sure."

They all looked at Logan, who nodded. "If that's what you want."

Virgil looked down to hide his smile.

Virgil kept unusual hours at the best of times, plagued by insomnia and racing thoughts.

Tonight was no different. In fact, tonight was worse. After the day ended and the warmth and comfort of his friends faded away, Virgil found himself alone with his thoughts.

Thoughts that kept straying to Remus and Janus. The reality of their anger at him twisted in his stomach and stoked the fires of rage in his own chest until he was burning with it. Some friends th ey were, turning on him the second he tried to improve his own situation. They knew better than anyone just how much he'd disliked tormenting Thomas and antagonizing the others.

Virgil let out an angry huff and punched the volume button on his headphones. He knew better than to try to go to bed when he was this worked up, so he turned to his tried and true method of drowning out his thoughts: turning up his music until he felt it in his jaw.

It didn't work.

Virgil ripped his headphones off and tossed them away from him, careful even in his anger to not do anything that would cause them to break. He stood and crossed his arms over his chest. It was late enough that everyone else was probably asleep. He could go down to the kitchen and eat shredded cheese straight out of the bag without any questioning eyes on him.

He sank out of his room and popped up in the kitchen so focused on his goal that he didn't even notice Patton standing by the sink.

Patton in turn didn't notice Virgil until they both jumped in fright at the sensation of something in their peripherals.

"Oh!" Patton covered his mouth with his hand and took in a deep breath. "You scared me, kiddo!"

Virgil fell against the fridge, taking in a few deep breaths of his own. "Likewise."

Patton looked Virgil over, raising an eyebrow at Virgil's attire. "Late night?"

"Pretty much always. What about you?"

"I couldn't sleep," Patton said, glancing at Virgil to check in with him before continuing, "I was kinda worried about you."

Virgil shuffled over so he could nudge Patton with his hip. "C'mon, worrying is my job."

"I know," Patton said fondly. "I just… I want you to know that we care about you, and… Well, I just keep thinking about what you probably had to put up with living with Deceit and the Duke, and I'm a little concerned they might, y'know, try something."

"Oh," said Virgil, as a shot of panic rang his body like a bell.

"But don't worry!" Patton said. "We'll keep you safe!"

"Oh, dear." Janus flashed into view between them and looked at them both in turn. "Safe from what? "

"Um," said Patton, blushing up to his ears. "Heya, Deceit."

Janus dipped his chin and fixed Patton with an amused smirk that he had never practiced in his bathroom mirror. "Morality." He leaned back against the counter and waved a hand. "Oh, don't let me interrupt you. Please do tell Anxiety what it is you're going to keep him safe from."

"Ah," said Patton, fidgeting. "Um. It was sort of a private conversation."

"You can trust me." Janus touched his fingertips to his chest, expression open. "Have I ever given you a reason not to?"

"I guess not, no."

"So go ahead." Janus stared Patton down, delighting in his discomfort.

Virgil recovered his wits and only just managed to keep himself from snarling like a dog. "Leave him alone."

"Me?" Janus grinned at Virgil, revealing mismatched canines. "I'm harmless."

A sudden memory flashed through Virgil's mind: He and Janus eavesdropping on their upstairs neighbors. "Wait, were you just waiting by the door for me to show up?"

"No," Janus lied, spitting out the word too quickly. He saw no need whatsoever to let Virgil know that Janus had wanted to check on him and make sure the Lights weren't unduly punishing him for the perceived transgression of having once been 'Dark'. In fact, he'd gone into this with no intention of interacting with Patton at all, but he never could resist the opportunity to make a dramatic entrance.

"Dude." Virgil scoffed, smiling incredulously. "That's so lame."

Janus examined the back of one hand, propping up a facade of cool indifference. "More or less lame than listening to the same My Chemical Romance song 58 times in a row?" Janus teased, sweeping his gaze down Virgil's face. "By your estimate?"

Virgil was about to answer when he noticed Patton staring at him in confusion. He caught hold of his anger again and injected it into his words. "Did you actually want something or did you just come around to try to scare me?"

"This was a common area last time I checked," Janus said, pretending to look around.

Virgil would have liked to have pressed him. For all his scheming and planning, Janus had never mastered the art of the contingency plan. If Virgil taunted him, told him to carry on with his business in the kitchen, Janus would stutter out an excuse, turn tail, and flee.

But there was Patton, watching their rapport with interest and concern, and Virgil couldn't risk handing him any more pieces of the puzzle. Even Patton, who saw the best in everyone, seemed to believe that Janus and Remus had held Virgil hostage all those years. What would he say if he knew the truth?

Virgil took Patton by the hand. "Don't let us stop you, then. Come on, Pat." He sank out, hoping Patton would follow him to his room.

Patton took the hint and rose up by Virgil's door. He looked around uneasily at the spider curtains and the white webbing strung across the walls, but no wave of wild-eyed panic struck his mind. "That's funny."

"Haha," Virgil said, instantly regretting his weak attempt at humor. "Sorry. What's funny?"

"I'm not quite as scared as I was last time," Patton said.

Virgil stared at the purple-plated switch Roman had made earlier. "No way. No way that worked. Ugh, he's going to be insufferable if he finds out." Patton smiled vacantly and nodded. Virgil said , "Don't say anything to Roman, but you should be good to spend time in here with me. I-if you want to."

"Do you want to talk about what just happened?" Patton asked, not moving from the doorway. Even in the absence of blind panic, he could still feel phantom legs crawling across his bare skin if he stared at any one piece of spider decor for too long.

"I don't know," Virgil said, sighing heavily. "Are you okay?"

Patton couldn't help but shudder as he tried to tear his eyes away from Virgil's spider tank. He swallowed down his fear. Virgil needed him. He could be brave if it meant helping Virgil feel better. "Oh, don't worry about me." He forced himself not to think and crossed the room so he could sit next to Virgil on the bed. "How do you feel?"

"I don't know," Virgil said, unable to look Patton in the eye. This was his drama to worry about, not anyone else's. He shouldn't-- couldn't burden Patton with this. Lies danced on the tip of his tongue, so bitter he could almost taste them. He wondered if Janus could sense it, if Janus was laughing at him on the basement stairs. "It's over between us," Virgil said.

"Was it…" Patton hesitated. "I mean, were they… It's just that you're so sweet, and Deceit and the Duke are so scary . And… I mean, Deceit never comes into the kitchen. D'you think he was going to--" Patton broke off with a shudder. " Try something?"

Virgil couldn't even bring himself to protest at the idea that Patton didn't find him scary anymore, awash in nostalgia; half-formed memories of coffee on hazy mornings, reluctant cuddle piles on the couch, bickering for the sake of it, all warming and chilling him at the same time. "Maybe," Virgil said. It wasn't technically a lie, he told himself, just a misdirection. And if it kept Patton safe from Janus' mind games then Virgil would tell a thousand lies, never mind what that said about him. "He can be pretty scary when he wants to be.

"And you're okay?" Patton asked, still concerned. "You still seem pretty shaken up." Virgil was pale and his eyeshadow had gone dangerously dark. Patton wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and never let anything bad happen to him again, his chest ached with it.

"I didn't like how Deceit talked to you," Virgil said, and a burst of anger formed out of the fear for one incandescent moment. Janus had been playing a game with Patton, but it wasn't fair when Patton didn't know the rules. Janus would weave threats and insults into his words but never once speak impolitely or out of turn, and push and goad and tease until he found a breaking point. He had pinned Patton's back against the wall in less than a minute and would have kept toying with him just for the game of it had Virgil not stepped in. Virgil had been the victim of this trick before, in much more lighthearted circumstances. Janus would put words in your mouth and then condemn you for them with the holier-than-thou countenance of a tithe-stealing priest. "He's dangerous to talk to. Promise me you'll come get me if he ever catches you alone, okay?"

"Sure, kiddo." Patton didn't fully understand, but if it was important to Virgil, then it was important to him, too. He held up his pinkie. "Pinkie swear."

"Oh," said Virgil, softening. "We don't have to--"

"It's legally binding," Patton said seriously.

Virgil smiled despite himself and hooked pinkies with Patton. "Okay. Pinkie swear."

Patton drew his hand back and smothered a yawn behind it. "Sorry, kiddo, it's just a little be-yawn-d my bedtime. But I'm happy to stay up with you as long as you need!"

Guilt flooded Virgil's mind, choking out rationality and guiding him toward panic. "Oh, jeeze, I'm sorry. I won't keep you up."

“Aw, it’s okay,” Patton said, not missing the way Virgil’s body tensed up and his breathing quickened. “I’ll stay up with you all night if you want me to. We could even make a blanket fort. Just maybe…” He wiggled in place, thinking of spiders again. “Maybe in the living room or the hall.”

"It's okay, Pat." Virgil stifled a yawn of his own, burying his face in the collar of his hoodie. "Think I'm gonna crash soon, anyway." A small, cruel part of him protested at the idea that he would need special treatment and desperately wanted to throw it back in Patton's face. He wasn't a sweetheart, he wasn't a baby. He didn't need to crawl into a blanket fort with Dad just because he was a little stressed.

Okay, so he was a lot stressed, but he still didn't need coddling. He wasn't Roman .

"Should I go, then?" Patton asked, glancing at the door. He had seen Virgil's face go sour and adjusted his approach accordingly. It went against his nature, against his function, to leave someone upset without doing everything he could to fix it, but he was perceptive enough to grasp that Virgil wanted space.

Virgil nodded and yawned again, the ugliness draining from his face as though it had never been there at all. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night, Virgil." Patton stood, but hovered in the doorway. "Want me to get your light?"

Virgil kicked off his shoes and nodded. "Sure." Virgil hoped that Roman hadn't shuffled his clothing around too much. He wasn't in the mood to hunt for his pajamas in the dark. "See you in the morning?"

Patton nodded, turned off the light, and left.

#virgil sanders #spicywrites #spicywrites a place where i can breathe

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