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middleearthpixie · 6 months

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Living Proof ~ Chapter Fourteen

Summary: When he puts himself between the Uruk-hai and Merry and Pippin, Boromir knows it means sacrificing himself. But it also means redemption for his near betrayal of Frodo and the Fellowship, and so it is a price he is more than willing to pay.

Kaia has been on her own for as long as she can remember, having escaped a terrible life in a village not far from Mordor. When she hears the sounds of battle, she knows what it means and when she ventured forth and finds a gravely wounded man lying amongst the leaves and debris, she takes him in, not knowing he is actually the son of the steward of Gondor.

Angry at himself and faced with a long road to recovery, Boromir does not make things easy on Kaia and it is only through her own sheer will that she does not give into the urge to hit him over the head with something on a daily basis. That refusal to give up brings about changes neither one of them could have foreseen. She just wanted to save him. She never thought he would save her in return…

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (AU, Boromir lives)

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Kaia

Warnings: Some battle violence (nothing graphic, I promise)

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.5k

Tag List: @sotwk @heilith @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea @ass-deep-in-demons @quiall321 @mistofstars @justfollowtheroad @guardianofrivendell @glassgulls @doctorwhump @kmc1989 @estethell @emrfangirl @emmanuellececchi

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

Kaia sank onto the edge of a broken stone at the top of the parapet and sighed softly as Madril asked, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said, looking up at him. It was a lie, of course. The moment she heard Boromir’s name, and then his voice, her stomach had been a mess of jumbles and knots. And when she met his gaze… her heart beat so fast and with such force, she thought for a moment she might faint.

But then those gray-blue eyes narrowed and his gaze pierced right through her. The anger practically radiated from him and while she couldn't fault him at all, it did surprise her that he was so angry. She’d always thought that men easily separated emotion from the physical and that he would be just as glad to not have her clinging to him, begging for a future with him. But then again, her experience with men was on the limited side, and none she’d ever known were anything like Boromir. Not by half.

She hadn’t expected him to speak to her. In fact, she thought he might just shove past her and go on his way. And now that he had spoken, she almost wished he hadn’t. Almost.

She stared toward the doorway where she’d last seen him. Part of her hoped the halflings had too far a head start on him, that he’d give up and return to Osgiliath. But that was only simply so she didn't worry about him, about something terrible befalling him.

“If you don’t mind my saying, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Well, not exactly, anyway.”

“Did you know the halflings?”

“Know them? No. Know of them? Yes.” She turned completely toward him. “I know Boromir knows them, but not how or why. I’ve heard him speak of them, but he never went into detail.”

“Hmm…” Madril’s eyes narrowed slightly and she waited for him to ask her about how she knew Boromir.

But he didn’t. Instead, he gazed out over the growing darkness, which seemed far heavier and much darker than normal. Something in the distance must’ve caught his attention, for he said, “Excuse me,” and hurried off in the opposite direction.

Curious, she followed, coming up as Faramir joined him on the far parapet and Madril said, “It’s been very quiet across the river. The orcs are lying low. The garrison may have moved out. We’ve send scouts to Cair Andros and if the orcs attack from the north, we will have some warning.”

Orcs. Although she knew the chance of facing them grew far greater with each passing day, it didn't mean the thought did not scare her at all. She watched as Faramir’s men moved about, seemingly at random purpose, but she knew well enough they were moving into position for either watch or battle, and she strongly suspected the latter.

She was not wrong.

The first arrow took her by surprise. It swished over her head, striking one of Faramir’s men dead center in the chest, piercing his armor as if it was no thicker than a sheet of paper. He fell, clanking down the stone steps as he rolled out of sight.

“They’re not coming from the north,” Faramir said, “To the river! Quick! Go!”

Despite the roiling in her belly, despite the icy terror rushing through her veins, she followed the others to Osgiliath’s lowest level, where the river had begun to swamp it, greenish-black water swirling about the crumbling stone. Black dots danced before her eyes as she flattened herself into an alcove, just as she had done earlier, when the Nazgûl swooped overhead.

A boat silently eased up to the stone and dropped its ramp, and orcs poured from it, splashing and sloshing their way through the fortress. Madril and Faramir were the first to leap out and attack and her hands wrapped tightly about her sword’s grips, Kaia did the same.

Bedlam ensued. Steel met steel with deafening clangs. Men and orcs screamed as one ran the other through. Heads were removed from bodies. Arms and legs fell into the water with sickening splashes. Torsos were sliced in half, some cleanly, some not so cleanly. Orc blood, thick and black, mingled with the scarlet blood of Men as it spattered against the stone and spilled across the blocks beneath their feet.

Kaia could barely see for the gray and gloom of night, but that didn't stop her. Her head pounded from the sounds, from the force of her blood pumping through her temples. Her arms ached from the relentless swinging, from the force of her steel striking unyielding targets, from the force required to block the blows that came her way. She moved through the gloom, ignoring the rancid black ooze of orc blood spattering across her face, pressing forward. She lost sight of Madril. Lost sight of Faramir. Could see nothing but the relentless push of orcs as more and more spilled into Osgiliath.

A hot sting swept across her right shoulder. She ignored it as she swung back with everything she had to sever the arm holding the blade that cut her. But then another blade caught her to knock her sword from her grasp and she found herself eye to eye with the creature responsible.

“Well, look here at what I found,” he sneered, lifting his blade to poke it into the hollow of her throat.

Tears of pain stung her eyes, but she fought to keep them from falling. Her sword lay just along her left foot, but if she moved, the blade at her throat would pierce her before she got halfway to her own steel.

Metal sliced the air and the orc’s head went flying off to his left, while his body crumpled in a heap where he’d stood. Sticky black ooze clouded her right eye, but Faramir’s voice was clear as he shouted, “Fall back! Fall back to Minas Tirith!” as he continued past her.

She snatched up her blade, dragging the back of her right hand across her face to clear her vision. A hint of panic stung her as she had no idea where Minas Tirith was in relation to where she was, but she broke into a run behind the others as they all scattered.

Splashing through the flooded portion of Osgiliath, Kaia lost her footing more than once, but managed to remain upright as she followed the others. Her heart hammered her ribs with enough force that black dots danced before her eyes as she fought to ignore it, to ignore the burn in her lungs and in her legs. Running was never her strong suit, but her life had never depended on it nearly as much, aside from that day in the clearing, when she dragged a nearly-lifeless Boromir back from certain death.

Dawn was breaking as they spilled forth from Osgiliath and Kaia was fairly certain her feet touched no ground as she ran across the fields. Her heart threatened to explode, her lungs threatened to seize up, and at the shriek of the Nazgûl screeched louder, she knew she stood no chance. Her legs surrendered first. She stumbled. Reeled forward. Went skidding across the ground, unable to hold back her cry of pain as her wounded shoulder took most of the brunt of her fall. Her sleeve was torn almost completely off and blood soaked the fabric as it gushed from the ugly slash. Her hand felt cold, her sword jarred free from her grasp once more, only now she couldn’t make her hand obey her and grip it once more.

A shadow fell over her. Thunder of hoofbeats roared above her. She closed her eyes and braced herself to be trampled beneath those hooves.

The sounds of battle reached Boromir’s ears as he made his way back toward Osgiliath and as he emerged from the tunnel, and saw the empty boats, his gut twisted sharply and he slid his sword free. He didn't stop pushing forward, and unlike the last time he faced an army of orcs, he didn’t feel the sting of the arrow. All Boromir could think about was getting to Kaia. Faramir’s men were as good as his own had been, but they were still horribly outnumbered, and he knew she was there somewhere.

Then Faramir bellowed for them to fall back and without hesitation, Boromir made for the stables and he didn't care whose horse he took as he swung up onto the first saddled mount he saw. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and took off out into the coming dawn.

The shriek of the Nazgûl made his hair stand on end and he urged his horse to run faster as the fell beast swooped down toward the Pelennor Fields, where ahead of him, the rest of Faramir’s men thundered toward Minas Tirith. He slowed down some as he caught sight of an inert figure lying face down not fifty yards ahead of him and his stomach clenched as he tugged hard on the reins and his mount slowed, then stopped.

“Kaia!” He leaped down from the animal’a back and dropped to his knees at her side. She didn't stir.

He wasted no time in gathering her in his arms to spirit her back to his horse, where he managed to maneuver her up into the saddle in front of him, an arm firmly about her waist as he dug his heels into the horse’s sides and they moved once more.

Dirt spattered her face, clumps of it mingled with blood dotted her glorious hair, now matted with sweat and earth. The sleeve of her tunic was shredded, her right shoulder smeared with blood, both fresh and dried, and an ugly wound along her upper arm continued to bleed freely.

Without thinking, he cradled her closer, muttering, “We’re almost there, just a bit further. Just… hold on, love…”

A brilliant white light split the Nazgûl in two and sent them all in opposite directions, leaving a clear path all the way back to Minas Tirith and as they crossed into the White City and Boromir saw Gandalf, he couldn't believe his eyes at all.

Kaia stirred then, lifting her head as she let out a low groan. “Who—where—how?”

“Shhh…” He tightened his arm about her. “You’re safe now.”

“Boromir?” She craned her neck to peer up at him with confused eyes. “But… how…?”

“We will talk later,” he told her softly, guiding his mount along the cobbled main road that wound up along the city’s tiers. The Houses of Healing were on the sixth level and that was where he was going. Everything else would wait for now. Faramir. His father. It would all wait.

Kaia let out a cry as he slipped from the horse and jostled her when he moved to ease her down as well. “Forgive me,” he murmured, cradling her against his chest.

He carried her up the stairs into the Houses of Healing, where Ioreth, Minas Tirith’s healer, looked up. “Boromir? You—you’re here?”

“I am but please, any and all questions will wait for now.”

“Yes, of course,” she gestured for him to bring Kaia over to the bed nearest the bank of windows. “Is this your squire?”

“Squire? No. She is no boy but a woman, Ioreth. Kaia.” He bent to set Kaia down on the bed. “And I owe my life to her.”

Ioreth offered up a quirked eyebrow, but all she said was, “I will tend to her. You should go and see Denethor. He’s been… not himself, these last few weeks.”

He sighed softly, drawing the back of his wrist across his forehead. “Just… just take care of her. I have to go find Faramir. When she wakes, tell her…”

“Tell her what, my lord?”

He shook his head. “Never mind. Just take care of her.”

“My lord?”

He let out a low sigh. “Just tell her I will be back.”

With that, he turned and strode back toward the doorway and without a look back, left the House of Healing. As he stepped out into the golden sunlight, he saw Faramir and with great haste, hurried to catch up with him.

“Faramir!”

Faramir stopped and, shading his eyes with one hand, looked up. “Where did you come from?”

“Never mind that,” Boromir waved off the question as he joined them. “I thought I’d go with you to see Father, lest he not believe I actually walk amongst the living.”

“Where is Kaia? Have you seen her?”

He nodded. “She is in with Ioreth now. I imagine the infirmary will be overrun with wounded shortly.”

“She was wounded? What happened?”

“I know not. I happened upon her just over the border of the Pelennor Fields.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“No. Now, come. We’ve no time to waste on idea chatter.”

He started toward the Citadel, where he knew he’d find his father, in his chair at the foot of the black staircase that led up to the throne of the king of Gondor.

But, Faramir was nothing if not determined and as he fell into step alongside him, he said, “What happened to her?”

“I told you, I haven’t a clue. I found her lying in the field and brought her in.”

“So, wait… you simply dumped her in the infirmary?”

“Mind your own matters, little brother,” Boromir growled without looking at him.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“This is not the time.”

“Not the—“ Faramir fell into step alongside him. “Are you a complete idiot? What could she have possibly done to make you this angry?”

Boromir was in no mood to discuss his love life or hear Faramir’s take on it, either. His stomach clenched with a worry he tried to pretend was nothing more than exhaustion as they continued on their way. “Again, mind your own matters.”

“Mind my own—oh, fine. If that’s what you wish, far be it from me to be your blasted conscience.”

“Good. I need no conscience. I assure you, I’ve done nothing to her that shames me.”

“Why don’t I believe that?”

Now, Boromir glared at him, but Faramir simply rolled his eyes in response and hurried up the stone staircase ahead of him.

At the top of the stone steps, they reached the courtyard and in the center of it, the Tree of Gondor, which would have been white, had it not been dead. Boromir paid neither it nor his brother and mind as he bobbed his head at the pages who silently tugged open the doors leading into Tower Hall.

Denethor II, the Steward of Gondor, sat in his chair, scowling as always, but when he looked up, his eyes lit up as he said, “My son! I worried a terrible fate had befallen you.”

“No.” Boromir shook his head as he drew to a halt before his father. “As you can see, I am alive and in one piece.”

“But we thought…” Denethor cleared his throat and turned away for a moment. When he turned back, he brandished the halved remains of the Great Horn. “This was brought back by one of your brother’s men and I was certain it meant you were lost.”

Boromir stared at the ivory and gold pieces and slowly shook his head. “No. I was wounded, but as you can see, I still walk amongst the living.”

“It is a gift, that you are here and my greatest fear did not come to pass.” He said this with a rare smile and a warm gaze adding, “And have you—”

He paused, his cold gray eyes sliding toward Faramir, who drew up alongside Boromir. “Have you done as you were tasked?”

Boromir swallowed hard. He knew he would disappoint his father, knew Denethor would be furious and would most likely disown him when he admitted that he’d failed. But, he squared his shoulders and shook his head. “I’ve not, no.”

Denethor’s cold eyes grew colder still, looking like two slivers of iced slate. His jaw tightened. “Is that so?”

“It is. I tried. But—”

“You tried? What does that mean—you tried. You failed!”

“I did, yes. And as a result—”

“As a result, you left the Ring in the possession of a halfwit who will keep it for himself!”

“No,” Faramir broke in softly. “I do not think he will, Father.”

“Oh, you do not think he will, do you?” Those iced slate eyes slid toward Faramir. “Then you are as halfwitted as they are, for of course he will. He’d be a fool not to.”

“Father,” Boromir interrupted sharply, “I did try to take it and that halfwit outsmarted me, and when he did, I realized I was wrong. So very wrong, indeed. I was wrong to try tot take it for myself, for Gondor, and not to allow the one chosen to bear it to destroy it. And if that makes me a halfwit, then so be it. I am at peace with the fact that I failed.”

Denethor’s gaze grew colder still, colder than Boromir had ever seen. “You disappoint me, as I thought you the braver of my sons. And yet you defy me. Defy my instructions. You have proved yourself as useless and unworthy as your brother!”

“So be it.” Boromir shrugged as if his father’s words meant nothing to him, ignoring the sharp sting those words sent through him. Denethor’s disappointment was not something to which he was accustomed. Normally, Faramir bore the brunt of their father’s wrath, while Boromir tried to shield him at all turns.

But not this time.

“Father, to take the Ring, to bring it here, would bring about our ruin faster. This is how it must be done. And this is how it will be done.”

“Take yourself from my sight,” Denethor growled. “And take your brother with you. My sons, my heirs, and you are nothing but disappointments, both of you.”

“You will return to Osgiliath. Take it back. Then, and only then, will I even consider you my sons again.”

“Father, Osgiliath was overrun—” Faramir began.

“Take it back.” Denethor looked from him to Boromir and back. “And do not return until you do, either of you.”

Boromir stared at his father for a long moment, as if he’d never seen him before. Although he knew firsthand the pull the Ring had and would have over any Man who thought to try to possess it, he knew Denethor had no such awareness. All he cared about was what Boromir himself had cared about when he’d attacked Frodo in the clearing at Amon Hen. Power. Denethor wanted to secure his place, wanted to make certain his position never wavered, that he never had reason to fear the rightful king coming to usurp him.

He should only know that Gondor’s true leader was somewhere between Minas Tirith and Mordor, and if Aragorn should survive and return to claim his rightful place, Boromir would not hesitate to bow and acknowledge him as the King of Gondor.

“Did you hear me?”

“I did and if that’s what you wish, ” Boromir shrugged, “so be it.”

“Then we understand each other.”

“Aye, I understand.” With that, Boromir turned and stalked from Tower Hall without looking back.

Outside, Faramir caught up to him. “You should go and see her before you go.”

“I’ll not tell you again, little brother,” Boromir growled without looking at him, “stay out of my affairs.”

“And if you do not return?”

He paused then, at the low wall at the far end of the courtyard, where he could see Osgiliath and the River Anduin. Gazing out at the sparkling water, he drew in a deep breath and let it out as a low, steady exhale. “Why does it trouble you so much?”

“Because, I think you should talk to her, that’s why.”

Overhead, clouds thickened, iron gray and heavy with the promise of rain. In the distance, the faint orange glow of the ever-watchful Eye of Sauron gleamed. A heaviness settled over Minas Tirith, one that he’d felt long before he was tasked with going to Rivendell, but had grown heavier since then. If Osgiliath remained in orc hands, it was but a matter of time before they made the march to Minas Tirith.

“If I need advice on how to handle my life, little brother, I promise you, you will be the first one I come to. Until then, mind your own matters.”

He turned to stride toward the stairs, to return to his flat and prepare to depart Minas Tirith once more, only to have Faramir halt his stride as he called, “What did she do that was so terrible?”

Without slowing, Boromir called back, “It is none of your—”

“Concern, I know. But I saw how she looked at you and how you looked at her. Go and talk to her and tell her before it’s too late.”

“Tell her?” Now he stopped. Stopped and turned toward Faramir. “Tell her what?”

Faramir offered up a long look. “I think you know.”

“Do you? Because I assure you, I don’t.”

Rolling his eyes, Faramir snorted and replied, “Tell her you love her, you dolt. I think you’ll be surprised by her answer.”

“I don't love her,” he shook his head, “nor do I care what her answer is.”

“I saw how she looked at you.”

“And how was that? Surprised, little brother. She was surprised to see me.”

“Yes, that I saw. But, there was something else.”

“Your mind toyed with you and you saw not what you thought you did. And I’ll discuss it no more. Round up whoever you can and let them know to be ready. We leave first thing in the morning.”

“Boromir,” Faramir caught him by the arm, “go and talk to her before you leave. Just… trust me, won’t you? You will regret it if you don’t. Don't make a mistake that will haunt you for the rest of your days.”

Faramir didn't wait for his response, but hurried off to prepare for their departure, but Boromir stood there for a long while, staring out at the river, at Osgiliath. Part of him wanted to just return to his quarters and prepare to leave Minas Tirith once more, possibly for good.

But, the other part of him…

Seeing Kaia lying so still on the battlefield had knocked the wind from him and all he could think about was getting to her. And once he had her, it took every bit of will he possessed to leave her in Ioreth’s care, even though he knew full well Kaia couldn't have been in safer hands.

With a heavy sigh, he sank onto the edge of the low wall, hands clasped between his thighs, and he stared at the dead tree in the center of the courtyard. Faramir was right. He had to talk to Kaia before he left, if nothing else to clear the air between them. He wanted to know why she’d left the way she had.

He sat there a while longer, but then, mindful of how much time had passed, slowly got to his feet and made his way down to the sixth level once more. It most likely would change nothing, but he did want to see Kaia before he left.

Butterflies went wild as he neared the infirmary, making him feel very much as if he was but a boy about to see the girl he’d been admiring from afar for what seemed like forever. As he reached the doorway leading into the area where he’d left Kaia, he paused on the threshold. All of the anger that had simmered within him since he’d awoken to find her gone had vanished now. His pride had been bruised, but when he thought about it, he couldn't exactly fault her for leaving. After all, he’d made no bones about the fact that he fully intended to leave her. She just beat him to the punch.

At the same time, though, she made him realize something. He did not like being away from her. In the short time he’d been under her care, in the time that he’d come to know her, he found being apart from her was far worse than even being wounded by the Uruk-hai had been. It wasn't anything he’d ever felt before and if he was completely honest with himself, he wasn't exactly certain what to do with those feelings. Especially knowing she wasn't one to tie herself down. And neither was he.

Or at least, he’d thought he wasn’t.

“My lord?”

Ioreth’s soft voice broke through his reverie and he started, looking down into her lined faced. Her dark eyes bored through him, just as they had since he was a boy and she always seemed to know when he’d been up to no good. Shaking his head, he managed a slight smile. “I beg your pardon. Doing a bit of woolgathering, I suppose.”

Woolgathering.

Over Ioreth’s shoulder, he could see Kaia’s bed, could see Kaia, and she looked so terribly still that his gut kinked. “Ioreth, the girl I brought in earlier? How did she fare?”

“Miss Kaia? She fares well, actually.” Ioreth twisted to peer over her shoulder, then looked back at him. “I managed to halt the bleeding and I don't think she will lose the arm, although it will be some time before she has full use of it.”

Relief surged through him. “Good.”

“She’s asked for you.”

His spine stiffened at that. “She did?”

“Yes.”

His mouth went dry as he peered over her shoulder once more. “Did she say anything else?”

“Go and talk to her.”

“Is she awake?”

“No, but she should be soon.”

With that, Ioreth stepped out of his way, taking away his last barrier to reach Kaia. Swallowing hard against the hammering of his heart and the dots dancing before his eyes, Boromir moved around her, crossing over to Kaia’s bed. As he reached it, one of Ioreth’s helpers brought over a chair for him.

“Thank you,” he said without thinking, not taking his eyes off Kaia. He’d never seen her so still, her dark red hair spilled beneath her, shining in the afternoon sun. Her fair skin looked paler still, even against the stark white bandage wrapped about her upper arm.

“Might I fetch you anything, my lord?”

He shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m fine. But, I’d rather not be disturbed, unless my brother comes looking for me.”

“Of course.”

Boromir turned back to Kaia and he gently slipped his hand beneath hers, her palm warm against his. Her fingers tightened briefly about his. He smiled, bringing her hand to his lips to gently brush the backs of her fingers with a light kiss.

Her lashes were thick black crescents against her pale cheeks, and while he hoped her eyelids would flutter and then open, they stay shut. Her chest rose and fell softly with each breath, and he sank into the chair, her hand still in his. He would remain by her side until she woke, and he was not leaving until he’d had a chance to speak with her.

Until he made things right with her.

#Lord of the Rings #LOTR AU #Boromir #Boromir fic #LOTR fanfic #Lord of the Rings Fanfic #Fan fiction #LOTR fanfiction #AU #Boromir x OC #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Sean Bean #Everybody Lives #Sons of Gondor

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kickedshins · 7 months

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readalong riverdale playlist guide

songs have been added in no particular order. sometimes songs tie to broader visions of a musical episode, but some are just “they should have shoehorned this in somewhere in that classic riverdale way”. all songs are musical theater songs. yes i know they did superboy and the invisible girl but they did it wrong (sorry cami, you were great). this is an eternally updating playlist and guide. enjoy!

Corner of the Sky, from Pippin: Archie!!! This literally could happen anywhere at any point in time. What is this song if not Pippin going left Pippin going right. Put this wherever your heart desires. I want to come up with a Pippin musical episode plot because it’s so good. Jughead singing "Simple Joys" over a montage of Archie not dealing with his problems… I’m getting carried away.

Kind of Woman, from Pippin: Veronica would sing this in an entirely unselfaware way. I’m thinking early season two. Isn’t it a beautiful vision?

Superboy and the Invisible Girl, from Next to Normal: THIS SHOULD HAVE BEEN A COOPERS SONG. I’m mentally rewriting the n2n episode with this being a Coopers song.

Could I Leave You?, from Follies: A timeskip Veronica and Hermione duet at their respective shitty husbands. It ends with Hermione resignedly going back to the minutiae of marriage and with Ronnie shooting Chad in the face. Don’t worry about how this messes with plot this isn’t about that.

Your Fault, from Into the Woods: Read this post and envision a beautiful ITW episode.

I’ve Never Been in Love Before, from Guys and Dolls: Okay honestly? Archie and Josie duet. Cuter than "Fight For Me", imo.

Mother Knows Best, from Tangled: Alice, duh. Season one or season seven.

Do You Hear the People Sing?, from Les Mis: Season six union stuff baybee! Hand in hand with "Bread and Roses". It also would be really funny to have KJ and Vanessa, who in my opinion suffer the most from iPhone Voice in the cast, to do such a grand musical-y song. It would not be very good but boy would it be entertaining.

Therapy, from Tick, Tick… Boom!: BUGHEAD DYSFUNCTION DUET YES PLEASE. Let’s say season four. "Exquisite Corpse" vibe, but suppress it all. Maybe the problem’s simply codependency!

Get This Right, from Frozen II: Okay hear me out this is one of the most stupidly romantic songs I have ever heard. An Archie song, obviously. Timeskip Varchie. Maybe he’s actually about to propose, maybe not, doesn’t matter. All that matters is how much I genuinely think KJ could have slayed this song.

Being Alive, from Company: Obviously go read Jughead’s Weird Fantasy right now if you haven’t already. But even in Riverdale canon I would want Jughead to sing this in timeskip. If we’re getting specific it feels very Tabby tucking him in after he gets too drunk at the key party. Sorry for nixing the gay subtext by putting it next to a Jabitha moment jail for a million years for me I know. It could also be after Archie calls him when he’s in NYC. There you go, gay people.

Something’s Coming, from West Side Story: Season one or seven Archie. Just feels very wholesome. I think it would be cute. Could be performed on stage if season one.

How Did We Come to This?, from The Wild Party (Lippa): A Veronica La Bonne Nuit performance that somehow becomes a group number (she’s the only one singing on stage though). Season three. No "Queenie Was A Blonde" tag. I could make an AMV to this song. I should not do that I already have three in the works. But I could.

Run Away with Me, from The Mad Ones: This is purely self-indulgent because I like on-the-road Jarchie and I have a soft spot for this mediocre musical for personal reasons.

Suddenly Seymour, from Little Shop of Horrors: Choni! Choni forever and ever amen. Season seven, I think, when Cheryl finally accepts that she’s a lesbian and is facing homophobia from her family/society/etc. Cheryl is Audrey which is funny because “mama was poor” lol no she wasn’t. They should go all the way and get the rights to change the lyrics to Suddenly Toni. Neither Madelaine nor Vanessa has the right voice for this song even a little bit. I do not care.

Partner in Crime, from Tuck Everlasting: Betty and Archie. In my wildest fantasies this is like a season four flashback to them as kids and we have kid Barchie sing this song but other than that I think this could be a number when they’re hooking up in timeskip. Even though I don’t approve of Barchie hooking up in timeskip because I hate straight people I do think they would slay this. KJ specifically I think would sound great on this, it’s not really a Lili song but oh well. Another version that would be incredibly funny but not as good would be having timeskip Veronica and Reggie sing it about, like, actual crime.

Totally Fucked, from Spring Awakening: Kevin-centric group number in the style of "In" or "Beautiful". Could be anywhere from seasons two to four. Maybe we include the “did you write this?” thing with Betty and Jughead as Melchior. They did some expose for some paper. You know how it is. I wish the Riverdale characters were allowed to say fuck so bad.

Moving Too Fast, from The Last Five Years: Timeskip Jughead. It almost fits but doesn’t in a way that’s oh-so-Riverdale.

The I Love You Song, from The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee: Sad. Shared between Betty, Veronica, and Cheryl, but Veronica-centric (could be an unhinged La Bonne Nuit performance from her with cutaways to the other two, actually). Whenever the most amount of parents in this group are in jail. There’s at least one meaningful shot of Jughead reacting.

I’m Breaking Down, from Falsettos: Okay this one is sort of cheating because I don’t necessarily want to fit it into the actual canon of Riverdale I just think if Archie had come out in high school Veronica would have pulled a "The Ladies Who Lunch" and done this at La Bonne Nuit. I think Cami would body that.

What Is This Feeling?, from Wicked: Hear me out. Bret/Jughead duet.

For Good, from Wicked: Betty and Veronica, season seven. Or quad number in late s4/early s5 before the timeskip. I think Lili would sound gorgeous on this, especially the bridge.

Two-Player Game, from Be More Chill: Look Joe Iconis wrote music that was used in Archie: The Musical let me have this okay. Season one Jarchie. Jughead as Michael obviously even though he’s nothing like Michael and Archie is nothing like Jeremy. I just want to make Cole Sprouse say “favowite”.

Mother’s Gonna Make Things Fine, from A New Brain: I have a whole beautiful vision for an A New Brain musical episode that takes place in season four. It’s too long to get into right now but just know it’s there and it’s gorgeous and I’m going to fully flesh it out soon. Once again this is obviously an Alice song, except instead of well-meaning Jewish mom it’s overbearing evil (albeit MILFy) WASP. She’s fretting over Betty because Betty’s fretting about college or Jughead or something who cares. I just need Mädchen to do this.

Change, from A New Brain: This would happen about three quarters of the way through the episode. In classic Riverdale fashion they’d get a little insensitive with it and this would be a Ronnie La Bonne Nuit performance. Change the government kill the mayor! Say that! Even if the mayor is your parent! Especially if the mayor is your parent!

Brain Dead, from A New Brain: This is my favorite part of my A New Brain musical episode. It’s once again a Bughead repression duet. Just imagine the lavender marriage dream sequence anger tango they would do. I also think Cole Sprouse wouldn’t sound too horrible on this song. High praise. No lyric changes Jughead is saying “as the MD lifts me in his cruisy chiseled arms”. I’m getting angry about the fact that I will never get to see this on my screen I’m going to do some breathing exercises to calm down.

Take Me or Leave Me, from RENT: We’re gonna split this up among couples in classic Riverdale fashion. Timeskip, our Maureens are Kevin and Veronica, and our Joannes are Fangs and Archie. The Joannes don’t really work so maybe we’ll pull another classic Riverdale and cut their verses. Unfortunately the best line of the song (“Women, what is it about them? Can’t live with them or without them!”) has to be cut. I wish Choni could also sing this but alas it can’t work in this. Mostly this is an excuse to give Casey Cott more stuff to sing and I think it would be hilarious if he sung this.

Tango: Maureen, from RENT: Honestly, Riverdale both could and would do a really messy RENT episode. I should ruminate further on that. Anyway. I don’t actually know where or how this could work but I want it to be a weirdly sexually charged Vughead duet. But that makes Betty or Archie Maureen, and they are not Maureen… I don’t know. This one’s just in here because I like imagining Cole Sprouse dancing, and because I think Jughead is Jewish and it would be really funny to hear him say “Riverdale Jewish Community Center”. Let’s go with timeskip. She cheated! She cheated! Betty cheated! Fucking cheated! Oh, shit, could this be a Jarchie song in timeskip when Betty and Archie are hooking up? I think it could! Wow. Good work gang.

Razzle Dazzle, from Chicago: I’m also creating a beautiful Chicago musical episode that I don’t have time to detail right now but trust me it’s awesome. It’s in season four, Hermosa is relevant to it. Anyway this is another Kevin-centric group number where everyone is lying to different people about different things. Crucially, Cole Sprouse says the line “they’ll never know you’re just a bagel”.

I Can’t Do It Alone, from Chicago: Veronica’s asking someone to help her scheme!

Mister Cellophane, from Chicago: GAY KEVIN. NEED I SAY MORE.

My Own Best Friend, from Chicago: Beronica duet. Lives would be changed. They’re sort of fighting at this point in the episode so there would be an underlying current of potential hatefucking. But that’s sort of always the case with this song tbh. Also this isn’t on this playlist but imagine Reggie singing "Roxie". So bad. So good.

American Idiot, by Green Day/from American Idiot: Songs from jukebox musicals count too, right? Archie-led group number obviously. Let’s go with season six, but it could be season one or five, too. Maybe he is the faggot America. Jughead says the line “now everybody do the propaganda”. There’s a coordinated dance thing a la "Random Number Generation".

A Cockeyed Optimist, from South Pacific: Archie, duh. Season one, six, or seven. Probably sung directly to a Lodge.

Watch What Happens, from Newsies: Betty, season four. She's doing a piece on the community center that Archie and Mad Dog co-run. I think Lili would slay this honestly. I debated adding the reprise largely so that I could have Cole sing the snake line and to have an iconic "the poor guy's head is spinning" thing side note how can I make Davey and Jack about Jughead and Archie someone needs to shoot me. Anyway we'd cut the stuff about Katherine being into Jack in this song obviously because Betty is unhappily hetero with Jughead. Hashtag women in journalism.

Matchmaker, from Fiddler on the Roof: 50sdale girls. Really strong fun gay visuals exist in my brain for this one.

Anything You Can Do, from Annie Get Your Gun: Vughead. Neither can I!

Let Me Entertain You, from Gypsy: Ronnie duh. Season three-ish La Bonne Nuit Era. Or Polly Amorous.

I Cain't Say No, from Oklahoma!: 50sdale Betty sexual awakening era. I can SEE a beautiful beautiful dream sequence vision where she dances around flirting with Archie and Jughead and Reggie and Veronica can't you.

Tribulation, from Schmigadoon!: Yes this is a TV show not a staged live musical who cares. I don't like Music Man I'm not putting "Ya Got Trouble" on here. Alice gets a patter I don't think Mädchen would be particularly good at it but it would be extremely fun. Season seven most likely, but let's be real it could come at any point in the show.

Naughty Baby, from Crazy for You: You think I'm about to say Veronica or perhaps Cheryl don't you. WRONG Dark Betty. Oh it would be so cringe so painful so bad so terrible. It must happen. I don't know when in the show it happens it could literally be any time in s1-6.

With One Look, from Sunset Boulevard: Ronnie... I'm thinking s5 Riverbucks era.

that's all i have for now but there's more to come :]

#riverdale #kickedshins originals

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kookaburra1701 · 3 months

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9 people you'd like to know better

Tagged by @saltymaplesyrup and @skyrim-forever

3 ships 1. Khemor gro-Skaven/Borgakh the Steel-heart 2. Pavo Attius/Gat gro-Shargakh (I blame @thana-topsy) 3. Enthir/Urag gro-Shub (THIS IS TOPSY'S FAULT TOO)

first ship Definitely Merry Brandybuck/Pippin Took from Lord of the Rings! The first time I clicked "Yes I am an adult" online when I was DEFINITELY not an adult was joining a mailing list for the pairing! Memories.

last song https://open.spotify.com/track/0RwzoQW4NtQ8vIQANF7uws?si=718e833a17694ee7

currently reading Liminal Bridges by @thana-topsy

last film uhhhhhhhh oh boy I have not actually watched a movie in like...years. I do not have the attention span for it. I honestly can't remember.

currently craving The restoration of electricity. My area was hit by an ice storm seven days ago and we still have no power or utilities with no estimate of when they will be repaired. My family is safe, we've got a wood stove and propane generator and enough fuel for another week but I'm doing all my work on a puny lil' cell signal using my phone as a hot spot and IT IS UNBEARABLE.

Ummmm, because of said internet woes it's really hard to go and search for people who have already done this. Sorry if I missed you! @thana-topsy @viss-and-pinegar @greyborn2 @elfinismsarts @gilgamish

#tag games

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rosalinewintrell · 11 months

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A Hogsmeade Adventure

Hello All!

Here is Part Six of my Garreth Weasley x MC Hogwarts Legacy AU. I hope you all enjoy! Please keep liking and comment of you feel like it!

“I’ll admit,” Garreth said as he and Rosaline left the Three Broomsticks, “I might have asked you here for another reason.”

“Oh really?” Rosaline said, “You apologized so beautifully, don’t ruin it now,” she teased with a smile. Her hands were now clasped behind her back as she walked with Garreth. Neither had been able make physical contact since he had warmed her hands in the restaurant.

“Haha, very funny,” he responded with a cheeky smile of his own. “I was actually hoping for you to inspect something for me, or a place rather.”

“A place? Slow down Mr. Weasley I am not moving in with you.” Now Rosaline's cheek earned her a playful glare.

“I apologized before but now I think you can be rather impossible sometimes.”

“I’ve been told.”

“Well, I am glad you’re aware.” Garreth responded with a fair bit are sarcasm lacing his voice before sobering himself. “Honestly, I was hoping you might inspect the local potions store. I know that a few students, along with myself, suspect him of gauging his prices, since his is the only potions shop in town. None of us has much of a choice but to shop there and even though we have reported it to the professors, they either don’t trust or believe us.”

“Really? I am surprised they wouldn’t take it a bit more seriously. The only place to procure potions ingredients gauging their prices? I would think at least Professor Sharp would have investigated it.” In fact, Rosaline was sure he would have. He might be a bit particular and grumpy, but he seemed to care about his students’ success and a reliable source of ingredients would include that.

Garreth sighed again, raking a hand through his hair. They were always in motion, either twiddling at his sides or combing through his hair. “I suppose that’s my fault.” He admitted, “Mr. Pippin is a stable in the community. His family has been running that shop for years! I on the other hand have a less that stellar reputation with most of the Hogwarts staff.”

“I wonder why,” Rosaline mused and Garreth threw his hands up in mock exasperation.

“Impossible! I swear!” Rosaline laughed openly then, the loud heart sound almost trumpeting from her chest.

“Okay okay, seriously,” she said after calming down a bit, completely missing how Garreth’s face had once again flushed a brilliant scarlet. “Why do you think I could help?”

“Well, Sharp likes you and I know he respects your grandfather, just based on what I heard of him. I’d imagine that if you showed concern over it, it might make him realize I wasn’t just digging for cheap ingredients.” Garreth’s reasons were empirical, and his concern valid.

“I suppose it can’t hurt,” Rosaline agreed and followed Garreth as they meandered through the streets, ducking into an alley lined with cozy stacked homes of white plaster and wood. Many of them had chimneys which puffed grey wood smoke into the air. Garreth ushered her past another alley, ot was dark and a few food carts were set up near the end, framing a moderately sized pub. No one lingered here, and with a glance back, Rosaline gladly followed the Gryffindor boy up a set of shallow stairs.

At the top, a vibrant purple wood and stone shop came into view. The door, surrounded by cauldrons of all sizes, sported a beautiful yellow and blue stained-glass window that glowed with warm afternoon light. Rosaline stopped to admire a string of palm sized cauldrons that hung from an enchanted strong near the door.

“Aren’t these sweet?” Rosaline whispered she ran a finger over the copper-colored sides of the lowest cauldron with its three legs made from intricately swirled metal. She noticed that Garreth was waiting patiently by the door, a small smile adorned his face and his green eyes sparkled. She whispered an apology as he opened the door for her, but he waved it off.

The interior of the shop was impressive upon first glance. Large and spacious, cauldrons full if self-serve potions like Wiggenweld and Edurus lined the walls just under open shelves of common potion ingredients: Jumping Mushroom Caps, vials of Lacewing Flies, droppers of Horklump Juice. Another wall was lined with hanging mongrels’ furs which kept the shop near stifling in heat. The back of the shop was home to a large potions station that sported a few bubbling cauldrons busy brewing the newest batch of stock. It was flanked by two glass encased shelves. One was lined with rows and rows and rows of pre-made and ready-to-use potions. The other, featuring a large lock, was full of dangerous or rarer ingredients the proprietor did not want easily accessed—or stolen.

“Welcome to J Pippin’s Potions!” a voice called out before they could even step fully into the store. Rosaline was focused on inspecting the store, and she left Garreth to entertain the man who was extremely excited to see the pair of students.

“Hello Mr. Pippin,” Garreth greeted, allowing Rosaline to pass under his arm into the stpre proper.

“A pleasure to see you Mr. Weasley. And who is this lovely young lady?”

“Ah, Rosaline, sir. Rosaline Wintrell.” She shook the shop owner’s hand firmly.

“Parry Pippin, at your service.” The man introduced himself, a gleam igniting in his eye. “You wouldn’t, perhaps, be of relation to Reginald Wintrell, Ministry of Magic’s Potions Master and consultant, would you?”

“Indeed, I am, sir,” Rosaline answered, “Though he is retired now.”

“Yes, yes. A true shame.” Mr. Pippin shook his head and then clapped his hands together. “Now, what can I do for you?” Now Mr. Pippin held a bright smile on his face, his eyes almost disappearing with his apparent glee.

“Actually,” Rosaline said before Garreth could begin, “Mr. Weasley had some business with you. I simply wanted to see Hogsmeade’s only potions shop.”

“Yes, Yes of course. Please look around to your heart’s content. I will help Mr. Weasley here.”

Rosaline smiled and the thanked the man graciously before excusing herself to look at the shop’s products more closely; leaving Garreth to stutter out an awful excuse about a fake potions assignment that Pippin somehow found genuine.

There really wasn’t much out of the ordinary as far as the inventory went. The Jumping Mushroom Caps were bright red and hopping away, and while the Lacewing Fly jars were a bit empty, the insects looked fine enough, and buzzing away. It wasn’t until she started inspecting the higher-grade ingredients that she found some inconsistencies. The Mongrel furs were extremely inconsistent, some furs sporting sparse and bald spots, though they were still marked at full price, and they were all quite large. Rosaline figured she could make quite a few batches of potions with only one. While not necessarily a bad thing, these sizes would be too large for any student’s project and a general waste of money to most.

Some of the jarred Horklump Juice was suspicious in color, just a shade too dark, something not everyone would recognize. However, Rosaline was unable to determine if the juice had indeed gone bad, however, without the ability to smell it, but she was near positive a few students had exploded potions just for purchasing the wrong jar.

The worst issue she saw, however, was in his potions themselves. While none of them were so botched as to be dangerous, she could see color variation inconsistencies, texture problems, even an unde4rlying sour scent in some as she inspected the many cauldrons. Many of these potions would barely function and were certainly not worth the price asked for. However, Rosaline did not think Parry Pippin was intentionally gauging his prices. The ingredients and potions were all priced within industry standard, from what she could tell based on a cursory inspection. If they had been made to industry standard, Rosaline was unsure she would have had any issue with the shop at all. She was positive a lack of skill and business savvy is what kept the shop from living to its potential.

She stopped beside Garreth elbow as he pretended to listen to Parry discuss the growing environments for many plant-based potions ingredients, though he began to clear his throat once Rosaline stepped to his side. “Yes, yes,” He said, “That will certainly be helpful for our, uh, project.” Garreth placed his hand on the small of Rosaline’s back and began to steer her towards the door with desperate steps and more than one desperate look towards her.

Rosaline knew she had spent a fair amount of time inspecting the shop, and that distracting Mr. Pippin was not something Garreth had planned for. It was obvious he was a but flustered and overwhelmed and Rosaline went with his willingly, allowing his hand to guide her out the door. Mr. Pippin bid them return soon just as the door was closing and the pair were jogging down the steps.

“Okay, I get why you did it,” Garreth began as he caught his breath, “But way to leave me to the wolves back there!”

“I needed to take a good look around,” Rosaline shrugged, “Couldn’t do that with the proprietor breathing down my neck the whole time.”

“Well, maybe a bit more warning next time?” Garreth laughed, “Then maybe I can come up with a better excuse than a presentation on ingredients next time.”

“Alright, more warning next time. I promise.”

Garreth now held out his hand, a single pinky sticking out towards her. “Pinky swear?” Garreth asked, a wide, genuine smile spreading over his face. The warm afternoon light reflected in his eyes sent spots of gold dancing over green irises and highlighted the bridge of freckles that bent over bis nose.

“Pinky swear,” Rosalyn agreed, tangling her pinky with Garreth’s, a matching smile on her face.

#garreth weasley #hogwarts au #hogwarts legacy #garreth weasley x mc #garreth x mc #garreth x you #J Pippins Potions

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alandofmyth · 1 year

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Tagged by @babygirllinds <3

10 random questions and a compliment

Tea, coffee or soda?

All of the above lol, herbal tea is my jam but coffee is the only one I drink daily I think

Dogs or cats?

I hate this question rip, I love and grew up with both, but I'm probably 60% cats, 40% dogs

Can you play an instrument?

No :( I messed around with guitar for a while and would like to learn piano but I don't put the time in to practice and that is my own fault!

What is your sun sign?

Leo babyyyy

Do you have any tattoos?

Yes! <3 Only like 6 but they're all big colour pieces. Will add more when I can afford rip

Favourite place you've travelled?

GOSH I am too indecisive. I love Canada and New Zealand, but Annecy in south of France has a special place in my heart, and Italy as a whole is just... divine. So maybe Italy. IDK.

Last movie you watched?

I actually don't know, have been watching more shows, but it was probably Top Gun Maverick let's be real

Do you have any hobbies?

Too many for the time I have in a day, but photography and I riding horses are the big ones

You can hang out with one fictional character for an hour, who do you choose?

What a question. Again, I'm too indecisive for this. Maybe Aragorn from LOTR, although also I think I'd have a hilarious time with Pippin

Compliment yourself!

Um, I care a lot for other people and tend to make them feel comfortable enough to open up about stuff and I love that<3 (also my photography kinda slaps)

tagging: @kolyarostov @duquesademiel @effervescentdragon @welightitup @dm3rv and anyone else!

#tagged #<3

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libidomechanica · 1 year

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Untitled (“The person to Loues decreed”)

A sonnet sequence

’St thus, the bright red sloop in the graced their owne, that darkness in all around there of brown doe-skin. Yours is the signs. Bred in its shame, So school, and bower, electric, chemic laws, by consequence on thee, as a poet’s, too, by all fiction aptly growth of fraude: ne for imprudent act would all eye, if thou lour’st on thy sins and thus Juanna, think, he says tomorrow. The deemed she, and the Veil, whereon the lagoon. The person to Loues decreed that due of their prepared, she was not striped urchins flay each flowers, the hearts his sinking more, and dress us, a tiger-cat in act to reveal’d.

In the Lambe? Is evening to be free o! The green. ’Ve been too; and ah, howe’er you fairly. All think, he spurred to a Midwife, the wind and I loved in the Dove increased to do as disclosed her brows, such pixel you’d have look’d, tho’ but in no maner groand! You my nudist the curious monarch dies, in the companions, shows, by eunuchs flank’d; while all felt like water-blurred like a porcupine, thy soul the unconscious call. The blanching born of thy iollitee. The brow sun-shaded in a rage.—And next intelligence be rayned by that is based on your face and bare true? That sin in me.

I have recount. All; what to their head to speaks of maintain’d by one sigh’d, and gray, and scorn of lace that had a syllables, and shelter, the bones glanced, scale with apples false to young to some canker lives to love, a tender pledges left of closing gainst myself through on the Evil Doer, thy Heralds throat. Her Lord him spyed: for pity, space ship traveller came a voices which embarrass’d since in the shoot out the few who love Truth—Cease though their Vengeance terrible months ran on any one to lie withall unto the blood flowers. In morals, somethinks with a passions rends as if to load and portion deep, and all trembling knees, this gate against his best, open the crack pipe—the race, and much obeyed her. Which on the three make accompt, unless your mouth be heir though you would not ease and so beat adamant as a beauteous stone-still, I have grownd in few lives or words tas-ke, where the side.

Gather that hope, now, like the things tendency is too minute slipped daughter, healthy as to repose—still unsatisfied—then will open its glow. With every well where they? ’ To myself hadst all fulfil you doth Love are such who speak; it falls in speechless wearied with adoration of which one arrives ghosts, ’ replied: we scars of slavery— had hard hold, their talk, and the heauens height, till your ruin all me now. Thus do the Dragon frown’st thus what on no country with lastingly. Than one? I should not the Harvest of some splintering o’t. I know not help them sole effect, and complain that.

Bearing the counter than the sweet gracious pippin,—but let you sit fore you may end is seen upon my father’d with the bud o’ the first she was a toy that made along expectation in which it can well the new light or the frivolity of lightning on your father. Of her necks from service to indicate, for him, and swear somewhere the weekday we dream, thou art besides, I condemn, nor Usury wrung Gulbeyaz stopped: when they here must tranquility. Blythe than unswept stone step, the dream, yet your into their chambers, though in our man’s bridge, I know when I see a sentimental e’re a slenderer pair thence, wherein whether thoughts: bryers thoughts of hys dayes with such a glass that she had good! But when their colour height upon this inarticulate limbs thro’ cells. Her eyes to keep them not of his face still find her, she constellation, began to eternal book; and, last divorce.

A child, in shines in your into sing. As she frogs soundly, and still, I have not—to make faulte, which is for the room, for thee, as he approaches my pass, by thy odour and still find in one, save one to lip, angles checked impulse to be freely come to the hour and here, but all the dew. In life, a sullen son, tis decreed that brief and cold splintering parent, and fit to see, and for the matting: they could still public kindness must walkest with fish. And sit neat, his ear, and budding; cheerful with his disgusts me; here you sit a Bird accurst; as bells, and information of whom she would rise of the pure freckling, to all then, a moment before which means daiquiri. Lips shimmering eyes scintillating page music of a fox, daybreak. Thou kenst think I shall live on may for a skin while Dudu’s form an orb, as to get the voice faltering, and thimble just and stranger should ride.

Then removed in that glister’d that, he was, beauty of ladies of longing me, where thunderous Epic lilted on that.—Become not, cause knows well as verse all gentle bootes all felt a soldier bold, aglaia slept in gawdy green footstep of architraves; then loves long proof of desolation yields his long catechism of quean. She might shallop like that have drawn the bone. And there to give a rose up, the care of her voice thunder colour of Harvest ripened her Pleasure of the paler hue and pebbles he clatters filled the great spot of joy into enormous amounts of her fall: made him to life. ’Er it a cobweb-lawn; and I called Hope Lake what complete the flatter step. When I you peers; poets, the unpleasant tales, and interwove with all awry: however, that’s the grasses between the rest be hidden in the fate, O fault, and with treble integrity of light?

With the crocus lustres of four window and bright all think of that she was blithe and have nothing course, but be told; and, pitcher until tis they could breeches noble. As an amulet that the deawie night I have beheld to balk and not with an ever heads, if you wear u is force, lightly bound, then where is needeth and may the passe inly I pitied would make your head, and even to see the secretes its becoming. Of every lineaments, thou do’st dwell; but not so, because she might by day, it’s offices of Timon, the dinghy, has planted of her sex and oblique lines!

That thou or I, who on the piece a wondering, but he nould we else. Let’s lie down the heart. Fall, or as many a Horne pype to run by her sphere: they should I wed a face grew dull, she court compact of the morning like the girdle bout herself be less: some what increase, nor the splendid names were moveless, who had made there many dainty mistresses of men? After he had receive thee by moonlight of stories. Baba, who might come into her casement after from they gayne, paying than though hell am I doing, this mind; it is close there we first sight, but we find then my face.

It is she. Make liquid treble soft watch thereat harmed to go, her beauteous and too much,—but let your Academe, o sister smiles; but I will, the Rhodope, that I be religious upon all sweet Tibbie Dunbar. But could make fast, and his melancholy, and then frae my mane: but ere the foaming draught, and begg’d leaves are all that relation, white echoing night, and Y your daily council—knowing was, a sweet: tho vnder comes having the zits that my door? To quite enough the nuptial room. Here mirth or contraction of our June—shall still the halted on me, no ghost of some other the greene?

Fear this worst day to-morrow to go, her own, that I an accessarily even in euery where I if thou art all that good, who only law. On may for me by moonlight have been shone; for whose faytours little was never cries. Erect beautiful, before her I say her long as his gives or cherries and ne’er discover at full voice and altitude, ’ and for my soul is also, whose Teeth are obliged to abstractions are; and undiscovered leewardings, samite sheep and swirled justly galleon to sin. And burn tresses too lichen- faithful shore whose that sobs that has nae care.

Her self how sweetest bud. Be arbiter of her mind; it is the Lion with commiserable glittering bare, and science of its eyes, a world for my sorrow early love’s refrain. That cold he had her hairs, but that somewhile time it’s fun what did latch, a patience. Strange this only made a new tax. Or if Tim mighty throbbe from it had a mother painter, smile … What come and hail once pitie. And grumbling over their fondness might skirt the back against his hour the favorite aggies. Would I dancer of the youth: the best pleasure of the lenged to her flow’rs gaily shore savage throne!

Professors: then his sister Psyche to divide the every day fresh bend of use and pronounce, where than they might but live, hung with a little or two. One from me to her; but all took her,—so the gender still; the night, that e’en the must have lived without mirth, which don’t say Good-bye too; he cleft of silver Scissors an’ mosses in Heaven opened to do thy father. What was, because I would be as good descent is uppermost; nor short at that. Let this portrait in word she stone bride, or the fountain statlier glories, the Kaffir, Hottentot, Malay, nor the longest, on which is natural.

More sweet Circassia, they said the town of Chigil in Turkestan that I scorn with the nard in the approchen the weeks. Appraised, and far a sweet and marr’d to her loved and such iouysaunce, this body as he forth to know I’m young lip began to fly have a dream of concatenation, and daring— which embargo. Horatian, Medio tu tutissimus ibis. Airport in me?—I’m o’er young to painted scraps of cowslips bedeck the harbor of grace sheds itself they spend: god giueth good night by day, to place on my love’s school, and rose-leaf by his loines which I compile, whose accent.

Small grief; for those blotted: but they pynen in payne: for decades of dream, as might and Dudu, as her fabric to the inscription, fair sex and of the small lie, we reach do grow; but such stuffed with a great sport the loved I view from his babe had received below. The cold nigh this hour and you, Dudu look’d an air, stopt, and will still live on may for an Instant, so loyal people should there’s the news is I love with a little swinck. As no joke. They, hast spied. That Psyche, ’ I began to rail at these points. Is that? Before, with blossom pression, when I you please me, the foot is based, then she signs.

And forehead, and third errand she stormie stowres, we mought of conversation yielded a desk of Solomon may escape the salt herself never turning rude; and in a lady’s maid;—I did not companions, when their happy we have a few have of the burying in sentiment, that I shall never a wrinkle. Not quite; so bad, and thee soon with lightning hands and stung her talk, and now, appear to hold betwixt the word, this hearts of her fabric to they could tell me by moonlight; and interjections in propos. And near when the raised, but mark, her fear begin to clothed, shivering more.

Nor stunted smiling, and brings multiplied his own he lifted by you, that you are give my whole, though the same film over until tis summ’d up with a dauntless as the quiet, luxuriant, but his head inviolably blue larkspur, with a fervor born at his worst day—creation’s preferr’d to innocence she says margarita she means my wearied me so sore, I think of the dish of what in mine. Mark of Ida, to call I sobbed, and smiles: but most proprietress the figure was fond embraced among the come, the words were endowments were alive. It once, angry spirit guiding.

Secure, because a phrases of prophetically in the oar! Rather this occupied the Sisters also to sleep; so sure what slaves! That her fair though there in its rude ignorance—for she stocking, had never knee socks that thou, modulate limbs with thee in sufferaunce: all were three or fade, and round to bring in a low sobs can pass, their miscreaunce, they are peering other injured like a changed eye find philosopher; confounded the silt and wayled, and sack’d, and as readers hand’s present pardon the millionaire: the Muses find tongues that heard thus Juanna should drive your nocturnal skin.

Best so, lest angels’ lays; for, dead, but day doth Love in his swooning ears, and required by whom did aryse, and may against his Hearts, which here she drew him for feareth. A Salve to commenced a science, nor dark, or so I wake to be the fainting mist, that can expound the sky, that her chart, and paper sat, with using; and in the made the might she kind, and every kind, without her Maker’s and vine: but what they letting at their flowers, bene men our past. The Georgian and red marmalade outside your gaze, naked in the jasmine steeping eyes. She wants a gavel: esperanza’s Gavel.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #138 texts #sonnet sequence

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anadorablack · 1 year

Note

Share ten different favorite characters from ten different pieces of media in no particular order, then send this to 10 people (anon or not, your choice) 🎥🎬📺

[Let's go crazy over this 😘]

Jesus, @redfurrycat, do you want to murder me??? Choosing only TEN characters is like choosing between my children!!! :O (And significant others, but you get my meaning)

Alright, let's try... Sorry in advance to all those I forget... :/

Loki (Marvel Cinematic Universe)

I think I can say with utter honesty that Loki was the first (of many) antihero(es) I fell in love with. The complexity of this man (God, sorry darling), his backstory, the tragedy of it, while remaining true to himself and to those he deems worthy of his trust and love... It's all...*chef's kiss*. And YES, I'm talking about MCU Loki because I love him most, but I also adore Comic!Loki and NorseMythology!Loki. ;)

2. Nymphadora Tonks (Wizarding World)

I could have chosen her husband (MY husband) Remus because I LOOOOOOOVE him with all my heart, but I chose Tonks instead. You've got to understand. When the fifth book came out, I was a teenager, I was awkward, different. I dyed my hair, I was clumsy, too clever for my own good, and I was a bit of a loner. All that made me feel miserable, because why couldn't I just be like everyone else? Then, in came Tonks. Who was clumsy, different, with bubblegum-coloured hair, loyal to a fault. And who was an AUROR. A BADASS WITCH. And suddenly, it became okay to be all those things. And fuck being like everyone else. <3

3. Derek Hale (Teen Wolf)

I never watched the show. Ever. But reading extensively about Derek's character and backstory made it impossible not to love him whole-heartedly. That Sourwolf deserves the WORLD. <3

4. Eowyn of Rohan (Lord of the Rings)

I fell head over heels for her in the movies first, then when I read her for the first time, it was game over. Tolkien may have been parcimonious with his women characters, but Eowyn entirely surpasses any other male character in my opinion (sorry Aragorn, Faramir and Pippin, you know I love you too). She's far from the damsel in distress people would make her to be, and she's badass without being less feminine for it. <3

5. Nick 'Goose' Bradshaw (Top Gun)

Do I have to explain myself, when I've got a goose tattoed on my arm in his honour? My Polaroid-taking piano-playing moustache-wearing love. <3

6. Katsumoto Moritso (The Last Samurai)

Have I mentioned how much I love that movie, yet? :P Alright, it's my favourite movie ever: whenever I need a good cry, I just watch Katsu do his thing and I'm done for the count. Ken Watanabe giving him life after battling leukemia is even more touching, don't mind me, I'm tearing up over here.

7. Daniel Jackson (Stargate SG-1)

The first Nerd of my life. <3

8. Wednesday Addams (The Addams Family)

Before the show took everything by storm, my Wednesday spent her days looking like a psychopath and trying to kill her brother while finding out if her uncle was her uncle or not. And when I was a little girl, all I wanted, was to be like Wednesday. XD

9. The Doctor (Doctor Who)

I may be repeating myself, but I properly learnt English while watching DW. I stumbled upon Blink one night (Weeping Angels, still the creepiest villains EVER) and got hooked, even though at the time I didn't understand half of what was being said. Christopher Eccleston and David Tennant taught me English, Matt Smith made me fall more and more in love with the show, and Peter Capaldi became MY Doctor (I love grumpy assholes, as seen above). Then, Jodie became the first female Doctor, and she wasn't weaker, she wasn't more mellow, she was the same ruthless, awkward, loving but questionable alien I'd gotten to love. AND THANK CHIBNALL FOR THAT!

10. Benji Dunn (Mission: Impossible)

I couldn't not talk about MY spy movies. The ones that are so much better than any James Bond ever made, the ones that keep me on the edge of my seat and make me fall harder and harder for its characters every instalment. And Benji is by far my favourite (Simon Pegg isn't stranger to this), and if ANYTHING HAPPENS TO HIM IN MI7 TOM CRUISE GETS IT!!!

I might not tag many people, but if you want to do it, do it. ;)

#get to know me #characters I love

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gossip-girl-of-middleearth · 3 years

Text

Imagine helping Legolas deal with a sprained ankle

It was all your fault, so Legolas would say.

“If you hadn’t had been so reckless, I wouldn’t have had to jump down from the boulder to assist you with the orc,” he’d complain regularly, from his position forcibly laying down in his sleeping pack with an elevated foot.

Whenever he’d try to rise again to bicker louder with you, a tending Aragorn would push him down again with a hand to his chest.

It was funny the first few days, you couldn’t lie, but now? Well, now it was just sad.

Legolas prided himself on his athletic ability, that much was obvious to you and the rest of the Fellowship early into your journey.

He’d regularly prance ahead like a young foal, or walk across snow with a smug smirk on his face. He was the strongest member there, and never let anyone forget it. This is also why he took injury the worst out of everyone.

It wasn’t, in all actuality, technically your fault. You needed help with an orc, yes, but Legolas timing his jump wrong and spraining his ankle had nothing to do with you.

Alas, he was gaining cabin fever from his immobilised state, therefore anger was bubbling in his chest—directed at you. You didn’t take it personally, but it was starting to wear down on you.

The walks through the days were slower, as Legolas would limp along with a homemade walking stick, fashioned out of a long branch.

Whenever he’d notice you or someone else looking at him over his shoulder, as he bared his teeth in wincing hurt, he’d quickly glare and push on harder.

You’d softly shake your head, but look away regardless.

It was unnatural to see an elf in such a state, like roses freezing over. Even more so, it was unnatural to see Legolas so grumpy. He was quite light-hearted at the beginning of the journey—you remember making a mental note that he’d probably be one of the best to hang around with due to so.

Alas, his sprained ankle and no doubt self-inflicted embarrassment brought the deeply rooted competitiveness out within him.

You were all sat around a fire tonight (save for Boromir and Gimli, who were off scouting the area), like many other evenings—laughing and pulling rabbit meat off of a skewer.

Legolas was a few yards away, pouting in his sleeping bag. You had brought his food to him a few minutes earlier, but he turned you away and claimed he wasn’t hungry.

“You’ll need sustenance to heal, little elf,” you laughed, trying to humour him.

All you received was a gruff grunt, and, “Don’t tell me how elves heal—I’m quite aware of my own race, thank you very much.”

You heard Pippin hissing through a wince, and bared your own teeth in cringe as you turned on your heel and headed back towards the campfire.

“Pay him no mind,” Aragorn said, leaning across to you. “Elves, especially the Mirkwood strain, are very prideful folk. He’ll come to his senses once his foot heals.”

“I can’t imagine it’ll heal anytime soon if he keeps pushing himself every day like he’s doing,” you pointed out.

Aragorn sighed. “That is entirely Thranduil’s blood coming out in him.”

“Remind me to never step foot in Mirkwood then,” you grinned.

Aragorn gave a toothy smile back, and bonked his skewer with yours in a “cheers to that” motion.

You could feel Legolas’ eyes burning into the back of your head, but paid it no mind. You didn’t dare glance over your shoulder, lest Mordor freeze over.

The rest of the camp continued on in low chatter, that is until Boromir and Gimli came rushing back—completely out of breath.

“What is it?” Aragorn asked right away.

“Orc scouts,” Boromir answered, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Thirty, give or take, approaching from the west.”

The camp looked around at each other quickly in fright, before Aragorn jumped into action. Rising to his feet, he grabbed his sword and dictated everyone else to do the same.

“We’ll meet them half way and use the element of surprise,” he said.

Legolas began rising to his own feet, though, a great deal of strained effort was noticeable on his end.

“I’m coming, I just need to get my bow,” Legolas announced, barely able to move the foot resting on a sleeping pack.

“No, not you, mellon nîn,” said Aragorn, upholding a hand and motioning for Legolas to lay down again. “Please, stay behind. Though your valiance is admirable, you will only get in the way of this fight. Rest, and fight when your ankle heals.”

Legolas’ face contorted in hurt, and you imagined this was the first time the athletic prince had ever been sidelined.

You all stood around in misplaced guilt, fiddling with your swords and avoiding eye contact with Legolas.

Finally, the elf’s jaw set, and he forcibly fell back down into sheets—turning over and pulling the covers up over his shoulder.

“We can’t leave him vulnerable,” Sam pointed out, whispering quietly as to not anger Legolas further. However, you could see his pointed ears twitching back, and knew he heard every gut-punching word.

Aragorn nodded, and turned his eyes to you. The hobbits had to stay under the protection of Aragorn, and leaving Frodo and the Ring out of sight and alone behind in the camp simply wasn’t an option.

Aragorn gestured between you and Legolas discreetly. Understanding his words, you dropped your shoulders and sighed.

“I’ll stay back and tend to the camp,” you announced.

The rest of the Fellowship gave you an apologetic look, before running off into the forest towards the orcs.

You were soon left with the silence of the camp, save for the angered breathing of Legolas and the crackling of the dimming fire.

Stood there unsure of what to do in the awkward space, you continued fiddling with the pommel of your sword, and looked at Legolas.

His back was rising and falling quickly—clearly infuriated with the whole situation. You felt bad for him, you really did, but you were still unsure of how to approach him.

Looking down to the fire again, you saw untouched skewers of meat, and arrived at a resolution.

With the food in hand, you walked over to the prince. He could hear you coming, and with every crunch of your boots on the foliage, his eyes twitched.

Sitting down beside his back, you placed a hand on the broad of his shoulder and shook him gently. “The rabbit smells really good, and has that beautiful, slightly charred smoky taste. Seems a waste to not eat it, no?”

“Not hungry,” Legolas grumbled.

“You need to heal your ankle, Legolas,” you said again, this time sterner. “You need to ea—”

“Not. Hungry.”

Thinning your lips, you shook your head down at Legolas in disappointment. “Legolas, I know you’re upset with me regarding your ankle, but holding a grudge isn’t going to—”

He swiftly turned over in his pack, and stared at the dimming fire.

“We need more firewood,” he said, glaring at the dying flames.

You followed his line of sight, and noticed he was indeed right. However, you recalled the orcs and what Aragorn expected of you.

“We’ll just have to wait for the others. I can’t leave the camp to fetch more, and I definitely can’t leave you vulnerable to—”

“Ugh! I’ll do it myself!” Legolas exclaimed. He rose swiftly and tried limping out into the woods with clenched fists and squared shoulders.

“Legolas!” you called, quickly grabbing your sword and cursing under your breath. “Wait! You shouldn’t be on that ankle!”

But he was already marching on.

Heading a few strides out into the forest, Legolas went farther and farther to find the best firewood. You ran behind him, surprised he could go so far for someone who was injured.

“Wait!” you yelled again, finally jumping out in front of him. “Go back to sleep, Legolas. Now.”

He merely glared at you, and stepped around your form—pushing on.

Groaning in frustration, you turned around and pulled on his shoulder. “I’m serious, Legolas! There are orcs out here at the moment, and I need to stay by the camp!”

“Then you can go back,” Legolas growled, forcibly shoving your hand off of his shoulder. “I don’t need to be babysat by you.”

“No,” you agreed, “but you do need my help with your ankle!”

Grabbing the bottom of his cloak, you started pulling him back towards the camp.

“Let go!” he shouted, digging his one good heel into the ground and pulling his cape back—initiating a tug of war between you both.

“No!” you denied, pulling the cloak again. “You’re coming back with me, and that’s final!”

“NO!” Pull. “I’m helping by getting firewood!”

Yank. “You’re not helping at all! You’re putting me in a tough situation instead!”

“It’s not your problem!” Tug.

“Yes, it is!” you exclaimed, pulling the cloak one more time. “It is my problem, because you’ve become a HUGE problem for the entire Fellowship!”

Upon pulling one last time, Legolas lost his footing and tripped, causing you both to fall down.

You each groaned in pain as your backs were sprawled across the foliage. Legolas was the first to sit up, but immediately yelped in pain as he did so.

He held his ankle tight, and bared his teeth as to stop himself from crying out.

“It’s worse,” he whispered, avoiding your eyes. “My ankle—I think I hurt it more.”

You stared at Legolas in horror, as he clutched said sore ankle. You sat up next to him, and ran a finger along it.

He jolted immediately, and fought back another cry by biting down on his bottom lip.

“Dammit, Legolas…” you cursed, furrowing your brows and shaking your head. “Why couldn’t you have just listened to me? You need to rest.”

Upon glaring up at him, you were taken aback, for there were unshed tears in the elf’s eyes. He was clearly holding himself back from letting them fall, as he sniffled and studied his ankle.

“Legolas?” you called softly, reaching a hand up and gently directing his chin to face you. “What’s going on with you?”

Letting the first tear fall, and swallowing the lump in his throat, Legolas spoke up in a quiet voice—finally unbottling his emotions.

“I’m supposed to be the athlete,” he said, studying your eyes before looking down again. “I was always the best in training. I’ve pushed myself through rain, mud and more, because I’ve always been the best. And now? Now I can’t even fetch firewood for my friends...”

Sympathy overtook your eyes, as you suddenly understood the elf.

“You still are the best here, Legolas,” you promised, trying to catch his eyes as he averted them. “A sprained ankle means nothing in the grand scheme of it. You are, without a doubt, the strongest one of us here. None of us think differently of you simply because you’re hurt.”

“But I feel so useless!” he exclaimed, letting a few more tears fall. “My friends are out there right now pulling their own weight against the orcs, and I’m stuck here crying on the ground because I can’t even walk.”

“But you will walk again,” you assured him, turning his chin once more. “And when that day comes—which isn’t too far off, mind you—those orcs will wish they hadn’t ever left Mordor.”

You laughed brightly for a moment in afterthought, earning a smile from Legolas.

“What?” he asked gently.

“Do you remember how you took that cave troll down in Moria?” you chuckled again, thinking of the memory. “You scaled atop the darn thing and shot two arrows into its brain!”

“Three…” Legolas sheepishly corrected, now grinning in a shy way.

“Three,” you annulled, grinning back up at him. “Trust me, Legolas. Your friends think nothing less of you than pure amazing talent. Don’t let it eat away at you.”

Legolas nodded to himself for a moment, before another sheepish grin formed on his lips. “Speaking of eating…are there any of those rabbit meat skewers still left back at camp?”

You smiled warmly, and helped him up.

He tentatively accepted your aid, and slowly wrapped an arm over your shoulder, as you helped him limp back to camp.

“C’mon, athlete. Let’s get you some food.”

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southfarthing · 2 years

Note

For the character ask, could you please do Faramir?

thank you!! also asked by @thorinsbeard and @mumble-muse hehe I'm glad I've made my faramir love clear :')

favorite thing about them: WHERE TO START. BIG BRAIN BIG HEART BIG B- (this is sounding a lot like what I wrote about lancelot lmao). he's so smart and passionate and he's a loved and respected captain of his people and everyone in gondor is in love with him and he can??? read minds kind of?????? he's a beautiful black-haired king and he will tell his dad he's a dumb bitch to his face to protect his own pride and he'll stick to his stupidly noble guns even if it kills him and he's just. god. gandalf loves and respects him so much. so does beregond. so do all his men, all his citizens. god I'm back where i started but that scene where he arrives at minas tirith and the whole city is chanting his name as he goes through like he's a rockstar and pippin is swept up in the atmosphere and starts screaming his name too even though he hasn't met him yet because he knows this is a man who is incredible just from the way he's received. yeah that lives in my head rent-free

least favorite thing about them: the way he speaks to sam at henneth annun >:( also the way the film depicts him as a meow meow / simp lmao book faramir would eat film faramir for breakfast

favorite line: yeah i love only that which they defend and yeah do not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart eowyn etc etc everything my guy says is poetry but.... this passage makes me scream

AND WHOSE FAULT IS THAT???? film faramir gets so sad here but book faramir gets angry lmaooooo

brOTP: faramir + pippin + gandalf. also wish we got to learn more about him and boromir. ALSO i think he'd have a lot in common with elrond and i think it'd be really interesting to see how they'd interact when elrond came to minas tirith!!!!!

OTP: faramir and eowyn!!!!!!!!!! the most couple ever!!!!

nOTP: -

random headcanon: kinda touched on this in my answer for eowyn but I think he'd be really interested in documenting rohan's orally told folklore and history. also bet he's the kinda period drama guy who stares wistfully into the distance at inopportune moments and talks about the splendour of numenor or smth and eowyn is like?? babe you have never been there????? also he likes growing herbs and flowers and healing plants and eowyn likes growing fruit and veg

unpopular opinion: it would've been really funny if aragorn died and faramir became the steward and they decided, either because there's no point waiting around for another heir to the throne or because faramir also gives off kingly numenorian vibes, to crown faramir as high king of gondor and arnor... so funny... haha unless......

also yknow those 'memes' about how pathetic faramir is and how much denethor hates him? yeah not a fan @pj fight me in the lidl bakery for what you've inadvertently caused

favorite picture of them:

https://southfarthing.tumblr.com/post/670396306073731072/ lmaooooo also that shot of faramir in two towers in henneth annun looking over that map 😍

#🥰🥰🥰#wow this got very long...#faramir #replies #softlypause #tolkien #also dont get me wrong i still love film faramir he's still my favourite but as i get older and understand the books more #i think i understand the book fans' frustration when the films first came out

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quokkacore · 3 years

Text

with great power I [lee jeno]

summary: there are two things jeno loves most about his life. one being spiderman, the other being you, his best friend. there’s just one issue: after your father’s death, you decide you hate both spiderman and yourself.

pairing: lee jeno x reader

genre: superhero au, high school au, coming of age, best friends to strangers(ish) to lovers, fluff, ANGST, minor crack

warnings (for this chapter): language, violence, gun violence, the mafia, parental death, police presence, sexual references, bullying (ily san im sorry), the dreamies being dicks to each other, police corruption, towards the end jeno experiences something similar to sensory overload, americanized names, pop culture references, VERY jeno centric

song rec: we go up - nct dream // any song - zico // 21 questions - waterparks // talk (remix feat. megan thee stallion & yo gotti) - khalid // sunrise - ateez // i really like you - carly rae jepsen // dare - gorillaz // stray kids - the tortoise and the hare

word count: 10.5k

a/n: this is so late...... i blame attack on titan. but hey!! better late than never :] a huge thanks to @doderyscoffee for beta reading <3

main masterlist // story masterlist

chapter one: jeno and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week

Jeno despised Tuesdays. He was pretty sure that Tuesdays despised Jeno as well because all of his worst days just so happen to be Tuesdays. He was 96% sure that, if there was a god, his day off was on Tuesdays, or that the planets aligned in such a manner on Tuesdays that it caused universal despair and misery. If he was to take Donghyuck's word for it, his chakra attracted negative energy the most on Tuesdays.

When Jeno was 5, his goldfish Pippin had died on a Tuesday. When he had his ass handed to him on the playground by San Choi in the third grade, it was a Tuesday. And in the seventh grade, he'd failed his Spanish test, missed his bus and walked home in the rain only to find out that his Aunt Sunny was at work, he'd left his keys in his locker and that had to wait an hour before she got home to unlock it for him, all on a Tuesday.

And wouldn't you know it, here he was, late for the first day of senior year, which was, of all days, a godforsaken Tuesday.

In his eternal wisdom, he'd stayed up gaming with Renjun until two in the morning, and because of it, slept through his three alarms, one set at six-thirty, the other at 6:45, the last one at 7:00.

He'd woken up at 7:17, to the sound of his elderly neighbor's pet chihuahua barking at a pigeon, checked the time, immediately panicked, sped into the shower, gotten dressed in a haste, grabbed a few granola bars from the pantry, and ran out the door while trying to jam his backpack closed, and managed to catch the train at 7:40, which took about twenty minutes to get to his stop, plus a ten-minute walk to school, and class started at 8:10. Not to mention he’d have to stop by the office and pick up his schedule. At best, he’d be five minutes late to his first class. But tardies were tardies, regardless, and the last thing he needed was to lose his perfect attendance streak.

He fished out his phone while standing on the train, waiting for his stop, scrolling through Instagram, and liking random pictures. A ping! from his phone caught his attention, then two, then a third. He smiled softly when your name popped up on his screen.

[7:48 AM]

y/n: pssst

y/n: shithead

y/n: where r u ????

[7:49 AM]

y/n: i can sEE u online on ig u know

jeno: …… i'm on the train

jeno: woke up late

y/n: YOURE GONNA BE LATR

y/n: LATE*

y/n: ON THE FIRST DAY OF SENIOR YEAR

[7:50]

jeno: probably, yeah

jeno: it's the school district's fault, why would they make the first day of school on a fkn TUESDAY

y/n: ohhh yeahh its terrible tuesday

y/n: [sent an attachment!]

[7:51 AM]

jeno: SHUT UP

jeno: you're not funny >:(

jeno: how dare you laugh at my misfortune

y/n: au contraire im hilarious

jeno: meanie :(

jeno: im gonna be late i hate it here

jeno: it'll end up on my permanent record and i'm not gonna get into college and then i'm gonna die,,,

[7:52 AM]

y/n: sometimes ur worse than hyuck i swear

y/n: FIRST OF ALL permanent records dont even exist !!!!!! its propaganda duh

y/n: also ur literally never late

y/n: im sure o n e tardy wont do anything chill

y/n: dont be stupid youll be fine

Don’t be stupid. Too little, too late, he thought, already having got off the train at a previous stop. Now, he was looking for an unoccupied street or alleyway, which, for once, was easy, taking a deep breath before he did the exact opposite of what you’d told him not to do. Don’t be stupid.

The buildings are low, he thought to himself, it’ll be easier to see me.

Don’t be stupid.

Too late!

Thwip!

Jeno didn’t hesitate to use the web fluid to pull himself up onto the wall, climbing in a haste, before running and jumping onto the next building. He quickly built up a quick pace, using the web fluid occasionally to swing onto a building slightly out of jumping range.

Signs in English, Chinese, Korean, and Spanish flew past him as he seemingly flew over the Queens traffic, leaving Flushing behind and crossing quickly into College Point quicker than he would if he took the train. He glanced to his left and caught a view of the bay, and far across it, the LaGuardia airport watchtower.

Jeno had lived in New York City his entire life. He knew Queens like the back of his hand, knew every dingy alleyway, every sketchy street, which restaurants to avoid if you didn’t want to get food poisoning, which convenience store aunties were the nicest and didn’t pinch his cheeks too hard. It was his home, and most likely would be for the rest of his life.

But seeing it like this, flying past him below as he glided with ease from building to building would never cease to be a sight to him. It was like watching from the perspective of an outsider, seeing people in their cars, walking along the street gave him a brand new perspective. A Jeno’s eye view, he called it, since he was pretty sure he was the only one in New York City.

Another noise from his phone brought him back to reality. He shook his head, stopping briefly to catch his breath and fish out his phone briefly.

[7:57 AM]

y/n: let me know when u get here !!!

No time to respond, he put away the phone and continued his trek to school. He had less than ten minutes to get there. But he knew he was already at least five minutes away, much quicker than he would be if he had decided to stick to the train. He smiled a bit to himself, feeling ever so slightly smug.

The hustle and bustle of the city definitely proved challenging to find a place to land without many eyes, but he figured it out eventually, landing behind a dumpster in an alleyway behind a restaurant that he knew was about three or four blocks from the school. He figured it would be a lot better to take it on foot from here. The notebooks he was carrying in his backpack bounced up and down with every step he took.

After what seemed like forever, the gates to the school appeared in his view, and Jeno felt a joy in his heaving chest, something he would have never thought would happen upon seeing the absolute hellhole that was Samuel Morse High School.

[8:06 AM]

jeno: just did >:D

Picking up his schedule was both quick and insanely long. He couldn’t stop himself from tapping his left foot while the secretary found his schedule and handed it to him. “Kibum, please hurry,” He muttered, and Kibum raised an eyebrow at him, but his gaze was teasing. “That’s Mr. Kim to you, in school at least.”

He handed Jeno his schedule a few seconds later. “Tell your Aunt to come pick up her casserole dish, by the way. She left it at my house after my last viewing party.”

“The Bachelor?”

“Please. We’re too classy for that. Drag Race.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Jeno,” Kibum said, staring up at him from his desk, his gaze now much more serious, “Get to class. Happy first day of senior year.”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim.”

He managed to make it to chemistry class at 8:09 with seconds to spare. His eyes quickly scanned the room upon entering, hoping his friends were in the class with him. He caught a few familiar faces, most of which, like San Choi's, he wished to avoid. No one paid him any mind. Everyone was still speaking to the people next to them, no doubt exchanging stories of summer vacation.

A hand shot up towards the back, waving at him. A smile stretched across his face as he registered your face, feet not hesitating to carry him towards the empty seat next to you. His heart skipped a beat at seeing your smile, and he tried his best to ignore it.

“Hey,” You greeted, “That was fast. I thought you said you were gonna be late.”

Jeno shrugged, eyes landing on the dark shade of the lab table. “The train was a lot faster than I expected, apparently.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Why do you smell so bad?”

“I, uh… ran a little.”

You grimaced, and Jeno tried to casually sniff at his slightly sweaty clothes. It’s not that bad. “I still don’t understand why you won’t let me drive you to school. You’re literally next door.”

“I don’t know,” He answered, rolling his eyes, “Maybe it’s because when it comes to that truck, you are absolutely insane. You won’t even let me drink water in that thing.”

The truck in question, a faded red 1998 Chevrolet S-10, had been your gift to yourself for your 17th birthday. You’d spent two summers saving up to buy yourself a truck, and that was what you were able to get for what you had. To say it was a huge piece of junk on wheels was an understatement.

The thing smelled like mothballs no matter how many air fresheners you bought it, the engine sounded like an old man having a coughing fit, and there was a very suspicious stain in the backseat that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times you scrubbed it. But for some reason, you treated it like it was your own baby. The amount of times you’d yelled at Jaemin for trying to put his feet on the dashboard was too high to count.

You mirrored his movement, eyes rolling as you sighed. “At least let me drive you home after school today. Maybe you can stay and we can finally watch Blade Runner.”

You’d been trying to get him to watch the film for almost a month now, begging and pleading because you insisted that he’d love it. He offered an awkward stare, before opening his backpack and pulling out a notebook. “Can’t,” He mumbled, “I’m headed into Manhattan. I have my internship afterwards.”

“Oh, yeah,” You said nonchalantly, eyebrows shooting up as you remembered, “Park Industries.”

He was about to reply when Mrs. Baker, the chemistry teacher, finally entered. She’d been working at SMHS for 30 years and had never, apparently, been nice, if his Aunt Sunny’s stories were anything to go by. However, she had apparently always spoken as if she smoked two packs a day. She was rambling about the importance of making the most of senior year academically, adult responsibilities, college, and whatnot. You and Jeno exchanged glances often throughout the monologue, hoping it would end soon.

“Enough of that,” She said after what seemed like an eternity, “Everyone quiet down, I’m going to call roll.”

Names were quickly called, and Jeno was ready to pull out a pencil and start working with you until Mrs Baker demanded a switch in seats, beginning to call on random names in an effort to deter everyone from speaking.

"Please not with Choi, please not with Choi," Jeno muttered under his breath, glancing warily at San, who was staring ahead, looking bored.

San had had it out for Jeno ever since day one, in first grade. For some reason, everything Jeno did seemed to annoy the other boy. He wasn't funny enough, or too nerdy, or too quiet. Jeno was always too much or too little for him.

You touched his forearm, and he looked towards you.

“You’ll be fine,” You said softly, trying not to alert the teacher, “You’re not gonna get paired up with him, and you can take it to the office if you need to.” “Yeah, because I’m sure Coach Peralta would be thrilled if someone tried to get his precious midfielder in trouble.”

“Choi, San,” Mrs Baker’s voice rang throughout the room, and Jeno braced himself for the worst, eyebrows furrowing with worry.

“You’ll be sitting with… L/N, Y/N.”

Jeno’s shoulders slumped, but your face remained impassive. You picked up your stuff, and pouted silently at Jeno in apology, before making your way to the front.

“Lee, Jeno,” Mrs Baker called a few minutes later, “You’ll be sitting with Jang, Yeeun.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief. Yeeun is nice, Jeno thought to himself, I could sit with Yeeun. She wasn’t part of his main friend group, but he had tutored her in math during sophomore year in exchange for her helping him with Spanish, and they’d been pretty friendly ever since.

“Hey,” Yeeun greeted as Jeno sat down, and Jeno smiled at her.

“Remember, these will be your assigned lab partners for the rest of the semester. No changes, no exceptions.” Mrs. Baker sat down at her desk, before beginning to talk about something Jeno didn’t really pay attention to.

You exchanged glances with Jeno, and he gave you a look of sympathy as you gestured at San with your eyes. San was talking to you about something—probably bragging about some soccer achievement—but you weren’t paying him much attention. Jeno swallowed something growing in his throat as he looked at how your hair looked today.

It was nothing relatively new, the same hairstyle you used on most days. But still, there was a bit of a shine to it. He wondered vaguely if you had changed your shampoo, the other day you’d been complaining about how itchy your normal shampoo made your scalp—

“You still haven’t told her about how you feel?” Yeeun asked quietly, and Jeno’s head snapped back to look at her, eyes wide.

“W-what? Me. Like Y/N…” He laughed nervously, trying to keep his voice down. He scratched the back of his head, avoiding Yeeun’s accusatory stare. “You’re hilarious, Yeeun. Tell another one.”

Yeeun shook her head. “You’d better hurry before someone else snatches her up, Jen. She’s not gonna wait around for you forever.”

“I don’t like her, Yeeun.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Hey! Jeno Lee!”

“Hey! Jaemin Na! What do you want!” Jeno answered as he sat down, mimicking Jaemin’s tone next to him.

“Well, for starters, a million dollars, and second, a date with Yiren Wang, but I doubt you can help me with either of those, so...”

Jeno glanced at the rest of the table. Along with Jaemin, Mark, Renjun, Donghyuck, and you were watching the interaction between the pair. “Where are the munchkins?” Jeno asked, noticing Chenle and Jisung’s absence. No one could really call them munchkins anymore. That nickname dated back to middle school, before the two underclassmen had gone through growth spurts.

“Eh, they should be here soon,” Renjun said, chewing on a french fry, “How’s your day been?”

“Pretty good so far, I guess. I got AP Calc with Mr. Washington later, though. That man wants me dead.”

You rolled your eyes. “He doesn’t want you dead. I’m telling you, you and Hyuck have been spending way too much time together. You’re being more dramatic than usual and Hyuck’s being more… weird than usual.”

“And just what is so weird about being enthusiastic about senior year, Y/N?” Donghyuck asked, shaking his head, “It’s our last year in this hellhole, I’m excited that we’re finally getting out of here. And besides—”

“Please don’t bring up the fact that you’re abandoning us next year.” Chenle seemingly appeared out of nowhere, sitting next to Renjun, Jisung following quickly behind him.

“Hi, Sungie,” You said with a smile, and Jisung smiled back. “Hi, Y/N.”

“What were you saying, Hyuck?” Jaemin looked at Donghyuck, who had taken the quick interaction as an opportunity to take a bite of his sandwich. His wide eyes darted to the slim boy, cheeks stuffed with chicken.

“Oh,” He replied after swallowing, “This is gonna be my year. I’m getting male lead for the winter musical and no one is gonna stop me.”

“Do you even know what musical you guys are doing yet?” Mark asked, “What if it’s like… Shrek?”

Jisung made a face. “There’s a Shrek musical?”

Mark nodded, and Renjun laughed.

“I don’t know about male lead, if it’s Shrek. You should try out for Donkey,” The Chinese boy joked, “With those front teeth, you’re a shoo-in.”

The entire table was silent for a moment, before snorts and chortles started pouring out from everyone except Donghyuck.

“Fuck you, Huang.”

Renjun flashed the friendliest smile he could muster. “Not if you paid me a million dollars.”

The subject remained on extracurriculars, everyone in your group except for Chenle and Jisung now wary of college applications. Donghyuck had been in theater ever since middle school, Renjun was in the robotics club and the debate team with Jaemin, who was also in the student council. Mark was on the math team with Jeno, and you had founded the film club.

"You're not gonna believe who asked to sign up for film," You huffed, looking kind of confused. The rest of the table looked at you expectantly, and you pursed your lips, almost as if you were trying not to laugh.

"San Choi."

Renjun scoffed. Jaemin raised his eyebrows before letting out a single, humorless laugh. Jeno made a face, poking his plastic fork at you.

"What is San Choi doing asking to sign up for film?"

"Fuck if I know. He said he needed one more extracurricular if he wanted to get into some college in Florida and he liked going to the movies, so he wanted to try out film."

Mark rolled his eyes. "I swear there's nothing in that guy's head but hot gas. It blows my mind."

"He's a dick," Chenle grumbled, "I'm still not over how he and Wooyoung taped Jisung to the flagpole last year."

Jisung scowled. "I thought we agreed to never bring that up again."

“Do you think they’ll finally calm the fuck down this year?” Jaemin wondered, looking wistful.

You took a sip of your coke and shook your head. “Doubt it. They’re not the hateful eight for a reason.”

The mood at the table turned tense, until Jaemin frowned at his french fries, before sighing and clapping his hands together dramatically. “I would like to hear,” He mused, “About the nuance that theatre gives the cinematic masterpiece that is Shrek when converted into musical form.”

Donghyuck beamed. “Oh, it’s amazing. You see…”

If it was difficult to get Donghyuck to stop talking in general, it was impossible when it was about theater.

The conversation continued on until the bell rang, and the eight of you had to go your separate ways. Jaemin and Jeno had the same class, so they both walked together down a relatively calm hallway. Jaemin looked both ways, before finally lowering his voice.

“So, you’re going to see Mr. Park today?”

Jeno nodded, looking down at his shoes. “He said he wanted to give me an assignment. Says there’s something big going on.”

Jaemin’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Did he say what kind of something?”

Jeno shook his head, pouting slightly. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

Once school was out, Jeno was getting ready to get onto the subway once again, this time heading towards Midtown. It was only day one and, as Jeno had predicted, Mr. Washington probably was out to get him, because he’d swamped the class with homework.

As he left the school, he spotted you in the parking lot, leaning against your car door, texting someone. He glanced at his phone. He still had plenty of time, he figured. He walked over to you, and when you looked up, you smiled.

“Hey!” Your voice had that signature tone of enthusiasm to it, and Jeno smiled back immediately.

“Hello,” He sing-songed. “So, I was thinking… are you free on Friday night?”

You looked somewhere above his head, furrowing your eyebrows before you perked up again and nodded. “Yep! Why?”

“I’m free after nine. Maybe then I could come over to your house? So I can finally get you to stop harassing me about Blade Runner.”

You grinned, pumping your fists enthusiastically. “Hell yes,” You answered, “Do you want me to get like, some frozen pizzas or something?”

“Pizza sounds good,” He said. “Who are you even waiting for?”

You made a face that made it seem as if you’d just gotten a whiff of rotten milk. “Well—”

Your response was interrupted when the school doors slammed open, and eight figures poured out, carrying themselves with confidence Jeno both envied and despised. He frowned, trying not to react at their loud whooping and laughing. The Hateful Eight.

“Oh.” Jeno averted his gaze, meeting your eyes again.

“Yeah. If you don’t hear from me later it’s because I jumped out of my truck because I don’t wanna work with—”

“Well, hello, gorgeous!” San’s voice filled the parking lot, and Jeno took a deep breath. Your mouth stretched into a tight-lipped smile at the unwanted ‘compliment’.

“Hey, San.” Your friendly passive aggressive tone almost made Jeno smile. “I’ve been waiting here for like, fifteen minutes. You could have just given me your number and asked me to send you pictures of my notes, you know.”

He shrugged, turning his body so that his back was turned to Jeno. “Sorry, babe. Coach wanted to talk to us about the upcoming season. When he gets going, it’s hard to get him to stop. And besides, where’s the fun in just asking for pictures when I could come here, talk to you, and take the pictures myself?”

You didn’t respond, but rather pulled out your backpack and began digging through it. When you pulled out your notebook, you handed it to San, who flashed a wink at you. You barely held back a gag.

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll just be a minute.”

He walked over to the hood of your truck, and just as you were about to continue your conversation, two figures slung their arms around both of Jeno’s shoulders, causing him to flinch.

Out of the fifteen soccer players on the team, San and his best friends—seven of them, to be precise—were the worst. The others were pretty nice. But right now, seeing two of those seven surround your best friend made you uneasy.

Wooyoung was loud. He was also a temperamental brat. His dad owned three used car dealerships over in Brooklyn, so naturally, he thought he owned the entire world. He wasn’t someone who would get too physical in fights, like San, or Jongho, or Yeosang. But when he was angry, he could easily get you to jump into the stratosphere by yelling at you once. Over the years, he’d made several teaching assistants and substitute teachers cry, only getting let off with a slap on the wrist every time.

Yunho was terrifying for completely different reasons. He was friendly, but a little too friendly to the people he wanted to control. He could read people like books and could easily manipulate whoever he wanted. But he wasn’t afraid of getting physical either, especially not when he was built like a goddamn Power Rangers Megazord.

All in all, they definitely weren't anyone you wanted near you, near your friends. Especially considering how much they had it out for your friends.

"Hey, buddy," Yunho said, looking down at Jeno with a wide smile. "How was summer vacation?"

Jeno gnawed on the side of his cheek as he considered his answer. "Um, it was okay." He looked at you to catch your eyes darting between San, Yunho and Wooyoung, like you were analyzing the situation. "I kinda stayed in and played video games most of the t—"

"Cool, cool," Yunho answered, carding his free hand through his bleach blond hair. "What about you, Woo?"

"Oh, dude, it was so cool," He bragged, "I went to Brazil for like, a month. I went clubbing with Instagram models and shit, it was wild."

You stared at him as he patted Jeno on the back rather aggressively. "Where did you go? Have you ever even left New York?"

You knew the answer. Only a few times when the debate team went to compete in different states. Jeno spoke up again. "Well, yeah a few t—"

"Doubt it," Yunho scoffed. He craned his head back. "San, you done yet?"

"Almost!" San answered. Yunho turned to face you, and for some reason his smile seemed genuinely kind. “What about you, Y/N?”

You never understood why it was that the soccer team hated your entire friend group, but seemed to tolerate you. It made no sense.

So you shrugged. “Not a lot, I guess. Did my summer reading. Hung out with my friends.” You flashed a reassuring smile at Jeno. “Right, Jen?”

Immediately, he relaxed a little bit. “Yeah.”

San appeared from behind Yunho, Jeno and Wooyoung. “Thanks, Y/N. I owe you one.”

You waved your hand, wanting them to get rid of them quickly. “Don’t mention it. But next time, just text me for my notes. I have to get to work, so…”

“Oh! My bad,” He answered with fake remorse, before unlocking his phone and handing it over to you. “Here. For next time.”

You stifled a deep sigh, punching in the numbers hesitantly. “Just for homework, got it?”

San took his phone back, holding a hand over his heart and raised his head. “On a gentleman's honor,” He declared, and you bit back a laugh. Jeno looked like he was going to hurl.

“San!” The team captain—Hongjoong—called from a few feet away, “Are you guys done yet or what?”

“Coming!” San yelled back.

“Alright, we’ll let you go,” Wooyoung said, patting Jeno on the back again, a bit too harsh for comfort. “Bye, Y/N! See you around.”

The three of them stalked off, leaving you and a very frazzled Jeno. “Dicks,” You muttered once they were out of earshot. “You good?”

Jeno shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”

You tilted your head, frowning. “Jeno—”

“I gotta go,” He said quickly. “I’ll see you later?”

You nodded, offering a lopsided smile. “Yeah. Be careful!”

Jeno offered a deep bow, fluttering his eyelashes. “On a gentleman’s honor,” He sighed, adding a very bad British accent to it. You burst out laughing, eyes squeezing shut.

You didn’t catch the way Jeno’s shoulders relaxed at the sound.

I want you to know now

Baby, it could go down

I don’t wanna talk about it

Baby, let’s just go now

The train ride into Midtown didn’t take too long. He spent it digging through his backpack for his Park Industries lanyard, listening to music and thinking about you.

When you talk right to me

You gon’ have to do me

Every time you think you’re leaving

You running back to me

You’d met Jeno when you were six. Truth be told, he didn’t really remember. For him it was like you weren’t there at one point and by the time you were, you were thicker than thieves. It was a difficult time for him. He had just lost both of his parents, and was moving in with his Aunt Sunny and his Uncle Jinki, who were barely out of college at the time. He’d had to move to a new school and basically restart his entire life. You were the first sense of stability in his life for months.

Your mom lived next to his aunt and uncle. So naturally, you went to the same school and went on the same bus. And somewhere along the way, you two clicked. You’d introduced him to Renjun, Jaemin and Donghyuck. You were there to comfort him whenever he got pushed off the slide by San or Wooyoung.

He was there for you when your stepdad and stepbrother moved in when you were nine and you weren’t sure how to deal with it. He was there when your mom died when you were thirteen. He’d introduced you and your friends to Mark, Chenle and Jisung.

And you were there when his Uncle Jinki got killed when he was fifteen. And because fate had an especially cruel sense of irony, it had happened on a Tuesday. You didn’t know, but at the time, he had just gotten his powers. Your comfort and words unknowingly had a secondary effect: he made the decision to use them for good, and… well. The rest was history.

Can we just talk? Can we just talk?

Talk about where we're goin'

Before we get lost, lend me your thoughts

Can't get what we want without knowin'

Just like when he met you, he didn’t recall an exact moment where he realized he’d fallen in love with you. He knew there was a world where he loved you, but wasn’t in love with you. And he knew that there was a world here he’d fallen in love with you—he was living in that world now. He realized he was living in that world maybe when he was sixteen, and had been stuck in it ever since.

You were it for him. He’d had crushes before. But never something like this, where he was so aware of your presence around him. It wasn’t the way he was hyper aware of someone like San, or like Yunho or Jongho. It wasn’t out of anxiety or fear, where a shift in mood activated his fight or flight. He was aware of you in a way that only people who truly know each other do, where he could pick up on subtle changes in your behavior, but not out of fear. Rather, out of a desire to take care of you and to not have you worry about anything.

I've never felt like this before

I apologize if I'm movin' too far

Can we just talk? Can we just talk?

Figure out where we're goin'...

As the train rolled into the station that was a fifteen minute walk from Park Tower, Jeno put away his headphones and took a deep breath.

The “Jeno Tingle” as his Aunt Sunny called it—Jeno hated the term—had taken him a few years to gain control of. And while he could never truly turn it off, he could at least tune it out enough to be more at ease. The only time he did so was at school or when he was studying, just because he wanted to feel normal, and because being aware of everything going on around him really messed with his concentration.

Jaemin didn’t understand. “If I was able to tell whenever Seonghwa was behind me because he wanted to scare me into doing his chemistry homework, I’d never turn that shit off,” He’d said once. But truthfully, Jeno didn’t really care. Because while yes, he was still slightly scared of the “hateful eight”, he knew damn well that if things got to be too much, he could kick their asses if he wanted to.

It was his friends he worried about. He couldn’t be around them 24/7. You, not so much. He knew you knew how to fight. Even worse, he knew that San had the hots for you so you were off limits to the rest of them, be it bullying or flirting. But for everyone else… Well. He couldn’t hover over them like some guardian angel.

Now that the “Jeno Tingle” was on, it allowed him to sense everyone within a certain range around him. He could zero in on certain sounds with ease, and his reflexes became heightened. Halfway on his walk up Park Avenue, he jumped away from a chihuahua on its leash a second before it started barking at him.

When he entered the first floor lobby of the Park Building, he scoured the crowd of employees and visitors until he landed on one familiar face.

He'd met Doyoung about a year after his dad started dating your mom. Things between your parents were starting to get serious, and Doyoung was four years older than you were. When they moved into your house, Doyoung as your new stepbrother became the de facto chaperone and babysitter. If you wanted to go to the mall with Jeno, he had to take you. Every time you dragged Jeno to the movies, Doyoung had to go also.

To an extent, it wasn't that bad. Doyoung was cool, and he was smart—he was the one who got Jeno interested in computers and chemistry. He graduated high school at 16, and finished his bachelor's degree at 19. He'd also interned at Park Industries, and secured a job there almost immediately after college.

To an extent, he was the whole reason Mr. Park knew who he was, because of one incident. It was relatively soon after he started the whole vigilante thing. Jeno, still figuring out how to maneuver on the webs that shot out of his wrists, had accidentally crashed into your backyard late at night, when only Doyoung was awake. He was standing in the back door while he was waiting for his dog to finish peeing.

Initially, the older boy had freaked out, thinking that it was a burglar or something. When he yelled out that his dad was a cop and was asleep in the house, Jeno panicked, and pulled off his mask, holding up his hands.

“Woah, woahwoahwoah! Doyoung! It’s me, it’s me!”

Doyoung’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers, paying no mind to the dog as it sauntered up to Jeno, before turning onto its back in a request for belly rubs.

"You're the spider guy everyone's been talking about!?"

"Spider man," Jeno had answered, voice cracking as he dusted himself off. He cringed at the sound of his voice. "...and yes."

Of course, his cover was blown, and he'd begged Doyoung not to tell anyone, especially not you. And while Doyoung had promised not to tell you, it didn't stop him from telling his boss.

That had been almost three years ago now. The rest was history, and after that Jeno didn’t have to run around in bright red sweatpants and dollar store swimming goggles. Now, he had a nanotech suit that allowed him to activate protocols of the suit through voice commands using something top-secret Mr. Park called D.R.E.A.M technology. Direct Response Engaged As Machine—yeah, Jeno didn’t get it either.

Doyoung offered Jeno a smile as he escorted Jeno past security, showing them his employee clearance pass. "Hey. How have you been?"

Jeno shrugged, recounting his day in minor detail as he was led into an elevator labeled authorized personnel only.

This elevator only went up to the 35th floor, seeing as everything past that was only cleared for a certain list of people approved by Mr. Park and his security team, and everything past the 90th floor were Mr. Park's private living quarters.

Now, as Doyoung led him to another elevator to head up to the 85th floor, which was always where Jeno got to meet with Mr. Park—which wasn't often, maybe once or twice a year—he wondered where he would be if he hadn’t surprised Doyoung that night. He would probably still be using those ugly red sweatpants as part of his disguise.

"How's Y/N?" Doyoung asked.

"Oh, she seems okay. That guy who hates me keeps coming onto her though. He's a huge douchebag."

Doyoung frowned. "He's not harassing her, is he? Because if he is—"

"He just won't stop flirting, even though she clearly isn't interested," Jeno said bitterly, "He isn't physical or anything. Trust me, it wouldn't end well for him if he was."

Doyoung wasn't quite sure how to respond to the younger boy's dark tone. He looked down, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“So… how’s the apartment?” Jeno asked. Doyoung perked up instantly.

“Oh, now that Taeyong’s moved in and did his interior design thing, it looks great. He’s really done a great job at it.”

“When am I gonna meet this guy? He sounds cool.”

“He’s really cool,” Doyoung hummed, cheeks heating up. “Things are getting really serious.”

Jeno smiled at how flustered Doyoung, who was normally so level headed and calm, became at the mention of his boyfriend.

“You guys sound like a really good couple,” He said. Doyoung chuckled, waving his hand. “Oh, well—”

The elevator dinged, and Doyoung sighed. “I’ll tell you later. C’mon.”

The hallway it opened up to was lined with pictures of the company's history, starting from pictures of black and white of people in vintage clothing, to pictures in sepia tones to finally pictures of the current CEO at locations around the world: Chanyeol Park.

Jeno walked behind Doyoung as he led him down the hallway, before stopping in front of a door, and a friendly looking man in a suit.

Junmyeon was a part of Chanyeol’s Security and Intelligence team, and often sat in on these meetings with Jeno. The chain of contact also included him. If Jeno couldn’t contact Doyoung (which rarely happened), he’d contact Junmyeon. And if he couldn’t contact either of them, or it was an emergency, only then could he contact Chanyeol. So far, that had only happened once.

"Hey, Junmyeon," Doyoung said, "Mr. Park's 4:30 is here."

Junmyeon nodded, before smiling at Jeno and giving him a wave. "Hey, kid."

Jeno offered an awkward grin. "Hi, Mr. Kim."

Junmyeon rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Kid, you're making me feel ancient. I've told you a million times, just call me Junmyeon."

Jeno shuffled awkwardly, before nodding at the older man, watching as he pressed a button on his earpiece. "Hey, Yeol. Jeno's here."

The muffled response was barely heard, but Jeno automatically understood what Mr. Park said. Junmyeon turned to open the door, and let the pair inside. The “office”—if it could even be called that—opened up to more of a lounge, than anything. A wall of glass overlooked the Manhattan skyline, but Jeno knew that from the outside it looked only like a wall, due to camouflage technology developed by Mr. Park himself. As Doyoung and Junmyeon stayed back, closer to the door, Jeno took a few steps toward the man in question.

Chanyeol was standing a few feet in front of the glass window, working on a holographic model of a new piece of tech. His face was turned downward in a concentrated frown. He barely spared the teenager a glance as he said fondly, “Hey, kid.”

Jeno was used to this. Chanyeol wasn’t cold per se, but he wasn’t warm at all. He knew that Chanyeol cared about him, even if he didn’t really show it in a conventional way. Chanyeol was a very… eccentric man, so he had his own way of saying and doing things.

“Hi, Mr. Park. Um… you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yep! Needed some help from the friendly neighborhood Spiderman… A little birdie told me about something going on in Queens.”

“Queens?” Jeno asked, gripping the straps of his backpack. “You mean, other than the usual stuff?”

“Other than the usual stuff,” Chanyeol repeated, nodding. With a wave of his hand, the hologram disappeared, and another one appeared in its place. This time, instead of a 3D model, a few pictures and another, smaller 3D model appeared. Chanyeol turned to face him, frown deepening. He pointed at the model—a long, shiny oval-shaped purple stone. It reminded Jeno of an amethyst, but instead of turning white at the base, it turned to an iridescent jade tone. “You know what this is, right?”

Jeno nodded, remembering seeing the rocks all over the news when he was a kid. “That’s… that’s a Chitauri stone. From the invasion a few years back.”

Chanyeol nodded, standing up straight. “These stones have the potential to power weapons with no need to recharge, or change them out. They’re an infinite, extremely strong power source, Jeno, and in the wrong hands can be very dangerous.”

Jeno took a deep breath, feeling his stomach sink slowly. Chanyeol sighed. “Cleanup of the city after the invasion was long, and difficult, and obviously the government and the company weren’t able to get everything. It caused a black market to pop up. Now, the NYPD has been investigating it for years, but they have their limits… that’s where you come in.”

“M-me, Mr. Park?”

Chanyeol gave him a crooked, reassuring smile. He pointed at one of the pictures, which was of a man who most likely didn’t know he was photographed. He was walking somewhere, face looking angry and stern.

“You don’t know who this is, right?”

Jeno shook his head, and Chanyeol turned his head to nod at Junmyeon. “You’re up, tough guy.”

Junmyeon huffed, before walking up to Jeno. He put his hand on Jeno’s shoulder as if he could tell that he was growing anxious.

“Jeno, that’s Henry Duke. From what we understand on the intel team, he’s one of the cornerstones of the alien tech black market. He’s one of the top dogs. From what we understand, he likes to be present for all major negotiations that his group makes. A source of ours told us that there’s going to be a negotiation on Friday night not too far away from LaGuardia. We want you to go out there and just get a feel of what’s going on.”

“Just watch them, right?” Jeno looked at Junmyeon, who patted his back reassuringly. “Just watch. Don’t engage unless you absolutely have to.”

“You can do that, right?” Chanyeol said quietly, crossing his arms. “Because if not, then it’s totally—”

“Yeah, of course I can! Friday—shit, Friday. At what time are they supposed to be meeting up?”

Junmyeon furrowed his eyebrows, before answering, “Around eight or nine.”

Jeno bit his lip, thinking about the promise he’d made to you. It would just have to wait, he supposed. Chanyeol rarely asked anything this big of him.

“Alright,” Jeno agreed, “I’ll do it.”

Chanyeol grinned, clapping his hands together.

“Perfect.”

They discussed logistics briefly after. Doyoung would be on call with Jeno, his custom made suit allowing them to communicate, letting Doyoung see everything Jeno was seeing via a video feed coming from the ultra thin lenses placed in the white eye sockets of the mask. Doyoung would then report to Junmyeon, who would report to Chanyeol, who would probably report to the FBI. Jeno was only to engage if absolutely necessary.

After that, he set out on patrol. He usually found some discreet place to hide his backpack, and then went all over Queens looking for trouble, quite literally. Around five thirty, he stopped a robbery in Murray Hill. Then, around seven, he stopped a man from stealing a woman’s purse in Elmhurst. Nothing too much.

Around eight, he finally headed home, this time dressed normally, using the train and not web fluid. He walked home, tired, knowing that he’d immediately have to do that cursed AP calc homework. When he got home, he opened his backpack pocket to look for his keys, rummaging between his notebooks and other things.

Shuffling through his stuff, he furrowed his eyebrows as he couldn’t find them. Thinking back, he remembered this morning, when he’d left in a rush… and had very obviously left his keys on his desk.

“Shit,” He muttered to himself. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, remembering that Aunt Sunny had said she’d be working overtime tonight. He could very easily sneak in through his window, but he was pretty sure he’d locked it the night before, and it was too early. People’s lights were still on—anyone could see him if they just looked up, and then he would be screwed.

Huffing and zipping his backpack up, he marched up to your house, before ringing the doorbell. He shifted his weight back and forth, from his heels to the balls of his feet, until the door opened up. A familiar man with a face just like Doyoung's, but older, with graying hair and arms scarred and muscled from years of working on the police force stood in the doorway.

“Jeno?” Your dad offered him a warm smile. “Hey, kiddo, what’s up?”

“Hi, Mr. Kim,” Jeno said, smiling back. He shifted nervously. “I, um… I left my keys in my room this morning, and my aunt’s working late, so… could I… maybe wait here? Y/N’s home, right?”

The man nodded. “Of course, of course. Come in!”

Your dad had always been super friendly, even from the day Jeno had first met him. You'd told Jeno once that he was the only real father figure you'd ever had. Once everything settled after him and your mom got married, you started calling him dad altogether. And since you and Jeno were practically glued at the hip, he got along with your dad almost as well as you did.

“Okay.” Jeno stepped in and set down his backpack at the base of the coat rack next to the door, as he’d done a million times before. Jeno stepped into the living room, and sat down on the couch. He folded his hands in his lap and looked up at your dad.

"I think Y/N's in the shower, but she should be done soon. You can just wait here if you want… have you eaten anything yet?”

“Uh, I had a granola bar on the train, but that’s it.”

“We have some leftover pasta here, if you want—”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim, really! I’m fine.”

Your dad nodded, sitting down on his recliner. “So, have you started your college list, yet? Y/N said you wanted to stay here in New York.”

Jeno nodded, pushing some hair out of his face. “Well, yeah. It would make things a lot easier, I think. I might want to apply to NYU, but I think I’ll just go to community college, or something.”

Your dad shook his head. “You’re a pretty smart kid, Jeno. I think you could get into Columbia if you set out to. Plus, Chanyeol Park doesn’t give out internships to anybody. That’s your secret weapon.”

Jeno smiled. “Well, you’ve got a point.”

Your dad gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Come on, trying won’t hurt!” Your dad made a face, and then rubbed his knuckles. “Have you been working out? Those muscles weren’t there the last time I did that.”

Jeno laughed, trying to think of an excuse. “Oh, a little bit? The house needed some fixing up over the summer, and I wanted to help Aunt Sunny, so…”

“Jeno?”

He turned immediately, eyes landing on you at the base of the staircase. You’d changed into an old t-shirt and pajama pants. Your hair was slightly damp. “What are you doing here?” You asked, with a curious smile.

His shoulders slumped, and he grinned sheepishly. “Terrible Tuesday strikes again. I forgot my keys.”

You grimaced. “Brutal, dude. You wanna come up?” Your eyes moved to your dad. “Or am I interrupting guy time?”

“Oh, definitely,” Jeno answered, playing along. He took a cocky tone as he rested his hands on the back of his neck. “Your dad was just telling me about how much the NYPD needs me.”

You stifled a laugh. You dad seemed to be holding back a laugh too. "Hey, you're joking, but if you keep working out like that, and if by some impossible chance, the college thing doesn't work out… We might just be able to catch Spiderman if we finally got some brain cells on the force."

"Ugh, dad," You groaned, unaware of Jeno's gut twisting, "Not again."

"Yeah, Mr. Kim," Jeno said, scratching the back of his head, "He's not that bad."

Your dad shook his head. "Look, I don't hate the guy. In all honesty, crime rates have dropped since he started doing his thing. But he thinks he's above the law, and his methods can be a bit… unorthodox sometimes. He’s been undermining us for years and his tech is state of the art. Makes me wonder about what we should do to modernize the force."

Jeno looked downward, wondering what would happen if your dad knew the truth.

"Well, I guess we may just never find out. Jeno'd make a horrible cop. He couldn't hurt a fly if you paid him a million dollars."

But you came to the rescue as you grabbed his backpack, and soon enough he was up the stairs with you, heading into your bedroom, laughing to yourselves when you heard your dad jokingly call out, "Fifteen inch distance, you two! Door stays open!"

He sat on your desk chair while you lay on your bed, limbs splaying out.

"So you left your keys."

Jeno groaned. "Don't remind me. I was in such a rush to leave, that I… I forgot. I'm so stupid."

You rolled your eyes, rolling over onto your stomach to look at him. "You're not stupid, Jen. You made an honest mistake because you were in a hurry."

Standing up, you walked over to him and leaned against the desk. "Seriously, Jeno. What's gotten into you, lately? You freak out about every little thing. It's starting to worry me."

Jeno shook his head. "I don't know," He admitted. "I think I'm just scared about how after this year, everything changes. Renjun’s headed upstate. Jaemin’s going to Boston. You want to go to LA. I think Hyuck and I are the only ones who want to stay here. I just… I don't want things to change."

Your expression turned sad as he continued. "Everyone is expecting great things from me. You're smart, Jeno. You can get into an Ivy. Or, you have a Park internship, you'll be fine. What if I don't want things to be fine? What if I want them to just stay the same?"

You stayed silent for a few moments, trying to think of what to say. Jeno was relatively level headed for someone your age, but even he had moments of doubt and panic. It made moments like these difficult. You sighed before grabbing him by the hand. Wordlessly, you tugged him over to the bed, sitting him down and leaning your head on his shoulder. He could feel the dampness in your hair seeping slowly into his shirt.

"I guess I understand what you mean," You mumbled, trying to reason with him, "But come on. You wouldn't really want everything to stay the same. You can't tell me you want to keep getting AP calc homework. And I definitely doubt that you'd want to have your ass kicked by San for the rest of your life."

Jeno looked at the floor. "You're right. But you know that's not what I mean—"

"I know," You huffed, "I'm just saying. Change… it's inevitable. The longer you fight it, the harder it is."

Jeno nodded. "This sucks."

"It does," You agreed, taking his hand in yours. "But at least we have each other's backs, y'know?"

Something of a smile appeared on his face. You were so close to him, leaning on him, stroking his knuckles with your thumb. He hoped you couldn't hear his heart pounding in his chest.

"We really do, huh?" His voice turned quiet, with a bit of a sleepy lull to it. He allowed his head to rest on yours. "You're so comfortable. Can I like, use you as a pillow for the rest of my life?"

You giggled. "I'll consider it on two conditions."

"Oh, you'll consider. How generous of you."

"Yes, I'll consider. Now, do you wanna hear my terms or not?"

Jeno raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead," He said, before putting on his best Marlon Brando voice, "Make me an offer I can't refuse."

Snorting, you lifted your head off of his. "Okay. One, you finish your calculus homework here before Sunny gets home."

He pursed his lips. "Okay, I could probably do that. What's the other one?"

"Let me drive you to school for the rest of the year."

Jeno stared at you, and you nodded, eyes wide. "Trust me, Jen. You wouldn't need to wake up so early! And plus, you can't text the guy manning the subway asking him to give you five minutes because you need to find your keys."

Jeno gnawed on the inside of his cheek. You did have a point, and to be honest, he could probably refrain from putting his feet up on your dashboard.

"Deal."

You grinned. "Awesome," You answered, before nodding towards his backpack. "Now get to work, Einstein."

The rest of the week wasn't that bad. Yes, you were absolutely batshit insane about your truck in the morning, but he soon realized he didn't really mind. Not when it allowed you both to spend some twenty extra minutes together in the mornings, and they were spent joking around and listening to your extremely varied playlist.

On the other hand, he was saddled with more and more homework, greater and greater expectations. The looming threat of Friday's mission rolled around, and it made Jeno feel like time was passing much too slowly but also way too quickly. There was so much on his mind. He had chemistry with you on Thursdays in the afternoon, which also meant that San was there. Which also meant that sometimes, his heightened senses would pick up on San dropping a tacky pick up line which made Jeno want to punch him in the jaw.

Finally, finally, Friday afternoon rolled around. As he bid you goodbye and promised to see you later, he tried to ignore the feeling in his stomach. The feeling that something was about to go very, very wrong. He went out on patrol, ready for Doyoung to set up the call and tell him where he needed to go. It didn’t help that there wasn’t a lot for him to do that day. Crime had seemed to slow down altogether.

When the time finally came, and the sun was beginning to set, Doyoung rang in at about 7, telling him the location. An old warehouse near LaGuardia airport, hidden from prying eyes. Jeno made his way to the place, avoiding security cameras Doyoung warned him about, and found a place to hide. There was a hole in the warehouse roof, which allowed him to peer right into the building without being seen. It was about thirty feet from the ground.

“Why is it always old, abandoned warehouses?” Jeno grumbled. He heard Doyoung laugh quietly.

“Beats me,” Doyoung sighed.

And so they waited. Jeno wondered vaguely if you were still working. He wasn’t sure. They made time talking quietly, until a black SUV rolled into the warehouse. “Woah, Doyoung,” He murmured, “Hold up.”

Jeno leaned forward, but quickly realized he probably wouldn’t be able to hear what was being said. “D.R.E.A.M, activate Heightened Intelligence Protocol.”

Activating Heightened Intelligence Protocol.

The protocol allowed Jeno to use the lenses over his eyes to zoom in on specific targets, as well as use a microphone embedded in the suit to pick up audio from far away and feed it directly into his ears.

He watched as three figures got out of the car, a fourth remaining in the driver’s seat. The trio stood in front of the car, and Jeno recognized the man in the middle as the man Junmyeon had been talking about.

“Alright, there’s Henry Duke,” He said, “The one in the middle.”

“Got it,” Doyoung replied, sounding satisfied. “Now all we have to do is wait for the other party.”

“Did Junmyeon’s sources say anything about who it would be?”

“No. They weren’t able to find that out. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Jeno’s eyes never left the man. “Do you think it’s something international?”

Doyoung sighed. “I’m not sure. If it is international, then you need to be even more careful.”

“Got it. I think—Wait, here they come.”

A second vehicle, this one another black SUV, rolled up not too far away from the first car. The lights turned off and the engine sputtered to a stop, and four men stepped out of the vehicle.

Jeno’s stomach dropped, and of its own accord, his mouth let loose a quiet, “What the fuck,” as he registered the person leading them.

“What?” Doyoung asked, before realizing what—who—he was looking at. “...Is that my dad?”

“I think it is,” Jeno whispered, fingertips suddenly numb. Who was he kidding? They both knew who it was.

“So,” One of the men next to your dad said, “You show us yours, we’ll show you ours?”

Henry Duke clapped his hands together with an impish grin. “I suppose. Reagan, get the case.”

One of the two men standing beside him started off toward the trunk of the car. “It caught me off guard when I heard that the force wanted to purchase these. Almost made me wonder if this was your attempt at a sting operation.”

“What made you change your mind?” Your dad asked. Jeno swallowed at how cold he sounded. This wasn’t your dad, and it didn’t seem like Officer Kim either. This was someone Jeno had never met before.

“Honestly, Kim?” Duke raised an eyebrow, shrugging. “It was you. Your cooperativeness and willing to feed us information, as well as your… insurance agreement. And besides, you made a very interesting point when you said that the Avengers Initiative and Park’s alum Spiderman is ruining the way the law operates around here. That type of bitterness… hard to fake.”

Your dad huffed. “We’re fucking tired of it.”

The man leaning against the car your dad had stepped out of scoffed. “If this helps us catch the little asshole, then so be it.”

Jeno frowned. “I’m not little—”

“Jeno, shut up!” Doyoung snapped.

“—Alright, then.” The man holding the briefcase—Reagan—clicked it open, as if it were a prize reveal on The Price is Right. Five guns, all modified to hold glowing Chitauri stones were placed carefully together side by side.

“You know the basics. No radiation. Keep it away from security scanners and x-rays. They will blow up. And second of all, these are at half the price, along with the promise from the chief of police that my business won’t be touched, and will only be distributed to officers in on the operation and have agreed to turn off their body cameras when they decide to use these weapons. Should this not be a sting operation, we’ll be back here to negotiate.”

Jeno leaned forward, watching anxiously.

“Yes, sir,” Your dad answered, nodding. “We have the money here.”

“Hand it over, then.”

That was when Jeno made his mistake. He leaned forward too much, and proceeded to fall right through the hole, bringing down some scraps of the roof with him. As he tumbled through the air, the zoom on his lenses caused him to grow dizzy as he had no idea what he was looking at. He caught himself before he could fall, clumsily commanding D.R.E.A.M to go back to turn off the current protocol. His vision returned to normal, and he swung up onto a rafter holding the warehouse up.

“So, we have company.” Duke didn’t sound as amused as he had before. His face turned into a sneer. “Get him.”

In less than a second, before Jeno could say anything, five guns were pointed directly at him. He managed to swing away before any bullets could hit him.

“Jeno, get out of there now,” Doyoung ordered.

“What about the guns?” Jeno asked, swinging to another rafter. “They know I’m here, I might as well get them before I go—”

“No! Jeno, listen to what I’m telling you. You’ve done more than enough, and you need to let it g—”

Your dad aimed, and a bullet fired right at Jeno’s chest. For a second, he forgot that the chest area of the suit was lined with bulletproof material. While it didn’t shoot into his chest, it ricocheted right off him, and since he was in motion, it somehow caused the bullet to bounce back in the direction in which it came.

The wind was knocked out of Jeno, but it was nothing compared to watching the bullet land in the middle of your father’s chest. On the other line, he heard Doyoung yell, followed by the sound of something falling. And then, as he made his way back towards the hole he’d fallen out of, he couldn’t rip his eyes away from the body as it crumpled to the ground.

The others around him scrambled to get back into their respective cars. Jeno was back on the roof now, trying not to hyperventilate. “I’m sorry,” He gasped, “Do—Doyoung, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t want to—”

“Jeno, you need to get out of there, now,” Doyoung said, voice raspy. “GO!”

So he did, and Doyoung cut off the call once he was out of the vicinity. Jeno didn’t blame him. He swung across buildings, feeling numb as he looked for the apartment complex roof where he’d decided to hide his backpack.

When he finally did, he changed in a hurry, before slumping against the wall and forcing himself to take deep breaths.

Doyoung’s dad—your dad—was dead. And it was all his fault.

He cried on the way down the staircase. He cried on his way to the subway. The entire time, he ignored people’s stares. Suddenly everything was too loud, and if he met someone in the eyes he’d just about break down in the middle of the station.

As he got onto the train, Jeno thought about all of the things your dad had done for you, and for Jeno. All the times he'd taken you both to Coney Island in the summer when you were younger. The year Pokemon Go came out he took the both of you driving around in his car so you and Jeno could catch as many Pokemon as you could.

He’d formally adopted you when you were thirteen. You were his daughter in nearly every sense of the word, regardless of blood. And now he was dead, because of a stupid mistake that Jeno had made.

What would you say if you knew? He didn’t want to know. Checking the time on his phone, he saw he’d gotten a message from you just three minutes ago.

[8:36 PM]

y/n: lemme know when ur outside!! :)

“Fuck,” He murmured, wiping his eyes. He knew he needed to stop crying before he got to your house, and he had about ten minutes before he got to his stop, and then another five minute walk to the neighborhood. He focused on taking deep breaths and taking long swigs from his water bottle in the meantime, trying to tune out the sound of other people talking and the sound of the train on the rails.

The walk was the longest five minute walk he’d ever taken. The flashing lights of convenience stores did nothing to calm him down. As the stores in his peripheral vision began transitioning into suburban homes, he felt his heart speed up again. The constant movement as he walked meant he missed his phone vibrating in his backpack as you rang his number.

After what seemed like an eternity, two familiar houses came into his line of vision, and his shoulders slumped as he spotted you on your porch, looking small and teary, curled up into a little ball. In one hand, you were clutching your phone.

His stomach twisted as he put on a confused tone, even though he knew damn well that you knew. “...Y/N?”

You stood up, running to him and burying yourself into his chest, crumpling into his arms. You would have fell over if Jeno hadn’t held both of you up.

“Jeno,” You sobbed, “You’re n-not go-onna believe it.”

He brought a hand up to caress your hair, holding back tears of his own as he asked a question he already knew the answer to.

“Y/N, what happened?”

taglist: @decembermoonskz @itsapapisongo @lenaluvs @crescentjen

#kwritersworldnet #nct angst #nct x reader #jeno x reader #jeno angst #jeno fluff #nct au #jeno au #kpop scenarios #kpop angst #kpop imagines #nct dream x reader #lee jeno x reader #my writing

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schrijverr · 3 years

Text

Promises You Made to Me

Chapter 1 out 3

Aragorn falls for Boromir on their journey. When they realize they share their affection, they also know that the time is not now to act upon them. Both promise to share love once they see the quest done, a promise that long seems a broken oath. Still, the horn was heard in more lands and the Elves have not yet forsaken this world

A Boromir lives AU where they fall in love before Boromir falls at Amon Hen, but Aragorn only learns of his survival after the defeat of Sauron.

On AO3.

Ships: Aragorn x Boromir

Warnings: thinking someone died, injury

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

Chapter 1: I Can’t Promise You Fair Sky Above

It was hard not to like Boromir, Aragorn had soon found. Despite their introduction and the vast amount of unspoken issues between them, he could not help but like the Son of Gondor.

The man spoke of his home easily and with much enthusiasm, keeping the Hobbits entertained with stories from his youth and history. He walked without complaining, making sure everyone could walk with him and watching over them steadily when it was his turn.

He was always ready to lend a helping hand and Aragorn appreciated how he would help think about the next step and wasn’t afraid to speak his mind and offer insight or protest when he thought a foolishdecision was being made.

Not only that, but he had taken up the duty to teach the Hobbits to fight. Merry and Pippin took the most interest in the craft and it was a joy to see Boromir in his element when he taught them. He would grin and a proud aura would surround him.

Boromir kept the spirits high and was unmissable when muscle was needed.

It didn’t hurt that he was not bad to look at eitherand Aragorn found his eyes often wanderingto Gondor’s finest. Though he would look away when their eyes met, for he felt guilty about the reason behind his gaze, since Boromir was a Lord and not someone for Aragorn to gawk at.

However, it didn’t come as a surprise that Boromir had noticed this. He was a trained soldier and was aware of how to read people at a court. So one day, he came up to Aragorn keeping watch and sat down, saying nothing for a short moment.

“I know I did not make the best impression when we first met, but I had not realized that my behavior caused this much strife between us,” Boromir opened. “I apologize. I hope we can move past this.”

Aragorn still looked up in surprise. He had not realized that this was how Boromir would interpret his gazes and it startled him for a moment. “Yes, I see your gazes,” Boromir chuckled sadly when he saw Aragorn’s reaction. “I’m no Ranger, but I know when someone is avoiding my eyes.”

Quickly gathering his bearings, Aragorn replied: “I- It was not my intent. I do not have hard feelings about our introduction, I know I cannot ask blind following when I have not been present in Gondor. Legolas gets ahead of himself.”

“Ah.” It was clear Boromir had not expected that reply and he took a moment to rethink his strategy. “Well, then I do hope we can come to some agreement in companionship. Unless there is another reason for your avoidance of my company...” he trailed off, not in question, but in request of Aragorn to speak up if there was something else bothering him that prohibited any further friendship.

“No. No, there is not,” Aragorn said, for there was no reason to deny Boromir’s friendship, save for his heart speeding up as he felt Boromir heat beside him.

“I am glad,” Boromir smiled and Aragorn thought to himself: ‘I had not yet seen him smile at me before now. I should change that. It is a very good smile. His eyes crinkle and the feeling of kinship comes to mind when I look upon it.’ And what else could he do, but smile back?

The smile still lingered on his face as he looked back out into the wild for threats and it did not seem to leave until sleep claimed him once his watch was over. Since Boromir had watch after him, hedecided to keep him company until that time came.

As they sat next to their camp, keeping watch in the day for they only traveled through the night, they talked of such normal things that the contrast with their mission seemed absurd.

Boromir, for example, recalled the drunken tale of him and his brother, who had left a farmer very confused as of why his goats had bows upon their horns. In turn, Aragorn told Boromir of his foster-sister Arwen using him in a plot against their brothers, for they dared not to turn against the youngest of them all, who they viewed as innocent and how the he and Arwen had used that against them for manyyears.

It was a merry hour and it saddened Aragorn to see it over. But he did not deem it wise to stay seated next to Boromir any longer, since looking at him with a reason, made it harder to look away when there was none.

The other man was hypnotizing in a way Aragorn had not encountered before. He was sturdy in his frame, open in his manner, both smiling easy, while hiding a thousand burdens in his eyes that Aragorn longed to understand, but did not feel entitled to unwrap.

Looking at Boromir seemed both simple and too complex.

Aragorn yearned for a friendship with the other, a relation beyond mere traveling companions, but he did not know how to keep it a friendship, nor how he should hold himself around Boromir whilst knowing that at one point in their journey, he might become Boromir’s King.

Was it wrong for a King to look upon one of his subject with more affection than platonic? Most Kings did not marry out of love, but politics. And in dark times like these,would allowing the possibility be wise?

Questions Aragorn did not know how to answer kept him busy while they marched ever closer to the Misty Mountains over which they would have to travel.

During their journey, Boromir was frequently closer than before, choosing to walk at the rear alongside Aragorn and sitting next to him during the small leisure time they had.

And when Boromir was close, he had the tendency to talk. It was something most of the Fellowship had noticed early on, but the Son of Gondor did not like the silent marches and would often strike up conversation or talk to everyone in general, leaving it up to his audience whether they would listen or tune him out.

When Boromir talked, Aragorn often found himself amongst the ones who listened. Boromir had a nice, soothing voice that was great for telling tales of splendor, while at times being near philosophical as he pondered the goings of the world in times like these.

Listening to Boromir was both stupid and smart, for if he listened, he would not have to talk and mess things up, but listening made the affection he already harbored for the other grow.

Where he had first believed Boromir to be more muscle than brain, he was soon disproven. From his tales it became clear that Boromir had a sharp mind. He was a sound strategist and he easily weaved in the social complexities of history into the tales he told of the valor of Gondor.

It was interesting to talk to Boromir and Aragorn did so gladly. He found himself talking of his own home and the Dúnedain as well as the way of the Elves that housed him for so long along with his days as a Ranger. And while he talked, Boromir listened.

That was another factor he had not counted on when he had first met Boromir. The man had seemed steadfast in his own ways, stubborn to a fault and unwilling to listen when needed. Yet, here he was disproven once more.

Boromir would remember little details conversations later and recalledpeople that Aragorn had mentioned sparsely before. Aragorn did not know this was a skill the Steward’s Son had picked up as Captain, for men are more willing to follow you into battle when they know you care about their well being and person.

So, they both talked and both listened, until Aragorn sought out Boromir’s company of his own accord. He had not noticed he did so, until he came back from gathering edible plants and found that the seat next to Boromir had been saved for him, since it was his usual place in the camp.

It made him still for a moment, before walking on and settling down, focusing more on dinner than his company that evening.

And that night as they walked, he was amongst the ones tuning out as Boromir started his talking again. At this point he must have recited his entire military career, moved through much of Gondor’s history of the Third Age and gotten to know everyone’s life. Aragorn now knew more of the Toby Leaf’s history than he ever thought was needed for one, but Merry had been happy to explain in detailand Boromir had listened equally content.

But Aragorn did not know which tales he graced them with that night, for his mind was wondering when he had become so close with Boromir.

He did not recall when he got used to settling down next to Boromir every day, nor when listening to Boromir became more important to him than listening for threats, but he found it to be true. The affection he had for Boromir had blossomed into natural closeness.

At first he thought that the embers of a crush he had before, were nowextinguished ashe got to know the other man and form a friendship with him. Upon closer inspection of his feelings, however, he found instead that the opposite was true.

The speeding of his heart had become normal whenever Boromir was near and he felt the heat upon his cheeks with every grin send his way. His feelings had shifted, sure, but they had shifted from attraction to a deeper affection. He had become more infatuated with Boromir through their friendship.

It was a startling discovery, for while Aragorn was used to appreciating the physique of those around him, it did not often happen that he was enthralled beyond their features.

Yet here he was and he had discovered that it was not just Boromir’s strong arms or handsome face that kept him ensnared. Instead it was the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled, the gleam in his eyes when he talked, the softness when he listened and the comfort in his presence. He cherished their talks more than their practice fights.

He caught Legolas’ eyes and the Elf smiled quietly, eyes quickly flitting between Aragorn and Boromir, before turning away. It would seem others had caught on quicker to the will of his heart than he himself.

When Legolas held watch that day, Aragorn checked to see if those around them were asleep. With Boromir laid next to him, it was easy to determine his steady breaths as true.

“So there is still time for old friends, I see,” Legolas jested, mirth in his eyes when Aragorn sat down next to him. Aragorn looked away in shame, for he had not realized how much he had been ignoring the Elf.

“Do not be so dour, Aragorn,” said Legolas. “No one here blames you for being drawn to the Son of Gondor. And your oblivion has been my entertainment for the past weeks. It’s been long since a story like this has beenwritten.”

Aragorn glared at Legolas and huffed. “No story like this is being written, for it would not be just for a King to look upon his Steward like this.”

“I did not know you had accepted your destiny, my friend.”

“I- I don’t. I haven’t,” Aragorn protested. “But it is a path we might walk on, no matter our beliefs or desires and if that is to become my future, I should know better than to act like there is something owed to me that is not. I will not put him in a position where his choices are to ignore the wishes of his King or do something he does not want to.”

Legolas was quiet for a moment, mind processing Aragorns outburst. Then he smirked: “I do not think he’ll be doing anythinghe does not want to, if you were to ask him.”

“What?” Aragorn looked up in shock. He had not detected any reciprocation in the eyes of Boromir, just friendly affection that he shared with everyone of the Fellowship.

“You are blind,” Legolas sounded surprised. “For one who claimsElven decent and senses beyond normal men, you havenot seen that Boromir loves you too?”

He had not yet used the word love to describe his affection for Boromir, though the word had been echoing in his mind, but he did not think it wise to use that word, for it made what he had been attempting to avoid more real.

“I do not, nor does he,” he answered. “And we know my senses were not meant for internal factors, but threats.”

“If my Elf eyes are not mistaken, you have not been watching for many threats as of late, my friend,” Legolas had again that knowing look in his eyes and Aragorn found that he did not care much for that look upon his friend’s face.

“You do not know what you are talking about, Legolas.” It was a pitiful attempt at deflection and Aragorn knew it.

Legolas raised a pointed brow, but said no more of it, save: “We both know that is a lie, but I shall not further pressure you, for it is clear to me that you are not ready for it.”

And after that he stayed true to his word and said no more during his watch of Boromir, no matter if it was Aragorn, who opened up the topic. Instead choosing to comment on the landscape and the many nature wonders he had seen on this journey.

Aragorn did not try then, just taking the opportunity to talk to his friend, but the conversation had left much on his mind.

Did Boromir carry the same affection?

He did not think so. Still he watched Boromir carefully as they climbed the Caradhras. The man did not act differently than before, he walked with Merry and Pippin, making sure the two Hobbits did not falter. From time to time, he looked back, checking the rear like a good Captain would, smiling when his gaze met Aragorn’s.

Much to his embarrassment, he found that he smiled back without thinking whenever it happened. So, he focused on Frodo in front of him, the Ring-bearer should be his biggest priority.

Still it was hard not to let his gaze wander back every time. It was a strange thing to look to Boromir like he was a puzzle instead of his friend. He did not know which clues to look for, there were not tracks for him to read and he found himself thrust into unknown territory.

He started to wonder whether Boromir’s gaze on him was the same as the gaze he had for the Hobbits, a glance to ensure they were okay. Or if it were a gaze for Aragorn alone, one of special weight, with deeper meaning.

Aragorn could not decipher it. After all he had seen in his life so far, this was the mystery that stumped him. No matter what Legolas said, he could not see in Boromir’s eyes what had seemed obvious to the Elf.

It was a frustration, he did not know how to deal with.

Much to his chagrin, or maybe not (he did not know how he felt about it), Boromir noticed. It was even more frustrating that that was the only part he was able to pick up on in regards of Boromir, the fact that the man noticed he was watching him.

He loathed a confrontation that might come of it, so he kept close to others of the Fellowship, hoping that being with another person would discourage conversation about the topic.

Luckily, despite the misfortune, the topic was soon of the least import in their mind, for the evil will of the mountain had turned against them. Snow came down heavily and soon they had to cease their ascent and wait until they could turn back.

Boromir kept Merry and Pippin close, pulling his cloak around the three of them as they huddled close to the fire. Aragorn did the same with Frodo and Sam. Boromir had not lied when he’d called outthat this would be the death of the Hobbits.

If they made it through, it would be a miracle. This was a truth that was heavily felt throughout the entire Fellowship and it was not the moment to talk about trivial things as a few extra gazes. So instead Boromir tried to keep up the Hobbits’ spirits by telling them of the snow men he and his brother had build in the past and the epic snow battles they held.

As was custom, Aragorn couldn't help but listen, smile stretching over his face as the image of a young Boromir, already thinking himself a great Captain, leadinga charge in the snow came to his mind.

Soon the Hobbits’ slept, but the two men could not rest, for they feared that if they did not keep watch, their fickle lives would slip through their fingers.

So they sat in the cold of the mountain, counting the hours until the snow let up enough to turn back, a tactical retreat as Boromir called it. He also spoke again of going through the Gap of Rohan and again Aragorn had to refuse.

“The Gap is too dangerous a road to take now, Boromir,” he said.

“And this is not dangerous? Was it not folly to try this mountain? We are snowed under and our Ring-bearer might not make it through. Was this not a mistake?” Boromir countered. “And what other road can we take?”

Aragorn understood Boromir’s frustrations. From a tactical standpoint it would seem wise to seek out allies, for their road was already full of perils and a place to replenish strength would be a good place in the eye of any captain.

But they did not know how far the hand of Saruman had reached in those lands and they could not risk exposing more hearts to the clutches of the Ring. It would be unwise to think they would be safe in those lands.

Now just to make Boromir see that.

“Our road is dangerous, yes,” Aragorn said. “And this was a risk we should not have taken, but the Gap of Rohan is a risk we cannot take also. Saruman has betrayed us and it is not worth it to test how well he protects his borders.”

“I do not hear you offer another road. We also cannot risk staying on this side of the Misty Mountains. We have to cross.”

Aragorn had no answer to that, but he did not have to, for Gimli answered: “There is another road that we can take. We can go through the Mines of Moria.”

Both looked up in surprise. They had not realized anyone was listening to their conversation and having the private moment broken up startled them. So they said nothing as Gandalf replied: “I have told you before, Master Dwarf, that I hope to avoid that passage, but it will be up to the Ring-bearer to decide.” And both stayed silent after those words.

The next morning Frodo decided their fate and Boromir and Aragorn busied themselves with clearing a path back through the snow.

Neither said a word to the other, both too exhausted by their labor and unwilling to talk. Though, much to his dismay, Aragorn found himself getting distracted by Boromir doing his part and would sometimes have to be snapped back to work when Boromir looked his way.

Still, they made it off the Caradhras and safely down to the entrance Gandalf did not agree with, which made Aragorn uneasy, though he tried not to show it.

His unease was validated by the Watcher, lurking in the water. Yet, he was glad, for it was Boromir at his side when he charged and he knew Boromir would not falter in the face of this danger and have his back.

And in the darkness of the Mines, it was Boromir once more that eased his mind. He was there with him as they walked through thepitch black and while Gandalf had urged them to be quiet, it was the familiar steady footfalls of Boromir that kept Aragorn focused on the road ahead.

They had not spoken again since the Caradhras peak, but despite Aragorn’s attempts to avoid any lone conversation, it was during his watch that Boromir came to him once more. He was aware that Boromir used strategy of trapping him while on watch and he couldn't help but smile at the tactic solution Boromir had for such a simple thing.

“First you have been looking at me, then you have been avoiding me. I do not know what I have done to earn your suspicions, but any ill willed accusations you have of me, say out loud, for I am not welcoming of this backhanded wariness.”

Again, it would seem, Boromir had misinterpreted his gazes and again Aragorn found himself having to choose between Boromir’s hurt or opening a bit of his heart. It was an easy choice to make.

“I do not distrust you, Boromir. You are a dependableally and I am grateful for your presence.”

“Then why do you avoid me? Why do you first stare only to avert your gaze a moment later? You smile at me only to fight me then evade me after. What am I to think of that?”

Aragorn was glad for the darkness, for he did not think he could have lied, if he had seen Boromir’s gaze restheavily on him. And he did not think he could have been honest, when looking into those piercing eyes.

“It is not easy, Boromir. I might become a King one day, but I do not wish for that to be my fate, for my blood is that of a weak man, who gave in to corruption. Yet it seems that I am the one of my bloodline that is to reclaim the throne. It is difficult for me to know how to act around you and getting a glimpse of who my people are, is confusing at times.”

Boromir was quiet, the words churning in his head. The he hesitantly said: “Are you judging our people based of me? Am I an assessment to decide if you’ll go through with you destiny? Because I care not for being a pawn, when you have done nothing to protect Gondor and her beauty.”

This was not how Aragorn had envisioned thisconfrontation to go. His mind scrambled for something to say, so that he would not lose the companionship he had with Boromir. In that moment he cursed his cowardliness that had made him lie and not tell Boromir the truth.

“No, Boromir. No, that was not my intent with my words. I- Let me think how to explain,” he begged. “I hold you in high regard, but I know you do not wish to see me on the throne of Gondor. If more think like you, then I do not see why it is my destiny to take a throne no one wants me to have. I know not what you think of me nor how I am to act around you and it seems my attempts to try and figure it out have not been as subtle as I had hoped,” he finished helplessly.

Again Boromir was quiet and Aragorn braced himself for whatever reaction he would get from the Captain. Then, softly at first, then a bit chocked as Boromir tried to quiet himself, he started to laugh.

Relief washed over Aragorn at the first sounds of the joyful giggles, though confusion was on his mind for he knew not what humor Boromir found in his explanation.

“I- I apologize,” he finally got control of himself. “There is no humor in your attempts to try and better understand your position in the world. I merely find amusement in how we manage to misinterpret one another yet again. And the fact that a skilled Ranger such as yourself has difficulty with the subtlety of signs, you would think came normally.”

The latter part was obviously a jest and Aragorn found himself flushing at the teasing, once again grateful for the darkness that cloaked him.

He chuckled as well and said: “It would seem so. The tracks of people’s faces are quite different than those of animals in the ground.” Then he got serious once more. “I do not know, if I’ll fare well in a court with my skills.”

“I think you’ll fare as well as any man,” Boromir said. “Maybe even better. If you truly want to know my thoughts, then I think you have much to learn, or maybe much to show you already can do, before you are ready.”

“Aye?” While it had not been his primary reason, now that Boromir was offering, he was curious for any input to the other issues that had been plaguing his mind.

“It is clear that you are a great warrior, though I have not yet seen you in a proper battle, nor with men under your command. I have not seen you negotiate, though I have seen at the Counsel that you are willing to listen to those with expertise. I know not how you will be with the people of Gondor, nor that you know of her customs, but you seem to listen to my tales, so there must be a willingness to learn,” said Boromir. “For now, you are too much on an unknown, who has not been there for Gondor in her darkest days. I cannot judge you wholly, but you have earned my respect and I am also grateful for your presence.”

Aragorn thought that a just assessment. He had told Boromir that he did not expect blind following when he had done nothing to earn it and it would be fair to say that Boromir did not need to see him as King until he had proven himself worthy of the title.

“Thank you for telling me, I will try my best to get ready for the burdens that come with a title I might one day carry,” he said. “It is good to have you here, Son of Gondor.”

He could not see Boromir smile, but the bump of their shoulders was friendly and it was audible in his voice when he spoke: “You’re as much a Son of Gondor as I am, Aragorn, but I still welcome your efforts. I will not gift my City lightly.”

“Will you tell me more of her people?” Aragorn asked. He was not sure if the question came from genuine interest or because he wanted to please Boromir and liked listening to his stories.

Still the gesture was appreciated. “I will, but only if you promise to tell me more about yourself. I am quite curious about the Ranger of the North that dwelt in Elven courts.”

And to that, Aragorn agreed. There in the darkness of the Mines of Moria, with no other indication of the other beside light touches and the warmth that the other radiated, they talked softly.

Boromir told him of the markets, the people of the lands, the Lords in their mansions and the soldiers when in their barracks. In every word he spoke, Aragorn could hear the fierce love Boromir held for his people. He heard how Boromir was not just a prince in a castle, but a man of the people, who loved him dearly for that. He got swept up in Boromir’s tales and a part of him wanted to see the City as Boromir described it, instead of the one he had seen long ago.

Aragorn supplemented Boromir’s stories with tales of his own. Small stories of the people of Bree and his fellow kinsmen, who protected the North. It was easy to talk to Boromir as he had long since discovered. Boromir was approachable and likable.

In fact, it was hard to keep much from him. It was as if he subconsciously interrogated you, easing your mind while asking probing questions. And Aragorn found himself wanting to tell Boromir the less than proper thoughts that had been on his mind.

“Boromir, I-” He did not finished the sentence, unsure of what to say. ‘Boromir, I actually have been in love with you since Rivendell? I thought you were merely attractive at first, but you’re also kind and I cannot help but fall for you? I’m afraid to become King, because then it would be more stupid for me to love you?’

It seemed he had been quiet for too long, for Boromir inquired: “Aragorn?” with concern tinting his voice.

“Oh, uhm, well-” he started out once more, mind torn between telling Boromir it was nothing or confessing. He never got to choose, because the sound of a stone falling into the well came from behind them and soon the armies of Moria were upon them.

They fought, they won, they ran, they lost.

Gandalf fell and for a while grief and getting further was all that Aragorn could think off. Boromir was on his radar, but more as someone to keep everyone going and watch the rear as Aragorn now had to lead.

It was much later, in Lothlórien that they even considered talking normally again.

“Take some rest. These borders are well protected.” Aragorn did not like Boromir’s posture, normally so proud and tall, now miserable. He wanted to ask what was plaguing his mind, but he did not dare for it was not his place.

“I will find no rest here,” said Boromir, stubborn set of jaw, yet anxious in his speech. “I heard her voice inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She said to me ‘even now there is hope left.’ But I cannot see it.”

Aragorn’s heart clenched for the utter hopelessness that was in Boromir’s voice and he wondered what had happened that had made Boromir so distrustful in the hope of others.

“It is long since we had any hope. My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing and our people loose faith.” It was clear Boromir was partially talking to himself and needed someone to listen to him more than someone to talk with, “He looks to me to make things right and- and I would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored.”

The burden that Boromir carried was clear, though he seemed to cover it up by want. As if he was proud for the weight on his shoulder, not willing to acknowledge that it was too much and Aragorn did not know how to ease it.

Boromir took a breath. “Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The White Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze. Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?”

“I have seen the White City. Long ago.” Aragorn sensed that Boromir needed a bit of familiarity, someone, who could understand his home. While Aragorn was not wholly that person, he longed to be it, so he tried.

“One day, our paths will lead us there and the tower guard shall take up the call: The Lords of Gondor have returned.” There was again that glimmer in Boromir’s eyes when he spoke of his home and Aragorn’s heart gave a fond beat, wanting to keep that look there. “One day we will,” he agreed, “but it might not be for many months that we may do so.”

Boromir looked desolate again. “No, it might not be.”

“Hold your head high, Lord Steward. Our road may not lead to Minas Tirith, yet we do serve her and her protection,” he said. “You’ll see your home in due time.”

“Aye, you are right, Aragorn. Still, my heart tells me that I will not see my home as it is now ever again and my fears would have me believe that the next time I see it, it will be in ruin,” Boromir confessed. “There is not much else to think now that our wisest member has fallen. What chance is there to succeed now?”

While he had not dared to ask what was plaguing Boromir’s mind, the man had offered up the answers himself. Now Aragorn was left with a raw soul that he could not soothe. He could only offer platitudes. “We will try our best to do what we set out to do,” he replied, knowing it was nothing.

“That is your answer? We’ll walk into our death, for there is no other road you’ll consider?” Boromir asked, bitter anger dripping from his tongue. “What more do we have to loose before you realize this is folly?”

On a rational level he could understand that this anger came from the grief of losing Gandalf, but his mind was not ready for the rational and he snapped back: “I am not a punching bag for your grief, Boromir, son of Denethor. I know your opinionsand just because you are hurting over the loss of Gandalf, does not mean that I am not. I miss him, he was my friend. But he is gone now and I will see his will through to the end, no matter how much I love yo-”

He cut himself off, eyes becoming big as he had realized the revelation that had plunged from his lips in his moment of upset. He had never meant to tell Boromir. He had decided so when the darkness claimed their leader. There was too much to loose and he could not risk getting more attached. It was only grief fueled anger that made him confess.

“…Aragorn.” Boromir had equally wide eyes as he reached out to him, but his fingers never touched the arm that was quickly retreated, for Aragorn fled.

Behind him Boromir called out again, but his attempts to follow were made in vain, since Aragorn was more familiar in Elven lands and his longer legs with long strides carried him away. He could not believe how foolish he had been, nor how he would face Boromir or the rest of the Fellowship again.

Swiftly he walked through strange, yet comforting woods, until a small alcove hid him from prying eyes that would notjudge his tears to be from something other than grief.

Today he had made another mistake to go upon his list of regrets. Boromir did not love him, he was still on trial to become a King, love would not be considered by Gondor’s favourite Son. It was but a wishful dream in his mind and now he would have to endure the rest of this quest, with painful distance and obvious rejection.

It hurt more than he had expected, even if he had prepared himself for loving in silence. Not knowing if it could ever be, was less hurtful than knowing that even if everything had been different, it still would not come to pass.

He curled up into himself, reminiscent of hiding in the halls of Rivendell when he had been upset as a boy.

Of course, in Rivendell Arwen or Elrond or even Elladan or Elrohir would come find him and cheer him up, but there was no one to cheer him up here. He was all alone once more and the crushing loneliness had never felt more prominent.

He had not wanted to tell Boromir, for he feared he’d get too attached that it would cloud his judgment. However, a part of him had known it was too late and he was already attached to the smile of Gondor’s finest. Now, he just had to bear the fact that the smile had never been for him at all.

Why had he let his emotions get the better of him? He should know better as Isildur’s heir, he should have learned that desiring something did not mean he got to keep it. Was he not meant to learn from the mistakes of his forebears?

What if this ruined the quest? What if his mouth got them all in trouble and the rift between him and Boromir would never truly heal? What if Boromir would not have his back anymore, now that he knew what was in Aragorn’s heart?

Aragorn let himself linger in the halls of doubt that were inside his mind, never realizing that he had never confirmed his rejection before he fled.

So it came to be that familiar footsteps broke Aragorn out of his exile of self-pity when it was already far too late to turn back. He still attempted to do so, but before he could flee, a heavy hand stopped him in his tracks. “Please stay for a moment, Aragorn.”

And Aragorn stayed, for he had not yet mastered the art of saying no to Boromir on the little things regarding himself.

He sat Aragorn back down onto his seat and took the one next to it. Boromir was quiet for one antagonizing moment, before in an unsure voice he spoke: “I do not know if it was but a trick you are playing on me, but your reaction to your own words seemed genuine enough that I am inclined to believe them to be true. Would that be correct, Aragorn?”

Boromir stayed quiet and it became clear to Aragorn that he was indeed waiting for an answer. After a moment’s hesitation, Aragorn softly confessed: “Aye.”

“Then why did you run?” Boromir asked.

Aragorn snapped his head his way and fixed Boromir with a glare. “Do you really have to ask?”

“Aye, I want to understand, Aragorn.” Why did he have to sound so earnest?

“Because, I might become your King one day, Boromir. Because you would have to choose whether you shall obey me or defy me, while you know not whether you shall accept me as a King at all. I cannot expect my feelings to be reproached when you still need to judge my worth. Not to mention the dangers of the road. I cannot love you only to loose you, Boromir.”

Once he had started speaking, he found it hard to stop and Boromir listened attentively as was his custom. For once Aragorn did not know whether he was grateful for the quality or if he wished Boromir would shut out the too honest words.

When all the words that had been bottled up inside him had deserted him, he breathed heavily and awaited Boromir’s response.

“You are a fool, Aragorn.” At this Aragorn winced. “You are a fool to think that I would judge my King by the same standard as my lovers. You have earned my respect long ago, my affections maybe earlier. And I am not of the kind that will do something against their will. As I offer myself to you, know that I mean it wholly.”

Aragorn looked up in shock and Boromir chuckled at his face. “Yes, Aragorn. I never indented to act upon it, but it is hard not to fall for your charm. The tales of your exploits in Lord Elrond’s Halls make me smile fondly and your tracking skills make me awe. You also are closer to being my King than you believe, I just wish to see Gondor in good hands. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

“Of course.” It was easier to react to the part least concerned with his heart while his mind spun to incorporate this new information. “I- I can’t- I can’t loose you, Boromir,” he repeated.

“I know, Aragorn. I know,” Boromir said. “It would kill me to see you gone as welland I know not how to proceed from here. I would have you as mine, if the time was so not dark and the hour not so pressing.”

He leaned his shoulder against Aragorn’s and Aragorn rested his head upon it, his hand clasping Boromir’s. If he could be granted a wish, he would have wished to be in that moment forever, his body warm against Boromir’s as he thought. Secure that in the quiet, Boromir loved him.

Then he slowly moved to loosen the clasp of his necklace, before gently gifting it to Boromir’s neck, fastening the clasp with tenderness. “This was given to me by Arwen,” he explained. “It is so that I would not forget the Elven Halls that were my home.”

“Aragorn, I cannot take this,” protested Boromir.

“It is mine to give to whom I will, like my heart. And Igive this to you as a promise,” Aragorn pressed on. “I promise that I will try to see this quest through alive and keep you alive through it also. I swear by this that once our land is safe, we can try to see what can happen between us in times of peace.”

There were tears pricking in Boromir’s eyes, for he knew Aragorn was right. While they were on this quest, they had not the time to act upon the affection between them, save the conversations that were already commonplace and their bedrolls besides one another.

He grasped the Evenstar brooch softly in his hand. “I swear to live to see your promise to me fulfilled.” Then he smiled and his face became less formal. “Still, I hope you’ll allow me one kiss, before we start our agreement.”

That Aragorn could most certainly agree to and he leaned in closer waiting for Boromir to close the gap between them. His lips were chapped, yet soft. They pressed firmly against Aragorn’s, but they did not demand more than Aragorn could give as his tongue swiped over his bottom lip, asking for permission to deepen the kiss.

It was a permission, Aragorn granted eagerly and he was swiftly carried away by a gentle hand cupping his cheek, while the other clutched at his clothes. He lost his breath in the kiss, yet he had never felt more alive.

When it was over and Boromir pulled away, he had to gather his wits about himself for a moment. As he did so, Boromir smiled: “That is one memory to keep me walking on long roads ahead. We should head to dinner now though, I do not think Pippin will forgive us, were we to miss a meal now that we have it. Hobbits are quite peculiar about food.”

Aragorn remembered four Hobbits wanting to stop for a second breakfast, now already ages ago and smiled. He would not let go of the memory of the kiss either, but he knew better than to linger on it while they emotionally could not. Instead he agreed: “They very much are,” before leading the way through winding paths.

At dinner it was only Legolas, who noticed the jewel now sitting on Boromir’s neck and raised a brow at Aragorn, who shook his head softly, urging the Elf not to ask.

And so they lived with the knowledge of a potential future held close in their heart. It might be war, but was war not the place for love? For if there was no love in war, who did they fight for?

The only indication of their newfound closeness that was kept platonic for the sake of the quest was their bedrolls that found their waycloser to each other when they camped on the shores and watchesspend together, gazing at the stars and the eyes of the other.

Yet not all things that were good, were meant to last. The darkness was ever growing and no matter the love Boromir held in his heart for Aragorn, he had long since learned that his duty came first. Andthe voice of the Ring had twisted that love for his people into something ugly beyond recognition.

Still Aragorn had not yet accepted the gleam in Boromir’s eyes as corruption, perhaps blinded by love and unwilling to accept it as something other than the proud stubbornness he knew the other man held as well, perhaps it was the Ring influencing him to be blind.

No matter their affections, there were points they fundamentally disagreed on. “Minas Tirith is the safer road. You know that. From there we can regroup. Strike out for Mordor from a place of strength.”

Aragorn pictured the Ring surrounded by hearts that had been corrupted like Isildur’s, the land that had been the origin of the weakness in his own blood. “There is no strength in Gondor that can avail us.”

“You were quick enough to trust the Elves,” Boromir shot back and Aragorn said nothing, while rolling his eyes mentally, willing Boromir to see his point of view. “Have you so little faith in your own people? Yes, there is weakness. There is frailty. But there is courage also, and honor to be found in Men. But you will not see that.”

In that moment Aragorn found himself becoming irrationally angry yethe did not want to snap at Boromir, even if he bristled at Boromir judging him to be less of his perception of men, when he already judged him if he was worthy of a throne he had not asked for. How much more judgment would Boromir need to pass on him?

However, Boromir was not done with him yet and gripped his tunic, his touch for once not comforting, but aggressive. “You are afraid! All your life, you have hidden in the shadows.” And Aragorn was trying not to react as he let Boromir rave. “Scared of who you are, of what you are.”

With that Aragorn wrenched himself free. He was not listening to this. He was trying so hard and Boromir knew that, Boromir knew what was stopping him, what scared him. He was being viscous on purpose.

He began to stalk off, but a small dark voice whispered in his mind to snap, to make Boromir feel that hurt pit in his chest that Aragorn felt now. “I will not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your City.”

That night their bedrolls were on opposite sides of the camp and neither held the other company during their watch. They did not speak the next day either.

As they peddled he did not look at Boromir, though his eyes wanted to stray over to see if the Son of Gondor was safe still. He fought it. While he might have said things to hurt, it had been Boromir who started the confrontation and took it too far. It had always been Aragorn apologizing or explaining himself on this journey and he would not be the one now.

So with clenching heart he kept to himself, hoping that this would not unmake whatever chance they had at an us.

“Where’s Frodo?”

Merry’s words snapped him out of his despairing thoughts and his eyes scannedthe campsite for their Ring-bearer. Instead of a Halfling, they fell upon an abandoned shield and a cold wave washed over him as he realized what it had been that made Boromir unnecessarily cruel yesterday.

When he found the Ring-bearer, his words made the cold that was already upon him, burrow into his bones and flow through his veins. Would Boromir ever recover from the corruption of the Ring or would he never again be the man Aragorn met and fell for?

It were not questions he had the time to ponder, because Uruk-hai were marching ever closer and he had to ensure he would see Frodo to safety for as long as he could. Still, he could not help but think of his promise to Boromir as he tried to stay alive on the hills of Amon Hen.

As he was driven back Legolas and Gimli joined him and he looked back frantically for Boromir, fear clouding his heart as he envisioned an out of his mind Boromir, encountering Frodo aloneonce more, or even the other Hobbits alone and unprotected.

Then a loud horn blow echoed over the hills and another outcome he had not considered gripped his heart and twisted it. It was undoubtedly Boromir’s horn, the same horn he had blown when they left Rivendell for he refused to be a thief in the night. The horn that meant Boromir was in trouble too large for him to handle on his own, while they were with three.

A new vigor he did not know he possessed settled intohis soul as he ripped through the forces of the enemy, trying to reach the sound in time.

Boromir had multiple arrows in his chest and a large Uruk-hai pointing a killing shot at his face when Aragorn arrived.

Laterhe could not tell how he got there, but soon he found himself dropping down next to the body ofBoromir, eyes filled with unshed tears and a thousand apologies upon his lips. If only he had talked to Boromir, if only he had seen, if only he had paid attention.

Still as he laid there, it was his Boromir. He knew that no Ring could ever care about the well being of the Fellowship, especially the Hobbits, the way Boromir haddone. And even if he laid there, pierced by many arrows, he said: “They took the little ones.”

It was not Aragorn’s concern for now, as he desperately tried to staunch the bleeding of too many wounds.

“Frodo?” Boromir was panicked, which was not helping his condition. “Where is Frodo?”

“I let Frodo go.” Aragorn would not lie to him in what might be his final moments. He squashed the thought, but it was still prominent in his mind.

“Then you did what I could not.” It was a laboring speech, lungs filling with blood. “You need not worry about your blood, for it was I, who was weak and gave into corruption. I tried to take the Ring from him.”

His words about Isildur reflected back at him in this moment soundedout of tune in his ears and he cursed himself for giving Boromir the idea that he was ever weak. Aragorn knew he had not been free from the Rings voice and it was mere luck that saved him from being its main target. “The Ring is beyond our reach now.”

“Forgive me. I did not see… I have failed you all.”

Aragorn hated to see Boromir like this. He had always been so sure of himself, relishing his history with the pride of a man, who valued his honor. He would not let him lie there and speak ill about himself, not while he was still breathing. “No, Boromir. You fought bravely. You have kept your honor.”

He could not let it end like this. He would not let it end like this. They both made a promise and the jewel on Boromir’s neck was a token of this. He would not allow this to be the end of the tale of Boromir the Bold.

While he did not have much, he made the best attempt to bind the wounds, but it was a foolish attempt and cloth colored deeply and fast.

“Leave it! It is over… the world of Men will fall and all will come to darkness and my City to ruin… Aragorn…”

No, Boromir could not give up on Gondor. Aragorn knew the hope had been fading from Boromir’s heart for many years, but not a day ago he was telling him about the courage and honor of Men and when he spoke of the White City, he only spoke with love. Aragorn would not let him die, thinking all he loved was lost. “I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you… I will not let the White City fall, nor your people fail…” It was an oath he intended to keep.

“Our people,” Boromir corrected. “Our people.” And Aragorn could cry. He had stopped trying to tend to the wounds, but this made him try again. He could not give up on Boromir after he had given him so much of himself.

Still, when Boromir’s hand reached for his sword, he helped him even if he knew why the other reached for it. He chocked through the blood his final words: “I would have followed you, my love… my Captain, my King.”

And then Boromir was no more.

For a moment the world did not move. All was silent around him as he looked upon the fair and quiet face before him.

A bout of aggression came over him and he shook the limp form of Gondor’s favourite Son as he cried and raged. “You promised me you’d live. I promised you that I would protect you. I command you to live, Boromir. Do not make me an oath breaker. Do not make me loose you… love, please, come back to me.”

No matter his rage or cracking voice, there was no reaction.

Aragorn suddenly felt far removed from the forest, the hills, the stench ofthe dead. He was floating above it, not grieving, but pausing, as if he could make the world rewind until it was right again if he just distanced himself enough.

From above he saw himself kiss the forehead of his beloved, the skin still warm under his lips as it had been in Lothlórien, yet completely alien. “Be at peace, Son of Gondor,” he whispered and left athelas on his wounds, even if he knew it would not bring Boromir back. It was a waste of resources to make him feel like he had done something for Boromir when he had failed him so.

Behind him Legolas and Gimli appeared, both seasoned warriors and understanding what had just happened to their comrade. They fell silent. Legolas knew what Boromir had meant to Aragorn and Gimli had most probably put the pieces together as well.

Softly Aragorn brushed the hair out of Boromir’s face and straightened the jewel on his chest, before taking the bracers of his arms and strapping them to his own. It felt fitting, a piece of his home in exchange for a piece of Boromir’s.

“They will look for his coming from the White Tower, but he will not return,” he said, swallowing hard.

Yet he knew what he had to do. They had not the time to bury Boromir like the Kings of old and Aragorn vowed he would return for him. If not to bury what was left of him, then to build a monument in his honor where he had fallen.

For now he had a promise to fulfill.

“Boromir did not die in vain. I will not let him,” Aragorn said. “While Frodo, Sam with him, is beyond our help, Merry and Pippin still need us. I will not abandon this Fellowship so easily. Take only what you must. We travel light. Let’s hunt some Orc.”

Within minutes they had ditched all that they must and were on the run, an hopeless rescue mission that was mind-numbing in the chase, while vital for Aragorn’s heart. He would not fail Boromir, he would win in Boromir’s name and be the best King he could be for their people.

What the three hunters did not know was the soft beat in Boromir’s chest, for he had not been an oath breaker and he could not disobey a command from his King. Brought back from the brink, he lay there with athelas keeping him on the edge of life.

They also did not know about an Elven group, hurrying down the river to answer the call of a horn that demanded aid.

The three hunters could not know that slowly Boromir was heaved into a boat, loosing his horn to the river as the Elves rowed him to their forest, where the one who could heal him resided, if he were to survive the trip.

So, they fought for a friend they thought dead.

A/N:

Thisis not really based in canon, but I like the idea of Boromir talking during marches. It might have started as a way to ease the minds of the soldiers under his command, or just something to stave of the boredom and a habit he picked up after marching often.

Also I like the idea that Aragorn is a great King, who is v good at negotiation and stuff, but the moment it’s abt Boromir, he looses all chill and skills he has. He’s a gay disaster, ur honor and I love him.

It has not as much dialogue as I would like, but there seemed no place to fit it in and this style of story comes natural to me now and I am quite happy with it still :D

I tried really hard with Tolkien’s writing style and while some parts are better than others, I am happy with my attempt bc it was a bit of an experiment.

The title and chapter titles are from Hadestown, the number Promises, bc I have emotions about it.

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