#its my first fic posting in four months. be kind lo

[eerythingisshaka]

Quit Playin

Yahya Abdul-Mateen II x Reader

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: Smut that makes you go huh?

This is my submission to @sonofnjobu WIP Fic Fest.  It’s been sitting in my drafts for a little over a minute and I just hope it comes across as entertaining for you!  Its setup is Yahya having the game from his Black Mirror episode and the things that occur because of it.

"It's not like that, i swear!"  Yahya exclaims with a laugh he tries but cannot mask..

"Then what is it like!”  You screech at him, wiping your face of the stray tear you hate.  You aren’t gonna cry about this shit, you swear.  But stress makes you teary regardless.  “Cuz it seems like you don’t wanna be bothered with a damn thing about me!”

Yahya stares at you for a beat, leaning against the countertop in his relaxed olive green collared shirt tucked into his dark khaki slacks.  With his little TWA, he looks like a vintage ad for Fridgaire appliances, square in the middle of a Sears Roebuck catalogue.

“I don’t NOT want you…”  He says slowly with too much emphasis on the ‘not’.  This revs you up more.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?  You out here doing shoots and shit all day everyday, no you’re back it’s like you on a whole other planet!  Is it Nicole Beharie?  Cuz I don’t blame you, I would even go after that but fucking tell me!”

Yahya purses his lips together, silently cupping his hands in front of them.  He stands up straight and meanders over to you, kissing the top of your forehead.

Your palms smack his biceps, pushing him back off of you.  “You not about to distract me, I’m serious!”

Yahya scoffs, rubbing his tender arms.  “I see, ok!  What else are you planning on doing to me to get my attention?”

You let out an exasperated yell.  “Oh, nigga if you only knew what the fuck was going on in my head, you wouldn’t be tempting me.”

Yayha claps his hands twice, firmly planting his feet where he stands and bends over so his torso is almost parallel to the ground, facing you with his arms behind his back.  

“Go ahead.”

You put your hands on your hips, pacing the floor.  “Don’t fuck with me right now.”

“You have my full and undivided attention.  And a face free for you to smack, and you talking yourself down?  That’s disappointing, I gotta say.”

“But to what extent do I gotta go to get you here?  How long have I asked you for this time?  And now I’m angry, so this time is fucking worthless to me. I wanna chill with you, see shit, do new shit, not sit and the house and argue over you and your video games!  Fucking hate whoever let you take that from the set.”

Yahya straightens up again, giving his lower back a little rub.  “You wanna play me?”

You turn on him quicker than a blink.  “You know I don’t give a damn about video games!  If I wanted to play a game, I’d say ‘Yah, lemme play real quick.  They got 2 player?’  But I haven’t!  You know why?  Cuz they dumb, repetitive and too complicated for me to find time learning worth it!”

Yayha walks down to the living room, like you haven’t said anything, toward the TV cabinet.  “Oh, I see the problem.”

Walking over to the plush sectional, you plop down feeling imminent defeat.  “You’re not listening to me at all, I can’t understand you.”

Yahya pulls out a small box, closing the cabinet and turning on the TV.  “You just have to see me play, one time.”

He sits next to you, pulling out two clear dots from their container.  “Here.”  

He holds one in each of his hands out in front of him, eyes wide in expectation of you.  If he was wearing black glasses and a trench coat, you’d think he was practicing for a Matrix reboot.  You stare from his long hands to him, and back again, feeling yourself begin to soften.  Maybe you could try bonding his way, just this one time.

You snatch one out his hands.  “Gimme this shit.  You stick em on your forehead or what?”

Yahya chuckles as you gets his pair out and puts them on.  “You know I don’t have a damn dot on my forehead when I do this.  Put it on the side of your face, in line with your eye kind of.”

Once you have the dot placed he takes his controller and pushes a few buttons to navigate to the Start screen.

“Now when I hit Start, we bout to be in the game for real.”  Yahya looks over at you all wide eyed like he’s teaching a toddler how to hold their breath underwater.

“...nigga just push the damn button.  I don’t get why you makin such a hu-”

You don’t get to finish you sentence before your mind begins to be sucked into a vortex that leaves you catatonic, body falling limply backward against the couch alongside of Yahya’s.

Before you know it, your eyes become accustomed to your surroundings.  Looking around, you see many trees, vibrantly green and full of cherry blossoms blowing in the wind.  The nearby waterfall fills your ears as your mind races to make sense of things.

“What th-”

“Hey!  Whatchu think?!”  A voice behind you yells.  Your head whips around to see a woman in a blonde wig and an outfit that looked cute but avant garde enough to make you question your safety regarding their mental state.  

You swallow hard.  “I-I don’t know, I’m just tryna find my man.”

She huffs, working her hands in a circle creating a ball of energy before squatting in a fighting stance.  “You’re the only man I see around here.”

You scoff.  “I am NOT a man, girl, get your eyes corrected.”  You go to do a hair flip for emphasis and find none on your shoulder.  You feel the top of your head, expecting to find your wig gone, but you feel neither cap nor curl, only some bone straight short cut you have never had.  When your hand shoots to your mouth in shock, the color makes you snatch it back again as it was not your shade of skin.  Your hand looked meaty and was wrapped in tape.  Your eyes travel to look down at your biceps, hulking and veiny.  Strips of cloth hang of your broad shoulders and where titties once were, are now ample pectorals.

“Wh-what the fuck??  Who am I??”

The woman in front of you laughs.  “You should see what you look like right now.  Scared of your own body...when you should be scared of me.”

Without warning, she sails her energy orb at you, making you put your hands up without thinking.  The force of her blow pushes you back making your feet slide against the rocky walkway you stand on.  Your eyes slowly open as your heart pounds from the excitement.

The woman laughs, placing her hand on her hip in casual amazement.  “Huh!  I thought you didn’t pay attention when I played this game.”

You furrow your brow in confusion.  “Wait…”

She nods, holding her arms out in a flourish.  “Isn’t this cool!?  We in the game baby!  You see why I can’t stay out of it?”  

She smiles widely, running towards you, quicker than humanly possible and takes your hand.  “We can walk around and everything.  Check this water out.  It’s wet AND cold.”  She dips down to wave her fingers in the nearby resevoir.

You still standby in amazement, slowly becoming accustomed to the situation.  “Yahya?”

She looks back at you giving a nod that despite the racial and gendered differences, really reminded you of him.  “It’s me baby. Come feel this water, ain’t it nice?”

You put your hands up.  “No way.  This is some Harry Potter/Neo bullshit that my Christian ass ain’t here for.  Put me back in real life right now!”

Yahya’s character stands up, wiping their hands off on their costume before popping their knuckles.  “What if this was my plan all along?  Get you in here, and just...stay?  Forever?”

You tighten your jaw, balling up your fists.  “No way in hell would you do that.”

Yahya looks at you stone faced and still.  “Well…”

“YAHYA!”  You shout at him, losing every ounce of patience.

Finally they laugh, holding their stomach for emphasis.  Another Yahya-ism.  “I’m playing babe, you cute when you mad but it’s ridiculous as a dude.  We not stuck here forever, I promise.  You just gotta say the magic words and we out.  Simple.”

You nod fiercely.  “Ok, and?  What are they?”

Biting their lip, Yahya says, “I’ll tell you...but you gotta fight me for it.”

“Pssh, boy come on and quit playing I’m ready to be done and here you go.  I ain’t fighting.”

“You sure?”  They shrug, walking towards you to poke your arm.  “I mean, you could probably beat me easily.  You a big strong dude. I’m the female here, so you got advantage.”

You swipe at them.  “I’m not falling for that.  You know how to play this game, that’s the problem!”

They reach out to ruffle up your hair.  “You beat my ass mashing buttons before, just do that.”

You whip your head back, stepping away with your hands up defensively.  “Aight, I’m sick of you pissing me off lately anyway.  Come on with it, BITCH.”

The venom in your curse makes Yahya character smile as their hands swirl in a creating an energy orb.  You run up on them, sailing through the air with a kick that travels their torso to their face, causing them to stumble.  

You feel pretty good until you hear that damn laugh.  

“Go off, baby!  That was cute!”  Yahya bites their lip,  stomping the ground that loosens a rock in the pavement right under your feet, knocking you off balance.  As you fall through the air, Yahya, sends fists and feet under your back 3, 4, 5, and 6 times until you fall down, clutching your back in pain.  

“Fuck!  What the hell you do all that for?  I knew your bitch ass wouldn’t fight fair.”  You curse as the pain begins to subside.

Yahya walks over shaking their head as the blonde hair falls on their face.  “It doesn’t last, the pain.  I could literally break all your shit, and never have to worry cuz it mends in like three seconds.”  They hold their hand out to you to help you up.  “You oughta feel fine now.  I’ll leave you be if you done though, my bad.”

You sit up and take a deep breath.  Just like he said, you feel brand new before you even exhale.  You look up at them in their outfit: waist snatched, thighs strong and wrapped in elaborate garters, titties sitting high in their corset leather one piece.  

“So now you kicking my ass, and you pick a character finer than me?”

They chuckle, squatting over you.  “No way in hell do any fake shit come close to you baby.  For all it’s worth, I’m glad I got you here to experience this with me.  Complaining be damned.”

Having caught your breath, you feel this pull inside of you that brings your heart to a racing pace.  A tug from within you never felt before but it made you ravenous for mischief.  As you grabbed their hand, you in turn flipped into a somersault carrying them through the air onto the stone path beneath you both.  Yahya gasps, having the wind knocked out of them but you don’t ease up.  Before Yahya could get to standing, you straddle them using your newly acquired man weight to pin them down and send a fury of fists into their face.  You feel like you’re watching a movie instead of experiencing it firsthand, but the comical pace of blows as Yahya’s character head bops back and forth like a speed bag made this whole experience worth it.  That is until a pair of knees hit your back.

As you fly forward, you land face first and before their strong thighs come around your waist and an arm around your neck.

You feel your consciousness beginning to fade.  “Yah….”  

They breathe heavy in your ear.  “Say Uncle.”

You raise your hand off the ground but it feels like a 100 lb weight.  “I can’t-”

“Nah actually, say Daddy.”  Even as a woman, his chuckle rang true, making you livid.  You gather as much strength as you can muster to bring yourself to all fours, in a kind of parasitic piggyback ride.  Their grip tightens as you move, but suddenly a force fills you.  You grip the ground underneath you, clawing your nails into the stone as the energy boils. 

“Come on, say-”  Before Yahya could answer your back arches as a howl comes from deep within and your eyesight turns white.  You hear a wretched thud behind you and use it to follow your prey.  Yahya’s character sits limply against a boulder as you bound toward them lifting their head to make room for your hand against their throat.   They feel weightless in your hand as you raise them up higher and higher as their feet hovers above the ground.  Yahya’s character opens their eyes and you step closer to them, nose to nose as you grip their neck.

“How’s that feel now, Daddy?”  You say, hearing yourself with a manly tone of voice sent shivers down your spine as you held control.  Your muscles flex under your authoritative hold, arousing your interest at its highest point since you got in the game

Yahya’s hands grip your bicep as they wrap their legs around your waist tightly.  “It feels...alright,”  he chokes out with a small grin.

You snort as you study the face of his character: cheekbones riper than autumn apples, flush from the fight.  They keep licking their lips and stroking your bicep before you notice the slow grind against your pelvis.

Yahya continues.  “You wanna beat me up some more?”  

Your grip weakens when a new sensation crops up between you two.  It’s not like anything you’ve known before.  Your mind kept getting distracted from the task at hand.

“Is the fight...over?  Did you hit pause or- something?”  You stutter as your hips move before your can think about it, making a gasp slip from your mouth.  The soft warmth that rubbed against your groin was so tempting.

Your hand comes off their neck and rests against the rock you had Yahya’s character pinned against.

“It ain’t over until we say it is.”  The character’s voice is raspier, breathy.  You run your nose and lips across their clavicle.  Their hand reaches for the sash keeping your pants up.  

You wince as the fabric feels tighter in front.  “I don’t feel so good.  It’s like I’m cramping up or something.”

Yahya’s character bites their lip, shaking their head.  “You ok, that’s just how it is for guys.  Getting hard is fucking torture til you find something to do with it.”

As their hand reaches for it, you feel a sharp shock to your nerve endings, making you seize up and grip their thighs hard.

“Ohhh shit, why’d you do that?”  You wail.

Their grip tightens as their hand runs the length of your shaft.  “It’s ok, I swear it’s gonna feel nice.”

“It’s not that, I just...I don’t wanna wait no more.”  You growl primitively as you find the garments between their legs and rip it apart, exposing herself to you.

“Fuck, babe, slow down!”  Yahya’s character exclaims, grabbing onto your shoulder in surprise.  

The whole lead up is a blur.  You couldn’t think about what you were doing as a guy figure about to manhandle a woman who also happens to be your boyfriend because nothing would satisfy you more than diving into that pussy at that moment.  You pull you character’s dick out with ease, lining up your head to their opening.  

“Shit, Yahya.  You better breathe bitch.”  You scoff holding onto your member to ready yourself.  Yahya’s characters breathing and moans in anticipation stoked your fire, making you way less patient for foreplay.  Soon as you felt wetness, X marked the spot.  

When you began to enter them, you swore your mind just went to another dimension besides the one you currently were in.  You felt like you just flew into the center of a hot honey butter roll on Thanksgiving night while sopping up the leftover gravy.  The warmth around you followed by the heartbeat of the pussy around your dick sent your knees to buckle.

“Fuuuck.”  Yahya’s character exclaims as you push into them every inch you can must before hitting a barrier, making Yahya’s character tense up.

“It’s ok, go ahead.”  He reassures you, kissing your neck and jaw while rubbing your back.  

You needed no other encouragement as you pulled your hips back and began to swim.  The sounds of you churning them out became your applause, goading you.

“You feel...like a fucking payday...a day early…”  You gasp as your senses reach their peak.  It felt so good, but you still didn’t feel peace.  If anything, the more you stroked, the more erratic you became.  You searched the rock for a grippable surface and when none was found you turned to their character instead.  You wrapped your arms around their back, putting them into a bear hug as you bounced them off your thighs, gaining deeper access.  

Yahya’s character is a blubbering mess, beggin you to go harder, deeper, faster, and that was a challenge you refused to back away from.  You wanted them to feel you entirely, smacking their ass when they got too quiet, pulling their hair when they seemed too tired, picking up the pace when they were becoming too dominant.  Nothing was going to keep you from waxing the whole level with their ass.

As any superhero, you began to grow weary.  The ferocity that consumed you began to falter as a wave of pressure built in you, making you nervous.

“Yah, I’m feeling something different.”  You moan as your stomach tightens up, feeling a throbbing pressure.

Character hair in disarray, Yahya pushes it back, speaking between gasps.  “You about to cum, babe?”

You shake your head.  “I don’t know, I don’t usually feel like this when I do.”

“It’s different as a guy....don’t fight it.  That will hurt, promise you.”

You nod as you close your eyes, feeling them tighten around you even more.

“You feel so good in me baby, let me have all of you.   I want it all baby, fill my pussy up baby.”  Yahya kept giving you erotic Hallmark message to let you know just how they needed it.  The pressure became overwhelming and like a lightning striking a tree, the roll of thunder barreling from your balls up your shaft and out left you stiff as a board.  Your toes curled as you felt yourself being pumped dry as Yahya’s character squealed in satisfaction, hugging you tightly.  You felt yourself move, but no more than a snail’s pace, out of fear you may fall over from weakness.  Your sensitivity heightened you didn’t dare try to continue, opting to pull out once you felt yourself finish, putting Yahya’s character down before falling to your knees.  Yahya’s character laid out right next to you, smiling joyfully.

“And THAT’s why I can’t get enough of this game.  You experience shit you can’t in the real world.  I never thought I’d get you to do that.”

You huff looking over at them.  “That was so damn different...YOu never let me lead like that before...And you were so….vocal.”

They shrug.  “I can’t help it when I’m like this.  Female orgasms are damn drugs.  My whole body lights up, and I don’t feel like vampire just took my soul after.  Without a doubt good shit.”

You put your stuff back in your pants in awe of what just happened.  “And I never knew I could take over you like that.  Like...I was you just now.  And you were me.”

Yahya smirks.  “Exit game,” disappearing.

You look around in a panic.  “Uh, EXIT GAME!”

Your body lurches forward as you catch your breath, feeling Yahya rubbing you back.

“You alright?  It’s over I promise.”  He says with concern.  “I didn’t mean to shake you up like that.”

You feel relief hearing his real voice turning to give him a big hug, almost knocking him backwards.

Yahya’s laughs muffle into your shoulder.  “Damn baby.  Some of the game ain’t left you.”

You lean back and peer into his face.  “I don’t want that part to leave me just yet.”

Yahya blinks in amazement as he grips your waist.  “That didn’t turn you off from me?  With the characters and me being a girl in there and-”

You shake your head.  “It just showed me how much I can do to you and how good you can make me feel in a way I could’ve never asked you to show me.”

He licks his lips nodding slowly.  “No limits to that.”

You smile, fitting yourself over his lap.  “So we can fall off a mountain while I fuck falling to the ground?  Or fuck you thru a glass window and roll you over in the shards and-”

Yahya quirks an eyebrow up.  “I’m returning that thing tomorrow!”

#yahya abdul mateen ii #fic #black mirror #its my first fic posting in four months. be kind lo #wip fic fest #shakafic

[chalkrevelations]

SO. Back to the beginning, Episode 1 of Word of Honor. This is likely to be a little bit different experience than the prior posts, when I was watching the eps as they aired, compared to now approaching the show as whole and complete. May be rummaging around for things I missed the first time through, stuff that takes on new meaning set in additional context – we’ll see how it goes.

With that in mind, spoilers for not just this ep but possibly for the entire series. Get out of the car now and come back later, if you haven’t seen all 36.5 eps and want to watch it unspoiled.

First thing to strike me, right up front: You know, I think we tend to lose sight in later parts of the show – when we’re getting Laopo!Zhou Zishu pouting so he doesn’t have to cook dinner - how terrifying ZZS is in his own right (and by “we,” I actually mean the show, too). One of the things the first few episodes gets right, I think, is the sense of eerie inevitability and dread created by both the falling lanterns of Tian Chuang and the blowing paper figures of the Ghost Valley, and how similar they are. I think it’s easy to lose that - when the lanterns and the paper figures are gone and our charming and adorable couple are busy being charming and adorable at each other, in between varying rounds of being wracked by guilt and PTSD – easy to lose that this is there too, part of them – both of them - under the skin. I think it’s particularly easy to lose that for ZZS, when he’s already done a lot of work, off-screen, pre-Episode 1, during the 18 months he was putting in those first six Nails, to come to some kind of equilibrium, and meanwhile we watch Wen Kexing’s entire torturous process play out on-screen. Wen Kexing’s story is one of reaching an equilibrium, but Zhou Zishu’s story is one of maintaining it, which I think may be less showy, but is equally valuable, just as I value the Four Seasons Manor arc, especially, for giving us a vibe of two adults comfortable in an already intimate relationship, as opposed to the veritable sea of will-they-won’t-they tug-of-war coming-together-for-the-first-time-as-emotional-AND-plot climax relationships that we’re usually awash in.

Anyway, straight up we’re introduced to an assassin who, we discover, doesn’t like to get blood on himself. It looks like metaphorical blood is fine, just not actual blood, but then we discover, well, maybe he’s not as OK with metaphorical blood as he schools himself to look. Also that conversation with Li Jingan about her dad having to die because he’s a traitor to the country – I now wonder how much of that particular conversation Zhou Zishu mentally brings to the table in later conversations about his own father being executed for the same reason. Also, wait wait wait. Zhou Zishu tells Jingan that he took Jiuxiao’s body back to Four Seasons Manor and buried him next to their shifu, but I don’t remember seeing another grave there, other than Qin Huaizhang’s and his wife’s. Script inconsistency, or are you supposed to be lying, ZZS? I mean, would you be so downcast at the state of Four Seasons Manor when you arrive with your husband and son for your honeymoon, if you’d actually been there only a couple of years before? It didn’t fall to pieces overnight. Also, HAIRPIN FORESHADOWING ALERT. Our first sign of how important the hairpin is, the way ZZS’s impassive face cracks wide open when he sees the hairpin that Jiuxiao made and realizes he must have given it to Jingan. Clearly important!

Mmm. Here’s a point for the “Prince Jin is a f’kn asshole” list – Prince Jin wants ZZS to deal with Bi Changfeng personally when Bi Changfeng requests to leave Tian Chuang. And OK, ZZS is the leader of Tian Chuang. But you’re never going to convince me Prince Jin wants ZZS to deal with it personally because Prince Jin is actually so very furious that Bi Changfeng made a mistake. You will never convince me this isn’t a … it’s not even a test of loyalty, at this point, because Prince Jin has no reason to think yet that ZZS is anything other than the faithful hunting dog on a leash that he’s been, lo, these many years. Putting ZZS in a position where not only is he losing the last of the direct disciples of Four Seasons Manor, but he’s being asked to (as good as) kill him with his own hands - it’s just cruelty for the proof of your power and influence over someone. Also, given Prince Jin’s later diatribe about how everyone leaves him OMG (have you considered it’s your personality?) (But also Beiyuan! I know who you are now, and yeah, I would have let Wu Xi bride-kidnap me away from this jerk, too), I have to wonder if Prince Jin isn’t trying to make ZZS feel exactly as isolated as he, himself, feels, as part of his overall desire to make sure that ZZS has no one other than Prince Jin so that their positions are parallel – only having each other in the whole world. I also have to wonder if he’s not hoping for precisely the reaction ZZS has to Bi Changfeng – you’d rather be dead than be with me? Because that hurts, you can see it on ZZS’s face (thanks already, Zhang Zhehan), and I rather suspect Prince Jin wants it to hurt. I notice we get an echo of this later in the ep, with Prince Jin saying pretty much the same thing when ZZS asks for the final Nail. GOOD. I hope it hurts you just as much. I wonder if ZZS realizes this while he’s kneeling there in the throne room. It’s probably too late for him to get any satisfaction out of it.

OH, HEY. That’s HAN YING already, one of the two people accompanying ZZS to put down Bi Changfeng, looking super-pained like he knows what this is all costing his beloved. Han Ying, I really hope you got to tap that at least a few times before ZZS made his break for it. Is that one of the reasons Prince Jin seems to have such antipathy for you, or is it really just that he can’t stand the idea of someone whose loyalty to ZZS is greater than their loyalty to Prince Jin, himself? (Seriously, y’all, why is there not much much more Han Ying/ZZS fic?) Meanwhile Duan Pengju, omg, this asshole, is already looking smug and punchable. Really, he’s kind of enjoying the Seven Nails placement a little too much. Showing your hand pretty fast on the petty evil thing, show.

So, one thing I didn’t catch the first time around, is that ZZS isn’t just self-injuring to punish himself when he takes the knife to his chest – he re-opens wounds on all the places where the first six Nails have already been placed, so it will look like the placement is fresh. If you can’t tell he hasn’t just put them in, there’s no reason for anyone else (read: Prince Jin) to suspect he’s bought himself some time before he loses his senses. As far as anyone knows, he’s going to fall over with locked-in syndrome any day now. Which just makes the implications of Prince Jin vowing that he’s only letting him go for now EVEN ICKIER. For all Prince Jin knows, what he’s going to get back is a flesh doll that will just lie there, although I guess on the plus side, ZZS would never leave him again. Thanks, show, I need a shower, now.

ZZS says all the right things to argue his case to Prince Jin – he’s only good as a weapon, he has no skills nor utility for building and governing the country – and I think partly this is because he just knows the right things to say. I mean, you don’t become the Number Two guy in the country, with thousands under you and only one above you, if you can’t play imperial politics. But I also wonder if deep down he doesn’t actually believe it – he was successful at building Tian Chuang, but he couldn’t maintain Four Seasons Manor and even drove it to ruin. So, I’ll just be over here, clutching my chest, over my heart. Fortunately, Zhang Zhehan provides quick distraction from this pain, and I … Y’all. I can’t. I just. I CANNOT. When ZZS drops to his knees and starts stripping in the throne room. Just. Mmmmmrgh. THIS VISUAL. Although, you want to know what one of the hottest parts actually is? That pair of leather bracers hitting the floor on top of his belt, and ZZS isn’t even in the shot at that point. OK, fine, I am willing to read some dirtybadwrong fic with this whole scene premise at its heart, even if it does include Prince Jin. Zhang Zhehan, you are KILLING ME. I might have rewound this part. More than once. You can’t prove anything.

Aaaand then we get that gorgeous, painful shot of ZZS riding out into the snow that I know I’ve talked about before (including the way I get an odd echo of Lan Xichen off of it). There are several places in this ep where the cinematography is to die for, and this is one of them, the bleakness of the landscape and Zhang Zhehan (and his FACE) deep in that shadowing cloak against the stark snow as he rides out into freedom and the unknown. Then cut to somewhere green and forested. Interesting that the show starts with snow and ends with snow. That parallel with the imperial cage says some things about immortality that could stand to be unpacked – but later. Because ZZS is putting his face on – literally – and I am once again in pain, only it’s not the good kind of pain. It’s caused by that dreadful fake facial hair. There are some things that could be unpacked here, as well, about the fact that making ZZS supposedly unattractive involves a clearly fake goatee, a single aesthetically placed scar, and darkening his skin. I’m going to try to step carefully here, because this is kind of out of my lane, but it is … a noticeable thing. That probably ought to be noted.

So, ZZS takes just a moment to turn his (fake) face up to the sun and feel the warmth on it … and then with 10 minutes left, we’re on our way to Ghost Valley, where there’s some chaos and then Hanging Ghost gets got by a Mysterious Stranger To Be Revealed Later, who chokes him out (remember this). The Mysterious Master of Ghost Valley appears dramatically on his High Ledge to Make Some Pronouncements while playing with some walnuts omg (rolling two of them in one hand – remember this), and we see his eyes, which are partially obscured by chunky sidebangs, which are farther forward on his forehead than we’re going to see later, not only hiding some of his face but making it look more angular. The troops get berated, shit rolls downhill, and another dude gets choked (remember this) as Ghost Valley Master’s hair continues to artfully hide most of his face and he worries about his manicure post-kill (remember this). War is declared on Hanging Ghost for stealing the Glazed Armor, and more chaos is set into motion.

All of that takes literally two minutes, and then we cut to three months later, and no one realizes it yet, but the fam is getting together. ZZS is tits out in the gutter - only beginning his career of being a minx who flashes his collarbones an awful lot for someone who has Very Secret Scars He’s Hiding On His Chest - happily drinking himself to death in the sun (we really need to talk about this correlation of snow and immortality vs. sun and happiness …). Meanwhile, slo-mo shot of Wen Kexing looking precious and perfect, with delicate pink lips and dove-grey robes, as he checks out the rough trade in the gutter. Oh, the expectations this show is getting ready to smash. We cut from a shot of pristine precious WKX to ZZS holding up his hand, and we get a shot of the sun through ZZS’s fingers looking an awful lot like some shots of characters halo’d in light that we’ll get back to much much later in the show. Chengling appears out of nowhere to be Best Boy. A-Xiang is purple and smol and ready to brawl, and I already love her. I already love them all!  So much! Here are my delicate and precious feelings, show, go ahead and stomp all over them!

#zhou zishu #prince jin #han ying #wen kexing #gu xiang #zhang chengling #word of honor #word of honor episode reax

[miracleonice87]

’tis the damn season

an Auston Matthews song fic

a/n: based on the absolute masterpiece that is ’tis the damn season by Taylor Swift from evermore. This one was not on my WIP list but came over me as soon as I heard the song when the album dropped. also have no idea how it became my longest piece yet, by far (as in 12k+ whoops). obviously, I do not own any of the music/lyrics to this song nor any other I write about.

summary: Auston Matthews and his ex-girlfriend are reunited in their hometown years after their difficult breakup.

warnings: swearing, alcohol, allusions to sex, a delicate balance of angst and fluff. a bit of a slow burn, if you want to call it that.

_____

You might have been one of the few people on the planet who disagreed with the phrase, “There’s no place like home for the holidays.” At least, for the last few years, that hadn’t exactly been your sentiment.

But, you were home anyway, after a few weeks of your mother’s guilt tripping and your father’s repeated phone calls. And, admittedly, you were enjoying your quiet time at home with your parents.

After helping your mom bake a few dozen cookies for the Christmas Eve party they were throwing tomorrow night, you wandered upstairs to your childhood bedroom to change out of your flour-covered attire and maybe squeeze in a nap. An undeniable perk of staying with your parents during the holidays — so many opportunities to sleep. As you pulled on a well-worn, long-sleeved ASU t-shirt you found hanging in your closet, your phone rang.

You groaned and swore to yourself that if it was your editor again, you were quitting. She’d already interrupted your time off at least once throughout each of your three days at home thus far — your first week of vacation in the two and a half years you’d been with the fashion magazine. You rolled your eyes and reached for the sounding device on your bed, then recoiled when you saw the contact name — or rather, initials — on the screen.

AM

Oh, god.

Even worse, the years-old contact photo popped up behind the name — a picture of the two of you lying together on the shore on your vacation four years ago, right after the draft, when you both still held onto the naive belief that nothing that had just happened in his world would change things between the two of you.

“Shit,” you whispered, covering your mouth while anxiety coursed through your veins.

You couldn’t just not answer. Right? The two of you were on decent terms, though you couldn’t quite remember the last time you’d spoken — probably seven, eight months ago. You had no good reason to ignore his call.

And after all... you were the one who had ended things.

You cleared your throat and, trying to coach yourself into mustering up some semblance of courage, quickly repeated, “Okay, okay, okay, okay.” Then, like ripping off a bandaid, you hurriedly tapped the green button and pressed the phone to your ear.

“Matthews,” you greeted curtly — tentatively.

“Kels. Come over,” Auston said abruptly, though you could hear the smile in his voice. “I know you’re home.”

You squinted and glanced around your room, racking your brain as you tried to figure out how exactly your ex-boyfriend knew your current whereabouts.

“What?” you asked, puzzled, not to mention slightly shocked that he was even interested in seeing you in person — though some part of you was, indeed, grateful for that. “How did you even know I was in Scottsdale?”

“Uh, your Instagram story, my dear,” he said, obviously amused. “You posted this morning from that new coffee shop between the Methodist church and our old school building. Remember?”

You rubbed a hand over your face, suddenly regretting adding him to your close friends list on Instagram six weeks ago after a few glasses of wine with your girlfriends.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, eliciting a chuckle from Auston.

“Yeah, don’t flatter yourself thinking I sit around and stalk you, sweetheart,” he teased. “I thought about replying but I didn’t wanna slide into your DMs and look like a fuckboy.” He paused, and you opened your mouth to make a halfhearted wisecrack that you didn’t truly mean, but before you could speak, he added, “Plus you probably get so many DMs, I’m sure mine would just get lost in the shuffle.”

Again, you rolled your eyes. “Matthews,” you repeated, whinier now.

“C’mon, Kels. Just come over,” he whined back. “I just got in last night. I’m staying at my parents’ house. My sisters nearly busted down my door when they saw you were back in town, plus I know my mom and dad would love to see you.”

Suddenly, two decades’ worth of memories that you had long ago pushed to the back of your mind flooded all at once to the forefront of your consciousness. Sleepovers watching Disney Channel movies and eating peach rings with Alex and Brey. Brian scooping you up in his arms after a nasty tumble off your bike on their street, propping you on the kitchen counter as he bandaged the scrapes on your knees, Auston never leaving your side nor letting go of your hand. Road trips with Ema to watch Auston play in countless tournaments, with you doing homework in the front seat while Ema sang along to the radio. Matthews family dinners eating Ema’s famous chicken tortilla soup. Vacations and carpool and pickup basketball games and shopping for prom dresses and just the mundane, everyday routine you had been part of for so many years.

And those were just the memories that involved his sisters, his parents. You didn’t dare let your mind uncover the buried memories of him, and him alone.

You missed them. Sometimes you missed them all so much that it made your heart physically ache and your stomach drop and your mouth go dry.

So, you drew a long, deep breath, and against your better judgment, eventually said, “Okay. Fine. But you have to send me your parents’ address. I haven’t been to the new Matthews McMansion.”

Auston huffed on the other end. “So mean to me.”

_____

It was certainly a far cry from the modest old ranch-style house where Auston had spent his childhood.

As you pulled up to the sprawling estate in the bougie part of town and cut your engine, you whispered, “What the fuck am I doing here...”

And still, after a quick check of your makeup in your rearview mirror, you got out of the car, closed your door and pushed your sunglasses to the top of your head, sighing as you took in the four vehicles parked in front of yours in the roundabout driveway, none of which you had ever seen before. Audi, Mercedes, BMW, Porsche. Well, you could guess which one was Auston’s.

You walked up the stone sidewalk and slipped your aviators into your purse — it was only then that you noticed that your hands were trembling.

You cleared your throat and exhaled sharply, willing your nerves to subside, as you arrived at the door and pressed the button on its frame, sounding an elaborate chime inside.

“I got it,” you immediately heard a familiar voice call, and you took a startled step backward as you saw his figure approaching through the decorative glass panes outlining the doorway. As he pulled open the door, the flutter you’d tried your hardest to avoid feeling for three years took flight once more in your belly.

“Matthews,” you greeted again, arms crossed in front of you in hopes of hiding your shaking hands.

“Why’d ya bother to ring the doorbell, you nutjob?” Auston asked with a broad smile.

Before you could throw a snide remark back at him, he pulled you into himself, one arm snaking around your mid-back and the other hand cradling your head to his chest. Inadvertently, you exhaled contentedly, and you swore you felt Auston tighten his grip on you then. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you let yourself relax into him for longer than you had intended. He just felt so… familiar. Broad. Strong. Comforting.

He was just… Auston. A thousand things had changed for the two of you, but the way you felt in his presence hadn’t changed since you were a little girl.

You inhaled his cologne, and you noticed that he was doing just the same — breathing in your long-worn Chanel No. 5 perfume, the same kind he used to save up all year to buy you each Christmas.

At that memory, you snapped back to reality and extricated yourself from his embrace, leaving him looking slightly disappointed, though still pleased with your greeting.

“Hi,” you spoke simply as you stared up at him, then chuckled at how stupid that sounded.

“Hi,” he mimicked, head bobbling and eyes widening, causing you both to fall into a giddy fit of nervous laughter over nothing at all.

Just then, you saw Ema’s head pop out from beneath an arched opening toward the back of the house — probably leading to the kitchen, you assumed. Ema was always in the kitchen.

“I thought I heard your laugh,” she sang. You couldn’t help but beam, and Auston smiled and moved out of your way so that you had a direct pathway to his mother. Taking advantage of that, you made a beeline for the petite woman you considered your second mom, already feeling emotion bubbling up in your throat as tears blurred your vision.

“Oh, mija,” Ema said, her voice tight as she met you in the middle of the grand entryway and gathered you into her arms. “Te extrañamos,” (we miss you) she said sincerely.

Auston cupped the back of his neck and quickly looked away then, fearful that he may just shed tears of his own.

You sniffled and murmured, “Los extrañé a todos mucho,” (I missed you all so much) into Ema’s shoulder as she smoothed her hand lovingly over the back of your head.

When you finally parted, moving past the brief sadness of the reunion, Ema still held tightly to your hands, extending her arms so that she could see you better.

“You look more beautiful than ever!” she exclaimed, and you dropped your head bashfully at her compliment. “California is treating you well.”

You nodded. “For the most part,” you remarked with a sigh. Ema glanced quickly from your face to her son’s and back again, deciding not to dwell for too long on that loaded response.

“Well,” she pivoted with a click of her tongue. “You look great. Now come, come! I know Auston’s going to want to steal you away from me, not that I blame him, but I just put on some tea, so let’s sit and have some first.”

“Ma…” Auston protested lightheartedly. Ema wagged her finger at him. “Shh! Mijo! My long lost daughter has returned. Give me ten minutes for a cup of tea with her.”

Auston’s lips parted at her use of the word “daughter,” not that he should have been surprised by it, and you tossed him an animated shrug as Ema pulled you down the hallway back from whence she came. You were right — it was the kitchen, and it was a spectacular one at that.

“Holy…” you trailed off as Ema patted one of the leather barstools at the enormous island in the center of the room. You took a seat, pulling your cross body bag from your shoulder and placing it on the island, and commented, “This kitchen is incredible, Ema. I’m sure you love spending time here.”

Ema nodded and excitedly launched into stories of using all the appliances and gadgets she had never owned before, walking back to the teakettle on the stove as Auston sat down on the nearest barstool, feeling as though he could simply be dreaming, hallucinating, that you were here, sitting with him in his parents’ kitchen. But when you noticed him taking the seat next to yours, you tossed him a classic Kelsey smile and nudged his shoulder with your own, and he felt just slightly more confident that this was reality. Unable to resist your magnetism, which hadn’t faded with time but seemed instead to have only grown stronger, he squeezed your knee beneath the countertop, just as Ema approached with a cup of tea in hand for you.

Choosing to react instead to Ema rather than her son, you grinned and thanked her, feeling Auston’s eyes on you as you lifted the mug to your lips and took small sips, Ema still prattling on happily from the other side of the kitchen. You eventually cast a sidelong glance Auston’s way, accompanied by an amused smirk, the combination of which left him beaming as he looked away from you and back toward his mother, who now approached with two more cups of tea.

“Thanks, Ma,” he said as he wrapped his hands around the mug she offered him.

“You’re welcome, mijo,” Ema replied. “Now Kelsey, honey, how long are you in town?”

“Uh, just until the day after Christmas,” you replied, swirling a finger along the ceramic rim of your mug. “This is the most time I’ve taken off since I started at the magazine,” you admitted with a hint of embarrassment.

Ema nodded. “Your mother said you haven’t made it home for a while. I know they keep you pretty busy there. Is that why you don’t visit so much?” she asked unassumingly.

Auston dropped his head and shuffled his feet awkwardly against the tile floor, and your eyes flickered to him as you racked your brain for an answer that wasn’t a complete lie but also didn’t unmask the whole truth — which was that being in a town that held so much history with your ex was simply too suffocating to bear, even for a quick visit with your parents. So, you typically just stayed in California where you could throw yourself into your work as a fashion writer at a well-known publication and operate under the illusion that you had moved on. From Scottsdale, from Auston, from your life before Los Angeles.

And especially from Toronto.

But the problem was, when the night fell and the lights all faded and you were left to face the truth, you knew in your heart that that’s really all it was — an illusion.

And from 2,500 miles away, Auston knew it, too. He knew it because he was living the same lie.

“Uh, yeah,” you replied sheepishly. “That’s the gist of it. Just, uh, just hard to get away sometimes. My parents usually come out to visit me instead since their schedules are, uh, a little more flexible.”

“Right,” Ema said skeptically as you took a long pull from your mug, despite the hot liquid singing your tongue and making your eyes water. “Well, either way, it’s so good to finally see you here,” she added warmly.

“It’s good to see you too,” you breathed, honesty dripping from that answer.

Auston finally looked at you again, giving you an understanding smile. Even that smallest of gestures made you dizzy.

“So,” you said as you moved away from the topic, sitting up a bit straighter. “Where are the girls? Where’s Brian?”

“Golfing,” Auston answered. “Like always,” he added with a chuckle.

“Why am I not surprised?” you teased, making both Ema and Auston laugh.

“They begged Auston to come with them, but he turned them down,” Ema informed you. “And now we know why.” She lifted her eyebrows and took another sip of her tea as Auston shook his head.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” he joked. “But no, they’ll be back soon. They can’t wait to see you.”

You brightened at that, not having seen the Matthews girls in nearly as long as it had been since you’d seen Auston himself, finding it easier to breathe when they weren’t nearby, reminding you of him with their every mannerism. And yet, you’d found that starving yourself of their friendship and their company ached nearly just as much.

“I can’t wait either,” you said through a distant smile.

“And Dad will probably cry more than Mom did when he sees you,” Auston predicted, lifting his mug. Ema swatted at his arm.

“Don’t start with me!” she warned. “I happened to see you choking up out there, too.”

You turned to Auston and raised an accusing brow at him. He simply chuckled into his tea and looked away, and the three of you sat in silence for a beat.

“Come on,” he finally said as he rested his mug on the island, nodding his head in the direction of the sliding glass door at the back of the house. “Lemme show you the patio.”

You nodded, knowing full well that showing off the backyard was not the real reason he was inviting you outside. Despite that knowledge, you hopped off the barstool, put your mug in the sink, and kissed Ema on the cheek as you passed her.

“Thanks for the tea, mamacita,” you said with a smile, squeezing her shoulders. “Anytime, mi amor,” she replied, sending a wink your way as you turned to follow Auston.

He slid open the door and motioned for you to step through it first. When he saw his mother watching you through the kitchen window, he gave her a knowing smirk, and she put her hands up in innocence. But as she watched you two walk out onto the patio through the glass, she breathed a silent prayer to any higher power who would listen that maybe, just maybe, you would finally come home.

Not to Scottsdale, no. Home to Auston.

Meanwhile, you were trailing your hand along the hammock near the pool, taking in the scene and trying to remember to breathe. When you heard him close the door, you turned back to Auston, your eyes floating around the backyard.

“Nice setup they’ve got back here,” you grinned, Auston chuckling with his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts.

“Yeah, it’s even nicer in the summer,” he commented. You nodded, stepping closer to the pool and lowering yourself to sit on the edge, patting the space next to you as an invitation for Auston to do the same.

“We have chairs, ya know,” he grumbled as he took a seat. “Not all of us like to sit on the floor all day doing yoga.”

You sneered at him. “Oh, yeah, that’s what I do all day long,” you said sarcastically.

“Well, you used to, anyway,” he mumbled.

You gulped as visions of him watching you do precarious yoga poses on the living room floor of his apartment flickered in your mind’s eye, and then, once again, you moved right along.

“So… how’s it going, Matthews? How’s life?” you prompted, not even sure if you truly wanted to hear the answer to your inquiry.

He stretched out his long legs so that his feet were dangling above the water as he wondered where to even begin.

“It’s… it’s good,” he said. “Overall. It’s nice to be home for a few days. Needed that. I missed it. Missed my family. Missed…” he stopped himself, “…other things,” he added under his breath.

You chewed the inside of your cheek and decided to avoid the path he was taking this down. “How’s hockey?” you asked instead.

Auston shifted noticeably at the mention of his career, still painfully aware that, despite the successes it had brought him, it had ultimately caused the demise of your relationship.

“Hockey is… hockey,” he said. “Honestly it’s good on the whole. But the team’s not having the greatest year so far, which is rough.” You nodded, knowing better than most that the Toronto media operated at a different level of intensity and scrutiny than that of nearly all other markets, especially when the Leafs were losing, and especially when new blood was added into the equation, like Auston’s had been when they drafted him.

Like yours had been when you moved there with him.

The spotlight they shone on you — and the subsequent attention you received from so-called fans who took to the internet to question your intentions and integrity — had been far more than you bargained for.

Just as you were about to ask about how the guys on the team were faring, Auston spoke again.

“I think about calling you every time we come to LA, Kels,” he said, fixing his eyes on the neighbor’s house in the distance because he was simply unable to look at you while he admitted it. With a sniff, he added, “I’m not gonna lie about that.”

“Why don’t you?” you asked after a beat, maybe unfairly, studying his familiar profile. His features were the same, of course, but he looked… more mature. Older. Wiser. All that jazz. Auston shrugged, still not capable of looking at you.

“Just didn’t think you’d want me to,” he answered dejectedly. Your heart sank into your stomach. Given the things you’d said when you left him nearly three years ago, you could hardly blame him for that one.

“Well,” you started with a sigh. “I guess we could call it even then, because I think about coming to see you play every time you come to LA. Or Anaheim. Or even Vegas. And obviously Phoenix.”

“Well why didn’t you just call me asking for free tickets then,” he said in a tone that he tried to disguise as facetious, but you heard the hurt seeping into his words. “Everybody else I know in any NHL city does.”

You felt a fierce sense of protectiveness then, clenching your jaw as you tried to calm your irate thoughts. You watched him pick at the sleeve of his black Raiders crewneck and felt deeply for him — this man you’d loved since he was a little boy.

“Do they really? Still?” you asked in monotone.

Auston nodded, squinting in the sunlight. “Yup,” he answered, popping the ‘p.’ “Every game.”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, covering your eyes with your hand and pushing into your temples. You blew out a long breath. “Fuck. I’m really sorry about that. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but I… it just sucks.”

Auston shrugged. “It’s not your fault,” he stated. “Sometimes I do it, sometimes I don’t. Kinda depends on whether the person’s actually talked to me lately.”

You nodded as he chuckled sadly, and you felt your chest tighten. “Well,” you began, clearing your throat. “I guess I wouldn’t qualify then because we haven’t talked much.”

Auston looked at you with intensity surging in his deep brown eyes, and you wanted to look away but found that you couldn’t.

“You always qualify,” he said seriously. “You’re one of the only people that qualifies.”

You bit down, hard, on your bottom lip and grappled internally with the weight of his comment. Then he said sarcastically, “Besides, I know you’re only after my money. I mean, you forced me to buy you that Louis bag the week after I got drafted.”

Your jaw dropped at his joke, and you scoffed indignantly. “Oh, yeah, the one you finally had to hide in my closet after I kept sneaking it back into your car because I wanted you to return it?” you corrected. “Yeah, ya caught me. You know me, Aus. Such a gold digger.”

Auston had started laughing halfway through your quip, but stopped suddenly. You gave him a questioning look, and he paused before answering.

“You called me Aus,” he stated with a smile he tried and failed to hide. “You went back to calling me Matthews after we broke up. But you… you just called me Aus again.”

“Yeah, well...” you grumbled, “Don’t get too excited.” You tossed him a smirk and he mirrored it, basking in the comfort of the moment.

“So whaddya think of the place? Not bad, right?” he finally asked, glancing around the property, back at the house, then settling his focus back on you.

You shrugged. “A little gaudy for my taste, but...” you began, and Auston shook his head bemusedly, knowing he set himself up for that one.

“No, it’s great. I can see how much your mom loves it. In all seriousness, I think it’s amazing, everything you’ve done for your family. Your parents. It’s pretty incredible,” you said earnestly. “I don’t think I said it enough when we were together, but, I’m really proud of you, Aus. And I don’t just mean about the hockey.”

Auston nodded soberly, turning his head to look you in the eye.

“I know you don’t,” he said quietly. “Thanks, Kels. It means a lot coming from you. More, uh… more than you know.”

And then, before you could think twice about doing so, you reached out your hand to rest atop his, feeling its familiar warmth as your fingertips grazed the raised veins there. Auston swallowed hard, blinking at where your hands now met, and slowly wrapped your fingers in his, giving them a squeeze. You exchanged long stares before you eventually slammed on the brakes in your brain and carried on.

“So, you just casually hang out with Justin Bieber now?” you asked, reaching your palms behind you and leaning back. “And the wildest shit is that I saw it first when he posted it, not you.”

Auston chuckled, looking down at his slides and — ironically — Drew socks combo. In his signature way, he halted his laughter on a dime and his face turned somber as he said dryly, “Yeah, I’m like really famous now, yanno?”

You sighed in annoyance, rolling your eyes as you looked skyward, feeling Auston’s gaze turn to you. You let it go for a few moments before shifting only your eyes toward his.

“What?” you asked accusingly. You could tell by the faraway smirk on his face that he was lost in a memory.

“Remember you had posters of him hung up all over your room in like middle school? From Tiger Beat magazine and shit? And now I play video games and mini sticks with the guy,” Auston said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, and if you ever tell him about that, I’ll end your life,” you threatened, shoving at his arm and attempting to ignore how much his biceps had grown since you last touched them. And then you were slamming the door shut on a rush of memories of having him beneath your touch — some innocent, but most intimate.

Auston saw it in your eyes — the place you went for a moment — as you dropped your hand back to the concrete beneath you. He knew where you went because, so often, he went there, too.

He held your gaze and promised, “Your secret’s safe with me. You know that.”

Only a hint of a smile graced your lips for a fleeting moment as you ran your fingers through your hair. Suddenly, you felt the heaviness of the history between the two of you closing in — smothering you, like it always did. Auston watched helplessly, wishing it didn’t have to be this hard.

And then, in a flash, like he so often did to save you from your swirling thoughts, he casually changed the topic as he commented, “Your hair’s shorter. You look like your mom. In a good way.”

Blushing, you breathed a laugh through your nose. “Thanks,” you said softly. “I think it’s the highlights, too.”

“It is,” Auston confirmed, and then — damn him — he reached out and looped a lock from the front of your face between his thumb and forefinger, the way he had done a thousand times before, usually mid-conversation, always absentmindedly. This time, you knew, as you forced your eyes to meet his, it was a bit more calculated. “I really like it,” he told you.

You nodded, searching his eyes to try and determine whether he had any idea what this — this moment, this visit, this day — really was.

“If you’re gonna ask me what we’re doing,” Auston spoke, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth for a second, “then I have to tell you I have no idea.”

Again, damn him. After all this time, it was like he still lived inside your brain and had read your every thought like the morning paper before you even had the chance to convey it. Which used to save you in a lot of ways. Now it felt kind of… intrusive. But somehow you didn’t mind.

“I had no idea what I was even gonna say when I called you. All I know,” he continued, still flipping the strand of hair around his fingers, “is that I really wanted to see you, and that I was really happy when you came, and that I’m really enjoying this time with you.”

You nodded, and as he pulled his hand from your face, his thumb brushed your jawline just slightly, and that touch alone sent a bolt of lightning through you. Auston smiled softly as he said barely above a whisper, “Okay, now it’s your turn to say something.”

You heaved a sigh, tipping your head back with eyes closed and soaking in the sunshine. “I don’t expect you to know, Aus,” you finally spoke. “I was just so... so shocked, I guess, that you wanted to see me. It’s been so long, I just... I didn’t know when I would see you again.”

“We’ve talked though,” Auston pointed out with a sigh to match yours, pulling a knee to his chest and wrapping his arms around his bent leg. “FaceTimed. Texted.”

You rolled your head toward him. “It’s not the same,” you reasoned softly, hesitantly reaching out your hand to tuck some of his black hair behind his ear. He licked his lips swiftly and placed a peck to your thumb before you slowly withdrew your hand.

“You’re right,” Auston conceded. “Definitely not the same.”

“Uh, sorry to interrupt...”

You were snapped out of your private moment by one person’s voice and another person’s squeal behind you.

“Oh, my god!” you yelled as you shot up from the side of the pool, Alexandria and Breyana already scampering toward you from the back door.

“It’s about goddamn time you came back to us!” Alex shrieked, wrapping her arms around you tightly. “I missed you, little sister,” she cooed, rubbing her hands across your back, and you hummed in agreement.

“I missed you, Al,” you replied, kissing her temple as you stepped back to greet the youngest of the Matthews clan.

“And you. My baby!” you exclaimed, pulling Breyana into your arms. “The true star athlete of the family,” you teased as she squeezed your waist.

“Damn straight,” Breyana giggled. “I missed you, Kels. I can’t believe you’re here!”

You pulled away, glancing behind you as you saw Auston slowly approaching out of the corner of your eye. “Me either,” you admitted, eyes widening dramatically as the girls snickered at you. “How was golf?”

“Brey smoked us, no surprise,” Alex replied. “But shut up about the golf. Tell us what’s going on with you two.”

“Alex!” Auston warned, shooting her a glare. “Please don’t.”

Alex gave him her best older sister roll of the eyes and crossed her arms over her chest as Breyana looked between the two of you.

“Nope,” Alex refused. “Not until you tell me what’s up. C’mon, spill.”

“We’re just...” you began, swiveling to look Auston’s way as he smirked down at you, happy to let you flounder in this one all on your own. “Visiting,” you finished, nodding once at Alex, pleased with your choice of verbiage.

“Honestly, you guys…” Breyana lamented.

“Visiting, huh?” Alex echoed, growing even more suspicious. “Yeah, okay. Sure. Wear protection. Anyways, uh—“

“Alex!” Auston repeated, this time through clenched teeth. “I swear to god...”

“Anyways, like I was saying,” Alex continued. “Your parents invited us all to their house tomorrow night for the Christmas party. I didn’t think you were gonna be there — does this mean you will?”

You nodded, causing Alex to clap excitedly. “I’ll be there with bells on,” you confirmed. “I already made my shortbread cookies.” All three siblings moaned in delight at the mention of your famous treats.

“Hell yeah! Plus that means we won’t be the only ones escaping to the balcony to drink,” Breyana commented.

“Brey, you’re like twelve,” Auston taunted, earning him a sharp elbow to the ribs from his younger sister. “You don’t get to drink with us.”

“Whatever,” she retorted. “Like you guys weren’t sneaking Mom and Dad’s liquor when you were younger than me.”

“Anyways,” Alex said yet again, clearing her throat. “We’re gonna go back inside now and shower, and just, uh, leave you guys to whatever it is you were doing beside the pool there. ‘Kay? ‘Kay. See ya,” she sang, spinning Breyana by the shoulders and guiding her inside, both girls whispering and giggling all the while. “Kels, I’ll call you tonight — you can tell me all about it!” Alex called over her shoulder, sliding the door closed.

You turned to see a pink tinge to Auston’s cheeks as he muttered, “Sorry,” with a dry laugh. You shook your head.

“No, don’t be,” you insisted, waving him off as you took a seat at the glass picnic table beside you, Auston following your lead. “It wouldn’t be a visit to the Matthews house without Alex torturing the both of us,” you teased.

Auston nodded. “Very true,” he said, and you knew he didn’t want to stop there, but he couldn’t seem to find what he did want to say next.

Instead, you ventured, “So what are your—”

At the very same time, he started, “Kels, would you maybe—”

You both chuckled at yourselves, locking eyes. This certainly wasn’t the first time this had happened in conversations — far from it. And usually, you were about to say the very same thing.

So, you motioned for him to speak first.

He toyed with the band of his watch as he said nervously, “I was just gonna say, uh, would you maybe wanna go to dinner with me? Tonight?”

You sat back in your chair, smirking, fully aware that you were teetering on a damn fine line.

“I was hoping you might say that.”

_____

An hour later, after reuniting with Brian (Auston was right — he cried more than the rest of his family combined when he hugged you), you headed home to change for dinner. As you pulled away from the Matthews house, you were thankful that Auston had offered to follow you in his own vehicle so that he could drive you to dinner, which in turn gave each of you a few minutes to breathe.

Surprisingly, your mother didn’t seem at all shocked to see the guest you had brought back with you. You had told her that you were going to visit the Matthews’, not specifying which member of the family had invited you, though she could venture a guess. When she watched two vehicles pull into the driveway side by side, she inhaled an excited gasp, a smile overwhelming her features as she came to meet you at the front door, just as you laughed at a lame joke Auston cracked about your driving.

Your mother nearly tackled him in a hug, which he warmly returned. He shared a similar bond with your mom to the one you shared with his, which was yet another piece that fit perfectly into the puzzle that was your relationship. So many pieces fit, and so few didn’t, but that still didn’t make things whole.

But, you ignored that thought — and so many others — as you left the two to chat, bounding up the stairs to change, now grateful that you’d brought more than one nice option to wear to the Christmas party tomorrow, considering the rest of your suitcase was filled with comfy loungewear.

How could you have ever planned for this?

After touching up your hair and makeup and putting on the more understated of the dressy outfits you’d brought, you returned to the kitchen where your mom and Auston stood huddled at the counter, near empty glasses of red wine in front of them both.

“Already boozin’, huh?” you teased as you folded your arms in front of you. They chuckled, and Auston glanced at you over his shoulder with a smile. When he laid eyes on you, though, he stood straight up and turned to face you, making no attempt to hide his stare, even in front of your mother. Without taking his gaze off of you, he threw back his final sip of wine and blew out a flustered breath. You knew you were blushing, so you walked past him to your mother, pressing your cheek to hers for an air kiss so as not to mess up your lipstick.

“Sorry to take your favorite boy away from you, but we should head out,” you announced as you looked back at Auston. He cleared his throat, walking to the other side of the countertop to hug your mom again, thanking her for the wine and something else that you didn’t quite catch.

He followed you down the hall, his hand ghosting along the small of your back as you reached for your purse on the coat rack. You looked back and blew a final kiss to your mom, who waved as she watched Auston open the passenger door of his car and help you in — both of you giggling as you crouched into the low-riding vehicle in your skirt and high heels. Like a mom of a young teen, she stood at the window and watched the two of you drive down the block and out of sight, hands clasped together wistfully as she turned back to finish placing the final decorative touches in the living room ahead of tomorrow.

Just a minute later, your dad came through the door from the grocery store, calling for her, sounding nearly breathless.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, smoothing the silk ribbon wrapped around the banister.

“Marie… did I just see Auston driving Kelsey down the road in a Porsche?” he gaped, his brow furrowed, thumb pointed over his shoulder.

She laughed, looking downward as she nodded.

“Yes, you did,” she confirmed, then looked at him as she felt tears welling. “Jack... I can’t say for sure, but I think maybe the girl is finally coming to her senses.”

A smile spread slowly across your father’s face and he came toward your mother, wrapping her in a hug.

“Well…” he began, kissing her temple. “Then maybe we’ll get our Christmas wish after all.”

“And what’s that?” your mom asked.

“For her to be happy again.”

_____

“You look amazing, Kels,” Auston said seriously from the driver’s seat. “Gorgeous.”

You gave him a coy smile and briefly inspected the outfit he’d chosen before leaving his own parents’ house.

“Thanks,” you said softly. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”

Auston grinned and decided he would take that.

Ten minutes later, he was pulling up to the restaurant you had already known he’d had in mind when he asked you to dinner, without even needing to discuss it. The same Italian restaurant where you’d celebrated infinite birthdays, anniversaries, Valentine’s Days, and other milestones. You fell into easy conversation during drinks and appetizers before Auston told a comical story about his teammates which led to an in that he knew he needed to take. 

“They miss you, you know,” Auston stated cautiously between bites of his shrimp scampi. “Mo. Mitchy. Especially Steph.”

You folded and unfolded the seams of the cloth napkin in your lap, considering your response.

“I miss them, too,” you eventually murmured. “So be real with me. You really like it there now?” you leveled with him.

His demeanor shifted — in a good way — as he replied. “It’s honestly great. I mean, you’d love it there now, Kels. I swear,” Auston said, shaking his head in wonder. “’M not just saying that. I mean, the hype is still there, yes, but it’s not at the level it was when I first started. Mitchy and Mo and Willy and I, all us guys who kinda started out together, we’ve all sort of found our groove with the media and stuff, and for the most part, it’s great. I have a feeling it’ll just keep getting better, too.”

You watched his eyes light up as he spoke about Toronto, relief and happiness washing over you. It didn’t seem so long ago that Auston was curled up on the couch, near tears, head in your lap, feeling incapable of living up to the expectations set for him — almost buckling under the immense pressure, the likes of which he had never felt before.

You let out a teary chuckle, swiping at a teardrop on your cheek that had fallen as he answered, taking you by surprise.

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that, Aus,” you told him, holding your hand over your heart as it soared within you.

Auston nodded slightly, and his lips twitched into a sad smile. “There’s still something that doesn’t feel right though,” he confessed, though it didn’t feel much like a secret. “Still something missing.”

“And what’s that?” you asked timidly as you lifted your wine glass, excited for and fearful of his answer at all once.

“You.”

Forcing yourself to swallow your merlot so you didn’t spray it across the table, you put your fist to your mouth, holding it there while you attempted to process his latest, and most brazen, admission.

“I mean… look, there have been a few others,” Auston continued with a mindless shrug. “But never anything serious, and never anyone that I’m not constantly comparing to you in every possible way,” he told you, rolling his fingertips on the table and focusing on his hand as he spoke. “Feel kinda bad actually, because I know they all thought it was something more than it really was, and then I was always the one to break things off. I didn’t purposely lead them on, I just... once I got into it, I realized my feelings just weren’t in it.”

You opened your mouth to speak, hands limp in your lap, and then closed your lips in a tight line as you mulled over his words. You inhaled a shuddering breath and looked down, feeling the same shame that had overcome you countless times before come back again.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered without lifting your eyes.

“Kelsey…” Auston spoke firmly. “Look at me. Please.”

You did as he asked, lips pursed, and were met with his adoring, enchanting gaze, always too forgiving of your faults and mistakes.

“It’s okay,” he promised sincerely. “I understand. Trust me on that. I’ve always understood where you were coming from, but it seemed like there was just… just nothing I could do about it. Nothing I could do to make you stay, or to bring you back. That’s what made it so hard. That’s what still makes it so hard.”

You nodded. “Well — what you’re doing right now — whatever this is… it’s working,” you divulged, knowing this was a dangerous game and no longer caring.

“Is it?” Auston asked, a full-blown smile appearing now on his lips. Those lips you missed so damn much.

“Yeah,” you giggled, both of you grinning. “God, I missed your smile, Aus.”

“My smile?” he asked incredulously, then scoffed. “Your smile fucking breaks my heart, Kelsey,” he told you in his deepest tone, biting at the inside of his cheek as if he was trying not to lean across the table and kiss you full on the mouth right then and there.

And now, as you saw that look in his eye that you knew so well, you knew two things.

One, you were fucked. And two, you were in desperate need of a minute.

“I, uh, I gotta run to the ladies’ room,” you told him, standing, feeling unsteady as you pushed in your chair. Auston nodded knowingly and said, “Take all the time you need.”

You brushed a hand over his shoulder, the other holding tightly to your crossbody bag, as you attempted to walk in a straight line toward the restrooms across the restaurant floor. You were only one glass of wine deep, yet this night was making your head feel as fuzzy as if you’d just done a row of shots. Once safely inside the bathroom, you tossed your purse on the counter and held tightly to the sink to try and settle yourself, taking deep breaths in an attempt to control your racing pulse.

Just then, you heard a toilet flush, and your sense of solitude was quickly shattered when you saw a familiar blonde figure step out of the bathroom and lean closer upon recognizing you.

“Kelsey!” she exclaimed, moving toward the sink.

“Holly! Oh, my god,” you laughed as you squeezed her upper arm.

“Here, let me wash my hands and then I’ll give you a real hug,” she promised as you both giggled.

You had been a cheerleader throughout high school, and Holly, a year your senior, had been captain the year before you took on the title. Though you two weren’t particularly close, you had always looked up to her, and you’d kept in touch for a couple of years after you graduated before mostly falling off, save for the occasional hype comment or story reply on social media.

“How are you, girl? You look gorgeous!” she said as she threw her arms around you.

“So do you! I’m doing well, thanks. Home for the holidays,” you offered as she stepped back and nodded.

“Yeah, that’s great! Me, too,” she replied, then smiled mischievously at you. “To be totally honest, uh… I saw you when you were being seated. I didn’t wanna be weird or like, intrude, or anything but… I saw you come in with Auston. Are you guys like… back together?”

“Huh? Oh, no, no,” you laughed nervously, feeling yourself blush under her questioning. “We’re not back together. Just, uh, just two old friends, uh, catching up, ya know?” you reasoned nonchalantly as you reached for your bag.

“Oh. Right. Well... ‘tis the damn season, am I right?” Holly said with a chuckle, her own cheeks slightly flushed as she feared maybe she had made you uncomfortable by addressing the elephant in the room.

“Right,” you nodded cordially, then took a step toward her and patted her hand, wanting to make sure she didn’t think you were upset by her comment. “It’s so good to see you, Hol. I’m gonna head back out there—“

“Kelsey, wait,” Holly said urgently, grasping your arm before you could turn away from her. You blinked at her several times, glancing between her grip and her face as you waited to hear what had gotten into her.

“I just have to tell you... for what it’s worth, you guys still look so happy together,” Holly said. “Even if that’s not what this is. I just... I wanted to tell you that. As someone who has known you both for a long time, Auston never smiles as much as he smiles when he’s with you. It’s just nice to see.”

You gaped at your old friend, speechless, and she scrunched her nose at you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cross the line, I just...” she trailed off.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to act casual. “No, no. Not at all. It’s okay. Thank you, for telling me. I just, I gotta run,” you said, leaning in to hug her again. “Bye, Hol. Have a merry Christmas.”

“You too, Kels. See you around,” She smiled as you moved toward the bathroom door. With one last polite nod at her, you exited and escaped to your seat.

As you reached the table, you had to physically restrain yourself from reaching out and running your hand along the back of Auston’s neck and affectionately trailing your fingertips over the short hair there, as you had done for so many years when approaching him and sidling up to him. Instead, you smoothed your hand over your dress and sighed as Auston turned his head to look at you, grinning as he watched you sit.

“You get lost?” he teased. You chuckled, throwing your hair behind your shoulders.

“Something like that,” you muttered, immediately reaching for your glass of wine, which you could tell had been refilled in your absence. Auston hummed in acknowledgement as you took a long sip, watching you all the while.

“One more glass and then we get outta here?” Auston suggested as you set the glass down. You only nodded.

_____

“Remember when you had that old truck, with the tires that were always muddy, and we used to just ride around Scottsdale all night long?” you asked Auston, both of you reminiscing about days gone by after leaving the restaurant.

Auston nodded, running his pointer finger across his upper lip, the other hand on the wheel, as he watched the memory projecting in his mind.

“‘Course I do,” he told you, and you didn’t miss the way his tone changed when he did, making you smirk.

“So, where to next?” you prodded. “Back to Casa de Matthews?”

He shrugged ambiguously, but secretly, he knew just what he wanted to do. “We could just ride around. Like we used to. If you want. I mean, there’s no real reason for us to rush back to our parents’ houses, right?” he said with a snicker.

This could get messy as the mud on the truck tires, you thought, but your response was already tumbling from your lips.

“Okay,” you said, smiling at him. “I’d say let’s go drive through the rich neighborhoods and look at Christmas lights like we used to, but that’s where you and your parents live now, so...” You clicked your tongue and Auston rolled his jaw, acting completely offended to hide how much he had missed you chirping him. The way it melted him.

“We’re still going,” he insisted, turning the wheel at the next intersection and pulling a U-turn. “We’ll just, uh, we’re just gonna maybe skip a couple neighborhoods, that’s all.”

You laughed — a real Kelsey belly laugh — and Auston watched as you lit up his world yet again. He didn’t even need to see any Christmas lights this year. He had all the light he needed right next to him.

Minutes later, he passed the usual first turn on your holiday lights tour and you furrowed your brow.

“Aus, where are you going? I wanted to see Ranchero Nuevo first. We always start there,” you reminded him.

“No, what’s the actual first thing we do when we go see Christmas lights?” Auston asked, pulling instead toward the strip mall at the next light. When you saw the green glow of the Starbucks sign up ahead, you smiled as it dawned on you.

“Get hot chocolate,” you said fondly. Instead of answering, Auston simply sent a soft smile your way. “You’re the greatest,” you lauded, igniting a pride that burned bright in Auston’s chest.

“Anything for you, babe,” he said before he could even realize what he’d just done. He snapped his head your way and saw that you were trying your damnedest not to smile.

He was completely taken aback as you quipped, “You can call me babe for the weekend.”

Auston did a double-take and then nodded once at your phone in your hands, which had just lit up with two missed calls and a particularly accusatory text from one Alex Matthews that you decided you would have to tend to later.

“Write this down,” Auston instructed curtly.

“What do you mean?” you laughed, holding your phone up curiously.

“I want proof that you just said that to me,” he deadpanned, jutting his chin toward your glowing screen and sending you into a fit of laughter.

After you’d both recovered, Auston picked up your drink — large peppermint hot chocolate, like always — and a coffee for himself, and you set off to wind your way through the same neighborhoods you had driven through countless times, admiring most of the decorations and poking fun at the gaudiness of some, laughing all the while, without a care.

As he pulled into a neighborhood you knew to be just a stone’s throw away from where he had recently purchased a house, Auston took a deep breath, fingers gripping the steering wheel rigidly, and decided to take the leap and say what had been circling through his brain since you’d stepped foot in the vehicle after dinner but had only just now worked up the nerve to say.

“What if we didn’t go back to our parents’ places tonight?” he asked abruptly, the words sounding much more jumbled and rushed than they had in his head.

You chuckled anxiously, staring straight ahead. “What do you mean?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and pressed on. “Hear me out. What if we just went to my place for the night instead? I don’t mean to like… to hook up, or anything,” he assured. “Just to be together. I just… I really fucking missed you.” 

Uh, whoops. He hadn’t exactly meant to slip that last part in there, but it was too late to turn back now.

There was a lengthy pause and the car was frighteningly silent as you weighed your options.

“Well...” you eventually said, nibbling on your bottom lip. “If it’s okay with you, then it’s okay with me.”

“Yeah?” Auston asked immediately, searching your face for confirmation that he had just heard you correctly. He couldn’t believe that this — any of this— was really happening.

You nodded.

“Yeah. And… Aus?” you spoke.

“Yes, Kelsey?” he asked softly, joy radiating from his whole being and seeping into his words.

You leaned your head back against the seat and reached to wrap your hand around his on the center console.

“I really fucking missed you, too,” you told him.

_____

“Why did you agree to come with me tonight anyway, Kelsey?”

You and Auston were each almost a full bottle of wine deep by the time he asked this, inhibitions now lowered. He’d barely finished giving you the tour before you were both so palpably overwhelmed by the reality of being alone together in his house, with so many feelings buzzing about frenetically, that you took the liberty of pulling a bottle of red from the wine fridge and asking for glasses and a corkscrew. Auston forked them over without question, and now you were deeply entrenched in the process of examining old battle wounds that had never quite healed.

“Because I missed you,” you answered truthfully. “And also because I owed it to you to accept your invitation when you took a chance by reaching out.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Kels,” he claimed, taking a swig.

You picked up your glass and passed by him as you began to pace the tile floor, unable to just be still during this exchange — this conversation that had been a long time coming.

“I do, though,” you argued. “You gave me everything. Everything. And I still left.”

Auston squeezed the stem of his wine glass so hard he feared he may just shatter it.

“I don’t want you blaming yourself for the things I put you through because of my career choice,” he said firmly, a hand splayed against his chest as he accepted the responsibility, just like he always did.

“But you didn’t choose to have the media posted up outside our apartment every day. You didn’t choose to have strangers stalking me and my family online. You didn’t choose to have them calling me a distraction and a leech and a gold digger and a wh—“

“Don’t say it,” he warned as he lifted a finger, referencing the specific instance of the smearing of your character that had left you broken enough to start packing your bags.

“Okay,” you conceded quietly, knowing just how sick that one word had made him. “But listen. Yes, you chose to play hockey. But you didn’t choose all that shit that came along with it. You didn’t know! Hell, you didn’t even get to choose where you played. But even so… honestly, I used to blame you for everything. Because back then, it was just easier for me to deal with it that way.”

Auston’s head hung between his shoulder blades as he leaned his palms against the bar, reliving the very same pain that had eaten away at him for the past three years, especially the acute ache that had come in the weeks immediately after you left.

“I know you did — blame me, that is,” he said softly. “And I understand why.”

You took slow and deliberate steps back to where he stood and rubbed your hand soothingly across his broad back, feeling the way his muscles relaxed under your touch.

“Hey… look at me, huh?” you asked, gently guiding his face toward yours with your fingers. “I don’t blame you, Aus. I don’t,” you assured, your eyes piercing into his. “Not anymore. I’ve grown. I know I did this. I know it’s my fault that we’re like this. I mean, fuck, I broke my own heart, and I know I hurt you. I just... at the time, I didn’t see a way forward on the road we were on.”

Auston’s mind was firing on all cylinders as he tried desperately to compute what he’d just heard, convinced he was gathering more from your words than you meant for him to.

“And now?” he ventured.

He watched as your pained expression turned to one of, dare he even think it, hope.

“I still see it, Aus,” you said. “I still see us ending up together. I know it’s out of the blue, but…”

“It’s not though,” he said, cocking his head a bit to punctuate his point. “I know it doesn’t make much sense, any of this, but… to me, it’s not out of the blue. I’ve wanted this for so long,” he told you. “And I just need you to know that. Regardless of what happens next.”

“Auston, you and me together… that’s the only thing that makes sense. That’s all that’s ever made sense to me,” you said, clarity washing over you. “But I just, I wasn’t ready. And I got so scared that I wouldn’t be able to handle your life that I… I just ran.”

“You can run, Kelsey,” Auston said softly as he, yet again, twirled a strand of your hair around his finger. “But only so far.”

“Yeah…” you whispered. Then, without hesitation, you grasped his chin between your forefinger and thumb, turning his face to yours and studying his brown eyes just for a heartbeat before pressing your lips to his.

And for now, that was all that needed to be said.

_____

You hadn’t slept together. But you had slept together.

Too much crying and laughing and kissing and rehashing and wondering aloud had left you both emotionally drained and physically exhausted, and after dragging yourself into the master bathroom to throw on a crewneck and a pair of  Auston’s sweats, you’d promptly fallen asleep in his arms, a smile on his features even in sleep.

The next morning it occurred to you, with your cheek pressed against his bare chest and your legs entangled with his, that Auston’s bed — whether here, or in the house where he grew up, or in Toronto — was the warmest one you’d ever known. Though you could tell by the sunlight flooding the room that it was late in the morning, you couldn’t bear to move away from him. 

Soon, he, too, began to stir. As he squinted in the daylight and peered down at you, he closed his eyes once more, a peaceful grin on his lips.

“Oh, thank god that wasn’t just a dream,” he whispered. You chuckled, your fingertips lazily drawing shapes on his pecs as you nuzzled your head further into his neck.

“Nope,” you established. “This is very, very real.”

You lay in quiet thought for a moment before adding softly, “But what happens now?”

At that, Auston’s eyes opened wider this time, a slight panic visible in his face.

“Well,” he began, smoothing his hand over your head and kissing your hair. “What happens now is that we get some coffee.”

You sighed at his attempt to make light of the situation and pushed yourself to sit straight up in bed, cross-legged in front of where he lay on his side.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” you spoke, your fingers pulling anxiously at the bedsheet below. “Yesterday was like a fever dream and now... now we have to face reality.”

Slowly, Auston sat up, too, and pulled you into his lap, allowing you to rest your back against his torso as he gathered your hair at the nape of your neck in a makeshift ponytail.

“Everything that happened yesterday was reality, baby,” he insisted, kissing the crown of your head.

“Our feelings, yes,” you allowed. “But not the rest of it. I mean, fuck, we’re both leaving town in —“ you glanced at the bedside clock and were shocked by the 11:27 that stared back at you, realizing you’d practically slept in half the day — “48 hours. And then what? I go back to LA and you go back to Toronto and we just wonder about—“

“Baby, stop,” Auston begged as he turned you to face him, bringing your forehead to his lips. “Take a breath,” he said, stroking your jaw with his thumbs as he looked down at you, concern etched into his features. “We don’t have to figure all this out right this minute. In fact, we’re not going to. For right now, let’s just let this be what it is. And you have to try and stop spinning your wheels so fast. You’re gonna burn a hole in my floor,” he joked, kissing your nose.

You chuckled sadly, holding his wrists. “You’re right,” you eventually told him. “We’ll figure it out, somehow. I know we will,” you sighed, frowning. “First things first though, I have to get home and help my mom get ready for the party tonight.”

Before you could get out of bed to start gathering your things, Auston circled his arms around your hips and kept you in his lap. “Wait, gimme a smile first,” he requested.

You looked up at him and offered a tight-lipped smile, still distracted by the future of your relationship teetering precariously in the balance.

Auston shook his head. “That’s a fake Kelsey smile,” he accused, accurately. “Don’t even try me.”

With another deep sigh, you muttered, “You’re the only soul who can tell.”

“Who can tell what?” he asked, hugging you tighter.

You looked up at him for a moment, feeling more seen than you had in years. “Which smiles I’m faking,” you said quietly.

A pleased smile twitched at the corners of Auston’s lips before he pressed his mouth to yours.

_____

Auston walked into your parents’ house that night with his understated charm and a devastating ensemble of a maroon suit, white shirt with the top few buttons undone, and black loafers, looking every bit the GQ model he was once upon a time. With two bouquets of red roses and a bottle of champagne in hand, he knocked on the glass and your dad met him enthusiastically at the door.

“What’s the occasion?” your dad then chuckled, a bit puzzled. Auston glanced to where you stood near the staircase, waiting to greet him, and smiled.

“These are for your daughter,” Auston said as he grasped one bouquet. “And these are for your wife,” he said as he gestured toward the other. Your dad raised his eyebrows, looking between the two of you pensively, and let out a loud laugh. “Well, how thoughtful! And the champagne?” your dad asked as Auston stepped toward you and tucked one bunch of roses into your hold. He kissed your cheek chastely and turned back to your dad.

“Well, you never know when you’re gonna have something to celebrate,” Auston said with a smirk. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and your dad clapped Auston’s back appreciatively before leaving the two of you to your moment.

“Thank you, for the flowers,” you said softly, staring up at him. “They’re beautiful.”

“You’re welcome,” he said with a nod before your aunt and uncle suddenly appeared in the doorway, loudly greeting you and pushing their way toward you for hugs as Auston gave them their space and waited for you to become available again.

His patience lasted all of five minutes as he made vague pleasantries with the handful of guests who had already arrived, before he was approaching you again, eager to do what he really came here to do and unable to wait a moment longer. As you turned away from a brief conversation with a longtime next-door neighbor, Auston gently grasped your wrist as he said hastily, “Can I see you outside for a second?”

You didn’t have much of a choice as he led you hurriedly through the formal living room and out the French doors to the balcony, closing them behind you and backing you into a corner, hidden from view.

“Aus, what are you—“

He pressed his body into yours, nudging you back against the rail as he took your face in his hands and kissed you hungrily.

“Doing,” you whispered when he let up, completing your earlier thought as you pressed your fingertips against your swollen lips and looked up at him, your cheeks reddening.

“That,” he answered simply with a small smile. “And I wanted to give you something...”

He patted his pockets to determine where the object was, and your eyes widened.

“Auston, no!” you exclaimed, squeezing his elbows in an attempt to stop his search. “You can’t. I didn’t get you anything. I —”

“Kelsey, are you crazy? Yes, you did,” he said firmly. “Time with you. You gave me time with you. That’s all I’ve wanted for the last three years. That’s more than I could have ever asked for.”

There was nothing you could say then, nothing that sounded worthy enough to hold any significance in such an already meaningful vignette of the two of you. Auston took your silence as his opportunity to pull a mid-sized, square, red leather box from the pocket of his suit jacket, the name “Cartier” imprinted in gold script on the lid.

“Auston, stop,” you warned in a whisper, knowing what was inside and knowing that you would be rendered completely incapable of walking away from him once he offered this gift to you, knowing what it signified for both of you. He shook his head, knowing that your request was an empty one. He propped open the box and placed it on the small wrought iron table in front of you on the balcony. You couldn’t peel your eyes from it as your mind raced with questions.

“How... where... we slept until noon, Aus,” you stuttered. “All the stores were closed. Where did you even buy this?”

He pursed his lips and nodded once, then put his hands into his pockets and admitted, “I’ve had it for almost three years, Kels.”

You blinked again and again, not processing what he’d just revealed.

“I’m sorry... what?”

“I bought this for you for Valentine’s Day three years ago,” he continued. “I bought it and I hid it in my closet and I was gonna give it to you but we broke up on —“

“January 30th...” you whispered. Auston’s brows knit together in agony, and his throat constricted.  

“You remember too,” he stated quietly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I remember a little too well,” you said, sniffling as you glanced down at the box again.

Suddenly, your mind drifted back not to that fateful day in his apartment in Toronto, but instead to lying on your stomach as a kid in your family room, flipping through the pages of your favorite issue of your mom’s old Vogue magazines, as Auston used a yardstick and a Nerf ball as makeshift hockey equipment, taking shots at your couch again and again while you soaked in the photos of beautiful models, trendy clothing, and expensive jewelry, as visions of working at a fashion magazine someday twirled through your daydreams.

“Whatcha readin’?” a ten-year-old Auston inquired as he dropped next to you to take a break from his game.

“Vogue,” you answered, turning another page. “Like usual.”

Auston nodded, spotting a pretty woman in a tight black dress and commented, “Cool,” with a laugh. “If you could have anything in that book, what would you pick?”

Ever the master of sass, you rolled your eyes.

“It’s a magazine, Aus,” you corrected with venom in your voice as Auston rolled his own eyes. “But, if I had to pick... I know just what I want,” you informed him, leafing through the issue to get back to an ad in the front. When you finally found what you were seeking, you plopped the magazine down again, smacking your hand onto its glossy pages.

“That,” you said, pointing to the gold bangle. “It’s called the Love Bracelet. It says that it gets bought by somebody you love and then they have to use a screwdriver to put it on you.”

“A screwdriver?!” Auston asked incredulously. “Wouldn’t that hurt?”

You giggled. “No, silly,” you drawled. “It doesn’t hurt. But then the person who loves you is the only one who can put it on you or take it off you. You can’t do it by yourself.”

Auston nodded. “Cool,” he repeated, more seriously this time. You sighed wistfully as you gazed down at the bracelet.

“Yeah, but it’s a whole bunch of money, and my dad said he isn’t buying it. He said maybe my husband will get me one someday,” you said sadly. Auston watched your face drop, then, he got an idea.

“How about this,” he offered, nudging you with his elbow. “If I get famous for playing baseball, or hockey I guess, and I make a boatload of money, then I’ll buy you that bracelet. ‘Kay?”

You blushed, hunching your shoulders as you were slightly embarrassed by your best friend’s offer. Still, you loved Auston, and you knew he loved you. He was the only person you wanted to get that bracelet from, except for like, your mom or dad.

“Okay,” you agreed. “You promise?”

Auston dragged his index finger over the left side of his chest. “Cross my heart,” he confirmed.

This time, it was your turn to say, “Cool.”

“I asked my mom to hold onto it,” you heard him telling you now. Now that you’d become the people you’d said you’d be. Now that you both had grown into the farfetched dreams you’d shared as children. Now that you’d come back home — back to one another. Now that he was here, in front of you, again. “I just couldn’t bear to take it back, even though I honestly never thought I’d get the chance to give it to you.”

You were shaking your head endlessly, attempting to stop tears from streaking your face. “I can’t believe this...” you said, awestruck.

“I don’t have to put this on you right now,” Auston said, swallowing his own tears he felt creeping up on him. “I just want you to have it. It’s yours. You should keep it.”

With a few swipes at your undereyes, you rubbed away the wetness on your hands and then extended your left wrist to Auston. A smile flashed briefly across his lips before he set them in a straight line once more.

“Are you sure?” he asked, caution in his voice.

You pulled him in by his waist, beaming, before you answered.

“I’ve played this out basically every night since I left,” you told him. “Even when I was with somebody. I just followed the path my mind was taking me all the way to the very end, until there was no place left to go. And it always leads to you. It always leads me home.”

Auston pulled you into a searing kiss, both of you smiling into it, before he squeezed your hand and reached for the box, carefully disassembling the bracelet so that he could put it on you at last.

“All day I’ve been thinking about what I said earlier. About running,” you spoke as Auston worked on securing the bracelet. “I started running and running and it’s been such a mess since then. Nothing about the past three years made any sense to me. And then I saw you, and… it all made sense again. You and I were the only thing that ever made sense to me,” you told him, your voice wavering as he twisted the final screw into place, lifting the inside of your wrist to his lips and placing a warm, reverent kiss to the skin there, his eyes never leaving yours as he did. “So I’m done. I’m done running, Auston. I can’t run anymore.”

“You have no fucking clue how long I’ve waited to hear you say that,” Auston admitted, touching his forehead to yours before leaning back. “So, to your earlier point... what the hell are we supposed to do now?”

You ran a frazzled hand through your long hair and bit at the inside of your cheek as you formulated your response. “I mean, I have to go back, Aus. I’m working on a really big project...”

Your words put him into a tailspin of his own this time, watching the dreams he had let resurface over the last two days come crashing down in front of him all over again. You were eluding him. Again.

His ears were buzzing so loudly that he barely heard your next words.

“But maybe after that... I could come and spend some time in Toronto?”

Auston pulled his tongue away from the roof of his dry mouth and pleaded, in a voice barely above a whisper, “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t say that unless you really mean it,” he said, desperation in his tone.

“I mean, really, I don’t have a choice,” you pointed out with a breathy laugh, your fingers tracing the cold metal of the bangle around your other wrist. “I don’t see any other way that this ends. Not after this. This perfect fucking weekend. I mean... do you?”

“No,” he quickly retorted. “No, I don’t. I was just scared that you... that this was going to be it for you. That we would have this incredible time together and then it would just be another chapter in the Auston and Kelsey history book.”

You smoothed your hands over his lapels, allowing your body to fully relax into his.

“Auston, this... this is different,” you said somberly. “Before, it all just felt like too much. I got scared. We were so young, Aus. I mean, we’re still young, but we were babies. And now... I’ve realized that dealing with the press and the social media and the fans... it’s worth it to me. I’ll never like it. But I love you. And that’s enough. That will always be more than enough for me — being with you. And I’m so sorry that it’s taken me this long, that it took me finally coming back home, to realize that.”

“Don’t be sorry, Kels, please,” Auston whispered, one hand clutching at your hip, the other tangled in the hair at the back of your head as he held onto you with everything he had, knowing he was ready to do so for as long as you would let him. “Just... just say it again, baby. Please?”

“I love you, Aus,” you whispered, tears falling freely down your cheeks as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I’m never gonna stop.”

“Don’t stop,” Auston pleaded, nuzzling his nose against yours before pressing his lips to your mouth. “Don’t ever stop. Promise?” he asked, his voice gravelly.

“Cross my heart,” you whispered, drawing a pretend line across your chest before cupping his cheek and kissing him tenderly.

#my writing #tis the damn season #evermore #evermore fic #auston matthews #auston matthews writing #auston matthews fic #auston matthews fanfic #auston matthews fanfiction #auston matthews imagine #song fic #toronto maple leafs #hockey writing #hockey fic #hockey fanfic #hockey fanfiction #hockey imagine #hockey #nhl hockey #nhl writing #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine

[xiaomomowrites]

act IV

Genshin Impact | TartaLi/ZhongChi

Summary: It was the way Zhongli’s warm amber eyes suddenly were not as warm anymore. The way he looked at him with a piercing look, void of remorse, as he handed his gnosis over willingly to go on a whole tangent about how his “duties were done”. It was the way he turned and treated the precious traveler with the same amount of kindness and gentleness the Childe had received the previous night, with such ease; it was a look he thought was reserved only for him. It was the way he was able to turn back around, stare at Childe with an unreadable gaze, and walk away without so much of a goodbye.

Or, Zhongli and Childe finally have the conversation that was long overdue.

A/N: I’ve been playing genshin for roughly four or five months now, I can’t remember exactly when I started, but boy do I love it. No you don’t understand, I’m obsessed. But these two have been taking up room in my big brain, so I wanted to write for them. It’s been awhile since I wrote for pleasure so hopefully this is satisfactory :,) and tomorrow, I’m back to school, so I thought I’d enjoy my last day of freedom and post this today. Fun fact, I’m minoring in professional writing, so I’m hoping that it’ll improve my writing skills when I write for luxury, too. Anyway, this was a really fun piece for me to write and I hope you share the sentiment.

Also thank you guys for being so patient with our inactivity and just being such a chill audience to write for. Other social media platforms have become so...demanding haha. I appreciate y’all! Feel free to message us or talk to us about whatever :) -u.n.

Find this on AO3!

Spoiler alert: this fic does contain spoilers for the A New Star Approaches arc, so read at your own risk.

—

In Childe’s line of work, he is no stranger to betrayal.

Working as a Fatui Harbinger meant an unhealthy amount of fighting, betraying one person, deceiving another, and then on occasion, getting betrayed himself. It was all in a days’ work. Childe knew he would just have to roll out his neck and move on. He’s done it before, he can do it again. He would think that, after nineteen years of this grueling rinse and repeat, that he’d be able to tolerate a lot in the field. In fact, working with that wretched colleague of his, Scaramouche, and serving the Tsaritsa with a loyalty unmatched explicitly calls for the patience and tolerance of a saint.

Alas, Childe is the furthest thing from a saint. And still, Zhongli’s betrayal stung the most out of anyone else’s, the reason still unbeknownst to him. He tells himself that it’s because he had actually befriended the other man. That, unlike his other missions, he developed more of a friendship with Zhongli than he has with anyone else in the past. Not to mention how he really thought he’d find the gnosis, in all its golden glory, seated deep within the Exuvia, and not within his friend.

Which is why after he watches Zhongli hand over his precious gnosis to Signora of all people, Childe makes haste to return to the inn he had been staying at to furiously pack his things and leave first thing in the morning. Seeing Signora in Liyue so close to Zhongli had triggered a deep seated feeling of possessiveness over him and the city. Liyue was his territory, as far as he was concerned. It was assigned to him by the Tsaritsa and no one else. And yet, despite his unspoken possession over Liyue, its people turned against him and viewed him as the enemy. As if Childe didn’t already know that. As if he hadn’t already grown up with a layered villain complex, subconsciously looking for a fool with a hero complex to match him. Then entered Zhongli, making himself at home in Childe’s life, and he was immediately enamouring the Harbinger.

Screw Liyue.

Screw all their traditions, the stupid glaze lilies, the delicious cuisine, the obvious livelihood that fills the streets in stark contrast to his own icy hometown, screw all those goddamn unnecessary mountains, that fish market with that abhorrent smell he gradually got used to, and screw Rex Lapis. Screw Zhongli, that handsome bastard, for stringing him along like his plaything the entire time.

Childe knows, he gets it, that Zhongli simply did what he had to do because it was best for his people. And what other way for the oldest of the seven to go, if not for a grand finale? And yes, Childe admits, luring out Osial was a stupid move, but it certainly served its purpose for testing the strength of Liyue and its defenders.

Zhongli and Signora knew he would do something stupid and reckless as soon as he caught wind of the Exuvia serving as a decoy. They knew, and they played the game so well, that Childe really thought he was the mastermind puppeteering the whole show.

What a fool he was made out to be.

Childe aggressively shoves blazer after blazer into his travel duffel, angry, pathetic tears pooling at the corners of his eyes without his consent. He sniffs angrily and swipes at his cheek as soon as the first tear falls.

Fuck this, he’s not crying over a god, he still has some dignity.

But still. Pride aside, it hurt. And it wasn’t even necessarily the deceit that hurt the most. He’s dealt with that previously. It was… more personal. More of an internal struggle than an external issue. Childe truly hates those the most. At least he can shove his fist through any external problem, but he can’t exactly do the same with his feelings, or whatever they’re called.

It was the way Zhongli’s warm amber eyes suddenly were not as warm anymore. The way he looked at him with a piercing look, void of remorse, as he handed his gnosis over willingly to go on a whole spiel about how his “duties were done”. It was the way he turned and treated the precious traveler with the same amount of kindness and gentleness the Childe had received the previous night, with such ease; it was a look he thought was reserved only for him. It was the way he was able to turn back around, stare at Childe with an unreadable gaze, and walk away without so much of a goodbye.

The same eyes that gazed at him with such affection and kindness were suddenly replaced with the eyes of a soldier. And it was only then that Childe fully realized the force he was reckoning with. Zhongli was a withered god who lived too long for his own good. A powerful deity that held the ability to shake the ground with a look; he who had been humbled by time and his sharp edges eroded by the millions of faces that passed him. Simply put, Childe was just another one of those faces. And again, he understood. If he lived for six thousand years, he wouldn’t want to be alive after the first hundred.

It was the duality that dug the blade deeper into his already bleeding chest. He felt used.

“I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together, Childe,” Zhongli had said to him on a warm Liyuen night, “a friend of mine, a long time ago, told me that I was… bad at connecting with people. Emotionally stunted, is what she called me. And she is correct, as I have definitely struggled with making connections in the past. But with you… it’s different. It’s easy.

Childe is thankful for the discretion that night provides him; Zhongli would have easily spotted the blush spreading across his pale cheeks had it been daytime.

“So you had trouble making a couple friends, so what?” The ginger shrugs, “I wasn’t the best at making friends, either. My mom always said I was too aggressive. Apparently that’s not such an appealing trait, after all.”

Zhongli chuckles, a beautiful sound. “It was a bit deeper than that, I’m afraid. Understanding the complexity of another’s emotions was always difficult for me, whereas she… she was loved by everyone. Adored by the youngest of fawns to the oldest of horses. It came so naturally to her. I was the opposite. Not that everyone hated me, no, people just had a harder time getting close to me. Which is why, upon meeting you, I was shocked to find that we clicked so well. Befriending you was as easy as breathing air.”

Oh, Archons, help him.

“And,” Zhongli continues, as if he hadn’t already wrecked the man six ways to hell and back, “I must sincerely thank you for indulging me once again.” The deity glances down at the bag full of antique trinkets in his lap. Childe’s lips turn upward into one of his more genuine, rare smiles.

“What’s with you tonight?” Childe responds, and Zhongli looks at him questioningly , “I mean, you never had a problem with me spoiling you rotten before. You’ve never even acknowledged it. Why start now?”

Zhongli tears his gaze away from the Harbinger.

“And,” the ginger continues, “it almost sounds like you’re saying goodbye.”

Zhongli smiles at him then. He wore a kind look on his face, eyes so impossibly warm that it reminded him of his grandmother’s pirozhki. Hot and steaming from the center, melting on his tongue, dissolving deliciously in his mouth and defrosting his entire body. His smile felt like it wrapped itself around his chest and squeezed the best way possible, fitting him back together in places Childe didn’t even realize he had broken.

“What makes you say that?”

Oh, Childe is pissed.

Fuck tomorrow morning, Childe is leaving tonight.

The memories of last night crash over him not unlike a tidal wave and suddenly, he’s drowning. Filled out the brim with a familiar rage burning through his chest and searing his finger tips, his legs, his fucking toes.

He stands abruptly when he realizes he’s been sitting and resumes his packing. It doesn’t take very long after that. A couple toiletries get shoved into the side pockets, his vision is hooked back onto his hip, and his mask is slid into its’ usual spot on his head. He looks at himself in the mirror on the way out and scowls at the way his hair looks more disheveled than usual. Red rims his dulled blue eyes, forcing him to accept that maybe he cried more than he’d like to admit. Whatever.

He swings the door open and-

“Childe,” lo and behold, Zhongli stands in his fucking doorway, “I’d like to talk to you, if that’s alright.” The man looks slightly disheveled. He’s a little out of breath, Childe notices, like he ran up those ridiculous flights of stairs to get to his room- which, by the way, he never disclosed that information with him.

The man in question huffs a laugh. “It’s not.”

He makes a move to brush past him, but is stopped by an unreasonably strong grip around his bicep.

“Tartaglia,” he pleads, “please.”

Childe snatches his arm back and spits, “don’t call me that.”

He retreats back into his room anyway, hearing Zhongli close the door behind him. He dumps the bag back onto his bed and curses himself for not leaving a millisecond earlier.

“You’re angry with me.” Zhongli starts, face as unreadable as ever.

“The sky is blue. Snezhnaya is cold. Are we still stating the obvious here?” He’s too angry to carefully choose his words. Too hurt to slip on his pleasant facade.

“Tartaglia,” he presses, and Childe really hates how his name sounds on his tongue, “I truly am sorry for the way things had to go. It was not in my intentions to… hurt you to the degree in which you feel. I simply was upholding the end of my contract and doing what was best for my people. I implore you to believe that making you feel used was not my main objective.“

Oh god, his apology sounds so robotic.

“So you’re aware that what you did was a little fucked up.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re aware that almost the entirety of Liyue places the blame on me.”

“Yes.”

Well, shit. “Good talk, Zhongli-xiansheng. If you’ll excuse me, I must begin my trip home.”

He stomps toward the door only to be stopped once again. Archons, if Childe had any motivation left, he most certainly would challenge him to a spar. The ginger huffs, and looks to the heavens in a silent plea for patience.

“Tartaglia, please, I’m not finished-“

“Yeah, well I am.” Their eyes lock. Blue meets gold in a hostile hold, refusing to break. “The second you handed your gnosis over, my business here was done. Whatever… relationship we had is done. You were my consultant and was a Harbinger here for business. A Harbinger that you obviously used for your disposal. So now that that’s over and done with, I really need to report to Tsaritsa, lest she have my head on a silver platter-“

“I spoke with Tsaritsa already.” Zhongli cuts in, his grip tightening around Childe’s wrist. “I asked her for more time with you.”

“You what.”

“Surely you are curious about the deal I struck with Tsaritsa. The contract to end all contracts, yes?” Childe’s wild look on his face eggs him to continue, “I struck a deal that granted you more time here in Liyue. With me.”

Childe is silent for a moment. The ex-Archon opens his mouth to continue.

“And I’d like to say I’ve known you long enough to know that you seek freedom. From what that may be, I do not know. But Tsaritsa has agreed to give you a choice, at the very least, a temporary one. An extended vacation or complete retirement is a choice to be made by you.” Zhongli finishes, looking to Tartaglia with hope.

“THAT is worth your fucking gnosis?!” Zhongli’s gnosis. The entire essence of his being. The very thing that makes him divine (thought it certainly isn’t the only thing that makes the man ethereal), was traded for him.

“Yes,” Zhongli replies with such ease it makes Childe’s head spin. “Among other things, of course.” An aggressive why is lodged in the back of Childe’s throat. Why me? A million questions swirl around his head, knocking him off balance. He would have swayed on his feet had Zhongli not been there to hold him upright.

“That’s insane. You’re insane. You…” Childe lets out a tired sigh, “I don’t understand you.” And he doesn’t. Because one minute he’s a cold hearted businessman, and the next he’s at his door, reduced to a mortal, begging him to stay. Granting him freedom. Really, what kind of fucked up game is this? Why didn’t anyone tell him he was a part of it?

Zhongli smiles. He smiles. “You remember our conversation from the night before, yes?”

Childe rolls his ever-blue eyes to the back of his head. “Remind me, Zhongli-sensei,”

“I said,” the deity starts, drawing both of Childe’s calloused hands between his own, “that I struggled to connect with others. Guizhong, the Goddess of Dust, was the one to bring to my attention my emotional constipation. And like I said, she was correct.”

Childe’s anger withers.

“Unfortunately I understand naught of the depth of your feelings of betrayal,” he continues, “but I do wish to understand how deeply humans feel. And in our time together, I’ve begun to understand through you. Despite your… complexities. And I wish to continue to learn. With you.” I wish to feel human is left unsaid, and laced between his words instead.

“What are you saying,” the Harbinger asks weakly.

“Take me with you.”

“What.”

“Take me with you. Wherever you go, I will follow, if you will allow it.”

Well duh, he’d allow it. Zhongli just had to work for it a little more. He can’t just waltz in here after breaking his heart and ruining his trust, demanding his friendship and companionship or whatever, after everything he was put through-

“Okay.”

Very nice ass to mouth filter, Ajax.

Zhongli’s eyes glow impossibly brighter, “Okay?”

Childe tugs his hands back to his side. “Yes, yes, fine. Whatever. But you can’t just. You can’t just use me again in the name of experimentation.”

“Tartaglia, I would never,” he assures him vehemently, “Of the seven, I was always the one most oblivious to emotions. You may ask Barbatos if you want. But I know that what I feel for you is real and I would not trade it for the world.”

Childe’s mind reels. Barbatos? Feelings?

“‘What you feel for me?’”

Zhongli cocks his head in confusion, as if his feelings were the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, yes. And you feel the same, no? It need not be said aloud.”

“It really doesn’t,” Childe affirms, “you can save me the embarrassment.”

“Wonderful,” Zhongli’s face brightens, and it’s only then that Childe is hit with the full realization that Zhongli is free. No longer is he tied to the city and burdened with the weight of the people. No longer does he have to associate himself with the likes of the Tsaritsa. Finally, after centuries and centuries, he is allowed the pleasure to smile so brightly despite feeling pained for finally leaving his people. He is Zhongli, and no longer Rex Lapis. Morax is long gone, too. The man before him is a man reborn, and Childe’s heart aches with happiness for him.

“Okay, well,” he clears his throat when he notices he’s been quiet for too long, “it’s been a long day and I’m tired. I think I’m just gonna take a shower and turn into bed and think about the rest tomorrow. Save it for future Childe, you know?”

He pads over to his hastily packed back and zips it back open, pulling out the toiletries he aggressively shoved in less than an hour ago. He digs his fingers into his neck and sighs at the release of tension. Summoning an angry ocean god took a lot more out of him than he anticipated.

“I agree,” Zhongli says, and begins to strip. “Personally I prefer the left side of the bed.”

Childe gawks at him.

“You-!” Truly an emotionally constipated god, indeed. He sighs and his shoulders droop, the fight leaving his body. “Fine. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be out in a bit.”

“I eagerly await your return,” Zhongli comments passively as he slips under the covers, a book he didn’t even know he was carrying tucked under his arm. Childe sighs for the nth time that night and turns to close the bathroom door behind him.

Future Childe certainly has a lot to deal with in the morning.

#genshin impact #genshin impact fan fiction #Tartaglia #Childe #zhongli #tartali #zhongchi #i love them so much it hurts #childe x zhongli #angst #character introspection #when this chapter ended i was incredibly emotional #i just want them to be happy

[smallplaceinthecosmos]

No Roman is an Island

If you’ll excuse the title pun, it popped into my head while I was writing and I couldn’t not use it. I’ve been in the fandom for a few months now, but I think this is my first real contribution to it; the fic was inspired by this post by @coconut-cluster, which is funny because it wasn’t technically a Sanders Sides post but far be it from me to pass up some inspiration, especially since I haven’t really written anything since before I got into Sanders Sides, and I was very excited to get involved. It was originally going to be mainly prinxiety but it ended up involving all the core four Sides pretty much equally, and I think I like it better this way, tbh. I wanted to involve Deceit and Remus too, but it didn’t happen naturally and I didn’t want to shoehorn them in.

Summary: Virgil was no stranger to feeling uncomfortable, and in fact he rather considered it his default state, but new things were still new things, and they had taken some getting used to. By now, Virgil thinks he's a fair bit more comfortable with the other Sides than he had been in the past.

That said, whatever is going on with Roman right now is a new kind of weird, and Virgil isn't sure what to think of it.

Pairings: platonic LAMP/CALM (can be romantic if you want, but it’s pretty ambiguous)

Warnings: description of injury, minor character death(possibly? Not sure if it counts but I’ll include it just in case), low self-esteem (and please let me know if I’m missing anything!)

Genre: hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3826

AO3 Link

It hasn't ever been a bad change, learning to live with the Light Sides, Virgil thinks. He's gotten used to a lot of unusual things the Sides did, since they've accepted him (and if he’s entirely honest, to some extent before that). It wasn't anything bad, necessarily, that the Light Sides did; they were just...weird, sometimes.

That wasn't to say Virgil thought he and the other Dark Sides weren't strange in their own ways, of course - obviously, Remus couldn't by any stretch of the imagination be called "normal" compared to the other Sides, and Deceit and Virgil had their own eccentricities - but at least that had been weirdness he was used to. 

When Patton had said things, sometimes, that for just a moment made Virgil raise an eyebrow and wonder what was actually going on in his head, or when Roman was feeling particularly dramatic and saw some need to drag Virgil and the others into some fantastical scheme, or when Logan put his signature jam on the most unusual of foods...Virgil was no stranger to feeling uncomfortable, and in fact he rather considered it his default state, but new things were still new things, and they had taken some getting used to. By now, Virgil thinks he's a fair bit more comfortable with the other Sides than he had been in the past.

That said, whatever is going on with Roman right now is a new kind of weird, and Virgil isn't sure what to think of it. He watches over his phone screen from his seat on the couch as Roman dashes in and out of the common room, looking considerably more disheveled than Virgil thinks is normal. Whenever he comes through, he seems distracted - in all the times he's passed through, Virgil's not sure that Roman has noticed him on the couch, and it's been a couple of hours at this point - and more than a little disconcerted, which in turn makes Virgil a lot disconcerted. 

The more Virgil watches, the more he feels a need to say something. Say what, though? "Hey, Princey, you look like you were personally threatened by an eldritch horror, what's up?"

But during one fifteen minute period of waiting for Roman to reappear, Virgil sighs quietly and decides he should probably at least make some show of concern, instead of sitting on it and not helping either of them. So when Roman pops back in, before Virgil can lose his nerve, he calls, “Hey, Princey, what’s got your sash in a twist?”

It comes out harsher than Virgil meant for it to, and Roman jumps, clearly caught off guard. This, in turn, catches Virgil off guard, and they stand staring at each other for a long moment before Virgil clears his throat and adds, “I’ve been here all morning and you haven’t even tried to insult me once.”

Roman blinks once, twice at Virgil, and then replies, “Well ex-cuse you, tall, dark, and emo; I’m a very busy prince.” His faux-offended tone and the hint of a grin on his face ease Virgil’s worry somewhat, but Roman adds, “I’m working on something. I’ll talk to you later,” and turns to leave as suddenly as he’d arrived.

“Roman, hold on - “ Virgil begins, but Roman pretends not to hear him as he leaves, and Virgil is left alone again. He figures Roman will probably tell him when he’s ready, anyway, and decides to leave it alone for now.

“For now,” it seems, lasts until lunch, which Roman doesn’t show up for. When Patton expresses his concern, Virgil decides he should probably tell them what he’d noticed - maybe they would have a better idea of what’s going on than he does.

As it turns out, they don’t. “He’s clearly hiding something from us,” Logan says when Virgil explains. 

“We don’t know that,” Patton says, but it sounds more like a question than an argument. “Maybe nothing’s going on at all. Maybe it’s something good! Some kind of surprise, or a cool idea to show Thomas.”

“Well, whatever it is, he shouldn’t be running himself ragged doing it,” Virgil tells Patton. “That’s enough reason for me to want to say something. But if he won’t explain himself...”

“We could try to talk to him together,” Patton suggests. “Maybe if he knows we’re all worried about him…?”

“If he wasn’t willing to talk to Virgil by himself, I don’t think he would be more willing to talk with all three of us cornering him,” Logan responds with a shake of his head.

“If he would be willing to talk to any of us, though, it’d be you, Pat,” Virgil adds. “Maybe you can try to talk to him on your own?”

“I can try,” Patton agrees.

Patton doesn’t fare much better, though - it takes him hours to even catch sight of Roman long enough to stop him and try to question him, and from what Patton tells Virgil and Logan, Roman brushed him off just as easily as he’d brushed off Virgil, leaving them with no answers and several more questions.

Patton protests when Logan suggests they take somewhat more drastic measures. “We can’t just go sneaking after him,” he argues with a displeased frown. “Isn’t that kind of a breach of trust? What if he has a reason for not saying anything?”

They’re in Logan’s room this time, because it’s easier to deal with than Virgil’s or Patton’s rooms, but out of the common room where Roman might overhear. Patton had already expressed that he was feeling a bit underhanded, meeting somewhere out of the way just to avoid Roman. Virgil had to admit, he almost felt the same way.

“Pat does have a point, Lo,” Virgil sighs from his typical spot on the stairs. “If we’re wrong, and it isn’t a big deal, or if it is a big deal, and we make things worse…”

“Do you think we’re wrong?” Logan asks. Virgil blinks at him, not having expected the question, and Logan elaborates, “Roman has given us plenty of reason to believe that he’s struggling with something, and he refuses to share what it is with us. What we don’t know is why he’s hiding it - but I’m willing to take a chance on the fact that this is something that needs to be brought to light for Roman’s sake. There’s more harm to be done if we ignore it.”

“So it’s between Roman possibly being mad at us...or Roman possibly getting hurt,” Virgil says. “Sounds dumb to argue if you think about it that way.”

“I guess it’s a little more obvious when you say it like that,” Patton agrees, though he still sounds somewhat resigned on the subject.

They discuss a plan for following Roman for a little while longer before they’re satisfied with it. It’s late by then, and Logan insists they go to bed - not that Virgil sleeps much anyway. The next morning, Roman doesn’t show up to breakfast (which is less strange than not appearing for lunch, and sometimes happens for more benign reasons, though they suspect in this case it isn’t), so they loiter in the common room until Roman shows up again.

He doesn’t acknowledge them if he notices them, but in this case, it works to their advantage - the less noticeable they are, the easier they can follow him. Virgil takes the lead to make sure they keep a safe distance without losing him.

Virgil is somewhat confused as he peeks around a corner and watches Roman slip into the Imagination.

He’s not sure why he finds it strange - Roman is Creativity, or at least one part of it, so he spends plenty of time in the Imagination. This isn’t strange. Perhaps that’s why it seems strange, though, because Roman was acting out of the ordinary, so Virgil was expecting him to be doing something out of the ordinary.

Either way, they go up to the door, and Logan cracks it open to peek inside.

The Imagination can look like almost anything, by virtue of its very nature, but right now it’s an endless stretch of land: a vast meadow to the left, and a dense oak forest to their right. Roman is nowhere in sight.

Logan lets the door swing open, and the three Sides step into the Imagination. The door swings closed behind them on its own and disappears, though any of them can summon it to exit whenever they wish. Roman had probably entered somewhere different than they had, as he’d likely had more idea where he was going than they did. He can’t be far, though, Virgil knows.

“He’s gotta be somewhere around here,” Virgil tells the other two.

Logan nods and says, “At least we can see clearly that he’s not - ” he pauses to gesture out at the tall grasses that stretch out into the distance, “anywhere in that direction. Which means he must be in the forest.”

“It’ll take ages to find him in there,” Virgil grumbles. They head into the forest anyway, and, thankfully, quickly find a clear trodden path to follow instead of having to push through the brush and get stuck with thorns and smacked with low-hanging branches. There’s no sign of Roman, though, until a few minutes later, when Patton suddenly stops and hushes them. 

Virgil and Logan stop, surprised, as Patton listens for a moment before he says, “Do you guys hear that?”

He doesn’t wait for a response before taking off in the direction of whatever he’d heard, and Virgil and Logan have no choice but to follow him. As they get closer, though, they hear something that sounds like fighting - and when they catch up to Patton, crouched behind some bushes and peeking between the leaves, they see what caught his attention:

There are dozens of them - small, green-skinned...gremlins, Virgil’s mind supplies, that might be just below waist height to him, wielding rudimentary weapons of clubs and spears and the like. They don’t look like Roman’s usual style, Virgil thinks - they’re nearly identical to each other, and there’s no intelligence in their eyes, only malice. Virgil wonders if Remus thought them up.

At the center of it all is Roman, brandishing his sword almost desperately, slicing through enemies that disappear in a puff of smoke as they “die” (are they even properly alive? Virgil isn’t sure). Is this what he’d been worried about? What’s so special about these things? And most importantly, what’s the need in hiding it?

As one of the small creatures charges Roman,he turns to face it, and another comes at him from the side directly opposite from where the other Sides are watching. As they watch Roman deal with them, leaving a pair of  Logan’s eyes widen and he jolts upright from his crouched position at some realization Virgil isn’t privy to.

Logan wastes no time letting them wonder, though, and hisses to the others under his breath, “They’re actually injuring him.”

Upon closer inspection, Virgil realizes that Logan is right - minor cuts and bruises litter Roman’s forearms, and one lucky hit had left a more serious wound along his ribs. Had he been this injured yesterday? How hadn’t Virgil noticed?

More importantly, how was Roman injured at all? Not a lot of things in the mindscape could actually leave a lasting mark on one of the Sides, not even another Side - Remus’s antics were generally unpleasant, but they didn’t typically last. The only things that had ever really hurt any of them had been outside circumstances, reflected in Thomas’s psyche. None of Roman or even Remus’s creations should be able to do this sort of thing.

Most of the gremlin creatures are defeated by now. “Roman?” Patton calls suddenly. He sounds concerned; uncertain as he stands so Roman can see him. Logan and then Virgil quickly follow. Roman whips around with a startled look, and in his momentary distraction his guard slips enough for one of the smaller goblin-like creatures to get in a hit with a long-reaching, fire-hardened wooden spear. “What are you guys doing here?!” Roman growls as he turns his attention back to the remaining monsters. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he shakes his head and says, “Never mind, just...go, I’ll handle this, it’s fine!”

The others definitely do not go, and Virgil lays into Roman, who’s a bit distracted fighting for his life at the time. As the last waist-height goblin is dispatched, he turns around to face the others.

“What do you mean it’s fine?! This doesn’t look like fine, Princey!” Virgil is saying. “What’s going on, why are you acting so...weird?!”

“Virgil is right, Roman,” Logan chimes in. “You know if something is going on you can tell us.”

“Nothing is going on,” Roman insists. “I can handle it. I’ve been handling it, really, it’s okay, you guys can go back to,” Roman makes a vague hand gesture, “whatever you were doing. It’s cool.” “You’ve been handling what?” Virgil asks.

Before Roman can come up with an excuse, something else appears where the gremlins had stood. It doesn’t come from anywhere - it simply materializes from a cloud of smoke like the gremlins had disappeared into, large and singular and intimidating where a horde of goblins had pushed and crowded. Three big canine heads come into existence snapping and snarling on a huge four-legged body. He towers over the Sides, and Logan, Virgil, and Patton stumble back at the sight of the creature.

Roman looks between three slavering maws and three pairs of wide eyes, and then his own eyes meet Virgil’s, and - 

“Don’t even fucking think about it - “ Virgil manages to get out before the sudden feeling of falling hits him, and the Imagination falls away around him. When he comes back up, he’s disoriented for a moment before Patton cries out wordlessly and is suddenly pounding on the door to the Imagination...from the outside. Roman kicked them out of the Imagination.

“Shit,” Virgil mutters before trying the handle.

It’s locked, of course, so Virgil alternates between joining Patton in banging on the door and trying the handle again. Logan watches with equal concern, but doesn’t join them - they all know it’s probably useless anyway, but it makes Virgil feel like he’s at least trying, so he doesn’t stop. This goes on for several minutes before, all of a sudden, the door opens on its own. Patton rushes in immediately.

Virgil and Logan don’t waste any time following him.

Roman wakes up with a nasty headache.

And an everything else-ache, for that matter.

He lets out a little pained noise and hears someone shifting nearby. When he manages  to crack his eyelids open, Logan is standing over him with an unreadable expression.

Roman realizes he’s in the common room, laid out on the couch propped up with pillows and a blanket tucked under him.

“What - ” Roman begins, and realizes even talking hurts right now.

But it’s fine because Logan already knows what he was going to ask, and tells him, “You tried to fight a ten foot tall, three-headed hellbeast on your own. While already injured,” he stresses.

“Sorry,” Roman mutters, and neither he nor Logan is sure exactly what he’s apologizing for.

“Do you...need some water, or anything?” Logan asks awkwardly.

Roman opens his mouth to respond before thinking better of it and just nodding instead.

While Logan is in the kitchen, there’s nothing to distract Roman from how much everything hurts. He thinks, bitterly, if the others just weren’t so nosy -

But that’s not fair to them, Roman knows. He should have been more careful and then they wouldn’t have found out in the first place, and then they wouldn’t have been there at all.God, Patton and Virgil were probably worried sick.

Then Logan is back with his water, and helps Roman sit up to drink it as Roman takes stock of the bandages on his own extremities, feels the aching wounds on his torso, reaches up to gingerly touch the gauze wrapped around his head...the gravity of the situation sinks in a little further.

When Roman sinks back into the couch, still wrapped in the blanket but opting not to lay back down, Logan detaches himself from Roman and stands as he says, “I’m going to tell Patton and Virgil that you’re awake.” Logan’s brow furrows into a faintly concerned expression as he adds, “They were worried about you.” Maybe it’s Roman’s imagination, but Logan sounds a little softer than he did before, as Roman avoids his eyes. It still feels like an accusation, even though Roman knows Logan didn’t mean it that way. 

He doesn’t hear the unspoken “So was I” in Logan’s tone.

Roman is only left alone for a few moments before all three of the others rejoin him, Patton bounding into the room with a relieved exclamation of “Roman!”

Even as Roman flinches at his volume, he sees tears brimming Patton’s eyes and feels the guilt worm its way into the marrow of his bones.

Virgil sees Roman wince and taps Patton on the shoulder to get his attention, putting a finger to his lips wordlessly. Patton looks from Virgil back to Roman, and says in a more mollified tone, “Sorry, kiddo.” He sits next to Roman on the couch, taking Roman’s unbandaged left hand in his own and rubbing his thumb in circles over the back of Roman’s hand. Virgil sits on Roman’s other side, slightly further away than Patton, not touching Roman. Logan joins them on Virgil’s right.

“Sorry I worried you guys,” Roman says hoarsely.

“Damn right you are,” Virgil growls. “You could’ve died! What would’ve happened if we hadn’t noticed that something was wrong? What if something worse had shown up? What if you hadn’t beaten it?” Virgil runs an unsteady hand through his hair, and Roman avoids looking at the other Side’s stricken expression.

“But I did beat it. It’s fine, Virgil,” Roman tries to reassure him. It’s a testament to how not fine it is, though, that Roman can’t even come up with a good nickname to ease the tension, and in the moment of silence that follows, Roman chooses instead to focus on how his ribs ache. 

“Stop saying that,” Virgil hisses, smacking his hands on his knees in frustration.

"If I may,” Logan interrupts, placing a hand on Virgil’s arm for a moment, as though it were a way to ask permission. “Roman, what were those things that attacked you? What makes you think you have to deal with them alone?”

Roman hesitates for a moment before he answers. “Back when Thomas was a kid, whenever he was...dealing with something, it was my job to keep his spirits up. Through my art, yes; that was a lot of what I did. But sometimes those issues manifested a little more physically. Or as physical as things in the mindscape can be anyway - ”

“Like those little gremlin things?” Patton interrupts, and Roman nods. “I think they’re like...the way Thomas processes emotional, uh, distress or something?” Roman continues. “They always show up after something happens that make Thomas upset. Like a bad grade on a test in high school would be an evil sorcerer, or...or feeling bad about doing something wrong would be a bloodthirsty dire wolf, or - ” Roman cuts off, evidently deciding against saying whatever he’d been about to say.  “...Yeah. They’re different monsters depending on whatever thing Thomas is dealing with. And I help him deal with them.”

“So you’ve been doing this for all those years by yourself?” Virgil asks, voice still sounding somewhat strained.

“I’m Creativity, I’m the one who’s supposed to be able to get rid of that stuff,” Roman replies lamely.

Virgil scoffs. “And look how well that’s working out for you.”

“I can handle it!” Roman insists, but as he sits up straight to make his point, a shock of pain runs through his side and he inhales sharply, leaning back against the couch gingerly, feeling as though that’s less true than it’s ever been.

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Patton insists, and he’s still holding Roman’s good hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Not by yourself. We want to help you, Roman, all you have to do is let us.”

“It doesn’t need to be your problem,” Roman mumbles, and he doesn’t know if the others hear him, but clearly they get the gist, because Logan speaks up next.

“Roman, we’re not here out of obligation,” he begins, catching Roman’s eye as he leans forward to look at the other Side properly. “As I said before, if you have a problem, you can come to us with it. If things get to be too much, there’s no shame in asking for help. Stepping back and reevaluating the situation can be more helpful in the long run than rushing in to deal with things head on - and the worst thing you can do is push away the people who care about you.”

After taking a moment to process Logan’s words, Roman tears his gaze away from Logan’s and laughs dryly. There are a few long moments of silence, and then Patton says, "Can you just...promise me you won't get in trouble like that again without saying something? I don't - we don't want you to get hurt."

Patton's looking up at Roman, and he looks so earnest, Roman knows he's not escaping without giving a real answer.

"Okay," Roman replies. "Okay, I can do that, Padre." He leans into the other's side, and the smile he gets in response alleviates some of the pressure Roman feels weighing on him. He manages a small smile back.

"Hey, we mean it, Princey, if you get so much as a scratch and we don't find out about it you're never hearing the end of it," Virgil threatens, but there's more fondness in his voice than there had been.

“But for now…” Patton releases Roman’s hand, and Roman is disappointed for a moment before Patton claps his hands together and says, smiling, “Since we’re all out here, why don’t we have a movie night?”

The other three agree without any cajoling, and Roman is more enthusiastic than is probably strictly necessary, but that’s not unusual normally, and particularly not when Roman feels has so much to make up to them.

Patton gets up to pick out a movie, and asks, “How do you feel about Mary Poppins, Roman?”

“I think that Julie Andrews is a goddess and that sounds,” Roman pauses dramatically, “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!”

Logan goes to get snacks, and in the meantime Roman badgers Virgil into being his pillow. When Logan returns to see Roman sprawled dramatically across Virgil and Patton’s laps, he raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

And if a few minutes into the movie, Roman falls asleep with his face buried in Virgil’s hoodie, snoring gently...well, Virgil doesn’t say anything about that, either.

#ts sides #thomas sanders #sanders sides #ts roman #roman sanders #ts virgil #virgil sanders #ts logan #logan sanders #ts patton #patton sanders #hurt/comfort

[lunarrwolf]

black butterflies [colby brock]

fandom: sam and colby/traphouse

pairing: colby x self

word count: 2,209

part(s): one two three

summary: after a prank gone wrong, colby and his friends meet another youtuber during her meet and greet in hopes it will cheer her up

A/N: this is a self-insert because it’s a fic that was started for my own personal pleasure. it was supposed to be shared last year on my fan account after a poll was done but never was bc i ended up not feeling ready to do so. i figured since i‘m ready to share it now, it would be best to do it here since it’s pretty detailed

THREE

By the time the pair reached their hotel on the west coast, the sky was significantly brighter than back home. While she loved the city that she frequently visited, she had to admit when the airplane reached its destination that Boston did not compare to the view that graced her. Palm trees, beaches and sunny skies greeted the two friends as they descended toward the runway of LAX that afternoon. Even the drive to the west coast Marriott location was a sight for sore eyes as the scenery blurred by with dozens of people walking the sidewalks and hundreds of restaurants and stores lining the street. Aiden won the competition of who could connect their music to the car’s stereo the fastest, playing indie music the whole ride. When they actually checked into the building, the walk and elevator ride consisted of a playful argument about who was going to get which bed. That was figured out quickly as Kirsy set her stuff on the floor of the shared room before throwing herself on the one next to the window.

After settling and calming themselves down, the close friends talked about what they could do first. However, she wasn’t feeling up to exploring right away. They’d only landed the night before and were now three hours behind their usual time. Jet lag wasn’t really at play since the difference didn’t mean much to someone who rarely slept anyway, but exhaustion was another thing entirely. The whole early morning was spent laying underneath the sheets

“You can’t lay here all day.”

“I beg to differ.” She rolled on her stomach from facing the ceiling, coming eye to eye with the rising musician. His hands were placed on his waist as he stared you down, to which she paid no mind because that was just how their relationship worked. “I just want to lay here in a room with an air conditioner and fantasize about people who don’t know I exist.”

Knowing exactly who she meant, Aiden raised an eyebrow, shifting his weight on one leg as he raised an eyebrow at her. “Please - that’s a cliche story that isn’t going to get you out of today’s plans.” The older of the two placed himself against the bed across from her, taking his hat off of his head to chuck it at the girl’s face. She let out a whine, sending him a glare that would send a fraction of shivers going on anyone else’s spine. The bemusement on the young man’s face was clear as day; they were in a busy city with long beaches and awe-striking sights and all she wanted to do was mope around on her phone.

He was going to have none of it.

It didn’t matter that one of their companions quit on them and the channel - this trip was about moving on, starting new chapters and showing everyone that she wasn’t as devastated as she made herself look on camera the other day. While he hadn’t known her as long, they were almost inseparable, and watching her delve into the nerves of walking around without the redhead was something he never thought he’d see. His friend needed someone to slap her out of this misery and drag her back into the world she lived in now; one of adventure and expanding the lack of social horizons. “Get your ass up, we’re going out.”

“What-” She glanced over at him, exasperation in her tone. “We landed in the state twelve hours ago. What exactly do you want to do at this hour?”

“It’s what I don’t want to do, and that’s be stuck in here until we have the meet and greet. Which is in a few hours,” he reminded her. He crossed the small room to fish the room key out of the side of his bag, glancing back to find her sitting up with a neutral expression on her face. He side swept her copy of the card onto the bed he gained in the race to the shared room, “Your body knows nothing about being put to rest for more than five hours. I’m sure it doesn’t register that you’ve changed time zones, so you have enough energy to be proactive.”

Kirsy stared at her friend blankly, shoving her hands in the pocket of her hoodie. She peeked down at the white and green piece of plastic sitting on the comforter, tempting her to join in on exploring the city. Which is what she should be doing, anyway.

For years, her mind had been plagued in the best way possible with dreams and manifestations of how her life would be if she was ever able to afford residency in California. The sandy beaches, clear skies, endless list of activities and shops, and modern beauty of such a popular location always drew her in. The plan was to save up and find a place with Casey, so ensuing on a trip that her eccentric friend insisted on doubling as an apartment search was tough for her. She got over situations very quickly - the events that unfolded about one week before were already shoved in the back of her mind as unnecessary but moral filled fog. People were harder to be rid of in the recesses. If someone was dear to her, she could live on as if they weren’t, though it wouldn’t be the case on the inside. Going out and enjoying herself didn’t sit right with the part of her that was stuck with the friendship that had a questionable ending.

The young adult kept an eye on the twenty-two year old as she seemed to be contemplating what she was going to do. He was going to drag her out to the elevator and out the doors either way. Still, it would be much more enjoyable of a break from reality if she was one hundred willing to partake in the adventure.

“How long are we staying again?” She looked up, meeting his gaze.

“I think four days. Unless we find a place, then we agreed to stay longer to sort everything out.”

“Okay.” With a defeated sigh she picked up the key and turned around to grab the small backpack she was able to carry on the flight over. Making her way to where Aiden patiently stood, she placed a small hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go find you a boyfriend, then.”

He shook his head, letting out an exasperated sigh that only received a grin in response before they opened the door.

-

“I’m pretty sure this counts as stalking.” The brunette looked over the shorter figure, giving him a look that the slightly older male dismissed with a gesture of surrender. “All I’m saying is that checking her story is a step above what a normal person would do.”

“You’re not normal.” He retorted, his previously blonde friend agreeing with no problem.

“I would hope not,” Sam exclaimed, putting his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket as he smiled at his exasperated friend, “it’s kind of my whole brand.”

Colby couldn’t come up with a clever comeback. Since seeing that the vlogger and streamer had landed, he’d been dragging his friends around the local spots of Downtown Los Angeles. The anxiety that riddled him was as much of a positive aspect as it could have been - it matched the feeling their subscribers and community members would react at their own chances of meeting the group of four boys and the girlfriends of three of them. He knew how much he was acting out of character, and yet he didn’t care. Both parties had been admiring the other for months at a time without notice. Well, he noticed hers because everything she had came from the makings of a fan account she created for him and his friends. The lack of responses and her comments and work being drowned out by the millions of other fans gave her the impression that he never saw her past being another face, even after her own social media standing took off.

Taking the past three years into consideration benefited both ends of this infatuation. After proving successful in her journey when able to attend a convention the year before, she hoped having the platform would bring more attention to her rising brand so she could get the chance to embarrass herself in person.

It was the opposite for Colby.

All he’d wanted since realizing he was starting to experience the way a lot of fans felt towards any member of the housemates was a chance to meet her face to face. Maybe the way she affected him was because her own emotions manifested onto him whenever he skimmed a caption on one of her editing account’s uploads or read some of the posts she would put up on social media about him. Surely that was the explanation for all of this.

Everyone knew he was tired of trying to find the person he was meant to be with in girls from the Bay Area. No one he’d ever been attracted to or tried to start a relationship with in his years of living here had shown potential. Los Angeles was a palace for people who did a lot of stunts and acted a certain way to get where they wanted to go in life, and that included who they would get involved with. It became too hard too quickly for him to figure out the intentions of the few he tried to get to know romantically, and so he gave up on dating in this part of the country. Part of him did anticipate that if it wasn’t going to be someone he would see on the internet or the feed of any social media accounts, it would be someone from the family they’d all built over time. It would be a girl that’s watched their videos and been with them for a while and knew the guys well enough just by observing and enjoying the content they were given. It was nerve racking to think that the person he should really be with was a fan, as they would all categorize themselves as. So since he started being the one to keep an eye out for announcements and new content when it came to Kirsy, it wasn’t that he didn’t want to believe it - he just couldn’t.

How would this girl who proclaimed herself a fangirl half the time - a girl who photoshopped images, created videos and made storylines for everyone to read - possibly be the one who took his heart and made it beat such a way? It just didn’t make sense.

Yet here he was, blindly following her updates along with any other local subscriber of hers to see if she would be going anywhere he could bump into her, his friends following along because they knew what was going on and wanted to be there for support. Having known him since they were in their early teenage years, Sam had every inch of how his best friend reacted to liking someone planted in his brain. He mapped out the stages in his head when Colby started talking about the ‘new YouTuber that looked familiar and he could have sworn she went to their tour or passed by them at an event’. When those stages started to ring true, he filled in their other roommates who started to notice the constant mention of her name as well. They’ve all been there for him, hoping that he would just admit he fell for someone he’d never personally met or spoken to before.

One of the taller members of the foursome looked between the more sane companions, wanting to help their friend keep the confidence they all knew he had. “We should invite her and her friend to the Love For Hire party this weekend. She’s going to be here around then, right?”

Colby brought his attention to Jake, his curiosity peaking at the mention of their new boyband. They all met their girlfriends at parties, didn’t they? At least - that’s the way it was perceived in his head when the moments began to blur together. It seemed the connections for all of them were made when they all met the nights of, and that’s what he wanted. Perhaps the fact that the trio of couples all met for the first time at one of the Traphouse’s parties made him much more superstitious than he wanted or expected to be. Going to a small event meant for local fans of another content creator and using it to meet her himself right before they all invited her to their house for a party? How much of an ideal was that?

The more he thought about it as they walked down the sidewalks beside the beach, the more ridiculous he sounded. So what if this wasn’t an ideal situation? If whatever it was he felt was genuinely reciprocated, then he would approach it head on and take the risk of wooing someone from his creator community. If not, then he would have to learn to deal with that.

Although, something told him that all of this overwhelming emotion would be worth it.

#colby brock #colbybrockimagines #corey scherer #jake webber #sam and colby #traphouse #colby and sam #youtuber #youtubers #colby #colby brock imagines #cole robert brock #sam golbach imagines #sam golbach #corey scherer imagines #jake webber imagines #trapgirls #trapboys #trapidiots #cxtecxlby #xplr #brennen taylor #brennen #mikes dead #katrina stuart #tara yummy #devyn lundy #self insert #fanfiction #youtube

[lundiivith]

(i can say i) did it all with love

more reposting stuff i posted months ago to ao3 on tumblr because... unfortunate situations. anyways

here’s a 7.5k words miraak oneshot backstory fic ft vahlok the jailor. read it on ao3 or under the cut!

warning for, uhm... mild/not-very-explicit gore, couple deaths (esp. of family members), eye trauma, fire, a cult, the works. one implication of boarding school-style child ab/use. yeah. not a happy fic

mid-aar; “loyal servant”.

The man held his midsection as tightly as humanly possible. Forced onto his knees by all-too-mortal injury, proud Miraak looked up, defiant in the face of destiny. In that momentf, Midaar was struck by familiarity; but to what, exactly, he didn’t know.

The wind howled as the sun rose. Or fell. Midaar wasn’t sure.

The snow under Miraak was red, as were his clothes. Liquids leaked from his wounds, not all of them blood -- like an ugly, pale acid that left burn-marks on his fingers. The man himself was shaking in agony, and yet, he still raised his shoulders and tried to move. He made a noise and persevered. He’d see this to the bitter end, Midaar knew. It was what his friend always did.

...He was a traitor. He was his friend no more.

(When had he stopped being the man Midaar had known all his life? When had Miraak stopped being the person Midaar had befriended; when had he instead been captured by greed, by an otherworldly spirit’s smoky promises? Had Midaar taken his eyes off him for too long, for just a moment--?)

“You know I expected better of you, Miraak.” Midaar’s voice was icy.

Miraak laughed, a gross wet chortle. “Of course you did.” He tried to laugh as he started coughing, and then he kept coughing. Miraak crawled further, maybe an inch. His free hand held onto the ground, carving the snow as he went; droplets of hot acid smoked as they hit snow. He raised his mask just a little bit and uncovered his mouth; Miraak then stared defiantly upwards, into the slits of Midaar’s mask, and retched blood onto his feet.

Midaar waited for him to finish. Once he did, he knelt and with almost no resistance grabbed the back of Miraak’s head, and he smashed it into the ground once, twice, three times, careful not to let his body shake. Midaar then kept Miraak’s face pressed against the ground, teeth against the cold, and spoke.

“Looking back, it’s obvious. You were always too independent. Too bright, too clever for your own good. You were naïve, Miraak, to think you could best the dragons.”

Miraak grunted something against the snow. He was shivering, burning. Crashing.

“What was that?”

The traitor twisted his head, freeing his lips. “I bested twenty.”

Midaar froze for a moment, horrified, iracund, disgusted, and then replied, “And look where you are now. Dead by the hands of a man.” His chest felt empty. “A man who used to be your friend, Miraak,” he whispered (was he pleading?). “Why did you do this?”

Miraak’s breaths were more and more shallow. He didn’t look at Midaar. “Does it matter?”

“Not to our lords, no.” But you can tell me anyways.

“Then I’ll take it to the grave.” Miraak smiled, wicked and bitter and angry and small. Bloody vomit trailed from his mouth, tears (of pain?) stained by ice and mud. “But I can tell you one name,” he then added. “Kᴀʜᴠᴏᴢᴇɪɴ.”

“...Who?” Midaar blinked, taken aback.

Miraak grinned wider. “Ask the dragons.”

And then Miraak Shouted,

F̬U͍̞̬̰͉̞͖S̜̻ ͙̩̣̱͉̱RO͍ D̪̗̩A͔̙̳̗͍̭̠Ḫ̬̹͈ͅ!̠̺̭͍

The world, for lack of a better world, shook.

A void of ink appeared around Miraak; Midaar only realized he’d fallen once the ringing in his ears began. He could feel a trail of -- blood? -- from his ear. He watched as the ink swallowed Miraak. He thrashed, surprised, and Midaar saw it all, saw him disappear, ( “MIRAAK!” ), saw him gone. He threw out his hand, and Miraak struggled to catch it and failed, his eyes suddenly huge and dark and dark and dark and Midaar’s ears kept ringing --

-- and as Midaar watched, the continent broke.

The wave, the huge dark wave of sea-salt and foam was the last thing the dragon priest saw that day.

The boy waiting on the stairs was pretty excited about joining the ranks of the Dragon Priests, all things considered.

He glanced back at the big door and then decided to wait for the Priest who’d welcomed him to come back. The boy didn’t know how old the ma was, but he was a grown-up and he was a Priest and he’d said his name was Vo-something maybe and that he should wait outside until he came back and the boy’s new name was called and then the door had closed and dawn was coming and he’d been waiting for hours, now, and his legs were getting kind of tired.

He watched the people around Labyrinthian. There were also a few dragons, but the boy didn’t find himself caring about them too much. Oh, sure, they were huge and good and stuff, and they sure seemed to be watching over the people wisely and stuff, but the novelty had worn out hours ago and the boy liked people, anyways. Simple dumb people. He found them funny, and fascinating, going around places doing everyday stuff. There was a Dragon Priest talking to a few workers. One of them was a nervous woman who kept shuffling from one foot to the other. The Dragon priest then said something to the nervous worker, and she jumped in place and stared wide-eyed at the maybe Dragon Priest and then began glowing, like straight-up glowing and smiled real wide and gave the priest a short bow and left really fast. The boy smiled. The priest then talked to the other two a bit more, and the boy looked away.

He kept watching as the sun rose, light bouncing off the snow, and he was definitely not scared when a big dragon walked close enough to the entrance to make the entire stone platform shake with his weight. He remembered something his father had told him once, about big things and dragons maybe, and then he remembered that he wouldn’t see his father for a really long time and he felt a little sad. He didn’t know why, though, because being a Dragon Priest was the best thing you could aspire to be, and you got to talk directly to the dragons and change things about Skyrim if they listened to you, and it was much better than the farm and he wouldn’t have to share everything with five siblings.

His thought process was interrupted when he saw a small child by themself.

“Hi,” he told the younger kid. They were maybe four, so definitely younger than the boy, who was eight and three months and five days. “What’s your name? I’m, uh,” and then he stopped because he realized he’d abandoned his old name and he didn’t have a new one yet.

The kid turned around. Their eyes widened for a second when they found him, but they shook their head and stood up straighter. “Hel-lo,” they said, very serious. Little kids usually were annoying, the boy thought, but maybe this one wouldn’t be as bad.

“What’s your name?” he asked, curious.

“...don’t have one.” They seemed… embarrassed. “Had an old one. It was dumb.”

“Are you here to be a priest?”

“...yeah.”

“Me too.” The boy thought for a moment. “Maybe we’ll get matching names. Since we were in-duc-ted on the same day.”

The kid’s eyes filled with tears, suddenly. “No!” they yelled. The boy leaned backwards, a little surprised. They stomped and then started flailing their arms, angry. They yelled for a bit, before shouting out, “I don’t wanna share my name!!”

“Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up!!” The boy covered his ears as the kid started wailing. He groaned. Nevermind on them not being annoying! He hated little kids sometimes.

He remembered his baby brother Eluf’s screaming when he wasn’t allowed to pet the chickens. Then the boy remembered he wouldn’t see Eluf for a while and felt… sad. He froze for a moment and didn’t realize he’d dropped his hands until the kid had tugged on one of them.

“Why are you sad?” the kid asked, blunt.

“...it’s nothing.” He raised his shoulders, defensive, but the kid just tugged on his arm again. And then again. The boy huffed. “...I miss my little brother.”

“Oh.” The kid thought for a moment. “Was he nice?”

“He was. He liked to hug everyone. Even the chickens, but he scared them, because he hugged them too tight, and he didn’t know he was scaring them.” There was a ton of other stuff to say about Eluf, but the boy right now could only remember his little brother skinning his knee on the dirt path to the coops while chasing a very shy hen, crying like little waterfalls from his eyes.

The kid stared at him for a moment. “How did he not know?”

“He was a little kid. He didn’t know better.”

The kid then started thinking. And they thought loudly, humming out-loud. “Can grown-ups don’t know, too?”

“I don’t know. I guess?”

“Oh.” They paused. “Thank-you.”

“...It’s no problem.”

A little bit afterwards, the doors opened -- and their new lives began.

Midaar awoke slowly, unsure.

The first thing he saw was a high stone ceiling. The second thing Midaar saw after Miraak’s death was a healer.

(Miraak’s death. Miraak’s death. Miraak was gone.)

He blinked slowly, trying to make sense of the blurry shape by his side.

“Sleep, my lord,” they whispered. They touched his forehead for a moment (was he running a fever? He didn’t feel hot) and then, seemingly content, tucked Midaar further into bed.

“What day is it?”

“It’s been three days since your duel with… him,” the healer looked behind themself, alert, then slowly returned their gaze to him. “You were lost for a day. A wave dragged you onto the beach on the second day, my lord Jailor. You were unconscious and had a fever, in addition to multiple bruises and graver wounds.”

“Solstheim. The land…”

“It broke,” the healer interrupted him. “Solstheim is… an island, now. It drifted northeast from the mainland, my lord.”

“...I see.” A blurry thought made its way through Midaar’s mind. “...Why are you calling me your lord?”

“You’ve been made governor of the island for the time being, my lord.” The phrase had been blunt, simple. A punch to the gut. Midaar’s chest went hollow.

“Oh.”

He turned around and fell back asleep.

Years earlier, one late afternoon, Midaar found him staring off into the distance.

His friend looked thoughtful. He hadn’t even noticed him; Midaar had an opening. Nice. He looked at him for a moment, hesitated perhaps? -- and then punched his shoulder hard enough to bruise.

“FUCK!,” was his victim’s first last words, followed by “OW! What is WRONG with you, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ?!”

“Payback, you twerp.” Midaar ruffled his hair and grinned at his scowl. “What are you thinking about, Miraak?”

Miraak huffed, rubbing his wounded shoulder. “...Many things,” he said.

“You can tell me.” Midaar sat down on the cold ground and patted the snow right beside him. He raised a quizzical eyebrow towards Miraak from behind his brand-new mask. Miraak sighed and sat down. He stared away from Midaar, silent, head tilted like the few birds that came to Solstheim in the summer.

“Come on, Miraak. I’m not gonna become a snitch just because I’m a priest now.”

“...it’s not like I think you’ll tell on me,” Miraak began, doubtful. “And it’s not like it’s a bad thing.”

Miraak was silent for a moment.

“One day, I will rule this land.”

“Huh?”

“When I finish my training, I will be part of the High Council of Dragon Priests.”

Miraak always had replaced his want-to’s with will’s. “You’re confident in this, then.” At Miraak’s unimpressed glance, Midaar rolled his eyes. “That’s good, Miraak. You’d be a great councilor.”

“You say that because I’m your friend,” Miraak noted dryly. “But it’s no problem. You will be a councilor, too.”

“What?”

“You’re a great leader, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ, and you excel at worshipping our ᴊᴜɴ. You might even be heard by them, one day.” Was it just him, or were there hints of bitterness in his voice? Of anger? Did he think he wasn’t worthy of being heard by the dragons one day, when he’d already surpassed Midaar in all his studies of the thu’um? No.

“Miraak. Listen to me.” Midaar grabbed him by the shoulders and physically turned Miraak around, and Miraak yelped. Midaar pointed at Miraak’s chest. “You,” he told him, “will be heard by the dragons more Loudly than I ever will, and this is a promise.”

Miraak’s eyes widened as he heard Midaar’s words, but then his face fell. He looked away from Midaar, clearly angry. He glanced once more towards Midaar and then his face softened, maybe in acceptance. Midaar let go of him.

“Thank you,” Miraak said. His voice was empty, his words a mere courtesy. Had he said something wrong?

“You’re welcome,” Midaar replied, and he looked back towards the sunset.

They both stayed like that for a moment, watching the sun go down at the end of a day that had started fast and lasted long, and Midaar thought not of ink-black or mold-green but of red, red, red, like the blood that ran along his veins, if not Miraak’s too.

The dusk was cloudless. No storm came that night, nor the next, nor storm for years to come. But one day it would come, and it would water some interesting seeds.

The next morning after he woke up, when Midaar was well enough to stand, the dragons came.

The Priest was called outside early. He was still recovering from the fight, sleeping far too much and being only woken up for things of extreme importance -- such as this. He’d gone outside in the snow barefoot but masked, wearing the pants and loose shirt he’d slept in and a fur cloak, jaw dropped to the floor at the dov that perched on the roof and ground before him.

Midaar recognised most of them. There were many dragons he’d either seen around or had spoken to a few times; Sahrotaar, Krosulhah, Relonikiv, Kruziikrel. Most surprisingly of all, however, was that they were led by the dragon Paarthurnax, the Dovah-jun Alduin’s lieutenant, who Midaar had only seen once in brief passing. He started… he didn’t know if he was shivering from cold or shaking from awe, but it was likely both. The sky was a light blue, and Paarthurnax, perched on top of the temple, was staring at him.

“Mɪʀᴀᴀᴋ Dɪʟᴏɴ,” the gray dragon began. Miraak is dead. It wasn’t a question.

“He has… disappeared. It is likely he is dead,” Midaar explained.

“That is enough. As long as you are ready to kill him again, if he comes back.” Paarthurnax stood perfectly still, his head tilted just slightly to the side, and Midaar realised.

He nodded slowly, thoughtful. “Yes, my lord.”

“But Solstheim is an island, now,” Paarthurnax continued. “And it is too small for ᴅᴏᴠ to reside comfortably in. Nᴜ ᴍᴜ ꜰᴇɴ sᴘᴀᴀɴ ɴɪɪ.” Yet we have to protect it. “So we have decided that that shall be your reward for slaying Mɪʀᴀᴀᴋ.”

Midaar went still under the morning sunlight and broke eye contact, just for a second, to nervously glance away. He looked back at Alduin’s lieutenant. “What shall?”

“You will ʀᴇʟ over Solstheim,” Paarthurnax told him. Reign. “You will ward ꜰɪɴ Lᴇɪɴ from his influence.” The world. “And you will also wield a new name, a new title; one befitting your new position.”

“I am profoundly honored, my lord.” He was. (He wasn’t).

“From now on,” Paarthurnax continued, perched above the Solstheim temple, his face tired and cold and hard, “you will be known as Vᴀʜʟᴏᴋ, and you will guard the island of Solstheim.”

Midaar… Vahlok fell to one knee. “I am so profoundly honored,” he begun, and then he started coughing.

Saltwater and blood fell from his mouth as the dragons watched, impassively, and he felt somehow so incredibly desperate to escape this coughing fit he started worrying this was the proverbial straw and the world’s back was about to be broken. He closed his eyes, hoping against everything the dragons would not see this as weakness.

When he was finally able to open his eyes, he saw the consequences of his actions; disgusted, definitely, all of the dov gathered had flown away, their wings like thunder on the too-far blue horizon. All of the dov but one.

Paarthurnax stood, an undeniable shape the color of envy, before Vahlok.

Vahlok looked up, worshipful but hesitant. “My lord Paarthurnax,” he began. He paused for a moment, to think. Should he heed his last words? He was a traitor, of course, but he was Midaar’s friend. He was clever, and inquisitive, and hungry for knowledge in a way Vahlok had never seen anywhere besides him -- and was yet strangely familiar. He was… He’d been. His friend was dead, he reminded himself, whether or not his heart kept beating. And that helped rationalize his actions, at the moment and perhaps later, because he was honoring his dead friend’s memory, and that was something no one could take away from the mortal.

“...Yes,” Paarthurnax said, clearly confused about the long pause after Vahlok’s words.

“My lord Paarthurnax, I… I wish to ask for something.”

“Have we not given you enough?” Paarthurnax huffed through his nose, clearly annoyed, but his sentence had no bite. Vahlok decided not to question his luck.

“Of course you have, my lord. I just wished to know of a dragon. To… congratulate him, or at least speak to him.” Before Paarthurnax’s watchful eyes, Vahlok shrunk a bit. “Miraak mentioned him with hatred,” Vahlok added, and Paarthurnax snapped to attention.

“Vᴏᴛʜ ɴɪ…?” Paarthurnax stopped there. Midaar waited, to see if he’d continue, and then spoke.

“Yes, my lord. And -- and I just wished to perhaps see him. To see what role he might have played, perhaps… to warn other priests not to fall into the same traps as Miraak did.” He was only half lying; as he spoke, those became his intentions, his ambitions, and while he didn’t forget Miraak’s words, he wanted with all his heart to believe he didn’t care about them.

“...Wᴏ?”

“The dragon Kahvozein, my lord.”

The frills and spikes that dotted Paarthurnax’s face and ran along his spine bristled for a moment. “...Kᴀʜᴠᴏᴢᴇɪɴ,” he stated, thoughtful. “I… have not seen him in a long time.” He shook his head, and the shaking went as a shiver down his back and to the tip of his tail. Paarthurnax then lowered his head, staring right into Vahlok’s eye. “You cannot see him.”

Vahlok took a step back, then another. “My lord,” he said, simply.

“If he has…” Paarthurnax began, and then sighed.  “Rᴏ ʟᴀᴀɴ Aʟᴅᴜɪɴ ᴡᴀʜ ᴏꜰᴀɴ ʜɪ ᴀᴀᴢ, ᴀʜʀᴋ ʜɪ ʀᴏ ɴɪ ʟᴀᴀɴ ᴅᴀᴀʀ. Jᴏᴏʀ sᴀʜʟᴏ -- ꜰᴏᴅ-ᴅʀᴇʜ ɴɪ ʟᴀᴀɴ ᴍᴜ...*"

Vahlok looked at the dragon. Slowly, the realization sunk in that he would not be allowed to find answers, that his request would be forever denied. That he would not be able to prevent his greatest failure. That he would not be able to mourn his brother. His face felt foreign all of a sudden, his bones distancing themselves from his nerves. A perfect poker face crept onto his features. Midaar looked away for a moment, then looked back into the dragon’s eyes, hardened by resolve.

“Of course, my lord,” he found his lips saying, independant. “Forget I ever asked.”

Paarthurnax paused for a moment, then looked at Midaar, his face tired and cold and hard, and nodded once before leaving -- with the beat of his wings like a punch to the gut.

Midaar turned around, and remembered, offhandedly, that the healer had told him the next ship towards the mainland would be lifting its anchors tonight. He wondered… he’d been masked for so long. Had the metal blinded his mind, or had it only changed his face?

“On three,” Miraak told him, dead serious. Midaar stared at him in sheer disbelief, but breathed in deeply and prepared for Miraak’s ridiculous request. “One, two…”

“You two, stop immediately.”

Midaar froze.

He slowly, slowly turned his head around, never letting go of Miraak’s shirt’s collar. He lowered his fist, and missed Miraak stealing a glance at how it shook.

At the door’s frame stood the priest Geinmaar, his mask a cruel caricature of a grimace. His shoulders were tense, and his hands were balled up into tight-knuckled fists. Midaar flinched.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing, sir,” he said, at the same time as Miraak replied, “Training, sir.”

“Training?” Geinmaar asked, dryly. He didn’t wait for an answer before oh-so-slowly walking over to the two. Midaar’s hands shook. “What kind of training begins half past midnight?”

“Urgent training, sir,” and Midaar looked at Miraak, eyes wide. What a bold-faced lie.

“I don’t believe you, Miraak.” Geinmaar crossed his arms behind his back and leaned over him. Midaar tried to hold his breath, but it went by far too fast.

“See, sir, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ had slacked earlier today.” Midaar gaped openly at Miraak. The little-- “And I graciously offered to help him. However, he didn’t relate the information until just recently, and we’ll be tested on our hand-to-hand combat abilities soon, so it was urgent.”

“I see.” A wicked gleam shone through the older man’s eye. “But,” he added, “if that is the case -- then why are you offering no resistance?”

“Uh,” Miraak stuttered, his brain visibly trailing off. Midaar glared at him.

“Sir, if I may,” Midaar told Geinmaar, voice trembling as he went, “Miraak had told me he was afraid of being unable to stay conscious after being punched. To the extent of nightmares, sir.”

“...Really,” Geinmaar said. His voice was distorted by his mask’s metallic shape, echoing oddly into something far more threatening than a mere human voice. Midaar hated it.

“Really, sir,” Miraak answered, smoothly continuing his performance.

“...Well. If that is all.” The priest tilted his chin up, disdainful. “But if another noise complaint comes my way, you’ll both be in very serious trouble.”

The dragon priest then turned around and left the room.

Midaar sighed with relief. “By the Lord Alduin,” he whispered, “that was close.” And he shook his head. “Why are you even asking me to punch you?”

“To prove a point to you, obviously, since you don’t trust any pain I may inflict on myself anymore.” Miraak sighed. “Just do it.”

The resounding punch echoed on the stone walls. Midaar made a noise, head flooding with possibilities -- would Geinmaar come back? Would he hit them? Shit.

“Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ,” he heard, and then a single hard shake of the shoulders. He focused. Before him was Miraak, still held by the neck of his shirt, nose bleeding from the hit -- and before Midaar’s very eyes, the blood stopped flowing barely seconds after beginning to gush.

“...Oh,” Midaar said.

Miraak wiped his face. “As I was telling you,” he continued, and then he paused to pull away from Midaar’s grasp. “As I was telling you,” he repeated, “I’m stronger, and heal faster…”

Vahlok’s footsteps on the echoing chamber were nearly silent. The high stone ceilings, fit for a dragon, held for him the same meaning as a night devoid of stars. He hurried up. The cold air felt strange on his face; it had been far too long since he’d been maskless outside of his own chambers.

When he finally finished crossing the grandiose hallway, the last one in a series of tunnels best left unremarked upon, he found himself before an arch. A curtain was draped over said archway, a thick piece of purple cloth Vahlok quickly pushed away. On the other side -- and he remained on this side of the archway, only looking -- on the other side was a room Vahlok had never seen before. Decorated with more of these thick purple curtains -- all hanging from the ceiling, tall as the mountains -- and entirely lit by candlefire -- including a few dangerously close to the cloth --, a stage stood in the middle of a room, and on it a slab of rock like a table. One side of the room had another platform, higher than the one in the middle, and he couldn’t help but note it seemed the right size for a dragon to lay upon.

He was wondering whether to continue or to stay where he was when, suddenly, a few of the curtains were pulled aside. Chatter filled his ears. Dozens of men and women, all in robes and hoods, made their way around the stage. Their footsteps echoed against the stone floor. Vahlok stood still, as silent as he could, and closed the curtain nearly all the way. Only a sliver of an opening remained, mostly so he could see. He held his breath.

A thunderous noise. Vahlok froze in place, unable to move even if he’d wanted to, before the very sight: a gigantic purple dragon, with wings spotted white, had appeared from behind one of the curtains. The dragon settled on top of the taller platform and languidly raised his head. Soon, a hooded mortal scurried across the multitude, holding in their wobbly arms a shaky bronze tray full of what looked like enormous chops of raw meat. They climbed onto the smaller, central platform and placed it upon the larger platform, then bowed deeply and stood in place, shaking. The dragon inspected the tray with one compound eye. The mortal shivered. The dragon then, simple as the act of breathing, stretched forwards just enough to bite onto the mortal, grabbing their body tightly with his teeth, before launching them upwards -- and as gravity forced the body onto a downwards momentum, the dragon opened his maw to rip the body messily in half. Blood rained across the people around them. Vahlok watched, silent, as they cheered the dragon on, screaming in joy as their robes were covered by blood.

After the screaming lulled to an end, one of the curtains was pulled. A dragon priest appeared from behind it, followed by three people. Vahlok didn’t recognize her, at least not at a distance. Out of three people behind her, two were wearing armor and hoods, and were dragging the third across the floor in chains. The multitude parted like an impossible sea as the woman walked up the steps to the central stage, followed by the two ...guards? and their prisoner, the only one not wearing a hood. His head bumped on the steps. Vahlok could gleam from his position that he was a man with longish auburn hair, his face streaked with warpaint, but not much else. The man was led to the stage and then thrown on the table in the middle. He fell unconscious. The Dragon Priest dismissed the guards with a gesture, and they hurried down into the multitude as she began circling the chained prisoner.

There was a gleam of metal. Vahlok watched as the Priest produced a sharp, curved bronze knife, somewhat resembling a dragon’s tooth, from the folds of her clothes. She stopped before the dragon and gave a deep bow, placing the hand that held the dagger behind her back.

“Kahvozein, my lord,” she said. “I bring to you this sacrifice, only just captured -- a rebel against the glorious regime.”

The dragon chuckled, a deep laugh that seemed to shake the very foundations of the chamber. “A traitor, you say?” he said, his teeth bared in an approximation of a smile. “Do you all ʜᴏɴ these words?”

The audience broke into a hellish sort of noise, fueled by pure hatred. Mere inches behind one, Vahlok stifled his breathing, trying his damndest to not be caught. His mind had crawled to a stop at about a thousand miles an hour in mid-flight. The multitude screamed vile words towards the rebel, spit out their darkest curses and cursed him down to his earliest ancestor as the man regained bleary consciousness. The rebel realized what his situation was all of a sudden and began struggling against his bindings. Vahlok watched, mesmerized, as the Dragon Priest walked up to his face and gave him a resounding slap that echoed through the room; the man visibly gave up on freedom as soon as his cheek hit the table. He whimpered.

The Priest placed her hand on the man’s chest. “Well, well, well,” she said, “weren’t you a hunter before you fell? I wonder if you were good with the bow.” She chuckled and lifted the knife, placing it under one of the man’s eyes. He screamed, muffled by a cloth gag, and she just shook her head. “Now, now,” she added.

Before he saw something he wouldn’t be able to unsee, Vahlok violently averted his gaze from the spectacle, instead focusing on the candle closest to a nearby huge curtain. He heard muffled screaming. The candle seemed dangerously close to the curtain. The audience held its breath. He looked into its flame, burning a white smear into his gaze. He didn’t think about the wet, ugly noises he could hear coming from the room, until --

“And now,” the Priest said, “perhaps the other one.”

Perhaps not, Vahlok thought, and he kicked the candle onto the cloth.

The fire spread in huge, sudden bursts, consuming the curtains hungrily. The mortals gathered started screaming. The dragon stood up, glared from side to side as smoke began filling the room, then roared; useless, because Vahlok had hidden behind the archway’s side once again. He heard hundreds of footsteps storming out of the room, hid in the darkness behind the archway as people poured out of the chamber through his very own archway, and then suddenly, on impulse, slipped inside the chamber and ran towards the stage.

Vahlok hurried through the crowd, being bumped around and almost ran over, before he reached the stage. It’d been deserted by the Priest, but the rebel remained bound on the table, sobbing hysterically. Vahlok hurried up and produced a lockpick, thanked Miraak for teaching him how to break locks. Thanked Miraak… oh, he’d have time to thank Miraak for everything when he was back on Solstheim. He clumsily opened the chains’ padlock. The rebel fell into his arms, already coughing up smoke, and Vahlok coughed with him, too. He glanced at the rebel’s empty eye-socket. Fuck. Vahlok managed to get the rebel to stand up, holding onto his shoulder, and began half-carrying him towards the exit, until he heard a voice like thunder.

“ YOU! ”

Vahlok turned around. Face bared to the world, he made eye contact with the dragon Kahvozein, Proud-Reversing-Beyond. His eyes widened, and he turned away as soon as he could, but the damage was done; the dragon, coughing up smoke, was after them.

Vahlok dove to the ground, bringing the rebel down with him, just barely avoiding the dragon’s maw. He coughed and crawled forward, bringing the rebel with him, and pushed himself and the man both off the platform. They fell onto the quickly-emptying chamber’s floor. Vahlok stood up and held the rebel as he ran, as fast as he could, away from the great wyrm’s snapping jaws; finally, he was able to get both of them past the archway, too small for the dragon. He heard Kahvozein Shout furiously, uselessly filling the chamber up with even more fire before leaving in a hurry, and slid to the floor, still holding onto the rebel.

The rebel looked at Vahlok, wide-eyed. He coughed and seemed to notice something, touched his empty… orbit… ah. Yes.  The man blinked and then gave up on reality, falling unconscious on Vahlok’s chest.

“...I was wrong,” Vahlok whispered. “I was so, so wrong. All this time.” His shoulders shook, and he began sobbing from shock into the stranger’s auburn hair.

Someone knocked at his door, that fateful day. (A year ago; remorse bit at Vahlok. An eternity).

At the sound, Midaar blearily blinked the last bits of sleep away from his eyes. He slapped his nightstand until he found his mask and stood up, sliding it in place; then he yawned.

“Who is it?” Midaar asked.

“It’s me, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ,” Miraak’s voice replied. There was a tone in his voice, an edge of urgency, that Midaar had rarely seen from him before. It finished waking him up. Midaar grabbed the nearest clothes he could find -- yesterday’s -- and went to the door, which opened with a soft click.

Miraak wasn’t wearing his mask.

Midaar hurried to slide the mask halfway off his face. “Miraak? Is everything alright?” he questioned, suspicious. He had barely seen Miraak’s face in years, since his friend had been made a Priest.

Miraak shushed him, urgent. “I need to talk to you now.”

“What’s wrong?”

Miraak stared at him for a moment. “I… Fuck’s sake, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ.” He let his head drop on Midaar’s chest; Midaar took a step back, surprised at Miraak’s arms around his ribcage. He hugged him back. Miraak breathed in deeply, then continued. “There’s things I need to tell you. Things I didn’t trust you enough to tell you.”

“How important?"

“Very.”

“I thought you knew you could trust me.”

“Not with this, though.” Miraak’s voice was muffled. “But I’m here to right those wrongs.”

Midaar pulled Miraak away from him. “Alright. Tell me then.” His brow furrowed in worry.

Miraak looked away. “Where to begin,” he mused. “Where to even begin.” He shook his head, then looked back at Midaar. “I saw a dragon die, six months ago from today.”

“You -- what?” The dragons were immortal. If one of them was somehow slain, Alduin would claim his soul and resurrect him. No dragon could die, and this was known.

“I saw a dragon die, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ. I had -- sneaked,” Miraak admitted, just a smidge shameful, “sneaked somewhere I never should’ve gone to. Two dragons fought, enraged by clashing… it doesn’t matter. One died. And I… Its soul. I saw it.”

“You -- Lord, Miraak, where did you go?!”

“It doesn’t matter. Not far from here. Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ, I… I need to tell you something I discovered about myself that day, and I need you to know I was scared.”

“What are you talking about? Are you still scared?” Priorities, snarked a voice in Midaar’s head.

“I’ll explain, and no -- I assure you, I’m not scared anymore. I will not be scared anymore, and this is a promise.”

“Then tell me.” Midaar’s grip on Miraak’s shoulder tightened.

“When the dragon died,” Miraak said, slowly, “it glowed. I saw its soul, an orange flame -- an impossible flame, forged through eons of living. And it… went, inside of me.”

Midaar’s mouth opened. It stuttered silently, then closed.

“I know,” Miraak replied. “This was the answer, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ. When we were children -- I was stronger, more powerful. Healed faster. I’ve always had the ᴛʜᴜ'ᴜᴍ on the tip of my tongue. And I found my answer. I absorbed the soul, do you understand what it means? Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ, my soul is that of a dragon’s.”

“I…” Midaar just stared at his friend.

(That was the pivotal moment. Vahlok, in but a few months, would rewind the entire conversation a thousand times in his head, thinking over and over what he could’ve done better, how he could’ve helped his brother. And it always, to him, revolved around that moment -- the moment Miraak’s face fell for the first time in ten years, since that talk under the sunset. The last in a string of times Midaar wilfully had let himself be left behind).

Midaar’s first words after the pivotal second had been, “This cannot be.”

Miraak’s eyes widened, and his face hardened. “It can. I’ve ached for power just like one of them from day one, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ, and you know this.”

“You -- dragons don’t own the spirit of conquest. I can’t… Lord Alduin, is this why you…?” He trailed off, shaking his head. This was a nightmare, a bad dream. It would soon pass.

“There is a spirit, a god of wisdom, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ. He knows everything. He could grant me the wisdom to rule -- grant us the wisdom to rule, my brother. I did what I had to do for the best of this land, and I beg of you to join us.”

“Us.”

“Yes. You think I am alone in this rebellion? No. Others have seen the truth too, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ. Please, listen to me. He could be so much more to us than a dragon who does naught but allow his fellows to toy with our kind.”

Midaar stared, wide-eyed, at his brother. There was a look in his brown eyes that made him hesitate for a moment, but then blinked and looked away.

“A spirit,” Midaar said. Empty. “Miraak, you cannot trust him.” He looked back at Miraak, put a hand on his shoulder. “Please. It’s not too soon, Miraak, I beg of you to desist. This is not--” Not how we were raised. Not how we lived. (Unlike anything we ever knew).

“No, you don’t understand -- they were wrong!”

“I can’t! This is how it’s been our entire lives, Miraak. You-- This isn’t right! The dragons will kill you, and the spirit -- what says he’s trustworthy?! And you’d make a shit ruler!”

“What was that?!”

“You don’t care about people! You just care about power! And you’re so fucking rebellious, you refuse to listen to anybody! You’d end up a tyrant!”

The fire in Miraak’s eyes flickered and died. “...Fine,” he said. He smacked Midaar’s hand away from his shoulder, stepped back. Rage built up in his shoulders, built up his shoulders.  He made as if to turn around, only to abort the movement.

“Go fucking die, then, with your precious tyrannical regime,” Miraak told him, disdainful, cold -- and he punched Midaar’s face.

It caught his mouth, the side of his cheek. Midaar’s head was slung backwards and he bent over, spitting out blood. More than blood; one of his canines appeared on his hand, and his tongue immediately went to poke in its place -- empty. Shit. Shit!

“Miraak,” he muttered, just slightly sibilant. “Miraak! What the fuck?!” His head whipped upwards -- but Miraak was already gone.

A year and a day after Miraak’s defeat, Vahlok watched silently as the dragons landed upon the island of Solstheim, and Paarthurnax watched him back, equally silent. Blood dripped from the arrow wound over one of his eyes, but Paarthurnax ignored the warmth on his temple as the last of the other dragons settled.

Vahlok stared from behind his mask, hands clasped behind his back, regal.

“...And so, the dragons have come to Solstheim,” he began, simply.

“And so we have,” Paarthurnax echoed. “To one of the last bastions of our rule, we come, so that the revolution might not have spread here.”

Vahlok did not move. That should’ve been the first clue, in retrospect; Vahlok did not bow, did not take a knee, did not seem particularly worshipful at all of the dragons. He simply stared, his head swiveling left and right, and behind his mask his eyes jumping from dragon to dragon. Counting them.

“I am afraid,” he said, “I cannot afford you safety.”

Paarthurnax tilted his head. “...How so?”

Vahlok’s eyes snapped to him, and he took a moment to reply. “This island is too small, its harvest too poor,” he blatantly lied. “We do not have enough room to afford even thinking about it.”

“These sound like excuses, Vᴀʜʟᴏᴋ,” Paarthurnax replied. “We can clearly fit, seeing as we already do so.”

“Oh, but there are no buildings designed for dragons on this island anymore,” Vahlok replied. “No grand stone arches, no purple curtains.”

“...Purple curtains. A strange choice of words.” Paarthurnax didn’t notice Vahlok’s shoulders stiffening. “I admit I have seen them. Nonetheless -- a ᴅᴏᴠᴀʜ does not need ᴊᴏᴏʀ’s buildings.”

“No, you don’t.”

“And you can feed us. Even if you couldn't, we do not strictly need food. This we know, and so do you. So why lie, then?”

Vahlok stood for a moment, arms straightened, quiet. He slowly bowed his head. Paarthurnax did not expect the next thing he heard from the mortal’s lips to be a chortle -- a small, choked-down laugh, escalating into a giggle and from there onto an open laugh.

Vahlok bent down the middle, consumed by laughter. The dragons’ wings rustled. His laughs echoed in the empty morning, bouncing off the gently-falling snow like sunlight would’ve done otherwise.

“Ah, hah hah!”, he wheezed, holding a hand to his stomach. “Oh, you’ve caught me, my lord.” He sighed. “I’ll miss this land.”

The dragons looked at each other, uncomfortable. “What are you talking about?”, one spoke up.

Vahlok huffed, the last of his laughter left behind, and straightened up, chest puffed forwards. “I reject the charge of governor of Solstheim,” he said, his words muffled from behind his mask. “I reject the charge of the guardian of Solstheim. I reject the charge of jailor of Miraak.”

As he spoke, he dug his hands into his hood, untying something; he pulled down his hood and his mask fell onto the ground. Big, dark eyes on a pale face, copper wisps of hair flicking against his face in the wind.

“And... I reject the charge of sonaak,” he finished.

“You-- you cannot do that!”, shouted another dragon.

“Oh, I can,” Vahlok replied. “I quit. I desert. I am finished with your horrible little charade of a religion.”

Angry roars and affronted whispers sprouted in the crowd of dragons. Paarthurnax silenced his entourage with a look, then looked back into Vahlok’s eyes; the mortal did not flinch.

“You are bound to us until death,” Paarthurnax said.

“I am bound no longer,” Vahlok replied. “As are the innocents and guilty alike you’ve captured, careless, to be sacrificed as entertainment. As are the multitudes dead in mismanaged famines. As was my brother, Miraak -- the priest named, as I once was, for loyalty.”

The dragons seemed about ready to jump on Vahlok, but Paarthurnax taking a step forward embarrassed them, cowed them into watching what would be a fun spectacle.

Paarthurnax looked down at Vahlok, just a tiny speck of grey and brown some distance below his field of view. Vahlok stared up at him, his hair whipping in the wind -- definitely longer than a sᴏɴᴀᴀᴋ’s should be.

“And this is where you truly wish to stand, then? Nᴀᴜʀ ᴅᴀᴀʀ ᴋᴏʟ, ʜɪɴᴅ-ᴅɪʀ?”

“Yes,” was Vahlok’s succinct response. “Miraak was right.”

“...You have planned this,” Paarthurnax realized. “For some distance.”

Vahlok frowned, confused. “You could say that, yes.”

Paarthurnax huffed a passable sigh. “If you will not give us your servitude unto death,” he said, slowly, “we will take it.”

Vahlok blinked back tears and smiled. “Take it,” he said. He faced the sky. “I have loved Skyrim for thirty-one years,” he said. “If you loved her as much as I did, as much as men did, as much as Miraak did… things would be different.” He closed his eyes.

Yᴏʟ Tᴏᴏʀ Sʜᴜʟ!

Paarthurnax’s voice was the last thing the dragon priest heard.

mir-aak; "allegiance guide".

* (non-literally) “[I] fairly requested of Alduin to give you mercy, and you unfairly/harshly ask of me this. Mortals [are] weak, should not request [of] us…”

if you liked the fic, feel free to give it kudos on ao3! and stay safe!!

#words #skyrim #the elder scrolls #the elder scrolls skyrim #miraak #vahlok the jailor #skyrim fanfic #vahlok

[bookishnerdhero]

ROTBTD - OUAT AU  Episode 1 (Part 1)

I’ll be cutting the first chapter of this fic in parts  here in Tumblr, but will upload as a whole in AO3 and Wattpad once it’s all done. That way, it’s a little easier to update and since I am just trying this out to see how it goes first. ^_^

ROTBTD - The Big Four – OUAT AU

Author’s Note: This started out as a concept that occurred to me while sitting at the back of the car on the way home (where I get good story ideas). For two reasons, 1.) I’ve been having ROTBTD nostalgia since I was addicted to them a few years ago, and 2.) I’ve recently gotten into watching Once Upon a Time again last year. Once Upon a Time seemed like too good an AU for The Big Four to pass up, though I’m honestly not the best of fanfic writers when it comes to updating which is why I’m a little nervous. I’m still pretty busy and I initially didn’t want to do anything about it yet apart from plot and draft a few things first.  But I’ve been going back and forth, considering whether I should just go ahead and write this ROTBTD fic and I guess to just go the heck with it won me over.

Also, I posted the synopsis up in my Tumblr and have gotten positive feedback about it, so if you’re one of those people who supported it as a concept—Thanks and here it is! The start at least. I’m still not in a position to promise anything yet, but I’m hoping I could maybe do this for fun so it’s less intimidating.

I’m encouraging other ROTBTD fans to write for OUAT AU as well. I’m not sure I’ve come across it before, but if such fics already exist—Oh man!—let me know! I’m just glad this fandom still exists after all these years.

So here we go!

Disclaimer: Since it is purely fanfiction, I do not own any of the characters (Disney, Dreamworks, Fairytales and other characters from other stuff to come) nor the whole concept of Once Upon a Time.

Synopsis:

Jack St. North was just an ordinary Sophomore High student from Dreamer Haven’s, Dreamworks Academy…sort of. He was more of a loner really; orphaned, invisible, living in-between sardonic pranks and the usual teenage angst when you basically have nobody and nothing. All his life he figured if you can’t beat what fate has in store for you, then you may as well learn to live with it. Things, of course, changed when a little boy named Jamie knocked on his door with a big brown storybook in his hand and told him that he was actually from another world where fairytales are real, dreams come true and that he, Jack, was actually one of the legendary Big Four.

Naturally, he didn’t believe it. He was 17 and was pretty sure he couldn’t have a 10 year old son without knowing about it was cerrainly not Jack Frost–the Jack Frost from that Christmas song!  The boy, Jamie, tells him that he needed to reunite with the Big Four in order to break the curse that Pitch Black, the evil King, Hans, and Mother Gothel placed upon their real world. Only with the four united could they stand a chance in solving the curse’s threat. And based on Jamie’s story Jack was sure he meant his nerdy world history classmate, Hiccup, and two girls, Merida and Rapunzel, from Disney High.

  Once Upon a Time: Convergence

Episode 1 – A Strong Enough Belief

 Once Upon a Time…

Up above.

It was a full moon and it seemed like the kind that was pure and bright, watching over everything down below. It looked like the moon had a face of its own and, though it is a knowing look that shined back at the acres of wood in this part of an enchanted forest, it doesn’t seem to give away anything else to help an observer understand. Not even when one would look up at it real hard.

Down below.

A crystal-like lake, smooth and reflecting the light of the moon.

A few cracks barely visible on the surface and then…

The shape of a boy, floating beneath it. His back was to the surface, head hung low with his chin to his chest, and his arms lifted at each side. He wore an unmistakable dark blue coat, with embroidered snowflake patterns on the cuffs and lapels, though a little torn from some fight not that long ago. His hair was white as the first sight of frost.

A glint.

There was a silver delicate chain around his neck, the end of which had a medallion, yet another snowflake, but one that used to belong to a young queen in a kingdom not far from the lake.

In the middle.

A queen dressed in light blue—the kind that glistened like the frozen fractals on the leaves and branches of trees and the very body of water itself—hurried to the edge of the lake. Unbothered by the howling winds and the sharp coldness that came with it, she ran in search for something, eyes trained to anything beneath the surface.

The sound of a sled and of hooves behind her.

“Did you find him?”

“I’m looking. I can’t see him. I can’t…” The queen’s voice was riddled with fear. Eyes widened this time. She scrambled over to a particular spot in the frozen lake and fell to her knees. “Here! He’s here!”

She pressed her hands on the surface. Rammed her fist. Then, with shaking hands, tried to make the ice melt and go away with a sparkle in her fingertips. It seemed to only make the ice thicker.

She pulled her hands back so quickly she fell to her back, just as five other people approached her. Her sister ran to hold her, while the burly blonde fiancé, a thin boy with the armor of a Viking, and a girl with fiery red hair carried pickaxes and already started hitting at the ice. Another girl, one with long, golden hair braided behind her, went to hold the queen’s hand. Her hand was warm against the queen’s cold. The queen never used to shiver due to the cold, but she’d been shivering and both her sister and the girl kept her still. It was a warm gesture, one coupled with a look of determination given to the worry in the queen’s face.

“It has to be you, Elsa,” the girl with golden hair said.

Elsa nodded, still a little shaky but knowing full well of her role in this rescue. It was no use saying that she didn’t think she could, or that she might just make it worse by trying. She just couldn’t risk losing him by doing nothing.

“Jack!” The boy in Viking armor threw the pickaxe aside because it was useless, the ice in the lake was enchanted and he started pounding at the ice instead. He shouted with such intensity that up until that moment none of them knew he had. “Jack, wake up! Jack!”

The girl with fiery hair covered her lips with one hand, refusing to let out a shudder as she started pummeling her fist on the ice in the very same way. Still, there was already the hint of a cry deep in her throat, ready to break, as she muttered. “No. No. No. This can’t be.”

“Y-you can do it.” The queen could hear the hope dwindling in the golden girl’s voice, also close to tears. She felt just as hopeless, crying all the while as she waved and waved her hands and blast after blast of magic only added to the snow and cold on the lake. Each time it failed her fear grew.

“I…”Elsa started with a shaky breath, but then, in a heartbeat that seemed to still her senses, she remembered him. It was something he said months ago at a ball in which she was to meet with kings and queens from neighboring queendoms and kingdoms, all for the sake of mending the bonds and ending their differences. She’d felt a little nervous because she was to be the youngest queen there, only 21 in a room full of men and women with more experience and who would no doubt have better judgment against her rule. He’d smiled at her, an easy lopsided grin that allowed for the teeth to come out, just barely. It was always as if he was considering making a joke or was about to suggest some grand idea that involved anything but being stately. He had been wearing a white tunic with silver a silver collar and what seemed to her as overly dramatic fringed shoulder pads. It didn’t seem his character and he’d kept tugging at the collar and self-consciously moved his arms, if he moved them at all, but he looked nice.

“Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I believe in you.”

“How is your believing in me going to help?”

He’d taken her gloved hand in his. He had to wear gloves too, not that he couldn’t control his own abilities, and not that she couldn’t either. Not anymore at least.

“It might not.” He moved her hand with his up to face level, as if examining her fingers closely. But then he carefully pressed his lips on the knuckles, which oddly enough she felt even through the fabric. “But at least you know somebody’s always on your side even if it all goes wrong.”

She didn’t expect that. Especially not from the boy who she’d saved from drowning in the ice cold lake, who had little to no memory at all with how he’d gotten there. The first time she met him was when she was with Anna and Kristoff. She’d received the message in a dream that she had to save someone who had drowned in ice. She was critical about the dream, but she consulted the trolls from the Valley of the Living Rock first and they told her to follow her dream. It made no sense because she expected this kind of dream had nothing to do with aspirations and wasn’t the kind you followed, but somehow she had the sense to pay attention to what it was saying. A voice instructed her to go to the lake. She took a leap of faith and, lo and behold, there was someone. Granted it was a lot scarier than she expected and somehow they were able to haul him out of the water and bring him to the castle for warmth. He’d been shocked to find out she had heard the Man in the Moon. He’d lost his memories and his identity other than the sound of his name and the knowledge of this man that watched over him. They took him into Arendelle. And then eventually the queen had gotten to know the boy who had the uncanny ability to bring Fun to everyone in the kingdom and had started to…

Though, for her it took some time, no matter Anna’s goading.

Elsa had frowned that moment when he’d let her hand go. “You remember who you are now?” She hadn’t been sure then how she knew, but there was something different in his eyes.

He’d thought about it. Shrugged. “There are people I have to find. Some friends. It’s a little hazy but I think…” A pause in which his eyes scanned the ballroom. “I think it feels right. I know it…in my -gut.” A self-amused smirk.

“I see. Would you let me know when it all makes sense?”

“I think at this point in our relationship, I have no other choice but to keep coming back to you.” He’d said it so suddenly she didn’t really have time to process it. He’d walked away, leaving her still feeling the weight of his lips on the back of her gloved hand.

And now it reverberated in her mind. That thing he said.

Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I believe in you.

I believe.

“I believe.” Elsa whispered, eyes trained on the boy beneath the ice. “Come back to me, Jack.”

            She raised her hands. Steady now. One shot of magic and this time it struck, allowing a rainbow halo to come forth and disperse among the land like a gust of wind. The feeling of a curse being broken.

            The ice cracked.

            It continued to crack all around the surface above Jack and then melted instead of crashing in pieces over his head. The Viking and the fiery and golden haired girls all gasped. They all hauled Jack’s body back up, somehow not as frozen as one would expect and not as unconscious because he started to cough and sputter. Jack was broken free from the Ice the second time. It was the second time she had to save him and she didn’t think she could handle another. Elsa practically collapsed in relief when he started gasping for air. She choked on her tears and Anna helped her up.

            “Wh-what happened? Pitch he-“

            “Cursed you and tried to keep you in Ice again.” the Viking offered.

            “But where-?”

            “Gone. He disappeared. The coward.” The fiery haired girl gritted her teeth.

            “Cursed. He said the Ice was cursed how did you guys free me?”

            “I think you should ask her,” the golden girl said, stepping aside so that he could see Elsa who covered her mouth and nose with her hands, still sniffling.

            “You?” he said. “Saved me? Again?”

            He seemed too stunned.

            “Of course I did. I wouldn’t just let you die like that.”

            “You looked for me.”

            “You left Arendelle without saying goodbye.”

            “I thought you hated me being there. I was messing things up. I didn’t take anything seriously and everything I did was a joke.”

            “That wasn’t me!”

“It was Gothel in a disguise,” the golden girl cut in with purpose, face grim. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“How could I hate you being there?” Elsa cried a little indignantly. It annoyed her that he didn’t get it, and yet there she was afraid to get too close anyway. “You reminded me what it was like to have fun again, to make light of things even when it seems like there’s no hope. Even when I couldn’t believe in myself.”

They all stared at the two of them.

“Finding you was one of the best, most daring things I’ve ever done in my life. I would never do anything to lose you.”

Anna placed her fingers to her lips, eyes misting as she nudged her fiancé at the ribs with her elbow. The Viking and the fiery red head met each other’s eyes sideways, while the golden girl smiled knowingly.

Jack was almost rendered speechless, which was unlike him, and very unable to move properly so he staggered a little as the Viking helped him to his feet. He looked as if he was unsure whether he would gasp or laugh or shout as Elsa walked over to him. Each step she took seemed to take something from his breathing.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he said.

She remembered the feeling at the back of her hand and the way he smiled.

She kissed him. A second time that day came another gust of rainbow, another curse being broken. In that instant she could somehow tell that all his memories came flooding back, everything wrong righting itself in the process. When she finally let go, he held her at arm’s length with a smile on his face. That smile. As usual it was difficult to determine just what he was going to say or do next, or if he was thinking of anything at all as he looked at her.

“Hah. I remember.” He kissed her nose and the smile widened into a toothy grin. “I remember. I had a family. I was a Guardian and then…” he turned to the Viking, and the fiery and golden haired girls. “You guys.”

They huddled to each other as Jack eventually managed to include all three of his friends into the hug. “Hic, Mer, Punzie!” He cried and then laughed again. “I couldn’t remember any of you but I missed you!”

“Ey, now, don’t shove.” Merida squinted at him and gave him a punch on the shoulder.

“Welcome back!” Rapunzel hugged him tightly once more.

“We knew you’d be back. You were starting to get annoying without your memories for a while there, so we’re glad,” Hiccup said which made Jack snort. “It hasn’t been the same without you. Cursed Jack was a bit too sentimental and clueless. ”

“Aw, Hic, you do care.”

They all laughed and amidst the laughter Jack looked up at Elsa and mouthed ‘Thank You’. She shrugged and crossed her arms, ‘Well’.

So now they take it as a sign that they had defeated the Dark One, Hans, and Mother Gothel, at least for another day.

***

It was a couple of years later, on the day of his wedding that Jack couldn’t help feeling that something was wrong. Hiccup tried to tell him there was nothing to worry about and it was probably just pre-wedding jitters. Hans was taken care of by his older brothers back at the Southern Isles and Mother Gothel was in a heavily guarded prison in Corona, but Pitch was nowhere to be found. He’s been quiet for too long since they broke the curse. Jack couldn’t help getting paranoid anytime he gets too happy. It’s as if at any moment he might wake up to find it was all a dream and he was still invisible to the people around him.

North gave him a heavy pat on the back, which felt more like a shove to his lanky frame. He chuckled with his other hand on his belly. “You worry too much, Jack. Very unlike the Guardian of Fun I’m used to.” As he said this a couple of yetis in big white bow ties passed by fussing over last minute adjustments on the wedding decorations, followed by flustered servants and castle guards who are unsure who was taking charge. A few of the elves shook their bell tipped hats, now a shade of white, thinking that the sound counts as helping the preparations. Tooth was somewhere at the side, giving the Baby Teeth last minute rehearsals for their song in the reception. Everywhere else were guests from all over Arendelle and even representatives from neighboring kingdoms. Even a few kings and queens themselves, to whom Jack had had to talk to in a polite way as form of thanks and because everyone wanted to meet this Guardian who was going to marry the Queen of Arendelle.

“Everything is under control,” North said confidently, catching Jack’s attention again. Bunny hopped on over to them with a face that’s a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

“Never thought I’d see the day you’d look as scared as a groundhog is to a shadow.” He laughed and elbowed North. “Look at him, mate, he’s paler than normal.”

North made a jolly version of a face that says ‘He’s not wrong!’ and Hiccup snort-laughed.

“Please settle down. Places everyone! Places!” said Rapunzel, coming in beautiful and confident in the light blue and white bridesmaid dress. Her hair had been braided differently by Anna and she twirled around a bit at their expense so they could see the snowflakes and glitter woven into the locks. “Isn’t is amazing?” she squealed and shook Jack by the shoulders, just as Merida huffed in through the door at the back, wearing the same dress but with a scowl on her face. Her hair was braided as well, but it looked to have taken its toll on her patience and a few curly red strands still lingered over her forehead.

“Merida wouldn’t let us use the glitter on her. Even when I told her glacier blue was her color,” Rapunzel teased.

“Do you realize how hard that might be to get those off?” Merida complained, accent heavy. She moved stiffly, clearly hating the way the dress and the hair do made her feel embarrassed.

Hiccup somehow sensed Merida wanted a moment away from the guests and Elinor who had just spotted her come in with a proud look on her face. He took her by the hand and whispered—or at least tried to, but Jack heard it—something about checking on Toothless as an excuse for them to take a few minutes out in fresh air. Merida nodded too eagerly and scampered away with him, too quick for the kind of shoes she was wearing.

Jack shook his head in amusement.

 “It’s all amazing. I helped plan this!” Rapnuzel said, changing the subject to spare their friends’ lame and un-smooth exit.  “I think I quite like being in charge of things, if I do say so myself.”

“Not bad.” Jack nodded. “Where’s Flynn?”

“Eugene-“

“-weird name.”

Rapunzel ignored him. “-is on his way with Maximus with a very large cake for the reception.”

“Aw, Punz, you didn’t have to.”

“Nonsense!”

“No seriously. I think Elsa and Anna had already gone overboard with the desserts. I’m pretty sure we’re eating nothing but chocolate later.”

“Oh…well, there is no such thing as too much chocolate? Because, obviously that’s what I ordered too. Hidden under blue fondant, but that’s all there is. Even the little Jack and Elsa on top are made of chocolate. ” She shrugged and made such a hopelessly euphoric giggle it was hard not to join in. It fell short of crying at the end where she asked him to give her a hug.

“I’m really, really happy for you, Jack. For all of us.” She motioned her head at where Merida and Hiccup could be seen talking to each other at the balcony where somehow Toothless clambered onto wearing a dragon-sized blue bow-tie. “You guys are the best friends I’ve ever had and I’m honored to spend these moments with you.”

“Thanks, Rapunzel. I mean it. For everything. For believing I could have a dream again.”

“But something’s bothering you, isn’t it?” she stepped away from the hug and gave him a small smile. “I know.”

“I just get the feeling something bad is going to happen.”

“I felt that very same way too, after everything we’ve all been through.” she nodded, taking his hands firmly between hers and shook them with each syllable she spoke. “But it does get better.”

He inhaled a huge amount of breath, then exhaled. Nodded. “Yeah.”

A creaking sound. The door was opening once again and Jack realized the sound made his heart race. It was Anna, but she regarded him with a smile and a curt nod. “She’s here.”

***

All worry was forgotten when the Queen entered the courtroom and all eyes were on her. Her gown was a white version of the dress she’d created herself that signified her freedom from her own fears many years ago, but with a longer trail at the back. A crown with an intricate pattern of snowflakes, leaves and vines, in silver sat delicately upon her head—a gift of North’s own making. Her hair was braided to the side but glittered every time she moved so she looked like a lone star in a dark snowy night as she walked down the aisle, with her sister giving her away.

Jack wasn’t sure what he must’ve looked like seeing her this way, if anyone were to look at him at all as this was all happening. He was sure she was the only vision in the room. The seemed to melt quickly and stand frozen still all at the same time. Or rather time was a complicated mess of a thing, when one lived to be a Guardian of the children of the Enchanted Forest, and for generations before that, an unseen and unbelieved in reborn child of the Moon, and then suddenly someone somebody could love.

It was a perfect moment, up until the “I dos” he’d never imagined he’d be taking a part of, not in all those nights sleeping on branches of trees with nothing but moonlight and the stars keeping him company, seeing him. All he’d wanted was to be seen.

It was perfect…which was why nothing, not even worrying about something earlier, could’ve prepared them all for what came next. In the middle of the wedding Hans appeared in the middle of the aisle, a manifestation from black smoke.

There was a collective gasp. Swords, scabbards, boomerangs, bows, and magical hands came at the ready. Toothless bared his teeth while Anna her fists.

“I’m not really here, everybody. Settle down. I’m just a shadow.”

“What do you want?” Elsa gritted her teeth. Of all the times to reappear in whatever shape or form, it had to be now. Jack materialized a staff from snow and ice and stomped it on the ground for good measure. This was the guy who tried to take Arendelle in the most dishonorable way. This was the guy who tried to kill Elsa.

“Get out.”

 “Touchy.” He clucked. It didn’t sound like the guy Anna had talked about before, but really, how was he or anyone supposed to know what he really was like when he was so good at putting up a façade?

“This is no place for darkness, lad.” North said.

“Please, not today,” Rapunzel pleaded, hands up in a sign of peace. “Have some decency!”

“I’m only here to announce the preparation of a curse. Pitch Black’s curse.”

If it was possible for the room to grow even quitter than it had been before it was now. Everyone must’ve had their breaths on hold.

“I’m only relaying what was told to me,” Hans said, almost bored sounding, but he massaged his temples in such a dramatic and slow way as to keep everyone at the edge of their seats, relishing the attention.

  “Listen well, Big Four.” He said the title with disgust and such possessiveness as to make clear that he intended to be one of their most remembered enemies. Jack, Rapunzel, Merida, and Hiccup all looked around the room and caught each other’s’ eyes.  “Pitch Black has been preparing a new curse, a curse that—at this point in time—has already started to grow and is too late to stop.  He said that it will start when the last hope, Jack Frost’s child’s 10th birthday—“

“—what?” Jack said. “No.”

“He will bring about the biggest curse, taking us all to a realm where no happily ever after exists. The Queen and King must kill the boy before it comes to pass—“

“—No!” Elsa cried. “It can’t be. Guards! Stop him!”

“—And then your hearts will have been black and so the Dark One gets his revenge. That is all.”

Hans turned into nothing more than a dark form in the middle of the room, standing and then dissolving like smoke. 

(End of Part 1)

Tag List: @rose-sparks13 @beautifulslimezonkpaper @rosesnvines@jewishicequeen @hiddenwriterspirit @shiroi-majo

Just did a little tweaking. 

Let me know in the comments if you want to be tagged!Thanks for reading!

(Part 2 )

(Part 3)

#the big four OUAT AU #the big four fanfiction #rotbtd fandom #rotbtd #fanfiction #jack frost #elsa #merida #hiccup horrendous haddock #mericcup #rapunzel #rapunzel and eugene #once upon a time #fanfiction writer #rotbtd au

[waveridden]

FIC: the neon limelight

The story behind Neoscum is like something out of a movie. (Or, a day in the life of a rock band. 3.5k, gen)

AUcember || read on Ao3

#

In the front of Xanadu, the infamous semi-truck-turned-tour-bus, there is a letterboard hanging precariously from the top of the cabin. It’s a smaller version of the kind that you’ll see outside movie theaters and churches, the kind that would light up if it were plugged in. This board isn’t plugged in, and it’s held in place with a combination of nails and duct tape. The message is changed once a week, by a different member every time. This week, the letterboard reads in mismatched letters, “BALLS 2 THA WALL TILL U FALL.”

The letterboard is one of the many personal touches in Neoscum’s infamous tour truck. There’s a futon bolted to the wall, a bunk bed, a crow’s nest-style hammock, and entirely white leather seats. There are also Polaroids taped to the wall, which bassist Pox tells me are mostly her work. There are five or six for every stop on their tour so far, and every stop on all of their tours. All in all, the four walls of Xanadu are cluttered.

This kind of clutter wouldn’t be a surprise to any Neoscum fans - at least, not any fans who have seen the band’s social media. “They know we’re dirty,” says Pox, with an exaggerated wink. “If they follow us on Instagram, they know we’re dirty.”

“They know we don’t always do laundry,” adds Zenith, the band’s drummer. “They know a lot about us. We don’t have a great concept of TMI.”

“Or just a low threshold,” Pox says. “We’re comfortable with people seeing our true selves. If that means posting pictures of Zenith’s dirty laundry on Snapchat, then that’s what that means today.”

The band’s social media presence is a lot like the interior of Xanadu: a little cryptic, a little eclectic, incomprehensible until you look closely enough to see the pattern. Six days before the release of their fourth album Neon Americana, a fan discovered that the fourth word in each installment of the band’s Snapchat story from the last month spelled out the tracklist. It’s not clear which of the band’s members masterminded this long con, and none of them own up when asked. It’s this kind of mystery that defines Neoscum: flawless execution, but for no clearly comprehensible reason.

“Of course there’s a reason,” Pox says, when I ask her about the Snapchat story. “It’s not about who did it, it’s not about the tracklist. It’s about having fun and making people pay attention. Haven’t you ever wanted someone to pay attention to you?”

#

 The story behind Neoscum is like something out of a movie. Lead singer Dak Rambo was making a name for himself with country music, but he was small-time at best. Squirt Purpler, more commonly known by his stage name of Tech Wizard, was playing the keyboards in a live band on a Chicago stand-up comedy showcase. The two of them met and started recording independent experimental music. Before long, they reunited with Rambo’s old friend Zenith, a drummer from the Seattle punk scene, and met Pox, a bassist and songwriter who was shadow-writing pop hits. With the addition of Max Epstein, a folk guitarist making waves online, Neoscum was complete.

The musical tastes of Neoscum, much like the rest of the band, work despite having every reason not to. “You can go to twelve different record stores, and they’ll all have us sorted differently,” says Purpler. “I think it’s great. We’ve got a little bit of everything, we’re all over the place. Who needs to only be one thing?”

Neoscum’s first album, Death Race, charted as a metal album, a rock album, and an indie album. Their second album, ratcandy, landed firmly on the pop charts, and their third album Time To Kill A Dragon was a country album. With the release of Neon Americana, Neoscum have cemented themselves as both everything and nothing: the album was a blend of techno, R&B, and every other genre that the band had ever worked with. The album is more than two hours long, and tells the story of a road trip from coast to coast. Tracks blend seamlessly from one genre to the next, creating the image of a chaotic, cohesive nation. It received universal acclaim after its release.

“The album was Pox’s idea,” Zenith says. Pox is the one foreign member of the band, a transplant from across the pond. She’s infamously secretive with her personal life; the closest anyone has found to a hint about who she used to be is an online demo of a song dedicated to someone named Pandora. “The first tour we did, the one after Dragon came out, was the first time she’d ever seen most of the country. It was completely new to her, and I think she was enchanted by it.”

Pox is not the group’s only songwriter, but she is the mastermind behind album concepts. The whole group credits her with the idea for Neon Americana. There are rumors that she had a meticulous journal, keeping notes about every city she stopped in; there are rumors that she wrote the entire album on the tour. Pox doesn’t confirm or deny any of them, either publicly or when asked. Instead, she insists that the album is a collaboration, a meeting of the minds.

The one thing she does take credit for is the idea behind the tour. “I saw all the big cities last time,” she explains, twirling a lollipop between her fingers. Xanadu is in the middle of Kansas, between tour stops, and Pox is dipping into her secret sugar stash. I have to close my eyes whenever she wants candy, because I’m not allowed to see where she keeps it. “We went to New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, all the places that everyone stops. And I wrote songs about them, we all wrote songs about them. But there’s only so much of a picture that the big cities paint. So when we started planning our second tour, I said that I wanted to see smaller towns. I want to go the places that nobody else goes.”

The tour, formally titled “The Small Town Neon Americana Neoscum Second Tour Extravaganza Party” and colloquially called “the second tour”, is entirely focused on small cities and small towns. There are no stops in New York, or in Los Angeles, or in Chicago. The biggest city that Neoscum is visiting will be Rochester, Minnesota. The venues are small, and the crowds are all enthusiastic. I’m joining them for two shows in Kansas, in towns that have never had big names perform before.

The band is all enthusiastic about the concept behind the tour, all for different reasons. “I never got to go to big concerts when I was a kid,” Purpler explains. “I lived just far enough outside of all the major cities that it was too far to drive for anything less than an emergency or a once-in-a-lifetime thing, so I never saw any bands growing up. It means a lot to me that we get to give some small town kids that performance.”

For other members, it’s less personal: Rambo says, “I like driving. Anything that gets us driving is good. Those real small town ones, the ones where the pavement hasn’t been touched since 1984 and the grass looks like it’s going to crack if you touch it? That’s the good shit, baby. We’re seeing a lot of those lately, and I am loving it. Everything’s tiny, it’s the way this country is supposed to be, you know? It’s just us and those kids who get to see a cool band.”

And for Epstein, the quietest of the band? “There’s less stage fright in a bar than in a stadium.”

#

 The band’s first stop is in Josephine, Kansas, and they immediately start in on a whirlwind series of pre-show rituals. Rambo drives Xanadu to the outskirts of the town, to a sign that says the town’s population, and they all pile out of the truck to take a five-man selfie next to the sign. Once they’re inside city limits, Zenith starts playing ABBA - not on the truck’s high quality sound system, but on his phone’s speaker. He doesn’t stop until they pull up outside their venue: an outdoor amphitheater for an afternoon show. Epstein recites a poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Pox opens the door with her left hand and her eyes closed, and the band all take the amphitheater by storm.

They’re ruthlessly fast in their setup: Purpler talks to the venue coordinator while the rest of the crew makes sure everything is to their standards. Zenith and Epstein manage the band’s tech setup as Rambo and Pox manage the equipment. From start to finish, it takes them under thirty minutes to have everything in perfect shape.

“We don’t fuck around with these things,” Zenith says. He’s nearly as cryptic about where he came from as Pox is, but he at least has a traceable career. He has no last name to speak of, and he has never explained why he’s missing an eye. But he’s competent, both as a drummer and as the band’s self-proclaimed tech guy, and he has a reputation for being mysterious. “We’re here to do a show, we’re going to make sure it’s perfect. It’s not like it’s hard to be prepared, to get things done the way they’re supposed to be done.”

The amphitheater in Josephine is packed, not just with locals but from people in surrounding towns. There are teenagers and middle-aged men and elderly women, all sporting Neoscum merch. All of them are buzzing, talking about songs that they hope to hear and things that they hope to see. Neoscum is notoriously flashy with their concerts. It’s not unusual to see pyrotechnics, or costume changes, or people swapping instruments. One tour video, which went viral, showed Pox attempting to play Zenith’s drums with her feet in the middle of a show.

“We don’t plan anything for our actual shows,” Epstein tells me, five minutes before the curtains go up. “We have a set list, and we normally play all the same songs off of it, but if something seems unplanned, that’s because it probably is. None of us like playing by the rules, or doing things the same way every time. Not even me.”

Epstein is known for being the most relaxed of the band’s members. He’s the least likely to try and haggle with grocery store clerks (as Pox has done), share obscure knowledge of advanced physics (Zenith), get stuck on top of a telephone pole after a dare (Purpler), or win a blackjack jackpot (Rambo, Epstein’s maternal uncle). He’s the least spotlight-happy of all of them.

He’s also the most forthcoming about his personal life. Epstein graduated in the top quarter of his high school last and joined Neoscum not long afterwards. He has a sister, seven years younger, who recently received a kidney transplant. He says that his biggest inspirations are Bob Dylan and Yo-Yo Ma, and his uncle Dak. He’s the most likely of the band to be singing, humming, or playing his instrument in his spare time. He’s the mediator of debates and the filmer of shenanigans. He has a prosthetic left arm and right leg, and he refuses to let anyone call him “the disabled one” in the band.

Epstein says that his reputation as “the boring one” doesn’t bother him; if anything, it’s a relief. “Those guys are my family,” he says, echoing a sentiment that the whole band has shared at one point or another. “But they’re all kind of fucking crazy. I don’t want to be in the news for even the less weird things that they do. Except for that time Z got to be in the news for knowing thermonuclear physics, that was pretty cool.”

Sixty seconds before the curtains go up, Rambo goes around the band. He gives Pox a warm hug, Epstein a kiss on the left cheek, Zenith a kiss on the forehead, and Purpler a kiss on the right cheek. He looks at me and winks, and says something I can’t quite make out over the cheering crowd outside. I’ve only known Rambo for two hours, but I already understand the charismatic rock star allure that everyone claims he has. He seems more at ease on stage than he does off, and when the curtains rise, he shouts, “What the fuck is up, Kansas?”

Kansas lets him know what the fuck is up. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen a man not even remotely cowed by thousands of people screaming at him.

#

 There is a list of rules in Xanadu, taped up next to the letterboard. “It’s for you,” Purpler explained, not long after I boarded the truck. “And for everyone who visits us, but it’s mostly for you right now.”

The rules are simple. Feet on seats are fine, but shoes on seats are not. Dropping food is okay as long as you clean it up. You never challenge someone to a fight if you wouldn’t actually fight them. You don’t talk about Lil Marco - the band’s nickname for the producer Big Marco who attempted to sue them after the release of Deathrace. You don’t say the word “Grammy,” because it’s a jinx, and nobody needs a Grammy anyways.

The list contains nearly forty rules, and I’m sworn to privacy about most of them. “Nobody needs to know the way we do things,” Rambo says. “Not really, you know? Fans get weird. Gotta keep some things a mystery.”

The last rule on the list is don’t say shit about other people’s shit in interviews. It’s obvious where the rule came from. On the drive from Josephine to Troy, I ask Rambo about the rule, and his lips thin. Rambo is a friendly, jovial man: before he was a rock star, he was a trucker, a country singer, and an unabashed sex worker. But there’s no humor on his face as he thinks through his response. “It was fucked that TMZ did what they did,” he says. “People are entitled to have secret personal histories if they want them. I don’t care that Morrows was up for reelection in Colorado, and I don’t care that they thought it would be okay. Digging up people’s stuff is - it makes it easy to forget that we’re people too. But we’re people too.”

Rambo is, of course, referring to a now-infamous exposé that TMZ published, revealing a link between Purpler and incumbent Colorado governor Fayglin Morrows. The connections aren’t especially clear, but it’s obvious that Morrows was a family friend to Purpler’s parents, who were killed in a hate crime when Purpler was four. The entire band followed their newest rule to a T, and none of them publicly discussed the article or the incident, including Purpler. Morrows went on to win reelection in Colorado, although the race was subject to a recount.

“It was hard for all of us,” says Zenith, “and by that I mean it was mostly hard for Tech, so we were all pissed. We were trying to keep him out of the limelight, trying to let him keep his past to himself.”

“I don’t think it matters where any of us are from,” says Purpler, in his only interjection into the conversation. “I know what I need to know about everything, and nobody else needs to know anything. We all know where the band’s politics stand, and we share the personal stuff that we want to.”

Neoscum is full of outspoken socialists: Epstein in particular has been vocally critical of healthcare reform policies, and the band has made a name for themselves by participating in protest marches. And nobody has to look any further than the band’s social media to see their openness about their personal life. But the band is firm when they put down boundaries. TMZ never issued an apology to Purpler, despite the influx of fan petitions and demands for one; the fans still stood by Purpler in his wish for privacy. He later thanked them for their support in a public statement, marking the first and only real time he addressed the TMZ article directly.

It’s clear from early on that the band’s “don’t say shit” rule applies while talking to me. Zenith and Pox almost form a protective barrier around Purpler with their bodies, and even Epstein comes down from his perch in the crow’s nest to watch me. They’re defensive of one another, and as soon as the conversation moves on, everyone relaxes. It’s hard to say if they do it intentionally or subconsciously, but the meaning is clear either way: they have each other’s backs, at all times.

#

 The pre-show rituals in Troy go the same as the rituals in Josephine. This performance is the same evening, at a bar called the Electric Cowboy Lasso-Swingin’ Doogie-Wrasslin’ Party Zone Gambling Hall and Microbrewery. Rambo seems to know everyone there, from the bartender to the regulars. “That’s just Dak,” Purpler says. “He’s always like this. He has friends everywhere.”

At the Josephine concert, Purpler and Zenith switched instruments for two songs. At the Troy concert, everyone stays where they’re supposed to until the second-to-last song, when Pox takes Max’s acoustic guitar and sits in the center of the stage to sing an acoustic ballad. It’s not a good fit for the trucker bar, but they’re all rapt and silent as she sings, and a fan’s video of the performance went viral the following day. (Eagle-eyed fans noticed that this was the song that she dedicated to the mysterious Pandora, but Pox hasn’t commented, and neither has the rest of the band.)

The most interesting part of the show comes afterwards. Strike happens in a neat fifteen-minute timeframe, and then the band is in the bar, drinking and laughing with the rest of the patrons. They’re patient and friendly with autographs and selfies, but before long, the fans clear out of the bar and leave only regular patrons. Rambo is introducing people by name to the band members, and before long they’re all piled into a corner booth, talking over each other. They eat food off of each other’s plates and poke each other and finish each other’s sentences. It lasts for several rounds and a couple of hours. “Family dinner,” Zenith calls it at one point, and it’s exactly that.

 #

 Rambo insists on dropping me back off at my office in Lawrence, even though I’ll get there in the wee hours of the night. He doesn’t seem at all bothered by staying up all night driving. The band goes to sleep in what seem to be normal places for them: Epstein in his crow’s nest, Pox in the passenger’s seat, Tech on the bottom bunk, Zenith on the futon. Only Rambo stays awake, and he answers my questions quietly, like his voice will wake them over the noise of the truck on the road.

“It’s impossible to describe what these people mean to me,” he says, in a candid moment. “You know, this job, it’s changed all of our lives. I’m never going to have to worry about where I’m going to stay the night again. Max, he got his sister’s operation paid for. Pox and Z and Tech, they all have opportunities to figure things out that they couldn’t have had two or three years ago. And we’re paying that forward. We’re doing these shows in little towns, it’s fucking great. Have you ever been to a small town? Some of them are awful, but some of them are just full of people who wanna be happy. And we make them happy.”

We reach Wichita at four in the morning. Rambo lets me out the back gate of the truck and tells me I’m always welcome back, as long as I’m not a dick to his people. For the next three days, I receive random texts from him: pictures of the band, videos from venues, and misspelled rough drafts of tweets that he wants me to correct. They taper off, and I’m left following along with the band through the news and through Twitter, just like the rest of the world.

My single day with Xanadu feels like a dream, an illusion of Polaroids and jokes that I only half-remember. I can’t help but wonder if that was intentional. I caught a glimpse of Neoscum as people, a fleeting glimpse that falls second to the truth that they project to the rest of the world. And then I, like the rest of the world, am paying attention to them. Just like they want me to.

Argus Armstrongman is an independent contributor to Lone Star Publications. You can follow him on Twitter @argus_asm or read more of his contributions here.

#neoscum #neoscum fic #waveridden.fic #aucember18 #this is one of my favorites #thank you tam for helping me not write a journalistic nightmare! i hope!

[sugar-booger]

One More Adventure Ch.2

An Endless Summer fanfiction ( Jake x MC)

Hey guys! I didn't expect such a good batch of reviews for the first chapter in fanfiction.net! Thank you so much! I do hope you'll like my take on this post-ending fanfiction. Shoutout to the wonderful person who put my fic as a recommended read on Reddit. Sending so much love to you, and everyone who's reading.

Anyhow, enjoy! Critiques and reviews are always welcome. I would love to know what I can improve on!

"I said maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me… you're gonna be the one that saves me, you're gonna be the one that saves me…"

Jake strums the last of the chords until the echoes fade, and he sighs. He sets aside his guitar on the floor, himself sprawled across the messy comfort of his bed. He closes his eyes. Another night goes by. Los Angeles was a little too noisy for his taste, but it is what it is. Rebecca's here, LAX pays well and gives him the flexibility to choose his routes and schedules, and it was busy and loud enough sometimes to keep him distracted. Good number of bars too, a number of places to get the kind of whiskey he liked.

But their reunion at La Huerta was now a turning point; no whiskey or noise could erase such thoughts in his mind— it was Taylor. Taylor. Taylor all over again, for five months.

Behind closed eyes, Jake tries to remember every detail about her—her blue eyes, her goddamn smile, the curve of her lips and how soft they were every time he kissed them, her voice, her hands, her waist, her body, the way she talked, the way she handled things—everything, he tries to keep all the small things that make her in his mind, memorizing them.

He wouldn't forget her. He doesn't want to.

Vibrating beneath tangled sheets, his phone rings. He opens his eyes lazily, greeted by the slightly grimy ceiling with a lone, dim light bulb. Large windows at the west side of his room filled mostly the illumination, casting faint colorful lights from the city streets and buildings outside.

He yanks the phone from under the blanket, near his leg. Eyes widened at the caller ID.

"Malfoy?"

"I know it's late there already. Sorry to interrupt your sleep," Aleister answers from the other line.

Jake sits up, pulling down his scrunched shirt. He could hear the indistinct traffic from Aleister's end. "Nah, it's fine. Wasn't sleepin' yet… You got something for me?"

It takes a few seconds of noise and screeches, and then Grace's voice takes over. Jake swears he heard swerving and some honks. "Jake, sorry… Aleister's driving. We just came back from London, and, er, we may need to regroup as soon as possible. How long do you think you could fly to Craig and Zahra's apartment in Hartfeld?"

"What?" Jake blinks. "LA to Massachusetts?"

"Yes. It's the safest place that we could discuss things. We… The PI finally located the Prism Gate and is ready to hand us some encrypted data we're giving to Zahra. It's still in Northbridge, and we've been given directions to its site but Silas Prescott completely rebuilt and fortified his security, so we may need to— Hello?"

The phone was on loud speaker, perched atop his cabinet. A notification pops up—a reply from a fellow pilot to Jake's message a few seconds ago if he would be able to pull some strings and get Jake to hop on the next flight to Boston.

"Five hours."

"What?" Grace asks.

Jake pulls out a duffel bag beneath his bed, quickly stuffing it with some clothes and his wallet. He starts getting dressed. "I'll get on a plane right now. Be there in five hours. Everyone's comin'?"

"I still need to call up Quinn, Michelle and Sean, but the rest are headed there. We'll be there in an hour."

"Countin' on it. Thanks. See ya." The pilot hangs up, his eyes lingering on the screen of his wallpaper, before nodding to himself and getting a move on. This was a risk that he'd take if it meant a chance to get to see her again.

He darts out behind the apartment they lived in, towards a figure hidden under a black cloth. Beneath the oil-tainted fabric was a sleek, custom-built street motorcycle with a lustrous combo of green and black. Jake unchains it and slips on the helmet, securing his duffel bag behind, and speeds off into the blaring scenario that is the busy, gaudy night life of LA.

The pilot slips neatly into the traffic, through narrow spaces between cars and limousines that pollute the hectic roads. People in their glitzy and swanky clothes line up in front of the biggest clubs and bars, the lot of them arguing with bouncers. He shakes his head.

The colors and lights blur into the hazy background of buildings and establishments, and Jake skids to a stop at a red traffic light. 90 seconds. For the period he waited, there were flashing colors of red, blue and white from a shop, and Jake is reminded of Taylor again. Up at the control tower, the day they landed on La Huerta. It was the moment he really looked at her up-close—this woman he learned to appreciate, admire, and love over the next few weeks.

Taylor was a tough, resilient woman who balanced wit, compassion and fairness. Beauty and humor was just a bonus. She was someone who exhibited courage and bravery, putting on the armor for others when trouble was coming.

In the recording, she told him that it's because of him she had the strength and confidence to make that final decision. But Jake knew otherwise. He knew Taylor would be ready to give up everything for the good of everyone.

But that was what made things more painful. In exchange for the world's fate, for everyone's future, Taylor had to not be a part of it anymore. She never did belong to this world, but she fit perfectly in their lives. In his life, his heart. But he wanted to believe she made the right decision.

What would life be if they had chosen to stay in La Huerta together? If they had gone with Rourke's offer, would he be able to find her and fall in love again, in a world where they would never have met?

12 seconds. Jake clutches the throttle of his bike. He then sees Rebecca out patrolling, coming out from the corner of the street. Jake winks at her and does a finger gun gesture.

"Where—"

But he never gets to hear whatever she was about to say; he hustles further into the road to the airport as the light switched to green. In a matter of minutes, he reached his destination and boarded the plane smoothly, although he may have bribed some security personnel and fellow workmates for it.

In four and a half hours, Jake rouses awake as the plane descends into a calmer landscape. He quickly hops in a taxi that breezes by the quieter streets of Boston in the early morning, brown trees with crisp orange and yellow leaves peppered along the road and a serene view of the seaside just beyond. Right now, his body is screaming for coffee.

He checks his phone, the screen lined up with Rebecca's messages. Jake chuckles.

'Sorry, I'll be gone for a few days. Kinda needed to fly. Take care.'

The golden rays of the sun paint the pale sky as he goes further, and the scene melts into an array of smaller establishments and commercial spaces as they enter the town of Hartfeld. Hartfeld University covers almost the entirety of his journey. They stop in front of a sleek apartment complex, an intimidating building with six storeys and a polished black, white and grey façade.

He smoothens his sandy blonde hair and makes his way to Zahra and Craig's apartment, up on the fourth floor. He waits. A series of clicks could be heard from the other side.

"Yo, 'bout time." Craig greets him upon opening the door. He clears his throat. "Er, I mean, welcome to the… party! So nice of you to join us Jake, and we're totally just doing some happy reunion, yeah?"

Jake raises his brow at this attempt of concealing their meeting. Craig grins nervously, darting eyes looking for anyone behind Jake, or maybe some bugged device, a tracker, anything—and then Aleister calls from inside the room.

"Just please get him inside."

Craig ushers the pilot in and shuts the door, securing it with a number of locks. Jake meets seven other faces gathered around the living room area—Raj, Grace, Aleister, Diego, Varyyn, Sean, and Quinn. On the center table was a tray of freshly brewed coffee, and Raj offers him a cup. "Creamer and sugar are just here in case."

Jake graciously takes the black coffee. "Sweet Jesus, this is all I need. Thanks."

Grace leans forward. "Now that we're here, we will just wait for Estela to arrive. Zahra's in her office, and she'll call for us when she's laid out what we have. She's um, she said better not to disturb her."

He keeps his bag away and sits down beside Diego, sipping from the mug. "Is Sarah Connor fighting off Terminator?"

"She'll be arriving anytime soon." Aleister replies, putting away his phone after a seemingly stressed reading from his e-mails. "Her flight from San Trobida takes about three hours. It's the fastest I could get for my… er, her."

A slightly uncomfortable silence hangs in the air, until—

"So, like… She's your sister, right?" Craig asks.

"I… suppose so," the blond answers, his head low. "Besides Reginald and my father, she's the only relative I have. I'd want to have a good relationship with my own... sister. It's been five years, but we've… not quite bonded as siblings should."

"I'm sure it'll be okay," Grace assures him with a warm smile. "Estela would naturally choose to stay in San Trobida instead of here in the US, so you really don't get much time together. Maybe we can go out someday soon as a family?"

Aleister's pale cheeks flush a faint pink, but a grateful smile replaces his frown. "Yes, that's… That would be lovely."

Jake scans the gang again. "Doc Maybelline?"

Sean sighs, leaning against the recliner. Raj offers him a bowl of nachos garnished with bacon and cheese, to which the football star declines politely. "She hasn't exactly left the hospital since yesterday. Northbridge citizens have been in and out lately with the superheroes versus super villains casualties."

"She said she'll try to come as soon as she can after her shift." Quinn says with a smile. On her lap was Furball, munching on a nacho and leaving crumbs on the redhead's shorts. "It's been really hectic for her."

"Yeah man, Northbridge is always on the news! That Talos guy sure is a cool hero," Craig says with a grin. "Then there's Minuet and Diamante, and they're really kickin' some ass lately too!"

"These heroes you mention, they are the ones with bronze for a body, a masked woman in gray, and another woman with a red cape?" Varyyn inquires, a curious gleam in his bright yellow eyes. Diego had him dressed in a comfortable hoodie and sweat pants for the season.

"Yes, my man, yes." Craig says proudly, fishing out his phone and showing some digitally made artworks, albeit seeming like drafts, for the Elyyshar. "Our team is planning to make a video game out of the Northbridge heroes and I am so pumped!"

"But the more superheroes come forward, the more villains pop out too." Diego says, putting three teaspoons of sugar into his cream-colored coffee. "Northbridge's reconstruction of buildings is non-stop, and a survey from their Mayor's office says that half of the city wants to evacuate if this keeps up."

"Man, that sucks." Sean shakes his head. "But heroes always win, right? Maybe it's tough now, but eventually the good guys will find a way to restore peace and order. Hopefully that kind of problem with super villains don't spread out to other places."

A knock comes from the door, and almost everyone jumps at the sudden noise. It takes a moment for them to look at each other, and Craig strides to the door nervously and presses his face to the peep hole. "Yo, she's here!"

It takes another series of unlocking and clicks before Craig pulls the door open to welcome Estela, who steps in with her usual wary look. "…Good morning."

"Mornin' Estela! Coffee?" Raj bounds to her cheerfully with a mug, which Estela takes with a grateful nod.

"Er, I hope your flight proved to be alright…? Did you have any problem?" Aleister stands up, trying not to show the worry and uncertainty in his smile. He's failing.

Estela simply shakes her head and stands at the side of the sofa, mug in hand. "It went alright. Thanks." She pauses, avoiding Aleister's eyes, and finally mutters, "How's… Reggie?"

"He's chipper and healthy. You should visit him soon." Aleister answers briefly with a smile. Estela nods with small smile, although warm and eager.

Furball jumps off Quinn's lap and nuzzles against the Colombian's leg, to which she would give a small, gentle pat on its head. She tries to conceal a smile as her fingers brush against its soft fur. Everyone resumes talking as they waited for Zahra.

Jake savors the warm taste of rich black coffee. He turns to Grace from across the table, who was watching some videos of their kid on her phone.

"Missing him, eh?" He smiles.

Grace's head snaps to him, her expression surprised, but she relaxes and nods proudly. "Mom's taking care of him while we're here… It's something of an apology from her, but she's actually really fond of her grandchild. Reginald's been a handful, but that's okay. He's happy, we're happy, and I think that all that matters."

"Good to hear that," Jake says briefly, sipping from his mug. He takes a few seconds before sucking in air sharply. "You… mentioned about the Prism Gate being in Northbridge. How far is that place from here?"

"It's an hour drive to the west of Hartfeld. It's a pretty big city, and as you may hear…" She looks at the rest of the gang, with Craig surveying who was their favorite hero. "It's been unsafe and alarming. Over the course of five months, a lot of casualties and superhero conflicts had happened. It was tough for the PI to investigate."

"Yeah, that… Anything you might wanna share? Brief us or something."

The group falls silent as Grace takes a minute to organize her thoughts. "The PI shared some interesting matters over the last five months. When Craig asked last time if the Prism Gate is any way connected to the superheroes, I said yes. The initial discovery was that all the super humans so far had a trace of the crystal's particles in their bloodstream."

Craig whistled. "Daaaaaaamn."

"Additionally, Silas produced a liquified version of the crystals which he called the Liquid Prism. The news says these things have been stolen and passed on from criminal to criminal, and with the rising rates of supervillains, the conclusion is that these Liquid Prism have been consumed to produce such an army."

Varyyn appears surprised. "This is… the potential of Vaanu's crystals have more to offer than what we know. Such power was not discovered by anyone in the Vaanti."

"We don't know for sure if these crystals have been harnessed differently by the Prescott Industries to have this kind of effect on humans." Grace says. "They've been studying these for 25 years. Maybe we'll get some answers once Zahra gets access on the files."

"This is why Silas Prescott has likely increased security in his properties." Aleister continues. His hand intertwines with Grace's, thumb gently grazing over her skin. "The rampant rate of super villains grows day by day, and stronger. Who knows which mastermind would get their hands on the Liquid Prism next if he would not secure them."

The discussion is interrupted as a disheveled Zahra throws open the door of her office. She doesn't say anything. Her eyes are wide, looking at everyone gathered.

Craig jogs to her side. "Z? You okay?"

"God, and I thought we were doing something illegal." Zahra shakes her head. "Guys, you have to see this."

#fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #choices #choices stories you play #choices stories we play #choices endless summer #endless summer #es #endless summer fanfic #endless summer fanfiction #endless summer finale #endless summer choices #playchoices #play choices #endless summer mc #endless summer taylor #endless summer jake #jake mckenzie #jake x mc #jake x taylor #endless summer jake x mc #endless summer jake x taylor #one more adventure #one more adventure chapter 2 #one more adventure ch 2 #writing #one more adventure ch. 2 #onemoreadventure

[bughead-fic-request]

Hi. Would you consider writing a bughead one-shot that was a romantic date night? It's up to you if you want to make it a fluffy fic or smut. xD Anyways, that's my request and its a super broad one at that.

Modern Love

Summary: Rising movie star Jughead Jones takes seasoned pop star Betty Cooper on a date unlike any other. 

Words: 4,487

Warnings: Mentions of miscarriage, drug use, smoking, drinking, slight sexual situations. No smut. 

A/N: Here is my take on the romantic date night cause I can’t do anything like a normal person. I posted on AO3 as well. 

I edited this myself so there are probably errors. 

Betty Cooper had been famous for most of her life. When she auditioned for X-Factor as a fourteen year old, she was put together with three other girls to create the next big girl group, Aurora.

They came in third place on the show but became one of the biggest girl groups since the Spice Girls. Four years and three albums later Betty was ready to move out on her own as a solo artist and was met with astounding success. Not only was Betty a talented singer but a gifted songwriter as well.

Her first solo album went on to win 4 Grammys and sky rocketed her into super stardom.

It was around this time she met the much older Academy Award winning actor, Archie Andrews. Their courtship was a whirlwind and four months later the couple was married.

It was a rocky marriage at best that lasted a little over two and a half years. Unknown to Betty when they wed, Archie was a heavy drug user and this made him erratic, unsupportive, unreliable and, at times, violent.

The marriage ended after Archie had gotten them into a serious car crash. Betty had broken her arm, both of her legs and had technically died for two minutes. Neither Archie nor the former Mrs. Andrews ever spoke about the accident and Betty filled for divorce the moment she recovered.

Betty was twenty-two, divorced and had just released her sophomore album. It was an album about Archie and it showed. Beautiful heartbreaking songs about love, loss, mistakes and an eyebrow raising track called “Not If You Were The Last Junkie On Earth” got people talking.

She refused to confirm if it was a song about her former husband but there were already plenty rumours about Archie Andrews alleged drug use. Archie had a great PR team but people and the tabloids could speculate but it was never harmful enough to ruin his career.

Betty assumed she would never fall in love again. She couldn’t date like regular people, she couldn’t do anything without it being looked over with a fine toothed comb. Archie had messed her up too badly and she knew she would never be who she was before she met him.

And then Jughead Jones came out of nowhere.

He was listed as one of the actors to watch in 2017. The year before he had been in six movies working with Martin Scorsese, Jennifer Lawrence, Damien Chazelle, Anton Yelchin, Jeff Bridges and Mike Nichols. He had worked on the reboot of Twin Peaks and had four more films coming out in 2017, including a role in the newest Star Wars movie.

He had been working on a film with David Fincher in Los Angeles when he met Betty. She was a friend of actress Veronica Lodge who was currently working on the movie as well. They had all been invited to a party Charlize Theron was throwing.

He met her on the terrace after he snuck out to have a cigarette he wasn’t supposed to be having. Veronica was trying to ween him off the cancer sticks, as she called them.

“You’re not supposed to be doing that.” Betty chided coming out of the shadows. Her soft blonde hair whipping around her face.

Jughead jumped and clutched his chest in surprise. “Fuck!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you but those things will kill you and if they don’t, Veronica certainly will. She’s been telling me all about her mission to make you smoke free.” Betty joked taking a step towards him.

“Can it be our little secret? I’m still not used to all this Hollywood stuff and the cigarettes calm me.” He admitted.

She smiled and nodded her head. “Sure.”

“You want one?” He offered her the pack.

“No thanks, it’s not good for my voice.” She informed touching her throat.

Jughead moved his head in understanding and put the pack in his pocket. “I love the new album by the way.”

Betty felt her cheeks flush, still not able to understand why anyone would praise her. “Thanks. It turned out really well but it was hell to make.”

“Yeah, I heard about all that stuff. I’m sorry.” He took a drag of the cigarette looking out to the city.

She shrugged, ripping up a leaf she had pulled off a plant. “I made a bad choice, we all make them.”

He stood up straight and stuck out his hand. “I’m Jughead Jones, by the way.”

Betty laughed. “I know.”

“You do?” He asked shocked.

“Well, yeah, Veronica pointed you out almost the second we got in here and I’ve seen your movies.” She smirked when his eyes went wide.

“You have?” He said still shocked.

“Yeah, there isn’t a lot to on a tour bus so I’ve seen La La Land and X-Men and Green Room, you’re good.” She tucked her hair behind her ear.

Jughead blushed. “And how did you meet Veronica?”

“I did a song for the Hunger Games movie she was in and we met her at the promo party. I found her in a bathroom, drunk and throwing up. I held back her hair and cleaned her up. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“What a strange thing to bond over.” Jughead remarked.

“Jug?” Veronica’s voice rang out. “Bets?”

Jughead started panicking, not knowing what to do with the cigarette. Betty giggled as she watched him struggle before taking the cigarette from his hand and throwing it over the side of the building.

They both turned to watch Veronica, the statuesque brunette, step out onto the terrace. “Good! You met, sorry I didn’t introduce the two of you sooner but these parties are so exhausting.” She stopped in front of the pair. “Were you smoking?” She asked, eyeing Jughead.

He shook his head. “It must be from one of the buildings around us or something or maybe a raccoon carried a cigarette up here-”

Betty cut him off. “There was someone out here smoking. They went in just before you came out.”

Veronica’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s go inside. James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender showed up and they are singing karaoke.” She clapped rapidly before turning on her heels and skipping back into the apartment.

Betty glanced at him with a grin. “You know, for someone who lies for a living, you’re a terrible liar.” She moved towards the inside and motioned her head in the same direction. “Come on, if we are doing karaoke then this is my time to shine.”

The two of them found themselves gravitating towards each other all night. Jughead couldn’t take his eyes off her when she sang a rendition of ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ with Michael Fassbender.

He immediately understood why she was the only one to be successful when the girls broke free from Aurora. She had that thing, that star quality that would make her incredibly famous even if she wasn’t talented. Your eye was instantly drawn to her.

The night came to a close but before her and Veronica left Jughead caught up with them.

“Hey Betty, do you think I could give you a call some time?” He asked feeling stupid for doing it in front of Veronica who began to smirk. “Or a text or email or call your agent? I don’t know, I’ve never asked out a famous person before.”

Betty laughed and shot a quick look to Veronica who gave her an encouraging nod. “Give me your phone.” She instructed.

He handed her the device and she punched in her number. “That is my personal number, please protect it.” She handed it back to him. “Please use it though.”

“I will, I promise.” He smiled at her.

Betty tucked her hair behind ears and laughed. “I’ll see you around then.” She gave him a small wave, got into the elevator and disappeared with Veronica.

He did call her and they went on a handful of dates, usually at her place and one at his. They had attempted a dinner out but the paparazzi and constant interruptions from fans made it impossible.

They had managed to go on an outing to a secret lake in a field two hours outside of Los Angeles. No one had followed them and it was the first time they were alone in a place that wasn’t one of their homes.

“You know that I’ve never been on a real date before. I guess this would come closest.” Betty said as she sunned topless while Jughead looked over the scattered tattoos on her body.

“What do you mean?” Jughead asked looking up at her.

“I mean every date I’ve ever been on has been overrun by paparazzi or every other person is asking me for an autograph.” She sighed. “I’ve never had that, ’Where did you grow up?’, ‘What’s your family like?’ kind of dinner date. I’ve never really felt normal but I guess that’s the price for everything I have.”

“A real date isn’t much different, I can assure you. I can understand the want to have something you’ve never had.” His finger ran across the underside of her breast. “What is this? What do these names mean?” He asked tracing the names Natalie and William.

Betty shifted uncomfortably. “The second I tell you, you’ll look at me differently.” She admitted.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me.” He said taking a sip of his beer, looking at the tranquil surroundings around them.

They were silent for sometime before Betty spoke. “I was two months pregnant when Archie got us into that car crash. I had no idea, my period had always been fucked up so I thought the light spotting was normal.” She swallowed hard. “He was on heroin that night, I didn’t know that either. I thought he was drunk and he had become so belligerent I just wanted to leave.” She was silent again for so long he thought the story was over until she started again. “They said I barely looked like a person when they pulled me out of the wreckage, they couldn’t believe I was alive. When I came too and found out that I had lost the baby, I wish I had died. I was even more furious that Archie walked away unscathed.” She sat up and took a sip of her drink. “There were some dark nights I thought about killing him.” She confessed and looked down at him. “I didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl but this is what I would have named them either way.”

“That’s what the song is about? The Junkie one? It’s about Archie.”

Betty nodded. “‘Red Red Red’ is about the babies.”

Jughead nodded and thought about a certain lyric from the song.

What’s happened has happened/What’s coming is already on its way/With a role for me to play/I don’t understand/I’ll never understand/But I’ll try to understand/There’s nothing else I can do

“I’m so sorry Betty.” He said.

“So am I.” She shook her head. “He was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made and I’ll never forgive myself for making it.”

Jughead sat up and brushed the hair from her face. “Bets, you have to, okay? You have to try. I’ll help you if you want.”

She smiled and nodded, leaning in to kiss him. “Thank you for being so wonderful.” She remarked.

“It’s easy when I’m with you.” He brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her again, pushing her down into the grass.

They made love for the first time that afternoon.

Jughead knew he wanted to do something special for her because he was falling in love with her. She had been through so much in her short life and it killed him to watch her deal with the pain.

He wanted to give her something no other person could give her.

“Can you be ready for 8?” He asked her on the phone as he paced his trailer.

“I can, is there anything you want me to wear?” She teased in a playful way.

“If I said I have a thing for little black dresses, would you be repulsed?” Jughead joked.

“Many fashion critics have said that a little black dress is what I look best in.” She giggled. “Let me know when you are getting here and I’ll buzz you in.”

“Sounds great!” Jughead was trying to hide his excitement as he signed off on a release for the nights upcoming festivities. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

“I’m counting on it.” She hung up and Jughead head smiled.

He looked at the grey three piece that hung in the closet. He looked good in grey, grey was the right color. She would like him in grey.

Betty had too many little black dresses, they had accumulated over the years. Ones she had bought and ones that had been given to her for photoshoots, red carpets and when she was performing on stage. She settled on a tight, strapless satin dress that cut off just above the knee. She put her hair up in a high teased ponytail and slipped on some strappy gold high heels. She kept her makeup minimal.

Her doorbell rang around six. Betty was confused because she hadn’t agreed to let Jughead in yet and he was far too early for the date. She strode to her front door to be greeted by Gus, the man who guarded her community, holding a large bouquet of red roses in a vase.

“Oh my god, come in Gus!” She waved him in, making room on the table sitting in the middle of her grand foyer. “Where did these come from?”

“A messenger dropped them off, there is a card.” Gus said placing them down.

She opened the card and couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips.

You’re smiling aren’t you? You better be smiling. I’ll see you soon. - Jughead xoxo

Betty bit her lip as a blush crept into her cheeks. She was falling hard for this boy and it terrified her. The last time she fell for someone she almost lost her life but she loved the smile on her face and the fire in her cheeks and knew she needed to take that chance.

“Thank you, Gus.” Betty cooed.

“Never a problem, Miss Cooper.” Gus gave a slight nod and went out the way he came in.

Betty had gotten dressed far too early and found herself sitting around watching crappy reality TV with a nervous excitement running through her. She didn’t think her foot could bounce anymore when her house phone rang.

“Hello, Miss Cooper, a Jughead Jones is here.” Gus said knowing full well who Jughead was.

“Yep, let him in.” She instructed putting down her phone and running to the mirror to make sure she still looked good.

She took a deep breath in. This felt different from any other date they had ever been on. Betty felt like everything would be different when she kissed him goodbye that night.

The doorbell rang and she forced herself to walk at a normal pace to answer it. She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face when she saw him. He was wearing a pristinely tailored, grey three piece suit and his dark hair was brushed back.

“Hi.” She sighed leaning against the door, forgetting all her manners.

“Hi.” He softly said back, taking a step towards her, his arm wrapping around her waist pulling her flush against him. His lips met hers, the kiss was delicate but filled with all the expectation of the coming night. “You look incredible.”

Betty blushed. “Thank you.” She kissed him again as she ran her hands up and down his arms. “What are we doing tonight?” She asked.

“It’s a surprise.” He grinned wickedly.

“Do we have time for a drink?” She asked.

Jughead shook his head. “We have reservations for 8:30 and we have to be on time for them.”

Betty pouted before smiling at him. “Fine, let me grab my clutch.” She turned to collect her small black satin bag that was sitting beside the roses. “Thank you for those by the way.” She said as she locked up. “I love roses, they are so beautiful.”

“I’m glad you liked them.” Jughead placed his hand on her lower back and steered her towards the car. He opened the door to his black Mercedes and helped Betty inside. Jughead handed her a blindfold once he was in the car.

“What is this?” Betty asked with skeptical eyes.

“I need you to put it on. I want where we are going to be a surprise and it can’t be a surprise if you see where we’re going.” He explained placing the blindfold in her hand. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

She stared at him for a moment and then half smiled. “Okay.” She put it on and settled back into the seat as the car took off.

“Are you ready for the crazy amount of paparazzi that are going to be wherever we are going. You know they are following us. They sit outside my house constantly.” She informed.

“I’m ready for it.” He assured linking his fingers with hers.

They were silent as they drove to their destination, Betty trying to count turns, trying to figure out where they were headed. The car stopped and Jughead got out.

“Jug? Jug?” She said almost taking off the blindfold before he jumped back in.

“Sorry about that, just a few more minutes, promise.” The car started moving again.

She felt a wave of excitement flow through her. “Can I take off the blindfold?” She asked when the car finally stopped again.

“Yes.” Jughead said getting out of the vehicle.

Betty blinked a few times after taking off the mask letting her eyes adjust to where they were. They were parked on a quiet street. There were shops, apartments and restaurants lining the block as people went about their lives. There was no paparazzi, no star fuckers, nothing Betty was accustomed to. “This place looks weird.”

She stepped out of the car when Jughead held the door open for her and directed her to a small Italian restaurant called, Alle Testiere, a few doors down from where they parked. “Where are we? Are we still in the city?” She asked.

“Kinda.” He smiled as they entered the building.

There were a few couples in front of them and they waited their turn to speak to the hostess. Betty couldn’t remember the last time she had to wait for anything.

“Hi there,” the dark haired hostess beamed. “For two?”

“Yeah, there is a reservation under Jones for 8:30.” He looked over the podium to look at the log.

“Ah, yes, we are just getting your table ready right now, please take a seat.” She motioned over to a bench by the door.

Jughead and Betty sat down and she looked around at the other people waiting to be seated. They carried on conversations with each other seemingly ignoring the movie and pop star in front of them.

“Is your car actually a Tardis that sent us to a parallel timeline where we aren’t famous?” Betty asked looking over at him.

He laughed, unbuttoning his suit jacket. “No, my car is not a Tardis.”

“It’s a Delorean and we have gone back in time to the 90’s?” She inquired.

“Why are you so obsessed with time travel?” He questioned.

“Why aren’t any of these people looking at me? At us?”

He shrugged. “Maybe you aren’t as famous as you think you are.”

“Jones!” The hostess called.

Jughead stood and held his hand out to her. “Come on.”

She followed him to a small table for two surrounded by couples who didn’t seem to care they were there.

“You like Italian food, right?” Jughead asked as he began looking over the wine menu.

“Yeah, I love Italian.” Betty said looking around. No one was secretly pointing their phones at her or whispering to each other. “Seriously though, where are we?”

“Hello, my name is Andrew and I will be you server for tonight.” A tall blonde man smiled down at them.

Jughead looked at her. “Do you mind if I order wine for the table?”

She shook her head reaching for her phone, trying to figure out where she was but was distracted when Jughead started speaking.

“We’ll have the 2013 Switchback.” Jughead said with a smile as he handed the waiter the wine list.

“Excellent choice, sir, I’ll be right back.”

Betty looked over it him. “Jug.” She said calmly, her hands pressing flat against the leather menu.

“Bets.” He said looking over his food options.

“What is this place?”

He put the menu down and smiled at her. “Do you remember our date at the lake and you told me you had never been on a real date before?”

Betty nodded slowly.

“This is your first real date.” He lifted his arms, showcasing his work off.

“I don’t understand.” She admitted.

“I called in every favour I was owed and most actors in L.A. will do anything for a free meal and 50 bucks. Fincher being Fincher demanded to have a whole city block built and wanted to do tracking shots into this restaurant so…” He trailed off.

“This is a backlot?” She asked starting to understand what he had done for her.

He nodded.

“And all these people are actors?”

“Who have all signed non-disclosures, have no phones and, for just tonight, have no idea who you are.”

A wave of emotion hit her and she let out a mix of a sob and a laugh. “Oh my god, Jug.” Tears filled her eyes as she covered her agape mouth.

“Everyone should go one at least one real date.” He smiled warmly at her.

“I cannot believe you did this.” She laughed as a few tears streaked her face. “How much did this cost? How long were you planning this?” She asked wanting to jump across the table and hug him with no intention of ever letting go.

“That’s not for you to worry about.” He smiled. She could see the love in his eyes and she felt like she was about to burst.

That was the moment she fell in love with him.

“Sir.” The waiter showed him the bottle of wine and Jughead nodded. The server began to uncork the wine. “Are we here for a special occasion?” He asked.

“It’s our first real date.” Jughead told him before sniffing, tasting and nodding that the wine was okay.

“Oh, well that is lovely.” He smiled at Betty who was drying her eyes, still overwhelmed by what was happening. “The specials tonight are Chicken Carbonara and Seafood Bolognese. I would recommended both.” He smiled.

“Can we have one of each? We’ll share.” Betty laughed.

“Coming right up.” The waiter left.

“How are they cooking the meals?” Betty asked as she took a sip of the amazing wine.

“You don’t need to worry about that either.” He leaned back in his chair. “So, where did you grow up?”

She laughed. He was making sure she had a true date experience. “I grew up in a small town called Riverdale. It’s not very interesting. You don’t want to go there.”

“You didn’t have a happy childhood?” He asked.

She shrugged. “It was fine, it’s just a small town and it’s boring and I was forced into a lot of excitement at a very young age and I’m not sure I could live there anymore.”

“I grew up in a small town in Canada. Innisfil, Ontario, it’s not far from Toronto.”

“You’re Canadian?” Betty exclaimed. “I didn’t know that! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It never came up but I never much cared for where I grew up either. I felt like I had bigger ideas than a small town would allow.” He took a sip of his wine. “That’s probably why I left.”

“I can relate to that.” Betty laughed. “My mom took me to LA when I was ten. I was in so many commercials before I tried out for X-Factor.”

“What was it like being famous that young?”

“I think I thought I was an adult when I wasn’t. I didn’t really get to be a kid, I basically had to sexualize myself the second I was put into Aurora. I grew up fast and it was probably the reason I thought I was ready to get married when I was eighteen.”

“Would you have done anything differently, in retrospect?” Jughead asked knowing the answer.

Betty took a sip of her wine. “Other than that horrible night, no. Being in Aurora was amazing and I love what I do. Marrying Archie was a mistake I needed to make to get myself to this very moment.” She smiled warmly. “This is a pretty exceptional moment.”

“Do you have any siblings?” Jughead asked.

Betty nodded. “An older brother and sister.”

“Really?” Jughead leaned forward. “Do you get along?” He asked.

Betty started talking about her family and every aspect of her life she could think of. Jughead did the same as dinner came and went along with dessert. No one bothered them, they received no knowing looks, not a single phone was ever pointed at them just as he had promised.

For the first time in a long time, Betty felt normal.

Jughead paid the bill and they lazily walked back to the car without a single paparazzo shoving a camera in their face or asking her if she was still in love with Archie.

Betty looked out the window, her fingers laced with Jughead’s as they left the lot and drove home. She couldn’t remember a time she felt so content, like everything was going to be fine.

Jughead parked the car in front of her home and walked her to the door, which she unlocked and stepped inside. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you properly for this night.”

“I’m hoping there will be plenty of moments for you to try.” Jughead whispered pulling Betty in for a kiss. This was more intense than the first one they shared that night. He didn’t care if he was going to mess up her make up or wreck her hair, he needed to be as close to her as possible.

“I’m in love with you.” Betty said first, panting when they parted.

Jughead looked at her, his eyes moving over her face wanting to remember her flushed cheeks and swollen lips. “I love you too.” He kissed her again as she pulled him into her home and he closed the door behind him.

Jughead stayed the night and every night after that.

#riverdale #Bughead #bughead fanfiction #betty cooper #jughead jones #jughead x betty #betty x jughead #one shot #ao3 #romantic date