felt collar

On A Scale of One to Ten

Anon Requested: Lily starts falling for an insecure, yet charming crippled james, and naturally when his injury is miraculously recovered, girls throw themselves at him. (Healer!Lily/Auror!James AU)

Fanfiction Net

“You have to let me see him.”

The desperate plea that came from the intruder’s lips was wrought with emotion as he pushed past a startled Lily Evans to the bed where a badly wounded man sat awaiting the Healer visit—Lily’s visit. Instead of assessing what had brought the man into the rehabilitation ward in the first place, Lily was assessing the boy who had come charging into the room like the patient was on his deathbed.

The bloke (not the injured one) flew into the hospital ward only moments before Lily, taking out two guards and a door with the flick of his wand. He wore a leather traveling cloak and his wand was tucked in the black bun stop his head. The boy was handsome with black hair, grey eyes, and perfect cheekbones. His pale skin was akin to the models she saw in Witch Weekly but his expression was less sensual and more roguish.

The boy stared down at the man in bed, exasperated, “Your owl left out the part where Alice Longbottom buzzed your hair off, you look ridiculous.”

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*Tk wakes up in a different place he wasn’t wearing his normal clothing he was just wearing some sort of white long shirt and he had a metallic collar on, he was in a white empty room*

*he soon wakes up to find himself no longer in a dark cold cave but rather somewhere….he isn’t sure of….He sat up and notice he was no longer in his ripped up clothes but a white shirt. He felt the collar on his neck and start to look around* whu– what happened? Wh-where am I? Origin? Anyone? Hello?!

*a voice comes from an unseen speaker* “ah your awake good….im sure you must be confused, allow me to introduce my self. I am Dr.harth , you are are under the observation and care of this facility now,that device around your neck will shock you and not allow you to use your powers if you attempt to use your powers you will be injected with a powerful neuro toxin. Do i make my self clear?”

TK: *glared at the voice and for moment, growled at it* Contained? Shock? Injected with Toxins? Is that right? For a care facility, your methods sure sound “Harth-less” Heh! *TK scoffed*

Dr.harth: ….you will be taken to the lab for examination in 30 minutes. 

TK: Grand….*He said sarcastically*


Drew another scene from my rps~! XD Cursed!TK was caught along with Demon/Bad Time Origin after engaging into a heated battle in the Obsidian city. This would explain why he’s so scratched up TTwTT

Origin’s tale © @lonely-void-flower

Quantumtale © me~

Snow Day

I wrote another fic! Since people were so lovely about my last one, I thought I’d give it another go- fingers crossed. The start is somewhat similar to the last one? I don’t know why I love writing about Betty and Jughead in bed together but I can’t stop.

Much love, I hope you enjoy! 

Waking up in Jughead’s arms was Betty’s favourite way to start the day.

She’d stirred slowly, in the early hours of the morning when sunlight was only beginning to creep through the gaps in the curtain. Yet to flutter her eyes open, she smiled as she became aware of a strong arm draped lazily over her waist, lightly holding her body in place. Betty tenderly touched her fingers to his, then began trailing them along his skin. Her fingers danced gently along his forearm, across his broad bicep, towards his shoulder blades. Betty finally opened her eyes, still glazed with sleep, and she could not hold back the smile that graced her features as they fell upon the vision before her.

God, he’s so beautiful.

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“is that my flannel?” - bughead

“hey betty, have you seen my shirt?” jughead called, ruffling through the coopers’ laundry. since betty’s, and contractually, alice’s discovery of jughead’s homelessness, alice had invited (pressured, was a better word, he thought,) to do his laundry at their house. jughead was a messy eater, half his shirts were stained with unidentifiable food stains. and frankly, alice was not having it.

(A/N: this is actually an otp prompt request (number 7 on this list,) but it went beyond a little ficlet/drabble so I posted it separately. also this is me just being trash for the fact that alice approves of jughead which I love)

warnings: pretty much nothing

“um, hi mrs. c. is betty here?” jughead hadn’t seen Betty all day, and he was a bit worried.

“betty is with cheryl blossom’s cheerleading squad today and for the next two hours. she called a surprise practice.” alice had said, emerging from her office to open the bright red door. her mother had answered the door rather than her. he froze on the spot, feeling her eyes look him up and down, judgingly. suddenly, jughead felt hyper-conscious of the fact that his symbolic ‘s’ shirt had a food stain he tried (and failed to) cover with his denim, fleece lined jacket. she clicked her tongue twice in disappointment.

(in his defence, he was down to his last two or three shirts. Betty had taken all the flannels, and as much as he found it sexy, he needed his clothes. but she clearly had no intention of returning them.)

he noted that certain traits betty definitely got from her mom, like her blond hair and eyes, although alice’s eyes were more like two pieces of pale blue-green ice, and Betty’s were wide and soft and welcoming. she had her mom’s assertion too, every phrase uttered by the older cooper woman had a bit of bite, something of an edge. and even jughead, a boy who had faced it all, felt more like an animal being stalked by it’s prey than a boy meeting his girlfriend’s mother.

“no boy involved with my daughter will carry himself in such a state,” she had said. jughead hung his head in shame. it’s not like he liked it either. hell if he had to be homeless, he’d rather not look homeless. alice motioned for him to step inside, and he did, aware of every step, looking down to avoid chafing the perfect floors of the cooper household. he slipped his boots off.

“uh, i’m sorry?” it came out more as a question than a statement of apology.

“wait here. jug-head.” she still said his name as though it was two words. he hadn’t had the courage to correct her yet. alice disappeared upstairs, leaving jughead in the foyer of the home that was far nicer than any other place he’d ever lived. it essentially had the same setup as archie’s house, but much more feminine. where they had a kitchen island, they had a dining table with a frilled table cover, other small details he noticed were different.

just as his eyes trailed to the molding, out of pure boredom, alice returned from the upper level, holding a plain white t-shirt.

“I will wash your clothes for you. Betty says you’re writing a novel?” 
“yeah,” he said, sheepishly. he knew betty’s mom wrote for a living, and he felt lesser for it. he couldn’t help but treat writing like a hobby despite the fact that he wanted so badly to make a living off of it some day. 

“you may write your novel here, but please respect the silence,” alice said, as she flashed him an ~almost~ smile. he couldn’t help but wonder, why was she being so nice? “bathroom is the second door to your left.” jughead, still hanging his head, walked into the bathroom to change. “thank you,” he said, closing the door behind him.

he quickly shed his jacket and peeled off the ‘s’ shirt, dropping it to the ground, but he was far more careful removing his beanie, setting it on the ledge of the sink. jughead put on the loose white tee. hal cooper’s shirt was far too big on jughead, almost 3 sizes so. it was hard to tell under all the layers, but he was a tall, skinny, lanky boy with only a fair bit of muscle. the shirt’s neck hung quite low, exposing his faintly defined pecs from working construction an odd day or another with archie and his father.

huh. maybe I look okay. he thought to himself, before slipping his beanie back on his head, hiding his raven curls from the world yet again. he felt more secure as he re-emerged into the hallway, walking gingerly toward the living room. alice was waiting for him, it seemed she had set the laptop he walked in with on their polished coffee table. she took his clothes from him.

“the wash cycle will take approximately an hour. the dryer should take about that long. betty will be home by then. i need to head out, jug-head,” he cringed a bit, but continued to listen intently. “i would appreciate it if you would walk her home and keep her company until i return.” he smiled at her and numbed something along the lines of sure, and sorry to cause you any trouble.

“it’s no trouble at all,” alice said, pressing ‘on’ on the machine, slipping on a pair of heels that could not at all have been comfortable, left a house key on the hook, and walked out, shutting the door behind her quite forcefully.

the solitude of the house was quite nice. albeit it felt strange without betty’s presence, he felt himself feel almost at home, as he turned on some music and got to work. however, an itching part of his conscious served to remind him that he was in a beautiful well kept home where he so blatantly didn’t belong.

it was 5:00, and jughead was suddenly reminded it would probably be nice of him to walk betty home. while he was sure it wasn’t necessary, she was a strong girl, confident, and could definitely take care of herself. but Alice had directed him to do so, and two hours in her house without her there had him itching to see her. he slipped his combat boots back on, and grabbed the house key, locking the door behind him as he walked out of the pristine household. there was a skip in his step as he made his way to riverdale high to see his juliet again.

“hey b, where’s the shirt from? haven’t seen that one before.” veronica called, with a whistle, as she looked betty up and down. the cheerleading practice had just come to an end, and Betty wanted nothing more than a peaceful night with jughead.

as though mom would allow such a thing, she scoffed to herself.

“aw, is it jughead’s?” she cooed. betty nodded, and looked down with a blush. she had brought jughead’s flannel to change into after practice because she was missing him. it smelled like him too, like smoke, deodorant, and some unique male scent that was his own. just the smell did all sorts of things to her overly sensitive hormones, but a locker room with veronica, and cheryl a short few feet away was not the time to think of such things.

on a less intimate note, she quite liked wearing it, because it was almost like walking around wearing one of his hugs, as silly as it sounded, it calmed her frayed nerves and helped her stay grounded. she’d rather that than to dig her nails in her palms as a stress response. and it made her feel attractive. in fact, the cheerleading practice seemed to be helping her shape up quite a lot, and she felt quite confident in her body. for once. that was new.

cheryl gave her the side eye, and betty packed her cheer uniform into her duffel bag, and slung it over her shoulder with a goodbye to veronica. she walked out of the school, and checked her phone for the time.

“hey!” her eyes widened as jughead stood there waiting for her. “I was told by a certain mother that I was to escort you to the cooper household and keep you company until she returns,” he said sarcastically.

“when did that happen? you talked to my mom?” she said, somewhat incredulously.

“yeah. I spent the past 2 hours in your house.” he said, as she gave him a somewhat skeptical look.
“huh. my mom invited you in?” he nodded.

he put his arm around her as they walked home, as he fingered the material of her shirt collar. it felt strangely familiar? jughead peeled his eyes away from his beautiful girlfriend and “wait, betts, is that my flannel?”

“yeah.” she smiled. he couldn’t help but smile back. the thought of her wearing his clothes, something about it was so undeniably attractive. but he was reminded of the embarrassing scene with Alice cooper earlier.

“betty, you do realize your resident homeless teen is going to need his clothes back, right? you can’t keep wearing them all the time.”
“but you said you liked it,” she said, feigning innocence. “you said it was hot,” she purred almost seductively. betty felt desirable, as jughead’s hand moved from her shoulder to around her waist. she was thankful for the exercise cheer practice had been lately.

he couldn’t take it any more, her teasing. he was all the more anxious to get home, trying to ignore the erotic images that seemed to stem from his male conscious.

jughead leaned closer to her, and the couple instinctively leaned in to press their lips together in a short kiss, while lost lasting long, it had left them both breathless and craving more. especially with betty wearing that goddamn shirt.

“let’s go home,” betty whispered in his ear. and with those 3 words, jughead and betty’s hands locked together as they raced the rest of the way back.

please send me your bughead prompts, or numbers from the otp list linked earlier! my ask is here!

tell me

Jyn has a fever, Cassian stays by her side.

for @rebelcaptainprompts, confined. Thank you so so much for the prompt and inspiration! | 675 words | Ao3

“I’m okay, I’m okay…”

Jyn flinched uneasy, the cloth in Cassian’s hand dripping cool down her cheek.

“I know you are,” Cassian said softly, “it’s for me.”

Jyn breathed a low laugh, the sound crackling in her chest. Her head weighed heavy in Cassian’s lap, and when she slitted open her eyes, she saw Cassian’s darken with concern.

“You’re here,” she mumbled, “I thought-”

I’m here,” he said roughly, squeezed her fingers, tight. “You need to stay with me. Tell me… talk to me.”

He was slipping, words blurring dull and sharp. Jyn held on.

“Once,” she murmured, forced a smile. “Saw had us bunkered, waiting for a supply drop near the catacombs. And the water was bad. And half of us struck this fever, worse than now. Happened too quick, no way to get back. And-”

There was a small silence as the memory stirred into focus.

“Jyn?” Cassian whispered after a moment, grazed his thumb where her hair plastered to her brow. A shape flickered in Jyn’s periphery, his touch the only thing that felt real.

Come back.

“-and we were all… fine?” she tried, wished she had enough energy to boot herself. Cassian’s hand stilled, shadows tightening. She wondered how long he’d been up.

“It wasn’t as bad as the tablelands-” Jyn managed, her throat dry as she swallowed. “Two snakebites in the first hour. Through my boots. Middle of the desert and I was telling everyone we had to set up camp, I swear, even the sun looked like night…”

“And did you?” Cassian said quietly. “Set up camp?”

“Oh, no-” Jyn shivered in the cold, “I mean, I only thought it was dark because of the poison. We had a whole three days of travel ahea-”

Cassian’s eyes momentarily closed, he sounded pained as he exhaled.

“But I was fine,” Jyn added quickly. “The moral of the story was supposed to be, I’m always fi-”

When she broke off coughing, Cassian just as swiftly eased her upright, took off his jacket so she had another blanket. The fur at the jacket’s collar felt stiff and worn against Jyn’s neck, and when she could finally breathe, Cassian’s scent was there too.

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Sketch Random + Fanfic Translation.

Translation by: @miguelcool2000

A One-shot follow up story to the comic “Random Sketch”

Title: “If he just…”

“Kill him”

For a second, that idea crossed her mind while her finger trembled over the trigger of her gun.

Her heart would beat painfully inside her chest, suffocating her, the purest and most gruesome hatred was born within her being, rising like hot lava in her esophagus and choking her throat.

The bovine laughed maniacally in front of her , twisting and bending, mocking at what the act one of his henchman had accomplished.

She looked at Nick’s body lying still on the floor, blood starting to form a puddle around his figure.

Judy fought back her own tears.

-          Oh, come on, lieutenant Hopps, don’t tell me you really care for that piece of scum.- Del Toro stated in an annoyingly fancy manner and licking his own lips while stressing each word.

“Kill him!”

-          Shut up! – She rose her voice using all her will not to pull the trigger in that very moment.

“Just kill him at once!”

She heard again her own voice in rage trying to impose its actions. But she couldn’t. She was a police officer, a Lieutenan . She couldn’t let her emotions be shown so easily.

-          Anyway, who’s gonna miss such a scumbag loser like him? It’s a fox, a species that is just a plague to this world…

That was the last straw. How did he dare to say that? What did he know about foxes? What the hell did he know about nick?

“Kill him!”

This time she would follow her instinct.

-          You son of a…

-          Judy, don’t! – shout a voice she thought she was never going to hear again and turned around, her eyes meeting the fox’s looking back at her from the ground, his own shining with an emerald glow, trying to communicate thousands of thoughts, since shouting has left him exhausted – …you are better than that… dumb bunny… - murmured the vulpine with a weak voice and lost consciousness in consequence.

-          Nick!

-          Lieutenant Hopps! – exclaimed a gray hare getting close at full speed while followed by a group of mammals. He went towards his female counterpart whereas the other officers cuffed Del Toro. –Are you ok?

Wilde had interfered at the right time. He have saved her from doing something stupid. She could barely see the metallic cuffs around the ex-politician’s hooves and without even answering to her subordinate she hurried herself next to Nick.

-          Just if you hadn’t save him that day at the court, that idiot would have died long ago and you would live a simple life and I would have everything I ever wanted! – She heard the claiming of the furious criminal, but she ignored him.

-          Nick? … Can you hear me? … Hey Nick, Nick! She said without getting an answer. She remembered the first aid course and pressed her trembling paws against the wound. She had to do something, she had to stop all that blood, but the hemorrhage didn’t seem to stop. – Savage!

-          The ambulance is on its way lieutenant. – He claimed as he checked the fox’s vitals. - You’d better hurry. His heartrate is declining hastily. – He shout over the radio on his shoulder.

A few seconds later the sirens could be heard.

-          Listen to me Lieutenant Hopps – said one of the caribous who checked the one with the emerald eyes – Don’t stop pressing, the wound is in a critical state and your paws are the only thing that keeps him alive at this moment. So, until we can make it to the hospital, don’t let go. Understood?

She nodded and the paramedics performed some maneuvers in order to get them both inside the ambulance.

Everything else was blurry in her mind when she less expected it, she was already sat on one of the enormous chairs in the waiting room of the Memorial Hospital Zootopia.

-          You should take a break – claimed Jack Savage forgetting the formalities, after all despite she being his superior, they were old childhood friends. He offered her some coffee.

-          No. I’m not leaving until I know he’s fine… - answered Judy while accepting the bitter drink.

-          The surgery they are performing will at least take another 10 hours and we still have to prepare the reports of the case – but she didn’t move an inch.

-          I can’t leave him – her eyes filling with guilt.

Jack stared at her intensively and sighed – Well, at least go take a shower, your clothes are a mess.

She was about to refuse again when the one with the blue irises interrupted her.

-          Go to my apartment – he held the keys in front of her – it’s conveniently located just  a few blocks from here, it won’t take more than 30 minutes, I’ll stay here and will call you in case anything happens. OK?

She doubted a little, but ended up accepting and headed to the house of her once neighbor and younger brother’s best friend.

As if she were a zombie, she crossed streets and every mammal she came across stared at her covered in blood, which caused some of the predators to have problems with their collars so she hurried her steps.

She made it to Jack’s place and went straight to the bathroom, she looked at herself in the mirror and became horrified, Nick’s blood was everywhere, her hands, face, clothes, her badge…

In a frenzy, she took off the clothes and quickly went inside the cold water pouring down from the shower since the blood was already dried. Otherwise, it would be harder to wash it from her fur.

Damn it!

How had she let that situation end like it did?

She strongly punched the wall, her knuckles went numb due to the pain.

-          Damn it! - She yelled with rage. She was at her limit, and couldn’t keep enduring her own feelings any longer.

She allowed herself to cry. She cried out of powerlessness, anguish, fury, pain and fear.

She cried for Nick Wilde, a predator, a fox, who she had unrightfully called a murderer and turned out to be the most noble, and kindest of the creatures; someone who was just trying to make his dreams come true and help others with their own.

Someone she labeled as untrustworthy and became my only ally. Someone she came to fear, but now felt a deep regard for to unsuspected levels; because he had earned through all means a very special place in her heart.

Those things she had tried to forget due to the involving circumstances that created a barrier between them. But all those circumstances had vanished the moment she saw him falling hurt, all her prejudice disintegrated in an instant.

Sincerely, what made them different from each other?

Being pray and predator?

A fox and a rabbit?

Male and female?

Though that could be said, that wasn’t what really made them different.

The only thing that could draw that line, where the obedience collars. Those damn collars. She felt embarrassed of the fact that she once thought those artifacts were the best invention in history.

She was wrong. The whole society and she were wrong. It was just a horrible tool to keep the divisions between pray and predator, the generator of an endless cycle of hatred.

Something that wasn’t necessary at all as predators weren’t some insensible beasts. Those things only took away that which thousands of mammals presumed to have granted them, their freedom.

And Nick had been the one to teach her that. He had shown her a whole new world, a cruel image and a beautiful reality of which was actually wrong.

And how did she pay him back?

By letting someone with his own stupid ambitions shoot him right to the heart.

Did she really deserved to carry a badge if she tolerated that the innocent were victims of such atrocities? Not if he died, it would just be a terrible confirmation.

A chill went down her spine.

Nick could really die any second and she was standing there dumbfounded thinking about stuff that didn’t matter in that precise moment.

She shook her head franticly and crouched in the shower.

-          He’s not going to die…- she told herself.

After bathing herself, she turned off the faucet, put on some of Savage’s clothes and hurried back to the hospital.

She made it back faster than she took to leave.

-          Jack. – She called the name of the gray bunny as she made her way to where he was sitting.

-          There aren’t any news yet. – He claimed as he jumped down from the elephant size chair.

-          Good, thanks for the shower, I’ll give these back – she pointed to the black outfit from the ZPD she was wearing – tomorrow. Is that OK?

-          Sure. You know you can give them back anytime.

Five hours passed without any of them saying a word. Hours in which Judy’s heart never stopped beating painfully and aguishly in her chest, just expecting to get some news on the fox’s health.

Her friend’s phone broke the silence that reigned in the waiting room, after all they were in the most desolated wing of the hospital.

The hare with the sapphire colored eyes stepped outside to take the phone call and came back a few minutes later.

-          It was Captain McHorn, he says Superintendent Bogo has given Del Toro’s case top priority, and he wants us to write the reports as soon as…

-          You should go to the precinct first, I’ll call the boss and write the report later.

-          Alright. Do you want me to get your laptop from the office?

-          If you could, please.

-          Ok. Then, I must take my leave. I’ll come back later. Cheer up Jude, that fox is gonna make it – he called her as when they were kids while he smiled at her and pressed her shoulder – excuse me Lieutenant Hopps  - he straightened up before departing and she nodded.

Each minute seemed like an eternity, she looked at the clock on the wall, 4:15 am. The 10 hours Jack had calculated the surgery would last had already passed, but there was no signs of any doctor so far.

As soon as that thought hit her, the red light on the sign “Surgery in process” turned off and an elephant came through the sliding doors.

-          Nicholas Wilde’s family? – He asked as on cue and the lieutenant immediately got close.

-          He has no family, I’m his tutor. - She claimed showing her badge. - How is he doing?

-          He lost a lot of blood, the bullet pierced an important artery and got stuck in a difficult area to operate, he also suffered two heart attacks while on surgery, but we could resuscitate him. The surgery has been a success. We will take him to Intensive Therapy and he will have to stay in observation for the next days, and depending on his evolution we’ll be able to transfer him to a private room.

Her heart burst with joy.

-          May I see him? – She asked after listening attentively to the doctor.

-          Of course, but it must not be more than a few minutes.

-          Thanks doctor.

-          Don’t worry. I’ll tell the nurse in charge the instructions so you can see him, I’m leaving now.

Hopps brought her hands to her chest and squeezed them against herself, shedding another couple of tears, but this time she cried out of relief.

Thank goodness he was still alive.

-          Thanks. Thanks. – She repeated while crouching.

She never thought the day she would be happy to hear the beeping of a vital signs monitor, because it gave her the certainty that, though a bit weak and paused, Nick Wilde’s heart kept beating.

She sat on the booth near the hospital bed, which to her fortune was the right size for the vulpine species.

With some fear, she took his paw between hers, squeezing it gently, trying not to hurt him nor messing with the tubes with saline solutions that were plugged into him.

She admired his red-haired face and noticed how exhaust and haggard he appeared to be, also his fur seemed a bit pale somehow, and she felt a deep sorrow to see him in that state.

She infinitely thanked the fact that by medical procedure the collar that slaved him had to be removed.

-          Thanks for staying alive. Thank you for saving me…

Had he died, she would have gone and killed the son of a bitch who shot him with her own hands. If Nick hadn’t stopped her, she would have become into a murderer. If he had stopped existing, she wouldn’t care about anything anymore.

But he was still here, in the same world as her, and from that moment on she swore that she would do anything within her power and even more to make his dream come true.

To create a world where anyone can be anything they want to be.

However, she knew it wouldn’t be easy, but it didn’t matter. If he just stayed by her side to fight for it, the time they would take to achieve it wouldn’t matter.

After all, she didn’t need anything else but him.

-          …Carrots?…

The End

anonymous asked:

Following prompts for Bughead 9) who gets baby-crazy when they see children? 10) who steals the others clothes? 16) who gets jealous when people flirt with their partner? 30) who cries the most? Please & thank you.

9. Who gets baby-crazy when they see children?
It had taken Betty a while to notice that Jughead just had a way with children, and she couldn’t help but smile dreamily at her boyfriend across the table from her as he pulled faces at the small baby in the pushchair to their right. He’d seen the moment that the baby’s temperament had started to turn, forehead scrunching up delicately, grizzling as she prepared to let out a howling wail that would have turned every head in the cosy restaurant. Jughead caught her eye, gasping at her with wide surprised eyes. The baby paused, regarding him cautiously with a bright blue gaze.

Betty watched on fondly as Jughead proceeded to cross his eyes, stick out his tongue, blow raspberries at the baby until she was giggling, kicking her legs out as she gurgled in response. The mother shot Jughead a grateful smile, tiredness prominent under her eyes, as she left, the baby’s eyes remaining locked on Jughead until they were out of the door. Betty sighed, biting her lip as he finally turned his attention back to the table. His eyes were sparkling.

“How great is it going to be when we have one of those?” he gushed, mouth running away with the words before he could stop himself. The breath got caught in Betty’s throat.

“When?” she asked, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. Jughead blushed, cheeks flaming scarlet. His mouth opened and closed but no words came out as he kept his gaze firmly on the tabletop, twisting the salt shaker between nervous fingers.

“I-I mean, yeah, I guess. I mean, if you want,” he stuttered, cursing his inability to form a coherent sentence under the piercing green eyes of Betty Cooper. He felt a warmth envelope his hand as she laced her fingers tightly through his. He looked up to see the shy yet blindingly beautiful smile that graced her features.

“I can’t wait.”

10. Who steals the others clothes?
“Betts? Have you seen my blue flannel?” Jughead called flinging discarded items of clothing about their bedroom. His slightly damp hair was falling in front of his eyes as he stood in the middle of their room in only his jeans, blowing out an exasperated sigh. He was supposed to be meeting his book agent to talk about press for his first novel. The sales had instantly shot through the roof and Jughead could feel his hands shaking with an unsettling mixture of nerves and excitement. There was something about this shirt, completely irrationally he knew, that made him feel a little more secure, a little more comfortable. It might have had something to do with the fact that it was Betty’s favourite…

He spun back around to pull the draws in their dresser out further, thinking it might have fallen down the back.

“You mean this one?” Her low voice came from behind him and he turned, involuntary groan slipping from the back of his throat as he took in the sight before him. She was leaning casually against the door frame, one leg hitched slightly as she bent it at the knee, revealing the perfectly firm curve of her ass where it peeked out beneath the hem of his blue flannel shirt. Jughead swallowed, throat suddenly dry, as his gaze roamed unashamedly over her figure. Smooth tanned legs, hints of black lacy panties teasing him ever closer to her. Her hair was down, beautifully mussed and falling over her shoulders in golden honey curls. Remnants of yesterday’s mascara smudged around her eyes, making her fluttering lashes appear even thicker as she looked up at him coyly, teeth biting into her plump lower lip. She’d only done a couple of the buttons up in the middle, exposing the valley of her breasts as she toyed with the collar. Jughead felt his entire body flush, pants suddenly feeling uncomfortably tight.

“Betts,” he moaned, fingers aching to touch her.

“Yes?” she asked, eyes widening in false innocence, contrasting delightfully with her sinful dress. He smirked at her, shaking his head slightly at her game.

“You’re gonna make me late,” he murmured, finally coming to stand before her, thumbs rubbing small circles on her waist. She blinked up at him, lips hovering just above his own.

“I’ll just have to make it up to you.”

16. Who gets jealous when people flirt with their partner?
“Anything else I can get for you?” the overly polite waitress asked, eyes never leaving Jughead’s as Betty looked on in disbelief, brows furrowing and mouth dropping open slightly. Its not that she was surprised someone was flirting with Jughead - he was the most beautiful soul she’d ever met. It was the fact that this girl, Jemma her name tag said, was doing it so openly in front of her! Betty’s skin prickled protectively as the girl bit her lip, hand coming to rest on the back of the booth next to Jughead’s shoulder. Betty brought her hand up to grasp Jughead’s where it rest on the table, clearing her throat in an attempt at subtlety as she tried to get Jemma to notice her on the other side of the booth. Jughead wrapped his fingers around hers, eyes flicking to her face briefly as he smiled obliviously.

“No, we’re good thanks,” he mumbled, turning back to the waitress with a polite smile. She nodded, annoyingly pretty flush gracing the tops of her cheeks.

“I’ll be right back with that,” she replied, voice low and smooth. “I like your beanie, by the way.” Betty shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying to quell the jealousy that was churning in her stomach. She focused on the soothing sensation of Jughead’s thumb rubbing circles over the back of her hand.

“Everything ok, Betts?” he asked, snapping her out of her daze, concern tinging his voice. She nodded, letting a smile tilt up the edge of her mouth as she forced herself back to the moment.

She could feel the girl’s eyes on them as the stood up, moving to leave. Betty could tell she was trying to sneak subtle looks at Jughead but she wasn’t succeeding. Betty took a sharp breath through her nose as their eyes locked for a moment over the diner. That was it. She turned to Jughead, his eyes going wide for a moment as Betty placed both hands on his cheeks and pulled him in for a deep kiss. It was nothing like their usual public displays of affection. Betty poured all her feelings into it, moving her hands to tug at the hairs at the back of his neck as her lips moved desperately against his own. They pulled back, breathing hard as Jughead looked at her with a dazed expression.

“What was that for?” he asked, voice still breathless. He noticed her gaze flick over his shoulder. “Betts?” She met his eyes briefly before looking down in embarrassment.

“Can’t you see the way she’s looking at you?” she all but whispered, fiddling with the buttons on his jacket. Jughead tried to hold back his smile, warmth swelling in his chest at her actions.

“Betts, are you jealous?” he teased, lifting her chin with a finger. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Don’t make fun of me! It’s like she can’t even see me,” she whined, eyes turned down at the corners in sadness. Jughead held her close, pressing a delicate kiss against the tip of her nose.

“I see you,” he murmured, basking in the smile he elicited from her. “I only see you.”

30. Who cries the most?
“Stop laughing at me! Juggie, I mean it, it’s not funny,” she hiccuped between sobs, swiping furiously at the tears that spilled down her cheeks. He tried but he couldn’t hold it in no matter how hard he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth. He pulled her closer into his side, burying his face in her neck in an attempt to stifle his chuckles. She swatted at his shoulder gently.

“I’m sorry, Betts,” he gasped out between laughs, tucking her hair back behind her ear fondly. “I just can’t help it, I mean… it’s a dog,” he said incredulously.

“A dog that didn’t think he’d find his way home!” she yelled, folding her arms tightly over her chest in a huff as she fixed her eyes firmly on the tv screen in front of them. Jughead looked at her, still not quite believing how lucky he was.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he said in mock seriousness, nodding. “It’s a very emotional movie.” She shot him a withering glance but he could still see the smile threatening to pull up the corners of her mouth. She snuggled back against him, throwing a leg over his lap, still sniffling occasionally as the film drew to a close.

“I love you,” he murmured against the top of her head. She hummed contentedly, turning her head slightly to plant a small kiss against his chest.

“Love you, too.”

The Confession of a Reluctant King

In celebration of the month of February being dedicated to the beautiful, darling crown prince and king of Adarlan, Dorian Havilliard, I have written a confessional piece for him, looking back on his life from his own point of view.

I hope you all like it. Feedback is greatly appreciated.

FInd me on AO3

I don’t know if ever truly deserved love. I think my father had a lot to do with that. I never saw him show affection to my mother, never mind myself or my brother. We were just…there; a Queen, an heir, and a spare.

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My World is a Kaleidoscope

My world is like a kaleidoscope, I want to tell them
Soft pastels bleed into a setting resembling a Monet painting, while a single thread of focus holds my attention
A book, a particularly rhythmic piece of music, the bliss of a soft pair of pants
It sounds silly, to say it out loud, but my world is not the same as your world
Or maybe we just experience it through different lenses

I won’t lie, it isn’t all beautiful
The sound of someone using a paper towel grinds on my ears like the shriek of monkeys
If you say something to me in the wrong tone of voice, I have to try and convince myself you aren’t angry

People tell me I look nice with my hair up, but what they don’t know is that wearing it down makes my neck feel as though a million pine needles are rubbing against my skin
I couldn’t wear jeans until I was in middle school, because their fabric felt like sandpaper on my skin
When I went to primary school in England, my mother had to order special shirts for my uniforms because if someone tried to put a polo on me, I would cry and scream because the collar felt like someone was strangling me

There used to be a commercial about recognizing the signs of a stroke, with Sharon Stone in it
She wore all white makeup, and the lighting would menacingly flicker in, and she’d talk in a deep, monotone voice
And every time I saw that commercial, up until I was 12 or 13 and they stopped airing it, I would instantly feel my blood go cold and my skin go clammy
My heart would start beating really fast, and since I didn’t know what was happening to me, all I could do was scream until someone else ran in to mute the commercial
It was involuntary, I have no idea what it was about that commercial, but I remember it vividly
I remember being ashamed, embarrassed, that I could not control myself
That part never went away

I want to tell them that I am an artist
When I was little, I mean, like two years old, I used to memorize the names of all the Crayola colors in the box
And when I went to pre k, and everyone else was learning red, green, blue
I knew magenta, burnt sienna, turquoise, sky blue, royal blue, violet, periwinkle, lime
I said these colors like they were the gospel because to me they were something beautiful, and I loved all of them

I couldn’t hold a pencil until I was in third or fourth grade, and I had to get special permission to type my assignments
My hand didn’t have the fine motor skills necessary for writing, which meant it didn’t have the motor skills necessary for coloring or drawing neat little pictures

But everyday, I’d bring my parents piles of artwork, piles of colored pictures, all outside of the lines, all scribbled glory and unabashed youth
Kids used to make fun of me, and I spent so much time crying out near the cubbies because I couldn’t color like they did, or write my name like they did
Then they made fun of me for crying, but I kept drawing

Today I’ve won county, state, and regional contests, when I was a freshmen my art made it to a national contest through 4H
And still, sometimes my hand will drop a pencil, or fling a utensil out in front of my desk for no reason
And everyone will look at me, but I don’t cry anymore
Never in front of them again

I want to tell them that I love science
When I was very young, I mean, 4 years old, my mom pulled up videos of amoebas on our home computer
I thought those were the greatest, funniest things in the world, the way they ate up the other organisms and absorbed them into their own mass
I used to look up different types of bacteria, strep and staph and their different strains, I looked up genetic diseases and the rarest medical conditions
My favorite show was House M.D. as a fourth grader

When asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said a neurologist, than I said neuro-genetics, and now I say biochemistry and genetics
I used to be ashamed and scared of my interests, and nobody ever wanted to talk to me about CRISPR or gene therapy or cloning, and now these things are assets to me
I’ve been lucky enough to know what I wanted to do since I was six, and I think how many people get to know what their passions are before they even know how to write

I want to tell them about my family
My sister, the nonconformist who loves to read and despises fractions with a passion
Whose wit is sharp enough to slice steel, whose stubbornness and perseverance earned her the affectionate nickname “little buffalo”
My little sister with perfect pitch, who plays two instruments and isn’t even in middle school yet
My sister who has the best stories but can’t spell to save her life, who is the most creative mind in school but is confined to fill-in-the-blank standardized tests that confuse her
My sister, who people keep reminding me “isn’t like me,” they see me the say “prodigy”
And they see her and they think “unfocused, doesn’t apply herself, isn’t academically gifted but has a great personality,” which is to say they only value creativity when it’s measureable, profitable

My mother, who knows what I am going through and sees too much of herself in me for this to be an accident
Who grew up dissecting animals on the farm because she loved anatomy, who couldn’t follow social conventions, who never had the opportunities I do now
My mother who grew up in a time where people like my sister and I weren’t accommodated but beaten, whispered about, stared at in the middle of small town gatherings
My mother who lost friendships with other parents who took personal offense to me as a child, who raised me with no knowledge on what Autism Spectrum actually meant
My mother who has grown so much, who sees her own childhood and experiences finally explained in me and through the information now available

My father, who is so quiet and also the entire comforting roar of ocean waves
He is an artist like me, but also a builder, a thinker, an innovator
A master of blending in, and still I recognize an air of familiarity
In the exhilarated discussion of the Everglades and tropical fish, and in the brutal scrutiny in his carpentry
I hesitate letting him in on school projects because even though I know that with him it will be absolutely perfect, he will spend an hour trying to get the paper on the poster board straight
My father, the kitchen’s beat boxer and repeater of words, the artist and builder and crafter, who loves my sister and I and understands as closely as anyone will ever get

I want to tell them that I, that we, people like me, are not accidents
We’re not just mistakes in genetic code, or a series of environmental factors, or puzzles waiting to be solved
If they really want to get to know us, they can just ask us
Our lives aren’t always easy, we suffer sometimes, I know I’ve suffered sometimes
Sometimes we can be tedious, our needs may be difficult to pinpoint, our behavior may shock you or horrify you or scare you or bewilder you
But then, at this point I ask, doesn’t everyone have moments like this
We are all burdens, we are all gifts, we are all worthy of living as we are

I want to tell them that I don’t want to be fixed, because there is nothing to be fixed
Maybe I’d like to not bang my head against a wall when I’m stressed, or not be too uncomfortable to be hugged, or not scratch and pick at my skin when I’m anxious, or not be unable to talk sometimes, or not feel like my brain is stuffed with cotton during verbal conversations
Maybe I’d like to be able to write like other people, to be able to copy down pictures and graphs in my physics and math classes with ease like they do, to be able to read numbers like they do, to be able to go to parties and malls and social gatherings without feeling like I’m floating away like they do

But I think of all the things I’d potentially be giving up if they would have their “cure”
My drawings, maybe I’d still be an artist, but I never would have had the determination, the passion I do now because I would have known what it was like to color inside the lines, my art would not be the same
Maybe I’d still like science, but I would never have spent hours researching the human brain and psychology and genetics, I would never have known the joy and amusement I felt when my mother showed toddler-me the amoebas

Maybe my sister would still be a musician, but she would not have the focus to listen to the same song over and over, the ability to recognize when a note is flat or sharp or just right without looking at sheet music
She’d never have the compassion and open-mindedness she has now because she knows what it’s like to truly function differently from everyone else and be ridiculed for it

Maybe we wouldn’t have our problems anymore, but we also wouldn’t be us anymore
Our experiences would be taken from us in the name of our own good, our passion exchanged in the name of normalcy

They can argue with me all they want, tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about, call me a liar, dare to call me “high-functioning”
But they will never know what it’s like at all, they’ll never see the world as a kaleidoscope

And that’s okay, but what I really want to tell them, is that they don’t have to be afraid
I want to tell them that their children are going to be okay, and they are too
I know it’s hard, I know it’s confusing, but they will get through this and their kids are not broken, they too will persevere

I want to tell them that vaccines did not cause this, we have always been here
I want to tell them that people don’t grow out of this, there are plenty of adults on the spectrum, and that’s okay

I want to tell them that trying to make their kid “normal” only teaches them to be ashamed, and only teaches them to hide their true nature, which only causes more problems
I want to tell them that even if there was a cure, they’d be altering the entirety of a person’s mind, their interests, behavior, personality, potential experiences, and I don’t think that that is a choice anyone should get to make

I want to tell them that they’ll never entirely understand, no one can entirely understand another person’s brain anyway and it would be foolish to try and generalize anyways
I want to tell them that’s okay
We just experience things from different lenses

what could have been | john shelby

anon requested john’s kids finding and playing with one of his guns and how you deal with the aftermath

You lay beside the kids, fixing the covers around them and flattening their hair as you watched them sleep. Your heart was still beating heavy. It had slowed to normal, but every thud against your ribcage echoed through your chest and stole half your breath. The shadow of the adrenaline still snuck into the root of your nerves, rolling over your skin leaving faint prickles in its wake.

The scrape of the lock downstairs made you set your jaw and your eyes fill. You took deep breaths, reaching down to the pit of your stomach with each draw. The steps kept pace with your heart, beating opposite to each other, filling the space the other left.

You shot your eyes up to him as he pushed through the doorway, bringing his hand up to grasp the doorframe and leaning his head against the fist, smirking.

“Thought you’d all skipped out on me. Never heard ‘em so quiet”

“Get out”

His face fell and he moved away from the doorway, standing straight.


“Get…out of this room. Wait for me in the hall”

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Give No Quarter II

You sat in the musty cell huddled under the tattered blanket. Your clothes were still damp and your skin frigid. You could not imagine yourself being warm ever again…or free. Sitting behind bars, you could see the rest of your dark life stretched before you. Years passing as you stared at the wooden planks, your vision rocked with the tides of the sea.

A sudden creak brought your head up and footsteps followed as someone descended the stairs just outside the galley. You frowned as you sunk deeper below the blanket and hoped the captain was not sending the crew to drag you to the plank. Instead, the elderly man appeared in the doorway and walked with purpose to the bars of your cell, his arms cradling a bundle of dull wool.

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Mayday - vi

Genre; horror/mystery 

Length; 2,900+ words

Warning(s); violence, abuse (physical, verbal, emotional), kidnap 

Originally posted by jiaerrs

Y/n’s p.o.v. 

The last thing you remember when you finally woke up was hearing Jaebum’s and Youngjae’s voice, and screaming for help until you heard the sound of the front door closing once again; then tears streaming down your face when he entered the room. His words, “Let’s get you home..” ran through your head as hiss hand viciously came down on you thrice more before you were finally out again.

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mettabab  asked:

for the prompt, sportacus and robbie's first kiss, but it's a summer camp au where they're both counselors! robbie's pov? i love your writing bb 💖

(( @mettabab Ah!!  What a great prompt!   Thanks so much~  I really appreciate it!  I hope you enjoy~))
The night was dark and cool, and there were nary a light-source save for the small flickering flame cupped in a certain blue-clad counselor’s hands.

Flames flickered softly within the glass that housed the tealight, and it painted the handsome man’s face with a lovely glow.

All of this was rather pushed to the side of Robbie’s attention, however, as Robbie felt there were more important things that he had to address, “Why are we here again?”

“Because you wanted to go on a date with me?” Sportacus offered, settling the tealight down on the grass and sat himself cross-legged down on the ground.

Robbie pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes.  Yes… yes I did say that.  I figured that you would want to wait, I don’t know, until the end of summer camp, or… at least when it was light outside,” Robbie gestured to the surrounding darkness and trees.

Robbie then added, “Not that I am complaining at all, mind you.  I’m just a bit surprised.”

Especially since Sportacus had insisted that they sneak out while the children were asleep.

Sportacus, being Sportacus, just smiled in his stupid, stupid - handsome - way and pat the grass beside him instead of dignifying Robbie with anything close to an answer.

Robbie growled, but sat down next to him with a huff, bumping shoulders with him.

“You really do want to date, me… don’t you?” Sportacus asked after a moment, voice slightly uncertain.

“What?  Of course I do!” Robbie replied, incredulous, “I said so earlier! Quite loudly, even.  You overheard me and everything,” Robbie added, “Even though you weren’t supposed to…” he flushed and was suddenly quite glad for the cover of darkness.

Sportacus absently fiddled with his hands, “Yes!  I know!  I said I wanted to date you back but-”

“… but?”

“Well.  I wasn’t sure you weren’t just saying that, or if you really meant it. So I thought the sooner the better!”  Sportacus cheerfully announced.

“Of course I meant it, Sportaidiot.  Why else would I have announced it in the first place?”

“… I don’t… know…”


“Well!  I had to be sure anyway,” Sportacus said.

Of course he had.  Of course. Robbie had to resist sighing in annoyance, and he also had to ignore how absolutely adorable the blue idiot was.

Instead of dwelling on Sportacus and all the things that Robbie had been secretly swooning over, he said, “So.  Why did you choose here of all places for our “date”?”

“Because it’s nice outdoors?”

Robbie rolled his eyes. “Yes, it is.  Well spotted.  I didn’t mean the outdoors in general. I mean.  Specifically.  Here.  Right at this spot.  Where we sit.”

“Oh!  That’s easy,” Sportacus chirped, smiling at Robbie in such a blazingly handsome way that the air felt pushed out of Robbie’s lungs.


“Because you told the kids a ghost story the other night that this area was haunted!”

“I -  Wait. What?” Robbie deadpanned.

“Well, the kids are supposed to be in bed, but I thought I’d take extra precaution…”

“… Oh…?”

Sportacus leaned closer, “- and I wanted to be absolutely sure that they wouldn’t come over here…”

Robbie felt his cheeks burn because Sportacus was very, very close to him now.

“O-oh?” Robbie squeaked.

“Mm hmm,” Sportacus hummed.

A flicker of the dim light of the flame cast gorgeous shadows across Sportacus’ face.

“W-well.  That all seems very… reasonable,”
Robbie managed with a cough, and he tugged at his collar that felt remarkably too-tight all the sudden.

“Yep,” Sportacus simply replied.  Robbie could feel his breath.

Robbie felt himself babble, “And why is this all so -”

Fingers pressed against his lips. “Shut up Robbie,” Sportacus hummed kindly.

Robbie shut his mouth, Sportacus removed his hand, before covering Robbie’s lips with his own.

Robbie would later tell Sportacus that generally the kiss was at the end of the date.

Oh well.

The Mask

Wrote this after seeing the tumblr prompt “Remember Me” where one character helps another remember something and wanted to to a little reincarnation one.

Loki finds an old mask inside The Teutoburg Forest.

They say finding a mask inside The Teutoburg Forest is quite rare. So When Loki and his parents joined the rest of the group and ventured into the forest, following their balding tour guide, Loki didn’t really expect to find one. Except he did.

It was sunny when they went it. The skies were clear and Loki rolled the sleeves of his leather jacket up until they reached his elbows. He zipped the jacket all the way up when they got ready to leave the hotel because his dad took one look outside and said that everything looks so grey out there it has to be chilly but it wasn’t. It was warm inside the bus and Loki took the jacket off for a while and kept it on his knees, but when they all spotted those dark treetops inching closer to the large windows he put it back on and he heard his dad’s voice over the music swaying in his ears going ‘good call’. It was still warm when they stepped out of the bus and by the time they were walking around the Hermann Monument soaking in all those details about the war chief Arminius defeating three Roman legions under Varus in 9 CE, his hair felt like it was beginning to stick to the back of his neck and his cheeks got all red.

They had their lunch there in the shade of some trees with that 175.3 ft tall monument standing motionless in the sun and Loki watched the shadows catching in all the right places, clinging to the crook of Arminius’ elbow, to the folds of skin right above his knees, and covering his eyes and Loki couldn’t see them at all. Arminius was wielding a sword, pointing it at the sun and half of it was light and the other half was shadow.

His mom and dad kept taking pictures of it while sharing a cigarette and it wasn’t long before Loki started toying with his phone, shuffling through all that music with the glare of the sun making his eyes all itchy and watery, forcing him to squint, touching the light colored birthmark resting there over his heart because sometimes it got all tender. He loved everything history related, but this monument with all its shadows and hot copper plates made him feel uneasy. So when their tour guide made sure no one left a single plastic bag or fork or some kind of wrapper lying around and said it’s time to go Loki jumped to his feet so fast his parents gave him a look and he only shrugged, took his earphones out and stuffed them in his pocket along with his phone.

The Hermann Monument is located on a tiny hill and their little group of maybe twenty or so had to make its way down and retrace its steps in order to get back to their tiny bus where the seats were so crowded there was no way you could just sit there without having your shoulders pressing against the shoulders of those sitting to your left and right.

Loki hadn’t really noticed when it started to get cold; it felt like it was really warm until suddenly it wasn’t and he found himself tugging on the sleeves of his jacket , bringing them down to his wrists and zipping the jacket up.

This light breeze came out of nowhere and when it moved over his cheeks it felt like glass dust. Loki paused for a moment and looked up. The sun was almost gone and the trees along the path were whispering in soft female voices that made the hairs on Loki’s arms stand on end.


It was his mom and his dad was standing next to her with one hand in his pocket motioning for him to catch up because he was day dreaming again and it wasn’t exactly this new thing.

This time Loki was grateful for the warmth inside the tour bus and spent the following hour and a half sitting there with his earphones on but he wasn’t listening to music or to an audiobook, he just had them on so his mom and dad won’t bother him because that view of those tall trees just turning into a soft blur of green and grey and brown with the speed and time passing it by just had him captivated and he couldn’t and didn’t want to look away.

It was supposed to be just this little peek into the area inside The Teutoburg Forest where Arminius’ men slaughtered three Roman legions sent by the Emperor Augustus and led by Varus to cross the Rhine and conquer the lands. With Melville the tour guide leading the way, they left the bus behind and ventured deeper into the forest, following what Melville believed was the path the Romans took when they marched forward to their deaths.

Loki’s parents were more than a few steps ahead of Loki, talking, using that tone of voice people use when they converse about horrible things that happened a long time ago, sad, but also a little excited.

All forests are filled with silence but this one felt so quiet it made Loki’s ears hurt and the trees were so pale they looked like endless columns of smoke and the yellowing grass reminded him of tiny sparks of fire jumping all over the place with the touch of some wind.

An ambush, the tour guide said and Loki looked far ahead into the shadows and as he was walking slowly the wind was there to keep him company, smelling like old flowers and grey skies.

At some point he got so cold he had to stop and try to get the zipper to go all the way up. He watched it glinting bronze in the faint light, blinking between his fingers and tugged on it because for some reason it got stuck. He tugged on it and pulled, yanking it up and down and then up again, trying to get it to run smoothly and when it finally did and he felt the collar embracing his neck so it felt all nice and warm, he looked up and found himself alone.

No mom and dad. No tour guide. No people he didn’t take the time to actually try and see what their faces looked like. Everyone was gone and for some reason he wasn’t afraid.

He started walking, stepping on long fragile shadows, the cool breeze moving his lashes, sticking to his lips, making his hair all sleek and soft and at some point it started to rain, soft and lazy. The forest breathed around him and each exhale moved him forward and moving through the rustling grass and the pale light made him lose all track of time. He walked until his feet hurt, until each and every one of his breaths felt like an entire galaxy expanding inside his lungs , until his mom and dad were just a reflection on a still body of water and that’s when he saw it.

It was a brass mask. Half of it was buried in the ground, the other half peeking out, the silent light moving over it drawing silvery circles around one eye hole. It was right there next to the roots of some tree and Loki got on his knees and used his fingers to dig around it. The dirt hurt getting under his fingernails but Loki kept filling his fist with more until he could pull it out.

He ran his palm over it once and exposed a wide stripe of bronze. He did it again and the dirt sticking to and blocking the eye hole, fell away and through the hole he could see some very light fog hovering over the grass, tiny flowers looking like little blooms of smoke turning their heads towards the shadows.

Loki used the tiny droplets of rain dotting the sleek bright surface to wipe the mask clean. It looked like the face of a sleeping man. He stuck his little finger inside the cut that was the mouth and ran his finger over the edges.

The Romans used these masks in battle to protect the face. Battle masks, they were called.

Loki stood up and with the tip of the brass nose pressing hard into the palm of his hand, put it on. It felt wet and the cold made his cheeks sting. He parted his lips to breathe and the air he drew in tasted like chalk. The edges of the eye holes were pressing against his lashes, pushing them back and with his pupils exposed like that he watched the forest and there was nothing there that could make him believe it wasn’t the same forest from such a long time ago, using that light rain to wash away those deep burgundy stains sticking to the roots and the leaves and the grass.

When Loki removed it, that’s when he first saw him. He appeared in the second it took Loki to pull the mask to the side, a boy about his age, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, dark blonde hair sticking to his temples, damp from the rain.

He smiled at Loki and Loki studied his face with the sound of the falling rain filling his ears with whispers.

Was this boy a part of their group?

Loki couldn’t remember.

“A face mask,” the boy said and ran his fingers over the mask from temple to chin.

Loki watched him, the way his lashes fluttered in the light drizzle, the softness of his lips, the kindness in his eyes and his heart was full of longing for an unnamed memory.

“The Romans used them to protect the face,” the boy said and Loki blinked slow.

“I know. The tour guide told us about it. Were you with us? I don’t remember seeing your face before.”

The boy smiled and moved the mask in front of his own face so it obscured it from Loki’s eyes, one strong thumb pressing down on a pair of bronze lips, holding the mask up.

“Did your tour guide tell you this story?” he asked Loki and brought the mask down little by little, exposing a soft brow, a blue eye, a straight nose and a pair of beautiful lips dotted with raindrops.

Loki raised his brows and the boy leaned in a bit closer and his voice like a summer storm, quiet and comforting, “many of Varus’ men died here. It was raining then, just as it’s raining now. They were ambushed. Slaughtered one by one. Breath gone and all memory gone with it. So many unnamed. Tales of bravery forgotten. One tale remains. The tale of two of Varus’ soldiers. They were young. They were in love. They were only boys when they were drafted and as much as they wanted to fill Augustus’ heart with pride, they also wanted to return home alive, to hold hands in the sun, to see the stars in each other’s eyes. They marched side by side in the rain. The sound of it was everywhere. They were cold and tired, but they had a long way to go before they could set up camp. One of them thought of the way his lover looked with the golden outline of their beloved city reflecting in his eyes, with all that glorious sunlight bathing his shoulders, with the taste of infinity and freedom on his lips and the other looked at him in the dark and saw all that longing in his eyes and reached over to touch his hand. Only one of them saw the spear flying out of the shadows, starlight moving over it like a bolt of lightning, and covered the other with his body. That spear pierced two hearts that night. They never made it home.”

The boy grasped the collar of his t-shirt and tugged on it.

And there it was, a birthmark identical to his own, just over his heart and Loki pressed his palm to his own chest and the boy gave him a sad smile and took his hand.