under a blue light

Protected | R.M.

Summary: Reggie Mantle grew up protecting what he loved.


I miss you.

You received the text on the first day of school, the instant your baby pink ballet flats maneuvered within the halls of Riverdale High, which were marginally filled with mayhem from everyone’s first day jitters.

Well, not everyone. You, despite your extra pretty face, extra shiny curls, and extra preppy outfit, wore a heavy façade that drooped lower than the Maybelline Fit Me-concealed eye-bags that were situated below your unexplained, cheery eyes that tried to greet everyone with much positivity as possible. As everyone knew your perfect reputation, the happy-go-lucky cheerleader that everyone admired and loved since the day you entered high school. It was never tarnished, so you refused to let a silly break-up move it at all.

You took out your phone and shakily gazed down at the message. It was sent in clear, with no emoji’s or silly grammatical errors. Your nervous fingers moved for you, but your brain was being silly that day and it had no planned response for the text message.

A wave of students accidentally crossed and one of them partially collided against your hardly five feet tall physique, which was a thankful jolt that rattled you off from replying to the text message. You squeezed the iPhone tightly, bearing no mind of the glittery fake diamonds from the phone case bearing harsh indentions against your palm.

The moment you were able to fix your locker and lock it behind you, you immediately set off to find a seat in the gym—hoping that an early departure from the first day madness would create a false sense of comfort from your inevitable fate, which was meeting your ex-boyfriend again subsequently after a summer of trying to forget all about him.


Everyone had always said that you were perfect for Reginald Mantle.

You were a girl blessed with your father’s dominant sloped nose and your mother’s graceful and tiny, ballerina body. Being the only child meant being under the revolving gaze of your mother and father’s watchful eyes twenty-four/seven, and you grew up to be accordingly limpid; yet, at the same time pretentious for you were the heir of one of the wealthiest families in Riverdale.

Reggie was a boy meant for you even before you knew what he was supposed to be. He was a constant person in your life, a fixture caused by your parents and his parents’ meddling. Though, despite your unending play times together and a hired tutor that taught you and him up until you were in middle school, Reggie and you grew up in different paths, in different aspects.

You and Reggie were in the opposite sides of the spectrum. Nevertheless, you were inexplicably drawn to him. He was exactly the same as you, but as the same time, so, so different.

He was difficult to figure out. He had pushed children off swing sets and had hogged all the toy cars to himself as he disliked sharing. You hated the smirk on his face when he teased his inferiors, and still you loved him when he kissed you goodnight. He’d hold you in the softest way possible, muscled arms entrapped around you with touch as light as a feather, and similarly he’d used the same arms dangerously with heated intent at someone else.

You never got why people often told you that he was perfect for you. He was, in your point of view, a mixture of positives and negatives. He was your opposite.

The thing about opposites was that when a unity occurred, it would be a co-existent dependency that held itself with tension.

You loved him more than he loved himself. That was probably the reason why the balance wasn’t right and he pushed himself off, leaving you in the dust.


“Are you alright?” Surprisingly, Cheryl Blossom would be the first person to question you that today. The said Blossom stood above you, her red curls down the right side of her chest, a hand on her hip and a raised eyebrow. You tried to hide the flinch that came with Cheryl’s edged tone, but she assumingly noticed it since she took it herself to sit next to you on that noisy lunch table.

“Talk to me,” she demanded. “I don’t want anyone on my squad to be sadder than my supposed star quality. You cannot rain on my parade on this week’s performance.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered as you picked on your salad.

“[y/n], a stupid boy doesn’t have the right to state your mood status.” She hissed. “There are 7 billion people in the world. God knows how much boys will there be after your life post-Reggie Man—“

“Damn, Cheryl,” You stood up. “I said I’m fine!”

Your words were a little too loud, and laced with anger. The whole open-lawn cafeteria went into a full pregnant pause from your little burst and your eyes betrayed you as it went to a familiar face that you couldn’t just let go off. His smirking, never ceasing, hardly-caring face wavered slightly as he looked your way, as everyone had. He looked down once before pushing his left foot off benched on the seat and faced in the opposite direction, going back into a conversation with Chuck Clayton.

You couldn’t care less what that meant and you sped off from your table, grabbing your cellphone with you. Opening the text message up on your interface, your quivering fingers typed out a reply before hitting send.


“I thought you said I couldn’t see you again,” the tall and handsome boy chuckled as he sat coolly on the stools that they had in Pop’s. His tousled, brown waves would shine into a blondish side under the neon lights of Pop’s infamous signs, and his pretty blue eyes would turn your messy head into a complete haze of white noise. “I missed you,” Jackson voiced out, echoing what he had recently texted you that morning.

It was seven in the evening, and mostly everyone had this night tacked to watch the last screening due for the closing Midnight Drive-In. You had thought to go but you knew that it would simply be another place that would haunt you again with memories that happened in the arms of a familiar stranger.

“I couldn’t resist,” you whispered zealously, biting your lip, then striding towards him until both of your faces had no space with each other. He kissed back passionately, and you followed along in accord, ignoring the way your heart bleated in a monotonous fashion, like it was a routine you followed every morning. Fingers tracing down his rugged, jean jacket, you stopped as it went to a tracing on his arm. A tattoo of a dangerous serpent.

“Watch it,” he pushed himself off you and went to slip down his sleeves. “Any good ‘ole folk wouldn’t wanna see that snake on a young thing’s skin.”

“A young thing, huh?” You titled your head, letting him caress your cheek. It made you feel like being touched by an intruder. You held your tongue from stating that out loud. “I heard that your buddies are over at the drive-in tonight.”

“—yeah,” the handsome, rugged boy agreed, holding your hand like a whisper. “But you’re much better than any movie, let’s agree. Pretty and innocent [y/n][y/l/n].”

“If my father saw you with me,” you told him with a trace of a smile hinting on your lips while leading the boy down to a booth. “He would freak,” you ended with a pendulous but crude smirk, as the feeling of going behind your parents’ back often created a brilliant feeling of teenage rebellion.

However, the light that would go unperturbed that night beneath the luminescence of you with the boy from the Serpents would go back unlit as a sudden burst of unexpected customers walked in the empty Pop’s.

It was a famous group of blue and yellow hues, the king, the boy in between the boisterous and rowdy laughs, and you couldn’t help but shake as his eyes immediately turned toward the serpent and your contumacious self.

“[y/n]?” Reggie Mantle took it upon himself to breeze through the rows of booths with a face of disbelief, his voice rising. And as you expected, anger rising as his comical face slowly slipped to stone cold when his eyes landed on the lingering fingers of the serpent teenager on your arm. “Who the hell is he?”  

“Fuck off, Reggie,” you glared, bringing yourself to whisper to your current partner beside you, “Ignore him.” You tried your best to act a casual as possible, though the sudden racing of your heart that went with the way your ex-boyfriend stared at you in a mix of hardening confusion and indignation.

The other football players were left in a fit of widening eyes as Reggie, in impulsion, went and grabbed your arm in fury, “I’m taking you home.”

And it was a laughable scene, provided that you have been in witness in a circumstance like this before; on the contrary, you were always behind him before, supporting him like a good girlfriend. Until now.

Reggie showed the chaos within him through the bones between his knuckles—several scars made proof of that. Now, you were his enemy, the one that caused the fire beneath his eyes. The booths made a guarded ring.

“What the hell, man—“ The serpent boy scoffed before Reggie snapped and gripped and landed a good punch with no regret on the other boy’s face. That started a full-blown fight, which lead pandemonium where Moose, Chuck, and several others hurriedly tried to pull the Asian off the other boy. Reggie’s blows were pernicious, and over the yells of the football team trying to stop the fight, the only thing you could do was watch everything in horror.


“—fighting on public property, what on earth caused you to do that?!” And Mrs. Mantle let out a startled shriek and tried to shield her son as Mr. Mantle gave a tumultuous slap on Reggie’s already bruising face. You gripped your jacket, feeling the cotton and thinking of it as abrasive as hooves, guilt going off you in waves as the only thing you could do was watch the aftermath unfold in the Mantle estate, where you had been protectively ushered off to with your parents and Sheriff Keller due to Pop’s emergency dial.

“This is getting out of hand,” Reggie’s father continued, a harsher than stern look on his purple face. Yanking back his hand, his gaze shot to you, which you couldn’t bear to hold longer than a second. “This boy has been nothing but trouble this year—I swear, this was the last straw, Reginald. I need to ship him to board—“

“It was my fault,” you found your voice, hurried and not gentle at all—willing to cross out the guilt killing your tightening chest. Your parents’ tension-heavy faces whipped their heads to you, their protected daughter that could hardly do no wrong in this world. “I came there with Jackson—“

“No, I fought him, she had nothing to do with th—“ Reggie hastily claimed, harsh and scarily void of emotion. He was seemingly too callous from responding to his father—and you had realized that this could have been happening more so than none and that this boy could have grown up this way, and while your heart was pouring from hearing him protect you, you knew that it was your call to turn things around.

“No,” you squeaked, hearing yourself panic. “I guess I was being rebellious, I met up with Jackson, and – and- “ You eyed your father. “He was with me and Reggie saw me and Jackson did something and he got provoked,” you finished, lying. You looked at Reggie, and he gazed at you, turmoil and hurt swirling in his eyes.

That led to a tension-filled silence. You closed your eyes, and could hear the sounds of Reggie’s father’s footsteps going off to a direction. Somewhere that’s not here, of course.


“Sorry, that shouldn’t have happened,” he would tell you days later, smirk latched to his lips like a boy to a candy bar. He’d say it would no feeling, no emotion, as if he wasn’t someone that was in what happened and he was merely a person who’d heard of what happened.

The memory of his father slapping him because of you would haunt you forever, and your eyes would wander to his cheek not due to any romantic purpose, but the ache of wondering how much it hurt to protect you, a person he shouldn’t even be caring for anymore.

“I’m sorry,” you ignored his first statement, and spat out what you needed to say. The hallways were empty. “I was being petty. I wanted to—“ The words were dignified to be stated out in the open. “I wanted to forget about you.”

His silence mocked you. The 6’3 handsome and usually word-y jock—the boy you really, just really, really loved, gazed at you as if your turbulence, though with a slip of concern on his façade. You continued, lips burning with words you only imagined you would say in a dream, “You hurt me, Reggie. I hated you for making me spend a summer without you. So, yeah. I did something. I slept with that douchebag, that serpent, just to forget about you. So, fuck you.”

The response was instant. An utter storm shadowed over his face. “Fuck me? Fuck me? Are you fucking kidding me?” His fingers wrapped tightly around his coifed hair, eyes blazing with chasms of void and anger. “The only thing I ever did was goddamn protect you! If you hadn’t been so stupid, you wouldn’t be in this mess. I shouldn’t have protected you from the start if it was going to lead this way.”

“Protected me from the start?” You questioned, beckoned with hatred.

“Yes! I’ve always been protecting you. I love you, [y/n]. So much. The reason I ended things is because you were going to end up broadcasted on this shitty book and—“ Reggie sighed and you looked at him confusingly. He stepped forward, “Look, last year I was in hell. My dad caught me doing some stupid shit and he was going to blame it on you. I needed to protect you, it was instinct. I had to break up with you because I couldn’t bear the guilt that—“

This time, it was your turn to slap him. Reggie snapped his head back at you, shocked.

“You stupid jerk,” your body shook from relief and at the same time, numbness. “You couldn’t have at least told me about that? I literally cried for a week because I thought I wasn’t good enough for you, the great Reggie freaking Mantle.”

Reggie stared at what only could have been eons, before shaking his head and returning a soft gaze that was only for you. “I’m sorry.”

You could shake your head as he placed out his warm hand next to yours, swirling and wrapping it around yours in the gentlest way possible.


It was an epiphany, when you looked at him and you had finally seen a glimpse of an extent that he would do for you. The balance was off and you had thought of it in the wrong way.

He loved you more than he loved himself.


omg i’m so sorry. whenever i write i’d always get so carried away with excessive details and annoying character musings!!! please tell me what you think! feel free to reblog or like or message me! always open to hear what you guys think huehue. :) 

scientists are cryptids because we

  • are rarely seen in public
  • are a subject of fascination by the public
  • make the world seem more mysterious and strange
  • lay waste to the populations of small animals worldwide
  • come out only under the light of a gibbous moon 
  • are covered in soft blue fur that glows softly under UV lamps 
La douleur exquise Pt.1 (M)

La douleur exquise: The heart-wrenching pain of wanting someone you can’t have.

Summary: You’ve been helplessly in love with your brother’s best friend all your life, but he can’t see you as anything other than a little sister.

Pairing: Wonho(?) x Reader (feat. Jungkook) ((let me live))

Word Count: 8.8k

Warning(s): No smut in this chapter but I’ll promise there will be in the next chapters!

A/N: Hi! So I’ve actually had this done for quite awhile and was debating on whether or not to post it in it’s entirety but I have a lot in store for this idea so I decided to do it in parts! This idea is based off of these pics here x x x of Wonho cuz he just looks so boyfriend & I love him so hardgysasjsknc. And I’m tagging this as a Jungkook scenario because you’ll be seeing him more eventually. Also, I’m working on drabbles in the meantime as well DON’T THINK I FORGOT THEM OK I’LL BE POSTING ONE SOON hope you enjoy this in the meantime!!

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cardiac arrest (m) | pt. 1

Originally posted by dazzlingkai

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 (coming soon)

⇒pairing: taehyung x reader (ft. hoseok)

⇒genre: doctor! au | angst+fluff, smut at the end

⇒length: 14k

⇒summary: you’ve always thought the only thing you’ve ever wanted was to become a doctor, but then you meet him.

a/n: wowie its been a while i’ve been super busy with a ton of crap and im still busy but i really wanted to write this and get it up for you guys! part 2 will not come out for a while, but ill try my best!

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Still Mad // Luke Hemmings

Masterlist

Request Here

Requested: Nope.

A/N: I am back bitches! I haven’t written in like months xD Anyway, I hope you like this, feedback is appreciated and don’t hesitate to drop in a request or talk to me anytime!




You could be overreacting but you did feel a little hurt. For the past three hours, you had been trying to catch Luke’s attention but your boyfriend was too busy paying attention to the friend from back home. You weren’t that girl who stopped her boyfriend from talking to every or any girl, let alone his old friend.

You understood that Luke wanted to spend time with Alice and you were completely fine with it. You just wished he wouldn’t ignore your existence like he was doing right now. Maybe he could include you in the conversation he was having or ask you to sit with him or hell, even a smile in your direction would suffice. But he didn’t do any of those. Instead he spent the entire party talking to the pretty girl with bright eyes from back home. Yes, you were quite satisfied with your looks but Alice, who looked impeccable without even trying made your self confidence go a notch lower.

You sighed, tearing your eyes away from the two old friends. The party was at full swing around you. The chattering of people blended into the loud, thumping music that vibrated through the apartment. Shaking your head, you silently scolded yourself for feeling this way. You’re not going to be that girl, Y/N.

But saying you weren’t jealous or hurt would be a lie. And what better way to numb your pain than downing the cheap beer in the red cups.

You weaved your way through the crowd, making your way to the kitchen to grab yourself a drink. Or some drinks.

You were through with five cups of the cheap alcohol and very tipsy when you saw a tipsier Michael approach you.

“Y/N!!” He drawled out your name, slinging an arm around you. “Come dance with us!”

You giggled as the weight of Michael’s hand made you spill a little of the alcohol in your sixth cup. “Mikey?’ You questioned seriously.

“Hmm?” His glazed eyes looked down on you.

“Is this… Is this a dance party?” You slurred your words.

Michael looked down at the floor thoughtfully, then nodded. “Yes Y/N, I think it is.”

You smiled widely, downed the alcohol and then raced to where people were already swaying to the beat. The alcohol was buzzing through your system and you felt alive and energetic. A little too energetic.

“DANCE PARTYYY!” You yelled and several other drunk people joined the hooting. And for the first time in the night as you moved to the rhythm, you had your mind off of Luke.




You didn’t know how long it had been since your impromptu “dance party” or how much more alcohol you had drank since but here you were, doing karaoke on top of a table. Your black heels were discarded off somewhere, your hair was a mess and sweat dripped from your forehead. “YOU’RE THE REASON THE ONLY REA-”

You were abruptly cut off when your microphone- the television remote- was snatched from your hands. You looked down at your boyfriend, his blue eyes a little annoyed.

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

“Luke, I’m having fun,” you whined. “Give me back my rem- my microphone.”

Luke swatted your hand that reached out to grab the remote and gently, but firmly, pulled you down the table. “No, Y/N, you’re making  fool of yourself.”

You frowned. So now he cares. “No, Lucas, I’m having fun.” You yanked your arm out of his grip. “And these people actually pay attention to me, even though I’m not their girlfriend.”

“What are you-”

“DON’T STOP DOING WHAT YOU’RE DOING,” you cut him off which he reciprocated by putting his hand on your mouth.

“Let me spea-”

“EVERY TIME YOU MOVE TO THE BEAT IT GETS-”

“Y/N, stop!” Luke said, angrily. He grabbed your hand and lead you out of that room.

“Quite a classy one you got yourself there, Hemmings.” Alice said, still seated on the couch where the two were previously sitting.

That snarky remark set you off. ”Watch what you say, you bitch!” You spat out.

“Y/N!” Luke reprimanded.

You scoffed. “Oops, sorry! Not classy enough or you, I forgot.”

Luke glared at you to be quiet. He then turned to Alice,”Sorry, but we’ve got to get going. I’ll see you around.” He moved closer to wrap his arms around her and even went as far as to peck her on the cheek. You frowned and turned away, your heart hurting at the sight of him being so affectionate with someone who wasn’t you. Someone who he had been giving all the attention instead of you.

You waited by the door as Luke returned after saying his goodbyes, your heels in his hands. As soon as he reached you, you grabbed the black stilettos out of his hand and proceeded to walk out without him towards the car. You waited as he unlocked the car and stepped in, closing the door a little too loud.

The car ride was silent, tension thick in the air. Luke’s hand were clenched around the wheel, knuckles white while you chose to stare out the window at the passing cars. Instead of dropping you off at your own place, Luke chose to drive you to his own apartment. He wasn’t going to leave your drunk ass alone. So he wasn’t a complete douche.

“What is going on with you?” Luke asked as soon as you stepped inside. You dropped the heels by the door and Luke tossed the keys on the couch. “Why have you been acting so weird today?”

You turned to face him, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Why have I been acting weird? Why have you been acting weird the past few days?”

Luke scowled. “What are you on about?”

“Of course you don’t know,” you sighed and headed to get some water from the kitchen. Luke followed you.

“Don’t just walk out like that.”

“Well then you shouldn’t just ignore me like that,” you smiled sarcastically continuing to sip on the cold water you retrieved from the fridge.

Luke rolled his eyes,”Of course this is about you needing attention.”

You slammed the bottle on the kitchen counter. Your intoxicated brain heightened you emotions, making your eyes water.

“No, Luke, this is about you being a complete dick to me the past few days. This is about you,” you jabbed a finger on his chest, ”completely ignoring your girlfriend’s existence when your friend from back home arrived. This about you,” you jabbed a finger on his chest again as he stepped back, ”choosing to give the girl, who by the way flirts with you every chance she gets, all your attention,” a smack to his chest as he took another step back. “This about you being an absolute asshole to me.”

You were about to hit his broad chest yet again when he caught hold of your hands just in time. In a second, his strong arms had flipped the two of you around. The argument flew out of the window when your back hit the kitchen wall and his mouth was pressed to yours. His hands slipped around your waist, pinning you against the wall. Your fingers found their way into his curly blonde hair. His lips moved against yours, the soft pink flesh grinding against your own. His tongue slipped into your mouth, tangling with yours. He groaned against your mouth as you tugged lightly on his hair. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your dress riding up your thigh.

His palms were cupping your face when the two of you finally had to break apart for air and immediately after, Luke’s lips were attached to your neck. He pressed wet kisses all along the curve of your neck, nibbling and sucking gently on your soft skin.

“Lu- Luke…” He made it hard for you to speak. Luke knew you were sensitive near the neck and he took all advantage of it. You pulled his head away from your neck, smiling softly. “Lucas, I’m still mad at you.”

His blue eyes, darker under the dim light, stared into yours. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

“It hurt.”

“I’ll heal it, I swear. I’m really, really sorry.” He smiled at you apologetically.

“I’m not sure I’m classy enough to forgive you,” you taunted, a smirk gracing your lips.

“Y/N,” Luke whined. “You called her a bitch before I could even defend you.”

“Didn’t think you’d defend me,” you answered, fingers playing with he soft curls at the back oh his neck.

“Hey, I’ll always stand up for you,” he said, meaningfully as he bumped his forehead to yours. You smiled before giving him a small peck on his forehead.

“Y/N,” he called out.

“Hmm?” You hummed in acknowledgement.

“You said you’re still mad at me right?” He questioned.

You nodded, a teasing grin on your face.

A cheeky smile came on to Luke’s face as he said, ”So does that mean we can have angry sex?”

jjjolly  asked:

Andreil + "soulmate au where all the lies your soulmate tells you appears on your skin"

Hi! thank you so much for sending this in, it was actually really fun to do! 

((To everyone else who’ve sent prompts in, ilysm and I’m so sorry I haven’t finished them yet. I’m terrible, ik, but I promise they will be done by the end of summer. *fingers crossed*)) xo


It wasn’t Andrew’s fault that he didn’t realize it right away, he wasn’t looking for it. There were no bells or fireworks or sparks when he had first met Neil, thank god. He was amused, obviously; he could still feel the weight of the racket reverberating back through his hands and up his arms when it had connected with the boys gut.

He had it coming.

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Summary:  Every person has two dates on their wrist. One is when they die and the other is when they find their soulmate. What happens if both dates are the same?

Warnings:  Angst galore but with a happy ending, I swear!  

Hope you guys enjoy, saw this prompt and I couldn’t NOT write the angst. Tbh, I kinda hate myself a little hahaha but it’s HEA, so don’t worry!



Jughead watches the city skyline from the fire escape stairs of his apartment, the smoke from his cigarette blending in with the scenery. He brings it to his mouth, taking a slow drag, enjoying the bitter taste it leaves on his tongue.

He catches sight of the numbers on his right wrist, not really needing to read them to know what they say.

3/15/2026

3/15/2026

Everyone on the age thirteen wakes up on their birthday with a brand new set of dates on their wrist, the first signaling the day you meet your soulmate and the second indicating the day you die. A little too dramatic and boring, in Jughead’s opinion, knowing when you meet your end definitely changed a person’s behavior… but he might be biased, bitter or both because on the morning of his thirteenth birthday he found out he would die the day he met his soulmate.

Funny, hilarious even. Of course, nothing in his life could ever be simple or easy. No, Jughead Jones and the easy way were complete strangers to each other. It wasn’t easy when his father got passed out drunk every day, it wasn’t easy when his mother had finally had enough, choosing to ran away with Jellybean… and it certainly hadn’t been easy when his father got locked up in jail for covering a murder.

So, when his thirteenth birthday came around, he was excited if not a little wary. Maybe something would turn out right for him. Jughead remembers with clarity the way his heart stopped inside his chest at the numbers, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands because his eyes must be seeing wrong, this had to be a mistake.

The lead weight right on his sternum had made it difficult to breathe as he let his wrist drift to the bed again. It made no noise but Jughead could still feel its phantom echoes on the now empty cavern of his heart.

The world simply didn’t want him to be happy, it seemed. Happy was uncharted. A town from which he’d been exiled, doomed to be forever wandering its edges but never really become a resident.

So, after days and weeks of brooding, Jughead decided to make something with the remaining years he had. He turned all his emotions onto his writing, the words being the only thing keeping him anchored to the real world. People came and went, but words remained a constant.

That’s how two years ago found him staring at his book, proudly sitting on the bookstore’s shelf next to other best-sellers. A genuine smile on his face, a flicker of happiness. Well, at least I’ve made a little mark in history.

His next breath comes out shaky against his will, he knew this day was coming, feeling like this was useless. He had everything ready, all the paperwork indicating that her sister would get everything he ever owned. Detailed instructions about how to proceed with his work were written on the draft of his next book series he had already written, furiously typing into his beaten up laptop, feeling the countdown on his wrist mocking him at every beat.

A part of the profits from his work would go to Fred and Archie Andrews. Jughead doesn’t really speak to Archie anymore, figuring it was best to just save him the trouble of dealing with a dead best friend at the age of 27 years old, but he would never forget how the Andrews gave him solace when he was so lost.


Jughead stays there, looking at the sleeping city that is so completely unaware of the tear that rolls down his face, his last goodbye, the last tear he would shed.

A part of him feels at peace because it all meant he wouldn’t feel hollow anymore, he would not have to wake up and go through the motions of it all, Jughead would just… finally rest. The struggle would be no more.

It’s funny, he thinks watching the sunrise, how much time one could spend talking or writing about it but usually not taking the time to actually witness it. The sky seems to be putting on a show just for him today, as if it’s bidding him goodbye, filled with deep purples, blues and the shade of yellow-orange the sun brings.

He spent a lot of time thinking about what he could do with this day. Considered not going out at all, or just wander through the city… but now that it is here, he’s not sure how to react to his impending destiny. Luckily for Jughead, the roar of his stomach makes the decision for him. He changes into his favorite clothes, a small comfort, but the beanie stays on the box meant for his sister.

The streets look the same. Logically, Jughead didn’t expect anything to change once he died, but he can still feel the resentment towards these clueless people that are just going to keep on living. He scoffs at the sudden bitterness of his thoughts.

He makes his way to this little cafe near his apartment, wanting the taste of their coffee and pancakes for at least one more time. Maybe even get a milkshake.

Jughead people-watches like he usually does as he waits for the traffic lights to turn red again. Thinking back on this moment he will later realize that if he hadn’t been people-watching, he might’ve not seen anything at all.

A little girl, big eyes and brown curly hair, is running. A big smile on her face, too lost in the innocence of the game to realize the light is still green and there’s a car approaching quickly.

“Caroline!” a woman shouts from the sidewalk, eyes wide in horror and the car keeps moving, honking.

If time had been passing slowly all day for Jughead, right now it feels as if it has finally stopped. He doesn’t understand exactly what is going on, but he feels himself sprinting across the street towards the girl before his mind can react. He reaches her, pushing her somewhat roughly out of the way, watching as the little girl falls backwards with a shocked expression, her mother screaming on the background.

Jughead had always been curious about how exactly he would die, if he was honest, and he can’t help but to think about how ironic it is that after knowing this day would come, it still catches him by surprise when the car slams into him.


His chest is on fire and he cannot breathe properly, flashes of faces come and go along the sounds of screaming and sirens. Jughead can barely distinguish words as his body is being pulled into an ambulance, or at least that’s what he thinks they’re doing.

The sound of doors closing and the bumps of the road that make him groan with every harsh movement, the wet sounds of his breathing in the small space. He vaguely notices he’s shivering even if he’s not cold, instead, he feels like he’s burning up from inside out.

Jughead hates the infinite struggle, he wishes he could just die and be done with it. He vaguely wonders why he never considered throwing himself off someplace high. Each difficult breath makes him want to scoff, remembering him of the character he wrote that gets hit by a car. If he has a chance to re-write it, he would because the agony is highly inaccurate to the simple pain he had inflicted. He should’ve George R. R. Martin the motherfucker.

The sudden movement of people lowering the stretcher to the ground, then forward, makes him cough and whimper a little at the pain that causes. In a haze, he’s able to open his eyes for a few seconds, the pristine white of the ceiling and its lights blinding, a flash of blonde hair that catches his attention before he’s unable to keep his eyes open anymore.

It feels like he just blinked but he’s under a blue ceiling now, the lights look closer and a constant beeping noise is making his head hurt badly. He distantly feels his body being moved from one stretcher to a firmer surface. His body feels numb, the wrong kind where you know you should be feeling something instead of nothingness.

His head moves to the side just before a person moves closer to him and even though her face is mostly covered by a surgical mask…

He knows.

Jughead would like to think that if he ever saw her without all the procedure stuff, he would still be captivated by her big green eyes. They’re filled with life in a way his never were. Shining upon him with an intensity that would leave him breathless if he wasn’t already struggling to breathe. 

Her hand finds his way to his forehead, pushing the matted hair back. 

“You’re going to be alright.” she says. 

Jughead closes his eyes for a second, making tears fall across his temples. Looking back at her, he thinks… I could see myself loving a person with such kind eyes. The thought makes a weird sob sound escape him as he internally curses every deity that participated in putting something so pure in front of him only to tear it away. Only to tear him away. 

He wants to tell her something, anything, but he’s too weak. He wants to tell her… 

I wish I had time to fall in love with you. 

I wish I could’ve seen your face just one time. 

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you were destined to see your soulmate die but damn am I glad you’re here and that I won’t die alone. 

You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. 

You look like loving you would be the easiest thing to do. 

I wish we had more time. 

He thinks maybe his eyes must be telling her all these thoughts because she frowns and shakes her head a little. 

“No. You’ll be fine.” She tells him, voice firm, her eyes leave him to watch at the monitors next to him for a second. 

He smiles at her in reassurance, or at least he tries to. He wants to tell her it’s okay, he’s ready for this… he has to. 

Jughead manages to looks at her, fighting his heavy eyelids, for a few seconds more before darkness claims him. 

He doesn’t get to hear the sentencing long beeping sound.



Heaven is shit. 

At least that’s what he thinks, because his body hurts like never before and his brain feels like it’s about to burst out of his skull. Groaning, he tries to move but before he can get too far he feels two small hands on his shoulders, pushing back. 

“No, no, don’t get up.” 

His opens his eyes at the sound. There, looking down at him is the most beautiful human being he’s ever seen. Blonde hair, peach lips stretched into a small smile and the green eyes he remembers, full of emotions he can’t decipher. She looks like everything he could ever need. 

“Hi” she says, voice only above a whisper. He’s suddenly aware of the way her hand surrounds his at his side, the contact anchoring him. 

“Am I dead?” he asks, frowning in confusion, voice hoarse. If he could see her so clearly… maybe heaven wasn’t so bad. A sound between a laugh and a cry escapes her lips. 

“You…” She begins, but pauses, seemingly to gather strength. “Technically, you did die. Your heart stopped beating… twice. But we managed to bring you back. You’re still in intensive care for a while just to make sure everything is really okay. You have a few broken ribs, a punctured lung and a fracture on your left leg.” 

She says, matter-of-factly, as her eyes fill with tears. Jughead tightens his hand around her fingers a little, a spark of something flowing through their veins that makes her gasp. He’s alive and she’s here. It leaves him shocked, all he can do is follow her with his eyes as she fidgets a little, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers twitch with the desire to do the same. 

“You really scared me back there, Forsythe.” She tells him softly and he internally winces at the name. 

“Jughead.” He finally tells her. She tilts her head to the side in confusion. “People call me Jughead. Forsythe is my father.” he explains. 

The most gorgeous smile appears on her face, a little amused. God, she’s so beautiful… 

“Well, Jughead… nice to meet you. I’m Betty Cooper, I kinda saved your life.” She says and he can already feel the dopey grin paint his face.

Little did she know just how right she was.

anonymous asked:

Boyf riends 12 :)

(Boyf Riends 12) “I found you—snuggling with my jacket, peacefully asleep”

“Harder!” The voice of some chick getting it in moaned out. Thank god for low quality cable porn.

“Probably faking it.” Jeremy mumbled, sinking into the beanbag chair in his best friend’s basement. He scratched the top of his head, feeling…strange. Not his usually uncomfortable strange this was a …something wasn’t right strange. First off, he wasn’t really into the porn. Secondly, he was watching it with a less interested Michael. Both of them were just staring off at the tv.

“His dick is probably fake too.” Michael added reaching over to grab more chips out of the bag. “The pizza in this looks good though.” Yet another delivery boy plot, did porn always come with such cookie cutter story? Did people watch porn for the story?

Jeremy shot his small, lack-daisy friend a look of curiosity. “Why are you looking at the guy’s dick” He smirked a bit trying to be funny. He half expected a half assed answer from Michael. Instead, Mr. Mell fell silent for a long moment and reached for the remote.

He turned off the tv and chucked the remote control across the room. “Why are we watching porn together?”

“Well…did you have something else to watch?”

Michael’s lips turned into a small frown, he didn’t have anything else in mind other than getting high and hanging around with his best friend.


Nothing but Michael didn’t want Jeremy to go … not yet. There wasn’t a need to get high or pretend to be, he felt a natural calm and joy radiating off his best friend right next to him. There wasn’t a need to get high or pretend to be, he felt a natural calm and joy radiating off his best friend right next to him. Jeremy was like the sun, all the warmth and none of the burn. “We can play some Mario Kart” Michael smiled. “What do you say player 2?”

His tall friend eyed up the controller being offered to him. He reached out, his long fingers brushing up against Michael’s hand. “I’m always game to be your player 2.” Jeremy, when he didn’t try so hard, could manage to be so smooth. Those beady blue eyes under a light frame of pale lashes, Michael’s little heart hammered against his ribs. Michael practically flung himself at the beanbag chair beside Jeremy’s. “Michael I swear to god if you pick rain–”

“RAINBOW ROAD BABY!” Michael wailed giving Jeremy a wink.

“You’re the kind of guy that likes to see the world burn, aren’t cha?” Jeremy pressed the palm of his hand against his face, hiding the flushed smile he sported. Michael’s outbursts never ceased to make him smile. Even if they did come at the expense of sounding all too lame. It was good lame, the lame that complimented Jeremy’s lame. They were two lames that managed to be cool when they were only exposed to each other.

Michael picked his character and kicked up his feet, sinking further into the beanbag. “No way, I’m all about sunshines and rainbows!~” The game began and the room was filled with grunts, empty threats, toying taunts and laughter. So much laughter echoed off the walls of his basement. They had enough noise to drown out the biggest party and to Michael this was the raddest party around. He needed nothing more than good times and his best…
His…

Michael made the mistake of taking his eyes off the third lap, he watched Jeremy. The say he swayed as if he was really riding the turns of the course. His eyes wide with competitive excitement. His arms so far out past his knees he looked like he was going to nose dive into the tv. What a dork. What a cute…dork, Michael’s face felt warm. Then— “AHH I FELL OFF” He screeched watching as his character barreled down the endless abyss and Jeremy’s character crossed the finish line.

“HAAAA, Kiss my ass Michael~” Jeremy laughed so hard his nose wrinkled and a snort slipped out. He brought a hand to his mouth and tried to smother the unattractive nose out. Meanwhile Michael melted into his cushion. He pulled the collar of his red jacket, trying to hid his clearly smitten expression.

“Rematch and we’ll see about that ass kissin’” He bit his tongue a little, his voice just a touch to high and excited. Hours of laughter drifted into soft conversations between matches. Finally, Michael heard a delicate yawn come out of his long legged friend.

 Jeremy leaned back against the beanbag, his body sinking into the cushion. Michael took that moment while Jeremy’s eyes were closed to look him over. His face looking more at ease than any time he had been high off Marley. “Mike…mind if I crash here?”

Michael felt a jolt of energy surge through him. It had been a good minute since Jeremy stayed over. “Course’ not!” The excitement was getting too real, he slid off his jacket and hopped to his feet. “I’ll get the spare pillows from upstairs” he started bounding up the stairs.

Jeremy chuckled and sleepily muttered just as Michael passed, “how are you always so happy, Mike?”

There was no answer. Michael scaled the stairs and went right to the linen closet. He pulled only the softest pillows and blanket for Jeremy. He felt his heart squeeze and everything in him coiled up like a tightly wound spring. He pressed the pillow against his face and sighed, what was he doing? These feelings, his crazy feelings for his best friend. “Stupid, stupid.” He shook his head, he couldn’t do this to himself. To Jeremy, it wasn’t fair. Why ruin this good thing they had? He wouldn’t, if keeping Jeremy meant hiding all these feelings for the rest of his life…then he would.

Once he calmed down he started back down the stairs. “Yo, I got you some quality linens, you can still smell the fabric softener in these puppies.” He chuckled and got no response. “Jer?” He peeked around and walked over to the beanbag and blushed. There was his best friend, his gangly long limbed bestie coiled awkwardly into a ball. Like he didn’t know how tall he really was, he tried to tuck those legs under Michael’s jacket he was using as a blanket. “A-ah…” He muttered watching as Jeremy pulled the jacket closer to his chest and held it close. “…you’re making it hard not to fall in love with you…especially when you’re snuggling my jacket, peacefully asleep like that…” He frowned a bit, his fingers itching to touch the small tuff of hair against his pale forehead.

EVAK FANFICS RECS / PART 4

ONESHOTS:

  • I’ll take you as you are by Behindthecities
    Summary: Even can’t sleep so Isak draw’s him a bath.

  • One More Second by kosekardemomme
    Summary: Isak invites the boys over to hang out with Even, for the first time with just them, just after Christmas. “Evak” can’t keep their hands off each other, though.

  • isak x even | dance so good by BloonStuff
    Summary: When Isak happens upon Even out of bed in the first time in a few days, he decides to make the most of the moment. 

MORE UNDER THE CUT

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So I’m working on a new post about Earthsea covers (and on some asks) and i found the best cover of all time. look at this majesty. look at it. I responded to some ask the other day that I couldn’t possibly do a five favorite covers post, well here it is, 1-5. like, look at that shit. that is a HUMAN-SIZED FALCON with SHAPELY DUDE LEGS in BRIGHT GREEN TIGHTS facing down A MAN DRESSED LIKE A VALENTINES DAY-THEMED JESTER while his friend walks in on the situation and decides that what he’s going to put up with today is Not This. THIS IS A REAL COVER. MULTIPLE PROFESSIONAL SOMEONES HAD TO BE LIKE ‘YEAH. THIS IS THE SCENE THAT’LL SELL THIS BOOK.’ I’M IN LOVE.

We need to talk about 1) the heart detailing on the pants 2) whatever the FUCK is happening with blue man’s pants which……. turn into gladiator sandals?? and he’s wearing light blue knee high socks under then???? 3) the bird has better legs than i do 4) the raven casually watching all of this:

TFW you’ve been catfished and ur online boyfriend w shapely calves is actually a huge falcon:

2017 Mood:

ok but… y'all realize there’s a reason why ed imagines oswald singing THAT song, right? I don’t think it’s supposed to show oswald’s pov or how ed imagines oswald’s pov - it’s supposed to show how ed feels once oswald is gone. it might be a song he fleetingly heard on the radio or one that he’s known for years but that doesn’t matter. what matters is that he connects the song with oswald and if you look at the lyrics it makes perfect sense tbh. the whole top hat scene has less to do with oswald and more to do with ed.

here’s the lyrics to the full song:

“It’s okay in the day I’m staying busy
Tied up enough so I don’t have to wonder where is he
Got so sick of crying
So just lately
When I catch myself I do a 180
I stay up clean the house
At least I’m not drinking
Run around just so I don’t have to think about thinking
That silent sense of content
That everyone gets
Just disappears soon as the sun sets

This face in my dreams seizes my guts
He floods me with dread
Soaked in soul
He swims in my eyes by the bed
Pour myself over him
Moon spilling in
And I wake up alone

If I was my heart
I’d rather be restless
The second I stop the sleep catches up and I’m breathless
This ache in my chest
As my day is done now
The dark covers me and I cannot run now
My blood running cold
I stand before him
It’s all I can do to assure him
When he comes to me
I drip for him tonight
Drowning in me we bathe under blue light

His face in my dreams seizes my guts
He floods me with dread
Soaked in soul
He swims in my eyes by the bed
Pour myself over him
Moon spilling in
And I wake up alone”

also did you notice how ed says “what are you doing?” before oswald starts singing? joke’s on you ed, this is all you.

A real life-saver

You run headlong through the night. You can hear the sounds of pursuit behind you, but you don’t dare look back. Over and over in your head you berate yourself for coming out here – the prize you’re playing for seems all but worthless now, and the price of losing has suddenly become much higher than you can afford.

Your heart is pounding in your chest – you were never that fit to begin with and the beats have started to run together into a single throb. The sounds behind you are coming closer and dawn and safety are still a long way off. Even as you frantically navigate the rocks and trees in the filtered moonlight your mind is searching for anything to give you an edge. The stones and trees make great obstacles but poor weapons, and the bag thumping against your legs is now empty of all but a few necessities that you never travel without – A sudden burst of hope adds a bit of strength to your faltering legs, as you stretch your hand into your bag, searching by touch because taking your eyes off your path means falling and falling means losing. Your fingers, slick with sweat, find what you were looking for among the lint and erasure shavings. You pull it out triumphantly and put it to a use that it both was and was not meant for – it was always meant to save your life, but not under these circumstances.

The night grows slightly less dim, as your heart manages to find a yet faster rhythm and your lungs burn. Your legs feel looser and are moving faster too, so fast that you feel as though you’re on puppet strings, an out-of-control joyride with someone else at the steering wheel. You dodge boulders and jump fallen logs and somehow your puppet-limbs stay under you, until at last the light shifts from blue to red as a sliver of sun shows over the horizon and shines through the trees. Dawn is almost at hand and you have almost gotten out with your life – the prize is long forgotten. As the sun pulls away from the edge of the world you leap the stream you had forded when you had set out at dusk. Your mad dash doesn’t stop there, continuing across the quad and to the dorms. You run up the stairs because you just can’t stop moving, and the puppet strings finally tangle, sending you face-first into a concrete edge, but you’re up in a moment because there is no pain and you can’t stop moving. You pull out the key to your door but drop it three times because your hands are shaking ­– in fact now that you’ve stopped moving you’re practically vibrating, the motion refusing to die.

Your roommate is woken by your graceless entrance to the room. Their first expression is relief, at seeing you back, quickly chased by concern, probably because you’re shifting your weight from foot to foot and your head is whipping back and forth taking in the whole room while your hands fly out from your bed to your pockets to your hair because you still can’t stop moving. They tumble out of bed – sleep chased off by your erratic behavior –  and try to hug you, pet your hair and reassure you that you’re safe now, you made it back. You push out of the hug, arms flung out to their fullest extent. You can feel that your eyes are open too wide, and your mouth as well, less of a smile than a baring of teeth. Your roommate flinches back from your expression.

“Where are my rings, I should put them back on,” the word hurtle off your tongue at the speed of thought and into an impressive, unintelligible multi-syllable collision. You don’t wait for your roommate to respond, already tearing through your things looking for the iron rings you always wear – except tonight when you thought it was a good idea to challenge the Gentry to a game. You pull them out of the clutter, but your hands are shaking so badly that you only manage to get one of the five on, dropping the other four to the floor. You bend down to get them and after far too many tries they are all safe on your fingers. Your roommate is slightly less cautious once they see the iron sitting comfortably against your bare skin, but you still whip around to them and begin to babble again.

“Sorry sorry sorry” as you start to spin in circles on the spot, just to keep moving, bring the shaking back under control, “sorry don’t mean to scare you I’m fine really I swear I managed to get away they didn’t catch me I just can’t stop shaking right now I’ve had way too much coffee except I haven’t had any I guess the EpiPen hasn’t worn off yet I’ll be fine.”

9

[image description: the covers of Loving Her by Ann Allen Shockley, In the Game by Nikki Baker, Blacker Than Blue (Vampire Sorority Sisters #2) by Rebekah Weatherspoon, Under the Lights (Daylight Falls #2) by Dahlia Adler, Afterworlds by Scott Westerfeld, Otherbound by Corinne Duyvis, Unicorn Tracks by Julia Ember, Lies We Tell Ourselves by Robin Talley, Boyfriends with Girlfriends by Alex Sanchez]

Interracial Lesbian Fiction

(More at the Goodreads list)

For more lesbian lit lists, check out The Lesbrary Goodreads Project.

I fucked up the tiiiiimeliiiine~~ Lmao the timeline can just go fuck off I guess. Don’t worry. This isn’t the last we’ve seen of Thor.


Thor was monstrous in size, with a thick, golden mane like threads of actual gold. His paws were large enough to crush a grown man without even involving his claws, and whatever humans didn’t get crushed under them were body-checked into the walls, which were still live with lightning. The electricity made his mane stand on end, and it should have looked comical, but he just looked even more terrifying.

He’d scooped Tony and Yinsen up in his teeth like kittens and carried them out of the cave. The change from cold and damp to hot and arid made Tony’s teeth ache. He could hear Yinsen, babbling something—they were probably prayers. But who wouldn’t pray when they were literally hanging out of a monster’s mouth?

Yinsen wouldn’t remember. He’d think it was a storm, a short, an explosion—anything but what had really happened. Thor had made sure of it. Tony had begged—Yinsen had kept him alive, kept him sane, it wasn’t fair that he wouldn’t remember. But Thor had calmly explained that most humans could not handle the truth, that monsters were real—and not everyone was as clever as Tony was.

Tony clung to Thor’s back and shivered as the monster trotted further out into the sand. Yinsen had been left near a town where he could get help, but Thor had insisted on taking Tony with him. He’d been too tired, sore, and thirsty to argue.

“Here,” Thor said, like he’d decided something. He knelt. “Dismount, child.”

“’m not a child,” Tony mumbled petulantly, but obediently slid down onto the ground, the monster’s silky fur slipping through his hands like water.

Thor looked at him, somewhat fond. “Even your oldest human is yet a child in comparison to me, Anthony.”

Tony blinked up at him blearily, rubbing his eyes to try and block out the haze. “Are you leaving me? Why couldn’t you leave me with Yinsen?”

“I could not be certain you would not insist on telling him the truth again. Most humans cannot handle that, Anthony.” Thor smiled, and his teeth were long and sharp beneath his lips. “You must be special, Anthony, for Loki to reach out to me for help.”

Tony blinked up at him again. “Loki?”

“Yes, Loki, my dear brother,” Thor chortled.

“What,” Tony said, either too dehydrated or, more likely, too baffled to understand the link between a white deer and this golden, leonine creature. “How did—”

“I leave you here, Anthony,” Thor boomed, and then there was a crash of thunder, a flash of lightning, and the monster was gone. There weren’t even any paw prints.

“…You left me in the desert,” Tony told the air.

But he wasn’t going to get anywhere just standing there like an idiot. He shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked up at a dune. He might be able to see something from there. He started trudging toward it.

Tony didn’t notice that Rhodey had been approaching, and he yelled and flailed when an arm wrapped around his waist, elbowing his friend in the cheek.

Rhodey didn’t even mind, which meant it was like being elbowed by a baby bird. “Next time,” he said sternly. “You ride with me.”

“Okay,” Tony said, unashamed of how tearful he sounded.

Rhodey  tightened his grip around his waist. “I got you, man. We’re gonna get you home.”


Pepper and Obadiah brought Tony home. The monsters would have wondered why they had instead of whoever Loki had sent for, but they were just too happy to have him back. It was irritating that they had to hide in the shadows and wait to greet him. Obadiah always set their teeth on edge, though, and Pepper… Pepper always sighed when she saw them.

“What is that?” Steve whispered, jerking his elbow into Bucky’s side. “Bucky, what is that?”

“What’s what?” Bucky asked, then grunted when Steve elbowed him again. “Ow!”

Steve pointed. “Look!”

Bucky grumbled to himself, rubbing his side and cursing Steve’s pointy elbows. He frowned when he finally saw the glowing blue light under Tony’s shirt. Sometimes Steve saw things on different frequencies if he wasn’t focusing. He wondered what the light was, but was too distracted by worrying. Tony had been gone a month, and looked it, the way his clothes hung too loosely on him and his eyes were sunken in his face, with deep bruises under each eye.

He hoped at least Obadiah left soon. He wondered what he should feed Tony.


Obadiah left, and Pepper chased Tony to the bathroom when he took off at a sprint.

Steve slithered after them, peering into the bathroom. “Everything alright?”

“The doctors told him a cheeseburger would be too much,” Pepper sighed, gently rubbing Tony’s back as he heaved his stomach contents into the toilet. “Hi, Steve.”

Natasha dropped from the ceiling and onto Steve, ignoring his offended noise as she slammed his upper body into the ground. “Is he okay?”

Pepper grimaced. “Ehm… Kinda?”

“Kinda,” Clint repeated, filling the doorway. “What’s kinda mean?”

“…He’s alive,” Pepper decided.

Tony sat up straight, gasping for breath, making concerning little wheezing noises. Then he bent forward to puke again, sobbing quietly.

Steve sat up so fast that he sent Natasha flying into the bathtub. He ignored her cursing and threats to slither up beside the boy, placing his hands on his ribs gently. “Tony, it’s okay. You’re home. We’ve got you.”

“Hurts,” Tony whispered.

Steve pretended that didn’t make him want to panic. “Where does it hurt, honey?”

“Everywhere-!”

Steve slumped a little, stroking the brunet’s sides helplessly. “I can’t help with that.”

Pepper reached out to touch his shoulder and proved how far she’d come in accepting them by not flinching when her skin met his scales. “I don’t think anyone can help with that, Steve.”

“Is he done puking? Give him to me,” Clint ordered, holding his wings out. Natasha wet a washcloth in the tub to wipe Tony’s face with before Steve handed him over. Clint bundled the human into his wings, hiding all but the toes of his shoes and a little bit of his hair. He turned and hopped gently out of the bathroom, being careful not to jostle him. “This is mine now.”

“What the fuck, Clint?!” Steve called after him, and he would have followed, but Pepper’s hand was still on his shoulder, which was very unusual. He turned toward her, frowning. “…Ms. Potts?”

Natasha paused from clambering out of the bathtub. “What’s wrong?”

“Tony was… injured,” Pepper explained slowly, trying to find the right words. “He almost died. Should have, really.”

“…But he’s alright now,” Natasha said, more statement than question, but open-ended enough to be corrected.

“He’s… alive,” she repeated. “When he was attacked in Afghanistan, he was hit with shrapnel from a bomb. In the chest.”

Natasha unconsciously covered her own chest. “That’s where all your important bits are.”

Pepper stared at her for a moment. “…Yes. Especially the heart.”

“Something’s wrong with Tony’s heart?” Steve asked quickly, alarmed.

“Yes,” she said softly. “It—you need to understand. He should have died. It’s a miracle that he’s here. But that miracle cost him.”

Steve squirmed. “Is that why he was throwing up?”

“He was throwing up because he’d been eating a handful of rice for a meal for a month and decided he was okay eating a goddamn cheeseburger,” Pepper snapped, then sighed and closed her eyes. “…I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“It’s okay. We know Tony has poor decision-making skills,” Natasha offered.

Pepper sighed again. “Thanks. No, Steve. He has an electromagnet in his chest keeping shrapnel from tearing up his heart.”

“But he’s gonna be okay,” Steve tried, falling silent when Pepper just stared at him somberly and shook her head. “…But… why?”

Pepper took a deep breath. “Steve, the shrapnel is in his chest, it should have killed him on his third day in Afghanistan. We don’t… we don’t have a way to remove the shrapnel. Not without killing him anyway.”

“…What the fuck!” Steve snarled, jerking away from her. “What good is all your medicine if it doesn’t work?!”

“Steve,” Pepper began, but he slithered out of the bathroom, so fast that his scales scraped the tiles. “…Does he think that I don’t wish there was a way to help Tony?”

Natasha reached out to put one of her hands on the human’s shoulder, then thought better of it. Her prickly hairs irritated Pepper’s skin. “I understand, Ms. Potts. Steve… Steve and Bucky are always going to be more invested. They can remember when Tony was just a baby. I think sometimes they believe he’s still that helpless.”

Pepper tilted her head thoughtfully. “…I do not believe for a minute that Tony was ever helpless, even as a baby.”

“Bucky says that Tony nearly tore his ear off when he didn’t want to go to sleep for the night.”

Pepper huffed out a tired laugh. “That sounds about right.”


“Broth,” Bucky said, trotting into the den, and then paused when he saw Clint rocking back and forth on the back of the couch. “…He needs something in his stomach, Clint.”

“You can’t have him,” Clint snarled.

Bucky was about to snarl back, but then he noticed that Clint’s words had lacked his usual snarky bite. He approached the other monster carefully. “Clint. Steve said he vomited. He needs something in his stomach.”

Clint was still and silent for a moment before he drew his wings down just enough to expose Tony’s head, tucked safely beneath his chin. “You can’t have him.”

“Clint what the—” Bucky began angrily, then paused. “…This is about the blue light, isn’t it.”

You can’t have him.

“Clint.”

“They can’t take him back!”

Bucky closed his mouth, biting back the retort he’d had ready. “…Clint, do you think that’s a tracking device on his chest?”

Clint started rocking back and forth again.

“It’s not,” Bucky told him gently. “Steve told me it’s not. And he got the information from Ms. Potts. You know Ms. Potts doesn’t have the patience to lie.”

Clint shifted his grip on the human, loosening a little. “…Then what is it?”

“It’s a… magnet?” Bucky frowned. “It… keeps shrapnel from a bomb from killing him.”

Clint unwrapped one wing enough to carefully run his taloned fingers through Tony’s hair. “So they can’t find him?”

“No, Clint,” Bucky answered softly. “And even if they could, we’re here, aren’t we? We won’t let them take Tony again.”

“Petting me,” Tony murmured after a moment, nuzzling under Clint’s chin again, and seemed to sink deeper into his feathers. “Nice.”

Bucky stepped closer, putting a hand on Clint’s shoulder to stop his rocking. “Tony, honey? I made some broth for you. You wanna drink some?”

Tony was silent for a moment, then extracted his hand from Clint’s feathers just far enough to close his fingers around the mug. He paused with the mug pressed to his chin until Clint raised his wings again and hid him from view.

Bucky wanted to smile when the empty mug was thrust out of the sea of purple feathers, but then he remembered the light in Tony’s chest, the way Clint had been protecting him and fearing that someone would track Tony down. Clint sometimes got like this, on edge, and they could never tell what exactly triggered it, but clutching Tony in the safety of his wings always seemed to calm him down eventually.

He glanced up as Hulk lumbered into the room, tensing up a little when the giant monster reached out both hands toward Clint. He relaxed again when Hulk simply scooped Clint and Tony up in his hands like they were a delicate flower.

“Hulk worried,” Hulk said, stroking down Clint’s back with one broad thumb. “Glad you’re home.”

Tony’s head poked up out of Clint’s wings again. “I’m glad I’m home too, Hulk.”

Hulk’s lips quirked upward into a small smile. “Troublemaker.”

“That’s me,” Tony said tiredly. “…’m sorry.”

“Sleep,” Hulk ordered, so gently that it was jarring in and of itself.

Tony made a small noise of agreement and ducked back under Clint’s wings.

Clint shuffled his grip, hopping up one of Hulk’s arms to perch on his shoulder. “This is mine now. I live here.”

Hulk rolled his eyes.

“Surprised Loki isn’t in here gloating about how he helped save Tony,” Bucky said after a minute, looking around.

Clint frowned, rubbing his cheek over the top of Tony’s head. “He saw the light and freaked the fuck out. Well, as much as a guy like him does. He beat it real quick. …’s kinda why I thought… I mean…”

Bucky tilted his head. “That it might be something to track him with?”

“…Yeah.” Clint adjusted his grip on the boy. “Like I knew he was fast because deer are, but… man, he barely cleared the door, he leapt so far.”

“Weird,” Bucky mumbled. But Loki was usually weird anyway.

Hulk grunted and sat down, much more carefully than he usually did so as not to jostle Clint and Tony. “Puny monster.”

“…You are literally the only person who thinks that but okay,” Bucky told him.


Natasha raised her eyebrows when she found Loki huddled in the library. “Surprised you’re not out gloating about helping to save Tony.”

“That—” Loki began, then stopped. “…That was not natural.”

She tilted her head, frowning. “…What?”

“Having—having a cylinder of flesh missing.” Loki put a hand over his chest. “Human hearts are… are delicate. I cannot believe—they should have just let him die.

Natasha disagreed, but she understood. Humans were quite ill-suited to injury. They were squishy, didn’t have leathery skin or scales to protect them. Many times Natasha had come upon dying soldiers and put them out of their misery before the cold or wildlife got to them. She even felt sorry for them sometimes, but often help was too far away to get to them in time.

“Tony has shown a worrying propensity to live if only to spite people,” Natasha said after a moment. “And I doubt that will ever change.”

“Horrifying,” Loki said. “Disgusting. I may vomit.”

Natasha fought not to smile. “You like him!”

“I am definitely going to vomit.”

Natasha stopped fighting, grinning under the other monster’s glare. “You like him.”

“I am going to vomit on you.”

Natasha let out a short laugh. “You think Tony hasn’t already done that? Whatever you vomit on me will never be as bad as beer and chili-cheese dogs.”

Loki actually looked a little green at hearing that.