what am i not allowed to try a little dark humour from time to time

Meeting Time

Hey everyone, here is a quick little AU oneshot that I did for the Bughead AU project.

It is based on the following prompt:

person A who sits in the back of every staff meeting and makes snarky comments under their breath about everyone the whole time and person B who arrived late and sat next to them and can barely hold in their laughter.

Betty and Jughead are social workers who are stuck in the dreaded weekly team meeting, Jughead can’t help himself but snark and Betty tries to contain her laughter. Also a little flirting.

I will preface this one shot by saying that my day job is as a social worker and I have been in many a team meeting wish you just wish would end so you can get out there and work with your clients, so this fiction is based a little on this. I hope you enjoy.

Where was she. Here he was stuck in yet another snoozefest, about cases, and numbers, and assessments and she was out traipsing around the town, getting to do some actual work. He considered for a moment that maybe she had overslept or called in sick but that wasn’t the Betty Cooper he knew. She was so dedicated to the job it made him worry for her.

He looked at the sheet of paper in front of him, he took the same one to every meeting. It had two columns, ‘Archie Says Something Stupid’ was at the top of one of them and the other had ‘Departmental Bullshit’. Under the first column were 15 little marks. He had attended three team meetings so far this year. This year was turning out to be Archie’s best year yet, he was almost proud of him. Or he would be if it didn’t mean that every stupid question that came out of his mouth resulted in additional time being added to what was already an overlong, unnecessary waste of time in his mind.

“Forsythe.” He looked up immediately at the sound of his name, well not the name he preferred to be called, but he had given up trying to tell Weatherby this. He was pretty sure Weatherby was just using it now because he knew he hated it. “Where’s Cooper?”

“Do I look like her babysitter?” He snarked back.

“She sits next to you.” He had been a little hesitant at first having the new graduate sat next to his desk. A personal experience of the foster system and the constant disappointment of his career had made him somewhat cynical, okay a lot cynical. But that was how you survived in this job. The desk next to him had become almost a tunstile of rotating social workers. Burn out levels were high with the increased pressure to achieve results and if you didn’t learn to get a sense of humour quick you were done for.  When she had bounced in all bright eyes and blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail that made her look younger than her years he had commented that she wouldn’t last the week. But she had, then she lasted the month and soon the year. Sure the job had taken its toll, it always did but she refused to let it drag her down. And she laughed at his jokes that always went a long way with him. She knew how to handle herself and the stress that came along inevitably with the job.

“Don’t remind me.” He said in mock frustration. He was sure that Weatherby had put the eager young graduate next to him on purpose, hoping that she would be the thing that finally drove him to the edge and handing in his resignation. Weatherby’s plan soon backfired as he liked to think that he had converted Betty to the dark side.

“This is the third time, tell her there will be consequences the next time I see her.”

“Will do boss.” Jughead gave a mock salute, before returning to his doodles in the corner of his piece of paper. He knew Weatherby was full of empty threats, Betty was too good at her job for him to fire. She would probably get another warning, or she would batt those pretty eyelashes at him and get a reprieve. Either way he wasn’t worried for her.

At that moment Betty entered the small meeting room, she tried to sneak past unnoticed before she knocked into one of the chairs, swearing under her breath on her way to the seat that was empty next to Jughead.

“Cooper, nice of you to join us.” Weatherby addressed her and she turned to face him while continuing to navigate the narrow space between the chairs and the wall.

“Sorry, I got caught up with the Smiths.” Boom,  there was the eyelash batting, and he had to stifle a laugh at her predictability.

“I’ll see you after.” Weatherby gave a loud cough as she smiled that thousand watt smile at him and he looked like he was about to choke. He wished he could give a smile to get what he wanted from Weatherby. He was never going to be in his good books. “Right, well now that everyone is finally here. Let’s talk numbers.”

“Did I miss much?” She whispered to Jughead as Weatherby droned on in the background pointing to a series of numbers on the large presentation screen in front of them.

“Just the usual, behind on paperwork, spending too much time in the home, and numbers are down.” He replied quietly while maintaining his best impersonation of Weatherby, which Betty couldn’t help but giggle at.

“What numbers exactly?” She raised her eyebrow in question highly doubting that Jughead had actually taken on much of what had been discussed.

“All the numbers, Betts, every single one of them,” he said as he leaned in closer his face serious and without humour as he lowered his tone. She rolled her eyes at him as she got her notebook out of her bag, placing it open with her pen at the ready to take notes she knew she would never actually look at again.

“So we need to start looking at ways we can maximise efficiencies.” Weatherby continued, with most of the team, beginning to scan the room for anything else of interest.

“We could just stop seeing people all together, you know that would make my job way more efficient.” Jughead chimed in, an eager smile on his face his hands clasped in front of him like an attentive student.

Weatherby gave a loud sigh that echoed through the small room.

“I’m looking for serious suggestions Mr Jones.”

“I am serious. Betty, does this face look serious to you.” He turned to Betty and narrowed his eyes slightly and pursed his lips in his attempt to look serious. Betty tried to hide her smile but could feel it breaking through when he gave a waggle of his eyebrows. For all his joking around Jughead Jones was good at his job. Betty knew that he cared for each one of the families that he was looking after, not that he would ever admit it. Although he would hide it with a joke or sarcastic comment Betty knew it hurt him just as much as any of his colleagues when things didn’t quite work out.

The first time she had put her hand on his shoulder when he slammed his phone down on the receiver after a call, he had looked at her stunned for a moment, before he relented and allowed her to rub shoulder gently through his jacket, sympathy written all over her face. Just as much as he was helping her survive in this job with his humour, she helped him survive with her kindness.

“Anyone else?” Jughead noticed Archie raise his hand, instead of just speaking like they were still at elementary school or something battling each other for approval from the teacher.

Betty turned to Jughead again who already had his pen poised in the Archie column ready to make another mark.

“He’s not doing too bad this year,” she whispered to him as she counted up the marks within the column. It had been Jughead’s way of coping with these meetings, instead of letting out the loud obnoxious groan whenever the redhead raised his arm above his head.

Jughead was half paying attention to her but also to Archie as he made another mark in the column as Archie finished his long winded but unhelpful suggestion. “Well he wasn’t doing too bad.” Betty corrected herself.

The meeting continued in much the same way for the next 20 minutes, Weatherby droning, Jughead making a snarky comment, Betty trying not to snort as she listened and Archie looking over at them confused while mouthing ‘What?’ as he seemed to be missing out on their little private moment within the crowded space.

“Right, that’s all for this week.” Weatherby finished as a collective sigh filled the room and he seemed a little put out at the team’s reaction. Jughead neatly folded his piece of paper and placed it in his jacket pocket ready for when it would be needed next meeting. He got up and waited for Betty to pack up her notebook, with it’s neatly written prose, before giving her space to move past him towards the exit.

“Ladies first,” he said with a flourish of his arm and Betty shook her head as she passed him.

“Betty we need to have a chat.” Betty gave a heavy sigh, closing her eyes, before straightening her posture and moving back towards the centre of the room as Jughead made his way to the exit. He gave a wave as Weatherby closed the door behind him.


“So Ms Cooper, will I be seeing you in the storage cupboard in say 10 mins.” He finished with a slow wink, which Betty responded to by biting her bottom lip as if she was tempted before she gave him a playful slap on the arm. They had fallen into this pattern of flirtation, she played it off as light fun. It was a way to sometimes distract from the work, to earn a little reprieve.

“I told you already Jughead I don’t date co-workers.” He had begging her for a coffee for a months now. When their playful flirting had developed into something more for him and he wanted desperately for her to feel the same way.

“I’m not talking about dating. I’m talking maybe about reliving a certain moment that we had at our staff Christmas party.” Hooking up with Jughead Jones at her first work Christmas party had not been a proud moment for Betty, but she had had maybe a little bit too much to drink and he was there with his dress shirt, the top buttons undone and his ties loose around his neck. She had been wondering what it would feel like to run her hands through his hair, and as he sauntered up to her it had been waving back and forth in front of his eyes. He said something to her in that low tone of his, before roughly pushing his hair back from his face and she was grabbing a hold of his tie and practically dragging him to the first cupboard away from prying eyes that she could find. He had given her a knowing smile the next Monday at work and she had blushed furiously.

“Sorry Juggie,” She had sworn that it was going to be strictly professional from that moment and she had told him so. But soon enough she found herself falling back into old patterns and throwing coy looks his way in response to his gentle flirting. “I have a client visit, guess you are going to have to relive that moment all on your own.” She said before turning on her heel and heading towards the lift.

“A raincheck then?” he shouted across the room as she continued towards the exit. She threw up her hand waving to him, as he made his way back to his desk. Yes, he was definitely falling for one Betty Cooper.

Fic: Whiskey on a Pink Dress

Part 1 of my new Modern AU series, Heartlines.

As always let me know what you think.


————————————————————————————————

“I am too old for this”

This thought had run through his head about a hundred times since they’d arrived at the club and it didn’t get any less true the more he thought it. He hated nightclubs. He hadn’t been a huge fan of them in his teens and twenties but at least he’d seen the point of them then. Drinks with your mates, a bit of bad dancing, flirting with some girls. But he was in his late thirties now and here he was again. His mates had insisted that he needed to have a ‘proper night out’.

“You’ll no meet any lassies down the local, Jamie lad” had been his cousin Rupert’s rationale.

“Ya’ll have been divorced now for nearly three years, and no a sniff of a woman around you since then. It’s no natural” had been his friend Angus’ contribution. Eventually, the sheer grind of trying to deflect them from their plans, as they conscripted an ever increasing circle of Jamie’s friends and family into the mission, had worn him down. A phone call from his sister Jenny, had been the final assault.

“Come on now, brother. You can’t be living your life all alone. You’re only 38, there’s still time for a relationship, a family. I know you want these things. You’ve always wanted them. Sure, you’ll never admit it, but we both know it’s the only reason you married Geneva in the first place. You’d been together for years and you felt like it was what you should be doing. She was just the wrong woman to be doing it with.”

“You could have said this to me at the time” came his sullen reply. There was nothing like a mild rebuke from his big sister to bring out the bolshy teenager in him.

“Aye” was the measured response, “I could have. But you’d no have thanked me and you’d even less have listened to me. You’re a grown man and your mistakes are your own to make. My job is to be here for ya when you’ve made them.”

Slightly shamed by this exchange and by his sister’s clear concern for the near monk like existence he had lived since his divorce, after only two years of marriage, he had text Rupert and told him to make some plans for the following Saturday.

And now here he was. In hell. Assuming of course hell played terrible electronic dance music, served watery, slightly warm lager and was inhabited by rowdy twentysomethings in varying states of inebriation. Several women had thrown some very hot looks in his direction and two had approached him when he went to the bar and later as he weaved his way through the masses towards the washroom. But they just weren’t of interest to him. The were lovely girls, no doubt, fresh faced and youthful, beautiful for sure. But they did nothing for him. He didn’t know what he was looking for in a woman, or if indeed he was looking for anything at all, but he simply knew that they were not it.

He was on yet another foray to the bar. He’d volunteered to go simply to get away from the constant pressure of his friends urging him to talk to this woman and that. To buy that one a drink, the being nudged in the ribs every five minutes as Rupert, Angus and even the usually more reticent Murtagh and Willy tried to persuade him to make his move.He checked his watch wondering if it was late enough for him to make his excuses and leave. 11.30. He rolled his eyes and contemplating an escape attempt. He wondered if the windows of the bathroom were adequate to accommodate his massive frame. As he looked up from his watch his made contact with something. Someone.

“Oh sorry” he said automatically before looking to see who he had made contact with. As slender brunette stood in front of him, dabbing what appeared to be whiskey from the front of her pink dress with a napkin.

“Oh lass, I am sorry” he repeated with more meaning this time. The woman looked up from her ministrations and smiled at him with humour in her eyes.

“No harm done, the whiskey they serve in this place is only fit for spilling anyhow”

He got a proper look at her then. She was beautiful. She had clouds of curly dark hair that were cascading arounding her face and shoulders and her eyes… He couldn’t quite make out their colour under the neon lights of the club but there was something about them that spoke to him. A warmth, a humour and something else too. Something that made his stomach flip over slightly as he looked at her.

“Are you ok?” she asked him and he realised he had been staring. Possibly open mouthed. He visibly pulled himself together and she laughed.

“My name is Claire” she smiled at him and held out her hand.

“Jamie” he took her hand. It was warm and soft and he very much regretted having to release it.

“So what brings you here” He cringed inwardly as he spoke. Was that the best he could come up with?  It was only one rung up from “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

She hadn’t seemed to notice the cheesy line though.

“Oh, it’s Mary’s birthday. One of my friends from work. She’s only 24, hence the choice of venue” She indicated the club with a wave of her arm.

“And you? Are you a regular here at ‘Altered Images, Glasgow’s premier night spot!’?” She made heavy air quotes with her fingers as she made the last statement, mocking the club’s tagline and the irony contained within it.

“Ah, err, no” He stuttered a bit. How was he going to explain why he was here? “Umm, lads night out you know. Change of scene from the local”

Claire raised her brows at him skeptically, whilst clearly trying to rein in a laugh.

“Can I buy you another drink? Since I’m the reason yer wearing that one?”

She laughed. “Honestly, I think you might have done me a favour. From the smell of it I might have gone blind had I actually drunk it.”

There was a pause.

“Well anyway, I best get back to my friends. I plan on making good my escape at the earliest opportunity and the only way I’m going to be allowed to do that is if I throw some serious shapes on that dance floor before hand” She vogued a little to illustrate her point and they both laughed. A curl tumbled forward and flopped over her eye. Unthinkingly, Jamie reached forward and tucked it gently behind her ear. Her eyes widened and he pulled back as if he’s been slapped.

“Oh God, Claire. I’m so sorry. I shouldna be touching you like that. You dinna know me. I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry…”

She cut off his apologies my reaching forward and very gently running a finger down the side of his cheek. He felt like all air had been sucked out of the room at the feeling of her hand on his skin. He tried to make out her expression, but the flashing lights made it impossible to

“There,” she said with a slight shrug. “I guess now we’re even.” A beat. “ And I probably won’t have karate chop you in the throat for being forward.”

The looked at each other for a moment before she reached down and began rummaging in her bag. Retrieving something, she grabbed his arm and pushing up the sleeve of his shirt turned her wrist towards him. Before he fully realised what was happening she had written a telephone number, hers he supposed, on the inside of his wrist. There was something so intimate about that it sent a small shiver down his spine.

“Why don’t you call me sometime? It was lovely to meet you Jamie”

And with that she was gone, pushing her way through the throngs of Saturday night revellers in the direction of the dance floor. He stood staring after her for a moment.

Turning he headed back towards where he’d left the lads. As he approached he discovered the booth was now not only filled with his friends but also a gang of about 6 women.  Veering away at the last moment, he turned towards the entrance, opening the uber app on his phone as he went. Just before he reached the door he turned back, scanning the dance floor for a glimpse of her before he left. And there she was. Arms waving, hair wild, laughing and singing along to the song. She was so lovely. Like a force of nature He glanced down at his wrist where she had written her number. Maybe this night out hadn’t been such a terrible idea after all.

Lost Boy (Chapter 2)

Hey Everyone! If you need to catch up, check out Chapter One HERE

We get a little more into Tonys drug use and the reasons behind it in this chapter, so if that’s a trigger, please be so careful! I would hate to upset anyone!

——————————————-

The first time Tony met him inside the library at his usual table, Steve looked him over quickly, checking his eyes and his hands for any trembling or dilation, before finally smiling and sitting down. 
Tony just rolled those dark eyes and pulled an equally thick textbook from the shelves and slouched in a seat to read. “Am I going to have to do a pee test before you let me sit with you each time?”

“Are you planning on sitting with me often?” Steve asked, reaching for his glasses and glancing up in time to see Tony’s smirk.

“Oh as often as I can, lawyer man. Not gonna get tired of those baby blues anytime soon.”

Steve smiled and shook his head, trying to concentrate on his reading.

Keep reading

Everything Backwards (Chapter 5/?)

Summary:When you make-out with a ‘James’ on a night out, you don’t expect to see him again, so imagine your surprise the next day when it turns out he’ll be your new sort-off-flat-mate. As Nanny for Peggy & Steve’s three children, you’ve lucked out, but now the guy across the corridor is threatening to ruin it. 

This is the story of how it all works out.

Chapter5 summary: Buck Buck finally apologises! Well, half apologises, but it’s a start.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader (gender neutral) Slow Burn.

Word count: 3039

Warnings: Mentions of being ill?? One swear word. Nothing else really.

Catch up: Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4

Next: Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Everything Backwards Masterlist

Masterlist


“If you enter that room there’ll be no TV time today, Michael!” 

That’s the first thing you hear the next morning. As you become more awake, pain floods through you, as well as a sense of panic, and you struggle against the mountain of covers while you try to work out what’s going on. There’s a small face peering through the gap in your doorway, and when they see you’re awake they come barging in, talking a mile a minute.

“Y/N! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you poorly! Daddy says you need the doctor and I didn’t even need the doctor and I was very poorly so you must be even more poorlier than me.” 

He continues like this as you squint at him in confusion. Glancing at your alarm clock which is saying it’s a little after nine, you curse under your breath, attempt to sit up, and are in the process of removing the many blankets covering you when Steve rushes in after his son.

“Michael! What did I just say?”

Keep reading

There Is No Escape - Part 9

Note: Killian has found you and is determined to get it through to you that Pan is lying. Will you give in and how is Pan going to react when the one person he didn’t want finding you does just that?

Killian Jones x Peter Pan x Reader

Words: 2221

Warnings: Some violence.

Disclaimers: None of the GIFs are mine. All credit goes to the creators <3

Deception was rife on the island so to hear that you are being deceived is hardly anything new. Pan and the boys loved to play games where such a thing was the key element….so what made this pirate think that it would bother you at all? That’s if you could even bestow the ‘pirate’ title upon him. Weren’t they supposed to be fearsome and intimidating men? This one seems to be saying anything he can to distract you from slitting his throat where he stands.

“We all deceive one another. It’s what makes the games on this island fun. So, sorry, but you are going to have to come up with something better than that if you want me to spare you.”

You have never taken the life of anyone before but that doesn’t mean that you would back out if the situation calls for it. If anything you would do it just to prove to Pan that you don’t need a babysitter…not that you should even have to prove such a thing to him.

“This is a different deception. This has nothing to do with a game.” The look in his eyes shows the exhaustion the pirate must have been experiencing but it didn’t stop a spark of defiance from pushing its way through as he spoke. “This is all to do with Pan wanting something. No matter what it takes.”

“Nothing new there then.”

You are growing bored of him relaying information that you already know. You have been on this island long enough to understand your leader, know his traits, nothing of what you are hearing is having the desired affect that the male before you obviously wants it to.

“Damnit [y/n] why have you always got to be so stubborn? Just listen to me will ya?!”

Keep reading

Secrets//Draco Malfoy x Reader

Title: Secrets
Character(s): Draco Malfoy, Reader
Ship(s): Draco Malfoy x Reader
Genre: Hurt & Comfort
Warnings: Self hatred (mention), death (mention), torture (mention), war (mention)
Words: ~1100

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


You were woken by the sound of shuffling against sheets. You laid there for a second before taking a deep breath in, trying to bring yourself back to the world of the living and conscious when you remembered. Draco. You stretched your hand out desperate to feel the warmth of his sleeping figure, except it wasn’t there. You sat up and grasped around in the dark trying to find matches to light the candle on your night-side table.

The sudden light of the candle left you momentarily blinded with a yellow spot clouding everything in sight. Despite your inability to see clearly you glanced around the room looking for the man you thought would be beside you in bed; he was nowhere in your immediate sights.

“Draco?” you called into the dark, your voice thick with sleep. You waited but there was no answer.

That’s when you decided to move out of your room and make your way downstairs: you threw your legs over the side of the bed and gently picked up the candle, lighting a path to the floor below. As you walked your heart felt tight. The anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts was fast approaching and you knew how difficult of a time it was for Draco- he would get nightmares, calling into the darkness stuck in memories he wanted to forget, his entire body soaked with cold sweat. When you woke him up he’d be in a panic- wide eyed and panting, and you’d hold him close, his head pressed into the nape of your neck until he’d fall back into an unsettled sleep.

Despite the nightmares Draco would never tell you more that generalities about what happened- about what he’d seen and experienced that pushes him so close to the edge. You wouldn’t pry, he’d talk about it when he was ready, but you couldn’t help but feel the desire to take away his pain. Even if it meant suffering yourself, you would take it all in a heartbeat just to take the weight of the world off his shoulders.

Keep reading

Workaholic

early days Obi/Rex because I too am in the rare-pair boat @myurbandream (you know what they say about rare pairs, sometimes you just got to write ‘em yourself ;) ) also tagging @norcumi because reasons

Under a cut for length.

Keep reading

Mindreader Sex

summary: Imagine Phil could suddenly read Dan’s mind whilst they’re in bed together…

genre: humour, kinda-smut, fluff
wc: 5.6k (ish)
warnings: none

I think this is the best thing I’ve ever written (so far)

Keep reading

A Warrior’s Life

TITLE: A Warrior’s Life


CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Thirty-One

AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE:

Imagine Viking Loki coming to your village, raiding, and pillaging, before deciding there is something about you that intrigues him and deciding to take you back to Asgard with him. There, you are forced to learn a new life and language, and though you hate what has happened to you, you learn that Loki is not as bad as you think.

RATING: Mature.


NOTE: I made this A Warrior’s Life II in my other accounts, but I am just going to continue it on as part of the same story here for convenience purposes for you all.

Loki woke with a start, he noticed it was still dark, so he pulled a pelt up under his head and settled to go back to sleep. He closed his eyes again only to become aware of small laughter. He turned his head to the side and only then realised that Maebh was not sleeping against him, but instead was fully on the other side of the bed while she continued to laugh quietly. “Dare I enquire as to what is so funny?” He asked, his voice heavy with sleep.

“You.” She giggled, causing him to furrow his brow, unsure of what it was about him that had humoured her so as he slept. “You were talking in your sleep.” She informed him. “And it was actually quite funny.”

“What did I say?” Loki groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Keep reading

Fever


Hey, so I’m officially free for the summer now. Free to write!! So here is the fic I said I would write for the Vacation prompt on @omeliafics where either Amelia or Owen gets Air sick or has a fear of flying. I know the prompt was an either/or, but I thought I’d try to fit it all in xxxx

P.s Let me know if there’s any trouble with the ‘Keep reading’ link.

Reviews are very welcome. 

Enjoy x:

“Amelia, come on now” Owen called out to Amelia, who was fixing her jacket as she ambled from the car. “Yeah yeah…” she said, breathing in the warm evening air, trying to shake off her lethargy. Owen stopped, holding their luggage against his thighs. She caught up with him and reached for a kiss, to which he obliged. She smiled up at him, eyes still closed and he brushed her hair back. “Let’s go…”  he nodded to the left, towards the door. “We’ve got a… plane to catch” he said, as they moved into the airport, sideways glancing at the planes on the on runway.

Keep reading

Stuck in Limbo Chapter 6/8 (Ardyn x Fem!Reader) (FINISHED)

Been stuck in a rut trying to put this together all week. I had all the pieces but like a jigsaw puzzle I just couldn’t place them together. Special shoutout to @seerya​ for her tireless support and giving me that missing piece. Love you!

Tumblr Masterpost

AO3


Keep reading

(Please accept my deepest apologies for being such a little shit and disappearing off the face of the earth. I’m still writing, I promise, and I’m going to try and get things up ASAP. In the mean time, a peace offering of shameless angsty fluff. Set post-Bradley confrontation)


She had always been comfortable with silence. A sniper’s talent, and a thinker’s friend. She had never been one for small talk, for idle chit chat, and most certainly not for excusing awkwardness with pointless drivel.

But the dark cloud hanging over them as they drove was stifling, and she found it unbearable. Alex had still been in tears when they had left him, Roy stoic and silent for the remainder of the journey. She wanted to ask just exactly what Bradley had said to him; just how much danger are you in? But she knew, knew from the seething rage hidden in his scowl that he was in no mood to retrace that night’s conversation. She parked the car down a side street, away from the stairwell to her apartment, and found herself walking double time to keep up with his long strides as they made their way to her door. In fact, they had barely made it through the door when Roy’s demeanour broke.

Fuck.” He tore off his jacket, tossing it aside, and assaulted the boots on his feet as he continued his tirade. “I just walked right into it. Right into his net! Just how foolish am I? Dreaming of being leader of this country, of restoring justice, democracy, when I cannot avoid even the simplest of baits! Cannot keep my head long enough to be rational. Cannot protect the one person I should be keep so far away from that son of a bitch.” He let out a snarl of anger, fist meeting the cold of the plasterboard as his rant ended. Riza flinched as it collided, pausing, before putting a hand to his arm, understanding eyes meeting his own.

“I don’t think the landlord will be impressed if you destroy the place my first week here.”

His chest heaved, a pant on his breath, but she saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes. The subtle acceptance of defeat. Lost the battle, but not the war. Her subtle humour wound its way into him, quietly taming the blinding storm, and his shoulders slumped as the anger left him.

“Sorry. I suppose you do want that deposit back, after all.”

The sigh that left him was heavy, sad, desperate, and he gathered her in his arms wordlessly. She laid her head against his chest, his pounding heart echoing in her ear, and he held her as though he were afraid of the very shadows taking her from him. She felt a kiss pressed to the side of her head, before his lips found her ear.

“I’m sorry. I’ve made you vulnerable, a target, through my ignorance. It should not have happened. I should not have allowed him to do this to you.”

“It is not your fault.” She lifted her gaze, slender hands cupping his weary face, thumbs tracing the tired lines that hung under his eyes. 

“But I should have done more. You should not have to-”

“Roy.” The roll of his name off her tongue silenced him, and she found his lips with her own, kissing him deeply, before pulling back, fingers slipping to curl with his own as she took his hand. “It’s been a long night. Come to bed.” 

He followed her without another word and as his lips found her own once more, her hands desperately curling in the shirt he wore, she wondered just for who’s sake she had suggested it.


- - -


She awoke with a start, heart racing as she fumbled for the clock at the side of the bed. Bleary eyes darted from the darkness behind the curtains to find her answer; five pm. Beside her, amongst the tangle of white sheets and bare skin, Roy was still, peaceful, an arm draped across her. She paused for a moment, before allowing herself to curl into him once more, the slow rise and fall of his chest calming her, fear beginning to subside as the panic left her. They were safe. 

She didn’t know quite what she had been expecting; Bradley, waiting to kill them both? His personal guard, ready to haul them to the stocks for breaking the law? It was not as though this was the first time she had awoken next to him, and if she had her own way, it would be the norm. But the events of the last twenty-four hours had unnerved her, and the anxiety she usually felt had amplified to a level that she found difficult to contain.

“You tend to think quite loudly. Makes staying asleep quite difficult.”

Riza rolled her eyes, twisting her legs with his as he tucked the covers around her shoulders, resting his lips against her forehead with a sigh.

“I didn’t know you were awake.”

“Mh. It’s difficult to sleep when it feels as though you are wasting precious time with the person you love.”

“So you have been watching me sleep once again, Mister Mustang?” A smile twisted at the corners of her mouth as she spoke, and her answer was a gentle nuzzle, his strong arm curling around her.

"I won’t let him take you from me, Riza.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”

“He is making me choose between my ambitions and you. Forcing me into a corner, to behave. What he does not realise…” He pulled back, dark eyes troubled, stroking her cheek with a gentle finger, “Is that the two are not mutually exclusive. Intrinsically linked, I would go as far as saying.”

“He does not need to know that.”

“No. Nor does he need to know that pulling you from me will only make my desire to topple that detestable throne of his more urgent. What is a king without his queen, after all?”

She chuckled softly, lightly running her fingers down his arm. “I thought you were aiming for democracy, Mister Mustang?”

He tutted disapprovingly of the comment, continuing on without an answer. “Of course, were it not for the threat of death, he has actually shot himself in the foot.” She raised an eyebrow at the boyish grin that took over his features. “Well, by technicalities, I am no longer your commanding officer. The fraternisation laws no longer apply.”

Colonel.” Despite the scolding, there was a playful twist in her voice. “Priorities.”

“Pft. You know if I had to choose, I-”

“Would continue to pursue the position of Fuhrer regardless of your feelings towards me, as that is what this country needs.”

The lazy smile that spread across his face betrayed the melancholy in his eyes, and his fingers traced circles on her back. “So sensible. So steadfast. I knew there was a reason I put you in charge.”

“Yes, sir.” She leant up, pressing a kiss to his lips, before prodding a finger to his chest. “Now, I must really insist that you think about finding your clothes and slipping away from here before we are caught. Sensible and all.”

“Kicking a man out of your bed? How very cold of you.” 

“I’d say practical.”

“You could keep the shirt. Something to remember me by.”

Riza scoffed, before hesitating, Roy’s dark eyes locked to hers. “We will-”

“Be tailed day and night? Watched at every moment? Have our telephone lines tapped? Killed if we are seen together? Most definitely.” There was a pause, before he spoke again. “So I suppose this is our last sliver of privacy.”

“I suppose it is. Not that we have ever had that much before.” 

“No…” A rumble of a laugh rang from him, a finger gently twisting her hair. “I’ll miss you something dreadful, you know.”

“It’s not forever.”

“No.” He leant down, the ghost of stubble tickling as her skin as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, Riza smiling gently as he spoke once more. “But we are.”

Out of Your Depth (ii)

The continuation of the Fenris/f!Hawke merfolk AU which has thoroughly swum away with me.

read from the beginning // read on ao3

***

The bustle of the Kirkwall docks rises and falls around them like the waves against the wharf, a push-and-pull of orders shouted across crowded decks, and laughter ringing above the cacophony of heavily tinged Antivan and Fereldan accents mingling with the usual Marcher lilt. But their corner of the docks lies mostly quiet – there’s no one disembarking, and other than the occasional overseer passing along the anchored ships, it’s just the two of them.

The sloop bobs in the water, a pretty little thing, and at odds with the lumbering shape of the trading vessel floating at its side. Isabela lets slip a keening sort of noise, a sigh bordering on a moan. “Gorgeous, isn’t she?”

“Hmm,” Hawke agrees, eyes skimming along the gleaming dark wood, and the elegantly carved letters etched deep into the planks. “The Champion?” she asks, tone a tinge dubious. “Seems a bit excessive, for such a small thing.”

A snort from beside her, and Isabela crosses her arms over her ample chest. “Would you like me to give you the run-down of the many merits of small sizes?”

“Please don’t.”

“Are you sure? Because–”

“And here I thought you loved big boats,” Hawke interrupts, before Isabela can ask – although on second thought, she’s not exactly steering the conversation towards safer waters.

Isabela laughs, and waves a hand, the gold rings on her dark fingers catching the light of the morning sun. “Big boats, small boats – a predilection for one doesn’t mean I have no love for the other. I mean just look at this beaut – the lithe curves, the slender mast. The smooth, polished wood. Oooh, I’d love to take her out for a good time.”

“…we are still talking about boats, I hope?”

Keep reading

Fairy Tail’s Going Downhill (or: guys, I really hate the Alvarez arc)

Hey guys. We’re taking a break from my stream of anti-gruvia to get me back into the swing of things with what may actually be an even more controversial topic. I’d ask you all to strap in but I might be the one in danger here.

A handful of people both on tumblr and off tumblr have been asking me to take a knife to the Alvarez arc and share my thoughts on the matter. I haven’t been able to keep up with Fairy Tail on a weekly basis for personal reasons but managed to sit down and get completely up to date in one sitting, and I find myself utterly baffled. Heads up; the more I wrote the more I found that annoyed me. Take this with a whole handful of salt. Sorry in advance if I’m a total debbie downer, and if you don’t want to read me putting a fair amount of effort into explaining why I think this arc sucks I recommend you don’t hit the read more. 

Keep reading

Together

Hey! I would love if you could please write a Draco oneshot in which (Y/N) and Draco have always been friends, but unlike Draco, (Y/N) see’s the world in a different light. She believes there’s good where you look for it, the mud bloods are equals, etc. When she’s forced to become a Death Eater she’s devastated, but Draco is there for her like always.

A/N: Hope this is okay! :)

Warnings: None

Not edited/proof-read. 

SORRY IT’S QUITE SHORT! (Do you want me to start stating the word count on the post?)

-

In the darkened hallway, the dampness of your eyes glistened and your skin paler than it usually was. You looked ill and Draco could tell. “Have you got it?” He questioned. His usual harsh, drawling tone was now soft and gentle. It was the voice he usually saved for you. You looked down rubbing your arm. You nodded, still not meeting his eyes. Draco’s hand reached out to take hold of your wrist. You assisted by holding your arm out and he pushed the sleeve of your robe back. The Dark Mark. You refused to look at it and the slightest noise in the distance made you whip your arm away and cover it back up. “We have no choice, you know. You had no choice.”

Keep reading

Twister

For the Rivetra Squad Facebook group who requested this! I am SO sorry it took this long, I was meant to have written it for you weeks ago :( I suck.

——————————————————————

“I’m bored,” Eren whined, slouching back into the leather sofa. He pulled his beanie hat down over his ears as the shorter man next to him grumbled in annoyance.

“Then go home,” Levi dead panned. 

“But it’s raining. I’ll get wet,”

“And that’s my problem, how?”

Eren sighed. It was actually pretty dark in the living room, only a few candles Levi had lit up giving them any source of lighting. This was because the rainstorm had caused a power cut, which was a downer for Eren as his original intention to bother Levi and his flat mates was to use their TV.

His other room mates, Erd, Gunther and Oluo were all away on holiday, leaving Levi and Petra alone. Levi had been hoping for this opportunity for a long time. Finally the guys were away — a chance to woo Petra and hopefully get somewhere with their relationship.

Not that they had a relationship. It was strictly friends. But he was hoping for something more than that. Well, was, before that damned brat Eren had turned up at their door and cursed the fucking house. Now Petra was out in the laundry room by herself trying to mess about with the lights, and Levi was left to babysit the boy.

Fortunately, she returned before Eren could attempt to talk again.

“I think the power;s completely out,” she sighed. “We’ll have to wait until the storm is over.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Eren complained.

Levi crossed his arms. “Like I said, you could always go home,” 

“Come on, Levi, we can’t make him go home in this rain… Eren, you’re more than welcome to stay here until it’s safe to leave. We’ll just have to find some traditional entertainment!”

Eren smiled smugly, hoping Levi didn’t see.

Much to his chagrin, Levi shot him a death glare, sending chills down his spine from those icy eyes. He was glad it was Petra who was left behind and not one of the other guys. Eren got along well with all of Levi’s room mates, but he knew if it was anyone but Petra, they would certainly allow Levi to beat the crap out of him and send his ass out into the rain.

Fortunately, the three of them were not too modernised and found a solution for the lack of electricity. Petra had fished out some old board games which had brought out an individual competitive streak in each of them. With Levi beating Eren at chess, and Eren beating Levi at Guess Who?, to Petra beating them both at scrabble (twice), it seemed like a decent night in.

Eren had slid across the wooden floor awkwardly as Petra and Levi helped each other put the boards away. He cringed as their fingers skimmed and fumbled their hands about, embarrassed by each other’s touch. Continuing on his adventure, Eren stopped at the box of games, rifling through it.

“Hey,” he spoke up, pulling another game out. “Let’s play Twister!”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Imagine Jamie meeting Claire the first time he stays at Leoch and Collum promises him to someone. But they end up eloping together at the gathering just like his parents before.

Running in the family; How to elope - Fraser style.

So to make this a wee bit more tangible I have altered the Jamie-Claire age gap. Jamie is 16 and Claire is 18, so only 2 years difference. She is still a time-traveller and has come through the stones, though.


The announcement still rung in his ears as Jamie paced the courtyard.

‘…engaged to be married…’

‘…on her sixteenth…’

Those few words cut him to the core.

What if he didn’t wish to marry her?

What if they weren’t meant to be?

He barely kent the lassie, and she was still just a wee bairn to him.

Another pawn in his uncle’s games, Jamie knew he was being thrust into this ‘partnership’, not for his own benefit, but for theirs. Marrying him off to the wean kept Lallybroch in their clutches.

Stomping through the silent halls, Jamie walked the length of the castle, from the grand hall right down into the recesses of the peat-scented cellars.

The sound of a rattling chain pulled him from his melancholy and he twisted his head in the direction of the noise.

Cautiously, he tip toed towards the closed door, the thick bars of the viewing window hindering his view of the captive that lay beyond. As he approached, a flash of deep brown passed into view. He swore he’d seen thick curls and he tilted his head in confusion.

“Hello…” he broached, laying his hands against the rough wood as he peeked through the prison door.

Catching a glimpse of her profile as she turned, Jamie took a stunted breath and stepped back a little.

So it was a lassie, a young one at that. She couldn’t have been more than a few years older than him.

Glancing down, he could see the thick manacle that kept her chained to the floor. Bolted around her ankle, she could move a wee bit about the tiny room, but it wasn’t enough to allow her access to the door.

“What have they got ye trussed up in here for?” he whispered, once it became obvious that she wasn’t offering anything up herself.

He couldn’t fully understand himself, but something about her had him *captivated*.

“Theft…” she spoke, finally breaking her silence as she turned fully to face him. “I stole a horse. Mr. Mackenzie didn’t seem particularly pleased at my explanation, and so here I am.”

A sassenach. No wonder Collum had her locked away.

“…and why, pray tell, did ye steal a horse?” he replied, a hint of wonder in his voice. To steal from the Mackenzie took some *nerve*.

“I was trying to escape,” she retorted, a glimmer of rebelliousness lighting up her liquid amber eyes.

“Ach, I take it ye didna get verra far then, aye?”

Shrugging her shoulders, she blinked slowly, a coy smile lighting her face. “Quite far, and yet,” sighing, she turned away from him, “not far enough.”

“Aye, I see that lass,” Jamie returned, his interested piqued. “Do I dare ask why ye were trying to escape?”

Rotating slightly back towards him, she twisted her head back in his direction. “They were holding me prisoner.”

The hallways were dark now, the candles extinguished as the evening’s celebrations had come to an end.

Hand in hand, Jamie led his newest companion through the quiet castle, hoping that all of the inhabitants were suitably half-cocked; enough that they all might be incapacitated for a time yet.

“This isna right. I dinna even ken yer name,” he whispered, slipping his fingers through hers as they came to a stop by the last corner. “Seems only polite since we’re sneaking awa’ like this.”

“It’s Claire,” she replied, a hint of humour in her tone. “Claire Beauchamp, and I’m so very pleased to have met you…”

“Jamie,” he finished for her. “Jamie Fraser, at yer service.”

Only one man stood between the pair and the portcullis. An elderly guard leaned against his broadsword as he napped at the exit to the castle.

‘Ye need to be utterly still, Claire. We can get passed him wi’out much trouble, I’m sure. But if Collum had ye paraded through the castle on yer return, afore he had ye clad in irons, yer probably well known to all o’ clan Mackenzie.”  Pulling the pilfered cape around her face, Jamie tucked her stray curls beneath the heavy fabric.

“Thank you…truly,” she added, stepping closer to Jamie’s side as they readied themselves for a swift exit. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you, Jamie Fraser.”

Jamie had been right, it didn’t take much to sneak past the snoozing guard and it wasn’t long before he had Claire mounted on his horse. To his mind, he couldn’t work out *why* he’d needed to free her so badly, but something deep in his heart told him he should.

“Where were ye going, Mistress?” he asked rather formally, feeling the breath of his father against his neck, combined with Claire’s as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Would you think I was mad if I told you I couldn’t remember?” she answered, her heart pounding as she clenched her thighs around the outside of his legs, the steady gait of the horse forcing them together.

“I’m promised,” Jamie began. An unspoken truth lay between them. In the short time they had been acquainted, he and Claire had forged something of a bond, “to a lass that I dinna wish to marry.”

Clicking his tongue, Jamie tugged the horse off the trail, to avoid trackers hunting them down once they discovered Claire’s disappearance.

“Oh,” Claire whispered, her hands gripping solidly at his hips as they picked up pace through the underbrush. “And is there a girl you *would* like to marry?”

“Aye, I do. If she werena to object to the idea…”

Nuzzling her nose into the back of his musty jacket, Claire forgot her initial quarms and lost herself in Jamie’s scent. “I don’t think she would be…” she sighed, her mouth watering at the prospect.

This was daft, a complete leave of her senses. But she couldn’t find it in herself to be perturbed by the situation.

Jamie clenched the reins in his hands, the heat of her filling him with warmth from toe to head.

‘Jamie,’ a tender voice echoed in his ear, ‘ye’ve the Fraser about ye, my lad…’ the wind whipped up around them, stealing the soft ghost of his mother, his cheeks pinking at the illusion.

“My da stole my mam away, Claire,” he began, the memory of his parent’s stories alight in his mind now, “just as I did you. Weel, apart from springing her from prison, aye?”

Claire scoffed, rolling her eyes as she snuggled closer still to Jamie, revelling in the close proximity of his alluring body.

“Maybe,” she murmured, letting her hand slide down and along his thigh as the stars twinkled through the breaks in the trees above them, “this is just a case of history repeating?”

Chuckling, Jamie tightened his heels around their mount, urging him ever onwards. “Maybe yer right Claire,” he replied, an eager lilt to his tone as his soul lightened at the prospect of marrying a girl he actually had designs on, instead of one chosen for him by his greedy uncles. “Either way, I think my da will love ye.”

‘…as I do…’ he thought, but did not say.

‘One look was all it took,’ he remembered, his father’s voice now reverberating around them as the crickets began to chirp beside them, ‘just one look, Jamie, my boy.’

“Springing a criminal from the Mackenzie jail, damnit Jamie lad!” Brian Fraser muttered, irritation lacing his tone. “I sent him there to better him, Murtagh. No’ to have him upset half of our relatives. Where did I go wrong?”

“Gi’ the boy a chance, mo bhràthair, we dinna ken the circumstances yet. He might have a good reason for doing what he did,” Murtagh appeased, trying to keep Brian from throttling his young son moments after they tracked him down.

Through the trees, Murtagh caught a brief glimpse of wee Jamie’s horse, and nodded at Brian, a knowing look in his eye.

“He better had, Murtagh, I’m telling ye now,” Brian chuntered, his gaze hardening as he caught his first view of Jamie through the trees.

Claire sat on a rock facing Jamie as he readied the fire for the evening, tugging the thick tartan around her shoulders, she shrugged the hood from her head, letting the slight breeze blow through her loose locks.

“James Alexander Malcolm *MACKENZIE FRASER*!” came the billowing voice through the forest, making the birds scatter from the branches in fear.

Jamie’s face paled as Claire sat bolt upright, her eyes wide as she took in the two men who strode, meaningfully, through the tree line and into their little camp.

“What are ye playing at, mo mhac?” Brian boomed, slamming his palm against the bark as he stared blindly at his son, rage colouring his whole being.

“Da, hear me out…” Jamie began, shuffling his feet nervously in the detritus of the forest floor, “it isne…”

“What I think? It better no’ be! I had Dougal on our doorstep, Dougal Mackenzie himself, Jamie. Have ye any idea the thoughts that have been going through my head?”

“He saved my life,” Claire piped up, standing behind Jamie and peeking out from behind him, brave but not so bold as to take on Jamie’s father without some moral support. “It was my fault. Mr. Mackenzie had me locked away for stealing his horse, and Jamie got me free.”

“A sassenach?” Murtagh whispered in awe, his and Brian’s eyes fixed solely on Claire now as they took the measure of her.

Jaw clenched tight, Claire stood straight, coming out from behind Jamie as she took full responsibility for her part in the whole affair. She would not back down, nor would she cower.

As Brian took a step forward, Claire took one back, certain that her number was up and Mr. Fraser and his comrade would have her marched back to Castle Leoch before sunup.

“A lassie, a wee sassenach lass? Tell me yer pulling my leg, Jamie?” Brian questioned, looked between the pair as he stepped closer still.

“I love her, Da…” he sighed, his eyes holding his father’s as Claire coughed and spluttered behind him, her heart pounding against her chest as the words hit her ears, “and her name is *Claire*.”

“Ah Dhia,” Murtagh cursed, lowly, his jaw dropping as he saw the truth that lay between the young pair. “It’s happening again, Brian, lad. She’s his Ellen,” he exclaimed, watching as Claire slipped her hand into Jamie’s and swallowed, audibly.

“Ach, Christ, Jamie,” Brian murmured, dropping his head in defeat.

“Ye willna send her back, will ye, Da?” Jamie begged, pulling Claire into his side and shielding her from any would be harm that might befall her from his father and godfather.

“Nay,” Brian replied, a hint of ire still lacing his tone. “I won’t.”

Turning to Claire, Brian eyed her, skepticism written all over his face. “What, and tell me honestly, are yer intentions for my lad, Claire? Since I dinna ken where yer from or *who* ye are.”

“I…” she began, her hands shaking as she tried to reason with herself what had occurred between her and Jamie. How could she explain to his family, when she didn’t truly know herself? “I would never hurt him, Mr. Fraser.”

“Do you know what you’ve started, Mistress?” Murtagh broke in, certain that there was something powerful between Claire and Jamie, but also fearful of the wrath of clan Mackenzie. “What lengths Collum and Dougal will go to get justice for what Jamie has done? No’ only did he free ye, a known thief, but he also eloped away from his obligations.”

“I know fine well what he did for me, sir,” Claire bit back, shifting forward slightly, straightening her shoulders as she spoke, “and…” she paused, taking a large breath as she finally acknowledged the strange feelings bubbling under her skin, “I love him too.”

Smiling from ear to ear, Jamie stepped back in line with Claire. Dropping her head against his side, Claire exhaled, letting out a breath of relief at her admittance.

“Weel then, bairns,” Brian said, scratching his head and chuckling under his breath, all manner of irritation extinguished, “it looks like we have a wedding to organise.”

“And fast,” Murtagh interjected, humour coating his words, “afore Collum catches up wi’ ye, again!”

locketofyourhair  asked:

Hawke/Fenris, things you said with too many miles between us ?

She aches – that’s the word for it, Hawke decides. It’s a constant thing, and she can’t seem to pinpoint just where it hurts the most, or if the hurt is even a physical thing, but it doesn’t really matter. She has no way to heal either sort. 

Victory tastes more like bile than anything else, and she doesn’t know how she’s managed it, but then Hawke has done a great many inexplicable things, and she’s long since stopped questioning how they come about. The demon lies slain some ways off, and before her vision swims a world of green shadows and spirits that laugh and howl their grief for herears to hear, because there’s no one else present to listen. They take on shapes she knows – her family’s old cat slinking at the corner of her vision, across her broken leg on a spirit’s unnaturally quick paws. She thinks she sees Barlin, and a Chantry sister from her childhood, who had caught her using magic behind the farmhouse but never told a soul.

Her mother kneels by her side, and Bethany sings her a lullaby that has Hawke laughing until tears streak across her dirt-stained cheeks. It hurts when she laughs and when she breathes and she doesn’t know if she’s awake or dreaming but can you dream when already in the Fade? Hawke doesn’t know, she only knows the ache and her father’s voice, or is it Carver’s? It’s so hard to tell, and so hard to bear, but she can’t tell if the weight on her chest is due to her broken ribs or her own grief.

She doesn’t see Fenris, and for this she is so, so grateful, because the spirits might be of her own conjuring, but she’ll take this little gift as a sign that his is not a face to be found among her dead.

Speaking of death. “I think I might be dying,” she tells the silence, because she doubts the spirits can hear her, and she has to say this now because she never got around to writing that letter, even if Varric had offered to send it for her so many times. “And that’s not an exaggeration this time.” She tries to smile, but her humour is as lost on the spirits as it is on anyone else, and Hawke is left with her own hollow laughter.  

“You’d be so angry if you knew,” she continues, and tries to imagine his frown but fails. Instead she tries one of his rare smiles, finds it in a memory of a sunlit day months ago when her worries were less and her hurts bearable, and when she breathes the ache lessens, if only a little. She doesn’t know if he’s smiling now, wherever he is. She doubts it. 

“I’m sorry,” she says then. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come back.” She’d imagined once that her greatest regret would be her inability to clean up her own mess – that she would die leaving the world at Corypheus’ mercy. But in a nightmare realm there is no waking from Hawke finds the only regret in her heart is not having had the chance to say goodbye. I am so sorry, Fenris. 

There are footsteps at the edge of her hearing then, and Hawke turns her head. Frowns. The legs that meet her eyes look too tangible for a spirit’s.

“Well,” says a familiar voice. “What have we here? A bird caught in a spider’s net. Or is it the other way around?”

“You,” Hawke croaks, as the witch kneels with more grace than her years ought to allow.

Flemeth guffaws. “You sound surprised.”

Keep reading

BBRae Week 2016 - Day 1- Night Time

It had been a mistake, she saw that now. In the deep night following midnight, Raven had made a mistake. Generally, through the day, Raven felt the incessant bombardment of the emotions of others, those of her friends and the emotional miasma that radiated from the City. This wasn’t a problem in itself as her defences, built high through training and willpower, were easily up to the task. Still, she relished the dark of night, when sleep muted the storm around her, let her relax her defense just a little.

So, when she decided to experiment with her feelings, the night was the obvious time. She elected not to tell her friends: their worry and/or insistence on being with her would defeat the purpose, after all. The room was dark, her friends were all asleep and the City was a glowing ember compared to its usual, fiery passion. She poured herself a cup of tea to relax her even further, sat herself on her favourite part of the couch, and allowed herself to feel.

PANIC!

Raven’s eyes, closed in meditation, flew open in abject terror. The grief and sorrow and guilt and fear had all rushed up at once, like stepping into a shallow puddle and finding it to be a deep well, the freezing water suddenly up to her chin. She strained and struggled to rein in her emotions but her thoughts were too scattered to obey her. She had taken measured to make sure her powers were kept in check but they were only temporary - if she couldn’t control herself then eventually she would tear the Tower apart! Should she go for help? Should she concentrate on controlling herself? Get a sedative from the infirmary? Leave the city? The thoughts all bounced and crashed around in her aching head and she held it with her hands.

Suddenly, a warmth moved around her shoulders and held her. She managed to look to her side and saw green eyes watching her from a green face, filled with worry.

“Rae? What’s happening?” he asked, his voice quieter and his speech slower than usual as he tried to calm her. She gulped and tried to speak around her rapid breathing.

“Emotions… out of control… panic… panicking… need to stop…” she gasped. Beast Boy acted immediately, if uncertainly at first. His other arm reached around her and gently pulled her to him, his hand running gently down her arm as he muttered soothing nonsense into her ear. Incredibly, Raven felt her heart slow down, no longer trying to hammer its way through her ribs. Her breathing became deeper as her chest relaxed a little. She closed her eyes and tried to time her breathing with his. Her tension leaving her, Raven felt tears pricking her eyes and tried in vain to stop herself. A single, gasping sob escaped her and cleared the way for its fellows as she wept and wailed into Beast Boy’s chest. Later, she would marvel at how much pent-up grief she must have had to cause such an immediate and powerful display but, for now, she found sanctuary in the warmth of her friend and cried. An hour later, Raven was down to merely sniffling quietly, occasionally squeezing her grip around Beast Boy seeking solace but also in gratitude. Finally, she spoke.

“Azarath metrion zinthos,” she muttered, sighing in relief as her emotions were invisibly quashed and sequestered. She relinquished her grip and sat back, looking up at a visible sleepy Beast Boy, blinking down at her.

“Hey,” he whispered. “You okay?” Raven nodded in return.

“I am. I was… experimenting with my emotions,” she explained.

“Yeah, I got that part, I think,” he yawned. “I heard your mantra. You back in charge now?”

“Yes. I… thank you, Beast Boy. If you hadn’t been able to calm me down, I don’t know what I could have done. I couldn’t order my thoughts long enough to suppress my emotions. Still, I wasn’t expecting for anything like that to happen. I won’t be trying this again,” she promised, making to stand and go. Beast Boy’s hands reached for her arms, holding her still for the moment.

“Now hold on, don’t give up just like that. Sure, you had some bad stuff bottled up but you expressed it, right? So if that’s all old feelings and stuff, it shouldn’t be waiting for you next time. I mean, uh… am I making sense here?” he said, sheepishly, yawning again. Raven blinked at him.

“Actually yes. Even so-”

“Even so nothing, Rae. You didn’t blow us all up this time so it’ll be okay,” he insisted, perhaps naively. Raven shook her head.

“True, but I couldn’t have done it alone. Next time-”

“Then don’t be alone next time, either. I am totally volunteering by the way, if I wasn’t being clear,” he said, grinning. To her astonishment, Raven agreed.

A week later, Raven relaxed her control again. She had had a brainwave and arranged with her emotional aspects that they would all take a turn instead of clamoring all at once, promising to make it a regular thing if it worked. This time, to Beast Boy’s delight, Raven simply started to laugh. Not through humour but through sheer, potent joy. Every happy moment she had felt but suppressed found its release now, from her rescue from Trigon to movie night. Beast Boy found himself laughing with her before just watching, a small, warm smile on his face.

The week after that was less entertaining. Raven found herself afraid again but not quite panicking, more like paranoia. He couldn’t help her with that one as she spurned his assistance, only able to wait and watch as she slowly accepted his loyalty.

The week when Brave had a turn was almost a disaster as Raven suddenly became confident she could just release all of her control and get it over with. Beast Boy managed to talk her down by challenging her to a video game, of all things.

All in all, every week, Raven’s experiments grew less and less explosive, reaching the point she could indeed relax all of her emotions at once and not lose herself. Beast Boy was looking forward to sleeping every night from then, but there was a sliver of disappointment as well. He felt he had grown closer to Raven over the last few months, learned more about who she was, and was afraid that, as she no longer needed his company, she would no longer want his company. He mentioned this in passing, that she no longer needed his help, though he kept his misgivings quiet. Raven was silent for a long moment, her hands twisting in her cloak, before she answered him.

“Actually, there’s one emotion I didn’t give a turn to. I thought it wasn’t necessary as I’ve never really felt it, only to be told through my mirror that I am very much mistaken. Will you help me?” she asked. Beast Boy nodded, eager to prolong their arrangement.

“Of course!” he said. Raven smiled uncertainly.

“Thank you. Just promise me you won’t get upset,” she mumbled. He nodded, surely.

“I promise. So what sort of emotion are w-” he started.

Raven had cut him off, delicately but suddenly placing her lips on his own, Shyly, she withdrew and waited for him to speak as he stared back at her. He swallowed and blinked, his voice having abandoned him. Raven took this is a bad sign and started to fidget and squirm under his gaze.

“Rae…” he said, hoarsely. “Rae, that feeling… is it for me or-”

“It’s for you. It isn’t me expressing an old feeling, Beast Boy. It’s new. It’s surprising but very, very new,” she admitted, getting a choked laugh from Beast Boy.

“Thank Azar for that,” he said before swooping in and kissing Raven on more equal terms.

Ta da! I may not succeed at making an entry every day - work and stuff - but I’ll have a go. Enjoy!

-Jack