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visforvengeance · 5 years

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Exit music (for a film)

ＢｉｌｌｙＨａｒｇｒｏｖｅ

Requested by: no one ;)

Notes: hello. here is something i’ve been working on since s3. it was originally called we hope that you choke. but i changed it literally 3 minutes ago. it’s going to be in chapters bc i couldn’t figure out how to write everything without making it an 8,000 word fic😬. the upside down doesn’t exist in this. el doesn’t have powers. ahem hopper and billie don’t die. i thought this song would fit perfectly with billy considering his dad is pretty shit. i’m procrastinating on wdywmts. i’m so sorry. i have a justin foley fic. do y’all want that shit?

Warnings: none in this chapter. i mean cursing? and vulgar language. steve being a dick. billy is maybe out of character. slight mentions of death and daddy issues.

word count: 2,072

Y/n’s POV

“Have you seen the new kid? He’s so hot! Ugh! Look at that hair!” My friend, Genesis, gushed as he walked by. He was hot, but he looked like trouble. And it was annoying how every girl swooned over him. Looks like Steve Harrington has some competition this year. “Gen, don’t you have a boyfriend?” I questioned. She rolled her green eyes and scoffed. “Alex and I are on a break, thank you very much.” I laughed at her faux annoyance.

I closed my locker door and leaned against it. “He isn’t even that hot. He’s already flirting with girls and it’s literally his first day.” Genesis hit my arm. “Can you blame him? Look at him. God, his chest is so mint! I’d give anything to get a piece of that.” I shook my head at how much my friend was thirsting over him. “Jesus, Gen. Can you keep it in your pants? You don’t even know his name.” She smirked and looked at me. “Billy Hargrove.” God, even his name sounded like he’d be a womanizer.

“I’m not even going to ask how you know that. And keep your dirty comments to yourself, Genesis.” The red-haired girl slammed her locker shut. And we began walking to first period. “Oh, don’t be such a prude, Y/N! Ever since you broke up with Steve, you’ve been a complete betty!” I rolled my eyes and scoffed. “No, I haven’t! I just don’t care for boys anymore. They’re stupid and gross.”

“Yeah, since you got your heart broken. Come on! It’s time to show him what he’s missing. Have you seen your body recently? Boys have been tripping over their feet staring at you. You just won’t give them the time of day.” Blah blah blah. She just had to bring up repressed memories of a certain tragedy.

Steve had called me over to attend the end of the year party he was having. His parents weren’t home, so he had a shit ton of alcohol for everyone. When I entered the door, I was greeted by loud music and drunken teens. I wove my way through the crowd and stood by Steve. He’d noticed me and pecked my cheek, “Hey, babe. You made it.” He sounded surprised. “I mean, yeah? Why do you sound so surprised?” He was a little drunk, so he tripped over his words a bit.

“U-usually you never come. Too busy doing your homework or whatever excuse you tell me.” Tommy H. appeared and forced his way into the conversation. “Nah, she’s too busy being a prude. Are you a virgin, Y/N? Steve usually tells me about all the girls he’s fucked, but you? He’s never even mentioned.” Before I had a chance to defend myself, Carol butted in.

“No way she’s a virgin. I heard she had a thing going on with that creep, Johnathan Byers. How’d you take it, Y/N? In the ass? Or did he pop your sweet cherry?” Steve laughed as Tommy and Carol taunted me. I scoffed. “None of your business, dipshits. And seriously, Steve? I’ve been to every one of your stupid parties. You just choose to ignore me. Like you do in school, you cast me aside. Am I not popular enough for you? Is that it? Or are you too busy ogling Nancy Wheeler?” His face scrunched in confusion. “Woah, woah, woah. Are you okay? You’re going a bit psycho. It’s not my fault no one likes you.” I scoffed at Steve’s drunken words. Of course, he’d say something like this.

The next day, Steve found out about what he had said. He tried to explain why he said what he said, but never said he was sorry and that it wasn’t true. I broke it off with him.

I shook my head, pushing the thoughts out of my mind. “I’d rather not. And what makes you think he’d go for me anyway? I don’t seem like his type.” Genesis filled the halls with laughter. “He’s been staring at you since he walked into the classroom. And not to mention, he’s coming over to you now!” What? I turned to his direction and followed until he was standing next to the desk beside me.

“Is this seat taken?” I think I underestimated his attractiveness. He was insanely hot. “U-uh no.” I stuttered out an answer. He nodded and smirked. It was science class and my partner had moved to another state. You know what that means? He’ll most likely be my partner. I don’t think I'm stable enough to handle this.

The next 60 minutes were filled with uninterested and forced conversations about physics and whether I was single or not. Thank god for the bell. Before Billy could say another thing, I rushed out of the classroom and stood by my locker, waiting for Genesis. She looked annoyed as she approached me. “Why the hell did you run off? He was obviously into you.”

I rolled my eyes as she lectured me about the blue-eyed boy’s interest in me. “I don’t want to be the first of girls who he has fucked over. I’ve had enough of that with Steve.” She frowned at my tragic outburst. “You never know! He might be different. Looks CAN be deceiving, Y/N. You have to give him a chance. It’s my dying wish!” Genesis dramatically placed her hands on her heart and head. When I deadpanned, she straightened her posture. “Come on. You don’t even have to go all the way. Just be nice to him.”

I sighed an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Fine! I’ll be nice to him. But as soon as he shows signs that he’s up to no good, I am dropping it.” Genesis excitedly jumped up and down, trapping me in a hug. “Yes! That’s all I’m asking. I just know you won’t regret it.” She declared as she wiggled her eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

Billy had shown up in my next class, and also decided to take a seat next to me. Causing a student to angrily walk to the back of the class, while she shot daggers at me as we talked. He looked at me and smiled. While the teacher taught, he started talking to me. “Hey.” Remembering what Genesis said, I turned and smiled at him. “Hi.” His eyes displayed shock, but his body remained cool. “So, you’re talking to me now?” I laughed and nodded. “I’m glad I didn’t give up on you, then.” “Hm, I’m glad too.”

We talked for majority of second period. He was quite interesting and he had a gorgeous smile. I learned that he came from California and had a sister. He made it his job to walk me to my locker and carry on the conversation we had for three periods now. As we were walking, Genesis’ ginger curls came into view as did my locker. She saw us and her eyes went wide with surprise.

I introduced the two people as I opened my locker. “Billy, this is my best friend, Genesis. Genesis, this is my new friend, Billy.” He turned to Gen and greeted her by taking her hand and placing a chaste kiss on the back of it. “Pleasure to meet you, Genesis.” My friend was astonished, as she bowed. “The pleasure is all mine.” I rolled my eyes in annoyment as Genesis continued to be dramatic.

It was now time for lunch and Billy joined us at our table. While we walked, I felt Steve’s eyes on us. Jealousy painted the features that I once adored. I returned my attention back to the two people who were happily chatting about god knows what. “So, Billy. Are you dating anyone?’ Genesis stated as she nudged my knee with her own. I nearly choked at the question as I looked at her. Thank god he didn’t notice my slight panic and carried on with his answer.

“No, not at the moment.” He chuckled at the question. “Interesting. Neither is Y/N.” I felt hot all over as Genesis exposed my relationship status to a person I barely knew. Now, Billy was full-on laughing while I sat in complete embarrassment. “Yes, and it’ll stay that way until further notice,” I said while I kicked the girl’s knee. She winced in pain and decided to back down, for now. Billy’s face faltered in disappointment. But he quickly replaced it with amusement.

“What a bummer, then.” He smiles almost sadly. “Yes. A complete bummer. I’ve been trying to get her to come out of her shell, but Steve really fucked it up for her.” Genesis said, angrily. He pulled a confused look. “Steve Harrington?” He asked. Genesis and I exchanged a look. “Yeah, you know him?” He nodded while taking a sip of his chocolate milk.

“He’s in my gym class. Real asshat, that guy. What happened between you two?” He asked, curiously. Genesis looked at me, expectantly. I sighed and rolled my eyes. “He was just a dick. He always placed his popularity and shithead friends above me.” Billy shook his head in disbelief and slight anger. “He didn’t deserve you.” Genesis perked up at that. “I’ve been saying that for centuries.” I zoned out as they both shared a common ground on how I deserved better.

Lunch was over and we had to go to fourth period. Genesis and I had gym, so Billy didn’t tag along with us. “So, he seems like absolute boyfriend material.” I shook my head. “You’re really pushing for us to date, huh?” Genesis turned to me after stretching her legs. “Uh, yes? You guys would make the perfect couple. He gives me bad boy/protective boyfriend vibes. Potential daddy issues with unconditional love for his girlfriend? Ah-mazing!”

He seemed really sweet and he was definitely the cutest. His hair seems so soft, and don’t even get me started on his smile. It makes hearts generate above my head! And his body, dear god. It seems so perfect. I’d give anything to feel his abs against my-

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Genesis nearly screamed at me. “What? No, I’m not.” She squinted at me, not believing a word I said. ‘Date. Him.’ She mouthed at me. I shook my head and turned to pay attention to my teacher’s directions.

The school day was over and I was so relieved. Gen’s dad picked her up early, so I was alone for the rest of class. I was putting my things in my locker when Billy approached me. “Did you miss me?” He asked, jokingly. I laughed and closed my locker. “I just about died without you.” I said as I placed my hand on my chest, dramatically. A slight blush creeped up on his cheeks.

He cleared his throat and regained his composure. “Are you doing anything after school?” He asked. I thought about it for a second and shook my head. “Nope. I planned I’m going straight home. Why?” He held the door open for me as we walked outside. “I was wondering if you maybe wanted to hangout?”

I giggled at his uncertainty. “Yeah, i'd like that. We could probably go to the park? And just sit in your car and talk.” He seemed so happy that I agreed. “Ok. Sounds like a plan.”

We arrived at the park and he turned his car off. I turned so I was facing him. “So. Tell me about yourself. How old is your sister?” “She’s actually my stepsister. But she’s 14. My mom died when I was 8.” I grabbed his hand and apologized. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry. That must’ve been hard to deal with.” He looked at our hands and then up at me. I released his hand and placed mine back in my lap. “It was. My dad...he’s really shitty.” Daddy issues? Wow, is my best friend God?

“Sounds fucked up. I’m sorry, again. Do you miss California?” He nodded. “A lot. But I think I’ll like it better here.” He smirked. My eyes went wide for a second and then back to normal. This boy is going to kill me.

“You know. You’re actually not so bad. I think I might take a chance on you.” He leaned back in his seat. “God, I sure hope so. You seem like a doll.” I laughed at his confidence. “Thanks, I guess.”

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general-fanfiction · 5 years

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Six Months. (Sweet Pea x Reader)

Summary: Y/N tries to complete her bucket list before she dies. The only problem, none of her friends know she is sick.

Word Count: 1,713

Gif Not Mine. Requests Are Open!

Warnings: Swearing, Sickness?

Six months. Two words. Nine letters. Who knew they could mean so much to one person? In six months a person can accomplish a lot. You could potentially travel to the moon and back in that short amount of time. Roughly one hundred and eighty two days. You could, if you wanted to, travel to the moon and back. So what do I want to do in six months? Everything! I have no choice. I had never pictured myself growing old, or even making it to forty. The life expectancy of somebody from the Southside is below average. Though, I never expected to die at the ripe age of sixteen. Well, seventeen. I never imagined I would know when I was going to die. I had pictured myself dying unexpectedly. In a car accident or murder. Something I would never have predicted. Instead, I know my fate. Two months after my seventeenth birthday it is estimated I will be six feet under. My family having no choice but to bury me. I'm not sure any of us are prepared for that day yet. No matter how hard I try to discuss my funeral with them, they won't have it. Especially my dad. He knows I'm sick, but it's almost like he's trying to convince himself that it's all in his head. When he does that, I feel guilty for putting this pressure on him. "Y/N, we need to finish your bucket list." Jughead is watching me curiously, aware that I was completely spaced out. My fingers play with the ends of my vibrant, red wig. Of course, nobody knows it's a wig, with the exception of my family. I know I'll have to tell everybody at some point but it's hard. I don't want to see them in pain. Worrying over my health rather than their own sanity. "Become a Rockstar and tour the world, playing guitar for my adoring fans while also screaming angst ridden lyrics into a microphone. Only for crowd to scream them right back, louder than me," My comment is sarcastic, purely to entertain myself. I don't really know why I agreed to let Jughead help me write a bucket list. I want to do lost of things before I die but to perfectly honest I would be much happier curled up in bed. These days I'm so exhausted, it's quite embarrassing. Some days I don't even have the energy to go to school. Those are the bad days. "Go to a concert," Jughead mutters, scribbling the words down on to the sheet of paper. "This is stupid! You and I both know that there is absolutely no way in hell that I'm going to complete that list," I huff, leaning back in my chair and folding my arms over my chest in an attempt to show Jug that I'm not interested. "Well not with that attitude you won't." Rolling my eyes at his comment, I glance down at the sheet of paper. Jughead's messy crawl dances across the page. Go to a concert. Road trip. First kiss. Get drunk. Celebrate turning seventeen. "What are you kids doing?" My dad's voice rings out across the trailer as I hear the door close behind him. The sound of him shuffling through the lounge can be heard as we stop completely. Waiting for him to appear in the small kitchen. When he does, I can see how tired he truly looks. Dark rings under his eyes, beard unruly and not clean at all may I add. His flannel shirt is dirty and covered in oil. He definitely needs a shower. If not by the looks of him, his smell also backs up my point. "We're making Y/N's bucket list. All the stuff she wants to do before, well you know," Jughead is unable to say what we're all thinking, not wanting to upset me or even worse dad. Our dad scans his eyes over the page, a soft smile appearing on his face. A smile I haven't seen in months. His eyes shining and his face creasing slightly. It makes him look ten times younger, and suits him much better than a scowl or a frown. "You can cross out first kiss. My little girl is going to stay little forever," Dad comments, stroking the top of my head gently. "I don't have forever, I have six months," The trailer is silent, clearly my statement made them uncomfortable and I do my best to hide the blush rising on my cheeks. I hate it when I tell the truth and nobody can really seem to stomach it. Besides, they've known for a long time now that I was going to die. It shouldn't still come as a surprise to them. "You could learn how to juggle," Jug tells me, doing his best to release the tension in the room. "Why the fuck would I want to learn how to juggle?" I ask, to which Jughead simply shrugs causing the three of us to fall into a fit of laughter. Our laughter is soon interrupted by a knock on the door, each of us turning to look towards the front of the trailer curiously. Leading me to the assumption that we're not expecting guests. Our dad signals for us to wait here, before he makes his way to the door. With everything going on with Penny Peabody at the moment, it comes as no surprise that we're all on edge. Especially after what Jughead did to her. She wants blood. The door swings open and my dad's shoulders immediately fall, a sigh escaping his lips. Jug and I watch as he motions for whoever is at the door to come in. Three people enter the small trailer. Making the space seem even smaller than it already was. Sweet Pea, Fangs and Betty Cooper. She throws me a sympathetic smile and instantly I look at Jughead. He has his eyes on the ground not daring to look at me. He told her. He fucking told her. When my dad turns his back to busy himself with the pot of coffee in the kitchen, I punch Jug in the stomach. Causing him to topple over with a groan, Betty rushing to his aid the moment he hits the floor. Sweet Pea and Fangs although confused, find the action amusing, chuckling quietly to themselves. "Y/N, don't hit your brother," Dad calls from the kitchen and I roll my eyes, striding to get my jacket from the coat rack. "Come on. I need to go for a walk," I say to the two boys, not even bothering to see if they follow me or not. I don't even realise that I have no idea where I'm going, but my feet won't stop. I just need to get away. Take some time out. The two Serpents behind me have no idea what's going on with me, but I'm sure they can sense that something is wrong. They're not complete idiots. Kicking off my shoes, I begin to walk straight into Sweetwater River. Not caring about the fact that they found a dead body here. Cool water laps around my ankles, the sensation causing me to shiver yet continue walking. "Y/N, come on. It's October for fuck's sake," Fangs calls after me, glancing around the surrounding forest nervously. "Pussy!" My comment hits a nerve and Fangs shakes his head, a scowl apparent on his face. Pea punches his shoulder trying to ease his tension, though his attempt is futile. The smaller Serpent turns away from us, stomping back through the forest. His footsteps alarmingly loud. "Are you coming?" I ask, water now past my knees and making it's way towards the hem of my shorts. Pea laughs, following me into the river. His face turns up as the cold hits his legs but he keeps going. Making his way over to me. He's taller (obviously), so when we stop the water reaches my rib cage but only just hits abover his hips. He looks peaceful, seeming to enjoy the quiet of the forest. Reaching up to my place my hands on his upper arms, I smile gently. Bringing him back to the situation we are in. "You do the stupidest fucking things, you know that right?" Pea asks me, wrapping his arms around my back slowly. Nodding my head, I try to find the words to explain to him that I'm going to die. He deserves to know. Pea's my best friend, if I didn't tell him it would kill him. Especially if I simply left this world without giving him an explanation as to what happened. I owe him the truth. "I have something to tell you-" "I need to tell you something-" Both of us laugh softly, of course we would speak at the same time. Raising my eyebrows I signal for him to speak first. I'm sure, whatever it is, it can't be anything too important. At least not in comparison t what I have to say. "I really like you Y/N. Like more than I should. I know I'm your best friend and that means you're off limits but I can't help how I feel." Gasping quietly, I know that there is no chance I can tell Sweet Pea now. He would be crushed and as much as he deserves to know. I don't want to be the one to put him through worrying about my health. I see that enough with Jughead and my dad. I can't put Pea through that too. Not after his revelation. "Your turn," He whispers, seemingly nervous of what I have to say. Shaking my head slightly, I smile up at him hesitantly. "It doesn't matter now." Reaching to cup his cheek with my hand, I lower his head to mine. Lips brushing against each other. He's shy at first, trying to be as gentle as physically possible. Almost as though he is trying not to break me. Though when I tug on his leather jacket, pulling him even closer, he doesn't hold back. Kissing me with everything he has. The entire experience is clumsy and awkward but somehow it doesn't matter. It feels right. Maybe this bucket list isn't a bad idea.

#sweet pea #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea fluff #riverdale #riverdale imagine #dying reader #jughead jones sister #fp jones #fangs fogarty #betty cooper #fluff #slight angst #sickness #cute #love #romance

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noorakardemmomesaetre · 5 years

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Through the Snowfall - Chapter Two

Or Read It On Ao3

Pairing: Betty Cooper x Jughead Jones

Summary: The Coopers and Andrews have rented the same cabin in the woods every holiday season since their kids were two years old.

And with Archie and Betty leaving for college in just a few months, Betty is determined to make this Christmas a memorable one…by telling Archie how she really feels.

What she doesn’t plan for is Archie bringing his best friend.

Or the way her gaze is suddenly lingering on the wild dark curls peeking out from beneath a crown beanie rather than the ginger spikes she’d set her sights on so long ago.

Chapter Two: Sunrise

6:03AM

Betty stares at the alarm clock beside her bed until her eyes burn and she sighs, pressing her palms to her now closed eyes.

She’s tossed and turned all night knowing that he’s sleeping soundly in the room just down the hall from her. She’s dreamed of this moment, of the possibility of her slipping into his room under the cover of darkness, sharing whispered secrets and possibly even kisses beneath his heavily quilted comforter.

But that’s not what’s kept her up. It’s the fact that that same opportunity she’s dreamed of is presenting itself to her now, as it has been for the better half of two hours, and she hasn’t necessarily felt the urge to take it.

And why the hesitation? Because a good-looking guy with a kind smile and warmth behind his eyes has shown up unexpectedly?

That’s enough, she silently decides. Being distracted by Jughead’s good looks and playful wit is absolutely no reason to debate my feelings for Archie. I’ll tell him tonight.

Veronica is snuggled beneath her blankets, snoring gently, and Betty envies her ability to sleep peacefully while her own mind feels so incredibly loud.

She tugs on her robe hanging from one of her bedposts, slipping her feet from beneath her blankets into her plush slippers. Perhaps a mug of hot chamomile tea will quiet her overthinking and she’ll be able to get at least a couple of hours of sleep.

She’s making her way past the main hallway bathroom when the door suddenly opens, startling her. She stops and her fingers immediately fly to the messy bun lazily tied atop her head.

“Sorry!” Jughead whispers, shutting off the light and stepping into the hallway, only feet from her. He motions to his toothbrush and offers her an apologetic smile. “Had to brush my teeth.”

“At 6:00 in the morning?” she asks softly, a playful edge to her tone as she regains her composure. “I didn’t take you for an early riser.”

“I’m definitely not,” he murmurs quickly, his free hand falling to the back of his neck as though he needs to ease some tension there. “But Archie told me how you all like to get ready for breakfast around this time so I thought I’d try to get out of the way of the bathroom before you and Veronica wake up.”

She wonders silently if he knows how endearing he looks when he does that. Rubs the back of his neck nervously. But then the realization of what he says hits her and she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth to keep herself from giggling aloud.

“Oh, Jug,” she sighs, shaking her head partly because of what she needs to tell him and partly because she can’t believe she just referred to him with such familiarity. “That’s so thoughtful, but I think Archie is playing a trick on you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Brunch doesn’t start until 10:30am…”

His hand falls from behind his neck and he closes his eyes, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Right." He laughs before focusing on her once more and she finds herself tucking a few loose strands of hair that have fallen from her bun behind her ear as she smiles up at him. “Well, I’m really happy I ran into you out here then, Betty.”

She looks down at her slippers in an attempt to ignore the unfamiliar warmth spreading through her chest, before she lifts her gaze to meet his once more.

He clears his throat and takes a step towards his and Archie's designated bedroom, motioning with the blue toothbrush still firmly clasped in his hand. “I guess I’ll head back to sleep.”

“Goodnight Jughead,” she says easily, before remembering it’s now morning and grimacing at her mistake.

But instead of correcting her, he chuckles and gives her a genuine smile. “Goodnight Betty.”

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“I’m so excited we’re finally going out to the snow!” Alice says, clapping her hands together as everyone settles into the living room to tie on their snow boots. It’s been two days since everyone’s arrival to the cabin and Alice’s excitement for a family outing to the snow has been no secret.

Veronica whispers something to Betty about feeling like the Michelin woman in the snowsuit Alice has insisted she wear and Betty bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

“Remember when we went sledding last year, Betty, and you couldn’t make it halfway down the hill without falling off?” Archie asks from across the living room, smiling to himself at the memory.

Betty finds herself grinning at him and rolling her eyes. “I was actually trying not to remember that, but thank you for sharing.”

“Okay, enough chatter!” Mary says as Fred helps her zip up her shin-length black snow jacket. “Let’s go!”

Betty helps Veronica to her feet and they can’t help the giggles they share as they take in each other’s fluffy and oversized outfits.

“Kids! Get together for a photo! I need to document this,” Alice says, nudging Betty and Veronica over to where the boys are attempting to stand. She positions the four of them in front of the fireplace, making sure to push Betty in between Veronica and Archie.

Betty hopes her eye roll isn’t as noticeable as it had felt.

After a few dozen pictures are taken with Betty looking grumpier and grumpier with each shot, they all make their way down the snow-plowed road towards where the few families taking up residence here are sledding and building snowmen.

--------------------

An hour later, Archie heads back up the hill with his saucer sled in tow, his cheeks flushed from the cold. He’s waving at all of them excitedly and Betty can’t help but give him two enthusiastic thumbs up for his run.

He heads over to them and his eyes are shining because sledding with his friends is his favorite part of vacation. Or at least she thinks she remembers him saying something about that several winters ago.

But her train of thought regarding their past is interrupted when-

“Veronica, come with me this time! I’ll take you down,” he’s saying, holding up the saucer cheerfully alongside his invitation.

Something tugs uncomfortably on Betty’s heart as Veronica turns to her, her face fully reflecting how obviously torn she feels. “No, no, I think you should take Betty-”

“I can take Betty later, she always falls off-”

“I really think you should take her, Archie-”

“No, it’s okay,” Betty cuts her off with what she hopes is a reassuring smile that doesn’t reflect the pain stinging the corners of her eyes. “You should go.”

“Yes!” Archie pumps his fist in the air, his grin widening as he makes his way over to the very top of the hill. He sets the saucer down and waves for Veronica to join him.

“Are you sure?” Veronica asks, concern laced through her voice as she searches Betty’s face until Betty reaches over and squeezes her hand.

“Of course I’m sure! Go have fun, I’ve been wanting some hot chocolate anyways.”

Veronica hesitates for a few more seconds before Archie calls her name once more and she heads over to join him on the sled. She wedges herself between his legs, her back pressed against his front and Betty pretends not to notice what a perfect fit they are and how far her heart has dropped.

She heads over to a spot of untouched snow beneath a sea of large trees and stares at the ground for a moment before turning around and allowing herself to fall on her back.

The snow pillows around her and she spreads her arms and legs out wide before moving them up and down and side to side. Up and down. Side to Side. Up and Down.

Her gaze is fixated on the snow-covered branches above her and for the first time since the boys have arrived, her mind is truly quiet. She feels comforted by the serenity of being surrounded by the snow.

“Are you trying to make a snow angel?”

His deep voice tears through the silence she had just begun to enjoy, but when she sees it’s him she's not bothered by the interruption.

“What does it look like?”

“If I’m being honest, it looks like a Jackson Pollock attempt at a snow angel,” he teases and she can almost see the way he’s smiling as he says it.

She grabs a fistful of snow in her glove and sits up, throwing it at him before laughter falls from her lips. He doesn’t attempt to dodge it, the unballed snow exploding in the air and falling around him rather than hitting him. He tilts his head, grinning at her and shaking his head.

She lays back down, continuing her half-hearted snow angel movements and though a small part of her hopes he joins her, she doesn’t ask.

And she doesn’t need to. A few seconds later, he lays down in the snow beside her, leaving only a couple of inches between his outspread fingers and her own.

They’re quiet for a few moments with only the sounds of their movements and gentle breathing between them. Birds chirp amongst each other as they fly through the branches above their heads and Betty stills her arms and legs.

Jughead follows her lead and Betty pretends not to notice that they’ve stopped with their arms spread in the widest positions...his gloved fingers almost touching hers.

“Is your family sad you won’t be joining them for Christmas this year?”

She’s not sure why she’s asked him about his family, but there’s something about laying next to him surrounded by the safety of nature that has prompted her interest in who he is.

At least that’s what she tells herself.

“I don’t think so,” he responds quietly and she’s afraid she’s touched a nerve before he continues, “my mother left with my little sister when I was much younger and I doubt my father is sober enough to notice I’m gone.”

“Oh.” The word leaves her lips in a breath that crystallizes as soon as it hits the air. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmurs, turning his head to look at her and she does the same. “If I didn’t want you to know, Betty, I wouldn’t have told you.”

His eyes are electric against the backdrop of glistening white snow and she feels her heart beating erratically in response to the intensity of his gaze.

“Do you miss her? Your sister?”

The sounds of Archie’s giddy hollering and Veronica’s squeals pierce the air as they head down another hill, but the noise fades as she awaits his answer.

“There’s never a moment I don’t miss her.”

“And your mom?”

His eyes darken at that question and Betty immediately regrets asking it, but before she can take it back, he shrugs.

“That’s a bit more complicated, I’ll admit.”

“Totally understandable, I’m sorry to be so nosy,” she apologizes, turning her head so that she can focus her gaze on anything other than the adorable way his nose has pinkened in the cold.

“You’re not being nosy,” he says, mirroring her movements and turning back to stare up at the cloudy sky. “I don't know why, but I don’t mind answering anything you want to ask me.”

She’s quiet at that, but she shifts the tiniest bit so that the tips of her gloved fingers touch his. If he’s noticed, he doesn’t say anything.

After a moment, his tongue runs against his bottom lip before he quietly asks, “tell me something about you now?”

“Um...I’ve only applied to colleges out-of-state,” she admits so softly she’s sure he couldn’t have heard her, immediately closing her eyes.

“That’s great, Betty! Which states?”

His interest and encouragement surprises her and she responds with a bit more confidence, “Connecticut, Rhode Island, and New Hampshire.”

“An Ivy League girl,” he says, turning to look at her once more with a cheeky smile on his face. “I should’ve known.”

She genuinely laughs at that and the sound catches her off guard. She tosses some snow at him and he moves his hands to block it, his own laughter now intermingling with hers.

She turns back to watching the birds flying amongst the branches, but she doesn’t miss the way he smiles to himself when she does so.

“What’s making you so happy over there, Jones?”

“Nothing… it’s just that I-”

A snowball hitting him square in the chest interrupts him mid-sentence and they both sit up to see Archie holding his stomach, chuckling loudly. Veronica is standing next to him, her cheeks flushed from their many sled rides.

“Archie,” she finally says and Betty watches as they exchange a knowing look.

“Betty!” Archie turns his attention to her now and lifts the round sled in the air once more. “Let’s see how far you can make it down the bunny hill without falling this time, yeah?”

She rolls her eyes, but grins as she stands up from her accurately-described-by-Jughead snow angel. Archie takes her movement as a yes and gives her a thumbs up before heading to the top of a smaller hill. Veronica smiles at her supportively, but Betty can’t read the expression in her eyes as she turns to make her way over to where the parents are hoarding thermoses of hot chocolate.

Betty’s about to move to join Archie when she stops suddenly and turns around to find Jughead now standing, brushing snow from the sleeves of his flannel jacket.

“Jughead?”

“Yeah?”

“I haven’t actually told anyone about the college thing yet so if you could...um...not talk to anyone about that-”

“What college thing?” he interrupts and she’s about to remind him of what she’s literally just told him - how could he have possibly already forgotten? - when a small smile plays on his lips and he winks at her.

She doesn’t stop smiling until she’s comfortably settled between Archie’s legs on the sled and heading down the semi-steep hill.

She falls off within twenty seconds of take off and decides perhaps tomorrow will be a better day to confess her feelings for him.

For Archie.

--------------------

leave a comment if you’d like, i love hearing your thoughts! ❤️❄️☃️

#bughead fanfiction #bughead #bughead holiday fanfiction #betty cooper x jughead jones #riverdaleevents #comet: traditions #through the snowfall #a little bit of a tropefest #mixed with as much of a slow burn as five chapters will allow lol

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scrunchie-face · 4 years

Text

My ranking of TS8 based on absolutely nothing but my personal opinion

From least to most favorite:

peace: this is the only song on the album i really don’t like. her accent/cadence sounds a little affected to me and there aren’t any lyrics or musical moments that really resonate.

invisible string: i feel like i might get some pushback on this since so many people seemed to LOVE this one but hear me out. This one is clearly about Joe and their relationship and for me, there is not a single song about him that she has written that has been as good as “Call It What You Want” and “New Year’s Day.” Every other song she has written since then about being happily in a relationship with Joe has fallen flat for me. Also, I’m not gonna lie, the more cynical and less romantic side of me finds the whole concept of the “invisible string” to be a bit trite and saccharine. “Isn’t it just so pretty?” To me, yes, it is a pretty thought and that’s all it is.

mirrorball: this song is pretty, and reminds me very strongly of the Speak Now era, but with the complexity and maturity that she’s obviously acquired since then. That being said, to me the metaphor feels like it’s trying to go in two different directions at once and neither one quite gets there, leaving a song that feels somewhat unfinished. It’s either a very pretty love song or a darker reflection on identity, but it never feels like it commits to either.

august: this is where we really start to get into “there’s nothing really wrong with it, I just like other tracks better” territory. Lyrically, I think it’s very poignant, with its reflections on love, time, and memory. Unfortunately, I think the whole “Teenage Love Triangle” hint actually does this song a disservice by indicating that the speaker is the “other woman.” Since the bent of the other two songs (”cardigan” and “betty”) seems to indicate that those two singers/speakers are the couple that is “meant to be” it gives the poor unnamed “august” singer a bit of an uphill battle for sympathy in context. That’s not to say I don’t have any sympathy for her; I have by far the least sympathy for James. Unfortunately, James gets a catchier song (more on that when i get to “betty”). Which brings me to the real reason for this low-ish ranking: I just don’t find the song as musically compelling as most of the others on the album.

this is me trying: as I suggested in the previous paragraph, a lot of the way I rank songs personally is by how much the music resonates with me. I can forgive a lot lyrically if the way the music moves gives me goosebumps. With “this is me trying,” there are several lyrics that I love. The repeated “I have a lot of regrets about that”? PERFECTION. Musically, however, the song as a whole doesn’t really impress itself upon me, making all but the couple lyrics I really love forgettable to me.

mad woman: this song, and the two on either side of it, were ranked somewhat arbitrarily. higher than “this is me trying” for having a little more edge and a more engaging tune, lower than “hoax” because I generally prefer sadness and angst to anger. This is by far the most vindictive track on the album, and while I understand it and think it’s executed very well, the tone isn’t totally appealing to me personally.

hoax: this song, to me, has a very strong Hozier vibe that I enjoy very much. As i said in my blurb about “mad woman” I connect more emotionally with the sadness and turmoil here, hence its higher ranking. “stood on the cliffside screaming ‘give me a reason’“?! Gorgeous, and if you’ve ever felt that way, the line resonates in your bones. “the only hoax I believe in” is such a complex line that I could probably write paragraphs about it; it’s got psychological, emotional, and even religious elements to it that I think are part of what makes such a sad and personal song still feel universally relatable. It asks you, what are your hoaxes? Which ones do you believe? Is it because you want to? Because you have to? betty: ranking this song was difficult, because i find the character of James to be incredibly irritating. Unfortunately, the questionable nature of James’ behavior and attitude towards Betty and the unnamed girl is not enough to condemn the song to a lower ranking because the tune is just so catchy and fun. It’s got one of the best hooks on the album: the rhyming of “Inez” and “she says” just delights me every time. The “--most times--” caveat is amusing and very in character for a teenager trying to explain himself. And then “the worst thing that I ever did was what I did to you.” It sounds super trite, yes, but it would’ve probably gotten my forgiveness when I was seventeen. Also I love “will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends?” Bold words for someone in James’ position but I love the bravado and the way it pairs with the music. The triumph here may be premature but it’s SUPER contagious. epiphany: so this one is perhaps the most arbitrarily placed because I realized when I got the the end of my list that I had forgotten it.... BUT that being said, I really like this song. It seems to be one of the more divisive on the album; people either love it or think it’s boring. I like it a lot. When we talk about big events--wars, pandemics--it’s very easy to distance ourselves from them and forget that those more affected than we are are people too. This song gently rehumanizes the people we see in books and newspapers and tv reports, reminding us that they are suffering, they are trying, and reminding them that they are seen and loved. It’s extremely beautiful and moving.

the 1: based on my previous claims that the music is my most important factor in song ranking, this one may seem unfairly high. Like with “peace” I find the accent/modulation of her voice in this song to be somewhat affected and irritating. The tune, while fun and catchy, doesn’t really have much power behind it. But I enjoy it just enough that, paired with some absolutely spot-on lyrics, this becomes a song I was deeply attached to from the first listen. Anyone who has ever had an important relationship that came to nothing will recognize the brief emotional rollercoaster of “I thought I saw you at the bus stop, I didn’t though,” and feel absolutely convicted by the bridge. “persist and resist the temptation to ask you/ if one thing had been different/ would everything be different today?” If you’ve lost a friend or a lover, you’ve tormented yourself with that question, I guarantee it. Even off her musical A-game, she absolutely nails the emotions here, and I love it.

my tears ricochet: this song actually started out pretty close to the bottom and slowly made its way up. Honestly, the reason for its low ranking was that I still can’t quite figure out what it means. Taylor occasionally writes songs that are very hard to tease out into any sort of linear narrative or neat metaphor; you feel them more than you understand them. And for that reason it usually takes me a little more time to get to a point where I appreciate them. The relationship here is tangled; it’s not the simple bad guy/good girl that we would’ve seen in the Speak Now era, and I would argue that at times it’s unclear which party is even the speaker. Once my analytical mind got past that hurdle, I remembered that this is one of the most musically powerful songs on the album. The bridge? GOOSE.BUMPS. The way the music builds and pounds at “just not home... in your bones.” Shivers. Even if I don’t totally understand what the song means, i can feel the conviction and emotion in the words and music and that is what makes it such a pleasure to listen to.

cardigan: this song is simply beautiful. just lovely. sad and nostalgic and hopeful and it just hits on some stuff that is absolutely true. “when you are young they assume you know nothing./ But I knew you.” I recently had a conversation with my husband about this very concept. This idea that adults look down on young people simply because they don’t have “perspective.” But the truth is that young people know something very important: what it is like to be young and to experience things AS A YOUNG PERSON. Not as an adult looking back on being young, but as a person to whom these experiences are fresh and real and important. “cardigan” takes that whole concept: the struggle between youthful experience and adult perspective, and absolutely NAILS IT. Add in a touch of the sentiments from “the 1″: “i knew you’d haunt all of my what ifs.... i knew i’d curse you for the longest time,” and combine it with a melody that rises and falls and slows down and speeds up and you just have this gorgeous tribute to youth and life and love.

illicit affairs: i love this song so so much. I’ve never been in an “illicit affair,” but the regret and the confusion and the attachment and the love and the hate and the feeling of being trapped are all so raw and visceral that even if you’ve never felt anything like this before in your life you can feel it now. Underneath the fairly simple melody of “don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby,” you can hear the screaming anger and heartbreak. “look at this idiotic fool that you made me!” Gah. I can’t even. It’s just so real. So there. This is a song that you both understand AND feel and it’s so powerful it’s almost overwhelming. Taylor and her killer bridges absolutely ending me every time.

the last great american dynasty: this song is so fun. The story is funny and sad except the indomitable Rebecca doesn’t for a moment let you feel sorry for her. As soon as you see her pacing the rocks looking out over the ocean--a wistful, often angst-ridden position--the song turns right around and informs you that she stole a neighbor’s dog and dyed it green. And then, “and then it was bought by me.” The story has been so definitively about someone ELSE this time until suddenly SURPRISE! The twist at the end is delightful; every story we tell, every story we love, we tell it and love it because it’s about us too. And like i said, there is a quiet undercurrent of sadness and loneliness that never becomes the focal point of the song but is there giving it depth and something more to think about that facts and funny anecdotes. This song is a unique one in Taylor’s discography, and it stands up very well to that status.

exile: is my love for this song partially colored by the fact that Justin Vernon’s voice makes me swoon? Probably. The duet between him and Taylor is hair-raisingly beautiful and heartachingly melancholy. But that aside, I think the thing that first caught my attention was Taylor’s verse. The “staring honey/understudy/knuckles bloody” rhyme drives me absolutely WILD. It’s SO GOOD. It flows perfectly and poetically and honestly i transcend my body and scream with delight into the ether at those three lines every time. That is not an exaggeration. Also, “I’m not your problem anymore, so who am I offending now?” And of course the juxtaposition between “never gave a warning sign (i gave so many signs)” is this perfect description of how, to quote another, much older, lyric “miscommunication leads to fallout.” This song reminds me very much of “Story of Us.” In case you couldn’t tell from previous comments, this whole album, for me, recalls Speak Now, very strongly in many ways. I see her revisiting a lot of similar themes and stories with a more mature perspective and a different sound. Red as well, actually, but I digress.

seven: i knew from very early on that this would be my favorite song on the album. Taylor’s voice goes places I have NEVER heard before, evoking something elemental and primal. “Before I learned civility/ I used to scream ferociously/ any time I wanted.” Her forays into actual childhood in her songwriting are periodic but relatively rare, and this is unquestionably the best of the lot. Here we see children, almost too young to remember exactly what happened, but marked forever by their experiences of nature and relationships. “I can’t recall your face/ I’ve still got love for you.” This song evokes all the things that dance around the edge of your memory: faces from long ago, the feeling of flying, the fear of falling, the irresistible impulse to plant yourself on the ground and fling your existence out into the world with your voice. The need to feel safe. The references to a friend’s troubled home life are oblique: “your dad is always mad... you won’t have to cry or hide in the closet,” and the solutions are childlike: “come live with me...and be pirates,” “move to India forever.” The song is an immersive experience, charged with feelings you can’t quite express, but that you know and remember, although they are perhaps faded a bit around the edges.

#taylor swift #folklore #ts8 #phew that was way more than i intended it to be #glad i did it tho

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samhainrites-secretnights · 5 years

Text

Chapter 1

warnings: the crime scene is described and well it includes a dead person (duh) and blood - will include a warning before it in the text so you can skip if needed! (also mentions of weed but no use)

word count: 10,5k

PROLOGUE

Something deep down had told her she’d get her way. She usually did.

It didn’t match her usual demeanor at all: a reserved, distant looking person, her shyness was often mistaken for cold disdain and gave her an air of superiority. She didn’t like that image but it seemed to stick: it had followed her all the way from her previous life to her reincarnation as a village librarian, keeping colleagues and curious children at bay, maintaining visitors at arms’ length in spite of her otherwise polite attitude. Oh well. She had a few friends who knew her past that first impression, and for the rest she could make do with fiction and correspondence, appearing to the rest of the world as a semi ethereal, semi sleepwalking presence. She presented well (enough) and gave no cause for complaints. She was, as most would put it, an eccentric; there was a time she’d have been suspected of witchcraft.

This amusing perspective was a big part of why she had moved to this little rural area of england, rather than staying in the suburban routine she had grown up and studied in. It started to occur to her that as a newly actualized adult, she was, in fact, in charge of such decisions: where to live, what to do, what to look like, and who to see, all those things that seemed to work themselves out in boring ways, and that she was now able to subvert and turn into something a little more interesting. What she didn’t expect was for wonder to become the norm, and normal to become extraordinary.

***

Charlie Nelson had, against all expectations (including his), gotten perfectly used to country living.

Upon his move two years prior, his friends and family had barely cared to hide their skepticism at the thought of this frankly a little uptight city mouse moving to an area of cottages and sheep, where the median age seemed to grow by a year with every passing day. Charlie was a Londoner by birth and had never expressed the slightest desire to change that: a young, health-conscious detective ready to dedicate his time to his work with little restriction, it seemed the lively character of the inner city fit him best. He had to admit he had been the first one surprised by his own enthusiasm as his superiors had offered him a position alongside a certain DCI Barnaby, whom he knew nothing about; it had felt as if the words came out of his mouth on their own, and as he first set foot in the town of Causton, Oxfordshire, he surely started to question his own judgement.

But that was two years ago. Two years of weathering his colleagues’ utter disbelief at some of his perfectly normal life choices, such as drinking green tea and going for early morning runs, of being resented for filling his predecessor’s shoes, although to be fair, that only lasted for a minute; two years of slowly becoming a part of the tight knit community he formed with the Barnabys as well as Dr Kate Wilding, forensic doctor and, to him, landlady. Two years of discovering things about himself he never had the chance to see before: his resourcefulness, his dedication to serving not only the greater good in childish spectacular fashion, but also the less than glamorous village folk that he had started to like in spite of a sting of bigotry that he did his best to ignore. His contentment with relative isolation, too. And something he didn’t care to admit just yet, though it did worry his adopted mentors slightly: a little void in the way he spoke of the future, a little longing at the thought of living with a colleague, like a college roommate at age 33, intangibly yearning for headquarters of his own.

To his relief, there was no time to think of this when the urgency of cases brought him into a state of constant brainstorming. Not that he used the distress of others to drown the noise of his own shortcomings: he was sincere in all that he did, save for perhaps how he felt about other people - he was, after all, an Englishman - and wouldn’t think of instrumentalizing his position for such mundane purposes. Would he go so far as to say it wasn’t a convenient corollary? Maybe not. However, and to his superior’s great relief, he was always professional when it came to separating his own inner turmoil (you could hardly call it that!) from the necessities of a high risk job; he was good at it, which meant he wasn’t allowing himself to be as clever as he could, leaving the credit to Barnaby and acting as his ever loyal right hand. He didn’t mind: he was watching and learning, remained an inestimable asset in terms of physicality (you wouldn’t see DCI Barnaby running like that, would you!), and formed a bond that grew grumpily somewhere between brotherhood and parenthood.

It usually went like this: on regular days, they’d do their paperwork and go home in the evening, Barnaby to his wife, Sarah, baby daughter Betty, and dog, Sykes; Charlie to Kate’s first floor and occasional company, sharing chinese takeout and films, wondering if perhaps this was becoming domestic, albeit as far from matrimony as you could get. On the weekends they’d visit the Barnabys for tea, and if the weather was good, they’d collectively pick on Charlie for opting for long runs or bike rides before joining them, welcomed by the grownups’ consistent teasing and Betty’s enchanted cooing. She loved her detective-turned-babysitter: as Kate mockingly put it, Charlie was nothing short of a domestic goddess, unburdened by the masculine cliché of messiness and neglect that his landlady was all too happy to take on.

Upon moving to Causton, Charlie discovered himself a bit too much of a homebody, took utter joy in cooking and cleaning, and found that his lack of interest for a company of his own age was often met with his mentor’s dismay. He had adapted swimmingly, but had gotten a little too comfortable and often relied on his cozy routine rather than to put himself “out there”, as they said, for such uncomfortable goals as meeting new friends or courting ladies. In the back of his mind, he knew the longing would become too strong to ignore: fortunately for him, it really hadn’t yet. He went on with his work, and time passed as calmly and erratically as it does when you live in the paradox of a picturesque village as an investigator of its worst possible crimes.

CHAPTER 1

To sit at work one morning, in the reassuring boredom of a rural police station, and to receive a phone call announcing someone’s violent murder was both absolutely baffling and mind-boggingly normal when your name was John Barnaby. On occasion, and if he was in the mood, he’d even roll his eyes (“that’s beetroot on your clothes, Mrs Oadby, not blood, for god’s sake”); but he was a professional and never failed to take a case seriously the second he detected anything fishy about it. And there wasn’t much to detect that morning, he thought: the sun was shining, he was in a rather good mood, the bakery had his favourite pastry in stock, and the only phone calls the station had answered concerned security matters for the upcoming kids’ halloween celebrations.

He considered bothering Nelson for a coffee, since his young partner seemed to oscillate between sighs of boredom and the recognizable look of someone who’s dipping their toe in an introspection most definitely too cold to bathe in at this time of the year. Just as he really started to pity his colleague who turned his undivided attention to a nearby rubiks cube, a uniformed officer came trotting in their office, her hand clutching a scribbled note, her cheeks flushed from the rush. She all but pounced on Barnaby, holding on to his desk to keep from falling over while he raised his eyebrows in an inquiring expression, letting her catch her breath.

“Well? What have you got for me, Patel?”

“Sir… We have… A body has just been found in the Fairfield-under-Wychwood cemetery”, she panted.

“I should hope so, it’s where we usually put those, isn’t it?” Barnaby’s sarcasm was met with officer Priya Patel’s most resigned eye roll. He continued: “Do tell me more. What exactly have we got?”

“With all due respect, Sir, if you’re done showcasing your dad jokes,” - Charlie chuckled in the background - “the local vicar called us, utterly panicked - said he’d been rushed to the cemetery after he heard someone screaming. A local woman apparently found the body as she was visiting a grave - she was too shocked to tell him more, and he said we’d better come see for ourselves.”

Barnaby sighed. Ah, civilians and their inability to control their emotions! Almost as bad as Nelson!

“Very well, thank you, Patel - think Nelson and I will head down then, who are we to question the word of God?”

They got up and grabbed their jackets, leaving officer Patel to her endeared consternation, and back to the task at hand. Seconds later, she could hear tires screeching from the station parking lot.

***

Fairfield-under-Wychwood was everything you’d expect from a minuscule nook in the heart of Oxfordshire’s lush greenery. Everything, and perhaps a little more.

You wouldn’t usually end up there unless you were specifically looking to, or had, by some sort of animist inspiration, summoned the right turns in a seemingly never ending network of eel-like forest roads. Snaking through the moss like a gondola under a canopy of spirits, you’d have to drive slow, or the lack of visibility would guarantee a frontal shock with any oncoming vehicle, animal, or apparently, frenzied murderer; moreover, you’d drive in silence. Not that it made any difference to your security as a motorist. You simply would, though, due to the reverence and hint of discomfort one usually feels when faced with the creeping of nature’s sinuous darkness, its ominous volutes of leaves and distant chirping, and the ancient moisture of its crumbling floors. If you slowed down, you’d remember your ancestors’ memories, and hear the roots hold your ankles in place.

When the roads would decide they’ve caused you enough torment, they’d spit you out and, if you were reactive enough, you’d cling by the tip of your fingers to the edge of an invisible cliff, on top of which you’d land and finally catch a glimpse of your destination. Your confused gaze would linger on the gentle curves of a meadow, gorged with sheep like a tree heavy with ripe fruit; behind it, greyish shapes would suggest a range of mellow stone cottages, adorned with brambles and smoking chimneys. But as soon as your eyes would get used to their surroundings, they’d turn to their most prominent feature: under the greying skies stood the church tower, like a tired lighthouse in the autumn fog.

So did Barnaby and Nelson discover their momentary workplace. The chief inspector’s demeanour remained as phlegmatic as his sergeant’s was becoming tense, Nelson’s big, delicate hands clutching the driving wheel as he slowed down to enter the village’s main street, that lead to the church in a barely perceptible slope. The car trembled over the wonky, somewhat charming cobblestones. As they progressed towards the heart of the village, nameless family cottages gave way to picturesque storefronts and hand painted signboards; vague faces appeared behind thick, steamy windows, slow like the morning errands of an aging community gathering for coffee and newspapers.

The air was crystal sharp and thick with a lingering fog. Rays of sunlight dissolved like dust in the crisp autumn morning, brightening the orange palette of the trees but failing to provide enough warmth for pedestrians to walk without instinctively clutching their coats around themselves; so did Barnaby, slightly irritated at Nelson’s infuriating, sensible planning as the younger man put on his scarf. They had parked by the church garden wall and made their way to the entrance on a mossy, winding path that took them through the small green and to a wooden door. As they approached, it opened and gave way to an elderly man in religious dress, tortoiseshell glasses so thick they made his eyes appear nearly amphibious. His expression was one of utter disbelief, and he walked as though he was floating in confusion.

Barnaby and Nelson routinely displayed their police badges as they introduced themselves to the man who, despite his apparent state of shock, had signaled the incident. He seemed to snap out of his trance as he shook their hands, seemingly hit by reality once more after having saturated.

“Father Gregory, Alvin Gregory - please, if you’d follow me… I was standing right over there by the passage to my study, that’s this room at the back - i was right there when i heard a scream, and it didn’t sound anything like joking around or trying to get someone’s attention, no, it was truly a scream of terror, like you rarely hear, so naturally i hurried there and caught poor Mrs Tomkin right as she was fainting. And that’s when i saw it and -”

He was interrupted by a tremor, halfway between retching and shivering, and had to steady himself by leaning against the nearby wall.

“-and there she was. Dear God, as if murdering her wasn’t enough - her very soul was humiliated, inspector, i can’t believe this is real.”

(WARNING - BLOOD / BODY HORROR, SKIP TO NEXT QUOTE)

Nelson barely had time to catch father Gregory and help him to a chair before the old man’s legs gave in. The two detectives excused themselves and proceeded to the cemetery, where Kate and her team were already set up, their seriousness clashing in a surreal way with the golden highlights of the site’s nature, like a kaleidoscope carried by the threatening presence of the woods and moors beyond the village limits. Across the safety line, their colleague’s blonde hair was tied in a bun above her usual blue protection blouse and gloves, and she was leaning over what looked more like an entire altar than a simple abandoned corpse. She was brought out of her focused examination by Charlie’s loud “HOLY F-” that he had the sensibility of interrupting before his own blasphemy added to the crime scene.

“Take your time, why don’t you!” she started towards them, peeling off her gloves, and went on: “Victim is a sixty-eight years old female, Margaret Hawthorne, known locally and professionally as Sister Peggy.”

“A nun?” Charlie asked, oblivious to the victim’s religious attire.

“No, Nelson, a plumber, in fact-” Barnaby caught a glimpse of Kate’s piercing look.

The doctor went on: “The cause of death would be… Well we’re kind of spoilt for choice actually. She received fatal cuts to the throat and wrists, all of which could have been lethal, and was left to bleed out for uh, obvious purposes, apparently. You’ll have to let me know whatever the hell this is.”

The two detectives stared at the scene in utter incredulity. Not only was Sister Peggy’s lifeless body carefully arranged, her stretched limbs were circled by sketches of browning blood, forming a sort of symbolic shrine around the nun’s corpse. Neither of them was all too familiar with the esoteric, so what they could gather from a first look was rather limited; however, Barnaby’s wife being a historian, the inspector had seen his share of dead languages and forgotten alphabets. From their unfamiliar, angular form, he could tell the drawings looked like norse runes: some of them combined, other simple, some repeated, none he recognized.

Plants and twigs had been disposed between the runic shapes, and in the middle of it all, the elderly woman’s face had been messily painted, her eyes still wide and terrified. The thick smell of blood started to get to the two men as their gaze studied the dark display, Charlie wincing, Barnaby too deep in thought to notice his own frowning. The older detective had had his share of eccentrics, new age lunatics and everything in between; he had surprised the elderly community of a quiet village in full pagan attire, had seen parents killing children and children killing parents. He knew there would be more to it, and, metaphorically rolling up his sleeves, he sighed.

Charlie, on the other hand, was a lot less experienced when it came to the peculiar rationality of isolated countryside murderers. Though he had seen his share of revolting crimes, there was a certain quality, a certain pragmatic originality of the country folk in the way they’d dispose of another person’s life - he had seen corpses washing off the Thames, but was a lot less used to seeing them emerging from manure stocks. A nun with her throat slit in the middle of some esoteric sigil, in a village that peaked at two or three hundred inhabitants on a good day, that was definitely a first.

Barnaby raised his eyes to face his tall sergeant, who was holding his scarf in front of his nose and mouth; he let out a superior huff.

“Thought you liked your black pudding, Nelson?”

Charlie’s face got several shades paler. Kate, in a rare moment of motherly protectiveness, thought the time had come to give them the details of what she’d be expecting from the autopsy, stating that the contents of the blood and stomach would be scanned, as well as any trace of the culprit’s DNA on the victim and surrounding objects. For the rest, she said, they would have to search the villagers’ minds, which seemed to her an even more disturbing task. She’d much rather be in the safety of her lab, where she was sure her company wouldn’t disturb her, on account of being, you know, dead - although with this one, she wouldn’t risk it, she said with a semi-convinced smile.

As the forensic team was proceeding with securing the body and site, pictures were taken from every angle, and the detectives knew they’d need to wait for any clues to be revealed from Sister Peggy’s wounds; focusing his attention away from the waves of nausea that kept hitting him with every reek of blood, Charlie copied the symbols in his notebook, determined to find out more. Barnaby, on the other hand, seemed to pay them little mind; instead, he turned away from the quarantine zone and scanned the area for any curious villagers. Behind them, unsteady and gripping the arm of a slightly younger nun, father Gregory had appeared outside the church door. Motioning for Nelson to follow him, Barnaby made his way back to the vicar, and spoke first.

(GORE BIT OVER)

“If you don’t mind me asking, Father - we’re going to need to know every relation mrs Hawhtorne, uh, Sister Peggy had in the area… Or anywhere frankly, but let’s start there. How well did you know her?”

“Personally, not very - although I have known her for a little while now, yes, she had been participating in the celebrations for several years… perhaps ten? Time passes strangely when you’re my age”, father Gregory answered, thinking out loud. “You see - starting today, the parish is holding the Allhallowtide celebration… As lots of churches do, but these days hold a special meaning to us here, since it’s also the time for us to celebrate our saint Nivel - and that’s been a source of concern recently, it might be our last year having her here”, the older man went on, his voice breaking.

He noticed Barnaby’s inquisitive look and explained: “Our parish takes great pride in being the resting place of such a meaningful figure - you see, saint Nivel was one of the first female abbesses, who happened to be buried right here in this parish! Ever since I started officiating here, we’ve centered our Allhallowtide festivities around her, and have referred to her remarkable intelligence and scholarship for guidance. So to think our little village would be robbed of such a central part of who we are as a community… You see, the Oxford parish has been claiming her for the past months, and that’s brought the occasional attention, both good and bad”, the vicar sighed. “Sister Peggy was part of a group of visitandines who come round every year as a pilgrimage, usually help out with the celebrations too. They’ve been doing it for as long as I can remember, and I’ve been here since… Well, for over seventy years, you could say.” He chuckled. “I was born just across the street, in the house where my nephew now runs the inn.”

Nelson was frantically taking notes, his brow furrowed in concentration; next to him, Barnaby’s face betrayed his mental mapping of everything he knew up to this point, which really wasn’t much. He knew village folk to take lots of their daily circumstances for common knowledge, and knew he’d need to pry if he wanted a clearer view.

“Father, if I may - you did say your saint brought both good and bad attention, am I correct? I take it the visitandines sisters are the good part?”

The vicar sighed, his afflicted face looking down. “Oh they’re alright, they’re certainly a great help, that they are. The bad part is… Well, you younger folk may know about that, but lately there’s been a certain enthusiasm for so-called… Paganism”, he bemoaned, his fingers tracing quotation marks as he said the last word. “Some self-proclaimed guru seems to have declared our village as somehow relevant to whatever it is they think they’re doing. It’s the second time now that they’ve come to bother us during this time of year. Between this and our st Nivel being ogled like some cheap tourist attraction - it’s been a bit of a circus already. And now poor sister Peggy… Punished for devoting herself to our celebrations? Dear God, how could I make it up to you?”

As the realization seemed to sink in, father Gregory’s thick glasses went muddled with tears, and the two detectives were reminded of the presence of the nun that had stood by him earlier as she came rushing to take the old man’s arm and help him stand. Father Gregory excused himself, visibly weakened by the shock and exhaustion, and Charlie replaced the woman - who had been introduced as sister Meg - following her as she guided them back to the vicar’s house, where he’d get some rest and be questioned later on. Any information they’d need for immediate proceedings, they’d have to get elsewhere, and they opted to split up: Barnaby would accompany sister Meg and learn what he could from the three remaining nuns, while Nelson would go and find out what he could about, and from, the so-called pagans. He gulped upon receiving the order.

Charlie liked to think of himself as open-minded: after all, he had grown up in one of the most cosmopolitan, culturally rich havens of eccentricity the western world had to offer, though he had managed to get out somewhat unscathed. In fact, he was probably most original in how ordinarily he carried himself. Though he was surprisingly handsome, he had a tendency to dress too old for his age, and sound too young; he was a mixture of naive all-boys school and barbour-wearing accountant, which was endearing enough but didn’t exactly match what you’d expect of a millenial from London. He felt too tame for the city and too urban for the country, but the truth was, and he knew it, that he went through life following the gentle pointing of his own compass. What he didn’t know, on the other hand, was how much his mentor valued that in him - give John Barnaby one extra glass of wine and he’d reluctantly mumble something about training a future proper chief inspector. He’d never admit it to his face, though: nothing worse than a detective who relies too much on his own talent.

As sister Meg indicated him, the group he had written down as ‘pagans’ for lack of a better word had set their camp at the edge of the woods whose darkened weight bordered the moor-like cemetery. Behind the church lied a threatening, mossy murmur that appeared to warn humans not to try and expand too much: as the nun described it with hyperbolic intimidation, Nelson was struck by the way father Gregory did little to contradict her. Aside from the obvious restraint that one tends to exhibit when faced with a graphic assassination, it seemed to him they shared an unspoken agreement, giving nature the credit and authority it was due, taking the fear it instilled like a serious factor in the way they lead their lives: if Charlie had expected such things to take up more space as he dealt with the ingrained beliefs of remote villages, he now had to admit their reverence was contagious. As he made his way towards the outskirts of the cemetery, he felt like he was reaching the edge of the waking world.

If Charlie (the man) was rather skeptical about everything dark, threatening and frankly uncomfortable, DS Nelson (the detective) had a job to do, and was capable of plunging in bone-chilling, slimy bodies of water for the single purpose of unearthing a less than impressive clue if he felt it was the right course of action. He did wince as the soles of his nice leather shoes gave an unpleasant suction noise when lifted from the muddy path, but quickly focused on looking for the visitors’ camping grounds that sister Meg had indicated in a scoff. He didn’t know what exactly he was looking for, or who; images of “the wicker man” bounced in his head as he carefully trod on the damp forest soil, spied on by peeking mushrooms and croaking birds, abandoned by sunlight and his courage. He puffed out his chest, suddenly very aware of being unarmed, and followed one of the many intuitive paths the footsteps of previous wanderers had shaped.

After a while, he started to feel cold. The trees, the leaves, the ground, everything was damp and pervasive, his jacket clinging to his arms like a leech, his scarf only highlighting the gaps it couldn’t cover; the horror of the crime scene started to sink in, the old woman’s terrorized face and the lines painted on one of her cheeks, the time it must have taken to draw all those symbols, using someone’s blood while their life was coming to a pitiful end. Like a goldsmith crafting circumvoluted rings, Charlie compartmentalized each dimension of his work, packing death away in bundles of kraft paper to be shipped somewhere far away. Somewhere he’d visit one day, perhaps, but not now. Not while he was risking his own life all the time. He shivered and took a deep breath, scanning all his senses for any sign of the campers. Somewhat further away, carried by the wind, he heard voices.

The gentle droplets of wind chimes mixed with the smell of fire and burning herbs as he got closer to the camping grounds. It reminded Charlie of those shops a girl he dated in college would buy incense in, before filling her apartment with it - mixed with mold and weed, it clung to his hair and clothes like she did until he realized he wasn’t particularly happy. He wondered if maybe she’d be there, or if not her, another one of the same breed he found himself too old for even back in those days, when he wore a necklace of wooden pearls that she gave him and it smelled like patchouli and it didn’t feel like him at all. He wondered if anyone would ever give him something that did feel like him; then he heard someone playing one of these saucepan-looking instruments and had to keep his eyes from rolling. Way to be impartial, he thought, but then again, someone’s literally died, lay off the bloody tambourine, will you.

Rather than settling in a clearing, it seemed the campers had preferred limiting their own comfort by cramming their tarpaulin-covered dwellings between trees and stumps; they had somehow managed to dig a respectable fire pit, around which the tents were disposed in a circle. All in all, the site must have accommodated perhaps ten people; four of them were currently sitting in folding chairs, wrapped in shawls, pensive. The music stopped as the man holding the instrument noticed Charlie - soon the three others turned to him as well, unsure of whether or not they should start to their feet, nervously tightening their grips on their armrests. Although he hesitated and thought of joining them undercover, Charlie decided he might as well jump in - it’s not like he’d ever be credible anyway. He flashed his police ID and felt the tension in his interlocutors rise; it stung a little bit. They were about his age, but he had crossed the rubicon of cool long ago.

“DS Nelson, Causton CID - don’t even panic about that, mate, that’s not what I’m here for”, he sighed as one of the men tried to put out his joint on a nearby tree stump. “I’d just like to ask you a few routine questions about what happened last night - i suppose you heard?”

The group, two men and two women, exchanged concerned looks, seemingly unsure about who would talk and what they’d say. One of the women, her black hair braided in a complex network of tresses, cleared her throat.

“We heard. The rest of our group drove out this morning after they went into the village to get coffee - said they didn’t come here for this kind of negative energy”, she answered. “We weren’t sure we’d stay, either. But then we decided this was out of our control and we could do nothing but welcome it like we should any other overpowering circumstances. That’s kind of what we came here to celebrate, anyway.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow at that last comment. “Could you perhaps give me your names… And where you were last night up until about 8 this morning?” They shifted in their seats, ready to defend themselves. “Just standard procedure. As of now, we aren’t accusing anybody, simply gathering information, you understand-”

“Okay fine”, sighed the other woman, not bothering to hide her disdain. “But it’s funny how we’re always being targeted, just because we dare to live slightly differently… Doesn’t mean we’re criminals, unless exploring a peaceful alternative to modern society is a crime”, she paused, hoping to get the assent of her colleagues, who remained silent. Her ash blonde dreadlocks shook as she scanned them for any type of reaction, but they looked reserved, perhaps even a little embarrassed.

“My name is Rosemary Cook”, said the first woman, “this is Maureen Kemp, and Ray Khan, and Chris Hughes - I mean, Christopher”, she added, as Nelson wrote the names down in his notebook. “We’re all from London, as were the rest of our group. Ray here is a musician, Maureen teaches meditation, and Chris and I run a boutique - we focus on alternative therapies. As for where we were last night…” she paused. “I was here at the camp, the entire time.”

“Can anybody confirm that?” Nelson asked, repressing a sigh at the thought that they might all cover each other just in case. The musician, Ray, shifted uncomfortably. “He can”, said Rosemary, pointing at him. “He was with me.” Maureen scoffed in disbelief and let out a barely repressed “fuck OFF!”. Ray shook his head and added, “let’s discuss that later, right Maur?” to which she responded by mumbling something about how unbelievable it all was. Charlie raised his eyebrows, waiting for them to continue citing their alibis.

“I was at the pub with some of our mates that drove back to London”, Chris went on, “i’ll give you their numbers, they’ll confirm I was there. Think I even got the receipt.” He searched his jeans pockets and extracted a crumpled piece of paper. “Got back here at about two o’clock. Then the others drove off around eight, and I went back to sleep.”

“It’s true, I saw him when we got out to say bye”, said Rosemary. Charlie turned to Maureen, who was still visibly upset by her friends’ nightly activities. “Ms Kemp? What about you?” he tried, and she sighed deeply. “Mind if i tell you in private, Mr detective?” she answered in a mocking tone, while the others turned to her and started to get impatient; Rosemary and Ray spoke at the same time, something to the tune of what’s-so-secret-that-you-can’t-tell-us. “I don’t think having something to hide from your friends is a great look on someone present in a tiny community, the night of a murder”, Charlie said. “Just tell me where you were, and i’ll leave you to sort out whatever it is that’s going on with the four of you”.

“Right, and you’ll run my business when I lose my main customers, too?” Maureen snapped. “You pigs are all the same! It’s not my fault you can’t find a killer in a village that’s even smaller than your d-” “THAT’S ENOUGH, MAUR!” Rosemary had risen to her feet and seemed ready to smack the other woman, who suddenly seemed a lot less confident. “You’re gonna make us all look bad, you fucking idiot! Just tell him where you were and let’s be done with this or we’ll start to think we have reasons to suspect you too!”

“I take it you can’t vouch for her presence here at the camp, then?” Charlie tried.

“Was kinda, uh, occupied”, Rosemary mumbled - Charlie blushed and mentally thanked the forest for being dark enough to conceal it. Chris shook his head and muttered something about how he wouldn’t have seen anyone regardless of who was here: after a night at the pub, he went directly to his tent and blacked out. Cornered, Maureen knew she could either lie and be discredited, or give her actual, corroborated alibi, and look a fool - but a free one. She had a certain pride, sure, but wasn’t about to be jailed for a crime she didn’t commit.

“I was at the inn.”

The group looked at her in confusion. “Like, for tea? Do you know someone there?” Ray tried, about as surprised as she had been upon hearing who he was with.

“I was at the inn… In my room. I’ve been sleeping there and sneaking back in before you got up. Guys, i’m sorry, I couldn’t do this anymore.” She barely had the time to finish her sentence before starting to sob, in exceedingly theatrical fashion. “Happy now, detective? You’ll find me there, now that you’ve made me betray my cause”, she whined, got up, and trotted pathetically towards the village, leaving her three friends too confused to react - Charlie didn’t bother to run after her, all too certain he would indeed find her there.

Ray had lit up his joint again, forgetting the reason for the detective’s presence. “Well fuck me! She was the one who insisted we’d ‘reconnect with nature’” - he mimicked quotation marks- “and freeze our asses off while she was sleeping in a bed this whole time! Can you believe this!”

“Actually Ray, I can”, sighed Rosemary. “I mean look at us. Are we even making any sense at this point, like would you reckon we’re making a point at all or just catching fucking pneumonia?”

With the most defensive element gone, Charlie thought it was time to finally ask them what in the world they were actually doing - as much as it had seemed self evident to Sister Meg, who couldn’t look more irritated at what she called ‘blasphemy’, it truly wasn’t to him. In fact, he was getting more confused by the second. Those people always seemed to be defending something or other and he tended to lose interest as soon as the lack of scientific basis started to rear its ugly head. But now, seeing how he wasn’t exactly going anywhere with their discussion to this point, he might as well get to the bottom of it - after all, the entire dramatic setting of the crime scene was still painted in the back of his mind, and, as unlikely as it sounded at this point, he was going to have to associate it with someone.

“If i may, Mrs Cook…” “Miss.” “Miss Cook. Would you mind telling me a little about what it is that you’re doing out here? I haven’t exactly heard a… Constructive version of it from the clergy, you imagine”, Charlie tried, giving her a sympathetic look, and hoping his last comment would attract some sort of anti-religious complicity from his interlocutors. Indeed, the men exchanged a smirk - Rosemary, however, seemed less inclined to indulge in clan wars at such a time. Her face kept a serious expression.

“We’re united, or were united, around our practice of what we call paganism”, she said, her voice dull. “We believe in reclaiming the pagan ways our ancestors lived by, and that implies a change in our lifestyle - abandoning modern comfort for a return to our natural cycle, a union to the natural world. You see, not only do we reject the exploitation of our earth as a resource for us to waste, we also wish to return to a more organic spirituality, one that would celebrate our symbiosis with nature rather than obedience and greed…”

“-like the church of england would?” Charlie tried. Rosemary looked down. “Yeah. we did come here to make a statement about this village and their so-called saint Nivel, who’s actually more likely to have been one of ours, killed for her belief in our ways and not in theirs”, she sighed. “But that doesn’t mean we’d kill to get our point across. We strive for a union between mankind and the rest of the living world, not for mindless violence. We’re not them. They’re the ones that kill for their church, and are ready to appropriate a woman’s death for their own benefit, as if they weren’t rich enough,” she scoffed.

“We’ve been coming here to demand that Nivel’s history be read as it should, as it was meant to, we’re asking for justice so that her memory becomes that of an independent thinker, you could even say a feminist! She’d have been accused of witchcraft rather than catholicism”, Ray added. “The church simply doesn’t want to hear the research, they think that saying it’s always been like that is enough of an argument. But you go to the village library and see - we’ve required a special section on local history, it’s all in there.”

“Still doesn’t mean we’d kill for that,” Chris spat, visibly threatened by Charlie’s frantic note-taking.

“Still you’re the first people i meet who seem rather familiar with the use of runes?” Nelson’s comment was met with a deep, ostentatious sigh from Rosemary and glares of utter disdain from both men. Indeed, the camp was surrounded with the type of art you’d expect from a group of self-appointed animists - except the usual tibetan garlands were replaced by painting on the surrounding trees and what could be apprehended as land art, and it just happened to form the same shapes that enshrined the body of sister Peggy.

“Bet you use the alphabet too, does that mean you’re the fucking zodiac killer, sherlock?” Chris seemed to instantly regret his choice of words, as Charlie’s eyebrows rose in incredulity. “Sorry. Don’t mean to lose my temper, but - people here are constantly at our throats as if we were some sort of animal sacrificing satanists, it gets tiring. We’re non-violent. All we do is look for alternative ways of living, respect mother earth, hold our own rituals for each season…”

“...smoke weed in front of police officers…” Charlie snorted.

“Shit! When did i-” the rest of Chris’ composure had definitely faded. “Forget it, i’m just messing with you”, Charlie went on, “anyway, care to tell me what this is about?”

He pointed to an area behind the arranged tents: surrounded by more of what the campers described as protection runes, a rectangular shape had been dug out, at the bottom of which a plastic tarpaulin was collecting fallen leaves and rainwater. Knowing he’d hit a wall if he mentioned it right away, he’d diligently averted his gaze, afraid to look too accusatory to his already defiant interlocutors: it had to be said, however, that the zone did look like a grave, and that it was, as a matter of fact, surrounded by runes. The similarity was just too stupidly visible to be ignored any longer. In fact, charlie thought, as much as he was going for a subtle approach, it had started to make him look very stupid himself. Everyone present was aware of how absurdly incriminating it looked.

Rosemary started to lose her patience. “Look, detective - i’ll explain, but you have to promise you haven’t already decided we were guilty, cause we haven’t done it, okay? I know it looks shit, i’m not an idiot, but it’s as Chris said. Runes are used by lots of people… Too many, if you want my opinion. Got no idea what they imply. Those are meaningful symbols, detective, not to be thrown around as if they were… Emojis or something.” Rosemary’s look of disgust didn’t go unnoticed, and Charlie made sure to keep a mental note of how animated she got while defending her point. It did sound like she was referring to a particular demographic, one that he had yet to see in the village… But still. He had lots to discover, and lots of connections to make.

Rosemary walked towards the litigious site, motioning for Charlie to follow. “So you see, one of the things we believe is that our society is too wary of death, but sort of fetishize it at the same time, you know? What we’re trying to do is sort of an exercise in perspective, that’s… a way for you to reconnect with your surroundings and re-anchor yourself to the earth, while being aware of your mortality and escaping the hectic routine we’re so often trapped in. It’ll be more evident if you try it, really, but in general - it goes like so: if you have a problem that’s troubling you and you can’t seem to get past it, and you just feel like escaping the stress for a second, well, you lay in there, simple as that. Only rule is, you can’t stay less than an hour. You have to feel powerless in order to gain perspective and let go - don’t look at me like that! Honestly, don’t you think we get ridiculed enough, and here i am making an effort, it’s a risk for me to give you insight to our way of thinking, you realize that!”

She looked so sincerely hurt that Charlie apologized, in part because he felt a fool, but mostly because she was basically blackmailing him and he absolutely needed more justification to this charade that, as far as he knew, might just have gotten someone killed. Rosemary was winning this, both of them were bad enough actors to know, and he swore he saw her smirk before she proceeded to get him exactly where she wanted - six feet under, indeed. “I was serious, you know. It WOULD be clearer if you tried. Not sure i’ll take your impartiality so seriously if you continue to proper disrespect my beliefs, detective.” Or we could keep that staring contest going, Nelson thought, it’s just as mortifying.

“Alright”, he conceded, his irritation so clear he almost sounded like Barnaby - there went his last hope of fitting in with his age group. “I’ll do it. I admit i’ve let my prejudice obscure my judgement, but, miss Kemp, you’ll admit - the whole setup doesn’t exactly play in your favour, does it… Still it isn’t evidence. So, walk me through it, if you’d be so kind.” If she wasn’t turning her back to him, diligently trying to light up a bundle of dried sage, Charlie would have seen her victorious grin, but there was no need for that: he felt it perfectly. Good thing his ego was already reduced to the size of a frightened puppy, wary of his chief inspector’s snark. Joke’s on you, miss Kemp, anything an investigation requires, detective Nelson is willing to do, dignity be damned.

“Kneel.”

Now there ARE limits.

“Excuse me?” “Before you get in, there’s a purification ritual - the sage here provides clarity and wisdom, it has cleansing virtues and will help your mind get a fresh start, free of negative energies”, miss Kemp explained, walking around him waving the burning sage. “Now whether or not you’re open to this idea is up to you, but it does have antibacterial properties that you can hardly argue about, no matter how much of a skeptic.” Her round finished, she dug into her pocket and brandished what looked like a makeup crayon. “If you don’t mind - we usually draw a protection rune so that the person has a reminder they’re being watched over during the process,” she brushed charlie’s hair out of his forehead and applied the cold colour in a few strokes.

“There you go.” He couldn’t help using his phone as a mirror just to make sure the drawing was at least civil. Then, as she waved for him to get back up and follow her, he proceeded to climb down the wonky wooden stool she’d placed in the mockup grave; he winced as she took it back out once he had reached the bottom. “Lay down, detective, and please, give this a chance - you might be surprised. I’ll get you in exactly one hour.”

He was, indeed, surprised. He had expected them to wait at least a few minutes before running off.

***

Charlie was cursing both his lack of climbing skills and his phone’s questionable battery power by the time the light footsteps came within earshot. “Hello?” he went, although perfectly aware whoever was approaching had heard him struggle already - he didn’t want to take any chances. If the cold he was feeling was any indication, he must have spent the best part of the afternoon stuck in a trap of his own making. He was positively freezing, and the humidity had long sunk into his skin; it left him trembling, strands of brown hair stuck to the blurred drawing on his forehead, and the end of his long, thin nose like a pink button above his hazel scruff gave him a boyish air that didn’t exactly help his case. In fact, the newcomer thought he looked like a puppy who’d have played in the mud for too long and strayed away from its family, and it was disarmingly endearing.

She stood by the edge of the grave, taking in the sight with the face of someone who’s not trying hard enough not to laugh. In fact, she was positively chuckling, and Charlie would have been vexed if he wasn’t too busy deciphering what on earth he was feeling: there was definitely some fear in the mix. Upon arrival, he thought the village would be like their usual Oxfordshire unofficial retirement homes, parishes full of gossiping housewives and treacherous land-owners; but up to this point, all he had seen was a dead nun, a live one, a couple of disrespectful hippies, and what he was sure enough was a witch.

She stood, gently shifting her weight from one leg to the other, and from the way she looked down at him, it took him way too long to nice she must be very small. Her round little teeth clashed like a hail storm against the burgundy velvet of her mouth, her cheeks shimmering with the cold; you could only tell her eyes from the black ash that enshrined them by how they shone like a riverbed in the spring. And she laughed, her dark eyes crinkled and wet, pools so deep he flinched; and her jawline shot from her scarf like a dove, and her hair, like pompeii’s pyroclastic flow, turned him to stone. One moment a menhir and the next just a fox, her presence hovered and sank to him all at once, and suddenly, peering from under layers of skirts and capes, her hand reached for him.

He didn’t know what to make of it. It was delicate, the colour of a peach, engraved with scriptures older than the world that ran from under her sleeves and dripped to her fingertips. In a breath he yearned to map her entire skin and marvel at the sensual kaleidoscope; in the next, he remembered he was being offered help, and her laughter doubled, dribbling along with the flows of her brown mane. “Silly me - what use will i be once i’m down there as well, right! Just let me toss you one of their stupid camping chairs first, don’t worry, i’ll be out of sight, not out of mind!” she spoke to him as though she had known him for years, reassuring like a bowl of soup. It appeared to Charlie she was making her footsteps purposefully louder so that he’d know she was still there and he could have shed a tear. As she rummaged through the camp for the appropriate rescue equipment, her wooly alto mumbles made his stomach stir; his heart soared on her accent, lifted from forest moss to snowy passes, and it dived back to her like direct current bolts shot through his fingernails.

“Here,” she reappeared, and handed him a chair. “It still might not be enough… is it?” Charlie struggled, the slippery carpet of leaves and mud providing no solid grip from which he could pull himself up. “Okay wait” - she dug her leather boots into the ground until she was sure not to slip - “take my hands and try to walk up the wall. No really i think that’ll work, come on,” she leaned forward, and offered two tattooed palms for Charlie to grab. “Hold onto my wrists, feet against the wall, i’ll fall backwards and pull you up.” It sounded more like a pragmatic order than a suggestion, the way a tender yet resigned mother would address the child she’s getting out of trouble; though perhaps, as Charlie fell face first into the forest soil, he heard her deep voice fall into a laugh that somehow still sounded foreign. He pitifully failed at dusting himself off, stood and towered over her by at least one foot.

And yet, somehow, she was looking down on him.

And yet, somehow, he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

He finally could take in her full form - the pale, oval face clouded by delicate dark makeup, and long, long hair falling all around it like endless rains; the way it shone out of her cloak like a full moon, how her body was draped in elegant black clothes and mystery, and how the only things about her that seemed a little real were her muddy boots. Her engraved hands had sunk back into her sleeves before he had had time to study them more closely, and just then he realized he had been staring, stunned, intrigued, mouth slightly agape in utter naive fashion. Her eyes crinkled as she burst out laughing again: he kept making a fool of himself. He stood there covered in mud after she had to drag him out of a fake grave where he had ended up like the silly wolf trapped by the clever fox from childrens’ stories, and he couldn’t control the intensity of his blushing.

“They really did you dirty, eh?” she breathed between giggles. Then, like a manuscript summoned, her hand reappeared as she held it out for him to shake. “Luella Göldin. I live just over there,” she nodded towards the woods. He finally snapped out of it and, as he shook her hand, was caressed by a whiff of the most delicious perfume he’d ever smelled. “Charlie - DS Charlie Nelson, Causton CID”.

“I thought so! Met your boss earlier, came by my work looking for the nuns - bit grumpy, is he? I heard him mention his colleague had gone talking to the hippies… didn’t think i’d still run into you on my way back, it’s been hours”, she thought out loud. “Nice to meet you, DS Nelson.” “Charlie.” he corrected her with no second thought, especially none about whether or not this familiarity was appropriate. The fact that she could not be ruled out of the list of potential murderers did not even cross his mind. “Oh. Charlie, then.” Her thumb brushed ever so gently over the back of his hand as she dropped it, neither of them quite sure how intentionally. It felt like she had wrapped it in silk, and from that little touch Charlie’s armed tickled, pumped full of cotton balls; his head was spinning, trying to figure out the provenance of her accent (german? nordic?), to bottle up her perfume and save it for later, to memorize the familiar-yet-strange patterns on her skin that he’d only gotten glimpses of. Her earrings were shaped like rose branches and he wanted those thorns to scratch him so badly.

He felt like those skull-adorned moths had nestled in his throat and were giving him a surprising longing for irresponsibility. Is what what she’d taste like? Shouldn’t he be talking by now?

“Well, miss…” “Göldin.” “miss Goldeen.” she chuckled. “That’ll work.” “Thank you. For getting me out of here. Gosh, this is ridiculous, isn’t it -” “yeah, Charlie, it is.” Her piercing eyes were reducing him to a helpless, boyish embarrassment. She continued: “but you know what it also is? Not your fault. And i won’t tell anyone, don’t worry about that chief inspector.” Shit! Barnaby! He had got to get back - he’d been without a phone for the best part of the afternoon and it was getting dark already, his superior was bound to be concerned, and his concern would absolutely turn into annoyance as he returned unscathed. Charlie sighed.

“Bet he’ll find another reason to make fun of me, seems like it’s all the rage today…” Her mischievous smile showed a glint of compassion. “I’ll need to talk to you some more about today’s events, miss, if you don’t mind - that is, after I reported back about whatever idiocy i’m going to have to invent to justify being lost in the woods for half the day”, he added, rolling his eyes at his own misfortune. She nodded seriously: “you do know where I live, now - just follow the path you came from further into the woods, you’ll find the house, Mrs Brewster’s - that’s my lodger. She’ll likely be there as well, if you wanna question her too, which i suppose you do? Just come by tomorrow.” she paused.

Her eyes slowly, slowly went from the ground and up his legs, up his broad chest, caressing his shoulders, fluttering upon his lips and finally met his gaze - fearful or enthralled, she knew he didn’t know, and almost imperceptibly, her tongue darted out to the upper corner of her lips, disappearing as quickly as it had come. It looked as if she had been about to speak but had changed her mind and just breathed in softly. Charlie felt like she had just inhaled a little bit of his mind and he found himself willing to give her all the rest.

Their exchanged look only lasted an instant, but God, were Charlie’s blue eyes the direct window to his helpless gentle soul. She found him to be so stupidly endearing, his wit tripping over his dorky exterior, sincere as an open book, yet clearly keeping something to himself - after all, he was still a detective, and she was very aware of how little she’d trust herself if she were to meet herself for the first time. As she started to realize just how tall he was, she did all she could to conceal the growing shallowness of her breathing; as her eyes gently brushed his messy long-ish brown hair and his pink, freckled cheekbones, she felt her heart growing warm and her stomach tender. He looked ripe and edible as a sun drenched peach and her hands twitched as she struggled to keep them from cupping his face and running over his charming stubble.

He was the first to break the spell, because of course he was, lowering his eyes in embarrassment at just how choked up he was getting as he realized that the nauseating hot waves greedily licking at his feet were in fact the wildest, most primal desire he’d ever felt in his life. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint what had triggered it or what precisely he felt so strongly about, but he certainly was quite ashamed of it and hoped she didn’t pay his awkwardness any mind.

Or perhaps, to his own astonishment, he did want her to notice. Quickly and furiously, he pushed aside the thought, excused himself, and all but ran off as he heard her chuckle at his clumsy haste; he’d question her later, in better dispositions, when he’d have collected his dignity and a presentable outfit. And perhaps some cologne. But that’d be excessive, she’d know, she’d make fun. Everyone would! But should he bring her something? God, he was spiraling, wasn’t he?

As a matter of fact, as he got to the police car he had escalated all the way to scheming how to get some black roses past Barnaby, like a teen plotting to sneak out on a school night. His emotions had long gone past being all over the place: they were now leading revolutions, building barricades and firing at each other in hormonal fanfare, and he wasn’t sure by what miracle he managed to explain his afternoon’s activities to his superior - or perhaps he simply told the truth, as would be most typical. Either way, the chief inspector shot him a patronizing look, and as he buckled his seatbelt and focused on the road back to the police station, the woods that looked so scary that morning suddenly were synonymous with the lair of a peculiar little witch, and scary had become a promise, and nothing made sense anymore.

The drive back was rather silent, once both detectives had given each other accounts of what they had found out from their respective interviews; Barnaby had managed to get some bigoted ramblings out of the shocked nuns, but he was hoping to talk to them some more now that they knew who he was, and he counted on the shock to wear off and leave them more pragmatic. Between them and the pagans, that they had taken to calling ‘the hippies’ since most people did, the questionings were bound to be of the frustrating variety, as they always were whenever beliefs and rivalries were involved. Superstition was exhausting to both officers, and as most of their cases had to do with rural people more preoccupied with each other’s business than with scientific developments, they were confronted to all sorts of modern crusades, although this was their first encounter with blood runes -

“-and witchcraft too! Did i mention the sisters are utterly convinced the librarian and her lodger are practicing black magic?” Barnaby’s expression was one of complete weariness. “I found them holding some sort of inquiry of their own in the public library earlier, doing their research on saint Nivel to try and prove the pagans wrong, while they’re doing just the same and the village’s book collection is taking a most specific turn… Seems to fit the curator just fine, though - black magic or not, she seems like quite the eccentric young woman, could see why the older crowd would think her a witch”, Barnaby added, seemingly doubting everything everyone had told him, as he tended to do.

“Miss Göldin? Is she the librarian?” Charlie asked, suddenly very much interested in the conversation. Barnaby turned slowly.

“Oh?”

“I ran into her on the way back to the car, says i should come talk to her tomorrow, as well as mrs Brewster, that’s her landlady”, Charlie specified, trying his hardest to sound casual and focused. But you couldn’t fool John Barnaby, especially when you were the worst liar in England: the chief inspector noticed his subordinate’s blushing, fidgeting with the driving wheel, the tensing of his thighs, the nervous lip-biting. He turned back to the window, punctuating a sigh with one of his signature grumpy airs, and mockingly concluded: “well, reckon you’ll do that first thing, then, Nelson?” The teasing was, as intended, utterly lost on the younger man, who nodded in all his faked seriousness.

As he got home after what seemed like a perfectly endless debrief at the station, Charlie found himself longing for the silence of his bedroom, for a chance to be alone with his looming thoughts and unruly feelings. He wasn’t one to succumb to someone’s charm at first glance - in fact, he wasn’t one to succumb to anything at all, and remained notoriously chaste and distant behind the apparent innocence. It was the classic tale of a sensitive heart that had been hurt before, and in his move to the country, he hadn’t been looking to reiterate the experience of attaching himself to someone that’d distract him from his work and take advantage of his good nature. He may not have had a plan, but he knew by all accounts that this, this wasn’t the plan at all.

The more he thought of it, the more he found himself in a daze, unable to make sense of his emotions at all. Purely as a reflex, he let his jacket fall down on the floor and toed off his shoes before letting himself fall on his bed, trying to keep the ceiling from spinning, and only getting back up to lock the door in case - he could not handle any more information for today, thanks very much. He pressed his eyes shut and exhaled, desperate for his breathing to settle, but every breath made his veins tingle with a million sparks and his heart pump some more magic into his chest.

The contrast of Luella’s deep voice and the light girlishness of her laugh were all he could think of - the mystery behind her accent and her cloak; he felt jealous of her tattoos because they got to run up her wrists and beneath her sleeves and god knew where else. Tomorrow she’d be there, and he’d need to stay strong; but tonight, and for many nights to come, he’d let himself yearn and dream, nestled in the palm of her bewitching patterned hand.

Patterns he’d caught a glimpse of, and knew they were definitely familiar but he’d been so enthralled that he didn’t think to connect them -or her- with anything else in the world.

And only then did it hit him: runes.

Jesus. Again?

#my writing midsomer murders samhainrites-secretnights

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onceuponamirror · 6 years

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I love how you explore themes of nostalgia and time in your writing so I propose a trope mash-up of summer camp (19) and time travel (97). I hope it inspires you!

(thank you! i got carried! away!!)

He opens his eyes and he hears Elton John.

Jughead realizes a moment later that he’s lying in the dirt, and with a small grunt, pushes himself up on his elbows. There’s a vague, warm light somewhere behind him, and squinting against the sky, he can see that it’s just barely dusk, despite the fact that the last thing he remembers was walking out towards the lake with his breakfast, Hot Dog bounding too merrily around at his feet, losing his footing over a combination of dog and root, and then black.

Christ. He must’ve hit his head and been out for a while.

With a bit of an ache in his shoulder, he lifts his Apple Watch up to his still re-adjusting eyes, but sees that it’s still trying to tell him it’s nine in the morning. He taps at it once, and sees that there’s no signal either. Of course not. Stupid thing. He only wears the damn watch because his sister begged him to, convinced he wouldn’t ever check his messages otherwise, and here it doesn’t even work after a month of use.

“No planned obsolescence, my ass,” he mutters, and then realizes the opening piano chords of Tiny Dancer are still drifting across the air. Jughead sits up fully and twists his neck towards the sound, and realizes he’s splayed in the grass in front of the old barn.

Only—it suddenly doesn’t look so old. In fact, in the few hours he’s been passed out, it seems that someone has taken the trouble to fix the faulty wiring and give it a fresh coat of paint, because it’s brightly lit within and gleaming red even in the inching darkness.

“Are you okay?”

Jughead turns back around, and nearly has to readjust his eyes all over again. Leaning over him is the pretty, smiling face of a woman about his age, a blonde ponytail sloped over a shoulder as she leans forward. She’s very pretty, actually.

His mouth opens, and closes.

She’s also wearing the tiniest shorts he’s ever seen; he thinks, a moment later, they’re something called hotpants. He saw them once in a vintage copy of Rolling Stone that JB had lying around at the house, and though he wouldn’t outright admit it, they were a hard thing to expel from his imagination, no matter how grown up he wished to style himself.

Clearly, he thinks, his eyes stumbling over her legs again.

“Are you okay?” She repeats, seeming more concerned this time. “Can you stand?”

“Uh, yeah,” he mumbles, pushing himself to his feet. He allows another moment to give her a cursory sweep, and sees she’s wearing a t-shirt that reads CAMP SWEETWATER in bulbous, 70s-style lettering. There’s even a lanyard around her neck with a whistle on it, so she must be some kind of counselor.

That, at least, answers the lingering, if albeit paranoid, question that had been swimming around at the back of his thoughts—for a moment, when he’d opened his eyes to a setting sun and a barely recognizable barn, he’d almost—well, a part of him genuinely hadn’t been sure where he was.

But he’s clearly still at Sweetwater. He must’ve just missed something on the ShareBNB listing, or more likely, the owners had conveniently left out the fact that what they had labeled a “newly built quiet creative retreat” was actually an active summer camp. Should’ve known better than to trust Archie’s recommendation.

The back of his head pounds, and he rubs at it. Twenty feet off, Elton John is now belting out the chorus—hold me closer, tiny dancer, and there’s a group of carrying voices from inside the barn singing along, presumably the campers.

“I didn’t realize there was a camp here,” he mutters.

The girl fixes him with a funny look. “We’re pretty well known for it,” she says slowly. Her eyes, luminous and green even in the dim light, focus on his Apple Watch curiously. “Are you…lost? Can I help you get somewhere?”

“No, I’m not lost,” he sighs. “I’m renting a cabin up…” He trails off, having turned to face the uphill slope where his little bungalow should be. Jughead twists in a semi-circle, looking for something familiar, but all he sees is a large building at the top of the hill, lit inside. “Maybe I am, actually. Fuck. I kind of—I guess I really must’ve hit my head.”

She clicks her tongue and passes him a sympathetic look. “I’ve had a little bit of nurse training. We’re having our last dance of the summer tonight, but we should have some bandaids and stuff in the barn. It’ll be faster than walking all the way back up to the mess hall, anyway. Come on,” she says, taking him by the elbow and leading him towards the barn. “I’m Betty, by the way.”

“Jughead,” he returns, if albeit somewhat distractedly, because as soon as they pass through the barn doors, he sees the campers, and—well, he’s never seen so many pairs of bell bottoms in one room. “Are you guys having a theme night or something?”

Betty throws him a confused smile, but doesn’t answer, just leads him behind a table full of chips in bowls. She crouches down and pulls up a red metal tin box, which she rifles through for a moment. While she does so, he pulls out his phone, but just like his watch, no signal. He shoves it back into his pocket, sighing.

“Honestly, just some Advil should do the trick, and then I’ll be on my way,” he mumbles, rubbing at his head again and staring at a girl with the most feathered hairdo he’s ever seen in his life. They’re definitely doing some kind of Best of the 70s thing, or else he’s fallen through another dimension. He’s hasn’t seen thirteen year olds so dedicated to a vintage aesthetic since his little sister got really into Joan Jett.

“Advil?” She repeats, standing upright. “Sorry, I don’t know what that is. Is that like penicillin?

Jughead blinks at her, chuckling on a breath. “You don’t know what Advil is? What rock is this camp under?”

Surprisingly, she looks amused. “I’m not the one who just hit my head, Jughead. But sorry, we don’t have that. I could offer you some grass, though, if your head’s hurting. I don’t really smoke much myself, but I already confiscated like three doobies tonight, so you can have one if it’ll help.”

It’s his turn to repeat her words with a bit of incredulity. “A doobie?”

Betty’s smile quirks. “What?”

“Nothing, I just haven’t heard that one used except out of a Linklater film,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. He shakes his head.

Now she looks truly lost. “I’m starting to think you might’ve hit your head a little harder than you realized.”

Jughead stares at her. “Uh, maybe,” he says, and then realizes he hasn’t seen Hot Dog since he came to. “Shit,” he mutters, spinning around, as if expecting to find his sheepdog somewhere on the dance floor. “My dog was with me when I fell—he’s probably running straight into the water as we speak. Shit. I better go look for him.”

“Oh, is he a big white fluffy dog?” Betty asks, looking strangely relieved. “I caught him running around camp an hour ago. I brought him up to my cabin, though—I didn’t recognize the address on his collar. That’s one mystery solved, anyway.”

She grins, eyes slowly raking over his face. And then shakes her head, as if clearing a thought. “Look, I’m really supposed to stay here and chaperone the kids. Veronica went off with Reggie somewhere and—hey, why don’t you stay for a song or two? That way you can get your bearings, and we can go get your dog afterwards. It’ll be fun! One of our counselors lives in New York City, and she brought all of these really groovy albums. We even have the new Elton John,” she adds, doing an adorable kind of wiggle of her shoulder.

Jughead lifts his eyes at the ceiling just as the song ends. Tiny Dancer stopped a few minutes ago, but he wouldn’t exactly call this song new either. “Right,” he says slowly. “I mean, this isn’t his new stuff, but it’s commendable how committed to the whole…70s vibe you guys are tonight.”

“70s vibe?” She echoes, hands on her hips. “Well, yeah. What else would we be doing?”

The smile falls right off his face. Jughead pivots slightly, once more staring out at the campers in the barn. Not a single one has broken theme—and as his eyes flick over to the DJ, even the vinyl player looks…ancient, almost identical to the one he scrounged up for JB as a birthday present at a garage sale. And yet somehow this one looks brand new.

He swallows, and slowly turns back to Betty. It’s not—rationally— “What year is it?”

“Oh no,” she tuts, reaching forward and touching his temple gingerly. “Do you think you have a concussion?”

Jughead closes his hand around her wrist, which makes her look straight at him. Her skin is smooth, and the motion makes his heart flutter, and it’s the absolute last thing he should be thinking about against this other, much more pressing thought. “Betty. What year is it?”

Now she begins to look concerned. Her eyes once more dart to his Apple Watch, and then back up to his own face. She inhales. “It’s 1971, Jughead.”

#inbox prompts #writing #bughead #bughead ff #fics #becausebughead #i did a little bit of research here but like don't call me out lmao

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real-good-now · 6 years

Text

Riverdale Books: a Bughead One-Shot

Loosely inspired by the movie “You've Got Mail”.

Summary: Jughead really just wants to find a book for Jellybean. He happens to get lucky when he goes into a small bookstore in Riverdale.

As Jughead approached the quaint little bookstore in the dinky suburb of Riverdale, he felt nothing but defeat in his heart.

It has to be here.

He had been searching high and low for this one book, a special edition, limited print of the only book Jellybean has ever liked, and this was his last stop. Her birthday was tomorrow and if the novel didn’t turn up here, then he would have to surrender his “Best Big Brother” Mug and give her an insincere Amazon Gift Card and an “I’m sorry” smile.

It has to be here.

He took a deep breath in before entering the store and being greeted by the charming ring of the bell above the door. A cursory glance around the front room told him that the store was certainly not as small as he had originally anticipated. There were shelves and shelves of books, ranging from the obscure to the commercially known, all organized by the color of their book jackets, something that couldn’t be a simple endeavor to maintain.

There seemed to be no one at the register and a large hoard of people huddled in the back, in a room that was alive with vibrant colors. He drifted toward the area, taking peeks here or there for his target.

When he arrived in the rear of the store, he understood exactly what had everyone so enraptured.

Three was a young woman, around his age, he presumed, who sat in a chair with a children’s book in her hand, surrounded by a group of enthralled five-year-olds and their parents. Her light blonde hair was tied in a tight pony-tail that moved with the turn of her head and her fair skin was complemented by a free-flowing floral dress.

Though her looks seem to draw him in, it was absolutely the soothing lilt of her voice that surely captured the attention of everyone who entered here. He could listen to her talk for hours, about anything, and never tire of the gentle timbre that she used. She had a calm about her, despite the craziness that must come from owning a haven for rambunctious kids.

Jughead was sure. He had to meet this woman.

He waited for her to finish the story book, applauding when the baby bird finally found his mother, and watching as all the mothers and fathers gushed about how much their kids loved her story time.

It took at least twenty minutes for the commotion to die down and most of the little ones and company to filter out, some even purchasing the book she read.

She was at the register when he finally decided it was time.

“Excuse me, Miss?” He said, already regretting his choice of an opening line. He didn’t “have much game” as his buddy Archie would say, but he could have certainly done better than that.

He was momentarily stunned when she turned around and her eyes met his. They were the most beautiful shade of green that he had ever seen, something could spend hours pouring over on his vintage Underwood but never truly capture.

She smiled brightly at him, warmth radiating through her features, “Yes! How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for this book”— he held out the warn out copy that Jelly had given to him “as a lone only”—“that they just had a limited release of a few weeks ago. I have looked through every Barnes and Nobles for 20 miles of the city and cannot find it for the life of me. Could you help? You are kinda my last hope.”

“You’re in luck!” She quipped. “I happen to have a few copies of it behind the desk. It is one of my favorites and I didn’t want to sell it to anyone who hasn’t read the regular edition.”

He sighed in relief at the news as she presented the book to him. “Oh, I haven’t read it myself…Its a gift for my sister. Her birthday is tomorrow and it is her absolute favorite book. Something I try not to take offense to as an author myself.”

She laughed at his comment, already hard at work on the gift wrapping before he even uttered the last of his thought. “Ahh, a writer. Anything I may have read?”

He blushed. He was proud of his work, but it was always awkward when people found out who he was. He wrote because he loved it, not for the paychecks or the recognition. “Mostly crime and mystery. Occasional satire. I write as F. Jones III.”

She smiled timidly at him, but the excitement in her eyes betrayed her. She knew him. “Yeah, I have definitely read your stuff. Look at the bookcase behind you. Third shelf from the top.”

He turned around to see the wood piece labeled “Owner’s Top Picks” and found the shelf she had mentioned. On that shelf, sat all of his published works. “My own shelf…I’m honored.”

The phrase came out as a joke, but, honestly, he was honored. This woman had a sincerity that is hard to come by. She obviously has a somewhat refined taste, judging by some of the notable literature that filled the shelves of the bookcase in front of him. He felt…special, to be among these greats, to be loved by her.

God, Jughead had only just met her and he was sold.

“It might not be there for long. Looks like they are constructing a new chain right down the block. Could really stamp us out,” she said, a wave of sadness clouding her delicate features. She finished the gift with a curly bow and handed it to him. “On the house. From a fan.”

“No! I insist, really.”

The woman looks at him, amused. “And I insist you take it. Get your sister the author’s new release when it comes out.”

Jughead cannot believe this woman. She wants to give him this limited edition book, which is easily over $100, probably much more. “I have to do something.” I have to see her again, he thinks, as she walks away from the counter, a broom in her hands. “Can I at least get your name? I’m Jughead.”

“Betty. Betty Cooper. So, what does the ‘F’ stand for?” She asked with a bemused expression on her face.

“How about I tell you over coffee?”

______________________________________________

That coffee date was the first of many.

Jellybean loved her birthday present, but was even more excited when Jughead brought a date to her party the following week.

Turns out that Betty meeting Jughead was the best thing to happen to the store. When it threaten to go under after a new corporate giant appeared down the street, Jughead’s book signing brought in enough traffic to keep them open for years to come.

Jughead thought that that meeting Betty was the best thing to happen to him.

He made sure to tell her that, a year later, when he got down on one knee in the middle of the store.

Any feedback would be greatly appreciated! I promise that Letters to Juliet will be updated soon. Hope you all like it!

#oneshot #bughead fanfiction #bughead #bughead one shot

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sweetpeaprompts · 7 years

Text

Special Occassion

Anon requested: "Are you always that stupid or is today a special occasion?” from this prompt list.

Sweet Pea x OC

(I wasn’t sure if anon wanted this to be oc or reader so I made another oc but you can definitely add your name to where hers is)

Word count: 955

Warnings: swearing, Archie bashing (I love him but it’s fun to hate him!), violence, implied sex in public

Being the new kid your junior year sucks. Moving from the fast-paced city of Los Angeles to the small town that tries to be a city sucks even more. From what you can tell, Riverdale is full of elitist and sexist people who think mommy and daddy’s money means that they’re hot shit. It’s also weirdly incestuous so the dating pool is severely lacking. On your first day of school you were immediately adopted by Cheryl Blossom who is the epitome of daddy issues; but she’s got style so you guess it’s fine. Besides you need friends and having the queen B as an ally isn’t a bad feat on your first day.

Cheryl knows the ins and out of Riverdale and has the gossip on everyone and everything which is how you found out about Southside High closing but that’s not the interesting part, the interesting part is how much certain students are putting up a fuss, like fuck Poor people deserve an education too. You personally think it’s all very childish and stupid but there’s not much entertainment in this shithole town so you’ll take what you can get.

You’ve officially finished your first week of school and are ready for the weekend. You’re walking along Sweet Water River with your dog when you see a tall boy with dark black hair and a very attractive leather jacket with a snake donning his back and an easily recognizable ginger boy. They seemed to be arguing but you’re too far away to hear their conversation. You roll your eyes and are about to walk away when you see the ginger boy grab the black haired boy by the jacket. Archie knees the tall boy in the gut but the other boy grabs Archies leg, tripping him and knocking him to the ground. The tall boy then continues to beat the absolute shit out of Archie. Maybe you’re in a good mood today but you don’t actually want to see Archie murdered, it would totally ruin your weekend.

“All right boys, break it up. Your lovers spat is ruining my walk.” You say as you walk closer to the two. Archie gives you a bloody sneer but it really just looks pathetic. “Get out of here Emilee” the ginger spits, literally. Blood and saliva is everywhere. Gross!

“Listen here Anne of Green Gables, I’m saving your sorry ass because it looked like you were losing. If that isn’t the case I’ll let tall dark and handsome finish you off.” You leer at him. Fucking dick.

The tall snake man beside you lets out a huff of laughter. “Nah, Northside here isn’t worth it right now. I’m more interested in you. I’m Sweet Pea.” You raise your perfectly groomed eyebrow at the name but you just roll with it. “I’m Emilee” you smirk.

“You wanna get out of here Emilee?” Sweet Pea asks. “As long as you like dogs.” You respond, pointing over to your golden lab lazing in a patch of sun that’s breaking through the thick trees. “I love dogs” he laughs.

That was just the beginning of a beautiful friendship and maybe something more.

Xxx

A few weeks later you’re hanging out with Sweet Pea and his friends Fangs and Toni. Cheryl tagged along, unsurprisingly to you at least because that girl is crushing so hard on Toni and their “you’re hot but I hate you lets fuck” routine is amusing to you.

“Hey southside scum” the ever present 50 Shades of Ginger shouts, ruining the peaceful noise that is a high school lunch room.

“Hey Archibald. Here for another pissing match” Cheryl asks. She’ll deny it but you think she’s growing fond of the leather clad gang members.

“I’m just here to ask these scums if they’re ready to leave my school yet,” he huffs.

Scums, scum… plural. Does this guy even attend his classes?

“Really Archie, are you always this stupid or is today a special occasion?” you ask in annoyance “Because I’m starting to think it’s the latter. Now I am trying to enjoy my lunch and you seem to be interrupting it. Would you like to leave?” You ask and before he could respond you cut him off. “That was rhetorical Ginger Ale. Get the fuck out of here or I’ll show you how much of a bitch I can be. I bite.” You see Archie visibly swallow. By the grace of god Betty shows up just in time to pull him away. What a shame. You wanted to fight.

Cheryl and Toni look at you with an impressed smile. Fangs just looks slightly flabbergasted. Your eyes drag to Sweet Pea’s, his pupils are blown in lust and you can see a visible bulge in his pants. You smirk at him and grab him by the hand.

“Hey Pea, you ever fucked in a school bathroom?” You grin lecherously. Sweet Pea just shakes his head and swallows, “Well you wanna?” You ask, walking away from him. You know that he’ll follow you.

“Tata for now friends!” Sweet Pea following after you with a wide smile.

“I don’t know if I want to be her or be with her” Toni says with eyes wide

“Ditto” Cheryl and Fangs say simultaneously

Maybe Riverdale wont be so bad after all.

#sweet pea #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea fic #sweet pea x oc #sweet pea x reader #toni topaz #fangs fogarty #cheryl blossom #cheryl x toni #riverdale #riverdale fic #riverdale imagines #prompts #anon #request

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marshalls-scribbles · 7 years

Note

ok so like id be super down to hearabout your 4 pages worth of hcs???? and also after going through the prompt list i couldnt stop thinking about chansaw 26 possibly set in a sadder version of bored

i might write my headcanons down in a separate post soon, but in the meantime, prepare for angst. you asked for it, so i’m absolved of any guilt for any emotional distress.

26: Broken, as you clutch the sleeve of my jacket and beg me not to leave

Chansaw

Veronica groaned as she pushed herself out of bed. Still a few hours before she had to leave. Might as well go early, since she didn’t have much time left to sleep. The extra hour wouldn’t be worth the interruption. She carefully walked to the bathroom, doing her best to navigate without her glasses. She made it to the bathroom without incident, somehow managed to put her contacts in without trouble, and grimaced at the amount of hickeys on her neck and shoulders. Heather had come to visit last night, and Veronica hadn’t been strong enough to tell her to leave.

This was getting old. It wasn’t sustainable. She kept getting worried looks from Betty and Martha, and she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to tell them she was alright and make it believable.

Grumbling to herself, she did her makeup, making sure to cover up the bite marks, and headed downstairs, pouring herself a cup of coffee and leaving. She knew she should be eating. She shouldn’t start skipping meals again. Veronica sighed, rooting through her bag for one of the granola bars she kept for when she couldn’t bring herself to eat more than a few bites of food.

Empty. Fantastic. She sighed and grabbed her bike, sending a quick text to Heather to let her know not to bother picking her up. She needed to clear her head.

The roads were clear enough this time of the morning that she was able to listen to music without worrying about being taken off guard by a car. She managed to somewhat improve her mood by the time she reached the school. If she could have gotten her morning run in, she would have felt even better, but she hadn’t been able to go jogging in a few weeks. She sighed as she parked her bike, fishing the bike lock out of her bag and locking it to the bike rack. She was starting to get restless, her body itching to run, or climb, or anything else to get rid of some of this energy.

On her way inside the school building, she noticed she was scratching at her arm. She grimaced, pulling her hand away from her wrist. She definitely needed to get some of her nervous energy out.

Nodding to herself, she wandered to the locker rooms, retrieving a tank top and a pair of shorts from her locker, as well as a beat up pair of purple and black running shoes, before changing and running out towards the track.

She grinned as she stretched by the shredded rubber of the track lanes, the chill of the wind sending a shiver through her that snapped her awake. She breathed in deeply, the clear air affording her a moment of contentment. This would be the perfect opportunity for her to clear her head.

With a practiced ease, she tied her hair back in a low ponytail, untangled her headphones, and plugged them into her phone, pressing play on her exercise playlist and starting off at a slow jog, gradually picking up speed until she reached a comfortable pace.

She ran until the songs blurred together and she could no longer bring herself to care what the lyrics were. She ran until her legs burned from the exertion and her face was slick with sweat.

She slowed her pace until she was walking at a leisurely pace in lane 8, pausing her playlist and just listening to the sounds of her surroundings until she caught her breath. She soon walked off the track, walking back towards the school to shower and reapply her makeup.

She showered quickly and spent a few minutes redoing her makeup before she deemed herself presentable and emotionally ready to face the day, before finally leaving the locker room and making her way to one of her favorite places.

The band room was full of kids finishing up with early morning marching band practice. Veronica grinned, silently making her way to where Betty sat, cleaning her trombone while Martha sorted through their music.

Veronica waited patiently until they’d both put their equipment away before greeting them. “What’s up?”

Martha turned around, grinning from ear to ear. “Morning, Veronica! What are you doing here so early?”

Veronica shrugged. “Woke up early and figured I’d come here early to get some exercise in. You guys were on the other practice field, right?”

Betty nodded, her own smile more restrained than Martha’s, but no less glad to see Veronica. “Yup. How have you been? We haven’t seen you in a while.”

Veronica frowned. “You uh, remember that thing I had with Courtney?”

“Yeah?” Martha’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What about it?”

“I may have entered a similar arrangement with someone I actually have feelings for, and it may or may not have been a bad idea,” Veronica admitted.

Betty huffed. “Honestly, if they can’t appreciate you, then none of the Heathers deserve to be with you.”

Veronica chuckled. “It wouldn’t be so bad if I just could stop having feelings for her.”

“That’s how it is sometimes,” Betty shrugged.

Veronica nodded. “I just needed to tell someone, and I know you won’t judge me for being an idiot.”

Betty laughed. “That’s because we expect it at this point.”

Veronica stuck out her tongue at Betty. “Whatever. I’ll talk to you two later. Heather’s gonna want to yell at me for riding my bike here instead of letting her show off how generous she is for picking me up.”

Betty scoffed. “What do you see in her, anyways?”

Veronica sighed wistfully. “Something that might not even be there anymore.”

Veronica groaned as she got off her bike and went inside the house.

Heather hadn’t yelled, strangely enough. Rather, she’d just looked at her with an expression Veronica couldn’t read and told her to do whatever she liked.

Veronica thought she knew how to deal with this. She thought she could be okay with what she had.

A knock sounded from the front door, and Veronica huffed, before opening it to reveal-

“Heather,” Veronica said, “I wasn’t expecting company.”

Heather frowned. “What’s up with you lately?”

Veronica shrugged. “Just haven’t been feeling well. It’s nothing.”

Heather scoffed. “Don’t lie to me. You’ve been avoiding me.”

Veronica wasn’t honestly expecting her to catch on so quickly.

“Yeah, I was,” she sighed.

“Why?”

Veronica didn’t have time to answer before her dad’s voice piped up behind her.

“Veronica! Feel like helping your dear old dad with the plants?”

Veronica sighed with relief, turning to answer. “I’ll be there in a second!” She turned back to Heather, her expression neutral. “You want to come in?”

Heather frowned, but didn’t refuse. Veronica shrugged, before turning to walk out towards the back yard. Heather followed until they reached the back porch.

The garden took up most of the yard, with plants of nearly every type scattered about. They were all very obviously well cared for, and as Heather watched Veronica pick up a set of work gloves, she realized there was still so much to learn about Veronica.

“Ah, Heather! Good to see you again!” Veronica’s dad beamed.

Heather blinked. “Nice to see you again too, Mr. Sawyer.”

He sent Veronica an amused look, before turning back to the garden.

“We need to get everything ready before winter.”

Veronica nodded, and the two were soon engrossed in making sure the garden would be ready for them to start planting once spring arrived.

Veronica and her dad returned to the kitchen a few hours later, joking and laughing and looking thoroughly exhausted.

Veronica grinned at her mom, who was standing over the stove, cooking. “What’s cooking mom?”

“Spaghetti, your favorite,” She said, smiling at Veronica.

“Is it okay if Heather stays for dinner?”

Veronica’s mom nodded after a moment. “Absolutely! Now, you and your father should go wash up, and then I expect you both to help set the table.”

Veronica nodded and raced up the stairs. All in all, today wasn’t so bad.

Heather sat awkwardly at the dinner table, making polite, if awkward, conversation with Veronica’s dad.

“I have to say,” Mrs. Sawyer said, “It’s good to see you girls are talking again. When Veronica told us the two of you had had a falling out, we were worried she might not bounce back.”

“What do you mean?” Heather asked.

“Well, the two of you were just about inseparable until third grade,” Mr. Sawyer said, “You were the only person she’d talk to. She’s always been such an anxious girl. She only used sign language for a long time.”

Mrs. Sawyer laughed. “I remember the two of you would spend hours just learning how to sign with each other. You’re probably the best friend she ever had.”

Veronica had gone silent. She stared down at her food, not touching it despite being almost ravenous just a minute ago.

“I… hadn’t realized we used to be friends,” Heather admitted. “I thought we’d only just met this year.”

Mrs. Sawyer frowned. “That’s odd. You used to spend so much time here, one might think we had two kids instead of one.”

Heather looked over at Veronica, whose gaze hadn’t lifted.

“May I be excused?” Veronica asked. “I’m not feeling too well.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Sawyer said, “Go on up to your room and rest. We’ll take care of the dishes.”

“Thanks,” Veronica said, pushing her chair in and retreating to the kitchen.

Veronica was expecting her parents to just send Heather off with an extra serving of food and that would be the end of it.

She was surprised to instead see Heather Chandler bursting into her room a few minutes later.

“You never told me we used to be friends.”

Veronica shrugged. “You never asked. I figured it was best forgotten.”

Heather frowned. “What’s going on with you? First you’re avoiding me, then this? What’s going on, Ronnie?”

“Don’t,” Veronica growled. “Do not call me that.”

Scary as Veronica’s anger was, Heather didn’t back down. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Veronica groaned. “I can’t do this anymore! When you said you just wanted a casual relationship like what I had with Courtney, I thought I could handle it! I thought it could be enough! But I’m still too in love with you to so much as look at you without it hurting!”

Heather’s eyes widened. “You-”

“And it’s awful because I want so much more than to just be your casual makeout buddy! I want to take you on dates, and hold your hand, and all that mushy, stupid crap! But more than any of that, I want my friend back, but it’s like the Heather Chandler I fell in love with doesn’t even exist!” Veronica sighed, pressing her hands to her face. “Just go.” Her tone was weak, defeated, yet it allowed no room for argument.

Heather reached out, her hand holding tight to the arm of Veronica’s sweatshirt. “I-”

“Go!” Veronica shouted. “Forget I said anything! Forget me too, while you’re at it! You’re good at that.”

“I love you,” Heather whispered pleadingly.

Veronica stiffened. “It’s too little too late, Heather. Just leave.”

Heather stared for a moment, before sighing and walking out of Veronica’s bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.

Veronica collapsed back into her desk chair and let out a heavy sigh. She’d finally done it. She broke off her arrangement with Heather.

Somehow, it didn’t feel as freeing as she’d expected.

#ask #prompt #someonetooknozoomiealready #chansaw #shane writes bullshit

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serpent-jugheadjones · 7 years

Text

RUN!

Pairing: Jughead Jones x Reader

Description: Riverdale AU x Supernatural

Warnings: It’s a Halloween fic, need I say more?

Word count: 3551

A/N: Happy Halloween! This is and will forever be the only holiday I acknowledge :) Since Reggie has a thing for Midge in the comics, I wrote her in as his girlfriend because I didn’t wanna have to deal with a love triangle between her, Moose and Kevin. Y/A/C = Your Activity of Choice. This will have another part, but only on next year’s Halloween...

Y/N’s in her room getting ready for the Drive-In’s double feature and Cheryl’s costume party afterwards. A folded Register newspaper lays on her bed with a large headline on display. ‘Series of murders terrify Riverdale.’. The article contains some details Alice Cooper probably bribed out of someone. ‘Four parents have been found dead by authorities. The only ones present in the crime scene are their offspring, with bloody hands and Ouija board with a blood-red planchette in their rooms. It goes deeper than that as the teens who’ve been aprehended swear to have no memory of the happening.’. The girl brushes that out of her mind and takes one last look at her reflection in the mirror, sliding the small strap from her bag, which is filled with add-ons to her costume, her wallet and mints, across her chest. Her belly feels as if a thousand butterflies were flying inside her. The girl finally leaves, after her parents sermon on staying safe inside the car and enjoying her time sober. She tries not to look too weirdly amused as she arrives at her best friend’s house.

She’s greeted by the spitting image of Sandy Olsson. “You look amazing!” Y/N looks at her friend head to toe, the sweet image fitting her personality. “As do you.”, Betty hugs Y/N tightly and their ride honks in the driveway. To no surprise, Archie is dressed as Danny Zuko, with a funny black wig he probably got from Amazon for $1, still looking good, though. “Why, this car is Auto-matic. It’s System-matic. It’s Hyyyyydro-matic. Why, it’s Greased Lightning! “, the fake dark-haired boy sings and dances getting out of the car to open the passenger door for them, making Betty giggle. “Come on.”, the blonde instructs and they get in the truck he borrowed from Fred. FP lent his truck to Jughead, but since he works at the Twilight, Arch was kind enough to offer to drive Y/N there.

They enter the Drive-In, pay for their tickets, and Archie parks on the first empty spot he can find. Y/n thanks him for the ride and leaves to give the couple their privacy, but also in order to find her company for tonight. She waves at FP arriving in his Honda CB 550 and parking near the other Serpents bikes. He waves back with a smirk. His son and her have been friends forever and she also gets along with the man quite well as she loves hearing him reminisce about his High School days.

On her way to the projection booth, she spots Veronica as Holly Golightly and Kevin as Kurt Hummel in his Warblers uniform. Cheryl and Jason as Leia Organa and Luke Skywalker, inappropriate as usual. Passing by the concession stand, she hears arguing and stops to make sure everything is alright. Storming out of a car comes Reggie. “Hey, Y/N...”, he says embarrassed she saw him get yelled at. “Sup, Reg?”, the girl asks sympathetically. “Midge wanted me to dress as Bob. But come on, from That 70′s Show I’m definitely a Michael, not a Bob.” The tall football player points at himself in a tight turtle neck and a rainbow vest. “Bob and Midge didn't have a good relationship, so best to do you, Reggie.”, Y/N supports his choice. “Yeah, try telling her that.” He points at the car and rolls his eyes. “Who are you supposed to be?”, the confused boy asks. “Mia Wallace.” She turns so he can have a full look since he’s so oblivious. “Right, I get it.” She knows he still doesn't. “Anyways, I better go get popcorn before she freaks out.” Reggie walks away with the empty bucket. “Good luck. See ya at Cheryl’s.” Y/N says.

The girl climbs the steps to the familiar projection booth and knocks at the door. Jug opens it with a smile as he knew it could only be her. “I’m just finishing up, then we can head down.”, the weirdly cheerful boy explains and continues putting the film roll in the projector. Y/N’s speechless at the sight of Jughead’s costume choice, Vincent Vega. The fact that they didn't plan to match dumbstrike her unexpectedly more. He only asked her out the previous night, so even if they wanted to, there wouldn’t be enough time to agree on something like that. However, seeing the boy beanieless for the first time, and with straightened hair to fit the character, leads her back to the butterflies-in-the-stomach state. She can’t help but biting the inside of her lips so she won��t sigh. That doesn't go unnoticed by Juggie, who’s now sporting the signature Jones’ smirk.

The first movie begins and they leave the projection booth to the concession stand. Jughead orders them popcorn, sodas and gummy warms. “Perks of coming with an employee.” He laughs, as for him everything is free. Y/N carries their drinks while he takes the large bucket and pack of candy to FP’s truck. Jughead parked in the best spot, away from the building’s lights, in the middle of the field and close to the good stereos. He set up an air mattress, some blankets and one large pillow in the back, making them have to sit real close.

Y/N is using all her will power not to whisper every line from the movie, for Rocky Horror is one of her favorites. It’s not like he hasn't seen her doing it all the previous times she made the group watch it - somehow just the two of them seems different. Once Time Warp starts playing, the whole field begins to sing along like a huge choir. The costumed girl stands up on the truck and starts following the choreography, pulling Jug by his hand so she’s not doing it alone. The raven-haired boy never laughed so much at something before. This is precisely the reason he chose this film.

Although people could think two Tim Curry’s movies is overkill, IT got picked to make everybody cuddle as they get scared. Anyhow, the couple is already as close as possible and, to be honest, none of them is afraid of the movie. In fact, her one fear is that Jug disappears if she makes a single move, turning it all into nothing more than a dream. Jughead is fidgeting with the hem of his blazer, trying to work up the courage to wrap his arm around the girl. He finally does, using the old yawn trick, really smooth. His heart is pounding and he’s terrified of rejection, but she’s more than worth the risk. She simply rests her head on his chest, relieving him of all his worries, making him relax his grip on the hems and loosely hold her arm. “Jug...”, she starts. “Yeah?”, he questions. “Was the matching costume a coincidence?”, Y/N asks. “No... You told Betty your costume, she told Archie, who told me.”, he confesses shyly. “I knew it!”, she exclaims proudly. “In my defense, Tarantino is my favorite director. I just figured you choosing Mia was a hint of interest.”, Jughead says. “You guessed right, Jug.” She raises her face from his chest, looking at his blueish eyes, scenes from the neglected movies visible on them. He brushes his thumb across her red cheeks, taking her in, brain and beauty. Juggie leans in, slowly closing the distance between them, opening his mouth to meet hers in a kiss they have been jonesing about for ages.

Their moment ends as credits start to roll and car engines roar. Archie, now back to his original ginger locks probably because he couldn't stand the itchiness from the cheap wig, and Betty, showing a ‘I know what you did last summer’ look, come by just after they finish picking up the trash from the back of the truck. “Hey, guys. We’re going to Pop’s before Cheryl’s. Wanna join?”, the boy also dressed as a John Travolta character asks. “Absolutely. Just gotta close and we’ll meet you there.” Jug grabs Y/N’s hand, making Betty turn around and wink at her as they leave. They pack the film rolls back in their metal cases and put them on the shelves. Jughead stares intently at Y/N looking up the names on the other tins. “What?”, the girl asks when she catches his eyes locked on her. “You’re beautiful.”, he affirms and her skin flushes. “We should go, they’re waiting for us.”, she tries to deny the steam raising in the small room as Jug walks closer to her. “Let ‘em wait.” He pulls her firmly by the waist, making a quiet moan escape her lips before he smashes them together once more, in a heated kiss this time.

They lose track of time in that room. A couple tins fall from the shelves which he pushed Y/N against. After getting that out of their system they are ready to leave. Jughead drives away from the field and stops outside the tall gates to shut them with the chains and padlocks, not that it’s actually needed as that is Serpents territory. The car passes by kids trick-or-treating and they remember when FP would take them in a face-covered costume earlier and then run by the same houses in another costume and they’d get double the candy. “FP would always get the Skittles as his cut for being the master mind of the whole thing.”, Y/N says. “Those were the best of times until tonight...”, Jughead confesses. “Agreed.” the girl can help but grin.

The Chock'lit Shoppe is full. Families with their kids in cute costumes counting the candy they got. Adults imagining when they’ll have babies to dress up for the holiday and teens just enjoying themselves. Betty waves at them entering the diner and they sit in their regular booth. Y/N next to her cheerleader friend and Jug makes his football player friend move so he can sit by the window and in front of his date. Pop comes by with a smile, as those are his favorite customers, no doubt, to take their orders. “I'll have the Douglas Sirk steak.”, Jughead quotes. “What?” Pop is looking at his own menu, confused. “I'll have the Durwood Kirby burger, bloody, and a five-dollar shake. Martin and Lewis style, please.”, Y/N continues Jug’s acting, making the old man even more disoriented and the boy in front of her in awe. “Don’t mind their nonsense. They’re just being A-class nerds.”, Archie teases. “We’ll just have the usual, Pop.”, Betty laughs at her friends matching so perfectly.

The couples eat their delicious meal and share milkshakes. Jughead even lets Y/N have the cherry. He tries to get the check but she’s faster. They've been friends forever. She knows he doesn't earn much working at the Drive-In and won’t have his “manhood” hurt by the girl paying. Betty asks for them to be excused to the bathroom before leaving. Once there, Y/N unbuttons her shirt, exposing her bandeau top, grabbing spirit gum, a needlessness seringue to glue on her chest and fake blood to splatter over her. Then it’s Betty’s turn to transform her costume. Her blonde curls get styled in an 80′s updo with lots of bobby pins and hairspray. She darkens her makeup and slips in a shoulderless leather top, changing from her long skirt into high waisted skinny pants. Y/N can’t help but admire the accuracy of her friend’s costume. She’s innocent and sweet, but also dark and dangerous. Sandy represents her perfectly. The finishing touch to her new outfit is heels. “Had to watch a video on how to walk in these.” Both girls laugh at that. “Ready?”, the blood covered girl asks. “It’s now or never.” They hold hands and leave the bathroom.

They walk out confidently, all eyes on them as they stride through the crowded diner. Both John Travolta costumed boy’s mouth agaped, perplexed as the girls reach the table. “DAMN, Y/N/N!”, the ginger thinks out loud. “Archie!” Betty slaps his strong biceps. “Oh, yeah. You look awesome, babe.” He stands up to kiss her. Jughead is too hypnotized to even hear his friend’s comment. The Greese couple starts leaving. Jug stands up from his spot and Y/N walks in front of him. The boy gently leans in close to her ear. “This is undoubtedly the best Halloween ever.”, Jughead whispers, making Y/N blush uncontrollably. The freckled boy has to discipline himself to keep his eyes on the road.

The first spooky thing so far is arriving at Thornhill’s gates. A place so spine-chilling that doesn’t need decorations for the holiday. Y/N grabs Jug’s arm as he drives in and the temperature drops 100 degrees. They join Archie and Betty who just rang the doorbell, which seems futile giving the blasting music playing. However, the giant wooden door falls open shortly after. “If it isn't the Sad Breakfast Club. Come in.” Cheryl stares at both girls coming in from head to toe. “Just in time for our game. Follow me.”, Jason instructs and the group does as told, walking the ghostly halls of the Blossom’s mansion, filled with drunk teenagers dancing. They arrive at a wide room, lit only by a couple of candles on each corner, with the strong scent of incense and a circle of pillows on the floor, some already occupied. Reggie and Midge are still bickering over something so trivial as a Halloween costume. Chuck with Ginger and Tina at each side of him and his arms around them, the girls sporting an annoying smirk. The newcomers take their reserved seats by Veronica and Kevin. The Star Wars twins take their place in the two large red pillows at the edge of the circle.

Cheryl pulls out a large thin-timber board with the alphabet, numbers from 1 to 0 and YES/NO written in. She enigmatically sets it in the center. “A Ouija board? Seriously? Have you not read the news?”, Kevin questions in panic. Everyone’s eyes fall on him, some mockingly, others in support. “If you’re scared, you’re welcome to leave.” Jason points at the exit. Midge looks like she wants to take the offer. “We just don’t believe in that crap.”, Veronica defends her GBF. “Then you’ll have no problem playing.”, Cheryl spits, even though secretly she’s hoping it works. The group remains seated. “Come one, what are we? Kids? Let’s play 7 minutes in heaven.”, Chuck suggests with an annoying smirk. “Can you even last 7 minutes, Clayton?”, Betty teases and the rest laugh. “Focus!”, red-haired cheerleader’s captain demands. “The rules are simple. Maintain contact at all times. Start on HELLO and wait for the planchette to move. Ask only yes or no questions. Don’t ask for physical signs. Don’t be disrespectful. And don’t move the planchette on purpose, Chuck... End connection on GOOD BYE.”, ginger Skywalker explains. “We need a mediator to ask the questions. I nominate moi. All in favor raise their hands.” Ginger Leia stares at the hands going up, too scared to disagree. “Shall we?” She pulls out a blood-red planchette and everyone's hands follow hers.

Soon the candlelight starts to flicker and the planchette moves frantically. Instinct makes Y/N want to take her hand off, but, almost as if Jug knew, he intertwines his pinky to hers, reassuring the girl everything will be OK, that this is just a distasteful joke. Everyone starts asking all kind of crap. “ENOUGH.”, Cheryl shouts. “Are you a good spirit?”, the ginger girl adds and the planchette finally moves - towards ‘NO’. Midge runs out of the room in tears. “This is fucked up, Cheryl.”, the blonde cheerleader curses, going after the girl with a fake-blonde wig. “I’m out of here too! Anyone wanna join me?”, Chuck says and both Ginger and Tina walk away behind him, making Cheryl death-stare at them all the way. “I have a question. Who’s rigging the game?”, Veronica challenges. “You’re not supposed to ask the questions, Lodge.”, Jason spits. The planchette moves again, spelling something slowly: Y. O. U. At that Ronnie stands up. “Let’s go, Kev. This is stupid.” The boy does as told, as he wished to do all along. “Laters.” Reggie is the next one to go. Y/N doesn't say anything. She just grabs Jughead’s hand and heads for the door. “Archie!”, Jug calls out for his friend, who’s apparently fine with the whole ordeal, also happy to follow them anyways. The ginger twins face is just as red as their hair now.

The group is climbing down the stairs when there’s a blackout. Some unaware teens start screaming in joy of the new mood setting between them now that no eyes can fall on them. But the ones that were in that sinister room have a different reaction. Jughead pulls Y/N close to his chest. Archie and Reggie run down to find their girlfriends who left before them. “Should’ve played the game.”, both twins speak in a creepy voice. “Only those who play till the end survive.” They raise their hands in synchrony and all the doors in the house are closed shut. Both football players made it out in time, but the writer and the Y/A/C are locked in.

It becomes obvious that those aren't Jason and Cheryl anymore. There’s something possessing them. Jug instinctively launches himself in front of Y/N, to shield her from harm. But, to their surprise, two men burst through the main door. One tall and moose-like, the other... not. Both with shotguns in hand. ”RUN!” They don’t even have to say twice before the crowd dissipates. Furniture’s flying everywhere, until the possessed twins remove their firearms from their grips. The not-moose one runs towards the Blossoms but he’s forcefully pulled against the wall by an invisible force before he can even reach the first steps. Y/N has to drag Jughead down the stairs as the boy’s most likely in shock and can’t move on his own. The taller one, with a longer dirty-blonde hair, uses their evac to his advantage as Jay-Jay and Cheryl are distracted with the running teens. He manages to slit their arms with an iron blade, and, as blood flows from the cuts, a transparent-white shape is forcefully released out of their bodies. The less tall one is released from something that was immobilizing him, running up the stairs to the room, salting the board and burning it along with the planchette, ending that once and for all. Y/N is flabbergasted, holding Jug’s hand, barely breathing, both trying to process everything that just happened.

The twins are now back to their usual selves, which isn’t much different from the spirits as they angrily throw out their saviors. “Come on, Tarantino’s couple.” The men carry both the astound teens out with them, as they were the only witnesses. The one with shorter dark hair searches Jughead’s pocket, finding his car keys and tossing it to the taller one. “Ok, Sammy. You take the girl in the truck and I drive Travolta in the Impala.”, he instructs. “Where to, Dean?”, the moose asks, sitting the girl on the passengers seat. “That diner we passed by on the way here.”, the older one rapidly responds. “Of course.”, the hairy guy agrees with some cynicism.

The two Riverdale natives are led back to the Chock’lit Shoppe. They sit across from each other. Now that shock is almost completely worn off, the tallest man on Earth introduce themselves as Sam and Dean Winchester, hunters. “Wait, so you hunt... things, monsters?”, Y/N asks as Jughead chews his burger nervously. “Spirits, demons, vampires, werewolves... the list goes on. It’s a complex job.”, Sam explains while his brother is happily swallowing his milkshake. “Do you get dental with that?”, Y/N asks, as quoting 80′s movie lines is her way of coping with the world. “No.” Sammy laughs. “So, Cheryl and Jason were...”, Jug starts. “Possessed, yes. As those other kids who got arrested.”, Dean cuts him off, speaking with his mouth full. “We shouldn’t have played that stupid game.”, the girl says angrily. “Oh, no! The game is a hoax. In this case, it was because of a cursed object, casually the planchette.”, Sam explains. “All of the teens who were arrested were telling the truth then, when they said they didn’t do it.”, Jug concludes. “Unfortunately.”, Dean says in between chewing, like this is just another day for them. “This is the BEST burger ever!”, he now shouts to Pop, who smiles brightly. Juggie and him eat their burgers with side of fries and onion rings till the last crumble, downing every bite with a free round of milkshakes from Pop Tate for the compliment. Sam is just picking at a salad as Y/N simply watches, amazed at how much her date can eat, since they had dinner no more than an hour before. By the end of that meal, they all feel kinda glad for being alive, Jug and Y/N mostly, for the Winchesters give them their phone numbers in case something like that happens again.

Halloween is about to end for those involved with that particular planchette, teenagers who were too naive to understand the powers of natural and supernatural, twins who wished their parents were killed, two friends whose relationship just had a great development, and brothers whose job is to protect all of them. At the strike of twelve in a small town diner, a special couple starts to notice there’s way more to crime than what meets the eye.

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missjugheadjones · 7 years

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The New Girl

Word Count: 3350

A/N: this was requested, and I had a lot of fun writing it. Be careful tho lol because there are some... interesting and kind of inappropriate names... don't be too confused, you'll understand if you read it, haha. Much love! Also I’m back after what feels like 10 years lol

MasterList

"Welcome to Riverdale, a town with pep." Y/Ns mom read as they passed the sign, and Y/N sighed, choking back tears that were threatening to spill. She stared out the window watching as trees and houses passed by her in a blur, trying her best to observe her new home. "Y/N, are you okay sweetie?" Her moms voice called, and she faced the front of the car, giving a soft but fake smile.

"I guess so, why?" she asked, and her mom shrugged, looking back at her daughter for a split second.

"I don't know, you just looked like you were in one of those sad R&B music videos from the early 2000's, that's all." she said, and Y/N looked at her confused, to which her mom noticed through the rear view window. "Or is that too early for you to remember?" she asked, and Y/N rolled her eyes. "Maybe you're too young."

"I know what you're talking about mom, I just didn't think I looked that emo." she mumbled, and her mom chuckled to herself.

"You may not think you look like it, but you're definitely starting to sound emo." she mumbled to herself, thankfully Y/N didn't notice. Her mom sighed softly to herself, looking at her daughter through the rear view window again, watching as she sulked and stared outside.

"Y/N, sweetie, I know you're upset about the move, but we will be okay. We just needed a fresh start, away from your school, away from the house, and away from your father." she said, watching as Y/N swallowed hard.

"I know... I just miss James and my friends, that's all." she said, wiping the tear that strayed from her eyes.

"James is always welcomed to visit, same goes for your friends." her mom tried to reassure, but Y/N shook her head.

"They're 16 and we live hundreds, even thousands of miles away!" she spat, her voice shaking slightly.

"You and James can make a long distance relationship work, I believe in what you two have." her mom said softly, but Y/N just huffed.

"Doesn't matter, we broke up because we knew we couldn't make it work, we are too young." she said, more tears falling, and her mom slowly nodded her head.

"I'm sorry honey, maybe you'll find someone new out here." she replied quietly, her grip on the steering wheel tightening. She just wanted to take her kid away from their old life, it wasn't a nice one and Y/N and her deserved better. She deserved better.

After a few minutes more of driving, her mom pulled up into a driveway, and Y/N looked up from her phone, observing the nearby neighbors. In the house next to her she watched as a red-headed boy walked out of his house, a guitar in hand. His gaze caught hers for a split second before a blonde and a raven haired girl ran from a car parked in front of the house to him, bringing his attention to them. But then she saw another boy walk out of the house, and just like the first one his eyes met hers, although this time her breath caught in her throat and neither of them looked away.

"Home sweet home." Y/Ns mom called, parking the car and Y/N jumped out of the car, eyes still on the boy in the neighboring lawn. The boy wore a grey crown beanie on his head, and wore dark brooding clothes. He was tall and seemed like he had gone through some shit, but she could see he was sweet, although it seemed like he didn't show that side of him often. The boy smiled softly, and she returned it, not noticing the blonde making her way towards her.

"Did you just move here?" She asked excitedly, and Y/N snapped her gaze from the boy who had really caught her eye.

"Betty, calm down, you'll scare the poor girl." The raven haired one said, and Y/N smiled sweetly, as to not look bitchy towards the two girls who were obvious just trying to be nice.

"Oh hello girls!" Her mom said excitedly, closing the car door.

"Hi!" The girls said in unison, and Y/N rolled her eyes, earning a chuckle from the dark haired boy.

"I'm Stephani Wishings, and this is my daughter Y/N Wishings, we just moved here, in fact, this is our first day here." her mom said cheerily, hoping that the four kids standing in front of her would be friends with her daughter. She looked towards the ginger and smirked, he definitely seemed Y/Ns type, James was pretty similar to him.

"Hi Y/N, I'm Betty Cooper." The blonde said, and the raven haired one smiled too.

"Veronica Lodge, happy to be your friend!" she said happily, and Y/N smiled softly.

"I'm Archie Andrews," the ginger called, making his way towards the group with the dark haired boy behind him. "And this is-"

"Uh no, I can introduce myself, I know how to talk." he said, making Y/N chuckle slightly. "I'm Jughead Jones the third." he said, extending his hand to which she gladly accepted.

"It's nice to meet you, Jughead." She said sweetly, and then quickly looked to everyone else. "It's nice to meet all of you."

"Y/N sweetie, we should probably start moving stuff into the house, you can talk to your new friends when we're done." Her mom called, and Y/N turned to her and nodded. Stephani looked at her daughter still holding hands with the tall Jughead boy and gave her a suspicious look, to which Y/N realized what it was about. She looked at Jughead and pulled her hand away, blushing as she backed up.

"We'll be at Pops diner later tonight around 8, you should join us." Jughead said, and Y/N nodded.

"I'll be there." she quickly replied, and everyone nodded.

"She'll be there if we're done with moving boxes and such inside!" her mom called, and Y/N faced her new friends, mouthing "I'll be there either way." The teenagers laughed and she made her way inside, smiling to herself.

• • •

"You made it." Jughead said, and Y/N turned towards the booth where the boy was sitting, walking towards him.

"I did, I have to admit though, I got lost trying to find my way here." She said, taking a seat and the boy laughed, closing his laptop.

"We all do every once in awhile, don't sweat it. Anyways, you're new so you have an excuse." He said, and Y/N blushed slightly, a comfortable silence falling between them.

"Where is everyone else?" Y/N asked, and Jughead checked his phone for messages and opened it up, texting his friends back.

"They..." he started, typing away on his phone, and then setting it down. "They said they're on their way."

"Oh okay, good." she said, and Jughead chuckled.

"I'm sorry hanging out with just me is so terrible." He teased, and Y/Ns face drained, panic setting in that she'd given him that impression.

"N-No, not at all it's just..." she trailed off as Jughead gave her an amused look, and she realized he was only kidding. "I mean yeah, absolutely awful. You're the worst."

"Same to you, new girl." He said, and a waiter came over, placing a basket of fries between the two.

"These are on the house, Pops says welcome to the neighborhood." the waiter said kindly, giving a smile to Y/N, and she returned it. The waiter leaned down to Y/Ns ear, checking to make sure Jughead could still hear what was being said. "He also says to watch out for this one, says he's complete trouble with writing skills that could kill and a look that can make all the ladies swoon." Y/N chuckled and the waiter left with a wink.

"Thank you!" She yelled towards Pops who was behind the counter, and he gave her a nod in response, then she turned back to Jughead.

"Anyways, as I was going to say before I was given that all important warning, thisnew girl has a name, you know. Or did you forget already, it wouldn’t surprise me." she joked.

"I haven't forgotten," he started, faking offense. "You're... Jack Kanoff?"

"Oh my god, no!" Y/N said, chuckling at his odd guess.

"No? Damn... hmmm, are you Hugh Jazz?" he asked, a smug smile plastered to his face as Y/Ns burnt red.

"Close, but no." she said, taking fries in her hand and popping them in her mouth. "Wanna give it one more go?" she asked, and he nodded, pretending to think hard.

"Y/N Wishings, that's the name I was looking for." he said, and she nodded her head, giving a quiet and slow round of applause for the beanie clad boy.

"I'm proud you finally got my name right, Ben Dover." Y/N said with a wink, making Jughead laugh so much he choked on his fries.

"Did I just hear you tell Jughead to bend over?" Archie asked, sliding into the booth next to Jughead, and Y/Ns face burned bright red again.

"That's what I heard too." Veronica teased, sitting by Y/N followed by Betty.

"We were just calling eachother by outrageous names, that's all." Jughead said, winking over to Y/N, who for the first time since she had gotten to Riverdale, felt her stomach flutter. She was catching feelings for the raven haired boy, and she was...okay with it? Maybe he'd be the one to replace James, sure James and her were in love, but sometimes good things end so better things could come. She'd always love James, sure, but maybe, just maybe Jughead Jones would be her new love.

"If you want to keep your crush on our very own Jughead Jones a secret, I'd refrain from staring too long." Veronica whispered, snapping Y/N out of her trance, and she panicked realizing that she had in fact been staring.

"Oh, uh, thanks. I kinda zoned out there." Y/N whispered back, and Veronica nodded understandingly.

"I don't blame you, he might be the towns black sheep but he's one handsome son of a bitch, gets it from his dad." Veronica said, and Y/N chuckled slightly with Veronica. "If it makes you feel any better, Archie, Betty, and I were talking about how Jughead wouldn't stop talking about you when you left for your house earlier, boy definitely is crushing on you, which is weird because before, we were almost certain he was incapable of any emotions at all. He's usually so... neutral." Betty leaned in as well, smiling at Y/N.

"Very true, he's kinda emo." She teased, and the three of them laughed, making Archie clear his throat.

"What are we talking about, ladies?" He asked, and the three of them separated, putting on their most innocent looks they could.

"None of your business, Archiekins." Veronica said, giving a smile towards Betty and Y/N. For the rest of the night, the five of them joked around and ate, enjoying each others company's and at the end, Y/N smiled to herself as she got up from the booth, she had definitely found her new best friends.

• • •

Y/N had been in Riverdale for 2 months now, and she was the happiest she had been in awhile. Sure Riverdale was going through some... rough patches as her mom would put it, but she had friends that made her feel like she belonged. When she was with them, she forgot about her old school, her asshole dad, and her old shitty and depressing life. Tonight was no different, Veronica, Betty, Archie and Kevin were going to go clubbing, and had somehow talked Jughead into joining. At first, Y/N was skeptical, and she knew her mom wouldn't go for it, but she decided a fun night with her friends would be worth the punishment she was sure to receive once her mom found out where she had gone.

"Look at you!" Veronica exclaimed as Y/N walked out of the bathroom, and all eyes fell on her, Jugheads breath catching in his throat. Y/N made her way out of the bathroom in one of Veronica's dresses, a sparkly black, tight dress which was something Y/N would never go for, but Veronica made her, and she was kinda glad she did. She was wearing heels, again something she'd probably never do, and her nails were painted as well. She decided since it was a night out, she was going to go with makeup, and went with her signature winged eyeliner and mascara, but added a little something new, a red lip.

"You look amazing!" Betty said, walking over and giving her a once over, making Y/N smile. She noticed Jugheads stare, and she felt herself melt, although she wasn't one to let it show, she stood taller and more confident and glanced around the room at everyone dressed up.

"We ready to go?" Y/N asked, and everyone nodded.

"Let's get our party on!" Kevin exclaimed, opening the front door, and everyone shuffled outside, Y/N and Jughead walking together in the back of the group.

"You look great." Jughead said quietly, only loud enough for her to hear, and she blushed.

"You don't look bad yourself, you clean up nicely." She said, and they climbed into the back of Archie's truck, the engine starting and Jughead took Y/Ns hand, and she leaned into him. They made their way to the club and somehow got in even though they were literally a group of 6 underaged teenagers.

Betty and Archie hit the dance floor, Betty a giggling mess with Archie's hands on her waist looking all to happy to be dancing with the perfect girl next door. Kevin and Veronica had hit the bar, and were soon also on the dance floor as well, all eyes on them. Y/N and Jughead on the other hand were standing in a corner, sipping on Dr. Peppers and Rum, and talking to eachother.

After an hour of chatter, Y/N felt her drink kicking in a bit and she felt an urge to dance. She excused herself and got two new drinks, hoping to drunken Jughead up enough to dance with her, and walked them back to him. She handed him his drink and they both took large drinks, shudders coursing through the two new drinkers.

"Let's dance." Y/N blurted out, expecting Jughead to be completely against the idea, but he just shrugged.

"Usually I'd say 'hell no' but dancing with you doesn't sound all that bad, so why the hell not." he said, taking her free hand in his, pulling her to the dance floor, Y/N giggling the whole way.

"Look at you go!" she laughed as Jughead got down, swaying himself to the beat of the song, and Y/N did the same.

"Look at you, I didn't know you could dance Willie Stroker." he teased, and she rolled her eyes, giggling.

"We back at that?" she asked, and Jughead nodded, his beanie-less hair bouncing around. His face went from playful to serious, and Y/N gulped at the look in his eyes. She had seen it before, but from her ex James.

"I have to tell you something." Jughead said, grabbing her free hand, and she nodded, hoping he was going to say what she thought. Before he could say anything though, a tug at her shoulder spun her around, and she gasped.

"Y/N, I found you!" James said, pulling her into a hug, and Jughead stood confused. Y/N didn't know what to do, she didn't hug him back and he pulled away, looking down at her worriedly.

"James I-uh. What are you doing here? How'd you find me?" She asked, backing up slightly towards Jughead who placed a hand on her waist. James noticed and his face hardened, looking at Jughead, but when he looked back towards Y/N, it softened.

"It doesn't matter how I found you, but I'm here because the past two months without you have been hell. I love you, Y/N, and I miss you so damn much. I know you feel the same, you were so heartbroken when you left, and I knew in that moment you truly did love me and that we had something real. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I want to get back together." James said, looking hopefully down at the (y/h/c) girl.

"What's going on here?" Veronica asked, and it was then Y/N noticed her, Archie, Kevin, and Betty were watching as this whole mess unfolded.

"Y/N, can I steal your attention for a second before you answer him?" Jughead asked, and James folded his hands into fists, his jaw clenching.

"No, you may-" he started, but Y/N interrupted him.

"James, chill. Jughead, of course." She said sweetly, turning to face the raven haired boy.

"What I was going to say, was that I'm falling for you, Y/N. I have been ever since you moved here, ever since we first locked eyes through your car window. And I totally understand if you don't feel the same way, although I could have sworn you did since the beginning, just like me." he said, and Y/Ns stomach fluttered, and her heart swelled.

"Why you little-!" James yelled, starting towards Jughead but Archie intervened, pushing him back. James ran a hand through his brown hair, and Y/N looked back at him, and she didn't feel the spark in her chest she used to feel looking at him. It was gone, it belonged to Jughead now.

"James, you should go home." She said quietly, realizing the whole club was now staring.

"Not without knowing I still have you! You haven't gone and replaced me have you, with this emo!" he yelled, and Jughead rolled his eyes, his jaw now clenching. James was right, he was just a weird dark child, Y/N would no doubt go with James.

"Don't call him that!" Y/N yelled. "I'm sorry James, but I don't feel that way towards you anymore." She said quietly, and Jughead perked up. She turned to face him, and handed her drink to Archie, who also took Jugheads. She placed both her hands on the sides of his face and smiled.

"Please don't do this Y/N, you're drunk, you can't think straight." James said rudely, but she ignored him.

"Jughead Jones the Third, I'm falling for you too, and I have been since the very beginning." She said sweetly, and he smiled, leaning closer to her.

"I'm not seriously about to lose the love of my life to some skimpy loser namedJughead, am I? What the hell is this bullshit? Honestly, Y/N, I thought you had better taste-" James was cut off with a slap to the face, and when he looked up, he saw Y/N angrily staring at him. She quickly turned and kissed Jughead, his hands sliding to her waist.

"I think it's time you leave." Archie said, and James rolled his eyes.

"This isn't over, Y/N. You'll see soon enough you still love me, and that your wasting your time with that weird ass guy." he called as he backed up, and Y/N held up her middle finger while deepening the kiss with Jughead. They pulled apart and Jughead laughed.

"Damn I got lucky you moved here." he said, and she nodded her head.

"So did I. I traded an dick for a wonderful guy." Y/N said, and Jughead chuckled.

"Damn right you did." He said cockily, and Y/N rolled her eyes. "Care to dance again?" he asked, taking his drink back from Archie and she did as well.

"Absolutely." she replied, dancing again and he laughed, Archie, Betty, Kevin and Veronica joining them, the six of them dancing the rest of the night away.

Tag list: @do-not-call-me-sunshine @gelattoes @xbobaaa @katshrev @farmfreshcoldsprouts @sgarrett49 @always-chocolate @nadya0128 @vegaslodgeprimary @rainbows-and-glitter-bitch @lost-in-wonderland-x @aezthetically @mrs-jughead-jones @nafa1604 @moonlight53 @mydelightfulcollectiontyphoon @bookloveaffair @twolittlehunters @reallyshortartist

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