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aquietwritingcorner · 3 years

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Embers of Revelation

Author: RealityBreakGirl/aquietlearningcorner Word Count: 11883 Rating: T Prompt: FMA Big Bang 2021 Warnings: Child abuse/neglect Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang, Jean Havoc, Heymans Breda, Vato Falman, Kain Fuery, Black Hayate Pairing: Royai Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Family Chapter: 4 of 7 Summary: Tasked by Fuhrer Grumman to investigate a suspected alchemic incident, General Mustang’s team finds themselves stranded in Hawkeye’s hometown. Needing a place to stay, they find themselves taking shelter in her childhood home. However, her past can’t stay buried there, and as revelations come to light, they also bring embers of danger with them. Sequel to Embers in a Wounded Heart AO3 || ff.net

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Chapter 4

The next few days continued in a similar vein, with steady rain, but with no lightning storms. Just buckets of rain falling each day. How this was happening and how the storms hadn’t rained themselves out yet, no one really knew. It just rained constantly, and everything was getting flooded and soggy.

Everyone stuck pretty close around the house and to each other until, once again, they were running low on supplies. A trip to town would have to be made, pulling the cart and walking in the rain and mud. No one really wanted to do it, and so they had stretched their supplies to nearly their limit, before even Hawkeye said that there wasn’t going to be much else, she could do with the food they had. Reluctantly, they had made plans to go into town to check on things and replenish their supplies.

Mustang was going to go, of course, because he needed to make some phone calls into Headquarters to report in, and see just what was going on, Havoc was sure. Falman was, as expected, anxious to see if there were any archives in town where he might find more information on Hawkeye’s house. He was certain that there had to be an entrance somewhere, he just had to find it. To no one’s surprise, Breda was going because he said he was going stir crazy being locked up in the house all of the time, and getting out, even if it meant getting wet and muddy all over again, was preferable to staying put when the opportunity to go presented itself. Havoc hoped he still felt that way when he was busy demucking his boots.

The rain had actually slowed down a little bit, and Fuery felt safe enough with that and the lack of thunder and lightning for the past few days, to work on connecting the phone line. He thought about going with everyone else, but this seemed like a better use of his time, and Havoc found he couldn’t argue with that. Havoc’s legs were still hurting him, and he honestly didn’t want to walk all the way into town at the moment, so he volunteered to stay behind with Fuery. Hawkeye frowned at that and decided that it would be a good idea if she stayed behind, if Fuery was going to be up on the roof working, and Havoc was going to be in the house. She could keep an eye on both of them and help out if needed.

The plan was agreed upon, even if Havoc could see that Mustang didn’t exactly look thrilled with leaving Hawkeye behind. After last time, everyone wanted to be more careful, something that everyone could agree with. They had all stayed armed since that day, Havoc making sure he had a backup gun on him too. Hawkeye was, of course, armed the most out of all of them, to no one’s surprise. They were about as safe as they could be. Still, Havoc kept watch on Hawkeye, especially after the other left.

Hawkeye and Fuery got straight to work, Hawkeye showing Fuery the best route to get to the roof and told him of the sturdiest trees if he needed them. Wanting to make himself useful. Havoc went to work in the laundry room, taking care of the clothes that were in there, figuring even if his legs were hurting him, he could still do something. He could hear Hawkeye working on cleaning, apparently still having standards for this old place, although he had no idea why.

For a few hours everything seemed to go well. They all worked on their own thing, Hawkeye going out every so often to check on Fuery. The rain seemed a little lighter than it had been, giving them, all hope that it would ease up soon. Havoc wasn’t sure if the sun he saw was real, or wishful thinking, but he definitely wanted things to dry out so repairs could be made, and they could get out of here.

It was fairly quiet, the light rain pattering, and the radio playing softly when suddenly Havoc heard what sounded like a cry and then the sound of something crashing down. His eyes widened and he rushed out of the laundry room, Hawkeye just a little bit ahead of him. They both bolted out of the door and looked around, until Hawkeye cried out “Fuery!” and started at a dead run, Havoc hot on her heels.

Fuery was laying on the ground, not moving, an arm clearly not laying right. They rushed up to him, Havoc’s heart clenching as he feared the worst. Riza knelt by him, headless of the muddy ground and felt for a pulse.

“He’s alive,” she said, “and he’s breathing. That arm is definitely broken.”

Havoc looked up. The tree above them had a few broken branches and he could see rips from Fuery’s clothes on them. “Looks like he tried to catch himself, or at least slow his fall.”

“It probably saved his life,” she said. “that’s not a small fall.” She was running her hands over him, checking him over. “I don’t think there’s any damage, but we still need to be careful. We need to get him inside out of this rain.”

“Alright,” Havoc said. “Where to?”

“The couch. It’s the closest and I don’t want to risk stairs,” Hawkeye said. “We need to do our best to make sure that his neck and back stay straight. The ironing board. Go get it.”

“Right,” Havoc said, and took of inside after it, returning only moments later with the stiff board in tow.

Following Hawkeye’s directions, they worked together to roll Fuery into the board and get him inside the house and to the couch. The man didn’t stir while they moved him, which was more than a little worrying to Havoc. He headed after the first aid supplies, Hawkeye telling him exactly where they were. Of all the people on the team, she had the best medical skills, and he stood ready to assist. She checked Fuery’s eyes, kept a watch on his pulse, and splinted his arm as best she could. But it was clear to Havoc that she was still worried about him.

“He needs the doctor, but we don’t need to move him.” She looked up at Havoc. “You need to go to town, get the doctor, and get the others.”

“Will you be alright?” he asked, skipping past the part where he protested leaving her alone and she reassured him that she would be alright, and he mentioned that Mustang wouldn’t like it, and she countered with Fuery’s life being on the line. They all knew where that argument would end, and there was no reason to even start it. It was better to just move on to the practical.

“I’m armed,” she said. “I have at least three guns on me at all times, you know that. You’re the fastest of us, and I have the most medical experience. Take Hayate with you as extra protection and go—we have no way of knowing if Fuery has any internal injuries.”

“Right,” Havoc said, serious. He reached to make sure he was armed, called the little dog with him, and headed off like a shot for town.

Havoc had always been the fastest on the team. His long legs helped him out a great deal, and he could take long, lopping strides. He was good at sprints, and he was good at long distance. That had, of course, changed, when Lust had stabbed him through the spine, but ever since regaining the use of his legs, he had been working on building it back again. He had gotten quite a bit better. He wasn’t sure if he could beat Hawkeye right now or not, but what he did know was that she was the best bet to be with Fuery if something went wrong.

So, Havoc ran, headless of the mud, Hayate at his side and his gun in his hand, towards town and the doctor.

He had no idea what the others had found in town, or what he had just left his teammates too.

A soldier running into town, mud all up his uniform, with a dog at his side was sure to gain a few looks, especially when he was clearly heading somewhere with a purpose, but Havoc paid the townspeople no mind. He remembered where the clinic he had seen was, and headed towards it, passing my old Mr. Nelson who tried to wave him down. He ignored him, instead heading straight for the clinic and pretty much bursting in the door. There were a man and a woman in there who looked up at him in surprise. Havoc leaned heavily on the door, soaking wet, muddy, and with an equally wet and even muddier dog by his side.

“Need… your help, Doc…” he said, gasping for breath. He really needed to lay off the cigarettes more. “Man fell… from roof. Unconscious…. The Hawkeye place…”

The doctor wasted no time in grabbing his coat and hat, taking his bag, and telling the nurse to bring the wagon after him, just in case. He was clearly taking his horse, and he wasn’t going to wait on anyone, which was fine by Havoc.

“You can ride back with me,” the nurse said. “We’ll get there quickly. The buggy is made for quick travel.”

He nodded. “Fine by me.” He was still out of breath.

“I’ll go prepare it,” she said, grabbing her own coat and bonnet and heading out the back door.

Havoc stood there, panting, and felt about ready to just sit down where he was, when a hand landed heavy on his shoulder, and he jumped. It was Mustang, which explained why Hayate didn’t make any noise, and he was looking at Havoc with concern and alarm.

“What’s happened?” he said.

“Fuery fell… off the roof, sir.” He said, still panting. “Hawkeye sent me for help.”

Mustang’s eyes widened. “His condition?”

“Unconscious. We got him inside. Arm’s busted.” Havoc said.

Before more could be said, Breda and Falman came hurrying up to them.

“What’s going on?” Breda asked, knowing that something had to have happened for Havoc to be there looking as out of breath and muddy as he was.

“Fuery fell off the roof,” Mustang said. “Hawkeye sent Havoc for help.”

Both Breda and Falman looked alarmed.

“Doc’s on his way…” Havoc said, just starting to regain his breath. “The nurse said we could ride in the wagon with her.”

“You might want to get a horse instead, sir,” Breda said. “Falman discovered something.”

“I looked through the archives that they kept at the library,” Falman explained, “and the archives at city hall. There was an outside cellar door there at one time. Right here, near where the man that the captain hired showed us the strange marks.”

“Wait—” Mustang said. “You mean there might be a way in there? And if whoever it was stole the papers from the file, that means they either want information or are trying to keep it from getting out. And—”

“And Hawkeye’s there, all alone with an injured Fuery.” Havoc finished.

Breda cursed, but Mustang didn’t even waste the time. He headed off towards the livery stable, and Breda rushed after him. Havoc moved to, but stumbled, Falman barely catching him.

“Whoa—you alright, Havoc?” he asked.

Havoc cursed. “I’ve pushed myself too far.” He shook his head. “No, go. I’ll catch up on the wagon.”

Falman shook his head. “We’ll catch up on the wagon,” he said, already hearing it coming around the corner. “And if we need to, we’ll pick up Breda and the General too.”

The nurse let them both climb aboard, as well as Hayate, and headed out of town as quickly as she dared. Breda and Mustang were only a little way in front of them having gotten horses. Breda fell back to ride alongside them for a moment, telling them that Mustang was going to go on ahead of the wagon and try to catch up with the doctor in case something was wrong. Breda was going to do his best to catch up to the General. Falman and Havoc would be the backup that came a little bit behind them. Both men nodded. They understood. Breda asked the nurse, who was still driving the buggy at astonishing speeds, if she was alright with this.

“I’m a nurse,” she snapped back at him. “My job is to save lives, and there’s a life that needs saving there—maybe more than one when this is all over. I’m going.”

Breda nodded, and then sped up, chasing after Mustang.

Although the buggy was going at a good pace, it was still a buggy and it took longer than a horse. Havoc wished he had some way to make it faster, but he didn’t. All he could do was hold on and wait. He rubbed his legs, trying to work any cramps in them out. He was determined to be at his top game, or at least as close as he could be.

When they rolled up to the house, the front door was open, prompting both he and Falman to unholster their guns. The doctor’s horse was tied to a post, but Mustang and Breda’s horses were loose in the yard. Falman jumped down out of the wagon before it came to a stop, and Havoc wasn’t far behind him. “Stay here,” he said to the nurse, “until you’re given the all clear.”

“Right,” she said, keeping a grip on the reigns.

Havoc hurried in the door, not hearing any shots, or shouts, but kept his gun at the ready. When he came inside, though, what he heard was Fuery’s voice. He made his way into the living room where he saw the doctor near a slumped shape on the floor. Mustang and the others were gathered around it, listening.

“I’m sorry, sir…” Fuery was saying. “I tried… he came in here… out of nowhere. He threw something at Hawkeye… it smelled sweet. I think it was a gas or something.” His breath hitched in pain. “She tried to fight, but it got to her… I tried… I tried to stop him… I’m sorry. I couldn’t get any further. I’m sorry!”

“Which way did they go?” Mustang asked, a growl in his voice.

“…out the back…”

Mustang wasted no more time, up and heading out the door.

Havoc followed, calling back. “Falman, tell the nurse to come in here! Stay with them!” he said. He followed right behind Mustang, who had stopped at the backdoor, looking around.

“Where did they go?” he growled out, his eyes scouring the ground.

It took Havoc a moment to realize it, but it had stopped raining, and that would, hopefully, make it easier to track them. If Hawkeye was even a little bit conscious, she would be fighting for all that she was worth. Riza was a fighter, after all.

Hayate nosed at Havoc’s knees, and Havoc got an idea. “Breda—go grab something of Hawk’s. Hurry!” he said.

Breda, who had just come out to join them turned headed straight back into the house, coming out nearly immediately with something from the washroom. Havoc took it and knelt down, holding it out to Hayate. “Hayate—track” he said. “Find her. Find Hawkeye.”

Hayate snapped to attention, sniffed the piece of clothing, and immediately turned to track. Within a second, he had her scent, it seemed. He sniffed around a little more, and then headed off in a particular direction, clearly on the trail of something.

“I hope this works,” Breda muttered.

“It will,” Havoc said, stuffing the pieces of clothing in his pocket. “She’s not been out long, and the rain would have taken care of other scents. Whatever he’s got now, it’s got to be recent.”

“Let’s move!” Mustang snapped out. His gloves were already on, and he was clearly ready to fry whoever it was that took Hawkeye.

Havoc couldn’t really blame him.

As Hayate started hurrying along, Havoc could see signs someone of coming through—and signs of a struggle. Hawkeye, as predicted, clearly wasn’t just giving in. But there wasn’t as much struggle as he expected to see, and that worried him.

It worried him more when they came across a place where they found her guns lying on the ground. Mustang cursed but bent to pick them up. “Hurry,” he said. “We don’t know how far he went or how much of a head start he has on us!”

And we don’t know Hawkeye’s condition. That was the unsaid but prominent thought in all of their heads.

They went through a patch of woods, where the signs of a struggle were easier to see. Hayate moved faster than they did through the underbrush and the bushes, but the three men forged through, trying to make their way through the woods and keep up with the little dog. He was focused in on tracking Riza down, and Havoc couldn’t blame him. He loved her just as much as they did, that was for sure.

Finally, they emerged into a clearing, and almost immediately, Havoc spotted her. She was being half-drug across a field full of grass and marshy-looking land. The man who had her was pulling harshly on her, trying to tug her through the muddy land. Hawkeye was clearly not herself, not doing any actual fighting as much as basic resisting. If she was completely with it, the man clearly wouldn’t have had any chance at all. But he must have drugged her like Fuery said, because she wasn’t fighting to the fullest extent of her ability.

He had one of her arms thrown over his shoulders, and a hand around her waist, gripping her belt. He was trying to pull her along with him, but she was stumbling and throwing them off balance. He hauled on her, trying to get her to come along with him, and she resisted, managing to half wrench free from him. He kept a hold of her arm, but finally fed up, he backhanded her across the face, hard. She dropped, limp, at the same time Mustang roared out her rank.

“Captain!”

Breda cursed beside Havoc, drawing his gun, and Havoc whipped up the rifle he had picked up in the washroom earlier. Surprisingly, Mustang didn’t do anything but tense up. The man—his hood had fallen away now—looked up at them in shock, revealing himself to be the groundskeeper that Riza had hired to look after the place. He ducked down into the grass even as Breda fired off a shot. The grass was tall, and it hid him and Hawkeye both from view.

“Why didn’t you hit him with fire?” Breda asked, all of them tense as they tried to watch for any sign of the man, Johnson, or of Riza. It was too risky to try to shoot at them without knowing if they were going to hit Hawkeye.

“I can’t,” Mustang said. “This area is swampy. There’re gasses under the surface that don’t react well to fire. The rain’s helped to bring them up. They’re in the air, and an explosion would not be a good thing.”

Havoc winced at that. No, that wouldn’t be a good thing. The ground was saturated, and everything was soaked, but an explosion was an explosion, and it wouldn’t be a good thing at all. It could just as easily hurt Hawkeye or come back and hurt them.

“What about some of that Elric-type action?” Breda asked. “Make the ground move or push the ground up or something?”

“Between the water table being too high right now and the trapped gasses, it’s too risky.” Mustang said.

Their options limited, they all fell quiet listening for any sort of clue as to where the two might be. There were small movements in the grass, and Havoc kept an eye on them, looking through the scope of the rifle to try to get a better view.

“Do I have your permission to shoot if I see something?” he asked quietly.

“Granted,” Mustang said just as quietly

They waited, and nothing happened. Just the wind blowing through the wet grasses. Finally, tired of it, Mustang called out. “Johnson! We know you’re there! Come out! Let the captain go!”

There was a little movement, and Havoc shot near it. The grass near it suddenly skittered away and then there was nothing for a few seconds, at least until Johnson suddenly popped up, Riza held tightly to him, a knife at her neck. She only looked partially aware, and all of the men tensed.

“Don’t make another move!” Johnson said. “If you do, I’ll kill her!”

Riza was just with it enough to bring her hands up to his to try to pull them away, but not able to get any strength to them. Through his scope, Havoc had a good look at her face, and he could see the terror in her eyes. He wanted nothing more than to shoot Johnson right then and there, but he wasn’t as good a shot as Hawkeye was, and he wasn’t sure he could avoid hitting her, especially if Johnson moved.

“Let her go,” Mustang said, “and surrender. If you do that, this will all go better for you.”

“No,” he said, gritting his teeth. “She’s my ticket into what I need. Or at least, her back is.”

Havoc cursed.

“So, I’m not going to let her go!” Johnson continued.

“Hey—where’s the mutt?” Breda muttered, but Havoc didn’t have time to think about where Hayate was now.

He glanced over at Mustang, who looked both horrified and incensed.

“How does he know that?” Havoc asked, unsettled by this knowledge.

“…He must have heard the story,” Mustang said. “He was in the house then! And none of us realized it.” There was anger and loathing in Mustang’s voice, but it was clear that he was not going to focus on it now. Instead, he kept his eyes fully fixed on Hawkeye and Johnson.

“If you do anything to her,” Mustang called out. “I promise, you’ll get an up-close demonstration of Flame Alchemy.” It was clearly a threat, and one that anyone with any sort of sense would be able to see Mustang was ready to act on. This was no bluff.

Johnson shook his head, already starting to back away. “No. This is what we’ve been looking for! The key! The key to it all—and you’ve had her right by your side this entire time! We knew she had to be connected somehow, considering who her father was, but we never dreamed that she was the key to the whole thing! Just imagine, you had the source of flame alchemy right next to you! And there’s more isn’t there? There’s something more to this that you’re not telling. Not that it matters. With what her back will tell us, we’ll be able to reconstruct everything fully and once we do, the full power of flame alchemy will be ours! And I’ll have brought it. I’ll have brought the key! It will be all because of me!”

The man was clearly cracked, but he was letting out some important information too. “We,” “us,” words like that, that were pluralled. He was part of some sort of group. And it appeared to be a group that was after flame alchemy. Havoc guessed they had been pursing it for a while, trying to find the key to the power and going through Riza to do it. Chances were, he wasn’t someone very high ranking. But this was going to definitely put him on the map, and he was banking on that.

Unfortunately for him, they weren’t going to let him do that. Not only was Mustang ready to take him down, but after seeing Hawkeye’s breakdown and the lengths she had gone to, to ensure that no one was ever a flame alchemist again, at least not by her father’s work, or her own hand, neither Breda nor Havoc were willing to let this happen either.

That was about the time that Havoc realized that there was movement coming up behind Johnson, and he remembered Breda’s comment asking where Hayate was. Hayate was a trained military dog, and highly loyal to Riza. This man was clearly threatening Riza. It seemed that the little dog had decided to take matters into his own hands, or paws as it was.

Or, perhaps more accurately, into his own teeth.

Johnson was still waxing on about how he was going to be praised for bring the key to flame alchemy to whatever this group was when Hayate burst out of the grass, jumping in a high leap straight for the arm that held the knife. His teeth sunk into the man’s arm, and the man screamed in pain. It loosened his grip on Riza just enough for her to manage to slip away, although she did little more than fall that they could see.

Johnson was trying to shake and beat Hayate off of him, and that was when Havoc took his shot. It wasn’t a clean one, but it did manage to get Johnson in the shoulder. He jerked back, and Hayate let go, his growls clearly heard. The three men rushed forward. Johnson, panicked and injured, took off, fleeing the scene.

All of them wanted to pursue, but Riza was their top priority now. They rushed to her location, where she was collapsed in the mud, her face half-buried in it, trying to sit up. Mustang lifted her out of it, brushing the mud away from her face, getting it out of her nose and mouth so she could breathe better, and wiping it away from her eyes. It was mostly covered by the smell of the mud, but the scent of some sort of chloroform or the like could be sensed under it.

“Riza! Riza!” Mustang was holding her now, Breda standing guard over them while Havoc canvased the area to try to make sure that Johnson wasn’t going to pop back up.

“Want us to run him down?” Havoc asked.

Mustang shook his head. “No. I don’t want to send one of you alone, and we need to get Hawkeye back to the house. We’ll have to go after him later.”

“How is she?” Breda asked.

Havoc risked a quick glance back. Her eyes were fuzzy and not focused well, but her gaze was on Mustang, and it hadn’t left. There was deep emotion in her eyes, and it looked to Havoc that a large part of it was fear. No, they couldn’t just leave her here with one of them while two went looking for this guy. He was too dangerous. They needed to make sure that she was protected, especially after everything that he had said, even though that was also a problem.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Let’s get her back to the house, have the doctor check her over, and head into town. We’ll get the sheriff and then go after Johnson.”

“Right,” Breda said. He holstered his gun. “Here. Put her on my back and we’ll get going.”

Carefully Mustang and Breda maneuvered the half-conscious Hawkeye onto Breda’s back while Havoc kept his gun at the ready, covering them. Then, once she was settled and Breda had a good grip on her, they set out back towards the house at as quick a pace as possible. Havoc kept his gun at the ready, and Mustang his gloves, but they didn’t encounter any problems as they traveled.

As they drew closer to the house, Havoc could see a few men gathered around it, most of them armed. Not sure what they’d just come back into, Havoc stood ready with his rifle, just in case, even as Breda and Mustang tensed as well. But one of the men turned and, seeing them, waved at them calling to them.

“Mustang! Do you have Riza?” the man called.

“Thompson?” Mustang said in surprise.

“Yeah. Saw Doc riding out towards this place, and then you and your men after. Figured something was up, so I got some of the men together and we rode out here.” Thompson said.

Mustang had kept moving, so Breda and Havoc had as well, heading straight for the house. Thompson met up with them, opening the door so that Breda could carry Hawkeye inside.

“Good. We’re going to need your help,” Mustang said without preamble

“Whatever we can do,” Thompson said.

Another man directed them towards the living room. “Doc’s in there. She hurt bad?”

“Dunno,” Breda said.

“Up the stairs,” the doctor had appeared. “I’ll look her over in her bedroom.”

Breda headed up the stairs with Hawkeye, but Mustang stopped to talk to Thompson, and Havoc stayed close.

“Do you know Bennett Johnson?” Mustang asked

Thompson nodded. “Yeah. Squirrely guy. New. Doesn’t talk much.”

“He’s been stalking us in this house. He’s gotten some information that he shouldn’t have and found out some personal information about Hawkeye.”

“And that’s why he kidnapped her, got it,” Thompson said.

“We need to stop him,” Mustang said. “He indicated that he was working with someone else. We need to get to him before he can get that information out.”

Thompson was nodding. “We can get some men out to his place. But it didn’t look like you were coming from the direction of his place.”

“Where does he live?” Mustang questioned.

“The old Steadman place,” Thompson said. “It was up for sale, and he took it.”

“The Steadman place is in the opposite direction,” Mustang said. “He must have another place somewhere he uses as well.”

“I’ll send Dave Macken back to town to get the sheriff and some other men. The rest of us will accompany you and your men to see if we can’t track him down,” Thompson said. “John Stitue and Bert Oslow can stay here in case he doubles back.”

Mustang nodded. “Just be warned, we’re pretty sure he had an interest in alchemy and may already be familiar with some forms of it.”

“Gotcha. Let me tell the others.” Thompson said.

He turned to leave, and before Havoc could ask anything of Mustang—or comment on how well Mustang seemed to know the area—Mustang was already moving on to the next order of business.

“Falman!” Mustang called out.

“Sir!” Falman replied.

“Stay here. Hold the fort. Keep an eye on Fuery and Hawkeye. Breda!”

Breda was already coming down the stairs. “Yes sir!” he responded.

“You and Havoc, you’re coming with me.”

“Yes, sir!” both Havoc and Breda responded.

Havoc desperately wanted to know how Fuery was doing, and an update on Hawkeye, but there was no time for that. It was too important for them to find Johnson and stop him. Within minutes they were heading out, Thompson already having instructed the other men. He and a group were ready to head off with all of them, and Havoc welcomed the back up. Mustang took point, Hayate still with them. The little dog was clearly ready to work, and clearly angry that Hawkeye had been wounded. Breda kept giving the dog the side eye, but Hayate only seemed concerned with staying by Mustang’s side.

Mustang didn’t even stop to see who all was there. “This way,” he said, and led the way. Havoc and Breda were right behind him, and the men of the town followed. There were about fifteen all together, and they all headed off in the direction that Johnson had gone: Back across the field, through the patch of forest, and into the other field.

“I forgot how much land the Hawkeyes owned,” Thompson said.

“This is all still the captain’s land?” Breda asked.

“If you mean Riza Hawkeye, then yeah,” Thompson said. “Her family has been here for generations. They were really prominent once, owned most of the stuff around here. But over the years they declined. Most things have fell into ruin, but none of them ever sold any of their land. Looking back at it now, I have no idea why Berthold didn’t sell parts of it. It would have more than kept him and Riza fed and in good money.”

“Because he was a neglectful, abusive man,” Mustang said, “and all of us were too stupid to really realize it until we were grown.”

The men in the group fell silent for a minute, until Thompson finally responded with a “…yeah. I guess that’s true,” and Havoc had to wonder at the backstory there.

They stopped in the middle of the field, right where they had rescued Hawkeye. “He got this far before we managed to catch up with him,” Mustang said. “Any idea where he might have gone?”

The men murmured among themselves, and a few ideas were thrown out, but no one seemed to have any sort of solid ideas. Most of them were discarded fairly quickly, especially considering that a lot of the land around here still was Hawkeye property and there was no one who really knew much about it, as it had been private for years.

“This is useful,” Breda muttered.

“Whatcha gonna do, Boss?” Havoc asked.

Mustang knelt down next to Hayate. “Hayate,” he said. “Attention.”

The little dog barked and stood straight and stiff, still and ready to take a command.

“Track.” He said. “Enemy. Find.”

Hayate gave a bark and began to sniff around.

“Ya sure this is gonna work, Mustang?” one of the men said. “He doesn’t look like a tracking dog.”

“Yeah, and the ground is saturated,” another pointed out.

“Black Hayate is a highly trained and decorated military animal,” Mustang said. “Captain Hawkeye trained him herself, according to military standards, and he passed top of all time. On top of that, he’s extremely loyal, and Johnson hurt Hawkeye, his owner. He’s determined. He’ll find him, if it’s possible.”

Hayate let out a little bark, as if to prove Mustang right, and headed off through the grass. The men followed behind, trailing slowly behind the pup until he seemed to catch something stronger. Then the pup gave another bark, and took off, the men hurrying after him as fast as they could. He seemed to have something hot, at least if Havoc’s experience with tracking dogs meant anything, following it around across the rest of the field, and then through more woods until finally they came to a small clearing where a small cabin stood.

Havoc didn’t like the looks of it. It was ramshackle and didn’t look terribly sturdy, but it was definitely defensible, and that possibility was a problem. Hayate had stopped just before the clearing, and the men all crouched in the bushes there too. Thompson looked at Mustang. “Alright—you’re the military man here. What’s the plan?”

Mustang was looking at the shack. “Havoc,” he said.

“Sir?” Havoc responded.

“Get around to the side. Get in a good position to be able to take him out if he comes out and it’s needed.” Mustang said. He looked at Thompson. “You got any who could do the same from the other side?”

“Yeah,” Thompson nodded. “Ersist, Neason, Ford, Caspian—you guys surround it too.”

Four men nodded.

“You’ve all got a minute to get into place,” Mustang said.

“Yes, sir,” Havoc said, and he headed out, the other men taking off as well. Havoc found himself a good place and got settled in and made sure that he spotted the others so as not to catch them in any crossfire. Then, he waited.

Mustang and Breda stepped forward.

“Bennett Johnson!” Mustang called out. “Come out and surrender peaceably! We know that you’re in there!”

There was a beat and then—

The ground rose up and came straight at Mustang.

Havoc kept his eye on the doorway, but out of the corner of his eye he watched. Mustang didn’t even flinch, he just clapped his hands, knelt, and a wall of his own rose in return, overwhelming and stopping the ground that had just been sent out. He clapped his hands again, and the ground went down.

“You think your second-rate alchemy can stand against mine?” he said. “Don’t kid yourself. Come out before you get yourself killed.”

The door slammed open, and Johnson came out, gun at the ready. Mustang snapped, and the air in front of Johnson exploded, sending him flying back. Havoc moved, Breda moving at the same time, the other men a beat behind them. Breda slammed into Johnson, slamming him into the ground and pinning him to it. Havoc joined in, holding him to the ground. Someone shoved some rope in their faces, and they quickly worked to tie Johnson up. The man was screaming at them the whole time, demanding, insisting that they would fall, and state alchemists would fall the farthest.

“Shut up!” Breda snapped at him, handing him over to the men who pulled him out of the cabin. He looked up at the cabin then and froze. “Boss,” he said. “You wanna get in here.”

Havoc looked up and his jaw dropped. All over were reports and instances of alchemy, with a focus on flame alchemy. Pictures, reports, all sorts of information that he couldn’t begin to understand were all over the walls. All of it was related to Alchemy, that much was clear to see.

Mustang stepped in, looked around and frowned, eyes narrowing. He clearly wasn’t happy about this, and Havoc could understand why. But he didn’t say anything else, not with all of the civilians around. Thompson walked in and looked around, whistling.

“Woah. You weren’t kidding about him,” he said.

Mustang turned abruptly around, clearly blocking Thompsons’s view. Thompson, for his part, didn’t try to see around him, understanding that he wasn’t supposed to see what was there.

“I need something else from you,” Mustang said. “From someone you can trust.”

Thompson nodded. “You need someone to guard this place,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. And we’ll get this guy to the sheriff too.” He put a hand on Mustang’s shoulder. “You wanna get back to Riza, I know.”

“I have lots of responsibilities,” Mustang said. “This is one of them. But if it can be guarded then we can come back and properly look through it. Especially when we’re… less muddy.”

Havoc glanced down at himself, at the mud on his boots, pants, and even shirt, and then looked at the others. They were all covered in mud.

“Right,” Thompson said, looking back up from his own muddy clothes. “That makes sense. I’ll take care of it. Seriously, Roy, go check on her.”

Mustang gave him a nod. “Breda. Can you stay?”

“I’ll secure it,” he said. “You two go on back.”

“I’ll take care of making sure Johnson gets to town,” Havoc said, knowing that it was something else Mustang would be concerned about.

He seemed a bit relieved and nodded. “Alright. When you’re both finished, report back to the house.”

“Right.”

“Got it.”

They left the shack, Havoc stepping over towards the men who had Johnson while Breda started talking to the other men about some items he needed. Havoc watched for a moment as Thompson took a second to talk to the other men, and then he and Mustang both headed back towards the house.

The rest of the men split up, and Havoc walked with the group that was heading towards town with Johnson. It was quite a long walk back from where they were, especially if they wanted to take the paths and roads and not just cut through the land itself, which would make everything more muddy and more difficult. Johnson kept trying to resist and kept talking most of the way. Eventually he stopped both, seemingly growing tired, and apparently figuring out that it would be better for him to shut up rather than to keep talking and give away more information. Havoc was grateful not to hear his crazy rantings anymore, but it was too bad that there wasn’t more intel to easily grab from the guy.

The Sherriff had made his way out to the Hawkeye place by the time Havoc and the other men got to town, but one of his deputies was in. He took official custody of Johnson, locking him in the jail and using the dusty and obviously not often used handcuffs that would keep an alchemist from doing alchemy. Satisfied, Havoc left him there, intending to head back to Hawkeye’s house. His legs were absolutely killing him by this point, though, and so he sat down on some crates for a moment to rub them.

“Hey, son, are you about to make your way back to the Hawkeye place?” a voice called out to him.

Havoc looked up to see Mr. Nelson standing there and gave him a grin. “Yeah, just taking a breather.” He looked at his legs ruefully. “Just an old injury acting up. The past few days have been hard on it.”

Mr. Nelson nodded. “I understand. Well, you’re welcome t’ ride with us. The Misses is insistin’ on takin’ some food over there and checkin’ on everyone. We’re gonna take some supplies, too. I’m sure you’re all runnin’ low.”

Havoc nodded. “I’d be much obliged, sir, to ride with you and your wife.”

“Good. Give us ‘bout ten more minutes. Come inside the store ‘nd have some coffee while you wait.” Mr. Nelson said.

Havoc got up, albeit a bit painfully now that he had sat down and followed Mr. Nelson into the store. He followed his directions back to the home behind it where Mrs. Nelson was in the kitchen, bustling around, packing up dishes. She smiled when she saw Havoc, waved him to a seat, an in a matter of moments had a cup of coffee sitting in front of him before she went back to packing up the food.

“Can I help you?” he asked her.

Mrs. Nelson waved it off. “No, no, dear, you just rest up. I saw you come runnin’ into town earlier, heard the hullabaloo that followed, saw the men running off, saw you come back. You need to rest. Just take a few minutes to rest your body, dear.”

Havoc knew a losing battle when he saw one, and so he acquiesced, watching her make her way about the kitchen. From the looks of it, he would just be in the way if he tried to help anyway. This was a woman who was a master of her kitchen, and to help her without knowledge of how she did things was to just be a hindrance.

They were ready to go within the promised ten minutes, and Havoc rode up with them while Mr. Nelson drove. He filled them in on the barest of details of what happened: How they had discovered that someone was sneaking into the home, how paperwork had gone missing, how Johnson had overheard sensitive information and personal information about Hawkeye, how Fuery had fallen off the roof, how Johnson had kidnapped Hawkeye in what they believed was an attempt to get more information, how they had rescued her and then gone after Johnson, how they had captured him and found his hideout with information in it they needed to go through, and how he helped to bring Johnson to town.

Mrs. Nelson just became more and more determined to look after everyone there as he spoke. Havoc could see it in her eyes. His own mother frequently got the same look in her eyes. Mr. Nelson’s jaw was set, clearly not happy about what had happened, and he had a few strong opinions about it.

When they pulled up to the house, it seemed to Havoc that more people were there. Havoc got down, anxious to check on everyone, but not sure at all what was happening here. Mr. and Mrs. Nelson shooed him on, saying they’d take care of what was in the wagon themselves.

Havoc made his way inside, where Mustang was talking with the Sherriff. Fuery, it seemed, was not in the living room anymore, and Hawkeye wasn’t there either. Falman wasn’t in the room, but Havoc could hear voices from out back that sounded like they were doing some sort of work. Breda was standing near Mustang and the sheriff, obviously back from securing the location. They turned to look at him. As he got closer.

“Havoc, report,” Mustang said.

“Got the prisoner back to the jail. Handed him over to one of the deputies who locked him up. He and a couple of others are going to process him, make sure he doesn’t have anything on him that’s dangerous.” Havoc said. “Mr. and Mrs. Nelson are also outside, about to bring some food and supplies in."

Mustang nodded. “Good. Breda’s got the location of the shack secure, and the sheriff has drafted some men to be guards. We’re also got guards around the house Johnson was living in.”

“Falman’s out back with some of the men, digging to see if they can find that entrance,” Breda said. “If they can, it’ll answer a lot of questions.”

Havoc nodded, and then his voice softened. “How are Hawkeye and Fuery?”

Mustang took a breath in and let it out, running a hand through his hair. “The doctor says that Fuery was lucky. It looks like he broke his arm in two places and has a concussion. It’s going to take some time to heal, but overall, he will recover. He wants to get him back to his practice, though, to give him a more thorough look over, just to be sure that there aren’t any problems with his neck and spine.”

Havoc nodded. That made sense. A fall like that could kill a man, easily. If Fuery walked away with only a broken arm and a concussion, then he was getting off easy. Havoc was, understandably, quite worried about Fuery’s back. He knew what it was not to have the use of his legs, and he didn’t want that for the young man. They were fresh out of philosopher’s stones to heal him with.

“As for Hawkeye, she’ll recover as well. She has a nasty bruise from where Johnson hit her face and swelling as well, and some other injuries from resisting. He used a powerful sedative on her, although it didn’t knock her out as much as he wanted it to. She’s going to be groggy from that for a while. She’s mostly got to sleep it off.” Mustang said, and there was a note of relief in his voice. “All in all, it looks like they’re both going to be fine.”

“That’s good to hear, sir,” Havoc said, although he knew that it didn’t touch half of what all of them were really concerned about. They had all seen how she had reacted to being in the basement. They all realized the lengths she went to, to keep her tattoo a secret. They all saw how much it had affected her to show it to them. And now a stranger had knowledge of it and had tried to kidnap her for it. That wasn’t going to put her in a good place emotionally or mentally. And, if her father had drugged her before to put on the tattoo, was this drugging in conjunction with getting the tattoos secrets going to leave her with some issues too?

Havoc wouldn’t doubt it.

“Do you mind if I got up to check on them?” he asked. “Or do you need me to do something?’

Mustang shook his head. “No, go on. It’ll be good for them.”

Havoc nodded and headed for the stairs, trying not to hobble up them. He could hear more voices up there, sounding like the doctor and the nurse, and maybe a few others too. Seeing as they seemed to be coming from Hawkeye’s room, he decided to check in on Fuery first and see how he was doing.

The young man was lying in a bed, his head and neck stabilized, and Havoc had an uncomfortable remembrance of that being done to him as well, before they knew for sure what was wrong with him. His eyes were closed, but his face was in pain, and he didn’t seem to be sleeping.

Havoc knocked lightly on the door frame. “Hey, Sarge, you awake?”

“Unfortunately,” came Fuery’s reply, and he opened his eyes to look at Havoc.

“How are you feeling?” Havoc asked him.

“Terrible, thanks,” Fuery replied. “My arm is killing me, my head is pounding, and my back hurts.”

“But you are feeling, right?” Havoc pressed.

Fuery opened his eyes again and focused on Havoc. Understanding dawned in the other man’s eyes.

“Yeah,” he said. “I feel everything. Hands, feet, arms, legs, all of it,” he said. “I definitely feel my broken arm.”

Havoc laughed “I bet you do,” he said, but he knew there was relief in his voice.

“Can you fill me in on what happened?” Fuery said, his voice going a bit soft. “No one will tell me anything—but I think that’s because most of them don’t have the information to tell me.”

“Sure thing, Sarge,” Havoc said, and he pulled up a stool alongside Fuery’s bed.

The younger man was still feeling guilty about not being able to do anything to really help Hawkeye, that much was obvious. He had risked injuring himself further by moving off of the couch to try to help her and stop the man, but he hadn’t been able to do anything about it, except point the others in the direction that she had been taken.

Havoc sat there and explained in detail what had gone down to Fuery. He was upset to hear how the man had hit Hawkeye, and the way that she had just gone down. He was, however, quite happy to hear that Hayate had gotten him, and that Havoc had shot the man in the shoulder. He was also glad to hear that Hawkeye was going to make a full recovery although he, like Havoc was clearly worried.

“And… how is she doing, sir?” Fuery asked, his voice soft.

Havoc glanced at the door, and then ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve not been in there to see her yet, but, even as strong as she is, this is going to be hard on her, I’m sure.”

Fuery frowned. “After what we found out and what she told us, I can’t help but be worried. It was like her worst fears coming true.”

Havoc nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I can’t imagine that the drugging helped either.”

Fuery hummed. “Yeah, not when well, what she told us used to happen to her happened.”

Havoc let out a breath. “Something tells me it’ll be best to let the boss handle most of that one, but I think we’re still going to need to stand by her. We’ll need to prove to her that we’re still here too, and that we’ve got her back.”

“Yeah,” Fuery agreed. “I can’t imagine… It had to bring back some trauma.”

“You know it did,” he said. “And she’s carried it deep for a lot longer than we ever knew. Boss holds some guilt about it as well. So that’s where we’ll have to step in, to make sure they’re both not drowned in it.”

Fuery lifted up his good arm and held it out to Havoc. Havoc reached over, clasping it. “We’ll look after them both,” Fuery said. “That’s what a team is for.”

Havoc couldn’t help the determined grin that came over his face. “You know that’s true. That’s what we’re going to do.”

He stayed and chatted with Fuery for just a while longer, talking about what was coming next for Fuery. He knew that he was going to be transported back to the doctor’s office and that he was going to have other tests run on him to be sure that he wasn’t more injured than they realized. Fuery didn’t mind that so much, as he understood and really would rather be safe than sorry. But he also didn’t want to be away from everyone right now, concerned about Hawkeye and the whole situation.

Still, eventually the younger man did grow sleepy, the pain medicine that the doctor had given him trying to take over again. Fuery tried to fight it, but Havoc encouraged him not to. He needed all the rest that he could get, even if it was just his arm and head that were hurt. Fuery finally acquiesced, and Havoc left him falling asleep in that room.

Havoc made his way down the hall towards Hawkeye’s room. He didn’t hear anyone in there, now, and he knew that there was a good chance that she’d be asleep, but he needed to at least look in on her and see that she was whole with his own eyes.

He could still hear noise and talking from downstairs, although nothing sounded urgent yet. He was pretty sure he heard Mrs. Nelson’s voice sending everyone out of the kitchen and fussing about the amount of mud that they were bringing inside the house. Havoc smirked. Well, maybe she could help them clean it—or set the other men to work doing it. Even if she didn’t Havoc would make sure that it was clean for Hawkeye, even if he had to do it himself.

He stopped at her door. It wasn’t completely shut but left ajar. It was enough to be able to give her privacy, but to still allow someone to keep an ear on her, or to hear her if she cried out for anything. He knocked on her door, not too hard, but enough to be heard, and waited. Hopefully, she’d answer.

“Come in.” Her voice was groggy, exhausted, and sounded pained. Havoc didn’t like any of that, even though he expected it.

He pushed open the door, enough to look around it. “Hey, Ri. Up for a visitor?”

“No,” she said, but she beckoned him forward anyway with a slight smile on her lips.

She didn’t look good. She was a pale, except for the side of her face that was already changing colors and looked a bit swollen. There were cuts on it, near her eye, and he could only guess that it came from the hit that she took. That alone was enough to make his blood boil, but there wasn’t much that he could do about it now. He had already shot the guy in the shoulder. Part of him didn’t think it was enough, but that was personal feelings and knowing the whole story.

“How ya feeling?” he said as he came in, sitting himself down on the edge of her bed, although he did it very gingerly. He wasn’t sure how she was feeling, but he also didn’t feel like he could keep standing for long periods of time, at least not without moving.

“Pretty bad,” she said. “My face hurts a lot. I’m sore. I’m… drugged. And…” she hesitated. “…I’m… upset.”

It was clearly an understatement, and he knew it. But neither of them was going to talk about it too openly with so many people here.

“Yeah,” he said. They were quiet for a moment, and then, he stood up, went over to her door and closed it. “Riza…what happened?”

She was quiet for a moment, emotion playing over her face. It was always harder for her to keep her mask up when she was drugged or addled. It wasn’t the first time that she, or any of them, really, had been a bit compromised, but it was still hard to see.

“After you left, Fuery started coming around. I was trying to tend to what I could on him, telling him to stay still when I heard footsteps behind me. He must have spent a lot of time in this house, because he knew how to make his way past the creaky places. Fuery’s eyes widened, and that was when I knew that someone was behind me. I turned around, pulling out my gun as I did, but he threw something at me, a capsule of some kind, and it exploded. I stepped backwards, but the fumes were already on me. Whatever I was, it was fast acting, because I started to feel the effects nearly right away. And Jean,” she paused, meeting his eyes. “Things like that, they don’t affect me quickly or at normal doses. Whatever it was, it would have knocked anyone else out immediately.”

Havoc’s face tightened at that. It wasn’t a good thing, that was for sure, and he didn’t like the implications of it.

“Things are a little hard to put in the right order after that. I felt woozy and off balance. I couldn’t react well or fast. I couldn’t think. I tried to shoot at him, but he knocked the gun out of my hand. It must have landed near Fuery, I think. I heard him calling out as I tried to fight back and failed. The man grabbed me around the arms and pulled me away with him. All I remember was confusion and noise and shouting for a few moments there, and then I was being shoved outside onto the muddy ground. He picked me up, and started pulling me along with him, dragging me by the arm.”

She paused, shifting, trying to make herself more comfortable, but obviously not succeeding. She settled back down again, but she pulled her arm out from under the blankets. “I think he bruised me there too.”

Havoc reached over to her sleeve, and gently pushed it up, looking at her arm. There were traces of a forming bruise there, and he frowned. He didn’t like it, and he knew that Mustang would be furious.

“I managed to regain some of my senses when we were halfway across the field, and I stared trying to resist. He pulled on me harder, pushing me and prodding me along. I made it as hard as I could for him, but I wasn’t able to do much. At one point I ripped off the mask he was wearing and saw that it was Johnson. I think I asked him why, because he started ranting about… things.”

She looked back up at Havoc, and her eyes were scared. It made Havoc’s heart twist inside of his chest to see her look at him like that, and he couldn’t help it. He gave her hand a squeeze.

“I don’t remember all of it, not clearly. But Jean… he knew about my tattoo. He knew about flame alchemy. He said he had seen the tattoo and the burns, and that he would be praised for bringing me back. He saw me as a prize, and clearly wanted to use me to further himself. He said… he said that there were people who would be able to reconstruct the circle.”

Her voice had a shake in it, she was clearly rattled and upset by this, and Havoc found that he couldn’t blame her in the least. This was something important. Even if it wasn’t, just the emotional distress that it brought because it was important to her meant something to him.

“Yeah, he was talking something about how taking you with him was going to be a good thing for him too, when we caught up with you,” Havoc said. “But more on that later. What else happened?”

Hawkeye gave a slight shake of her head. “He just kept pulling me. I tried to go for my guns, but he stripped them off of me, threw them down. I used the woods to resist more, pulling on trees and bushes and whatever else I could to try to slow us down. By the time we got to the field, I was digging in my heels, and he must have gotten tired of it, because I remember him hitting me so hard that I think I blacked out for a moment.”

She let out a breath. “When I came to my senses again, he was pulling me up, a knife at my neck, and all of you were there.”

There was an extra fear in her eyes, and Havoc could understand it. Hawkeye had been extra protective of her neck since the Promised Day, and no one could blame her, really. Having it sliced open and bleeding out to force the man you love to sacrifice himself would be traumatic for anyone, really. Havoc was sure that she was going to be extra guarded for the next little bit.

“I remember you all appearing, and I remember being brought back here, although it’s all rather fuzzy. The doctor was already here, and I think Breda took me upstairs? But after that, I have no idea what happened.” She looked at him, anxiety in her eyes. “What happened to Johnson?”

Havoc could hear the unspoken questions in that one question. What happened to Johnson really meant did anyone else know what he knew, was anyone else listening to him, how many people knew about her tattoo now?

“I managed to shoot him in the shoulder,” Havoc said, “after Hayate surprised him into dropping you. He ran off, and we didn’t know just how dangerous he was, so we came back here. Apparently, our hasty exit from town had caused quite a stir, so there were men from the town already here, to see what was going on. We explained that Johnson had been skulking around the house, gotten his hands on some sensitive information, found out some personal information about you, and had kidnapped you, although we weren’t sure of the ultimate purpose of that.”

Hawkeye had been looking a bit nervous, but she seemed to relax a bit as his words. It seemed that the excuse they and given was good enough for her. She nodded at him to continue. Havoc did, filling her in on how she had gotten back and what was currently going on, as well as Fuery’s condition. At one point, when talking about Hayate, he heard a thump thump thump from the other side of the bed and realized that the little dog was in there, guarding his mistress. That honestly made Havoc feel better about leaving her up here alone.

He finished, and she sighed, still looking anxious about the whole deal. He couldn’t blame her, but it still pulled at his heart. Havoc reached up and gently brushed her bangs away from her face. “Hey, Ri. Listen, no matter what happens, we’re here with you, okay? We’ll do our best to make sure it’s all okay.”

“I know,” she said. “But I still can’t help but worry.” She paused. “It scares me, Jean. It scares me to my bones. It scares me so deeply that I can’t even—”

She paused and took in a shaky breath, not quite able to find the words to continue.

“I can only imagine,” he said, and he leaned over to give her a kiss on the forehead. “We’re here for you, though. We’re not going to let anything happen to you.”

Riza bit her lip but nodded. “Thank you, Havoc,” she said. ‘I really do appreciate it. I’m sure Fuery does too. You’ll keep me updated on what’s going on?” she asked him.

Havoc nodded. “Me, or someone else,” he said “But we’ll make sure to keep you two in the loop as much as we can. Fuery’s gonna be a bit harder, unless he got that phone connected. Though.”

“I heard someone on the roof earlier,” Hawkeye said. “So, you might check and see if someone else managed to get the phone working and hooked up. Someone in town has to be able to do it, after all, and maybe whoever it is came along and took care of it.”

“Yeah, or someone sent for him,” Havoc said. “After all, having a phone would be a great asset to an investigation.”

“Always is,” Hawkeye agreed.

“I’ll check on that, then,” Havoc said, and slowly stood up, wincing as he stretched out his poor, overused legs. They were killing him, and they would only get worse as the day went on. He was lucky that the rain had stopped, though. That would have made all of this unbearable, he was sure. He stretched, and then noticed a little something and reached for it.

On her dresser, that stuffed yellow rabbit was sitting. He picked it up, and then reached over to her, tucking it into bed with her. “There you go,” he said with a grin. “Between this guy and Hayate,” there went the tail thumping again, the little guy clearly paying attention to things, “you’ll be well protected.” He reached down, putting a hand on Hawkeye’s head again. “You need anything? I can bring you something if you do.”

Riza shook her head. “No,” she said. “I think that I just need to sleep this off,” she said. “It’s starting to get to me again.”

“Then rest, Riza. I’ll be back later to check on you, or someone from the team will.” He said, taking his hand back.

She gave a light hum and nodded slightly, and he left the room, leaving the door ajar, as he had found it.

Havoc ambled back over to Fuery’s room before he went downstairs, to check on him and see if he needed anything. The young man, who appeared to be sleeping, was apparently just dozing, because he asked how Hawkeye was doing. Havoc gave him a brief update, both on her physical and emotional state. Concern shone in Fuery’s eyes.

“I should have grabbed her gun and shot him,” he said, lamenting not being able to stop Johnson from taking her. “Or done something. Anything.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it. Honestly, she’s feeling guilty because she’s afraid you could have hurt yourself worse trying to save her,” Havoc said. “You two are going to worry yourself in circles about each other. You did what you could, alright? No sense in beating yourself up over what could have been.”

Fuery gave a noise of agreement. “Yeah, I suppose.” But Havoc could see in his eyes, that he wasn’t letting go of it just yet, and he couldn’t really blame him. Havoc wouldn’t be able to immediately let go of it either.

“I’m going to check out what’s going on downstairs. You need anything before I go?”’ he asked.

Fuery tried to shake his head, and then stopped, his neck still immobilized. “No, I’m good. The doctor doesn’t want me moving around much, so I’m trying not to eat or drink a lot because I don’t want to deal with the bathroom right now,” He pulled a face, and Havoc laughed.

“Can’t blame you on that one,” he said. “Alright, I’ll check on you later.”

“Keep me updated!” Fuery said.

“Will do—oh. Not that I expect it, but before you fell did you manage to get the phone hooked up?” Havoc asked, remembering just before he walked out the door.

“I was pushed,” Fuery said, “that I remember, and no. I was almost there, but before I could finish connecting the line I had run from the inside, someone, I’m guessing Johnson, pushed me off the roof. I’m just glad it was in the direction of the tree, because I tried to catch myself on it as much as I was able to. The doctor said that probably slowed my fall and helped keep it from getting any worse.” Fuery paused. “As much as I don’t think Johnson would have cared if I had died, I also don’t think he was actively trying to kill me.”

“That actually makes sense,” Havoc said. “If you were dead, I wouldn’t have run to town for the doctor. I’m not sure what we would have done, but Hawkeye and I wouldn’t have split up. But with you injured, someone had to stay here to look after you.”

“Yeah,” Fuery said, and looked a little pale at the thought.

Havoc reached over and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re still with us, Fuery,” he said, wholeheartedly meaning every word.

Fuery gave him a smile back. “Me too, sir.”

Havoc withdrew his hand and moved back towards the door. “Alright. I’ll come back later. Yell or something if you need anything.”

“Will do, sir.” Fuery responded.

Havoc left the room, leaving the door ajar like he had Hawkeye’s. He stood there a minute, taking a breath. He hadn’t had a breather since Fuery fell, or, rather, was pushed, off the roof this morning, and he could use a minute to himself.

It had been a crazy day and it was a lot to process. The day wasn’t even over yet. He still needed to find out what was going on outside, see about the phone, and, at some point, clean Hawkeye’s floors for her. She would not be happy to see the muddy state they were in. It was a silly thing, maybe, but it was something concreate that he felt he could do for her. There was precious little he felt like he could do for her right now anyway. Not with her secret on the line.

And what was going to be done about that? Even if he didn’t tell the townspeople, there was a good chance it would come up in investigations. He was sure that Breda and Mustang both had already thought about this. After all, Breda was their strategist, and Mustang was, well, Mustang. He was always thinking steps ahead of the game, even when he didn’t have all of the information or pieces. Honestly, the biggest screw up that Havoc could remember him taking was when he tried to see if General Raven was on their side and instead exposed their whole team to the council and Bradley, which resulted in them being split up. But to be fair, who could have anticipated that? Havoc didn’t think that anyone could have, so he didn’t really blame Mustang for that one. It was totally and entirely unexpected.

And yet Mustang had still found a way to turn it all around for them—with a little help from Havoc himself. He wished he could have seen the look on Mustang’s face when he heard his voice over the phone that day.

With a soft sight, Havoc pushed himself up from the railing that he was leaning against and turned to amble his way downstairs. There was still work to be done, obviously, and no one was getting to either Fuery or Hawkeye with this many people in the house. Not that they wouldn’t all be keeping an ear out anyway, but still. Besides, he could hear the nurse in the bathroom, clearly running water and preparing something, so they would both be looked after.

#fullmetal alchemist Big Bang 2021 #FMA Big Bang 2021 #Fullmetal Alchemist #fma #royai #riza hawkeye #Roy Mustang #Jean Havoc #Heymans Breda #Vato Falman #Kain Fuery #black hayate #fan fiction #fanfic

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advernia · 4 years

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fic: chart the stars onto your skin

— they'll never disappear or fade completely, but they're still beautiful nonetheless. - queen of hearts/alice the second.

1: here you go + a happy new year to you, anon! ٩(^ᴗ^)۶ i'm definitely up for some romance, but hopefully this is romantic enough for your tastes! (゜▽゜;)

childhood.

His mother wore gloves: they’re made of fine silk and would reach up to her wrists, color a pristine white or a deep black depending on the occasion - they were form-fitting too, so if one would take a moment to peer well; it could be observed that her fingers were long and slender, her palms rather short, and wrists a bit thin.

For as long as he could remember she would always wear her gloves till day turned night, and rare was the sight of her without them on - so when, for some reason, she had to slip off a glove from her hand; he stares: he stares at the sight of her bare skin that looked fair and unblemished like porcelain, at the smooth palm and knuckles without so much as a trace of a single wrinkle, at the conical dainty fingers with each nail well-shaped and unpainted.

The setting for his first dance was the Civil Center’s gardens, and his partner was a Marquis’ daughter who wore no gloves - despite both of them being the same age, he notes that her hand was smaller than his own by a noticeable margin. Her complexion is tan and clear, the palms of her hands and the pads of her slightly stubby fingers soft to the touch, her nails long but smartly shaped.

He maintained a careful grip on her hand throughout their dance, even if he could feel her hand gradually become clammy against his halfway through the song.

After his first dance he spends a great deal of the event humoring requests or offers for a dance, and while there were unique differences to every hand he touched, he eventually arrives to his own generalization of what a girl’s - a lady’s hand was to be like -

- they are small and dainty with skin soft and smooth, as if he were holding something delicate in his grasp.

And anything delicate meant that it was fragile, so as a young boy and as a proud young noble, he takes it upon himself to treat every lady he would meet with great care.

The first time her mother makes a homemade cake, she’s determined to stick to her mother like glue.

Her father wouldn’t allow that, though - he teasingly reminds her to do chores before spending all day in the kitchen again, and even her mother pipes in by saying ‘no cake if you don’t do your chores’. Not wanting to miss a detail of cake making but also pressured to fulfill her responsibilities, she vehemently tells her mother to work as slow as possible before dashing out of the kitchen to start her duties: making her bed, sweeping the house and the yard, then finally tending to the garden.

In her haste, she forgoes wearing gloves while weeding and as she pulled at a stubborn clump of weeds, she gets pricked by something and she yelps - her father comes running, inspects her muddied hand. Nothing’s bleeding and she isn’t crying, so with a relieved grin, her father urges her to wash her hands immediately.

She nods and rushes into the house.

Her father allows her to skip garden duty so she’s able to watch and assist her mother in making the cake - as their creation sits on the oven to be baked, her mother frowns when she admits that her hand got pricked because she forgot to wear gloves while weeding.

As a girl, you ought to take good care of your hands, her mother chides with a lilt in her voice, if they have too much scars, you can’t get married!

Far too young and impressionable, her eyes grow wide and teary as she lets out a whiny screech -

But I wanna get married!

youth.

Jab, strike, parry.

One, two, three.

There was not a single thing elegant about prolonged hours of grueling training - all it brings is an inordinate amount of sweating and a painful degree of exhaustion, but he had to think beyond that: not only was he part of a prestigious noble family that carried generations of proud crimson blood, but soon he was to shoulder the title that his family was chosen to bear.

It’s the greatest honor, the foundation of his life, and his destiny ever since he was born.

But with honor came worth: bruises, scars, and callouses could litter themselves on his flesh for all he cared, but never again would he allow himself to be questioned and stepped upon by any man or woman, constantly underestimated and ridiculed for being a little boy born with the fine features of a doll.

His body may look like porcelain; but his determination, strength, and pride were far from fragile.

If he needed to put every single ounce of effort he could muster into shaping himself as someone who was undoubtedly worthy, then so be it.

One chance.

Make or break.

She breathes in the air of sugars and honey, of hostility and pressure - eyes are on her, but they aren’t of her parents or the people of her village: they’re all new and appraising, most of them sneering and dismissive. The scrutiny grows stifling as each second passes by, but she had to stand her ground - this could be her first and last opportunity, so she might as well give it her all.

If she would succeed, it meant that her tireless toil and persistence have finally paid off - whether they liked the thought or not, she proved herself worthy through a live demonstration her skill, and they would have no choice but to acknowledge what they’ve seen with their own eyes.

And if she failed, well… at least she put in an effort rather than bowing her head down immediately.

She takes one last glimpse at the bare skin of her palms and fingers before stepping forward.

independence.

Her mother’s crying and some of the village kids are, too. Meanwhile her father’s laughing as he carries her bags, and the rest of the villagers try to hog her attention as much as possible, congratulating her with beaming smiles and showering her with wishes of good luck.

A carriage arrives, just as promised - an old man steps out, dressed sharply yet with a kind aura about him. He smiles when he sees her, she does the same as she performs a curtsy.

“I hope you’ve prepared yourself, young lady,” his voice is low and raspy, “The road to your dream is not easy, and it will be much harsher simply because you are a woman - are you prepared?”

He extends a hand out to her, in the notion of a handshake. For a moment, she simply stares at the unexpected gesture as her hands and palms twitch uncomfortably, but then she shakes her head and meets the man’s - her master’s - gaze.

“I am,” she declares, an open hand reaching out to meet his.

They come in droves like they always do: dressed in flowing finery, adorned in sparkling jewelry, and drowning in perfume.

One of them feel particularly brave and while he’d give her that, there was absolutely nothing else to speak well of: she wore her makeup too thick, her hairstyle not to his tastes, her scent insufferably cloying, her gown lined with too much sequins and flashing an amount of skin inappropriate for a lady of her noble station.

She bats her eyelashes at him slowly, action perhaps meant to be seductive but only proving to have the opposite effect on him. Still, this was a formal occasion and she was a Duke’s daughter, so perhaps he could afford humoring her… if only for five seconds at best.

“No amount of words can express how wonderful it is that you were anointed Queen of Hearts this day,” she says, words lathered in honey, “If it is to your liking, I humbly offer myself as your dance partner for the ball tonight, by chance that the spot by your side is still available.”

As if it were the strawberry on top, she offers a saccharine smile - and his response is to openly scoff.

present.

The problem with her is that she has the most peculiar of tendencies that always manage to catch him off guard, a notable example being how she would occasionally brush her fingertips against his skin so tenderly, gentle warmth and short nails trailing and tracing the beginnings and ends of the paths well-worn scars have carved into his flesh. Her fleeting touches would make shivers run up his spine, tingling and yearning for more than just brief contact.

He doesn’t need to tell her how or why each scar had made its way onto his hands, his back, his body - not all of them have grand stories behind them and the worst ones were made when he was at his most vulnerable, states and phases that were already years behind him but still fresh in his memory. But when she does ask him about his wounds with a pensive expression crossing her face, nails lightly dragging against the mark of a certain scar repeatedly; he finds himself talking, and in a dispassionate manner to boot.

It’s simple, actually. He, who had been weak and bullied as a child was saved by the person he would eventually call his King, and from that point on he strove to be better, to be stronger in both body and mind. Eventually he succeeds and triumphs against all odds and adversaries to emerge victoriously as a competent soldier and a rightful Queen for the noble Red Army.

The difficult memories were still raw around the edges, but there was no use in getting worked up about things of the past - the old scars and bruises were never aesthetically pleasing and maybe he could’ve done something to lighten their traces on his skin, but he wasn’t particularly ashamed of his wounds since they were, in a sense, proof of all his hard work and effort.

Each time he would tell her another piece of his struggle she would look at him quietly, eyes filled with a compassion he sought for but never received during those hard times. When he was finished relaying his tale, no words would escape her mouth but instead, she presses a kiss on the scar she just learned about; lips firm and familiar against his skin.

Did she believe that by doing so, the pain would fade away?

But it didn’t hurt anymore, and he swore not to allow himself to be hurt that way again - but why is it that whenever he would watch her caress his wounds, he feels himself to be bleeding and his heart at the verge of tears, suffering like the little weak boy he used to be?

It’s no consolation, she whispers with her breath warm against his skin, but I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.

He says nothing and instead wraps his arms tightly around her, burying his face onto her neck and breathing in the scent of sweets; the scent of home.

It turns out that he’s been meaning to ask about her hands ever since their first date.

She doesn’t resist as he pulls her hands towards him, unraveling her fingers to reveal her palms. The skin there is far from dainty, and he’s sharp enough to tell that it didn’t end up that way just because she was used to doing manual labor: even if in excess, that kind of work couldn’t result in the skin of one’s hands looking like it was fused together, forming lines and patches of rough uneven flesh a pinkish red shade.

He fusses over it a bit, stating that if ever someone from of the Land of Reason was responsible for her scars, they would have hell to pay… but the real reason isn’t anything serious at all. The way she sees it, she was responsible for her own scars the moment she decided to become a confectioner: the profession dealt with candy and it was at its easiest to mold when hot, so any confectioner simply had to endure handling candy at such high temperatures if they wanted to shape it with ease.

Funnily enough, her first attempt at making candy made her mother cry more than she did - the scalding heat eating away her hands was incredibly painful, but the sight of her mother treating the burns at the verge of tears felt a million times much worse.

Smiling wryly, she also tells him the words she threw away in order to follow her path:

As a girl, you ought to take good care of your hands - if they have too much scars, you can’t get married!

She blinks when he lets out a laugh, and he surprises her even further with the look in his eyes as he stared at her palms: he doesn’t look at them with narrowed eyes, visible scorn, or immediate distaste. If she had to describe his gaze she would say that it was kind, even more so when he raises one of her hands to his lips, raining down such feather-light kisses on top of her scars.

When he speaks, his voice calms the familiar unease that tugs at her heart -

Perhaps that’s true: no matter how many marks brand your hands, a man who fails to appreciate your scars also fails to acknowledge the lengths you took to achieve your dream - he’s simply a fool that definitely doesn’t deserve your hand.

Oh, she muses but doesn’t say, for her mouth has just hung itself open. Her heart suddenly feels like it’s soaring as it echoes his words, years of uncertainty and criticism becoming lighter - and with that feeling, tears start forming and flowing out her eyes unbidden, and she can’t stop them from creating the tracks that run down her cheeks.

Why are you crying? he asks with a voice so gentle, she could forget that he was sort of chiding her. She lets out a breathy, shaky laugh in response but the tears don’t stop coming; blurring the silver luster of his hair, the spun gold of his eyes, and the ivory of his skin into a jumbled mess of colors.

Softly, oh-so-softly, he sighs - he doesn’t let go of her hand as he closed the distance in between them; moving his face even closer to kiss her tears away: he starts from the tip of her chin then moves up to her left cheek and then plants a soft peck to her eyelid, doing the same motions for the right side of her face.

She’s still crying when his lips find hers, and in that moment he lets her have a taste of the happiness in her tears.

future.

Her ensemble comes with gloves: they’re made of fine silk and they reached up to her wrists, color a pristine white that complemented the pastel pink hues of her gown. They were form-fitting and if one took a moment to peer well, one could see the delicately embroidered butterfly stencils dancing about the back hand surface of the gloves.

She’s about to slip one on when he takes hold of her wrist gently.

You don’t need to wear them, he tells her with certainty.

Are you sure? she asks, worry in her eyes. I’m okay with that, but we’re going to meet your parents and I don’t think they’d be pleased to see -

He cuts her off by pressing a swift kiss to her lips, tasting a bit of strawberry coming from the rouge she applied.

What they want to see doesn’t matter in the slightest. I need them to see you and accept you for who you truly are - that’s how I fell in love with you, after all.

Jonah quickly turns his head away from her gaze, but she was able to catch a glimpse of the faint blush that colored his cheeks.

Feeling a blush spreading onto her cheeks as well, she laughs as she reaches out to slip her hand into his, taking comfort in the familiar feel of worn scars and callouses against her palm, her fingers, her fingertips.

The silk gloves lay forgotten on her vanity as they leave the room, neither of them looking back.

2: when alice was introduced as a confectioner in the game’s prologue, i remembered yakitate japan’s monica… i tried researching about candy-making and stuff and i'm not actually sure if confectioners really have burnt hands due to holding extremely hot candy but! alice having scarred hands has been an hc for me ever since! 3: i pointed this out in my lance fic but in 19th century london, women commonly work in textile factories / mines / commerce / farms. supervisory roles & specialized professions (doctors, lawyers for instance) were closed off to women since they were seen to be skilled jobs. so realistically speaking, alice must be pretty lucky / talented to be employed in a confectionery and at london’s best to boot. 4: in addition, alice is assumed to be around her 20s and around this age, women usually busy themselves with getting married / finding a marriage prospect rather than getting employed. alice must be seen as unconventional in the eyes of london society, huh? ɖී؀ීϸ

#ikemen kakumei #ikemen revolution #ikerev fanfic #jonah clemence #ikerev alice #maybe a little late but happy new year to y'all!#hope 2020 treats us all better haha!

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bookandcranny · 4 years

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Stone Heart Gambit

Part 1 - Chapter 5

It starts with clothes. Wearing rags might have worked for Adami when he was made of stone, but not so much now that he’s walking around. Finding something that would fit his broad, inhuman frame was a challenge, but eventually Soso pins down an online seller who stocks a full range of extra-large sizes and provides fast delivery. Adamantius had looked so confused at the offering, and it occurred to Soso suddenly that he probably wasn’t someone who was used to getting gifts. Thus, since then she’d begun bringing new things with her every visit, to get him accustomed.

It’s little things. Today Nessa, awake and active before nightfall for the first time that Soso has ever seen, indulgently leads her through a beginner’s lesson in baking. It had seemed like a good practical gift, since Surehouser only cooked when he fancied the diversion. There was always plenty of food in his home, but only when he bothered to remember that there should be. Something to do with the passively magical nature of the place, he said, though as always the simple answer was wrapped in a layer of riddles and vaguery.

The result is a batch of cookies so hard and dry that one bite has Nessa diving for the milk. Still, she thinks, not terrible for her first try, and Adami will probably be happy with literally anything she brings him.

The outside of the library is looking well restored from Halloween’s havoc, with the exception of the conspicuously missing statue, although the interior is more chaotic than ever before. After a brief investigation, the events of that night have been officially written off as a large-scale prank. It eases Soso’s nerves a little, knowing that she isn’t about to be interrogated at any given moment, but doesn’t solve the main problem. No amount of new clothes or socialization is going to make Adami able to walk the streets freely looking like he does, and harboring him at the library will only work for so long. Not long at all, if he can’t learn to play nice with his host. The fact that they haven’t been caught yet feels like a miracle.

“Nothing so dramatic,” Surehouser says. “Humans are remarkably good at looking the other way when the truth is inconvenient to them. The unseen bleeds into your world more than you realize. This spot, Ensfield- although it didn’t have a name much less a town at the time- rests on what’s essentially a faultline of wild magic, magic that’s not attached to or being used by anyone. It’s a powerful point of contact between the two worlds. One of a handful scattered all over the globe.”

He had explained some of it to her, though of course not as much as she’d like. You could only keep the human world so distant from its shadow without having some bleed-through. Underhill and Overhill were in many ways mirror images of another, hanging in a precarious balance. In order to keep that balance in check, there were a lot of rules about the way faefolk were to conduct themselves while in Overhill, and breaking them could be met with consequences ranging from a slap on the wrist to being banished from Underhill altogether. The general consensus, it seemed, was that the human’s domain was a fun place to visit but not one anyone wished to stay in.

Soso, who has no basis for comparison, wonders if she should be offended.

“So, out of curiosity,” she says. “Just how much trouble would you be in if your bosses found out about big boy over here?”

He snorts. She likes the man but he has the uncanny ability to make her feel like an idiot whenever she opens her mouth about anything fae-wise. “You assume you’d be exempt.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Uncertainty creeps into her tone. “I mean, this is sort of my turf. Because human?”

“It does muddy things,” he admits. “I can’t say I know what they’d do.”

“Give me a best and worst case scenario.”

“Best case, I lose my position and standing and become the laughing stock of my court for failing a task that was essentially ‘make sure this rock doesn’t move’. Worst case, the library gets a few new lawn ornaments.”

She grimaces. Yeah, that’s pretty bad.

Adamantius comes in from the other room and makes a face that she recognizes as his version of a smile. The mouthful of teeth and tusks don’t lend themselves well to the expression, but the nuances between happy monster and angry monster and bored monster are ones she’s coming to appreciate.

“Lady Willoughby, I was not aware it was you. I’ve been instructed to stay hidden at the sound of the door,” he says. “Then I remembered that I’m not bound to the commands of faeries.”

Surehouser rolls his eyes theatrically and takes a bite of a proffered cookie, wincing at the crunch. “Have some, abomination. Your jaws are probably much more suited.”

Soso’s face heats. They aren’t that bad, are they? Adamantius takes two before she can stop him, rumbling with contentment as he chews, and she wonders if it’s for her sake. He can be remarkably astute when he wants to be.

“You could maybe be a teensy bit more careful about being spotted.” She gestures around her. The quirky but overall neat hideaway in the woods Soso knew has been growing more disorganized by the day. Apparently Adami has been trying to catch up his limited knowledge of modern-day Overhill by tearing through the library’s main collection. She can surmise by the look of the place that his attention span is even more erratic than her own. She can nearly pinpoint the exact moment Surehouser must have given up. “Like, just in case anybody else ever stops by.”

“Let them come. I don’t fear any man.”

“Well, I personally fear lots of men.”

Adami clenches one oversized fist. “I would not let them harm you.”

And that instant leap to violence in my defense is a big part of why. Soso’s trying to think of a gentle way to explain this, when there’s the sound of knock on the door. Surehouser leaps up and ushers him out of the room, much to his annoyance, just as the door cracks open.

“Oh hey, I wasn’t sure you guys were open,” says the visitor. It’s a man, still young but old enough that, upon sighting Soso, his face slips into that condescending smile that every man over twenty-five seems to default to around her. Her height and the softness of her features often paints her as younger than she is. She’ll be getting carded for another ten years at least.

“Yep, the librarian’s just, uh, taking a break.”

“I see. And you’re…?”

“Ah, Soso. I’m… an intern?” She resists the urge to slap herself and appends, “I’m new, sorry.”

She’s relieved that the visitor doesn’t call her bluff. She can feign confidence with the best of them but it doesn’t help matters that this guy is uncannily good looking. He’s dressed like he’s just come from an office job, the crisp white sleeves of his button=up rolled to the elbows and his sandy brown hair ruffled in a way that seems somehow calculated and effortless all at once.

“Nice to meet you, miss intern,” he grins. “Can you help me out with something? See, I’m a reporter doing a story on an incident that was reported in the area a few nights ago. You know what I’m talking about?”

Soso stiffens. “Oh yeah, those crazy kids and their pranks. I hate to ruin your scoop but there really isn’t anything to tell about it.”

The man stalks towards her, his smile never wavering. “Really? Because what I heard was that the culprit still hasn’t been caught.” He gives her a casual once-over. “Culprit, or culprits.”

The insinuation irks her. “What makes you think you’re going to find anything about it here?”

He shrugs. “Sources tell me this library is a common target for ‘pranks’ like these. Maybe you saw something?”

“We were closed that night,” she bites out. Something about this reporter’s cocky attitude sets her on edge.

“Maybe I should talk to your boss. He lives out of this same building, right? Anthony Surehouser?”

Her frown deepens. A lucky guess? An attempt to bluff his way in? That itself seems odd though. Who puts this much effort into sleuthing out a story about a supposed prank on a night notorious for stupid pranks? Something isn’t adding up.

“What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t, but neither did you.”

“I told you, my name is Soso.”

That actually throws him for a second. “Oh that’s your name. I thought you just had a stutter. My fault.” He puts out his hand. “Jamison D’Leon. Sorry, as a kid my grandma always told me never to give my name to someone who wouldn’t give me theirs first.”

“It’s okay. It’s an unusual name, I know.”

“I’d say unique.” He has the audacity to wink at her as she shakes his hand.

“Mr D’Leon-“

“Call me Jamie, please. I’m not ready to be a Mr D’Leon just yet.”

This guy is too much. “Okay, Jamie, I can tell my boss you came by, but like I said neither of us saw anything, so unless you’re looking for a book or directions to the highway, I can’t help you.”

For the first time, Jamie’s grin falters. “You are a tough one.” He takes a phone out of his pocket and selects the first contact on the list. “Bancroft, my darling, are you still sure this is the place?” A beat. “In that case, I’m gonna need some backup. Mhm, mhm.”

He ends the call and reclines into a lazy lean against the circulation desk. Feeling at a loss, Soso is contemplating calling for some backup of her own when the doors open again. This time the newcomer is a serious looking woman with long dark hair, dark skin, and a dark suit to match.

“Excuse me, who are you?”

The woman adjusts her glasses. She’s looking around at the room, hardly taking notice of Soso, like she’s just a part of the scenery and an uninteresting one at that.

“Agent Dana Bancroft,” she answers.

“Agent?”

“What’s the verdict?” asks Jamie.

“No doubt, this is the place.” She looks at Soso as if her presence has only just registered. “Oh, you need to leave.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This building is a powderkeg of ma-“

Jamie clears his throat loudly. Soso narrows her eyes. She thinks of what Surehouser had said, about faefolk walking unnoticed among common men. These two don’t look like magical creatures in disguise, but then, neither had he. That’s the point.

There must be some sort of tell, she thinks, otherwise how would those in the know recognize one another? She feigns obedience under their intimidating stares and moves to gather her things. She might not know just who or what these two are, but she can still recognize bad news when she sees it.

Rifling through her bag for a way out of this, her hands find her camera. She still carries it around with her as a habit even though she hasn’t used it much lately. Surehouser is averse to having his picture taken, and she finds herself too unsure to ask Adami even if he would most likely agree. That line of thought causes her to consider, would a glamour- the illusory magic the fae use to disguise themselves among humans- show up on camera?

“Hey ‘agents’, say cheese.”

No sooner has the shutter clicked than something like a purple bolt of lightning shoots it from her hands. When she scrambles to pick it back up, the smoldering plastic sparks and she yelps in pain and shock.

“Bancroft, was that necessary?”

“She knows,” the agent says with cool certainty. Her hands are sparkling with that same iridescent energy.

At this point several things happen at once. Bancroft raises her hands, gathering more power to her. Jamie is saying something to her, trying to talk her down or maybe just throwing around ideas about where to hide the body- Soso can’t focus on that either way because she hears heavy footfalls swiftly approaching and seconds later Adamantius bursts into the room, nearly upending several shelves and roaring like a zoo lion past feeding time. He picks up the agent closest to him, Jamie, and tosses him. His partner whirls towards him and sends a blast of that built up energy directly into his chest. The area glows for a moment like iron in a forge, and then fades, the raging man unaffected.

Surehouser comes in hot on his heels, red in the face. She imagines it was a struggle for him to keep him subdued for as long as he had. The woman readies another attack, shaken but not stalled, and Adamantius seizes and encircles her hands with his own, bearing down like he intends to tear them off before giving her the chance.

“Wait!” Soso yells, but he’s too far gone now. He doesn’t seem to even hear her.

The woman cries out in pain and Soso, panicked, lobs a cookie at his head. It crumbles on impact, but it at least gets his attention. While she has an opening, she rushes him head-first. He doesn’t so much as budge as she rails into him with the full force of her weight. He shoves the agent away just long enough to keep her from braining herself, for all the good it does. She swears she can feel her brain bouncing around the inside of her skull.

“Tha’s enough,” she slurs, shaking her head clear.

“I heard you scream,” Adami protests, eyes wide.

She holds up her hands. The one that touched the camera is burned slightly, the skin at the base of fingers turned paler than that surrounding it, but it’s nothing severe. He must come to the same conclusion, although he still doesn’t look happy about it.

“I’m fine,” she insists. “Things got a little crazy there, but we’re gonna sit down and talk it out like adults.”

“No more talking!” he roars. “All you ever want to do is talk! Why will you not allow me to defend you!”

Agent Bancroft, holding herself up by means of shaking legs and sheer will, opens her suit jacket to reveal an ornate patch stitched into the lining. At a glance it looks like a family crest, split into quarters with each section containing a discreet, delicately embroidered symbol.

“Oh fuck,” sighs Mr Surehouser, so abruptly that Soso almost laughs. “It’s the goddamn feds.”

“Federation of Magical Affairs,” she corrects in between labored breaths. “May I sit down?”

He pulls out a chair. Several rows down, the other agent picks himself up off the floor and limps over.

“Knew I shouldn’t’ve left my sword in the car,” he grumbles.

“Lady Willoughby,” Adami is all but pleading with her now. “Please let me remove the intruders. They are a threat to your safety.”

“Oh we’re a threat!” Jamie scoffs. “You-! You are getting such a citation, mister.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” says Soso.

“Can we agree on a temporary truce?” Bancroft asks. “I think there’s been some confusion. Jamison and I are agents of the FMA assigned to investigate reports of an incident that signaled a potential rogue element. You,” She looks to the librarian. “You’re the watcher assigned to this area, going by the name Anthony Surehouser? We’ve been trying to contact you. You’re running late on your annual report.”

He looks caught. “The date must’ve gotten away from me.”

Jamie says, “We were told to look for a lone building past the woods with a big gargoyle out front. Well we found the building, and now I guess we’ve found the gargoyle too.” He glares at Adamantius, cradling his injured arm. “What is this? Some kind of botched animation spell?”

He growls warningly.

“Adami,” Soso says, trying for a calming tone but landing somewhere closer to tired. “Will you get me some ice for my hand? And for our, er, guest’s arm?”

“Leave you alone with them? The woman reeks of magic.”

Said woman is looking more intrigued by the second. “What did you just call it?” she asks Soso.

A protective impulse flares in her chest despite it all. “His name is Adamantius.”

“The son of man,” she finishes, her eyes alight with wonder. “A feat of magic and science combined, leagues beyond anything created before or since. I thought he was a myth.”

A tense quiet falls over the room.

“For pity’s sake,” Surehouser pipes up at last. “I’ll get the ice.”

An involuntary hiss escapes her as Soso nurses her burnt hand.

“I could heal that for you,” offers Bancroft. She’s currently checking her partner’s arm for breaks, a soft light emanating from her fingertips, smoothing out the lines of tension on his brow by degrees.

Soso would like to accept, but Adami looks like he’s about a wayward glance away from snapping again and she’d rather not push her luck. His eyes are locked on the sorceress’ hands, even as the violet glow dims to nothing.

“Is it always so… sparkly?” Soso asks, and immediately feels foolish for it.

Either she doesn’t mind the question or she is very good at faking it. “Not always. Spellcasting doesn’t necessarily need a visual aspect, but healing isn’t my foremost specialty so it’s good to be able to see what I’m doing. Wouldn’t want to accidentally fuse any joints together.”

“Again,” Jamie mutters.

“Hush.”

When they aren’t being all secretive and posturing, or throwing balls of lightning around, these so-called agents aren’t bad company, Soso thinks. Though she would wager she’s alone in that sentiment. Adami is still... Adami, and Surehouser seems to be waiting for the other shoe to drop and someone to announce that he’s headed straight for fae jail, if there is such a thing.

The Federation of Magical Affairs, she learns, is an organization whose purpose is keeping the balance between the two worlds. Underhill has its own governing bodies, its countries and courts and what seems to be an awful lot of political drama, but compared to most human government structures their control over the citizens is fairly lax, which means that those who live on the Overhill side of things, human and otherwise, often have to pick up the slack to make sure the majority of humans don’t find out about the faefolk and wind up setting off another war.

It’s the TMA that conducts the regular check-ins with Surehouser to make sure that the contents of the library-beneath-the-library remain preserved and undisturbed, as they have been for the past several centuries. When word came in that there had been a disturbance in the area, possibly of an inhuman nature, Agents D’Leon and Bancroft were sent to investigate.

“The best in the business!” Jamie boasts. He cuts himself off with a whine as his partner pokes his still tender arm.

“I believe we rank seventy-sixth on the leaderboard right now, actually.”

“That’s not so bad,” says Soso. She figures with a job as important sounding as theirs, there must be hundreds, maybe even thousands of agents.

“Out of ninety-nine.”

Or not. “I feel like I should be offended that some mysterious magical agency thought our town was under attack and only sent out a C-rank team to handle it.”

She shrugs. “It was an isolated incident, no real casualties, plenty of signs pointing to a possible hoax. We’ve investigated a lot of hoaxes recently.”

“But it only takes one real one flying under the radar for this whole thing to fall apart,” argues Jamie. “Isn’t it worth following a few false leads if just once we manage to stop something big?”

Dana levels Soso a conspiratorial look. “Jamison fancies himself a knight in shining armor. In reality, the job’s mostly de-escalating minor incidents and filing a whole lot of paperwork. It’s nothing fancy, but there aren’t many good job opportunities for mages these days so…”

“Well it sounds exciting to me,” Soso says, and means it. She can’t imagine getting so used to a job involving real magic and monsters and mystery that it would become mundane. If only this sort of career track had been offered to her in high school. How does a person even get into this business, she wonders.

There’s a none-too-subtle exasperated sound to her right and she’s brought back to the situation at hand.

“Is there any chance this could be written up as one of those false alarms?”

The agents look at one another. Jamie barks a laugh.

“We can’t just not report something like this. We’d lose our jobs, or worse. Plus, a mythical monster warrior living on the outskirts of a human town does seem like kind of a safety concern.”

“You should be very concerned about your safety shortly,” threatens Adamantius.

Surehouser glances worriedly between them. “Isn’t there any way we could keep this under wraps a bit longer? I’m not ready to return home as a disgrace.” Soso clears her throat. He sighs. “And, while I had my doubts, I must admit the beast has been fairly well-behaved since he was released. Technically speaking, no real harm has been done, and he’s served a long enough sentence. In the days of old it’s said the warrior Adamantius served humanity, now it seems he’s chosen a new master, and one less given to warlike tendencies. That can only be an improvement.”

“I don’t want to be Adami’s master,” Soso argues. “He isn’t my servant or my soldier, he’s- he’s my friend. And I think after a thousand years the least he deserves is a chance.”

She looks up at him, and he at her. There’s a look on his face Soso has yet to identify, but behind all the hardness and fire in his eyes, she sees the face of a good man, a man who is more than the monstrosity assigned to him.

“That’s sweet,” says Jamie. “But I don’t know how well the power of friendship defense is going to hold up before the federation. And I gotta say, after being thrown into a wall, my vote is not with you.”

“He was trying to defend me,” Soso insists. “After you guys blasted my camera to bits.”

“Your camera?”

She shrinks back a bit. “I was trying to see if they were, you know, glamoured to look human by using the camera.”

Surehouser claps his hands together. “Soso. That was smart. That might have actually worked.”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“I’m trying to pay you a compliment.”

“Well, keep trying, I’m sure you’ll get there eventually.” She rubs her thumb over the burnt skin of her hand, no longer hot to the touch but still tender. She doesn’t even want to look at her poor camera.

Bancroft at least has the decency to look guilty about it. “There is a lot of magical energy in this place, a lot of wild magic. It makes me jumpy.”

Surehouser coughs pointedly. There’s a glimmer in his eyes that even Soso doesn’t all the way trust. “Perhaps I can suggest a compromise?”

Adamantius sneers. “Faeries and their gambits.”

“We’re listening,” says Dana.

Under his breath, Jamie adds, “We are?”

“First let me ask you, how soon does the FMA expect you to be back from your present investigation?”

“Investigations can last anywhere from a few days to a few months depending on the nature of the case. As long as we keep HQ updated, we can be here indefinitely.”

His smile broadens. “Then what I propose is this: collect some more data before you make your final decision. If you close the case now, what do you have? You have a legendary war criminal, a potentially dangerous creature of humanity’s own creation holed up in an unaware human town. That doesn’t sound so good. Doesn’t reflect well on me, on you, on the entire federation. Going back with this story would mean telling the FMA to its face that you’ve all failed your core mission statement.

“They can throw our dear Adamantius in some jail somewhere, call it a day, but when this story gets out, no amount of damage control, no amount of PR is going to cover up the fact that they let this happen, and didn’t so much as send out a response team for days. Anything could have happened in that time! And when they finally do file the paperwork and get a team out here, who arrives? Two agents ranked a hair’s width from the bottom of the barrel. No offense.”

“Harsh, but accurate,” she allows.

“It’s not a good look, I think we can all agree,” he continues. “But if you were to stay, gather more intel, and say, came to the conclusion that a human and a faerie had successfully reformed the biggest bad in Underhill history, why that would be a tremendous success! Proof of the balance- the peace- that the FMA has been working towards since its conception. Don’t you think you owe it to the federation, to yourselves, to give this grand experiment more time. If he fails to live up to expectations, well, at least you tried. And you still get to be the heroes who brought in Adamantius the unbreakable. It’s a wager you can’t lose.”

Unless we’re wrong, Soso adds internally, hoping her worries don’t show. Unless Adami really is violence and rage all the way down. She shakes herself. No, it helps nothing thinking like that.

The agents step away to confer amongst themselves, while Surehouser dabs away a drop of sweat with the cuff of his shirtsleeve. Adamantius is as stoic as Soso’s seen him since he was a statue. On impulse, she reaches out and touches his arm in a way she hopes comes off as reassuring. She’s never been the best at this sort of thing, and she can only guess at what’s going through his mind right now, but she wants him to know he’s not alone.

At length, the pair return to the group to give their verdict.

“We will take you up on your offer,” says Jamie, holding himself so rigid you’d think he was pleading guilty to murder. She almost prefers him smirking and swaggering. “Agent Bancroft and I will stay and survey you until we feel we’ve collected enough information.”

Relief washes over her. It’s not a solution, but it’s the next best thing: time. Still, something nags at her. “You mean you’ll be surveying Adami, right?”

“We’ll be watching all of you,” Bancroft corrects. “As far as we’re concerned, you are all under suspicion for the time being.”

“Suspicion of what?”

“Just under suspicion,” she says. “We’ll be taking notes on everything that goes on here and reporting anything suspect.”

The librarian tenses but keeps his expression carefully neutral. “That’s… fair, I suppose.”

He puts out his hand, and she takes it. A small spark of magic flickers between them upon contact.

“I am bound to my word,” says the sorceress.

“And I mine,” the faerie man replies.

Soso isn’t entirely sure what’s just happened, but the tension in the room is thick as pudding and it’s making her want for an exit.

“Adami,” she says. “Let’s go, uh, over there.”

“Mind if I join?” Jamie chirps gleefully. “Of course you don’t! We’re all going to become real good friends, aren’t we?”

Soso’s stomach drops and Adamantius bites down on a low growl. What have they gotten themselves into?

#original writing #fantasy #writeblr #project: stone heart gambit #apologies for the length #this is the final chapter for part 1! if youve read this far big thanks!

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atombombbagel · 5 years

Note

Companions carrying injured Sole to safety

HELLO! So like I said I’ve managed to actually finish a reaction and although it may not be the best, I’m rusty af. Also, anything over a thousand words is going to be under a keep reading thingy and that is only because I don’t want to clog up peoples dashboards. :) Hopefully it is good enough and ENJOY. :)

1 request down and about 144 to go.

Cait: “Find Cover!” Caityelled as a small hand grenade was tossed by the enemy in the direction of herand Sole. The grenade bounced off the ground a few times before coming to a halt,landing next to Sole’s feet. Sole only had a few seconds to react, swan divingto safety behind an old pile of sandbags. Small bits of debris and bits of rubbleflew into the air as the device exploded. Cait quickly shuffled to her feet, immediatelylooking around for Sole, who she found in a matter of seconds. She rushed totheir side.

“That looks nasty there Sole,”Cait commented as she looked at Sole’s ankle, it was red and twisted out ofplace. “Can yer move it?” She asked and Sole shook their head wincing. “Don’t chaworry, I got yer.” Cait carefully lifted Sole up and carried them into a nearbybuilding, away from the enemies that had given up on fighting them. Cait slowlyput Sole down on an old worn chair before going off to find a box to prop Sole’sankle onto. Sole tilted their head as they looked at Cait in disbelief.

“What are ye lookin’ at?” Caitasked, examining Sole’s ankle a little closer.

“You’re a lot stronger thanyou look.” Sole laughed which caused Cait to playfully punch Sole in the arm.

“Yeah. Appearances aren’t everythingyano. I could kick yer ass easy,” She joked. “Now stay still and let me patch yerup.”

Curie: Sole carefullystepped across the old wooden planks that lined the upper floor of a decrepitbuilding. Curie had suggested to Sole that together they should find a fewmedical supplies for the growing settlements. But they’d had no luck, untilthey stumbled upon an old, abandoned raider den.

“Bingo!” Sole exclaimed,pleased with themselves as they handed the various chems and medical suppliedto Curie so she could put them in her bag.

“Wonderful,” Curie agreed.What a great find, these supplies would be more than enough for a fewtreatments but Sole being, well Sole, they didn’t want to leave any of thebuilding unchecked.

Sole reached for the door knobto what appeared to be a closet, only when Sole opened the door, they were greetedto a small swarm of hatched bloatflies. Startled, they flew into Sole’s facemaking them stumble back and step on a rotten floorboard. The board creaked loudlybefore giving way and snapping in half, sending Sole through the floor.

“Oh no!” Curie gasped turningback and hurrying down the stairs in which they’d came up. She flew through thedoor and over to Sole’s side. “Your leg madam/ monsieur!” Curie knew it wouldbe unsafe to treat Sole’s leg here so she somehow manged to pick Sole up cradlingthem in her, apparently strong arms, which definitely left Sole speechless to saythe least. Curie backtracked to one of the houses they’d already cleared out,making sure to help Sole to the best of her ability.

Danse: Danse pressed hisback against the wall as he avoided countless laser rifle shots from a handful ofgeneration 1 institute synths. He tactfully reloaded his weapon before peakingaround the wall to fire a few shots at them. He looked to his left, where Solewas standing, when he noticed one of the synths had snuck up behind the two ofthem.

“SOLE!” he shouted but as Solewent to look over at him they were hit over the back of the head by the synth holdinga shock baton. Danse fired at the synth, blasting its head off and turning itto dust. Danse then continued to kill the remaining synths before dashing toSole’s side. He quickly picked up Sole and hurried back to the police stationwhere they would be safe from any danger.

Sole woke up to Scribe Haylenwrapping a bandage around their head. They gazed up at Danse, who was standingwith his arms crossed, a worried look etched on his face. His eyes lit up whenhe noticed Sole had woken up. He moved closer to the mattress Sole was lyingon.

“How are you doing soldier?”He asked, kneeling beside Sole, inspecting their head. He smiledsympathetically.

“I’m fine,” Sole said beforeadding, “How did I get back here?” Danse scratched the back of his head.

“I carried you back after youwere hit,” he explained.

“Thank you.”

“We’ve got to stick together,”Danse said with a smile.

Deacon: “Do you hear that?”Sole asked as they cautiously down at the ground with furrowed eyebrows. Deaconstopped in his tracks as he tried to listen to whatever Sole was referring to.He shrugged and shook his head. Sole shook it off, continuing towards theirdestination. Sole stopped once again. “I swear-” Sole was cut off when theywere knocked to the ground after being attacked from below. A mole rat had burrowedits way out of the dirt and had sank its teeth into Sole’s leg. Sole winced inpain, falling to the ground as the mole rat continued its attack on them.Deacon reacted quickly, kicking the mole rat off Sole, before shooting it inthe head.

“Frickin’ little bugger,” Solecried, clutching their bleeding leg. Deacon scooped Sole up in his arms.

“That looks pretty nasty,” Hecommented.

“It is!” Sole whined, makingDeacon let out a little chuckle.

“Don’t worry I’ll get you backto base. You’re going to need a couple of shots for that one.” He laughedagain, causing Sole to groan.

“You’re not helping!” Solehuffed, crossing their arms.

Hancock: A loud siren alertedHancock and Sole who were both chilling on the sofa inside Sole’s home. It wasn’tvery often they got to spend time just relaxing, there was always something todo. Sole quickly jumped to their feet, rushing to the front door to see whatall the commotion was about. The crackling noise of gunfire broke out andHancock grabbed his gun, following Sole into the heat of the fight.

A small group of raiders hadsomehow grown the balls to try and attack Sanctuary. Hancock watched from afaras Sole went to finish off an enemy only to be shot by a second raider who hadbeen hiding behind a stack of tires. In a burst of anger Hancock shot at theman in the burlap sack mask, his face exploding along with fragments of his mask.Hancock killed the other raider, overkilling her when he sent the butt of hisgun through her face. He turned to Sole, assessing their injuries with his eyesbefore leaning down and picking Sole up.

“Fucking assholes,” Hancockmuttered to himself taking a very injured Sole back into their house. He put Soledown on their bed. “Stay here until I get back. Do you understand?” It wasn’t reallya question, but more of a demand, he knew what Sole was like. He was going to finishoff all those goddamn raiders before he’d come back and patch up Sole. Nosurvivors, not for this.

MacCready: MacCready pulled the trigger of hissniper rifle, his bullet flying through the air, landing between the eyes of alarge super mutant. He cocked the bolt back, lining up another shot. He smirkedas he watched the clueless super mutants through his scope. Sole, who was standingnext to MacCready, stepped forward accidently slipping on a muddy patch ofgrass. They fell on their ass and slid down the hill, on the way down Sole hadhit their knee on a rock. Sole had also alertedthe super mutant group, but Mac was more worried about sole then the mutants.

“You blew our cover,” hewhisper-yelled, hurrying down the hill to Sole’s aid. The super mutants whereapproaching them but instead of fighting MacCready knelt down letting Soleclimb onto his back. He stood up with a groan, Sole was heavier than theylooked, either that or is was down to MacCready’s scrawny arms. Although it wasslippery, Mac made his way up the muddy bank, completely evading the buff greendudes. MacCready was tired but Sole was enjoying the piggy bank.

Nick: “How badly did theyget you?” Nick asked, crouching down beside Sole. He reached forward examiningSole. “Looks rough kid,” he added when he noticed the slashes and scratchesacross Sole’s waist.

“It hurts like mad” Solefrowned.

“I bet. Look, I don’t know ifI’ll be much help with this old thing,” Nick joked referring to his exposedmetal hands. Sole laughed for a moment before grimacing in pain, clutchingtheir side. Nick helped Sole off the ground, wrapping their arm around the backof his neck. Nick slowly walked Sole to a secluded building away from the feralghouls’ corpses that had attacked them. He gently put Sole down onto an old woodenchair.

“Take this,” Nick handed Solea stimpak, offering a sympathetic smile as they infected it into their side. Itwasn’t so much carrying but more of a friendly helping hand.

Piper: “How did I let yourope me into this.” Sole sighed with a huff, looking over at Piper who wassmiling widely to herself.

“The gift of the gab,” Shereplied. “Now hush.” Piper lifted her index finger to her lip to silence Sole.If they were too loud, she couldn’t capture the picture she wanted. She’dwanted it for days, a picture of Yao Guai, caring for its cup. Piper quicklysnapped the shot, the bright flash of the camera alerting the animals. As anyprotective mother would, the Yao Guai growled moving closer Piper. Sole grabbedher sleeve and initiated for them to run the hell away from the angry beast.

As they were making their quickgetaway Sole stumbled over, nearly bringing piper with them, Piper bent downand picked up Sole by there are, wrapping it around her neck as she tried topull Sole along.

“God you weigh a tonne,” Shejoked, hurrying along. Piper tried her best to carry Sole to safety, not evenresiding the mutated bear has given up chasing them. She dropped to the ground.

“Hey!” Sole shouted as theyhit the floor with a thud.

“I’m sorry, but you’re heavy.”She laughed before offering Sole her hand to help them up from the ground.

Piper offered her shoulder onceagain, carrying a hobbling sole to a clinic.

Preston: “We’re trapped!” Soleobserved in a panicked tone. Preston and Sole had been chased by gunners into asmall two-story house.

“No where to run now!” one ofthe gunners taunted as they approached the narrow staircase. Unfortunately, itwas too narrow to escape from. Preston smashed one of the already brokenwindows with the stock of his laser musket, clearing the rest of the glass forthem to escape.

“General! This way.” Prestonnodded his head towards the window before he climbed out onto a garage roof,stepping carefully on the weathered tiles. Sole climbed out next, walking overto the edge of the roof. It was safe enough for them to jump down. As Sole wentto jump down they lost their footing, slipping off the roof and landing ontheir leg. Preston immediately jumped down after them and didn’t even hesitateas he lifted Sole into his arms.

“It looks broken,” he said sadly.All Sole could do was let out a groan, unable to muster up any words. Preston didn’teven wait for the gunners to catch on, he ran as fast as he could, clutching Soletightly to his chest. He had to get them some help.

X6-88: “I detect enemymovement nearby,” X6 announced, holding his gun steadily in front of him. He’salways ready before the fight even starts. Sole followed him around a cornerwhere they were ambushed by three brotherhood soldiers. X6 managed to fight offand kill two of them but that wasn’t before the third manged to knock Sole tothe ground.

Sole struggled to get thesoldier off them, wrestling about. Sole yelled out as a stinging pain ripped upthrough their leg. The soldier had managed to get out a knife and plunge itinto Sole’s leg. X6 hit the soldier in the back of the head with his gun, knockingthem off Sole and onto the ground. The soldier clutched his head as he writhed abouton the ground. A single laser shot, ended the soldier and X6 focused hisattention back to Sole, who had also been squirming around in immense pain.

Without saying anything X6picked sole up and threw them over his shoulder. Although it wasn’t the bestway to carry an injured Sole, it’s the thought that counts, right?

#fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout 4 companions #fallout 4 companions react #fallout 4 companion reactions #fo4 companions #fo4 companion reactions #fo4 companions react #Cait #Curie #Danse #Deacon #nick valentine #hancock #Robert Joseph MacCready #Piper Wright #preston garvey #x6-88

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ofchargers · 5 years

Photo

WORLD WAR ONE . THE WESTERN FRONT .

feat . @osterreiich and @rexblut .

Ludwig had practically begged for them all to let him go to the front.

He remembers first going to Gilbert. Neat, tidy uniform, adjustments made in the final moments before he enters the room with an air of confidence. The stern gaze he forced himself to maintain as he explained his reasons to go to the front, to follow in Gilbert’s footsteps, to prove to him that he could handle it like Gilbert had done for centuries before now. The firm no he’d received in return that stunned him. And nervous, Ludwig fixed his fringe, gently brushing it back with a gloved hand, stuttering over his first few words before finally starting to form coherent, persuasive arguments. Ludwig wanted to win over Gilbert’s favour first… Relying on Gilbert’s tendency for war and glory to tilt the argument.

It took him a bit longer than he expected, but eventually, he got an answer.

“Fine. You want to go to the front. And I’m proud of you for wanting to do that, and I guess I didn’t teach you all that strategy for nothing. But I’m stationed elsewhere on the front with my troops… So, you’ll have to ask Johan. And you know what? Roderich too.”

Roderich was next, he determined. Ludwig had mustered all his confidence to convince Roderich to let him out on the front, seeking the desperate approval of entering the war on his own volition. He’d even taken the chance to ask during a piano lesson with the other nation, taking the opportunity of a calmer environment to persuade him; keys playing a magnificent tune as they play, a duet unheard by all but the two, something the two could share compared to Gilbert’s strategizing and Johan’s survival skills. At first, it was an even stronger no than he’d received from Gilbert, but regardless of the initial answer, he did his best to convince his uncle to let him go. He was determined.

“I want to protect you, Roderich,” Ludwig would say; the nickname Roddy remains a decade unused, but he considers using it in his favour. Gentle coercion, he calls it. “Please, let me go to the front. You can’t stop me, realistically, but… I just want your approval.”

He still doesn’t know if he got a yes or no.

And last was Johan. Oh, Johan, even more insistent than Gilbert and Roderich combined that his no was the hardest to convince into a yes. He didn’t bother with formalities, only taking the chance to seek an answer during a friendly spar, a quiet moment between clashing steel against each other. They’d then spent the next few hours debating the point, with Ludwig wanting to fight and protect his people; Johan would argue that war is not glorious. Dear Ludwig would retort that it wasn’t glory he was seeking, merely protection for the people he’d sent to war. Was he guilt tripping? Well…

“I sent the blank cheque, Jo Jo. Please, this is my fault. I have to do something.”

“No! You have never been to war before, Ludwig. You-- have you seen my scars? Have you forgotten I’ve lived for thousands and thousands of years longer than you? I would not wish this upon anyone, least of all you.”

Their argument carries on through to dusk. The tense silence that follows is overbearing. But finally, an hour after the sun fully sets, Johan relents.

However, it isn’t without terms.

“You will be stationed with me. I will be in direct contact with Roderich and Gilbert the entire time we’re on the front. And if you die out there, or if you are severely injured, you will not be returning on any circumstances whatsoever. Understood?”

His enthusiastic nod is followed with a, “yes sir”.

…

Ludwig was not prepared for the horrors of the Great War.

Icy blue irises widen at the sight of bullets whistling past the top of their trench, colliding with whatever they could find beyond that, the ground flattened and muddy and bloody. Ludwig scrunches up his nose when he smells the terrible stench; an unbearable stench, of iron and rot and earth, of gunpowder and smoke, filling his lungs and threatening to make him cough in disgust. That same smell leaves a lingering taste on his tongue, followed by grains of dirt that he begrudgingly swallowed with his saliva. He feels so dirty. No matter how much the rain they got washed over him, it never scrubbed away the dirt on his uniform, the mud splatters on his face; and now that he looks at his uniform, it’s starting to fall apart, damage evident in the seams around his shoulders.

He glances upwards at the ever-growing height of their trench. So far, it’s dirt and mud held by wood, further protected by sandbags and set mud and-- Ludwig turns his gaze away.

Instead, Ludwig looks to the boy on his left. Younger, but not by much; old enough to convince someone that he’s 18, old enough to fight in the war. His green eyes are wide and his pale lips are chafed, mud and blood splattered and smudged across his face. The tale in those eyes says he’s seen thousands of lifetimes. Ludwig frowns. How could a human endure the pain and sorrow that comes with such a terrible war, how could anyone handle the pain and sorrow that comes with comrades dying around them? He could see it in the young boy’s face; he’s afraid to look up above that trench, to cross No Man’s Land. Ludwig asks him, “Geht’s dir gut?”, and he gets an unconvincing nod in return.

(A blatant lie, even now?)

Ludwig then turns to the other man on his right. An older man, in his 30s perhaps. Stare is steady and breathing is methodical, even; but Ludwig can see the fear in this man’s eyes, the determination dancing with the other emotion. He can’t help but ask if the man has a family waiting for him at home. “Ja… Berlin. Mein Frau und mein Sohn leben dort.” Ludwig only offers his prayer for him to return home to them in the end. The man gives a smile.

A deep breath. Silence. He remembers what Gilbert told him; silence means the enemy is up to something. It means they’re planning one of two things.

Silence is deadly.

The men wait in anticipation. He feels the tension rising as they all glance at one another, all wondering when the mortar fire will rain down on them once again, when the rifle shots will fly by the trench at the smallest hint of movement. Ludwig can hear his heartbeat in his ears with a steady rising heart-rate -- it’s terrifying. There hasn’t been a break in the war so far. There’s been constant sound and rapid fire and everything was wrong, so wrong, where was the mortar fire? Where are the shells?

Ludwig turns to the boy who’s entire body was shaking like a leaf, the fear so obvious, so evident; he reaches a hand to that boy’s shoulder with caution. He sees the boy flinch but calm.

And then he hears a whistling sound.

Ludwig shoots both his hands up to his ears but they ring with an agonisingly high-pitched sound, staggering to the ground as fast as he can. Blond strands of slicked back hair fall down to his face as his pike helmet finds its way onto the ground, with him throwing it off with such force; he can’t hear. He can’t fucking hear his pike helmet collide with the mud. He can’t hear the young boy on his left or the father of a young son on his right. Icy irises stare at the ground wide, trying to focus, trying to see straight, trying to gather himself enough to just kneel down and pick up his rifle, pick up that damned rifle, dammit Beilschmidt if you could just grab it and get back up-- !

He feels a pair of hands pick him up and shake him. Ludwig feels himself wince but focuses in on the person shaking him; Johan.

Weary hands reach up to brush his rogue strands out of his face, eyes darting around Johan’s face to find a focus, find out what he’s saying, trying to read his lips and gather what in the hell just happened. A hand reaches to Johan’s face.

Breathe. In… And out.

In…

“I’m fine,” he manages, hearing finally coming back. His voice cracks and it wavers with just the two words, and it betrays what he’s trying to say to his brother, but he strengthens his resolve and tries it again. His voice doesn’t waver so much this time when he manages to speak with a clear and concise voice, “I’m fine.”

A glance to his left. The boy is screaming… But he seems to have no evident injury. No wounds anywhere. Ludwig looks at him with surprise when it finally registers; he’s heard plenty about shell shock, the horrible circumstance some men find themselves in when they fight in this dreaded war, and a shell explodes right next to them, loud and ringing and un-apologetically dangerous. It forced normal men to their knees. It made those same men change so that they’d never be the same again. He just… Never thought he’d ever see it. He never thought he’d find someone suffering from it so much that some might consider the point of no return, this poor kid lost but not dead. The boy was so young.

How was this fair?

When he turns to his right, he sees the man; shaken, but still standing, pike helmet re-fixed onto his head as he turns his gaze to the blond next to him, looking him over. The man seems more concerned about those around him than himself. He sees the boy on the ground and immediately rushes to his aid, there to try and support him, to try and bring him back to reality; he remembers that this man is a father.

Ludwig wipes the dirt off his face to the best of his ability. He reaches for his helmet and brushes off the mud where he can, putting it back on his head with a slow uncertainty, eyes glancing over to Johan-- ah, General Lindemann. He’s nervous. Ludwig doesn’t want to admit it, but there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach as the mortar fire continues.

Icy irises gaze absentmindedly in the distance, listening out for the shells, waiting for the silence to consume the battlefield once again. Cacophonous screams carry through the air from both sides of him, mud and dirt splattering down from the collision of shell against ground, threatening to blind anyone that dares look up while the symphony of fire and destruction. All the disturbance of earth raises the terrible smell from earlier; the dust and iron and rot and smoke fill his lungs enough to make him cough. He hates this more than he can care to imagine... The boy and man stick beside each other, the father using his paternal instincts to keep him calm enough to handle this constant horror.

Ludwig had never seen the horrors of war until now.

And now that he’s on the Western Front, facing the worst of wars, the war to end all wars, only a few words manage to leave his mouth in the silence that comes.

“Möge Gott uns beistehen.”

#* strength is what i gain from the madness i survived ! / muse : germany .#osterreiich #rexblut #/ i finally finished writing this ! wow look at this pain !#/ in which l.udwig finally experiences the horrors of war and wants to go home :')#/ he's Baby like . barely 18 in physical age .#/ and 43 in actual age .

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 5 years

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Salvation In Ink

It has been way too long since I worked with my girl, Bella and I’ve been meaning to do something with this headcanon of mine.

Summary: AU where Bellatrix has been banished to the muggle world to get salvation. In order to fill her itch for pain, she takes up a job as a tattoo artist. A job made harder when Hermione walks in.

It buzzed in her hand.

She was growing used to the hum.

It was a constant and daily noise.

And it comforted her.

Bellatrix supposed that the comfort came from a sense of stability. At finally having at least one constant. For as much as she hated her predicament, she accepted resentfully that it was probably doing her some good. For the first time in a long while, her head was mostly clear. Her mind was mostly lucid. And she supposed that it wasn’t so bad, her line of work.

She got to do what she loved.

Even if it wasn’t via her usual means.

These days, muggles came to her seeking pain. She obliged without having a single beat missed. Today’s victim was a man in his late forties. A burly looking man with a bushy red beard and a biker jacket. She knew him well enough, he was loud and rowdy as she and had a habit of asking what business a woman had in this industry.

She tied her hair back, a task much easier vocalized than put into action. Eventually, she had her collection of unruly curls, remotely tamed and away from intruding upon her sight. With that done, she washed her hands thoroughly. And after that she checked on the needles, they had been sitting for awhile and she decided that they are sterile. She motioned for the man, Kyle to seat himself. He did so after barking another thing or two about how it wasn’t right that such a skinny, scraggly looking woman could do his tattoos better than the best of the men he’d been to in the past.

“And yet you keep coming.” She commented as she brought the tattoo gun to his bicep. Today she would be touching up a tiger tattoo--an old work from a less talented friend. It was a gaudy thing, but she would make good work of it. He may not be a fainter nor a crier but paid her generously to make up for the lack of entertainment he provided.

The orange ink she put under his skin is much more vibrant than what he’d had before, with a tinge of gold ink, it truly stood out. She had a feeling that he wouldn’t be making many more comments about how she wasn’t suited for the job.

All in all, it was good work.

So long as she didn’t think about how she had been stripped of her magic.

How she had been barred from the wizarding world and was confined to this muggle hellhole.

She began sterilizing the needles in preparation for another client. She didn’t have another booking for a few hours. An unusually slow day. Should she get a walk in, she would prolong the consultation process until the needles have been cleansed to her liking.

Bellatrix didn’t expect that drawing out a simple, ‘what kind of ink are you looking for’ would be so easy. Usually people just plopped themselves down and got straight to the point. Occasional someone would ramble on about how, such and such was a depiction of their ex or a tribute to their dead mother and other interesting matters. But the woman who walked in wasn’t that sort.

The former witch was busy drumming her fingers upon the countertop and eyeing her own tattoo. She’d done it herself, turning her dark mark into a reaper with curvy and gnarled scythe and a snake curling around it.

The action had bought her a chance to re-enter the wizarding world should she live out her exile without causing too much of a stir.

Some nights she woke with a faint dread that her master would come to berate her for her disgusting act of disloyalty. For the blasphemy of defacing her dark mark. But he was gone, and for permanent this time.

It was time to release herself.

It was time for freedom.

Bellatrix didn’t notice her until she cleared her throat. “Relax, mudblood, I’m just doing my job. Any screams you’ve heard were completely voluntary.”

“I’m not here to check up on you.” Hermione replied. “That’s not my job.” She folded her arms over her chest.

“Then what are you doing here?” Bellatrix frowned, almost certain that she was about to be on the receiving end taunting and mockery.

“This is a tattoo parlor isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Bellatrix confirmed. “Why are you standing in it.”

“To make flower crowns and cupcakes.”

“Down the street.”

“I want a tattoo, Bellatrix.”

The pure blood quirked an eyebrow.

The humor had drained from Hermione’s face. “You’re going to fix what you’ve done.”

“They tell me that, that’s why I’m here.” Bellatrix returned. “Something, something, atone for your crimes and live a... saner lifestyle.”

Hermione’s expression grew duller still. She held out her arm. “You’re going to fix this.” The scar was still heavily prevalent. “Make it into something meaningful and empowering.”

Bellatrix wrinkled her nose, it was one thing to sit idly doing a muggle’s work and another entirely, to actively right a specific wrong she done. Her stomach lolls unpleasantly. She hated the smirk on the younger witch’s face. The smug, triumphant smile. It would seem that just coming into the shop was a victory. Making demands of someone who ought to be above her was another, larger conquest. Bellatrix did what she does best and retreated behind a wall of jesting and sarcasm. In a falsely cheerful sing song she replies, “the more you pay the more empowering.”

But the mudblood wanted to draw things out and make things as mentally painful as Bellatrix had dealt her physical pain. “You’re going to do it free of charge.” Simple. Clean. Cutting. Such was the nature of her demand.

Bellatrix scoffed. “You’re going to have to pull your wand out and utter an unforgivable if you want me to do that.” She wouldn’t specify if she was referring to crucio or imperio.

“No.” Hermione refused. “You’re going to do it because I told you to.” She fixed Bellatrix with a hard stare.

“Is that right?”

“It is.”

She looked at the clock. The needles should be clean. “I suppose that I can, since you flashed that gryffindor courage of yours. It’ll be nice to see you cry again.”

Hermione followed her without another word and sat herself down.

“So what are you looking for specifically?”

“Nothing so long as it gets rid of this.” She rubbed at the scar with her thumb.

“You’re really going to trust me with full creative control?” Bellatrix perked up rather deviously.

“I trust that you won’t do something that will ensure that you’ll never hex another house elf again.”

Bellatrix frowned. This mudblood was really sucking the life out of her. Hadn’t she a solid form, Bella might have thought her a dementor. She took a moment to work out a sketch. “Do you want to see it?”

“Surprise me, and make it a good one.” Hermione replied. “You getting your wand back depends on it.”

What a vexing human being. “Just sit still and scream very loudly if I hurt you.” She picked up her tattoo gun and drank in the soothingly familiar buzz.

The mudblood was annoyingly quiet as she dragged the needle across her skin. The only indication of pain or discomfort was a contortion of her face every now and again or a reflexive tensing of her muscles. Once or twice she hissed in pain, a small thing that Bellatrix relished in. At least it was something to tickle her humor. It was another two hours before she declared, “you’re all done, nice and pretty. You better refer your muddy and half-blood friends.”

Hermione held her arm out in front of her, inspecting the fresh ink. Where blood once marred her skin was an elegant owl. Bellatrix drew the ‘L’ up and connected it to the ‘D’ of ‘blood’ to form the owl’s head and ears. She used the first ‘O’ as an eye and the second to shape the beak. And the circle of the ‘D’ became a second eye.

“An owl?” Hermione questioned.

“You think that you’re smart so I gave you an owl.” Bellatrix shrugged.

She held her arm to the light. Bellatrix clicked her tongue as she decided how she wanted to approach the next part of her work. It had been harder to make something of mud so she took the easy route and drew a few aesthetically placed swirls amid a few feathers and flowers. She replicated the design on the other side of the tattoo.

Bellatrix hadn’t expected Hermione to smile. “This is actually…” she trailed off. “It’s really pretty.”

“If you’d like to put that down, I can wrap it up and send you on your way.”

Hermione held her hand out for Bellatrix to dress. There was something so nerve grating about tenderly caring for and helping cleanse a wound she formerly created. Something degrading, that sent tingles of repugnance resonating up and down her vertebrae. It was appalling.

“Why flowers?” Hermione asked.

“Do you want me to tell you that it was just a random pattern or do you want me to make up some story about how the flowers represent something beautiful budding from something ugly?”

“I’m going to pretend that you put some thought into it.” Hermione smirked. “It almost looks like you put a lot of effort into this.”

“Believe it or not, I take pride in my work, mudblood.”

“Thank you.” Hermione said.

Bellatrix furrowed her brows. “I only did this because you told me to.” But was that entirely true? There was something satisfying in completing that one. Perhaps it was the same brand of satisfaction that came with redoing her own dark mark.

The prospect of new freedom.

Of making her own decisions, ones that aren’t tainted by her master’s will.

Perhaps it came with her newfound semblance of clarity and semi-peace.

“Wash it thrice a day. No swimming, no excess sun...you have an owl on your arm, I’m sure that you can figure out how to care for a tattoo.”

Hermione took a picture of her new ink. “Do you want to take one?”

Bellatrix gave an indigent sniff. “What is with muggles and taking pictures of everything.”

“It’s called building a profile, Bellatrix.”

“Word of mouth is my profile.”

Hermione inspected her arm again. “You have a very distinct style.” She noted.

Bellatrix nodded. “In most aspects of my life, I do.” She knew that she wasn’t making it easy for the muggle born to compliment her. But she didn’t know if she was ready to accept praise from such a low place. Ready or not, there was a small prickle within her that took well to the prospect. She didn’t return Hermione’s parting words nor gestures. She merely watched as the girl walked away, untethered from past injury. Moving forward in full with aid from the one who’d set her back in the first place.

Victorious, indeed.

Another client stepped in to take her place.

Bellatrix had a feeling that the mudblood would be back.

To her own dismay, she wasn’t entirely off put my the prospect.

#Harry Potter #Bellatrix Lestrange #Hermione Granger #One Shot #Fanfiction

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my-ships-will-never-be-sank · 5 years

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All My Trials (lams)

Summary:

They haunted him. That shade of violet blue, so unique and mesmerizing. They had been the first thing John had noticed that night in the bar. The way the candle-light reflected off his eyes, igniting the flames within as he spoke. And the way they had contrasted with his hair. He can smiles sadly as he remembers how the soft sunlight would stream through his hair, pulling all the shades with it. That auburn, burnt orange, hair paired with those eyes had made his knees weak. And then Alexander had sent him that smile from across the room, just a quirk of his lips, his eyes half lidded.

So John had manned up and strode across to introduce himself under the guise of teasing Aaron. Laf and Herc had followed him over and the five had spent the night chatting away. Then burr had left and the conversation had gotten louder and Alexander had gotten more passionate, his eyes brighter…

John choked back a sob. What he wouldn’t give to see Alexander once more.

Hush little baby, don't you cry You know your mama was born to die All my trials, Lord, soon be over

Alex was ready. He had waited for so long for this chance. A chance to prove to himself and to everyone else that it didn’t matter where you came from. That your past didn’t matter, that if you worked and strived and yearned for something hard enough; you could make it come true.

He had wrote himself out of the trapped life he had feared would ensnare him as it had his mother. Nevis. In all it’s glory it had been tolerable at best. Little work to be found and multiple mouths to feed. Once his father had abandoned them and fucked off back to whoever the hell knows where things had only gotten progressively worse.

Then he’d gotten sick. He can’t remember how anymore but he does remember the day his mother had fallen ill while trying to heal him. He also remembers waking up in her stiff arms. The absence of her labored breathing.

And so his life had gotten even worse.

Then his cousin killed himself.

Alex hadn’t thought it could get worse. But then the hurricane hit. And everything was gone.

So he wrote. He had planned for it to be a short letter to his father, a plea for help, for him to return... Him and James were alone. His job was gone and James barely earned enough for himself with the carpentry. But once he had started writing he couldn’t stop. So he described everything, from the hurricanes coming and subsequent annihilation of everything in its path to the desolation and ruin it left behind. Then the community had given him the money. - someone had read the letter and word had spread that the child among them was nothing less than a genius. And he deserved a chance in the world.

But James… Alex still remembered coming back to the tent with the money clutched in his fist. They were willing to send him to America? To get an education? His brother had just hugged him. “I am not as smart as you little brother, I never had a head for numbers, or the hands to write, but you, you will be amazing. You write Alex. You never stop writing, and you will do us all proud”

And so Alex wrote. He wrote his way to America. He wrote his way to revolution. And he would write his way to freedom.

The river of Jordan is muddy and cold Well, it chills the body but not the soul All my trials, Lord, soon be over

The plan was simple in theory. All he, Captain Henry Lee and their men had to do was burn the mills and get away. A simple stealth like mission that the General himself had recommended him for. He sat up straighter on his horse. He would not fail the general.

But nothing in his life had ever been easy or gone to plan so he wasn’t 100% surprised when they were ambushed. Disappointed? Yes. Surprised? No.

There had been no warning. The rain had started softly. As it ran down his neck he was reminded of John.

John’s kisses against his neck, John’s fingers against his body, just his sweet Laurens who was still asleep when Alex had risen this morning. Lafayette had been awake (or should he say sneaking back in?) as Alex had dressed. His Pants were on inside out and his shirt was buttoned incorrectly. Alex had smirked as his friend across the tent and whispered:

“Won’t the General be disappointed with you for sneaking out so early?” Lafayette had just flushed crimson and stuck his tongue out at his before wishing him good luck on the mission. He looked down at john and swept a few stray curls off his face. “His fever broke late last night, he should be feeling better by tonight.” He had then given Laf strict orders to leave John alone, to let him sleep (“oui oui mon ami. Calm down!) before grabbing an apple, pressing a kiss to John forehead and slipping out of the tent.

But then the rain ha gotten harder. Soon it was pelting down full force. But there was no shelter so there was nothing to do but ride on. By the time they arrived at the mill all of the men were drenched. The rain had again slowed and the men were joking and laughing among themselves. Henry Lee reached into his satchel. “Well let’s hope these can still light after all that rain.”

The men had broken off into groups starting small fires as to light the torches. By the time Alex threw his the stores were alight and the men were relaxed, trying to dry their socks and telling each other about their families. One man was standing and talking so enthusiastically everyone couldn’t help but listen in. His daughter wanted to become a soldier, he had laughed along with the other men as he had told his story. “She is four years old and wants to be just like her pops when she grows up. Look here she is on my last visit home.” He shows an expertly drawn picture of a little girl being smothered by the uniform coat.

As the last of the fires were started and they were certain they had completed their mission, Alex had looked warily at the column of smoke rising but Lee had reassured him that it wouldn’t be spotted. “We are right on the riverside Alexander, it has been raining all day, if anyone sees it they should think it's fog rolling in. by the time they realise otherwise we will be long g-”

He is cut off by the sound of bullets. The man who had been talking so animatedly about his daughter is cut short by a bullet emerging from between his eyes. The picture that was in his hand falls, lands in the fire pit and immediately turns to ash.

Then the yelling started.

I’ve got a little book with pages three And every page spells liberty All my trials, Lord, soon be over

John had woken to a cold bed. He had reached out an arm to see if Alex had perhaps just rolled away from him when it became evident he was gone. He couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his chest. He knew Alex had that mission today but he wished he had said goodbye.

“He did not wish to wake you mon ami” John looked up to see Laf looking at him. “Are you okay John? Alex said your fever broke last night, do you need anything?”

“Alex” the word was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Laf only laughed and helped him sit up. “Something i can get you right now this second that isn’t away on a mission for the general then?”

“Water would be great, thanks Laf.” Laf wandered off to fetch him he water and he leaned back. God he was pathetic. Getting sick the day before the mission. At least he could take comfort in the fact Henry Lee was actually competent at what he was doing. He would keep his Alexander safe. He was annoyed with himself if he was being honest. This was meant to be their mission.

When the General had approached them two days ago and told them he had a mission he wanted the pair to lead, they had been ecstatic. They had ended their day drinking with Laf who was annoyed he hadn’t been chosen. Not for lack of trying though. He had spent the night whispering in the general’s ear and the pair had ended up disappearing for half an hour. The general had returned with darkened eyes and a frown. Laf hadn’t returned at all. The whole camp had sensed the change in the atmosphere and the men started turning in for the night. Alex and John spent the night comforting Laf until John had lost it completely. Racing off into the night he returned with a very confused General in tow. Until he saw Laf's face. The two had returned to the generals tent and at last the pair could sleep. Until Alex woke up to the sound of John throwing up.

Lafayette returned with a cup of water and the general. John sat up a little straighter and made to get out of his bed before the general shook his head and motioned at him to stay seated. “I take you are feeling better lieutenant colonel?”

“Yes sir - I’ll be reporting to your tent tomorrow, bright and early.”

“Please don’t overly strain yourself John After all, i have another Aide-de-camps who will be more than happy to help with your work - right my dear Marquis?”

Laf flushed a deep red and just nodded his head. John felt like throwing up again. It was too early too see his friend and the general make heart eyes at each other.

The day dragged by. The rain came down in sheets and John had himself wrapped in as many blankets as he could. He sipped at the tea Laf dropped by and flicked through his journals. He had plans; Ending slavery at the top. He had list and lists of names and places he had to visit. Alex had helped him compile and shorten the lists. The two of them would be unstoppable, once they got the chance the two would change the world.

Freedom and equality for all men. He had seen men tortured in the most brutal of ways growing up for mistakes as small as spilling a glass of wine, seen them die as well. He had seen his father maim and destroy men. He had seen his cousins leering at women. He had seen the women flinch when they felt the eyes of his family gazing upon them.

He had tried to help. Stealing healing balms from his home and bringing them down to the women as a child and staying to help as he got older.

He remembered Caleb as well, the boy no older than John himself. The two had been secret friends, offering smiles as they saw each other, John bringing him food and Caleb crying because ‘one whole roll - just for me?’ He remembers as well the day his younger brother had asked him at dinner why he was friend with a slave. He remembers the deafening silence, he remembers the swift pain across his cheek…

And he remembers waking up to the screams of a mother, of walking downstairs and finding his best friend swinging from the Apple tree. He remembers how he had hardly recognised him, the blood seeping from open wounds on his back, some inches deep - whipped, the wounds on his wrist showed evidence of manacles, his stomach was carved up and his head was shaven.

“Suicide” his uncle said, shaking his head and walking back into the house. “What a pity.” His father and uncles had exchanged smirks. they hadn't even bothered to change their clothes, which still had fresh blood stains on them.

And John… he had been tasked by his father to collect the body and leave it in the forest for the animals. But he couldn’t. So instead hiding the body, he returned that night to give his friend the burial he deserved, making up his mind, at the age of 14 that this had to stop. That he had to stop it.

Because who else would stand against this barbaric treatment?

As soon as he had turned 16 he left a note for his father explaining he was leaving to join the revolution.

All the while planning his own.

Too late my brothers Too late, but never mind All my trials, Lord, soon be over

The hours passed. John paced.

They should be back. Even if the had stopped to rest for the night they should be back.

The General entered the tent and Laf jumped up. “Any news mon cher?”

He frowned. “They still haven’t returned?” John shook his head and resumed his pacing.

************************************************************************************

There was mass panic. They were outnumbered about 20:1. It was an ambush. Someone had told the Redcoats they were coming. He looked around for Hamilton seeing him hiding behind a cart and raced towards him. “Henry, it was an ambush, they knew-”

“I know Hamilton, keep your voice down” he hissed in reply.

Henry scanned their surroundings. There was no escape. They were trapped between the freezing lake, a fire that's burning out of control and Redcoats. At least they had completed their mission before they had arrived.

Hamilton scanned their surroundings, no doubt looking for an escape route. The man was a genius but nothing short of a miracle would get them out of this alive. More gunfire. He gritted his teeth as he heard his men dying, hating feeling so useless.

Suddenly the gunfire stopped. “Is that them all sir?”

He paled them all ?? 50 good men dead. His chest felt hollow. He saw Hamilton freeze and knew he was about to do something stupid and reckless. “Hamilton…” he warned.

“At my signal, run.” Henry froze turning to look at the young man beside him. “ What ?” he hissed.

“Someone has to make it back to the General. Tell him what happened. Tell him there is a spy i the camp. If not - how knows how many more groups will end up like this?”

Henry knew he was right. Someone had to warn the General. “Alexander, please be careful, stay safe.”

Alexander gave him a rueful smile. “Tell John i’m sorry. I don’t think i can help him keep his promise.” Henry went to grab Alex but it was too late. Two shots from his pistols and the redcoat commander and another soldier were dead.

“Come on you assholes? Really - all of them are dead? You don’t see me down yet - do you, you fucking assholes?”

Henry knew it was the signal. So slipping out quietly as Alexander held all their attention, he managed to get to a horse unseen. Leading the horse quietly along the tree line he slipped into the cover of the trees.

Then a spray of bullets sounded. Then a splash. And a cheer.

Henry felt sick knowing what had happened. Alexander was dead. He had failed all his men in every way.

If living were a thing that money could buy You know the rich would live And the poor would die All my trials, Lord, soon be over

When the sound of a racing horse filled the sound of the camp John was the first one to it. It was hard under the cover of darkness to see who it was. The head lifted and john nearly cried. It was a blood splattered Henry Lee.

He looked to the General first. “It was an ambush. They knew we were coming. We got the fires started but-” his voice broke.

“Dad?” a voice called out. John turned to see Charles Lee pushing his way through the crowd. Henry met his son halfway bringing him in for a hug.

“Where is Alexander? Where are the rest of the men?” a voice called out.

Henry scanned the crowd only to find John standing at the front. “I am sorry John Laurens. He told me to tell you that he was sorry and that he doesn’t think he can help you, and that he won’t be able to keep his promise.”

John took a step back and nearly collapsed to the ground, only stopped by Laf holding onto him. He doesn’t remember Laf following him.

“He sacrificed himself so that one of us could make it back to warn you, General of the fact that there is a spy in our midst. He didn’t give me a chance to come up with a less reckless plan he just ran with his pistols blazing and shot the commander.”

He took a deep breath as he said the words: “Alexander Hamilton is dead. He was shot by the British troops and i heard as he sunk beneath the water of the Schuylkill river as they celebrated”

John went numb. This was his fault - if he had gone instead of getting sick he would have stopped Alex. Would have knocked him out if needs be. But now…

Now he had to live knowing that while he was waiting around camp, his lover had been killed.

He pushed off Lafayette’s arms off of him with a start. And not looking back he staggered back to the tent by himself. It was fitting he supposed, by himself. He would now sleep by himself, work by himself. Laf had the general and Henry Lee had his son.

He didn’t have anyone.

He looked back through the plans he and Alex had spent so long planning, with tears streaming down his face. Turning over a new page he began to re-plan it all.

He had so much work to do.

Someone tried to interrupt him a few times but he just ignored them all. As the candle light faded he wrote. And when he couldn’t right anymore he went to his chest and took out the letters he had received from Alex. He sat on their shared bed wrapped in one of Alex’s nightshirts as he reread the letters, tracing the words softly.

“My dear Laurens…”

He fell asleep with them clutched to his chest.

There grows a tree in Paradise And the Pilgrims call it the tree of life All my trials, Lord, soon be over

When he awoke the camp was near silent. The were mourning for their friends. But also underlying it all was shock. He could hear the whispers of disbelief as people passed on the message to those who hadn’t heard last night.

“Hamilton is dead?”

“Bright young man…”

“...so much potential…”

“...could have changed the world…”

He tried to block out the words. His Alexander was dead. Nobody could interrupt his vigil. He didn’t speak. He didn’t eat. Had it only been 12 hours since Lee had arrived back? Why was the sun so bright? It didn’t deserve to shine on a day like this. It should be raining, thundering. He nearly wished for a hurricane.

Hurricane…

Someone had to write to James Hamilton. The pit in his stomach grew. How would he word that letter?

“Hi, You don’t know me but i’m your brother’s lover. Actually i was. Because he is dead. Alexander is dead. Hope you enjoy the rest of your life!”

He sank into the chair at his desk. That was an issue for another time.

The day passes and light turns to dark.

He is tempted to turn in early but looking at the empty bed turns his stomach.

He hears a commotion outside his tent. He wants to go tell whoever is out there to fuck off and let him mourn in peace. But he can’t he is just too tired. He is too emotionally drained.

He realises with a start if this is what life without Alexander is going to be - trying to fill the hole in his life with work - it's not a life he wants to lead. He looks across and sees his pistols by the tent flap. Sitting on his bed he contemplates his choices.

Too late my brothers Too late, but never mind

He was lucky he presumes. Lucky as hell. He has no idea how he managed to avoid being shredded by those bullets. Actually he realises, he has.

A second before they had opened fire he had tripped. He’d fallen backwards and as he hit the water he swam. He was good at holding his breath. A skill that had saved him during the hurricane and it had saved him again now. He came upon an abandoned boat that was flipped, swimming underneath he was hidden. He hears a couple of the soldiers cheering and start celebrating. A pain in his shoulder distracts him. Ah so not 100% lucky. He has no idea how he managed to swim the 50 meters to the boat. Knowing someone will come looking for a body Alex ducks out from the boat he scans his surroundings. Seeing one of his fellow soldiers he drags him into the water and wincing with the pain in his shoulder makes his way back to the boat. He pushes the body towards where he fell and disappears under the boat. Then he waits.

He knows when they find the body. The shouts are spread and the men start laughing. “Fucking idiots. You’d think that lot would know by now they had spy in their midst.”

“How many groups has that been now Covey?”

“Eight, Sir. Eight in the last Five days.”

Alex felt sick to his stomach. Eight other missions. Countless men. How many had he known? How many would arrive back to cmap? Would any? He just hoped Henry did. The man had a family and lot more to live for.

What did he have?

John. He had John. His dear Laurens. The one good thing he had found, the one star in a black empty sky.

He also had Laf and Herc, along with Burr. But that was it.

Hercules… he hoped his mission regiment was safe. Out of the four of them Herc was the most level headed. He would be fine. He was sure of it.

They were still speaking: “where is he anyway? Doesn’t he want his payment?”

“He said he’ll meet up with Christoph tomorrow. Doesn’t want to be caught out here, too close to ‘the scene’”

The contempt was evident in the soldier's voice. It was obvious he wasn’t a fan of the traitor, whoever it was.

The hours went by. Alex was still in the freezing water. He was shivering and he was struggling to stop his teeth from chattering. The British redcoats had set up for the night. Using the field as a bed they relaxed.

Alex didn’t sleep. He saw the sun rise through a crack in the boat and heard the men grumbling about the trek back to base. His stomach growled. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate. When he was sure every last redcoat had left he waded to shore and collapsed.

Staring up at the sky he was tempted to fall asleep. But he couldn't. If any of them were to back track he’d be dead before he could open his eyes. Forcing himself to his feet, he ripped a part of shirt off and fashioned it into a makeshift sling.

He looked around. The sun was directly above him and he was getting a headache. He prayed that some of the horses were still around. He had no idea how he would get back if he didn’t. Thankfully lady luck was on his side because there, under the tree where he had left her was his horse. Forcing himself up, he stabilized himself before setting off on the trip back.

Six hours. It had taken six hours for him to get here. He was stopped at the front to the camp.”who are you? State your name and business.” Alex raised his head and glared at the sentry. “I have been shot at, almost killed and frozen. I am exhausted and extremely hungry and all i want to crash in my bed. But first i have to speak to the general.”

It must have been a new sentry because the kid only rolled his eyes. “What’s your name mister?”

It was the second sentry who took that moment to turn around. He dropped his gun and raced towards him. “HAMILTON?”

Alex looked down. “Oh hey Burr! Can i get in now?”

“Your alive?!?!” Alex was worried. Aaron looked like he was about to burst into tears.

“Sir, are you saying this is Alexander Hamilton …” the first Sentry hissed.

“Yes, yes it is. Now go open the gate, i need to talk to the lieutenant colonel for a minute.” The younger man ran off.

“Burr, what’s going on?”

“Everyone thinks you’re dead Alexander. Henry Lee came back saying you had run head first into a suicide mission. John is a mess, the camp is in uproar, Lee blames himself-”

“What do you mean John is a mess?” Alex interrupted.

“He won’t leave the tent, he hasn’t eaten, doubt he slept more than an hour or two last night…”

“I need to see him.”

“You need to talk to the general Alexander! He needs to know immed-”

“Aaron, please shut up” he suddenly felt very tired. All he wanted to do was curl up beside John and sleep.

Aaron paused and looked at his friend. He looked exhausted, drained and looking like he could kneel over any minute. He shook his head. “I’m not going to be able to change your mind am I?”

“I need to see John” is the only reply he gets, for the gate opens and Alexander has spurred the horse on.

The young soldier walks towards Burr as the gates close. “How is he still alive? You heard what Lee sai-”

“Alexander Hamilton is unstoppable. He works and fights and it will be a cold day in hell before he lets something as trivial as death, keep him from the man he loves”

All my trials, Lord, soon be over All my trials, Lord, soon be over

Alexander races through the camp. He lost his hat near the gate and his ponytail has come undone, his red hair, as bright as a flame catches everyone's attention as it streamed behind him. He can hear the whispers starting then the cheering. “Alive! He is Alive”

But he doesn’t slow. He isn’t here for them. He needs to see John. His John. His dear Laurens, who must be so worried. He pulls the horse to a stop. His clothes stick to him,saturated with water. His head was spinning but he only has eyes for the tent flap that has yet to open.

His Laurens. His love.

Alexander is still soaked. His shirt sticks to his body and his trousers are uncomfortable. His shoes are long gone, lost in the river.

He sneezes. And now he is sick. But sick and alive is better than dead.

Someone tries to get him to go see the medic but he ignores them, slowing his horse to a trot.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Henry Lee pushing his way through the crowd. He stops his horse and slides off, trying to keep any and all pressure off his shoulder.

Lee reaches him with tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry Alexander. I shouldn’t have left you. We shou-”

“Stop Henry. It was my choice. Everything worked out well in the end anyway.”He flashed him a pained smile and saw Washington making his way through the crowd. “But if you want to make it up to me,hold off the General. I need to see John”

Not waiting for a reply, Alex slipped into the crowd and made his way to the tent he shared with Laf and John. He pushed open the flap of the tent with a grin on his face.

Which turned to horror when he saw John with the gun to his head.

*******************************************************************************************************

John had made up his mind. He couldn’t do it. There was no way to succeed in ending slavery without Alex. There was no light in his life without Alex. There was no escape and he couldn’t close his eyes for longer than a few seconds without seeing Alex’s eyes.

John choked back a sob. What he wouldn’t give to see Alexander once more.

He lifted the pistol to head, tears streaming down his face. “I’ll see you on the other side”

He pulled the trigger

***************************************************************************************************

The shot rang out and Alex screamed.

Johns body fell to the floor.

“No! No no no no no. John. John no nonnoonono.”

It took nearly five seconds for Alexander to realise that John was still alive, and that there was no blood. He ran to john and grabbed the gun out of his hand and opened the revolver. Out of the six slots, five were full.

He stared down at John who was just staring at the ground in shock. “John? Baby? Are you alright?”

John slowly lifted his head to stare at Alex. then he burst into tears. “You were dead. He said you were dead. And i couldn’t do it alone. I - i - can’t - i couldn’t function without you.”

“Shhh baby, shhh”

“I nearly ruined us, i’m so sorry.”

Lafayette came running in. “Mon dieu! I heard a gunshot what happened”

“Later Laf please.” Alexander begged as he cradled a sobbing John in his arms.

“I understand, mon petit lion, but the general will be here any seco-”

“ALEXANDER HAMILTON! Where are you? What in the dev-” the general barged into the tent. He stopped yelling when he saw Alex and John on the floor. “You must get your arm examined Alexander” John clasped onto him, his head not leaving Alex’s neck, his sobbing quieting to silent crying.

Laf whispered something in his ear and the general nodded. Laf fled the tent while the commander sat at the table.

“Son-”

“I’m not your son” Alex snapped. “I am a soldier. Soldiers get injured. It's war. It's life.” he moved John back and stared at his, ignoring the general, “John you can’t do that again. Promise me. Promise me if i die, don’t throw your life away. Fight. Don’t give up on life just because i’m not in it anymore.”

John just nodded his head. But Alex wasn’t satisfied. “I want to hear you say it Love. Promise me.”

“I - I promise.”

Laf re-entered the tent with a doctor, who immediately went to Alex’s side.

“You need to get this shirt off lieutenant colonel. I can’t begin to heal your wound until i can get a look at it.”

“Just cut the shirt off me” Alex rolled his eyes. “It’s already ruined anyway.”

As the doctor worked, Alex moved John’s head to his lap. He saw Laf and the General leave together and couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at his lips. He was alive. John was alive. And for that moment, that was all that mattered.

#my writing #alexander hamilton x john laurens #lams #All my trials #also find me on AO3 #Jamilton and lams #one shot #angst #pain #suicide attempt #heartbreak #they boys are emotional messes #drowning #historically accurate alexander hamilton

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baldtaelovemaze · 6 years

Text

Love me for me (1)

What kind of love story starts with two people locked in a classroom and ends with the two same people in a courtroom? This one. After unfortunate circumstances, Venice is forced to illegally change her identity and live as a boy in a all boys school.

She planned everything out. Every. Single.detail. but no matter how much she tries, she can’t stop herself from falling for the son of one of the biggest lawyers.

Is loving the man of her dreams worth years in jail?

Reader (OC) X jungkook ft.Taehyung

Warnings: mature language

Words: 3k

"Dear Miss. Abass, unfortunately, your demand at Yale University has been Rejected-"

“fuck”

Orbs clouded, I rip apart the letter. The torn cream pieces dance with the wind my fan generates and I watch them gracefully fall to the floor, blending perfectly with the wood.

Years of studying, isolation, practically not having a social life I forced upon myself to proudly become a valedictorian graduate but everything i did was in vain.

On the floor lays the last piece of hope I once clung on to. Now crushed under the weight of disappointment and failure, my chest hitches as I desperately try to hold back a sob. Water gathers at the rims of my heterochromia eyes. Left one a muddy green and the other a murky blue with a tinge of that same muddy green who manages to stick out no matter what like I do so very well. Intentionally or not.

I don’t cry, instead, I sniff away all the mucus who threatens to slide down my nasal passages and roll myself into bed.

For a moment, the smell of the freshly cleaned sheets and my dearest pillow make me forget of the hell hole I am in, of the chains that confine me.

That moment is short-lived when it all comes back rushing down on me like a wave. These chains that I have, invisible to the human or anything supernatural expect me. This rope around my neck who never ceases to tighten as time goes by.

I ponder on this fact. Or is it a question? It’s something I definitely know the answer to. So a fact it is.

The chains that hold me aren’t emotional or even close to physical. Nor did I ever do anything to earn them but that’s how the system works.

The system refused every single application I sent to prestigious universities. Not one of them accepted me even after they had contacted me for scholarships offers. Claiming that “my chosen classes were already full and to try elsewhere.’

It wasn’t a coincidence. Out of everyone, I should know that. Because I knew the system far too well.

That system chained me without even binding my wrist to chains, that system took my freedom away without truly stripping me of my rights, that system tied a noose around my neck and is waiting for any given occasion to rip away the chair from under my feet.

The system doesn't want my education to blossom. the system wants me to settle for less every time then die. That’s our government. the system is our government and it’s trying to kill me off.

I could apply at a community college and get accepted in mere seconds but that's what they want. That is their plan and no matter what, I will not succumb to it, not after seeing how it ended for father. Not after seeing that.

I gulp at the thought of him. My body and mind react instantly at the mere idea of my father. My breathing becomes ragged and I sense my palms get clammy and sweaty. The noose around my neck feels like it got ten times tighter. Even though nothing is truly there, my brain acknowledges the hard rope covered in sharp split ends digging at the skin of my neck. My hands who once were tucked underneath the pillow flock to my neck, grasping around nothing but my own skin.

I seal my eyes shut and begin chanting the only thing that calms me down during my breakdowns.

“A,B,C,D,E,F,G,H,I....”

the alphabet, something you often associate with learning toddlers full of life and not a 19-year-old having a nervous breakdown.

“J, K, L, M, O, P, Q, R, S!!” I scream loud, frail body shaking like a leaf as I try my best to block out the nose, block out the shots and the footsteps who are threateningly close. I hiccup between a sob when I feel his big greasy hands grip my long ebony hair, yanking me back painfully, he throws my whole body across the room.

what letter was I at? I forgot. Now I can barely breathe. I frustrate the man furthermore. I know this when he yells “shut the fuck up. Make another sound and your lovely mother gets it.” I open my eyes and stop breathing altogether. She lays on the floor.

I shake my head, clearing my mind of theses awful flashbacks as I shoot up from bed to reach for the pieces of paper, crumble them into a tiny ball and neatly shoot them in my plastic dollar-store basketball net who hangs just above the door. It hits the rim before falling on the floor with a plop.

“damn, where did my basketballs skill go?” I ask my self, feeling slightly better due to the self-pity that seems to have eaten me whole.

The alphabet always calms me down, it brings me back to earth when I need it the most -when my anxiety decides to lock me in my painful past.

My back now on the bed, I look at my white ceiling, its time to think rationally, like an adult - I smile to myself. Like an adult, huh? I quickly recognize the fact that most adults don’t actually know what they are doing. Most of the time they let themselves get dragged with the wave. Some try to overpower the water while others succumb to it and others find a way to float, to stay on the surface no matter how strong the storm gets.

I huff a breath of defeat "what am I going to do? It was the last one on the list.” I toy with my phone. I run my fingers against its smooth metal surface all while making sure to not unlock it by accident with the touch ID.

I've been ignoring Haerin’s messages for a while now.

I frown, hoping that she won’t misunderstand and think that I a mad at her.

the screen lights up.

Haerin: Don’t worry I know that you’re not mad at me or anything but I'm just worried.. plus I kinda miss your ugly ass so text back soon. I can’t believe you’re making me seem like a desperate hoe by ignoring all my text. Your fuckgirl mode has, unfortunately, been activated :/ [2:45]

I snort. Not being able to ignore her for any longer, I text back.

Me: I usually don’t text girls back after we fuck... but ur kinda special so come over or whatever... [2:46 pm]

Haerin: omg okay daddy! I’ll bring take out that way my ass won’t be the only thing you’ll eat today! I'm omw bitch you have some explaining to do. [2:46]

I chuckle and lock my phone.

With the stretch of my limbs, I'm out of bed and I beeline straight to the bathroom.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. “fucking hell, I barely look alive.”

after peeing and a quick face wash, I stand in front of the mirror and notice that my pixie cut may need a trim soon. I can’t ever let my hair grow past my ears and I rather not think about the reason behind this -not yet at least, not yet.

I watch the clear droplet of water cling on to the curl near my forehead before dropping and rolling down my tawny skin. I can’t help but to glance down at my neck, it’s red. I pray that I won’t bruise. I take in the fact that my new skin care routine has been working marvelously. From my high cheekbones, my narrow chin and slightly protruding forehead my skin is spotless.

"Venice, you little thot, I have arrived in your domicile"

I jump in surprise at first. After a smile covers my plump lips when I realize who that voice belongs to. I step out of the bathroom which is linked to my room and meet the fake redhead.

In a matter of seconds, I am engulfed in her tight embrace. Face hidden in the crook of her armpit I notice that the tall girl is wearing her favorite mustard hoodie.

I break the hug. “ I missed you too,” I say, gazing up at her through my short lashes. I see the worry in her slanted eyes but I know she isn’t judging, she never does.

“let’s talk, okay?” her voice is soft when she speaks. I nod and lead her to my bed.

A couple tears, three hugs, and many heartfelt words later, we lay diagonally on my bed. Looking up at the ceiling. With a shift in position, I look over at Haerin’s toes who never fail to not be ugly and stinky but who can blame her? She's an aspiring basketball player. Now I look up to her profile. It seems like the ceiling is long forgotten and that she is currently deep in thought, I can tell by the way her straight thick brows furrow and how she chews almost aggressively her full bottom lip. I Am caught red-handed when she suddenly turns at catches me staring.

“I've got an idea.” her lips part as she smiles, revealing the gap in the middle of her two front teeth that fits her so well.

“Shoot”

“How about we watch old Disney movies to take off some of your stress for today? let's deal this fucktard of a situation tomorrow. '' She pushes her elbow underneath her to lift herself. Her round glasses droop down the bridge of her nose but she's quick to push them back with the help of her lanky fingers.

I smiled at the idea. I ask myself how can someone be so pure and genuine sometimes.

''Okay, but just don't put anything with romance in it. I don't want to be reminded of the fact that the only thing I wake up next to in bed is my life-sized Makoto Tachibana pillow.'' My feet drag on the warm floor as Haerin intertwines her arm with mine. '' That's extremely sad and I hope that you'll throw it out once you get a boyfriend-'' she stops in her tracks and looks at me.

we both stare at each other only to explode with laughter.

''BAHAHA! I can't believe I just said that! You? a boyfriend? I think WinWin would finally be getting lines in songs before that happens.'' wiping away the tear that escaped, we go down the stairs and she grabs the laptop on the kitchen counter before plopping herself beside me on the sofa.

''Shut up you shouldn't be the one to speak here.'' I laugh back with her.

''Whatever ugly loser, go grabs snacks that way we can stuff our faces and I'll pick a movie'' She orders and am up in seconds.

''I know you said no romance but I still picked the Amanda Bynes movie She's the man '' Haerin informs me as I come back into the living room

I shrug my shoulders, indifferent.

''I don't care what we watch at this point, anything to get my stress down.'' I slur on my words near the end, taking a big fat handful of popcorn and shoving it down my throat.

'We could watch porn then'' she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and I pinch her left nipple.

''shut up and play the god damn movie.''

And with a click, the movie is playing and I am finally relaxing.

About an hour and forty-five minutes later the movie is done and you're left with a strange idea in mind.

''hey Haerin..'' you start off

her eyes squint, which suggests that she's thinking . ''hm?''

''Are you possibly thinking the same thing as me ?'' now my eyes squint, trying my best to read her expression.

'' If you are thinking about dressing yourself up as a male and infiltrating the all-boys prestigious Uni then yes, we are thinking the same thing!'' her grip on my wrists is tight and I feel light headed when she shakes me like a polaroid as soon as I nod.

''CALL CHRISTIAN RIGHT NOW! SOME MADAME DOUBTFIRE MAKEOVER SHIT IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN IN THIS BITCH!'' She screams at the top of her lungs.

"You called me here because am what?" Christian took place on the sofa beside me. Brows creased together, he leaned forward, as if he hadn't heard me the first time. He heard me perfectly fine. "Because you're the dude-dest dude I know and I need to learn how to become a dude."

He drowns himself deeper in the couch, taking a chunk of his locks between his fingers, he let out an exasperated "what kind of fucking drugs do you guys take to come up with this shit?" And shortly after "Okay, I'll help."

This was our relationship. Christian Yu a very stable young adult that happened to be my childhood neighbor. Even when I moved out of my mother's home, he never left me behind. Kind of like a big brother that allows me to do dumb shit only with his supervision.

"This might seem crazy but just trust me on this. It might work,"I reassure.

His eyes bulge “What exactly might work Venice please don’t tell-”

“I can’t keep living on like this. I don’t want to live a meaningless life all while knowing that I can achieve so much more. Just entering that school and studying to become a lawyer would be a huge step for me” my jaw clenches “Its a step towards my goal and..” nostrils flared, I watch Christian tense, the weight of my words slowly seep into his pores, completely changing his first resolve. “ I will fulfill it no matter what”.

“I understand what you want to do but wouldn't that be proving what the government is doing to people like you -no offense, right? You're just doing what they expect of the children of criminals, you're becoming one too” He remains tense. Lower lip stuck between his pearly teeth, Christian avoids eye contact.

“Reflect on this: What do criminals have in common?” I get up from the couch under the perplexed gaze of my friend.

Lips puckered, brows screwed together, he comes up with an answer quickly “Its simple, they do illegal things!”

“That's partially true but I want you do think of the biggest names in the dark world, the infamous one. What brought them together besides the fact that what they did was prohibited?” I am patient, smiling down at my friend who racks his brain fora retort. His wide shoulder slump, not knowing where exactly am I go going with this. I give in, choosing to spare him a brain burn out “they were all selfish.”

“W-What?”

“yes, it really is that simple.” I smirk “ Just think about it, All their lives, their goal was to enrich themselves, gain profit or some form of power. They were ready to do whatever it took to gain these things. Kill, steal ect. What separates me from them is that I am not only doing this for me but the others who suffer alongside me in silence. We both know that the system is wrong and should be taken down even if that means sacrificing the little freedom I have.” I exhale, coming back to sit near Christian on the couch.

He sighs, elbows now up on his tighs, he rubs his eyes. “Fine, I support you in this but please don't you dare end up in jail or else-”

“You’ll lose your mind since you can't live without her.” Haerin finally speaks. She had remained so silent I forgot that she was even there.

“Y-yeah, you're probably right actually, I don't think I can't live without either of my girls” he pipes, scooping both of us in his toned arms and engulfing us in a tight hug.

“Let me go, Chris, my face is literally buried in your armpits” Haerin whines.

“Then smell them!”

“Oh no, you don”t-”I send my knee in his crotch in a matter of seconds, making him groan in agony all while curling into a ball on the floor. Haerin stares unbothered, pulling out her phone and calling someone. The conversation is short but it leaves a smile on her lips when she hangs up.

"Okay whores, I just called the best makeup artist in town. After you get your lesson on how to become an owner of a dick and get a makeup lesson cuz god knows you struggling in that.." Haerin shakes her head and muffles a laugh with her hand when I pipe out “bitch.”

"You will go in the room and do what you have to do to make the world believe you are a man."

"Okay, let's start then!" the serious and somber mood is gone, excitement is now what is left behind. Am thrilled, justice pumps through my veins and it's only fueled more by the support of my friends. I can do this

"Okay let's start then...but no homo"

"I know I taught you to use 'no homo' but it doesn't mean you need to say it in every sentence, Venice," Christian shouts from the kitchen, watching the makeup artist teach me the basics on how to make my face look more masculine and the brands that stay on the longest.

Haerin had told her that we were just filming a really weird porno and the women weirdly enough, nodded as if what Haerin said was something that she had seen often.

A couple more minutes spent by my side and she was out of the house, I shooed Christian and Haerin out as well.

With years of fraudulent knowledge in my hands, creating a new identity would be a breeze.

What should my new name be?

I grab my phone and open the group chat

Me: I need Name ideas, got anything? [5:15]

Chris: keep it simple... something like Steve Duncan or whatever [5:17]

Haerin: Don't listen to this loser, Bob Mcniplecoker shall be your new name, beloved ;) [5:17]

Chris: i- [5:18]

Me: 00Ooo thank you Haerin! very cool! [5:18]

Chris: please don't tell me you're actually using that- why am I the only sane person in this group? [5:19]

I shut off my phone, content with the name and ready to get down to serious business. Hours and hours of serious business.

Creating a whole new identity sure was time-consuming.

The wait was over.

The letter who held my fate had arrived to my surprising displeasure. I huffed a breath of frustration. Why am I so nervous? With the grades I have, it is certain I’ll be getting in but why can't I open it?

The pretty creme letter waited for no one other than me to open it. I was first made known of its presence when I was taking a shit and my uncle so kindly slid it under the door when he was staying over for a couple days.

All Boys: Great Jeon University

I had just finished taking a shit but after re-reading the letter I felt like taking a second shit. Curling on the floor, my nose rose up in defiance as I glanced at the paper, still centimeters away from under the door.

Let's just open the letter and get this over with.

With trembling hands, I reached over to the letter but I at last second I let my hand fell back to my side.

This Is so stressful! Is it possible to vomit and shit your pants all at the same time? I shot up, heading to the sink determined, with a couple splashes of cold water on my face I stared at myself in the mirror, determined.

I pursued my full lips, taking in a pimple that formed right next to my thick brows. This stress is really getting to me. I know damn well that a pimple wouldn't have been there otherwise.

"Okay you big wuss, tear that shit open !" I gas myself up, finally picking up the letter, I rip the envelope, already expecting the worst.

"Dear Mister. Mcniplecocker, we are glad to inform you that you have been accepted-"

“Oh thank God...” relief washes down on me like a ton of bricks. ”Thank

god..”I exhale, I can't contain the small smile that forms on my lips.

"THIS CALL FOR DANGEROUSLY HIGH AMOUNTS OF CALORIES !" Haerin shouts, grabbing the takeout menu to order too much food and possibly max out her credit card. She is reckless and often thinks of the consequences after she does something but if she ever got in trouble with the law due to her shenanigans, me, a soon to be law student would help her.

Christian took his usual seat at my right and Haerin at my left on our favorite brown couch. They were here so often on this couch that their butts were permanently imprinted.

"I need to tell you guys about this girl I've met. She's older but I swear I've never seen a woman more beautiful" Christian gushed, tugging on my shirt. "Oh, my man is finally getting some action! I started getting worried for you I was almost going to ship you with Haerin."

The girl snapped her head to look at me at the mention of her name. "Excuse me? Me and Christian? I'd rather let your creepy pillow anime guy date me." She snickered and I scoffed "Bitch, you wish Makoto Tachibana would be with your dusty crusty ass plus you're acting like Christian is ugly! I mean he might be a lil on the grandpa side since he's so old but-"

He deadpanned. "I'm literally 25 ???"

"Anyways, in two months I'll be going to one of the most prestigious schools and I'll be a lawyer. If one of you ever gets in trouble with the law don't call me because I'll be the one making sure you go to jail." I joke, picking a movie on the laptop.

I was over the moon. Things were going my way and it felt good, so good.

"If you ever do get caught, who will defend you ?" Christian hesitated when he asked, not wanting to stress me.

"Don't jinx it, idiot. I won't happen, don't worry." Haerin leaned forward, taking my hand in hers and gave me a small smile not knowing that the damage was already done.

It was something that I ridiculously tried shoving at the back of my brain. It was something I needed to face. I was going to be a lawyer for crying out loud, I knew that I could face time in jail and fines I wouldn't be able to afford to pay.

It was something I was ready to risk. For my education. I was breaking the law in order to work as a person who enforced the law. How ironic.

"Yeah, don't jinx it, Chris."

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wingdgaster · 5 years

Note

Here's a challenge for ya, Ω α

On Top of The World | Rock Bottom

Sunset strewn skies gleamed in silvered streaks of violet and amber, the thunder of passing storms rolling now even from its many miles away. White metal of his gauntlets coiled with the clench of fingers about the sculpted stone banister, and the thrum of elation rang heavier in his chest.

He gave a shake of his head… he’d… done it…

From youth… bastard child of human and monster… scorned by humankind, and welcomed into the arms of monsters, he’d fought to prove his people right… protecting the weak in moments of helplessness, using what gifts he could find in his obsessive studies of the Arcane to bend the will of the very skies to protect those in need of his assistance.

Many called his gifts something on the cusp of divine… he called them a result of good blood… or for that matter… muddied blood.

He could still hear those words, the council’s head stating so proudly he knew a child of muddied lineage would never take the place as crowned heir of the throne of magic. And again, when he refused to let that old prude call him such sweet things as he’d come to know adulthood…

“My dear, you may never be a queen, but you have blossomed into quite a beautiful creature indeed–”

And his gut soured at the thought but only for a moment, as pride swelled back and high, he had been the last to refuse to accept his resolute decision to go into the remainder of his life as that of a man… and refuse himself the title of but a woman. He had been adamant in trying to convince him of his place as but a silly girl in shoes far too large to fill.

And he’d done it… all those years…

Crowned at last…

The Monarch over the plane of Magic itself and the thriving energy that coursed his very veins, he had organized his very own coronation and smiled on the proud people of monsterkind, brushed away the tears in the Queen’s eyes and embraced the King as bubbling tears spilled down and into his silver tufted beard.

And he’d made certain that bastard had been the one to place the crown atop his head, just to sink that last nail in the coffin that his image of the little girl he’d once seen even himself as… was gone… and a King had been born in the place of her death.

A Witch King…

Breath left him in a thrum, and the thunder rumbled in the distance, smile painting back high across his face… nothing could stop him on a high like this… nothing, laughter bellowed from him, and he spun in a circle, letting arms fall outward and carry themselves on momentum alone–

Gods, was there anything better than this!

And there was a knock…

With a quick turn, billowing cape of soft gaussian fabric rippling in stormy weather’s breeze, fingertips grazed over the banister but a moment longer before the newly crowned royal let stride carry him through open doors, and into the high arched cabinet of his suite. Careful as to not claw the gauntlet’s fingertips down the hardwood, hand wound about the crystalline knob and in the next moment, the royal pried back the door to peer out.

Blinking but a moment, he smiled, opening the door wide, “Asgore–!”

Of course it would be him! They’d spoke of days that might follow his coronation, in their childhood, perhaps as a joke, but as the day had come, they’d celebrated the ideas in their moments spent in the other’s company. “Come in, come in–! No sense in waiting outside, love!” And a chortle left the taller monster, ducking down to squeeze in under the door’s frame, and side-eyeing the gifts that littered about the room.

“I see your coronation had more than just a few gifts sent your way?” And he laughed with a shake of his head, crossing an arm over his chest, and planting the opposite hand to the breadth of his face.

“I tried to say I needed nothing but their company, but– ah, you know how the people can be… I was lucky to get away with just this” Weighty boots clacked over the stone tiling of the room, and with a quick twirl, he was quick to settle across the arms of a velvet strewn chair perched about a walnut table.

With hand outstretched to offer the adjacent chair to the still standing monster… and the Prince glanced to the dark violet chair set near the tea tray decorated table, and golden eyes met with the flagstone floors.

Something was wrong…

A frown furrowed its way into his brows, and a pit bubbled into his chest, “Asgore…?”

Golden eyes lifted to meet with the edge of the table and met back with the stone tile. Boots returned back to meet with the cool floors, ice budding in his chest, and thoughts darted to the family caretaker, a centaurian man that had served the royal family many a generation, finding fulfillment in service than his own care. “What’s wrong… is something the matter with Grienweld? I’d warned him of his cold, he’s not gotten worse has he–”

“It’s not him… the… Wing… it’s the council.”

A frown furrowed its way into being, “The council…?”

“Harmond read through the laws binding the royal families… and he has brought it to the attention of the remainder of the council that the sovereign bodies of Magic and Monsterkind are never to be wed…”

Ice flooded his veins and sockets drew wide, jaw-dropping to fall the barest bit agape, and in the next moment, fire bubbled hot into his chest. Darting to his feet, heel caught the clawed foot of the velvet chair, knocking it back with a thunderous clatter paired with the righteous strike of rumbling weather outside. “He can’t bind us to such archaic laws, the entire population knows of our bond, would he so deny monsterkind the example of a fit union to lead their kind?” Hands clawed at the air, billowing cape sweeping in a brunt slash of his arm.

His brows furrowed, Prince’s face muddled with the pain of news he had yet to deliver, and the mage frowned in suit. Hand reached out, meeting palm to the taller man’s arm– silvered glints painted the corners of the elder’s eyes.

“Asgore… the laws are meant to be rewritten… we can find a way around this… I can convince the council to overlook this information, I’m certain things can be worked out”

And silence held its icy grip a moment longer, clawing its weight into this moment and prying away the splendid delight he’d felt in the moment prior. Golden eyes opened to meet with like, the net moment’s breath held, as cupped palm lifted to meet with the Prince’s cheek.

“He’s taken it upon himself to inform neighboring countries of this information as well… and the conbined divisions have agreed the union would go itself against tradition… without one of us to step down from title as royal”

Ice shot on high into the newly formed pit in his throat, eyes fell wide, and his head shook, side to side. That bastard– he’d wanted to take this from him in any state he could… he knew how much Asgore meant to him… he knew what the throne meant to him… gods dammit he knew what the throne meant to Asgore!

And he stuttered, looking between golden hues in a frantic rush, blinking through his threatening tears, “I-I can step down, I can give up the title, please, I can’t– I can’t lose–” Very voice choked in his throat, catching and hiccupping on blooming tears.

Asgore’s own palm lifted, meeting with the corner of his jaw, and if only on instinct alone, the mage pressed into his touch, sucking a breath tight into his chest and pinching eyes shut. “I can step down if it means I get to keep you–”

And the King-to-be gave a shake of his head, own eyes falling shut and pressing his brow to the crowned Witch King’s, breath drew in a cool rush as rain, at last, broke the edge of the looming clouds far overhead and let the water withheld fall in splintered drops over the balcony outside.

“I could never take your dream from you… the people need you as they need me… please, don’t give up everything you’ve worked for just for me. I couldn’t stand to let you lose to him after all the life you’ve given to the people.” His own voice shook with the now spilling tears, and pressing open his own eyes to gaze up into the amber hues, gaze shifted to spy the monarch couple themselves embracing one another in mourning for a loving marriage that perhaps could have been.

And a sob choked its way from the crowned mage, shaking his head and burying brow into the taller’s shoulder, it wasn’t fair… this wasn’t fair… and brows furrowed tight in a gritted sneer, fighting to keep from crumbling into this moment and letting Harmond win even for a moment. He had been crowned, he couldn’t take this from him but… he could take everything else from him…

And the bastard knew it…

Thumb brushed over the back of his head, Asgore’s arms laced about him, “It’s… tradition states as well… the King of Monster people is… to be married before the end of the first year out of Academy but… while it may be arranged, Wing, know we will never be far from other” And arms tightened, squeezing him close, and though he could find comfort in this closeness, devastation wracked him to feel that tremor even in Asgore’s own embrace.

He’d never be far from him, but he’d never be able to keep him in the eyes of the public… He’d lost his dearest to the arms of another he’d never have the right to cross.

He’d won… and lost it all…

#[ The Truth Prevails - Headcanons ]#[ Days That Shaped Us - Past ]#angst #//oh I got one just for ya #//this is gonna be a long one #//rest is under the cut #//reminder my boi is Trans #//this is kind of a clusterfuck but it's accurate to what happened #//dabs from kingdings dumpster #Anonymous

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believe-that-you-can-my-friend · 7 years

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Can i request for a bad boy serpent jughead jones and the sweet girl next door betty cooper fiction and maybe with a steamy make out session scene? Thank you!

Fruit Punch Lips & Leather Jacket Dreams

Part 1/3: But Mama, I Want a Bad Boy

So the story is slightly AU. Jughead never attended school in Riverdale, never was friends with Betty and Archie, as a matter of fact they didn’t even know each other. No murder ever happened, Betty was never pinning over Archie. I also made some other small changes that you’ll notice upon reading. Plus, I made Reggie a Serpent too, for no reason really, I just wanted him to be Jughead’s childhood best friend in this universe. :p Last but not least, Betty turned out to be extremely feisty while I was writing this; she is still a sweetheart in pastel colors but her character is a tad more Betty Cooper in episodes 12 &13. I hope that’s ok! Thank you for requesting, dear anon! Enjoy, lovelies! ❤️(Okay, this is 34 pages long. I don’t even know why, I don’t even know what I have written in so many pages. I apologize in advance for that mammoth length. Warning: turns mildly smutty but definately hot and heavy at the end.)

Southside Elementary Schoolwas a rare example of fine architecture in the small town of Riverdale. Rebuiltat the outskirts of town, after a disastrous fire caused by a minor during aprank gone wrong a couple of years ago, and squeezed between Southside Kindergartenand Southside High, it looked nothing like the two crumbling, cement coloredbuildings on its sides that lacked any learning motivation. It was modern, purewhite with splashes of green and purple and it brought a fresh air of change, apromise that maybe the next generation of Southside kids would not have theominous fate of their ancestors.

The Serpents had outdonethemselves with the construction of the of the building, hiring Fred Andrewsand his crew – one of the few people that wasn’t driven by discrimination andalways agreed in doing business at the south side of town – and wasting a largeamount of money from their infamous Serpent vault to create a place appropriatefor shaping young minds. Maybe that’s why sweet and always optimistic BettyCooper smiled every day at three o’clock sharp when her sneakers would hop upthe marble stairs of the buzzing with life building. Because it was proving herright; Serpents would do anything for their children, just like any otherparent on a prestigious office job. Serpents weren’t the monsters everyonethought they were.

Her excuse for walking all theway from their quaint north paradise to the disreputable south district fivedays per week was something that Betty always found fascinating; volunteering.Nurturing and caring by nature, she was constantly filling her free time withactivities that offered assistance to those needed; taking care of stray catsand dogs down at the animal center, gathering food supplies and clothing forthe homeless at their local church, being an annual blood donor, being proudcofounder along with her best friend, Veronica Lodge, of the two years nowsuccessful female empowerment club, Girls Speak Louder, at Riverdale High. Andwhen senior year came and she needed a bigger challenge, something to bring herout of her good girl comfort zone, a tiny announcement had caught her eye,stuck on the bulletin board at the center of her high school corridor; Volunteers needed at Southside Elementary School.

Her sister was excited likeher, her mom was concerned, her dad was livid. Hal Cooper, always the biggestsupporter of his daughter’s choices and the proudest for her accomplishments,was petrified that his innocent little girl had decided to step foot in thatgodforsaken place amongst snakes and muddy waters. Betty talked him into it ofcourse, mustering all her good girl charm during one of their father-daughtermechanic sessions, and here she was now, already two months in her position ofassisting little ones in reading and writing after school, along with beingresponsible for the school’s still limited but gradually expanding library.

“Miss Betty, you look sopretty today. Your shoes are the cutest.” Sasha, one of the youngest in her‘class’ complimented her like every day, the little girl holding the teen in apedestal of idolization. Betty smiled sweetly down at her, turning her feetinward so for the tips of her violet floral slip on Vans to touch incoordination with a smooching sound out of her lips, indicating them kissing,and causing the little girl to giggle.

“Thank you, Sasha, but youdefinitely are prettier.” Betty spread positivity like a pro, feeling her heartswell when the small angel beamed up at her, one of her front teeth missing andmaking the smile even cuter.

“Will you do my hair inpigtails like yesterday?” she demanded in a sugary voice, chubby fingerssmudging the lead against the open notebook in front of her.

“If I see all those sentencescorrectly and neatly written.” The teen sent her a playful grimace and muffledlightly her frizzy locks in affection as she nodded cheerfully and went back towork. Her green eyes darted to the rest of the kids, some writing and somequietly reading, and seeing as nobody seemed to need her assistance, she movedto the window for aimless gazing, relishing to the rare feeling of warm sunraysbathing her face and the skin of her arms her blush pink sleeveless button-upshirt left uncovered.

Loud cheers and cheerfulshrieks caught her attention and Betty focused on some kids playing soccer inthe yard, a lanky raven haired girl amongst all the boys scoring a goal beforedoing a cartwheel in victory with a carefree laugh that brought a laughingsmile on Betty’s lips too. She landed just on time to greet five guys that hadjust entered the school premises, the one in the very front high-fiving her andmuffling her hair in affection, and Betty felt as if a meteor had struck at thecenter of her chest making her heart bounce violently at the sudden impact.

She had seen them before,rarely around town but frequently the hours she was volunteering, the two ofthem dropping by almost every day to pick up their younger siblings whereas theother three just tagged along. Betty was guessing they were around her age anda close group of best friends, an exclusive and childhood originated boys’squad, carrying around an air of bad boy charm and a smoldering confidenceinflicted by their matching black leather jackets; Serpents.

However, the tightness in herchest wasn’t because of fear or intimidation, the basic normal reactions everycitizen of the north side showed upon coming face to face with the imposingpresence of anyone from the South. It was because of him, the one always at thecenter, always at the front, that had the ability to fuel the sleeping lava atthe depths of her monotonously perfect self. She didn’t know who he was, shedidn’t even know his name, but what she did know was that when he was around,he was pulling her in like a magnetic force, like her own personal center ofgravity, and her eyes couldn’t do anything else but stare, gawk at his terribly handsome face and lean physic clad in darkcolors, while her mind was turning into a useless organ, floating in theturbulent waters of a hypnotizing nirvana.

Today, of course, was noexception. Betty couldn’t help but roam her eyes over his willowy body, longlimps and slender figure, so far from all those typical buffed jocks and so Betty’stype, spotting his usual black jeans and combat boots that gave him the bikerguy vibe that worked wonders into her mind and, to be honest, her body too. Whatcame as a surprise though was today’s choice of shirt, a white cotton vest,skintight and tucked inside his jeans, him not wearing his Serpent jacket ontop of it but having it draped over his shoulder, due to the afternoon heat. Andwhat a pleasant surprise that was.

Betty could feel her skinburning, not from the furnace like weather outside but from the way the materialwas clinging deliciously against his muscular chest, his board shoulders, histoned stomach. For the first time his biceps were uncovered, well-built andflexing in a manner that screamed raw masculinity, and she actually felt a tadannoyed at his habit of wearing what seemed like forty layers of clothing,keeping those bad boys only for the girls that Betty was sure were constant inhis bedroom. At that thought her eyebrows knitted together in a frown, the girlactually catching a hint of jealousy puffing her chest, shaking her head tosnap out of her reverie and scold herself for how stupid she was acting,letting her hormones and tiny idiotic girl crush get the best of her.

But then he smiled at theelementary kids that were now flocking around him bouncing in excitement, thatboyish smile that Betty had seen him sport before only around his little sister,and made her stomach flip in an unknown fashion, as he ran his fingers throughhis always messy black waves and the youngest Cooper could actually feel herknees getting a little weak at the sight of him being so effortlessly gorgeousand so hot. A giggly boy passed himthe ball and he dropped his leather jacket and messenger bag recklessly to theconcrete, rolling the worn out soccer ball with the tip of his combat boot overhis foot and then bouncing it on top of it, juggling the ball from one foot tothe other and tricking expertly the boy in front of him, stealing the ballcompletely. Due to his physic he was very fast and agile, coltish legs makingit seem like he was flying amongst the hyperactive children, musclesstretching, shoulder blades flexing, dark mane swinging sexily against hislaughing eyes. Betty was having trouble breathing, the air inside the smallclassroom suffocating her, and her hand came unconsciously to rub the base ofher neck uneasily, a heavy gulp vibrating under her sweaty fingers as theypushed the lapels of her shirt more open in a desperate attempt to supply herbrain with much needed oxygen. He was in an illegal biker gang, one of thosebad guys that everyone kept advising her not to even spare a second glance at.How could he be so charmingly handsome and irresistibly human?

He was good at the game, hewas being cocky and confident, doing tricks and advanced moves despite playingwith eleven year olds and the heat Betty was feeling was getting amplified, forsome reason the blonde being attracted to his whole Alpha male persona. She hadbeen around a lot of star athletes in her life as a cheerleader but he hadsomething else, a raw passion and intensity from having learnt to kick a ball carelesslyin the freedom of some soil, pebbly streets, an unremitting youthful ardor thatthose prestigious golden boys would never gain in the luxury of their personal traininggyms. With a gracious twirl, he trapped the ball between his ankles and jumped,sending it flying backwards before twisting his heels in a way that Betty hadseen only professional soccer players do in the games her dad watched in thebasement, kicking it over his head and to his sister who scored once again, theunknown Serpent and his friends erupting in hollering cheers, practicallyshaking the thin glass on the windows of the building.

The raven girl ran to him inglee and he hoisted her up his back to lie on her stomach, both of themoutstretching their arms at the sides and mimicking a helicopter as he ran in acircle, Betty giggling lightly along with them at their celebratory ritual. Herlaughter though was cut short when, free of his sister’s weight, the guyresponsible for her flaming cheeks and fluttering heart pulled his vest fromhis pants and used the hem to wipe the sweat off his upper lip, flashing her adelicious, glistering set of abs and a small hint of raven hair right at the centerof his two prominent V lines, disappearing seductively under the waistband ofhis jeans.

Betty actually bit her lip tohold back a moan. For the first time in her life she was feeling such a strongattraction, a burning desire, for a guy, let alone a complete stranger. Yes,she had had her fair share of crushes in the past and some heated make outswith her two previous boyfriends on backseats or under the bleachers butnothing compared to this, nothing ever came close to that powerful urge she hadto kiss him long and senseless just by looking at him. That’s why things neverwent further than some heavy caresses and awkward grinding over clothes witheither Trev or Chuck. But staring at him now, flashing boyish smiles andrevealing more and more hard mass of an Adonis-like chest, good Lord, Betty’smind was creating raunchy scenarios and she needed to be stopped.

He was the one to snap herback to reality and his cocky attitude that seemed to be a reoccurring trait ofhis character. Because he knew that all this time she was staring at him, evenputting on a little more of a show just for her sake, so when he let go of hisshirt for it to fall loosely against his toned abs, his baby blue eyes,mischievous behind disheveled black locks, connected with hers through thewindow and he winked at her, he gave her an actualboyish wink and a sexy side smirk that melted her insides in an instant andcaused her heart to stop for a torturing second. Instantly, blood shot in heralready rosy cheeks, her green doe eyes became round balls of embarrassment andBetty averted her gaze to her feet, mentally cursing herself for being caughtbut mostly for not being anything like Veronica or Cheryl, both of them pros atflirting and seduction.

“Miss Betty, I can’t spellthis word. Can you help me, please?” a voice called from the back of the smallclassroom and made her jump, disappointed that her daydreaming bubble had burstso violently and he was now with his back at her, walking away with aprotective arm curled over his sister’s shoulders. A heavy burden ofdisappointment landed on her chest and she sighed sullenly as she turned away too,ready to get back into her bubbly Betty Cooper mode and assist her littleangels.

What she didn’tknow was that the strange boy was still smirking. And it was all because of thestunning blonde vision that had caught his eye long before he had caught hers.

Doesn’the have an IG account? Or even a Facebook one? What century does he live into?I wanna see the goods…😉

Betty shook her head with atsk of amused disapproval at the blue bubble that popped on her phone’s screen,accompanying the multiple others that filled her and Polly’s personal chat.They were texting back and forth for an hour now, the two sisters talking abouttheir day, Polly’s tons of reading for med school, Betty’s latest article forthe Blue & Gold, Betty’s recent boy toy obsession. The younger Cooper hadmade the mistake to confide in her sister about her small maybe there crush that very night after the winking incident,merely because she just couldn’t get him out of her mind and she needed to venther teenage frustration to somebody before she would end up locked in a mentalfacility. However, that proved, well, a mistake because now her teasing wasrelentless. She loved her sister to the moon but her pestering nature andprankster mentality was the only thing Betty definitely didn’t miss now thatshe was in California for college.

Yousound like Veronica and that’s scary, have that checked. 😘 And I told you,I don’t even know his name!!

Betty pressed the two exclamation marks in frustration, hitting replyand actually groaning out loud at the response that came in barely a heartbeat.

Then ask him!

So simple, yet, so impossible. She sighed, biting her lip as the tappingof her thumps were filling the silence around her.

He’s bad news, Pol…

The “read” sign appeared under her white bubble; Polly started writingsomething, then stopped. Betty signed again, dropping her phone carelesslyinside her turquoise backpack with a heavy heart. She knew that there wasn’tgonna be a response because her statement was right; he was bad news for girlslike her. He was raised in a world of pedal smoke and black leather and she camefrom a chamomile scented and strawberry flavored wonderland. They weren’t yinand yang, they were simply complete opposites and Betty was old enough to knowthat such fairytales never had a happy ending. Behind the words of love andprosperity that people always added at the end of every fantastic story about agolden-haired princess and a dark charming prince there was this whole otherdimension in which he and she were never destined to be together.

Betty gathered her things with an atypical somber mood, then put herdenim bomber jacket over her scantily clad form. Her schedule at school todaywas heavy, with two extra hours of cheerleading practice after the end of classes,so she didn’t really have time to change out of her uniform before coming tothe south side for her volunteering work. The little girls were ecstatic andthe little boys in awe upon seeing their teacher in the colors of blue and goldthat suited her like a second skin but right now she was actually feeling alittle wary about her attire. Betty always felt good in her cheerleading uniform,still with a long list of insecurities on her shoulders but comfortable in herown skin nonetheless, but at that very moment her chest tingled with thissubconscious fear that every woman in a short skirt sported upon walking aroundalone after darkness had settled. It was in the feminine DNA, subscribed intheir genes, and she hated with every fiber of her body that in their time andage she was still supposed to feel threatened by any man that happened to passher by in the street.

But Betty Cooper rarely gave up, if ever. So when her dad had told herthat he wouldn’t be able to pick her up tonight – that was their deal for hervolunteering at the Southside, him dropping by every night after her shift todrive her home – she didn’t tell Archie to come instead, as Hal had made hisdaughter promise him. She was a big girl now, a woman; a strong and fearlesswoman. And she was more than capable of walking home alone without needing anyman to play her knight in shining armor. She was going to be her own knight, ifneeded.

So she waved at the polite middle aged janitor, tightened her preppyponytail and headed for the road, enjoying the earie vibe of the south side ofRiverdale at night. Her thoughts wandered to him again like every other night –secret adolescent musings under the protective pastel veil of her teenage room thatleft her lying with an aching longing on her virginal white cotton sheets –trying to guess what grade he was in, if he was a jock or maybe he liked poetryor photography, if he enjoyed living in Riverdale, if he dreamt of getting outof here just like her. And as time was passing by quickly and her squeaky whiteNike sneakers were a few meters away from Sweetwater Bridge that separated thetwo sides of their town, loud guy voices made her ears perk and her hands bawlinstantly into fists, as shiny green eyes turned to the source, a small andabandoned looking park in the middle of old, graffiti filled houses and lifelessoak trees. There, on the only rickety bench amongst rusty swings and avandalized seesaw the four boys of the young Serpent squad were engaged inheavy banter and boastful laughs, sharing a joint and a cooler of beers.

To her surprise, she wasn’t scared at the late night encounter, onlyseverely disappointed that for the first time he-who-doesn’t-have-a-name wasn’tat the center of the small ground of friends that seemed to always be attachedat the hip. Betty’s beautiful features dropped in a heartbroken pout asdesperate eyes scanned each of them in hopes that her secret boy crush was alsolurking in the darkness and she was just unable to notice him – impossible butstill she had to check – but once her attempts were proven fruitless and hermind snapped out of her lovesick girl world, that’s when she felt theatmosphere shifting. Four pairs of eyes were staring back at her, setting herunder the microscope with their scrutinizing gaze as she was lazily walking by,Betty feeling an actual shiver run down her spine in uneasiness, as she snappedher head down and away from them, cheeks flushing crimson and heart boundingagainst the golden R of her cheerleading shirt.

“Nice legs!” one of them hollered in boyish delight, sending his friendsin a fit of manly laughter before joining in too. Betty flinched at hisdisrespectful attempt of a compliment and shoved her fists further into thepockets of her jacket, picking up her step. Suddenly, she was hyper-aware ofeverything around her; the chilly breeze of the early-spring night, theobnoxious fluorescent light of the cheap street lamps over her scantily cladform, the light thudding of her backpack against her waist, the brushing of hertiny cheerleading skirt over the very top of her thighs, barely an inch longerthan her bomber jacket. Her nerves were on code red territory.

“Man, those suckers from the north side always get the good ones.” Hemurmured in appreciation, loud enough for her to hear, before shouting againtowards her direction. “Don’t you want a change of flavor, babe?”

Betty’s tongue slipped, a tsk sound of disgust accompanying her fed-upeye roll, stealing a subtle glance from the boy that thought himself to be anirresistible player. Freakishly tall, board shoulders, well-build physic, spikyraven hair; yeah, she was right, a Serpent anda jock. Double that male ego cockiness she loathed.

“Come on, Reggie, leave her alone.” Another boy scolded his friend butBetty wasn’t really fooled by the insignificant chivalrous intervention.

“We’re just messing around here, babe.” Reggie, as she had now learnt,spoke up again, an undertone of mischief coloring his baritone voice. “But hey,if you really want some Southside in you, here’s your chance.” He barked a loudlaughter and the boys around him couldn’t resist laughing too, clapping soundsfilling the air by what Betty assumed were congratulating hi-fives.

She knew that any other girl in her shoes would duck her head to theground and practically run away from the possible danger. But she was BettyCooper, cofounder of a female empowerment club and vocal protestor against anykind of harassment and bullying, so she came to an abrupt stop and held herhead high, feeling her dark palette of colors staining the perpetual sunshineof her personality. Turning swiftly on her heels, she started pacing towardsthem in determination, dry leaves getting crashed violently under the weight ofher footsteps, and her green eyes became two pools of painful annoyance uponseeing them murmuring in excitement and puffing up their chests, clueless andhopeful that such a preppy looking girl was ready to walk on the wild side withthem.

Betty stopped right before the guy with the big mouth. He towered overher, way too many inches taller and boarder than her, pleased lopsided smirkintact, but her confidence never got bent, maybe because behind the cocky glinton his coal like eyes she could only see boyish teasing and not the actualbloodcurdling threat that some guys, and even older men, in her seeminglyperfect side of town had inflicted upon her and a plethora of other girls withjust a simple yet utterly perverted glance. Nonetheless, the guy in front ofher was still rude and disrespectful; and ignorant impoliteness was ranking onthe top five bullet points of Betty Cooper’s list of pet peeves.

“Why don’t you say that to my face, huh?” she tilted her chin up, herserious expression and curt tone catching him off guard. “Go on, what? You lostyour balls now that you are face to face with the cute, defenseless little girlyou were looking to score five seconds earlier?” Reggie shuttered someincoherent mumblings, chuckling in awkward obliviousness as he tried to come upwith another of his clever remarks. Betty didn’t let him with a shake of herhead and knitted in frustration perfect eyebrows.

“Seriously, what made you grow such an inferiority complex that youdesperately want to validate your masculinity by throwing tactless andborderline laughable comments at any girl, with the hope that someday one ofthem might actually take up on your offer and finally give your right palm abreak?” He bounced his head back in surprise, eyes blinking rapidly, the boysaround him going silent and still as statues while watching the hurricane thaterupted from the sweet looking blonde girl. “Were you raised in a misogynist environmentor is it just you, compensating for a rather small capacity of male genes?” she colored the adjective withenough sarcasm and casted her judging green orbs momentarily to the front ofhis jeans, catching with the corner of her eyes two of his friends droppingtheir jaws at the well-played insult. “I could stay here and educate you about howinsensible and, bottom line, politically wrong this catcall culture you are soin too deep is but I’d rather save my breath and my well-rounded opinions for somebodywith an actual dimensional brain, so simply hear this out; get over it, man upand stop walking around like a freaking sexist cliché.” Betty ended her speechfull of spank, head raised in superiority and inner pleasure upon reddeningthem speechless, her shiny green eyes never unleashing the hold of his nowdisorientated and full of embarrassment ones.

A slow clapping echoed in the stillness of the night and startled her,snapping Betty back into reality and dissolving her Simone De Beauvoir momentwith a gentle blow, before, there, through the darkness, emerged the darkprince that had invaded her dreams, dressed in black and leather, lips looselycurled in an easy going smirk around a burning cigarette. She took a shy stepback, intimidated and flustered by his presence as always, lowering her Bambieyes to the ground and curling her arms awkwardly over her chest, stealingtiny, self-conscious glances under her lush eyelashes of his approachingfigure. There was intensity in his eyes, their calm baby blue shadecontradicting with the tsunami of foreign emotions his stare dedicated to heronly, and Betty felt herself losing any sense of her surroundings under suchearth-shattering connection.

“Well, I’ve never saw anyone shut Reginald Mantle Jr. up in a merematter of seconds and with such excessive vocabulary. Impressive, truly.” She heard his voice for the first time,directing her fully as if no one else was occupying the planet but her, and shefelt her insides clench at its thick tone, soothing yet husky enough to painther fantasies of him with even more appraising colors, and his stare that heldsomething new, something that she had never experienced before in anyinteraction with the opposite sex. She was sure her cheeks were instantlyvibrant red. And his lips trembled in a tiny smirk because he noticed.

He then turned to his friends, shifting subtly to become a human barrierbetween them and the timid looking girl. “And I thought you, dickheads,” the offensive word wascolored with a mild annoyance along with the usual endearment such insults heldin the bro word “knew how to treat a lady.” His tone was castigating and hisposture tall and imposing but Betty never felt threatened by it, only stronglycared for and protected. Faint murmurs echoed to her left and she dared to peekat the boys next to her, seeing them, to her amazement, drop their heads to theground in remorse and uneasiness. Her speculations that he was the alpha of thegroup were correct and the blonde girl felt a strange heat ignite at the depthsof her, up until now, dull existence.

“We lack some sunshine here at the Southside. It’s a shame if we pushher away.” He offered her a sexy boyish smirk, thick raven waves playing hideand seek with his mischievous eyes and Betty almost lost her footing, meltedright there on the dirty playground, as she felt a trembling sigh puffing herchest in girly delight.

“C’mere.” He nodded towards his direction, adorably sweet if she dared sayso, jerking his head to the side and effectively pushing his hair out of hiseyes. “I’ll walk you to the bridge.” Heoffered, staring down at her intensely again.

Betty’s cheeks heated up once more and her fingertips went numb fromnervous excitement. “It’s fine, I’ll—” she stuttered lamely but he cut her off.

“I promise I’m not a serial killer.” There was evident teasing in histone, her looking at him like a cute deer caught in the headlights that amusedhim to no end. “Plus, I don’t bite.” He went on cockily, straightening up hisboard shoulders. “Not without permission at least.” There was a wink again, oneof those completely sinful ones that only he could master, and Betty’s will toobject vanished in a heartbeat at the innuendo, jelly legs shyly brining her tohis side like she was compelled.

He gave her a full smile this time, a pleased one that she reciprocatedwith a tiny smirk, and made a grand gesture with his arms for her to go firstin gentlemanly politeness, the blonde infatuated girl nudging her cheek againstthe denim of her shoulder to hide her raging blush, biting her lip to preventher giddy smile from spreading widely on her face. There were some faintwhistles of appreciation and teasing from the other males, him flicking thestub of his cigarette towards their direction in fake warning mixed withswaggering pride, and Betty would have been uneasy under the attention, if itwasn’t for his hand landing respectfully between her shoulder blades, givingher a gentle push. His large palm sent shivers down her spine, despite thelayers of clothing, and Betty was sure she was going to die at some point downtheir small walk to the bridge.

There were some minutes of silence filled with only the sounds of naturearound them, Betty making her pace a little slower than usual on purpose,wanting to prolong the unexpected encounter and the delicious tightness in herchest, and him falling into a lazy pace next to her, shoving his bony fingerscasually into the pockets of his ripped skinny jeans. She was observing theirfootwear as she was trying to control her raging heart and sweaty palms, whitesneakers contradicting with black leather boots, her round green eyesappreciating his long strides opposite her multiple small steps. Withoutactually thinking, she spoke up.

“You know, I don’t really go around acting like a bitch.” Betty for somereason wanted to clarify. “Or having late night strolls with strangers for thatmatter.” She went on cleverly, letting her eyes run up his lean physic to landon his handsome profile, her heart skipping a beat at the pretty smirk he wassporting.

“Figured.” He shrugged casually. “You’re practically oozing good girlcharm.” The words rolled around a teasing grin that got wider as he heard herscoff, his eyes playfully catching hers and making her swing lightly on herheels at the contact. “But you should, if the effect is that spectacular.” Heturned back in front, getting serious and almost tired as he continued. “Somepeople need a reminder to shut up; their idiocy is killing me day by day.” Hesighed.

Betty frowned, a silly grimace of confusion wrinkling her stunningfeatures. “You realize that we’re talking about one of your friends, right?”she huffed amused.

He chuckled with no sound, shaking his head. “Reggie is a good guy, allof them are. And I love him as a brother; we are brothers in every sense of the word.” There was a softer tonein his voice, an undeniable affection, and Betty caught herself smiling atthat. “So” he trailed off, offering her a jaunty side glance, “that gives meall the more right to call him out on the fact that he lacks courtesy and sufficientbrain cells.” His sardonic remark surprised her and she let a rather loudgiggle, him sending her a charming smile that caused her to bite her lip againat the way her stomach dropped in newfound desire, the blue shade of his eyesdarkening a tad at her reaction. Silence fell between them again, both snappingtheir heads down and in front to avoid the contact, the magnetic pull andsexual tension between them way too much to handle.

“And it’s Jones, Jughead Jones.” He suddenly exclaimed, gaining herattention back effectively. “In case you didn’t want us to be strangersanymore.” The raven haired boy offered in all his self-conscious glory, earninga raised eyebrow in return.

“Jughead?” Betty wondered incredulouslyabout the absurd nickname.

“Trust me, the real one is wayworse.” He snorted loudly. “My parents hate me; it’s strongly established sinceday one.”

“Well, it’s unique.” She shrugged a shoulder, secretly liking how itrolled over her tongue and matched his unique aura. “Cue in here my own boringname—” she sighed in exasperation but she didn’t get the chance to introduceherself.

“Betty Cooper. I know.” The boyish smile that he wholeheartedly sent herway, pleased and even shy, was all it took for the girl to completely gospiraling to another universe filled with sparkly love hearts and cupid arrows.

Luckily, self-preservation was still a thing at the back of her numbbrain. “Are you stalking me or something?” she grimaced in panic and horror.

Jughead laughed lightly at how adorable she looked, a reaction sobizarre in coordination with his dark parade looks. “Contrary to popularbelief, the fact that I belong in a sovereign motorcycle club doesn’t make menecessarily a pervert.” He reminded her cleverly, raising both his eyebrows.

She bit her lip again,embarrassed this time. “I’m sorry.” She murmured guiltily.

He momentarily focused his eyes on her trapped rosy lip; he just couldn’tresist. “It’s fine.” He sighed a little out of this world before shaking hishead to snap out of the hormonal reverie the preppy blonde seemed to drown himinto with just a simple lip bite.

“You’re a teacher down at our elementary school.” His tone turned aloofagain, him falling a step behind her to catch a scrunched soda can with thesole of his boot, kicking it idly back and forth between his feet while walking.“People on the Southside talk too,you know. Leggy blonde princess joyfully bouncing around in our underworld?That’s not a sight we enjoy every day.” Jughead informed her ingeniously, blueorbs momentarily enjoying the view of her killer legs in front of him andnaughty smirk curling his lips as he dropped them back to the rolling aluminum againsthis feet.

“You mean gossip.” She spatthe word with venom, twirling graciously along with the hem of her blue skirtto face him, Jughead appreciating the action and enjoying the way she took somebouncing steps backwards, high ponytail swinging in a silly fashion, before thetip of her sneaker kicked his shoe, stealing control of the useless can. Hehuffed at the challenge. “The perks of living in an awfully small town, I guess…”She kicked the soda can with venom, sending it flying against the tire of anold Suzuki with a shrieking sound that imitated the scream of frustration hertone was hiding, before regaining hold of it. “And I’m not a teacher; I’m justvolunteering.” She passed him their makeshift ball with a tiny flirty smile.

“Good.” He nodded once, fighting to smile back at her while doing sometricks with his right foot. “Cause I was seriously enraged that our teachers atSouthside High look nothing like you.” Those impish baby blues was on heragain, a single curly strand of hair falling effortlessly over them and Bettygiddily squirmed under his stare and the sexual undertone of his words.

“Damn, those first graders are lucky.” He sighed deeply, completelyinfatuated, and she suddenly felt his hot breath next to her ear, creatinggoosebumps against her skin, as he teasingly maneuvered his body in front ofher, pretending that her shapely legs were a tantalizing soccer goal beforekicking the can in between them, successfully scoring with a naughty grin. Theaction surprised her and she stumbled over his combat boots, hands flying offher sides in reflex and landing on his hard chest over the soft material of hisdark blue flannel in an attempt not to fall face first on the asphalt. What shecame face to face was a pair of piercing eyes, long gone their playfulness, andtwo wet, chapped lips, parted and exhaling once heavily at the impact, his ownhand reaching under her bomber jacket, gripping her hipbone to steady her,thump lightly grazing the soft skin her cropped cheerleading shirt leftuncovered. He smelled of nicotine and heady cologne, a scent that she now cravedon her bedsheets, and she of sensuous jasmine and fruit gums that had himurging to taste, drink greedily until there wasn’t a hint left on her bubblegumlips. Her Bambi eyes were round against his hazy ones that dropped instantly toher mouth, driven by some spell that was pulling him in, closer and closer,dizzy by the way she trembled against him and the tip of her tongue that cameto highlight the shimmery lip gloss that all this time was titillating hismind. His lips ghosted over hers, her eyelashes fluttered close, both theirhearts started thudding violently. But a dog barked loudly in the distance andstartled them, bodies jumping in fright and breaking their amorous bonds, amoment of magic forever lost.

Jughead was the first one to take a step back, giving her space, herface and heart dropping in disappointment.

“What grade are you in?” she blurted still light-headed, cursing herselfand biting the inside of her cheek instantly at her dumb word vomit, her stillnon-functioning and always weird brain picking that question instead of something more interesting or suitable tosay. Damn her and her inability to flirt like a normal human being.

He sighed, disappointed and frustrated at the interruption too, butletting a breathy chuckle at the odd question. “Senior.” He fell back next toher, both resuming their walk, thankful for the light breeze that helped toease their pumping veins. “And hopefully next year I’ll be somewhere far, faraway.” He wished in longing, taking a deep breath, trying to taste what freedommust feel like.

“I thought you belonged in a sovereign motorcycle club.” Betty quoted himcheekily, earning a half side smirk in amusement from him. “That sounds like amapped up fate to me.” She pointed out with a hint of genuine concern.

“I guess I’m weird.” He shrugged casually. “And I have layers.” Headded, somehow vulnerable, focused on his combat boots. “Most people our age inthis lovely, quaint little town, either north or south, are interested inbooze, weed and sex. Well, my only vice is those bad guys.” He took a pack ofred Marlboro out of the pocket of his jacket with a smirk, retrieving acigarette and shoving the packet back in its place before unburying a metalliclighter, his initials and a snake craved on the side.

“Sucks to live here, right?” she watched as he flipped the lid expertlyand flame erupted, lighting the tip of the rolled tobacco, him inhaling astrong drug of poison that made his Adam’s apple bop. Betty gulped at thesight, chest deflating in a hot and bothered fashion.

“Understatement of the year.” Jughead mused in a snarky manor, voice atad raspier as he exhaled a cloud of smoke while licking his bitter lips. Bettyfelt a tingling sensation low in her belly, even though she knew there wasnothing attractive in cigarette reeking guys. Somehow he managed to make eventhat sexy, her mind instantly creating fantasies of him bare-chested, blowingcircles of smoke against her own open mouth.

“Our very own Great Wall restricts me from going any further.” His wordsand abrupt halt of his long limbs next to her snapped her back to reality,Betty blinking a few times to regain consciousness, upon stopping along himright at the start of Sweetwater Bridge, the human structure over the wateryboarder between their town’s rival sides.

“We don’t bite either, you know.” She fidgeted with the hem of herjacket, using his words from before and raising her eyes to witness hisreaction at her idle attempt to flirt.

He chuckled, bringing the cigarette to his lips. He inhaled, locking hiseyes on hers, before exhaling, blue orbs turning sly and intense once again. “Well,I have a feeling you do.” Sexy and mysterious, he managed to fuel the red onher cheeks and the tingles in her chest, a view that he rather enjoyed. “Have a good night and stay away from trouble,alright slugger?” Teasingly, he pointed a warning finger at her.

Betty snorted a giggle, voice soft and sweet when she spoke again. “Goodnight.Thanks for walking me here.” She offered him a wide, dashing smile that gluedhim in place, unable to move, unable to think straight, blinded by the etherealbeauty of the girl in front of him. She ducked her head shyly under his gazeand started to walk away, internally squalling at the plot twist in heruneventful teenage life.

“Hey, Cooper!” His loud voice made her stop and turn back once again,preppy ponytail bouncing in anticipation just like her heart. “Save me anothersmile next time you see me, okay?” Jughead offered her his most gorgeous boyishsmile, laughing eyes, dimples and all, and now it was her time to stay stunned,altering her weight from one foot to the other in girly fashion, as he turnedto head his way with another one of his winks, leaving her staring with rosycheeks and a speeding heart.

The beeping of her phone made her jump, anxious fingers digging in herbag in fear that she was terribly late and the whole North was heading overwith torches and pitchforks led by her parents in an avenging mission.Hopefully, she audibly breathed in relief as a new message from Pollybrightened her screen, her sister’s words bringing back a dumbfounded smile onher lips.

Well, you never know. Give him a chance; he mightsurprise you. 😉

“They are Serpents, snakes.And their place is at the south side slithering in the muddy waters of theirswamp not mingling with us, infecting the town we built from scratch! You knowwhat? They should be thanking us for letting them lurk around our territories.But they are on borrowed time and now it’s our chance to cut off the head ofthose venomous, disgusting reptiles!”

Betty frowned upon pushing open the glass door of Pop’s diner andspotting her far from beloved ex-boyfriend and captain of the football team,Chuck Clayton, in a heated monologue, surrounded by other jocks that looked athim like he was some kind of savior or messiah. Next to the table they occupied,her friends were enjoying dinner and some shakes in their usual booth by thewindow, murmuring what was clear frustration about the aggravated jock. Bettycasually made her way over, avoiding on purpose Chuck’s eyes that rose uponspotting her walk by, and she slid graciously on the empty leather seat next toKevin.

“What is he going on about?” she whispered boringly, dropping herbackpack to the floor and stealing a fry from the plate in the middle, chewinglazily and leaning back more comfortably while resting a leg over Kevin’sthigh, the boy patting her knee in greeting and sympathy that she had brieflydated someone so self-centered and awfully arrogant.

“The Serpents, as always.” Veronica, from the window seat across her,legs on Archie’s lap and arms curled around his neck, whispered back with aneye roll, the redhead nodding once in annoyance too. “Seriously, Chuck” sheturned to the guy on the other table, annoyed “can you take the testosteronedown a notch? We are not intimidated by it, we are not interested in it. Just stop.” The brunette colored the wordwith a fed up huff, closing her eyes to indicate how tired she was of hisprivileged bullshit.

“Just go back to sucking face with Andrews, alright VeLo?” Chucknarrowed his eyes in fake politeness, Archie straightening up inside her embracein defense, earning a soothing pat on his chest by his girlfriend. “Let ushandle the mature stuff as we know best.” The boy went on dead serious, sendinga glance at Betty who scoffed and turned away.

“Yes, of course, bitching and moaning like a spoiled little school girlfor over half an hour is really mature, Chuck, great job.” To Kevin’s otherside, Cheryl deadpanned while focused on polishing her nails a vibrant red,sending the people around her table in a fit of light giggles that the jocksacross them completely ignored, getting back to their heated conversation.

“This is riveting to watch.” Kevin exclaimed in his usual thrilledvoice, eyes sparkling in excitement. “We are the protagonists of Riverdale’smost vexed debate since 1972; should the north side and the south side beunified? Guys, we are making history!” He squeezed Betty’s thigh as he squealedin delight, his best friend smiling fondly at his over-jubilant reaction.

“Kevin” she giggled, patting his hand on her thigh “they are just goingto attend our school for a month. And only the seniors. I highly doubt thatthis is going to change Riverdale’s entire viewpoint overnight.” The blondespoke softly, like giving a life lesson to a five year old, and the alwayscoiffured on point teenager pouted, before turning back to the others.

“Still something is changing.” He insisted, Betty scoffing in amusementnext to him. “Even if it is just the eye candy around campus.” He faced heragain with his laughing eyes and a sweet grin, making it impossible for her andthe rest of his friends not to chuckle at his bright personality.

Tomorrow was going to be a big day for the town of Riverdale. The seniorstudents of Southside High were going to start attending Riverdale High for thetimespan of a month, after a serious incident with their school’s centuries oldcentral heating that resulted to broken water pipes and flooding classrooms. Upuntil the problem was going to be fixed, mayor McCoy had agreed to the studentstransferring to Riverdale high school, a decision that rose heated controversyamongst the residents of the North.

“Things are not looking very good, guys.” The atmosphere around thetable shifted, as Archie untangled himself from Veronica to lean forward andinform them secretly. “Locker room talk has gone to another level and withChuck practically urging every Bulldog on a vigilante mission I’m not sure everythingis going to run as smoothly as the school board thinks.” The boy shared hisconcerns.

“They are not here to cause problems.” Betty voiced with certainty. “I’vebeen to the South over three months now and everyone is just normal, you know,they are normal people.” Her eyes darted over each one of her friends thatdidn’t look very convinced. “Nice, even.” She threw in exasperation, a certaindark haired guy popping immediately in her mind. To her disappointment, shehadn’t seen much of him after that night, only catching his lean posturebriefly as he dropped by the elementary school to pick up his sister, too muchin a haze for them to even lock eyes through the window. Betty was back to herpessimistic usual self, regarding boys and their lack of attraction towardsher, and for some reason this time it hurt a tad more. It didn’t help that herdaydreams of him were now actual dreams too, heated and intimate, leaving herpanting and in a mess of sweat along with damp lace between her legs eachmorning she would wake up with the thought of him, her fingers tracing her fulllips where she could still feel his sensuous breath from that night that he had sether perfect good girl world in flames with just a brush of his intoxicatingnicotine stained ones.

At the exact moment, the bell over the entrance chimed and everyone’seyes rose in curiosity. All conversations stopped, the atmosphere became eerieand cold. Five young Serpents, the five ones Betty had seen multiple timesduring her volunteering hours, were sauntering menacingly inside the smalldinner, leather jackets shinny under the bright neon lights. They looked angry,threatening, and they were headingtheir way with matching heavy steps and stone cold eyes.

“You were saying?” Kevin murmured in panic next to her but Betty tunedhim out, as everything else around her, around him.

Jughead was at the center of the small squad but this wasn’t thehandsome guy she was fawning over from afar nor the charming boy that made herfeel weak in the knees that single night he almost brushed his lips over herinviting ones. His appearance was disheveled, hair not its usual perfectlyimperfect mess but greasy and dirty, the black S t-shirt he had on ripped andbloody under his Serpent jacket with what seemed like oil and asphalt stains onit, his dark jeans dusty and with a hole on his left knee revealing a big,nasty wound that continued hidden up his thigh. His hands were bawled in tight fistson his sides, knuckles bloody red, and his jaw was set, painfully wrinkled likehe was holding back a threatening to explode volcano, his face stone cold andlittered with a couple of scratches on his left cheek and temple, a bloody cuton his lower lip, a mauve bruise peaking under some sweaty dark waves on hisforehead. What had her turning anxious though, terrified even, was his lifelesseyes, their soothing blue shade vanished and their clever glint traded forsomething else, something darker, that promised war and revenge. Bettyshivered; she didn’t know him, their brief encounter was not enough for her toshape an accurate opinion for his character, but deep down she always thoughtthat under his dark exterior he was hiding a golden soul. Now, that his hostileorbs didn’t even spare her a glance but stayed set on the buffed varsitycaptain, she wasn’t so sure.

“Do you consider yourself a clever guy, Clayton?” the Serpents’ leader growledlow in his throat, standing tall and tense next to the seated boy that ignoredhim, draping casually an arm over the back of his booth.

“That’s not even a question.” Chuck offered him a cocky smirk, winkingat some other jocks across him who chuckled at how pathetic those Serpentswere.

“Yes, you are right.” Jughead let a humorless chuckle, clenching andunclenching his jaw and trying to control his trembling hands. “Because there are not two options, just plainno.” he leaned forward, palms flat on the table to spat to his face with venom.“You are a fucking brainless son of bitch that doesn’t even have the decency toman up and admit of his actions.” His voice was controlled, steady, and thatmade his tone even more deadly, Betty fidgeting with her key necklace nervouslybehind them.

Her ex sprung to his feet, growling inches away from the raven hairedboy’s fuming face. “Watch how you talk about me, snake.” He narrowed his eyes and Jughead mimicked him with hatred,both panting angrily like two bulls ready for a face off.

“Did you or did you not pick at the brakes of my bike?” The angrySerpent punctuated every single word sternly, between pants and heavy breaths,really trying to control the boiling lava in his chest. Everyone around themwas holding their breaths, Betty sharing a nervous side glance with Archie.

“Welcome to the neighborhood, pal.” Chuck chuckled darkly and the blondegirl gasped, her mind not being able to even grasp how he could do somethinglike that. She always knew he was an asshole but never imagined he would stoopto that level. Betty’s green orbs darkened with rage too.

Jughead huffed, closing his eyes and trying not to lose it, animpossible task since all he could see was red. “I will fucking crash you” he spat murderously “I promise you, this is thelast time you get to joke around with your buddies while playing with any ofour lives.” His voice reached a higher octave, sealing his promise with agravely look and turning to walk away, not trusting himself with beingcivilized anymore and hating indulging into any form of violence.

“Guess I should have cut those breaks off completely.” He heard behindhim Chuck and his teammates erupt in loud laughter, some hi-fiving their leaderin delight.

Jughead stopped dead in his tracks and huffed in fuming rage, lickinghis lips slowly, teeth itching to draw blood. In one swift movement, Chuckcollided with the wall with a loud and painful thud that had the other Bulldogsspring to their feet and the rest of the Serpents lashing forward in warning,both sides ready to assist their leaders, Jughead’s hands fisting the otherboy’s letterman jacket and his irate face being inches away from his as he spatwith venom.

“You may not give a damn about me and, trust me, the feeling is mutual”his eyes were seeking to burn him alive under their furious stare “but rightnow there’s a terrified eleven year old, banished from your precious expensivehospital and with an ugly cast around her throat, that could have been killedinstantly if her head landed a few inches closer to the pavement.” Veronica andCheryl gasped in horror, Kevin brought a hand to his mouth in shock andArchie’s murmured “Jesus, Chuck” wasin utter disgust. Betty could feel her chest tightening, her lips in a thin lineas she was shooting daggers to the prick she used to call her boyfriend, nailsurging to pierce the skin of her palms in frustration and then claw his eyesout with her bloody fingers. “So, shoveyour cocky remarks up your ass and don’t push me today or, so help me God, I willend your football career in a fucking blink.” His wrath was lethal, the boneson his jawline flexing in a way that screamed danger and Chuck had hopefullythe good sense just to shove him hard backwards, freeing himself.

“Go back to mud, Jones.” He yelled and nodded towards the door. “Otherwise,this is only the beginning.”

Jughead’s trembling fingers took hold of a beer bottle from the jocks’table. The glass crashed against the wall violently, inches away from thequarterback’s face who ducked expertly to avoid it, the teens around themletting a panicky shriek at the cracking sound.

“Hey!” Pop emerged from the kitchen, before things would escaladefurther. “If you wanna resolve your differences, you do it out of my shop. Orelse I’m calling the police.” The elder man warned, far from his usualkind-hearted demeanor, and Jughead raised his arms in surrender, beforestriding in angry swagger out of the diner, his gang members following behindhim while throwing deadly looks to the Bulldogs that started barking inhostility.

Betty didn’t even think twice as she flew out of the booth and stompeddetermined behind them, completely ignoring the confused looks from herclassmates.

“Wait!” she shouted once outside, ankle boots clicking stubbornly andsparkly eyes trained upon the back of Jughead’s head, his raven waves fallingto the side as he turned sharply at her loud call. He frowned at her, deeplines painting the middle of his forehead but stilled his movements, giving anod to his friends to go ahead without him. They complied, sending some weirdlooks to the blonde that came to a halt in front of their leader, before movingfurther away to wait for him next to their bikes.

“Chuck is the asshole.” She spoke in fury, her own fists now clenched ather sides. “Why are you the one leaving?” she demanded, tilting her chin up,fed up with how unfair the situation was.

Jughead huffed in fake amusement at her silly words, looking over herhead where her friends and his rivals were watching them closely through thediner’s windows. “I’m not welcomed here. Nor will I ever find my right heretoo.” He made a face in clever arrogance.

Betty’s gaze dropped to his appearance, concern coloring her voice. “Isyour sister okay? Do you need help?”

“Thanks, but we had enough of all of you.” The guy offered in bittersarcasm.

“You’re hurt too.” She pointed out with a heavy heart, the pads of herfingertips instinctively touching the corner of his mouth next to the deepwound there.

Jughead was taken aback by the move, his own hand grabbing her wrist inreflex, a little more forcefully than intended, not being familiar withaltruistic gestures of affection. His rough action caused her to stumbleforward, letting an audible gasp of shock at the close proximity and the heatradiating from his hard body and tempered mood. Betty felt electricity shootingthrough her veins as their eyes connected for the first time, his stormy andhers gentle, and her lips parted on their own accord, driven by the force thatwas always there between them. From up close she could see clearly the resultsof the accident, not only the physical ones but the ones imprinted in his soul,his terrified agony about his sister, his guilt that if something would havehappened to her it was all his fault. A sigh trembled against her lips, warminghis nicotine laced ones.

He wanted to kiss her again, even more than he did that night that sheinvaded his world of darkness and highlighted it with splashes of lush golden. Buthe was angry at the world they were living in, at the assholes of her kind, atthe assholes of his, at his own self, at her, at her crystal clear eyes thathad the ability to pierce right through his tortured soul. He couldn’t handlethe intensity of the moment so he took a step back, dropping her arm as violentlyas he had taken hold of it. It fell numbly to her side, the girl blinkingrapidly to regain her calm and steady her ferociously beating heart.

“I can manage.” He replied coldly, the small patch of skin that brieflystayed under the softness of her fingertips still burning.

Betty curled her arms over her chest, trying to hold her body fromshaking under the force of his presence, before whispering in horror. “What hedid is attempted homicide. You should go to the police.” She advised him seriously,eyes pleading and voice almost breaking at the weight of her words and the whatif behind them.

“Right…” Jughead scoffed, running his fingers through his hair. “And whodo you think objective and unprejudiced Sheriff Keller will believe?”his tone and choice of adjectives oozed dark sarcasm, eyes narrowing venomouslyupon continuing with the hard truth. “Thelost cause of a guy from the wrong side of the tracks or your precious goldenboy? Hm? Answer me.” He challenged, board shoulders hunched in a desperatemanor as he towered over her, moving some threatening inches closer again, amix of desire and anger making him want to push her to the nearest wall andravish her in the roughest of ways.

Betty’s strong will wavered under his imposing posture, eyes dropping tothe small distance between them and the bloody stains of his t-shirt, a sightrembling on her lips at the way he was invading her personal space andconquering more and more ground. “You are not a lost cause.” She breathed in a steadfastwhisper. “You have witnesses, I can come with too, I’m sure my friends will alsoagree to help—” she started brainstorming but he cut her off, his bony, bloodand mud stained fingers grabbing a strong hold of the soft cashmere sweater onher shoulders, leaving a mark to contradict its white purity.

“I am not one of those polished, preppy boys you hang out with, youunderstand that?” Jughead raised his voice, highlighting the words with enoughrage that shocked her, her body shaking like a rug doll under his grip. “I’m abad guy and bad guys deal with their businesses on their own, the way they wereraised with.” He spoke inches away from her lips and Betty could almost tastethe bitterness in her own mouth, her eyes filling with fat, sullen tears at thecoldness of his tone and the pools of blue that felt icier than ever. He shouldhave felt bad at being responsible for shadowing the most beautiful pair ofeyes he had ever seen in his life, and a part of him did broke at the sight, but he wouldn’tshow it, he couldn’t get attached. Dark necessities were part of his design,she wouldn’t understand. “So save me your good girl musings and let me be. Goback to your pastel world, Cooper. This is reality.”

And with that he was gone, Betty stumbling back as he freed her from himwith force, watching him behind a blurry cloud of tears while he hopped onReggie’s bike without sparing her a second glance. The engine accelerated witha roar, a roar that matched the painfully breaking of her heart and Bettyremembered why she didn’t believe in fairytales after all.

Did you hear?

Those Serpents are dangerous!

Something happened yesterday at Pop’s.

I bet they started it.

Chuck didn’t say a word.

Clayton almost killed him.

Maybe that Serpent was worth it.

Maybe we all need to stop.

“Small town likes its drama, huh?” Veronica hummed around her paper cupof her coffee, pushing the passenger door of Betty’s white Mini Cooper closedwith her hip, and taking a seat on its shinny hood as her best friend gatheredher school stuff for the day. The city girl, even though living in Riverdalefor two years now, couldn’t still get used to this mentality of petty gossipand ugly prying, her chocolate eyes watching in disgust the teens around hergathered in small circles, being all hush-hush and curiously looking her andBetty’s way.

“Ignore them, it never goes away.” The blonde sighed, locking herparents’ early gift for her seventeenth birthday, and coming over to join herwhile perching her backpack on her shoulder. She knew the incident at Pop’syesterday would be front page material for their school community; there wasnothing new about that and she didn’t care. Not when she still had a heavyheart and an ugly knot in her chest caused by the Serpent’s stone cold eyesthat haunted her.

“Are you okay, B?” her best friend asked in concern, perfect eyebrowsknitting together.

“Yeah, yeah, just tired. Stayed up late for a history paper.” She liedexpertly, plastering a fake smile on her glossy lips.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right? Veronica Lodge isnever judgy.” she went on playing indifference and taking another sip of herlatte. “Not when it comes to hot boys, at least…” she sent her a glare over herbrown cup.

Betty just raised an eyebrow, faking ignorance.

“Oh don’t play dumb with me, Betty Cooper.” Veronica scolded her with aswat of her perfect manicured fingers. “That smokeshow of a Serpent, the darkhaired, Holden Caulfield one…” she nudged the side of her calf with the tip ofher designer heel, giggling around the words in girly delight. “Come on B, Isaw the way you two were looking at each other. Or should I say practicallyundressing each other?” she smirked naughtily.

“That’s nothing!” Betty’s signature blush colored her whole face and thebrunette gasped in excitement, ready for more juicy details. “That’s—” she wenton to clarify that nothing had happened between them but her eyes caught Kevinand Cheryl practically sprinting to join them, both flustered, and she grabbedVeronica’s arm in alarm. “Don’t say anything just—hey, guys!” she chipped incheerfully, relieved that the other girl got the message and turned to greetthem too with a happy smile.

However, none of them was interested in polite pleasantries. “They arecoming.” Kevin said with difficulty, panting like he had ran a marathon withCheryl next to him nodding vigorously with wide, intrigued eyes. Betty frownedin confusion. “With bikes and leather, emerging from a cloud of gas smoke.They. Are. Coming.” He pointed out every word with fascination, grabbing hisfriend by the shoulders and turning her suddenly to the direction of theschool’s driveway right on time as loud motorcycle engines could be heardapproaching.

It was like those slow motion scenes in action movies. Amongst grey gassmoke, five beasty motorcycles in a triangle formation shined under the gloomymorning glow, their black color polished and threatening imposing and theirsilver details on the sides glistering like sharp blades of lethal weapons. Thefive riders were hidden behind black futuristic helmets that gave them an airof mysterious danger, all of them dark, brash, like avenging fallen angels inall their black attire glory and their matching snake jackets as a proud war symbolover their muscular shoulders. Only one was standing out from the others, thefirst one at the top of their pyramid, as a bloody red plaid shirt was hangingfrom his hips, swaying like a red flag against the wind provocatively. Evenwithout it, Betty knew that behind the helmet it was him, guiding his people to the path of victory.

Everyone was looking at the spectacular show mesmerized, like time hadstopped and all hell had broken lose, sending its devils on hot wheels to giveanother meaning to the definition of sin. Three of the bikes speeded in frontdoing an impressive wheelie whereas the other two, Jughead’s and the one on itsright that Betty guessed it was Reggie’s, drove in a deadly circle before theystarted drifting around each other, creating a heavy cloud of smoke and aroaring commotion of complaining engines, tires getting burnt against theasphalt with chill rising squealing. Kevin let a breathy yes of excitement, whereas the girls around him simultaneouslydropped their heads to the left, mouths agape, lightheaded and shocked by theshow. The two motorbikes came to an abrupt, violent but controlled halt thatmade Betty jump out of her sexual haze, as Jughead, still on the bike, took offhis helmet and shook his dark mane in manly fashion, before running a handcovered with a fingerless leather glove over his hair, trying to soothe backhis messy waves. Betty caught herself biting her lip, too hooked and turned onto even blink, her anger and disappointment at him and his tone last nightmagically vanishing.

“Well, hello Mr. Ride Me Good.” Cheryl’s sultry purr made Betty snap outof her daze and squirm awkwardly on her place, toying with her key necklace andtrying to control her heating body and raging hormones. Something that Cheryldidn’t even bother with, since she was openly eye-sexing the Serpent leader, afiery red lock getting twirled around her manicured fingers and a sly smirkcurling her matching full lips.

“Damn, this bad boy got moves, right B?” Veronica mused, dragging hereyes from the guy in question to land them teasingly on her best friend. Bettyjust gulped, green orbs practically glued on him, as he manly high-fived Reggieand hopped off his bike, draping a brown messenger bag over his shoulder.

“Down, girl.” Cheryl demanded, throwing a side glance to the brunettebehind her. “You can look at the menu all you want but you have your own gingerstallion to ride to oblivion.” She scolded her and Veronica gasped a chuckle infake offence. “This black tiger is mine.”

Betty felt a hint of jealously at the comment but it didn’t last long asshe got distracted again by the guy at the front of the Serpent squad that wasnow making its way to the school entrance. Walking with a sex-oozingconfidence, red flannel swinging on his sides, shoulders rolled back proudly,raven locks over his eyes and the marks of yesterday’s accident still evidenton his face like battle scars, he turned swiftly to the side and connected hiseyes with hers, soothing blue this time and cleverly agile just like she liked,sending her one of his charming winks that she had terribly missed, beforeturning his attention back to his friends and disappearing inside the building.

“Elizabeth Anne Cooper, didyou see that?!” Kevin’s elated gasp next to her ear startled her, the boyshaking her arm in glee at the promiscuous interaction he had just witnessed,his female friend trying to calm her dizzy head and fluttering heart.

“That’s unfair!” Cheryl exclaimed loudly. “How is Betty always stealingthe good ones?” she turned to face them, hands thrown in exasperation. “Minus,Chuck; Chuck is a mega asshole.” She went to clarify with a bitchy shrug.

Kevin came to stand next to her, placing a finger on his chin in thoughwhile examining the blonde. “The good girl vibe? The doe eyes? The shy in thestreets, sexy in the sheets smile maybe?” He listed in a thrilled tone ofvoice, spending suspense around the idea of solving the riddle that was BettyCooper.

The girl in question rolled her eyes, letting a breathy chuckle. “He isjust a cocky gang member. I’m sure he meant nothing by it.” She shrugged likeshe didn’t care at all, even though she could practically feel her bloodpumping in her veins fueled by adrenaline. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, some ofus have an honor roll academic career that would like to maintain.” She threwin a fake stuck-up tone, teasing them and offering them a cute pretentiousgirly wave before turning to drag her feet lazily to Biology class.

“Low blow, Cooper!” Betty heard Cheryl shout from behind her. “Add tenmore squats for you on today’s cheerleading practice!” she turned and took hertongue out at her, laughing when she saw the redhead giving her the fingerbefore giggling too.

Betty’s happy smile stayed on her lips until she reached her first classof the day. Barely taking two steps inside, her palms became sweaty again asshe spotted Jughead and three of his friends at the back of the classroom,childishly playing with the skeleton model at the corner, ignoring the staresfrom the rest of the students around them. Betty made it to her seat, aware ofJughead’s eyes on her, but didn’t raise her head to acknowledge him, notwanting to appear like a girl that could turn into putty with just one of hissilly boyish games. Even though she totally was.

The teacher came soon after, students scrambled around to get to theirseats, and a pack of red Marlboro dropped on her desk and startled her, Bettysnapping her head up in question and catching him smirking at her whiledropping on an empty desk further to her left. She raised an eyebrow,delicately taking hold of the empty packet and bringing her hands to rest onher lap to shield the unexpected gift from any prying eyes. On the lid “open me” was written in black neathandwriting that surprised her and Betty did so intrigued, only to find a smallpiece of paper and a single cigarette. Unfolding the paper, she read:

“I’m sorry about yesterday. Meangry is not a walk in the park. I snapped at you with no reason when all youwanted was to help. I’m an asshole, I know this much. But as I later understood”there was an arrow pointing to the cigarette before the rest of the words were inbrackets “(this lone bad guy in the abyssof the empty packet represents me perfectly and will explain everything betterthan I ever will)” Betty grimaced to hide the smile that was threatening tocurl on her lips at his charismatic self, as her slender fingers pulled out thewhite roll, now littered with black handwriting all around too “I have grown another vice than smoking andthat is pretty blondes with sweet eyes and a sharp tongue. So, for the sake ofmy addicted self, can you offer me the smile you’ve been saving for me?”There was a tiny smiley face at the end and this did it, it brought a big andlovesick smile on her face, Betty biting her lip at his actions and the way he wasmaking her feel. Sure, they would have more to talk about but this was a nicefirst move from his part for reconciliation.

“Oh no, I’m not having you all gathered at one side.” Mrs. Porter’svoice pierced through her ears and Betty focused her eyes up to see what thedeal was about, the teacher talking to the Serpents that were all paired uptogether in one row. “New students mingle with the old ones, I want diversitypairs.”

Betty gathered her stuff and swiftly plopped into the seat next toJughead, the boy looking at her with a surprised smirk.

“What?” she huffed incredulously. “You are an jackass” he bounced hishead back in amusement at her curse word while she shrugged “but I’m forgivingso…” she turned to him and sighed before curling her lips in the most dashing,purely authentic Betty Cooper smile. Jughead nodded in understanding, a faintblush creeping on his cheekbones, taking his pen and writing something on heropened notebook.

What a deadly vice you are, Cooper.

“I’m starting a newspaper.”

Spotless white sneakers slid on the cement ground next to him andJughead smirked as he looked up from his slouching position near earth level. Bendedknees in a low squat and face to face with the silver exhaust pipe of his bike,he was ceremoniously dusting it and checking its condition at the parking lotof Riverdale High at a rather warm morning in the north side of town. However,every ounce of concentration over his task at hand vanished into thin air themoment that specific pair of long, killer legs appeared on his peripheralvision. Betty sex-on-legs Cooper.

“I thought your folks had one.” He addressed her, squinting under therich sunrays that created a halo of golden light around her ethereal beauty.She was leaning at the seat of the bike, the dark leather being complimented bythe porcelain skin of her toned thighs as the hem of her brown skirt had risenfrom its modest place a little under her mid-thigh, her left leg bended by theknee and both of them looking like going for miles from the angle he was openlychecking them out. Involuntarily, he licked his lips around his never fading naughtysmirk.

“I’m not talking about a town newspaper, Juggie.” Betty giggled lightly.“I’m starting a kids’ newspaper, at Southside Elementary.” She clarified,straightening up her shoulders proudly.

“Because…?” he dragged the word in confusion, raising his eyebrowsadorably.

“The children I’m helping are getting better and better at reading andwriting but stale learning is gonna turn boring and ineffective in the longrun. So they need something fun and creative to spike their interest andhopefully improve their literary skills even more.” She was speaking withpassion, loving the idea and loving those kids even more. Jughead couldn’t helpbut form a wide grin at her incredible drive and will to contribute in the bestway she could.

“Sounds good, I guess.” Nodding happily up to her, he saw her biting herlip not to break into the biggest smile in the history of smiles.

“It is. It’s innovative and I’m excited.” Her attempt was a lost battleto begin with and she finally beamed down at him. “I talked to the principal,he agrees and he even told me that maybe this will turn into a monthly schoolthing, if the trial is successful.” She gasped in genuine enthusiasm, wigglingher legs lightly while letting a cute little squeal of triumph.

Jughead chuckled; he couldn’t really help himself. “I’m sure it will.Those menaces practically adore you. And I don’t really blame them.”

He winked at her, she nudged her cheek adorably against her shoulder ingirly shyness, biting back a smile. Two weeks had passed since the Serpents startedattending Riverdale High and those two weeks were the best of both theiracademic years. They were lab partners, book club buddies and writingenthusiasts and every day they were growing closer and closer. They were innickname basis; at least Betty was. And she was always Cooper for him. Bettyhad taken a sudden weird liking in her surname and how couldn’t she? Rollingout of his tongue, it was simultaneously the most sacred and sinful thing shehad ever heard.

“Whatcha working on?” she lightly tapped his knee with the side of hersneaker, him wiping his greasy fingers on the rug he was holding before raisingto his full height, eyes following the route of her smooth legs as he did so.That naughty smirked trembled again on his chapped lips.

“Nothing really.” He sighed, abandoning the dirty rug to the side. “Ikeep hearing those tiny metallic noises, I guess I’ll have to check this beautywith Mongoose over at the garage later.” he informed her casually, Bettyknowing pretty much everything about his world at this point, grabbing hold ofhis bag and his leather jacket that were lying next to her on the sponge seat. Hehad a delicious form-fitting ash grey V neck t-shirt on and Betty actually dida subtly double take of his biceps and hard chest with lustful eyes.

“I can take a look if you want.” She said more focused on his bodymuscles than his face, feeling heat creeping up her already rosy cheeks. Uponmoving her disorientated stare back to his witty blue orbs with difficulty andseeing him sending her an amused questioning glare, she went on to explainmatter-of-factly. “My dad and I fix cars together.”

Jughead grimaced in appreciation, draping his jacket over his shoulderin manly fashion. “I’ve never thought you were a greaser kind of girl.” Hisflirty tone, a tone that he usually used around Betty Cooper, started coloringthe edges of his words again, a lopsided smirk of boyish swagger playing on hislips.

Betty bit her lip, eyes shining in playful banter. “Oh, that’s whenyou’re wrong, Jughead Jones.” She shook her head in amusement. “I’m not afraidto get a little dirty sometimes.” Her voice dropped an octave without herplanning to do so and she instinctively leaned forward, green eyes sending hima faux innocent glare under thick eyelashes.

He stepped closer too, smirk intact and the pads of fingertips brushedever so lightly over the hem of her skirt against her thigh, clearly enjoyingthe view. “I like the skirt today, Cooper.” His eyes connected with hers, theirheavy breaths mingling as she tilted her head up, craving more of his presence,more of his touch.

“Well, I can lend it to you sometime if you want.” Betty teased himcleverly, face deadpanned and head angling as she eyed his lips.

“Funny.” He let a breathy chuckle at her dorkiness, bringing his otherhand to play with the hem of her mustard shirt that had fallen over hershoulder, revealing a burgundy lacey bra strap against her prominent collarbone.“But wearing it is not part of my plan.” His lips were inches away from hers,Betty almost whimpering at the close proximity. “For either of us.” He teasedback in a low voice and the blonde swore her bare thighs clenched involuntarilyat his dark tone and full of promises innuendos in a desperate need to makethat boy hers now more than ever.

She felt the bra strap snap with sound against her sensitive skin. Butit wasn’t by his delicate fingers and suddenly, there was someone else’s breathat the swell of her ear. Betty snapped violently back to reality, literallyjumping on her seat.

“Nice one, Betts. Raunchy.” Chuck appeared out of nowhere with avenomous smirk and mood set for trouble, looking between the two teens thatwere caught in an intimate moment seconds ago. Jughead stiffened against her indefense.

“Get off me, Chuck!” She pushed him away by his shoulder, grimace ofutter disgust in her face. “And don’t call me that.” She warned with fury inher eyes.

“I’m just appreciating the change in wardrobe.” He shrugged in astandoffish manner. “Pink was not really your color.” Curling his arms over hisbuff chest, his coal eyes roamed over her body in a way that always made herfeel uncomfortable.

Betty’s glare at him turned cold as ice. “We both know that you neversaw anything.”

“Well, maybe this is a subtle plea for me to do so this time. I’m alwaysup for it, babe. All you have to do is ask.” The varsity captain exclaimed witha grand hand gesture, relishing in the fake status points his letterman jacketwas offering him.

“This is over, Chuck. I ended it.” The blonde girl pointed out bravely. “Howmany times do I have to remind you that I broke up with you?” she threw to hisface, doe eyes narrowing menacingly and nails digging in the leather of theseat she was resting on, trying to control her anger.

Chuck returned her hostile glare. “Yeah, and look where that decisiongot you.” He whispered, mean and bitter, leaning forward to bring his faceinches away from hers. “Turning into nothing more than a Southside slut.” He spat each word with hatred, the insult at theend accompanied by one of his cold and presumptuous side smirks.

Betty didn’t get the chance to reply. Jughead, that all this time was inthe background engaged in a battle of control with his boiling range, lashedforward, his fist colliding hard with Chuck’s jaw with an audible sound of bonesbreaking. His blasphemous words made him see red, sending the jock flying tothe ground and jumping over him, straddling his abdomen as he started throwingpunch after punch on his face. Betty was screaming for them to stop, peoplewere starting to gather around murmuring and snapping pictures and Archie withReggie rushed through the crowd to get Jughead off the laying boy, only forboth of them to be shoved back angrily by the blinded with rage raven hairedguy as he kept beating the crap out of his rival, crackling bones brutally andteaching him a good lesson for disgracing the perfection that was Betty Cooper.

“Hey! HEY!” the principal’s voice echoed loudly, as he quickly emergeddown the stairs and to the crowd of people in the middle of the parking lot. Grabbingthe Serpent’s shoulder, he detached him violently from Chuck that sprung to hisfeet in a bloody mess. “Mr. Jones, in my office now!” Weatherbee shouted to theboy with the blood stained knuckles and angrily panting chest.

“What?!” Betty snapped, stepping between the principal and the defenderof her honor. “Jughead didn’t do anything wrong! Chuck was the one sexuallyharassing me!” she exclaimed urgently.

“Jones lashed out on me, I was in self-defense.” Chuck hollered, likethe spoilt brat he was.

“Mr. Jones, with me.” The principal insisted.

The disheveled raven haired guy let a dark chuckle, curtly brushing histhump over his lower lip, wiping the blood there. “No need. I’m perfectly awareof the verdict.” He took some smoldering steps backwards, sending anapologizing and sullen glance to Betty, before turning around to walk away withheavy, fuming footsteps.

“Detention for the whole week, Mr. Jones!” the elder man in chargeshouted over his back. “I’ll see you after class.”

“This is ridiculous!” Betty complained in a high-pitched voice. “Chuckis walking around disrespecting girls and you are going to completely ignore itbecause what? He is the coach’s son?” she was starting to get furious herselfnow, demanding equality and justice for the wrongly punished boy.

“Ms. Cooper, I advise you to lower your voice and watch your tone, ifyou don’t want to face the same fate as Mr. Jones.” Weatherbee warned her withstern eyes behind his glasses.

“Brilliant!” the teen huffed. “Should I stay silent while being treatedwith misogyny? Is that what you’re implying here, Mr. Weatherbee?” she narrowedher pretty eyes at him incredulously, always ready to fight for her rights.

The principal sighed, turning to the other party of the argument. “Mr.Clayton, care to explain yourself?”

“I was just pointing out how Betty’s shirt was way too low on hershoulders for school grounds.” Now supplied with some paper towels, her explayed the golden boy card, looking her straight in the eyes. “Can you blame usthen if we get distracted and tempted, sir?” He ended his sexist statement witha cocky smirk and the girl actually lashed forward to attack him with a lowgrowl, only for the principal to block her view.

“That’s enough, Mr. Clayton.” He cut him off, wanting to relieve thetension. “Ms. Cooper, I would like you to put on your jacket or change into adifferent shirt.” He suggested in his authoritative voice again.

“What?! This is absurd!” Betty resented, eyebrows knitted together in apainful frown, hands bawled to her sides in fists and trembling from anger.

“You know we have a policy regarding wardrobe that is offensive orprofane. And any student should respect that policy.” He reprimanded her.

“I’m wearing a mini skirt and you are telling me that a patch of skin aroundmy collarbone along with a bra strap is tantalizing the male popularity?” she almostyelled in disbelief and at how ludicrous all these sounded.

“The length of your skirt is approved by the school’s dress code. Thehint of undergarment is not.” Conservative and narrow-minded, the elder manrecited as if reading straight out of the school’s protocol charter.

“Well, it’s not my fault my male classmates are that stupid to not know thatunder my shirt were actual female breasts, before I came to school sporting avisible bra strap.” Betty deadpanned, holding her ground proudly with fierygreen eyes, sending the students around her in a unified fit of shocked gasps.

“Ms. Cooper!” principal Weatherbee hissed in offence. “Show somemodesty! You either change the shirt or you are gaining detention. For amonth.” He gave her an ultimatum in a strict, warning tone of voice.

“You want me to lose the shirt?” the teen challenged, feeling her handsclench in fists at the curt nod of the man in charge of their school community.“Fine.” She shrugged casually and with one swift movement she crossed her handsat the hem of her shirt, taking it off her body and throwing it to the ground next to the bewildered principal, a wave of camera flashes and disbelievingbuzzing rising around them.

“How’s this for modesty?” Chin up and shoulders rolled back proudly,showing off her bra and her nature that she was supposed to be ashamed for, Betty’sdetermination didn’t faze under Weatherbee’s furious stare or her classmates’murmurs of disapproval and scrutiny.

“Don’t bother showing up here again for a week, Ms. Cooper. You’re suspended.”He shouted in his usual authoritative tone of voice, completely appalled fromthe behavior of one of the school’s star students.

“Oh, I wasn’t planning to. Indulging in a chauvinistic and racistenvironment is something I’m better off.” Grabbing Jughead’s Serpent jacketthat was long forgotten on the ground and throwing it over her topless torsocontemptuously, she grabbed both their bags and followed his trail away fromthe crowd, mentally flicking her middle finger to the narrow-minded mentalitythat was Riverdale.

Jughead watched as his fingers drummed over the beige plastic incoordination with the torturous ticking of the wall clock over the white board.The book he was pretending to read, even though his favorite, was proving to bea rather unsuccessful form of distraction from the dullness of the emptyclassroom and his still turbulent level of anger. With long limps crossed atthe ankles and sprawled under the desk he occupied at the further back of theroom, the raven haired troublemaker was hiding behind the hard copy of hisbook, thankful that at least Weatherbee was occupying himself with somepaperwork and not holding him under his scrutinizing and accusatory gaze. Thatdidn’t mean he felt less uneasy with the situation; getting detention becauseof an illiterate dumbass like Chuck Clayton was the epitome of wasting time. Thereason behind his outburst though, in the form of a blonde, doe eyed vision,was making him wonder why he wasn’t still there at the hallway breaking a fewmore bones of his in sweet revenge.

Weatherbee announced that he needed some files from his office. Jugheadexhaled the deep breath he was holding as the door closed behind the elder manwith a soft click. However, he once again sucked in a breath when it re-openedand in sneaked no else than Betty Cooper, sporting her most persuasive coyexpression and his own Serpent jacket. His eyes almost rolled at the back ofhis head at the sight.

“I thought I’ve lost that by now.” Sliding up to sit more straight onthe uncomfortable wooden chair, Jughead’s lips formed a sly smile feelingexcitement coil low in his stomach and even an involuntary twitch inside hisskinny jeans. She looked utterly sinful, cheeks rosy and lips prettily pink asalways, her perfect ponytail disheveled and the black leather adorningher tiny form. It was zipped up a little over her breasts, the material curvingdeliciously over her spectacular female anatomy, and it fell over her hips, thehem of her skirt barely visible over his favorite view, those miles-long legs. TheSerpent could feel his mouth going dry instantly, as she approached.

“Well, good for you, I’m a neat freak.” She threw him a cheerful BettyCooper smile and shook an arm in a dorky fashion, her hand buried inside thelong sleeve, making him chuckle lightly. As soon as their eyes connected though,the atmosphere shifted.

“Please tell me you didn’t get detention too.” He raised an eyebrow inquestion, examining her as she rounded the desk to rest at the edge of it,facing him.

“Well, I got it worse.” Betty shrugged matter-of-factly. “I’m suspendedfor a week.”

Jughead huffed in disbelief. “Because of the prick, Clayton?” he wasstarting to get worked up again.

The blonde shook her head, focusing her round eyes on his knuckles,covered in dry blood now, on his lap. “Because Weatherbee wanted me to take offmy shirt, claiming that it was too distracting for my male classmates.” Shegrimaced at the accusation, words coming out in scoffs at how ridiculous thestatement was. “So I did” she shrugged again “and threw it to his face.” a badass smile started creeping at the edge of her lips and she raised her head to face him, feeling her heart flutter at the heated look of appreciation and male intrigue he was giving her.

“Damn, Cooper” he gasped, teeth chewing on his bottom lip “I wish I could have seen that.” Images of her stripping to her bra in the middle of the school parking lot filled his brain and the primal side of his subconcious cursed him from getting caught up with the Clayton crap and missing such spectacular view. But then he struck him that now, at that very moment, she was naked under his jacket, the jacket that he was sure would be soaked in her scent of jasmine and female delicacy, and his fingers gripped the denim material on his thighs to anchor himself and not lash forward in a frenzy to make her his.

What he couldn’t control was his stare, filled with sexual promises and undertones, that she noticed and blushed prettily under, dropping her eyes shyly to watch her fingers picking at the hem of the leather jacket wrapped around her. Jughead wanted desperately to find out where this natural redness began and where it ended, which parts of her body were scarlet red, rosy, blush and all the rest of the palette of her colors.

“You didn’t have to stand up for me against him.” She went on in a lower voice, changing the subject. “He is a brainlessfuckboy; his insults don’t affect me anymore.” The time when Betty was behaving like a giddy school girl for the attention of the Bulldogs’ captain was long before gone, as well as her tears at his classic bastard behavior during their short-lived fling.

Jughead shrugged, trying to appear aloof and standoffish. “I wasn’t raised to be an idle onlooker. We protect and respect women;it’s a Serpent thing.” It truly was, there was a high morality amongst their clan regarding the protection of women and children.

“No” Betty shook her head, sending him a timid, grateful smile “it’s a Jughead Jones thing.”

“Maybe so.” The smirk that danced over his thin lips was borderline adorable before he turned serious again, blue orbs searching for something on her stunningly beautiful face. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” he finally said this thoughts out loud, his tone of voice turning softer, like the cashmere or silk he was sure always adorned her feminine curves.

Betty’s perfect eyebrows knitted in a heartbreaking fashion, the girl sliding over the desk and closer to him, the side of her calf brushing the side of his knee. “I’m never scared of you.” She promised him truthfully, only admiration and longing intensifying the shade of her green irises. The irises that dropped to his lips, spotting the wound there and worrying about it. “Your scar has opened up.” It was more a whisper of desire than a concerned statement, as she instinctively bent down at him, leaning forward, lips once again inches away from his parted and inviting ones.

“Cooper…” he dragged her surname in a low manly breath, his own eyes dropping to her mouth and the rosy tongue he so badly wanted to graze with his teeth and suck in the abyss of his mouth.

“Jones…” she returned his tone, moving an inch closer.

“You’re playing with fire.” his tone held a subtle warning, an undermined threat, a good girls get burnt by bad boys like him kind of message.

She got the insinuation. And she leaned even closer, lips dancing against his as she sighed in insatiable hunger.

“Good. Burn me alive.”

He didn’t need more encouragement after that. In a swift movement thatsucked the air out of her lungs, Jughead moved forward with an almost painful growl, taking hold of hercheeks and claiming her luscious lips, raw and demanding, drawing a shockedgasp out of them. The force of the movement made her lean backwards, fingersgripping his t-shirt at the sides of his waist, his sinful mouth coaxing hersopen, demanding more, demanding entrance. She granted it of course and histongue invaded the hotness of her mouth with a big exhale of oxygen in the formof a male hiss of appreciation and anticipationthat travelled to all hernerve-endings instantly, causing electricity to shoot through her veins. Astrong arm curled around her waist and lifted her up effortless, Betty’ssurprise squeal rolling from her tongue to his, as the two muscles twirled in awet hurricane of lust, him hoisting her on the desk with a loud thud andsettling between her legs, dropping his hands on her hips and sliding them overthe plastic surface while jerking his own in perfect coordination, her skirtgetting wrinkled between them.

There was a sizeable bulge against the skimpy lace of her panties andBetty dropped her head back at the contact, breaking their kiss to let a filthymoan as his teeth closed around her chin, lips trembling against her flesh in awanton groan at the heat and wetness against the front of his pants. Herfingers twirled the front of his t-shirt, effectively pulling him flat againsther, as he started littering her smooth neck with open mouthed kisses and wet,bruising sucks, her left leg hitching over his side, the heel of her sneakerurging him to grind harder and firmer against her dripping wet center, and herother curling around his knee, keeping him captive between her thighs, aprisoner at her mercy. He was leaving dirty sighs and heavy breaths against thesensitive skin of her collarbone, biting and nibbling and creating love bites ofall shapes and sizes, and Betty was losing her mind, letting high-pitched sighsand moans at a need that she never felt before, an insane urge to rip hisclothes and demand for him to ride her fast and dirty, treat her like his precious, roaringmotorbike.

“I wanted to kiss you since the first time I saw you through thatwindow.” His tongue licked a trail from the dip of her collarbone to her ear,biting the earlobe before growling the words in a whisper and circling his harderection against the place she needed him the most. “You are the most exquisitevision I’ve ever seen in my life.” His hand pulled at her ponytail to suckviolently just under her jawline, Betty writhing and gasping under him, archingher chest against his fingers that were now playing with the zipper of his Serpentjacket.

“I’ve never been this crazy for a guy before.” She whined pathetically, tightening even more the hold of her leg around his hip, feelingher whole body shiver under his skillful ministrations and dominant nature.His bony fingers curled around her chin, forcing her to look at him, as hisother hand started lowering the zipper torturously slow, both their chestspanting hard and their eyes darkening more and more with lust but never backingfrom their passionate stare off. Jughead was the first one to declare defeat asthe leather outerwear loosened around her breasts, him licking his lips at thesight of the two mounts, round, firm and heaving, pushed up mouthwateringly andwrapped in sexy dark burgundy lace for his eyes only.

“God, you’re so sexy.” He hissed sensually, bouncing his head back towatch his large hands caress from the shoulders to her sternum, over herbreasts, her ribs until they settled firmly on her prominent hipbones, Bettyarching under his touch, head rolling heavily side to side as low erotic sighswere leaving her open in wonder lips. His chapped lips came to kiss the topof her right breast and she mewled, then his teeth pulled the flesh at thecurve of the other, right next to the cute little bow at the middle of her bra,making her gasp and buck her hips towards his rolling ones, before he movedfurther down, leaving wet kisses on her flexing stomach, her ribs, her navelthat had her moaning low in her violently rising and falling chest and grippinga fistful of his tantalizing raven waves for dear life.

The ultimate destination was her left hip, Jughead smirking against thebaby blue lacey thong that the misplaced on her waist skirt revealed, before curling hisfingers around it and pushing aside the material for his mouth to linger, partedand watering, against her hipbone. Betty’s eyes snapped open, their green shadedarker than ever before, and she looked down at him, Jughead connecting theirlustful orbs from his place almost between his legs. Opening his lips andsucking loudly her flesh there, she closed his eyes to relish in the feeling offilthily abusing her skin, bringing his teeth to the game and biting hard,sucking and nibbling, the angel underneath him forming the most voluptuousmoans that went straight to his painful now erection that was begging to sinkinto her thrashing body that was created by and for sin. A sultry fuck left her bubblegum pink lips andher head fell backwards as she rested her palms splayed on the desk behind her andJughead almost lost it at the sight of pure and innocent Betty Cooper gettinglost in pleasure with a bad boy like him, a boy that parents always advised good girlsto stay away from. With mouth wide open, silk sweat on the swell of her breasts,the infamous Serpent jacket still draped over her shoulders and legs spreadwide with a patch of soaking wet lace between them though, she was far from the goodgirl everyone was mistaken her for. And that was driving Jughead Jones mad and utterly helpless under her spell.

Once pleased with the large round redness on her skin that would turninto a lovely mauve bruise to compliment all of her other choices of pantiesfor the rest of the week, the raven haired boy let the waistband of her thongsnap back against her hipbone, Betty letting a hiss at the contact of the elastic with herirritated skin, before she watched him running the tip of his tongue in astraight line from her navel all the way up her stomach, the valley of herbreasts, the front of her neck, before shoving it again inside her mouth andtreating her with a wet and lazy make out.

“Jesus, Jughead, what are youdoing to me?” The blonde beauty murmured against his lips, fingers dancing fromhis chest to his neck, only to get lost inside his thick hair.

“You’ve seen nothing yet, Cooper.” He licked her down lip and then bitit lightly, her moan of appreciation and dizzy sexual desire warming his partedmouth. “Now, off you go.” He curled his hands around the back of her thighs,effortlessly putting her on the ground and holding her close as she stumbledforward, too lightheaded to actually stand on her own.

“You can’t be serious.” She scoffed looking up at him, her body rigidand wanting more of him, right here, right now.

“Weatherbee is going to be back any minute now.” Jughead reminded her,bending down to brush the tip of his nose against hers in newfound affection. “AndI want to do this right with you. I wanna take you out on a date” he gave her one of her favorite boyish smiles before dropping to leave a tender kiss on her neck “and a second” another kiss “and a third…” another and another and another and she was dizzy once again.

Betty smiled dreamingly, eyes closed and lips pecking the collarbone she was nudging her cheek against. “Only if you pick me up with that bike of yours.”

He chuckled against her skin, feeling her shiver, before pulling back and pushing a rebellious golden lock behind her ear. “You got yourself a deal. Friday night?” he raised his eyebrows in question.

“Friday night.” she confirmed with a happy nod and a girly smile, lower lip trapped between her teeth. “I’ll wear my shortest dress.” she toyed with his hormones like a pro, making him moan, slender fingers curling around his belt loop and rubbing her bra clad chest over his as she leaned to whisper playfully next to his lips.

Jughead’s eyes glistered with naughty mischief. “And those panties.” he offered back, drinking in her body hungrily and sneaking a hand over her firm behind under her skirt. “I wanna take a closer look.” He squeezed the bare skin of her ass, Betty jumping and letting a squeak of girly delight as she landed on his hard chest with a flustered giggle. “And don’t forget,Cooper. You owe me a smile.” he tipped her chin with the pointer of his free hand in faux warning before leaving a chaste kiss on her lips and untangling himself from her, instantly feeling empty.

And smile she did, bright and dashing andyouthfully, receiving the one thing that made her start falling in love withthe bad boy and his golden heart; a wink.

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