#mutlichap

[hivemuthur]

To Be Known - Ch.1.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. Uncharted waters for me, because I have no idea how many chapters it will come out as.

Reader is: British, Young Vic (get it?) theatre company director, working class, in her 30s, a control freak, a semi-conscious sub. Viktor is: Czech (as always), working in biotech with Jayce, working class, in his 30s, a control freak, a conscious dom.

MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 4,6K

warnings, or rather this work contains: d/s dynamics between main characters (but who the fuck knows what Mel and Jayce are doing), love (attraction?) at first sight, no strings attached to lovers/strangers to lovers (so like reverse emotional slow burn?), lots of porn, angst, happy resolution. I will be adding kink warnings as they appear in the future chapters.

author’s note: Ok, so, um, hi! A Deer and a Man is ending, so something else has to begin. It’s like… a very freeform thing I’m doing here. Sort of about nothing, just relationships with d/s dynamics, because I want to play around with some kinks and stuff. I’m trying to make it make sense here, but not everything might, since it’s just my subjective take on things. It will have some d/s etiquette but not always, because I’m clumsy and my characters get infected with my clumsiness :v Nothing’s new really (hehe, get it?), some plot, some porn, some feelings. It’s basically me going to IKEA asking you if you wanna come and grab some vegan meatballs and the meatballs are smut in this :v So yeh, hi, welcome to another blurb of a mutlichap work.

Special thanks to my friends @rennethen and @strongfartzemergency for pre-reading this and enabling my brainrot. Artist is @petitesieste, just ahh ♡

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Your eyes glaze over the computer screen, trying to memorize a list of poor souls to probe the next day. An ouroboros of theatre life has reached another mark, one where you must make a million decisions in a short span of time: Which plays will grace the stage, who’s performing in them, who’s directing, and who’s dressing all those people in their fancy costumes? And, most importantly, who’s paying for all of it?

So far, a successful year has set your bar even higher, with the next season looming in the golden light of August evenings. You don’t even have time to warm your bones in it—you have to think ahead, transport your brain to the future, to a cold January, when the real test begins for you. In truth, you don’t have time to do anything beneficial for your bones, and you’ve just learned to accept that your joints crack like dry wood every time you move.

A head peaks through the crack in your door, and you don’t have to look up to know who it is.

“Charlie,” you greet him, your nose still scrunched up by the screen. “I know, I know. I’m going, I just need a second.” You begin to rise from your chair but remain hunched over, extending your arm blindly toward the computer. “Did you bring my shoes?”

“Yes, and I’m not kicking you out,” says Charlie, passing you a pair of ballet flats. “But if you want a driver, well… he’s getting impatient.”

“That’s okay, I can commute,” you smile at him, taking the shoes and glancing at your watch. “It’s only Camden… oh, shit, it’s very late. You should, in fact, kick me out.” After a few hurried jumps while putting the shoes on, you're back to frantically picking up unrelated objects and shoving them into your purse: tissues, lipstick, random notes to review in the morning, and Mel’s gift—a seasonal Young Vic pass for her and her plus one.

“Where are you guys meeting?” he asks, passing you the rest of the things you will obviously want or need. It’s a seamless collaboration with Charlie. Since the very beginning, you two have been sharing a brain, and this is partly why nothing has collapsed yet. On the contrary—both you, as a theatre company director, and Charlie, as an assistant director, have been doing an amazing job, mending together a forthcoming approach and love for theatre. And this is all your head is at, despite the one evening of reprieve where you can share beers with friends in a pub that Mel has chosen completely out of character for herself. Which is why, instead of answering, you ask, “Do you really think we can do Hamlet?”

“Why wouldn’t we be able to do Hamlet?” Charlie parrots, passing you a coat with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t know, is it not a bit… on the nose? It’s my second year, and my brain’s steamed up so much that I’m doing Hamlet?”

Charlie chuckles softly, as he steps behind you to dress you up. “You are going to do a bitchin’ Hamlet. And now can you please go and have some fun for once?”

“This is fun, Charlie. Hamlet is fun,” you say, holding his arms and giving him a playful shake. “Fun!”

“Calm down, captain,” he grins, rolling his eyes. “Where are you guys going?”

“Ugh… World’s End?”

“World’s End?!” Charlie covers his mouth in feigned horror, his eyes wide. “This is so unlike Miss Medarda!” he whispers, shooting you an incredulous look.

“I know, Mel wanted casual,” you shrug, rolling your eyes. Then, as you move past him, you swat him lightly on the shoulder, seeking another round of uninhibited cackles. “Don’t be mean, Charlie!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Charlie laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Ah, World’s fucking End, who would’ve thought. Let me fetch you a driver, my lady.”

You shake your head and scan your office one last time, making sure you haven’t left anything important behind. Figuratively, of course, since almost everything dear to your heart is actually being left behind. And even though it’s only for a couple of hours, not being in control is frightening.

On the other side of the coin are your friends, with Mel right up front. She’s been there since the very first second of your meeting—right after you yelled at a light technician, making him flinch and nearly fall off the ladder. You had immediately corrected yourself with, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted. But this lightwork is still shit. Please fix it. I ask you kindly.”

That was when Mel grinned, wrapped an arm around your shoulder, and whispered into your ear, “Okay. I want to be your friend.”

Since then, Mel has been one of the main patrons of your theatre company, and you—being a firm unbeliever in your own abilities—are convinced it’s largely her money and pep talks that have granted you the creative freedom that led to you becoming an artistic director. Your worlds collided fast and hard, and, being another person married to her work, she quickly became one of the closest people in your life.

Until Jayce.

Mel, being someone who treats every relationship as an investment, doesn’t limit her influence to the arts. So when her family decided to fund research grants for scientists from the Francis Crick Institute, you knew something was coming as soon as she justified the decision with, “And they are both very handsome.”

You know the urge very well—the ever-nagging need to have everything under control, to oversee every grain of sand that rolls through the waist of the hourglass, every second planned, every schedule so tight there is barely time to breathe. It’s one of the things that bonded the both of you.

So when Jayce came along—with his motivation stemming not from a sickening need for self-accomplishment or a desperate urge to prove something to the world, but from the purity of his own heart and a healthy curiosity—Mel began to crack. And then the disease spread to you.

Now, you actually rest. You spend your free Sundays socializing. You talk about things other than work. You’ve even been on a few unsuccessful dates. And it’s all Jayce’s fault.

You loved him for it immediately—the small crumbs of the outside world granted to you and Mel through his unabashed joy and excitement. Jayce made things fun, and turning your phone off—briefly relinquishing control—became a little less terrifying.

From there, your thoughts drift in different directions until your absent-minded stare at the moving lights outside the car window is interrupted. The driver, in a grumpy tone, informs you that you’ve arrived at your destination. You crack the joints in your hands before thanking him and bidding him goodnight.

The World’s End is all red from the outside, its glow bleeding onto the wet pavement. Through the glass, you spot the back of Mel’s heavily accessorized hairstyle, a head of intricate twists and gleaming accents. You glance at your reflection, and—well. You’ve seen better days.

Your mini skirt has twisted around, placing the slit exactly where you don’t want it, so you yank it back into place, cursing Charlie for not telling you. In the process, you notice a small eyelet in your tights, the hole widening with each step you take. No nail polish to stop it from spreading. You curse yourself for that one. Your shirt is crumpled at the stomach—a reminder of hours spent hunched over your desk. Your necklace has caught a bunch of stray hairs, which you pick out frantically as you stride toward the door. And the rest of your hair? An artistic mess, sculpted by an impatient hand that’s raked through it a hundred times too many today.

Once inside, Mel’s slender hand and a row of her impossibly white teeth beckon you forward as she stands up to give you a hug.

And the inside of The World's End is exactly what you would expect from a Camden pub—big, loud, and brimming with mismatched charm. The walls are cluttered with a collection of art that looks like it was bought in a rush at a local flea market. There's a hum of conversation mixing with the thrum of the music playing in the background, and the space itself is large, almost cavernous. The low ceiling and uneven, wooden floorboards give it an unpolished look that feels welcoming to some, but it's not exactly the kind of place you'd expect to see Mel at.

Mel, in contrast, belongs in a sleek, minimalistic bar, somewhere where the drinks are as carefully curated as the furniture, where everything is perfectly composed. Here, she’s lost in the midst of it all, a little too refined for the space, as if her sharp lines don’t quite align with the pub’s rough edges. The things we do for friends.

“Darling, I’m glad you made it,” she chirps, walking toward you and spreading her arms wide.

“Now I can say I’d go to the end of the world for you,” you murmur into her shoulder, squeezing her tight. Then, pulling back, you present a small envelope. “Happy birthday, love. Here—best possible seats.”

Mel’s brows lift as she takes the tickets, flipping them between her fingers. “You shouldn’t have,” she says, though the gleam in her eye betrays her excitement. “But thank you. You wouldn’t believe who Jayce has managed to drag along,” she murmurs into your ear.

“Oh, it can’t be,” you whisper back, scanning the table over her shoulder.

A few of her closest friends sit huddled together, deep in conversation and laughter. Then, Jayce’s broad frame, unmistakable even in the dim light. And next to him—

A pair of loose shoulders, wrapped in a red shirt stretched between two sharp blades. The nape of his neck, covered in a mess of brown curls. He leans on one hand, nodding along to whatever Jayce is saying, his profile cutting sharp against the glow of the street lights.

Viktor. The last man standing, the one seemingly immune to Jayce’s influence when it comes to making people step out of their comfort zones. And yet, here he is. Of all occasions, it’s Mel’s birthday that has somehow coaxed Viktor out of his self-imposed solitude. A horse you wouldn’t have bet on.

You are led to the table, where all the seats seem to be taken—until Viktor removes his cane from the empty stool beside him and gestures for you to sit between him and Jayce. As you lower yourself onto the stool, you take his hand briefly and say, “The smartest man in the room, finally in the room.”

“You must be talking about Jayce,” he counters, a glint of amusement in his eye. He holds your palm for just a moment longer than necessary before letting go. “I’ve heard much about you.”

“Only good things, I hope,” you reply with a smile—until Mel’s head suddenly pokes between the two of you.

“What’s your poison, honey?” she asks. Only now do you notice her flushed cheeks and the way she’s completely disregarded the concept of personal space, her arm stretching beyond your shoulders to tug playfully at Jayce’s hair.

“A pint of bitter?” you say, startled.

She frowns slightly, but you quickly follow with, “Cheers,” hoping to steer her attention elsewhere. Her eyes squint at you, but she relents, giving Jayce’s back a clingy hug before strolling off to the bar. Only now Viktor’s hand releases yours.

He studies you for a moment before turning to his glass, giving you the chance to take a closer look—

The first two buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing the hollow between his collarbones, skin up to his neck is covered in a satin sheen of sweat. Tendons shift beneath it, blue veins threading along his throat. His hair is faintly damp around the ears, curling and plastering itself to his temples. From the side, his jaw forms nearly a perfect square.

You don’t dare to look higher.

Lower down, though, his sleeves are rolled up carelessly, exposing freckle-specked arms. You spot it by dropping your gaze naturally.

Mel was right. They are both very handsome.

As the birthday gal disappears toward the bar, you are left wedged between the two scientists, the noise of conversation assaulting your ears. Across the table, Amara leans in, her many rings clinking as she refills someone’s glass from a sweating bottle of wine. Beside her, Salo—always overdressed for the occasion, his blonde curls neatly combed back—gestures broadly mid-story, his voice animated. A few seats down, Mion, the youngest among them and always balancing the line between sharp and naive, listens intently while occasionally stealing olives from Mel’s abandoned plate.

"So," Jayce starts, shifting his weight so he can face you properly. “What’s keeping you so busy these days?”

You exhale, stretching your arms along the back of your seat, making your spine pop. “Wrapping up meetings with playwrights, directors, and actors—making sure everything aligns. Managing funding and sponsorships, finalising script choices.”

Salo whistles. “Sounds like a headache.”

“It’s a miracle she’s here at all,” Jayce adds, nursing his beer. “I half-expected her to send a regretful telegram from the depths of her desk.”

That earns a laugh from Amara, who nudges your foot under the table. “And what are the plays, then? What’s in?”

You rest your chin in your palm and do a mock countdown with the fingers of the other. “Further than the Furthest Thing, The Scottsboro Boys, A Streetcar Named Desire—possibly Hamlet.”

Mel, just returning with your beer, lets out a delighted gasp as she sets it down. “Hamlet? Oh, darling, tell me you’re doing it.”

“Calm yourself,” you warn, reaching for your drink. “I said possibly.”

She spreads her hands dramatically. “I can already see it now—the staging, the lighting—”

“Don’t start designing the posters just yet,” you cut in, but she’s grinning too widely to be discouraged. “I can still change my mind.”

“You know that’s a lot for one person,” Viktor remarks, leaning in from your right, his voice lower, meant just for the two of you. His pupils are darker, wider than the number of glasses of wine he’s had would suggest, assessing you from under hooded eyelids.

“I’ve always run through my life,” you say simply, tipping your glass toward him. “I do have help, though.” Viktor clicks his tongue, his mouth curving into a half-smile.

Before you can figure out what it means, Mion suddenly snaps her fingers. “Wait—how did you and Mel meet, anyway?”

Mel waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, I saw her preparing Yerma, and it was love at first sight.”

“Love?” Salo lifts a brow.

“She was standing on stage, sleeves rolled up, arguing over how the chairs should be arranged.” Mel sighs theatrically. “Her diligence. Her eye for detail. I knew I had to have her.”

Jayce snorts. “And by ‘have her,’ you mean ‘fund her.’”

Mel grins. “Exactly.”

The table dissolves into laughter, glasses clinking. Conversations crisscross—Salo and Mion bickering over some technical aspect of stage production, and you don’t have the heart to correct them. Jayce launching into an enthusiastic recounting of an experiment gone wrong. Someone beside you leans in to talk, and for a moment, you lose the thread of conversation.

The haze of smoke, the warmth of alcohol-softened breaths, the layered voices—it all blurs. Next to you, Viktor is speaking, but his words are swallowed by the noise.

The room tilts slightly, or maybe it’s just the drink settling in. Sounds overlap and ring in your ears as exhaustion takes hold and you zone out. Somewhere nearby, a bottle of wine gets passed around, then discarded in the middle of the table, still within your reach. A voice cuts through the fog, softer, closer. Then sharper, clearer than before.

Foreshadowed by Viktor’s hand on your leg—his right palm rests on you, and the moment it does, you tilt toward him, only to find he’s done the same. His fingers press inward, just barely grazing the inside of your thigh. It’s a gentle invasion, entirely unprovocative, something that simply happens—natural. His left arm hovers over your backrest as his mouth nears your ear, and you can feel the tickle of his hair on your cheek.

“Pass me the wine.” A soft command, tilting toward a question at the end, firm and quiet all at once.

You reach for the bottle without looking, your eyes fixed on his throat as he breathes. The moment it comes close, his touch leaves your leg and finds your fingers instead. His skin brushes yours, spreading the sweat from the glass onto your own, and something coils low in your stomach.

“Good…” he murmurs, clipped, as if something else should follow. “Thank you.” And then his warmth is gone, leaving you painfully sober, achingly empty.

It’s one of the most agonising seconds of your life—except this time, there’s something sickly sweet curling around the edges, a lingering undertone that was missing from all the other agonising moments you’ve suffered through.

For the rest of the evening, your attention doesn’t waver, save for the necessary moments to put Mel in the spotlight.

Viktor lingers close. Not close enough to raise any eyebrows—everyone else is too busy bickering and laughing at Jayce’s anecdotes—but enough for you to notice and relish in it. His breath occasionally fans your face when he leans over you for the bottle, his knee bumps yours under the table. He sits tilted toward you, his arm hooked against your stool, and his eyes never leave you, one way or another. He bombards you with questions and answers yours without blinking.

"Where did you study?" you ask, lips glued to the rim of your glass, leaving an stamp of your lipstick there.

"Abroad," he says vaguely, tipping his head. "You?"

"England. Try again," you counter, not looking up, only baring your teeth to the remnants of a cocktail in your hand.

Viktor exhales a quiet chuckle, tilting his glass idly in his fingers before conceding, "Vigilant, of course. Very well—biochemistry at UTC Prague." He pauses, watching your reaction. "Then onward to Francis Crick through MSCA. Now—tell me yours." The last part, a command again, gentle and firm and you find yourself reciting in no time.

"Theatre and Performance at Goldsmiths," you reply, your words a little looser, the alcohol working its way through your veins.

"Ah, how prestigious," he murmurs, voice laced with amusement.

"If you consider five years of bullying that, then yes," you slur, twirling your drink in your glass. His expression sharpens, brows lifting slightly in silent question. You sigh, meeting his gaze. "I got The Royal Academy of Dramatic Art scholarship. Before that, I led an utterly non-prestigious life in Staines."

"Hardworking girl," he purrs, and oh—his hand returns to your thigh, this time less inconspicuous as he drags a long finger up and stops just beneath the hem of your skirt.

"Where do you live?" he asks, his voice dipping lower, quieter, like the answer might be something just for him.

"Hackney," you answer immediately, then, seeing his knowing smile, feel the need to correct yourself. "The bad Hackney. You?"

"Eh, Islington," Viktor says, a hint of sheepishness in his voice.

Your mock jaw drop is immediate. "Unbelievable," you drawl. "And you dare to make fun of my fancy living?"

Viktor smirks, his fingers brushing your thigh before retreating. "You are making it up. But we can share a cab home then."

Something jumps in your chest at the thought of being locked in a tiny space alone with this man. And the cab driver, but, nevertheless. "I suppose we can. When do you want to go?" you ask, as steadily as you can manage right now.

He exhales slowly, then leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "Let's go now."

You have to stop your eyes from rolling in your skull. In fact, with the mix of various alcohols cursing through your veins and the secretive glances he’s been giving you, you’d probably nod vigorously if he offered to fuck you on the bar.

You step away from the table, weaving through the crowded space as you pull out your phone. Your fingers tremble slightly—whether from the drinks or the anticipation, you can't tell. It doesn’t matter. The cab company confirms your ride is on its way, barely three minutes out.

When you return, Viktor is still lounging against the table, his fingers tracing the rim of his now-empty glass. He doesn’t look at you right away, but his body angles toward you the moment you step back into his space. You lean in just enough to let the scent of him—wine, sweet sweat and washing powder—settle into your senses before speaking.

“We have three minutes,” you say casually, as if not stopping yourself from clenching your thighs.

Viktor gives a small, knowing nod and starts shuffling around for his cane and coat. His movements are unhurried, but there’s a quiet efficiency to them, a preparedness that has you smiling.

From across the table, Mel lets out a dramatic sigh. “You’re leaving already? I knew I shouldn’t have sat two workaholics together.”

Jayce snorts into his drink. “At least they lasted this long. I was expecting Viktor to slip out halfway through.”

Viktor hums in vague amusement, fastening the buttons of his coat. “And miss all your storytelling? Impossible.”

Mel rolls her eyes but grins. “Fine, fine. Go, be boring. Just don’t forget—” she waggles a finger at you—“you owe me a Hamlet.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Goodnight, Mel.”

With that, you feel Viktor’s hand brush lightly against the small of your back—an absentminded gesture, almost cautious, but it sends a thrill down your spine.

It’s raining again, and neither of you has an umbrella, so you huddle together under your purse until Viktor opens the door for you. You fall in with no grace whatsoever and slide your ass across the back seat to make space for him. He steps in slowly, throws his address to the driver, then slumps down beside you, looking at you expectantly.

For a moment, you freeze—until you realise everyone is waiting for your address. Mumbling out the street and number, you lean back, your shoulder blades pressing against his arm.

And oh. You know damn well you won’t be able to let this go beyond tonight—or that you shouldn’t be fucking around where you figuratively eat—but he smells good, and his eyes stay on you, dark and hungry. So you tip yourself into the crook of his shoulder, tilting your head up with an innocently pleading look.

Viktor chuckles, as if something has just been confirmed, and his slender hand finds its way between your thighs. His body shifts subtly, shielding you from the driver, who barely suppresses an eye roll in the rear-view mirror. His lips, burning with alcohol and want, close over yours. His tongue pushes inside, licking slow and deep along the row of your teeth. His fingers travel up your leg, stopping painfully close to where you ache for him most, and squeeze—just enough to brace himself as he leans in further.

You fumble with the buttons of his coat, slipping your hands beneath to tug his shirt free from his trousers. Another warm chuckle rumbles against your lips.

“So efficient,” he murmurs, breaking the kiss to mouth at your ear. His breath is hot when he whispers, “Do you want to fuck here, or will you be a good girl and wait until we get home?”

A strangled moan escapes you, and your own hand flies up to clamp over your mouth. Viktor grins against your skin.

“Good. Quiet,” he purrs, before dragging his tongue in a slick trail down your neck, stopping halfway to suck a bruise into your flesh.

Breath stumbles in your lungs when he stops, lips flushed, wet and red with your smeared lipstick, his teeth barely grazing your skin before he leans back to look at you. His fingers remain firm between your thighs, a teasing pressure that makes your legs tense and tremble beneath his touch.

Whatever has led you to this moment is not your usual behaviour, but somehow, you can’t be bothered to announce it. Long ago—somewhere after shitty date number five, or fifteen—you swore off bad sex for the sake of no sex and peace of mind. You grew tired of partners who were more tease than do, and the ones who assumed you’d thrive on organising everything in bed, just as you do at work.

You crave someone to take that pressure off you. Someone who would simply allow you to be dumb, even just for a few moments. To fuck your brains out so that poor strongest muscle of yours can replenish and breathe before you have to step back into the saddle and lead the chaotic orchestra of theatre technicians, actors, directors, and founders toward whatever critics deem a successful season. To take all the decision-making away and praise you for it.

And you have no guarantee that Viktor will do exactly that—other than the way his roaming hand squeezes your leg so firmly or the way his tongue, insistent and wanting, doesn’t ask permission before invading your mouth. The way he has stared at you the entire night has left you hotter and more bothered than anyone’s scrutiny ever has. And even if this is a mistake, it’s one you are willing to make. Your thighs shake at the thought, and Viktor gasps softly against your lips.

"You're trembling," he murmurs, voice low as the vowels roll thickly off his tongue. His free hand reaches up, pushing your hair aside. He trails his knuckles along your jaw, his thumb pressing lightly against your parted lips. "Cold, or something else?"

You give a breathy laugh, rolling your hips ever so slightly into his palm, chasing that friction. Viktor hums, pleased, before his fingers slip higher—just barely ghosting over the hanging-there nylons shielding your underwear. Your breath catches.

The cab rattles over a pothole, jolting you both, but neither of you pulls away. If anything, it only makes Viktor bolder. He shifts to face you fully, pressing you back into the seat as he kisses you again, deeper this time, his tongue curling languidly around yours. You taste wine and your own spit on him, and it makes you dizzy.

His hand abandons your thigh only to grab your wrist, dragging it to the front of his trousers, where he's already half-hard beneath the layers of fabric. "I want you," he breathes against your mouth, nipping at your lower lip before letting his forehead drop to yours.

You palm him through the material, pressing just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath. The sound alone makes a fresh gush of lust bloom in your knickers.

Then—a pointed cough.

You both jolt as if caught doing something far more illicit than you already are.

"Islington," the cab driver announces dryly, eyes fixed firmly on the road.

Viktor huffs out a laugh, dragging his fingers through his already-mussed hair. "Do you want to come in?" he says, as if you hadn’t just been grinding against each other like reckless teenagers in the back of a cab.

You swallow, pulse still pounding in your ears. "Yes," you nod. "Yes."

“I suppose we will wrap up the ride here,” Viktor says reaching for his wallet and taking out one note too many to make up for whatever the poor man had to endure.

“Yeah, mate, I figured. Have a great night.”

[captainsophiestark]

Did I quite get everything finished before October started? No. But am I officially finished with writing all my fics for Fictober? Yes!!! Woohoo! I'm really really happy with how these turned out, and I can't wait to share them with you guys! Day one, Ragtag with Grant Ward, is already posted. See you guys tomorrow for day two!

With exactly one week to go before it's time to start posting for Fictober, I wanted to do a progress update! 19 down and 12 to go 🥳 If anyone wants to send asks about anything on the list or about Fictober in general, please feel free! It’ll be a good motivation boost while I knock out the rest of the list

Also special s/o to @ghostofskywalker for her organization system, I love it sm Tori and it's made this prep month much more fun for me 😂

[kairos-polaris]

someone hold me accountable, here is a list of fics that I plan to write in the order of most likely to least likely (because those would be multi chap and thus more effort)

outsider pov jonelias (Peter Lukas) - I already have a rough draft so it's easier to add on stuff

a time loop au (kind of) post mag 200 Jon and Jonah wake up on the day Jon started working in the Insitute - the existing draft is even longer but I am held back by "oh no this is too ooc" anxiety

mag 160 with jonelias being married pre canon, Jonah's statement and Jon's reaction to it. probably would have an ambiguous ending? also I am not sure what I am going to do with j/mart for it

Jon meeting my Lonely!oc and the consequences of it - I have a lot of stuff planed but I can't figure out how Jongaining the Lonely mark on his own would affect the plot and the bet between Jonah and Peter. would appreciate any advice

time travel au except it's Jonah and Jonathan Fanshawe who are time traveling - I really like the concept of it but I can tell I would want it to be mutlichap and I don't have the patience for that

[quotidian-oblivion]

Not-Yet-Written Fic Game

Tagged by @chemical-processes!! Thank you so much for tagging meeee. Especially in writer games, i love them <3

Post about some of the fics you plan on writing

I'm gonna do both batfam and Merlin for this one. You can put down any number of wips. I have so many, but I think I'll choose 10 😅 Feel free to ask about any of them!!! I'd love that ^^

No pressure tags: @sardonic-sprite @igotthisaccountunderduress @pericreatesstuff @foursixtwonineoh-pieces-of-lego @foineswoine-writing

@uncertainwallflower @cygnusdoesthings @blightwritesfic @wakkoroni

A Dance Across the Stream [BBC Merlin]

A slave!Arthur fic where I really pump up the angst. Arthur has been a slave for so long that people are starting to lose hope that he's even alive. His slavers decide to auction him since his past status, health and general looks will get them a pretty penny. He's collared by magic that hurts him if he doesn't listen to his masters' orders. As he stares down blankly at the faces and hands rising eagerly to buy a slaved prince, he hears a voice-

"Twelve hundred and thirty gold pieces!"

For the first time in months, Arthur dares to raise his head. Because he knows that voice. Has heard it incessantly rabbiting on, talking his ear off several times a day before his capture.

But it can't be him. It can't be Merlin. Because the bid for him was only open to sorcerers. And Merlin can't be a sorcerer.

2. Let Me Die, Let Me Drown, Lay My Bones In the Ground [BBC Merlin]

(I'm cheating a little bit cuz this is actually written but) My first fic where I really unleash my angst weapons. I wanted to test my limits. And I did.

The storm that had passed through Albion didn't only bring devestation, it brought a party belonging to the king, queen and princess of a distant land on the edge of Albion's maps. As per propriety and courtesy, Camelot was required to hold a feast and provide accommodation for them. The feast started off smoothly, the royals of Camelot getting along quite well with the royals from Harden.

But a single questioned changed everything. Including the destiny of Arthur and Merlin.

"What are your stances on magic?" Uther asked.

3. Doesn't have a name yet, but the wip doc is named 'My Limits Tested Through Merlin' [BBC Merlin]

While writing LMDLMD (the above fic), I discovered that the angst I put in there was not actually my full limit. I could push further. I could write worse. So I started this multichap wip. And it's going splendidly. Honestly, this fic is such a good jar to add my inner demons to. And I decided to work in some foreshadowing, juxtaposition, symbolism and all that lovely fun literary devices stuff because I found that I actually enjoy that process. So this might just be my best mutlichap fic yet!

Summary: That the kingdom they traveled to was peaceful was a lie. That the king was a good and fair man was also a lie. That Merlin, Arthur, and the Knights of the Round Table would be safe was the biggest lie of all. 

As Merlin scrubs the floor beneath the king's feet, despite the pains and bruises on his body, he wonders if escape will also be a lie. 

4. Empire For Two [BBC Merlin]

Part two of a two-part series. I've finished writing the outline and currently it's standing at 50 chapters, but as it gets written it might increase. Since it's MASSIVE and too much for me to take on alone, my lovely fwens Joan (@tireddruid) and Tristi are helping me with it! Joan's alpha and beta-ing while Tristi's gonna be a co-writer. For once, I'm not gonna start posting after it's written, but post as we write each chapter.

A Golden Age AU where I fix the fucking show.

5. Tim gets de-ages to a toddler fic [DC]

I've finished the outline for this too and it's currently standing at 21 chapters and I've already written 2. @mispeltnostalgia is beta-ing it ^^ And it's angsty. And fluffy! Majority of it is fluffy! But the angst at the end and major character death tag kind of overshadows the 19 chapters of fluff 😅 I also do a character study of Jason here. It's very enlightening.

Inspired by the very first fanfic I ever read (by choice) and Tim gets de-aged to a toddler because of a mistake Jason made. Jason's bonds with the family is already fragile and this mistake might just drive a further wedge between him and them. So he keeps the mistake a secret.

But the fact Tim is a toddler isn't. The batfam try their hardest to look after Tim while trying to find a way to age him back. Tim's an adorable kid but... there are warning signs. Too many warning signs. It makes everyone question just how well they had known Tim and his personal life.

For some reason, the toddler seems attached to Jason. And surprisingly, Jason seems to go actually well when dealing with him.

But after an explosive fight between Jason and the rest of the family, when Alfred opens the doors to the bedrooms, he finds both the toddler and the crime lord gone.

6. I Quit (not the actual fic name, just a wip name) [DC]

It started with a crack-genre scene where Tim accidentally resigns being Robin over the phone.

It quickly escalated to Tim running from the Bats, trying to cure Jason of his Pit Madness, and raising a 10-year-old assassin Damian when Talia mistakenly dumped the kid on him. Fully outlined, 19 chapters, I'm probably gonna start writing this soon.

7. Found Him [DC]

Not a multichap fic but a series with oneshots and twoshots and threeshots! Why? Because I was lazy and didn't bother with filling chapters. Why? Cuz I wanted to get to the action bits. Why?

Because this, my friends, is an evil!Tim Drake AU >:)

Tim wakes up in Titans Tower before Bruce and Dick can show up. He wakes up and all he sees is blood.

His blood.

He is in excruciating pain, but for some cruel reason, he can still think and feel clearly. His mind is not a haze, he has all his memories and he is very well aware of the carnage that has been made out of his body. Very well aware of the person who created the carnage out of his body.

In a Red Robin #4-esque style, Tim crawls out and sloppily secures the wounds that bleed the most, then grabs a bike and collapses in the middle of the road. The emergency services think he's a normal civilian boy since Tim had torn his Robin uniform and had ridden out in the blacks underneath. They manage to save his life but the damage was done.

Tim had snapped. He thought he was alone. And nothing was going to convince him otherwise.

8. All 'Board Mind Games [DC]

Inspired by Zugzwang written by sardonic-sprite. Ra's keeps kidnapping Tim and forcing him to play different board games from different cultures (cuz I like representation) and each member of the batfam is kidnapped along with him and with every time Tim loses, he gets to choose between forms of torture or being Ra's heir. Ra's gets what he wants either way because he wants Tim as his heir, but he also wants to see Tim suffer because he blew up his League's operations.

This fic I am so so so incredibly excited for because I am adding brain factors in it. Here is a plan for one of my chapters:

Damian — Barjees — Fear gas — "Be the person you needed when you were younger" (or Ideasthesia)

9. Talons (not the actual title) [DC]

What if Bruce didn't arrive in time to adopt his sons? What if the Talons did?

And what if, years later, Batman comes across four child assassins in Gotham whose eyes are screaming help?

10. Danny meets Tim (not the actual title, obvi) [DC x Danny Phantom]

Not very outlined, but the idea has been written down. During Tim's Red Robin arc where he's traversing the whole globe to find Bruce, one of the places he stops at is Amity Park. He heard about how ghosts are a regular here so maybe he can find something? Proof whether or not Bruce is alive?

Who he finds instead changes the whole trajectory of Tim's life.

~

And those are some of my wips! I am 100% planning on writing and posting all of them. They've all been outlined (except the last one) and are very much ready to be written or posted. I keep getting ideas after ideas for fics though so don't know when I'll be writing them 😂 Rest assured, I'm too excited to delay some of these wips.

[oh-cramity-its-amity]

15-30k multichap fics are so underrated. i think 20k is my favorite. maybe 35k. you get so much content and like at the same time its totally a short read. definitely doable!!! doesnt feel bloated w content either.

yeah i love the 80k-150k fics too but theres just something about the short mutlichap fics that hit diff for me. you can devour a few in a day if you wanna and are dedicated. i absolutely love them and ppl should give them more credit :).

[hypnostouched]

torn between working on mutlichap plot based fic or just go back to my beloved pwp

[entityupdates]

January 2024 General Status Update

I'm not doing a year plan this year because I did not at all stick to the one I made last year. Here's what's going on this month fanfic-wise.

The only multichap that is being posted right now is Destructive Interference, which is the Masking/Hisuian Zoroark Ingo spin-off. I'm working on the next chapters but I don't see them being finished anytime soon. I'll post the second unused epilogue from Masking on the series page soon probably. I may also start crossposting the Destructive Interference chapters to FFN.

In the WIP folder, I have an almost finished Submas mutlichap that I haven't touched since like August and a barely started Miraculous/MCU crossover that I've lost some motivation for. I do want to finish them though so if you guys express interest I might get motivated.

I also reread Dreaming of Sunshine recently and I wanted to get into the recursive universe. I have a few ideas for writing fics there.

I had a few false starts for resuming working on my nearly five year old Naruto/Young Justice crossover longfic recently. I’m considering writing a modified, shortened version of it so I feel like I’ve accomplished something.

I also have 5 outlines from 2023 for unwritten fics:

A Pokemon/Arrested Development crossover

Shining Vigilate T4T oneshot

Warden Ingo in modern Nimbasa without Emmet short multichap

Rei, Ingo, and other characters as parts of a Spiritomb oneshot

System Chat Noir multichapter, possible longfic

I want to write those but not feeling very motivated fic-wise at the moment. I also just resumed school/work and I have other writing-related commitments so fanfic isn't the priority. At the very least, I'll try to keep Destructive Interference updates semi-frequent and there'll probably be a oneshot once in awhile. Will also try to post on this tumblr account more.

[lilac-melody]

The absolute worst thing about writing mutlichap fics is when you know how you want to end a story but can't come up with a proper climax to reach that ending...

[actualaster]

Fanfic Q&A: 5, 12, 19

(For the Fanfic Q&A Meme)

5. What aspect of writing have you most improved over time? How did you improve this? What are you trying to improve on now?

I... Honestly am not sure? I know I've just improved all around over time, but it's hard to say exactly what improved the most. Maybe my descriptions? I've gotten a lot better than I used to be about picking the right words to describe a scene. As for what I want to improve on... I've got a few longer stories in WIP hell and I'm trying to figure out what pacing is for something that's more than like. 3 scenes lol. Hoping to improve on that and actually get some mutlichap stuff finished one day.

12. Do you prefer writing in silence or to music?

Variable! Sometimes I need music, sometimes I don't--but I can't do total silence. I need at least some noise. If there's a space heater or fan going that can be enough, I just can't handle silence-silence XD

19. How has your experience as a fanfic reader impacted your experience as a fanfic writer?

I'd say mostly the same way as my experience as a reader of original fic--it introduces me to new concepts and tropes, new ways to execute those concepts and tropes, new ways to string words together (including some really creative uses of words I knew but never thought to use in such ways!), and introduces me to brand new words entirely that can really help change a scene.

Mostly, though, it gives me ideas for things I want to try writing my own way, too! Obviously I don't just write the same story as somebody else but I find new tropes and ideas to enjoy and can do my own version of them! (Only one bed? Well, maybe I'll combo that with some other things and make it a weird kinky solution ;P)

[fairydares]

@mythical-fangirls hmm...Well, idk your preferences, but here's some of my personal favorites :-) They aren't my top faves or anything (one day...one day I'll make a list) but just some of the ones I love that I managed to dig up in a short amount of time. Warning that this list is quite Nalu heavy:

The Game by maebethistime. Oneshot. Erza's perspective of accidentally witnessing Natsu and Lucy's burgeoning romantic relationship. Hot and heavy, but no smut. Great characterization, in fact it made it onto my best Natsu characterization rec post (along with a couple more of these).

Lessons by skysignal. Multichap, complete. Nalu all-timer, also contains some choice Gajevy and Gruvia. Hot and heavy but no smut. Also on the best Natsu characterization list.

The Astrologist by NavyBlueWings, who writes wonderful AUs. Multichap. DOES contain smut. This is a favorite of a lot of peoples'. They have a couple other great Fairy Tail fics as well for all the Big 4 couples. If you go to their authors page and filter by fandom you can find them.

Forbidden Forest by leesup. Mutlichap, complete. Really funny and wonderfully handled Nalu romance & angsty elements. If you like this one I recommend checking out Princess and the Pirate too, but it's incomplete.

If Only I Lived In Dragon Years by simplysaiyan. Warning that this is very angsty & tragic, but such a good fic I can't not recommend it. Literally broke my heart back when I read it the first time as a kid.

The (-3) Year Quest by fingers falling upwards is unfinished, but I still recommend it to everyone because it's amazing. My absolute favorite handling of Natsu and Lucy actually dealing with the fact he left her behind without saying goodbye for a year. All the characterization is incredible in this. It also coined the tags "#slow burn but like for idiots #idiot burn" lmao.

Plan H and Plan I by Toxineena are wonderful. Gray and Erza scheme to get a very oblivious Natsu and Lucy together. Read them in order.

Furry by thetinyfoxtail. this Nalu confession oneshot is hilarious and cute.

Fairies After Dark by ShelbyShoe. This is unfinished, but a fascinating AU (I think it even won one of the guild awards for this...btw I recommend checking out their winners & nominations lists for good fics!)

Flame's Desire by Rougescribe is one of my favorite AUs. Very romantic, funny, and fascinating. Lot of sun/moon mythos going on with this one. warning for dark themes especially in the beginning

Most of her fics are incomplete because she was harassed out of the fandom, but silver light of dawn wrote some great fics (that's her finished oneshot).

Consequences by Juvia0613. Gruvia pregnancy AU. I loved watching them overcome the odds of the accidental pregnancy, her insecurity, and Gray's history of poor communication. It was one of my main inspirations for my little Gruvia oneshot I have linked on my pinned.

Berserk by Rivendell101 is like objectively amazing. They are even thinking of turning it into a book. It remains incomplete for now but is still worth a read imo.

Desperate Times by kayla the kawaii girl. Smutty Nalu multichap. Some of the funniest Gray & Natsu banter I've ever read. Dragonslayer Mate AU. Also some primo jealousy.

Please Know Who I Am by naluqueen. Next gen fic (and one of the inspirations for mine) where the characters' future kids wind up in the past. Takes a really cute and interesting view of what the future might look like.

Intruder Alert by ClumsyMustache. Absolutely adorable Nalu fic where she catches him in the act of sneaking into her bed. Oneshot.

Whiskey Burning by Absent Angel. Cute Nalu Oneshot. Heats up ;)

Apodyopsis by looneytails. Same description as above.

Writer's Block by randomteenager. Straight up smut. I really like this fic. Premise is that Lucy doesn't know how to write smut so Natsu, uh, helps her out. Then there are complications.

Pouring by Toxineena. This is SUCH a good Gruvia oneshot.

A Prank Gone Right by fazzems. ngl, this has "A Dragon's Guide To Claim Your Mate" vibes. They are both just so silly but too hilarious not to rec. Dragon's Guide had me in tears the first time I read it.

Scandalous by lovelysakura99 [EDIT listed the wrong fic here at first, sorry!] Wonderful little Gruvia fic. Slowburn but a oneshot. Modern AU. Very good characterization. Side of Nalu.

Respect by Aryndiel. Headcanon about how Gajeel and Juvia became friends.

Stuck On You by nardragon. Hilarious fic where Lucy and Natsu wind up in a spell where they're literally stuck in each other's space and the rest of the guild has to try to separate them. Background of growing romance.

Boxer Boy by LaynaPanda. Boxing AU (surprise surprise) oneshot with a heavy side of Gajevy.

Good Vibrations by randomteenager. Gruvia smut.

The Truth Revealing Cards by Dark Shining Light. Funny, cute Nalu confession oneshot.

Meet The Parents by Madartiste. Lucy on her way to meet Natsu's parents in a modern AU.

Date Night by StoryQuipster. Gajeel winds up involved in Juvia's love life. Mainly Gruvia fic. Incredibly cute and silly.

Hanging by a Thread by AbsentAngel. Some of my all-time favorite Nalu smut. feels super in-character. See also Break Fast.

Naughty Nalus by snogfairy. Dump of smutty Nalu oneshots. Chapters 3 and 9 are super good.

Thank You, Nashi by flamefairyx777. Natsu/Lucy/Lisanna love triangle. Natsu has a kid he doesn't know about but when Lucy winds up in danger, she finds him and they get to know each other. I love this one, but the sequel wasn't for me as it contained a major character death.

Here's a link to my AO3 bookmarks, I'm not done unprivating my recs but it's a start!

FFNet is still a pretty strong holdover for a lot of the Fairy Tail fics though, so I also recommend checking out this rec post and the one it references (the framing on the original post is very rude and obnoxious, but the addition is quite good). Also I'd learn to do a search and look through other author's favorites (click the Filter buttons).

Also highly recommend clicking around to the other chapters on that RicardianScholar Clark-Weasley fic I linked in the original post. It is really good.

"Tales of Fairies" by RicardianScholar Clark-Weasley is a FT fandom all-timer, of course, but some of the chapters in particular hold such a special place in my heart. Just a few off the top of my head, in no particular order:

the one where Reedus paints yaoi of Natsu and Gray to promote public interest in the guild lmfao

the one Team Natsu makes him pull the cart since he can't ride in it

the viking AU. idek if i like the Nalu or Jerza one better [part 1 (Nalu), Part 2 (Jerza)]

The War of the Roses AU, while not actually probably one of my top favorites, is objectively amazing (major character death warning for this one at the end) [Part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, Part 6, part 7, part 8, Part 9 (really a prologue), part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, End]

the AU where Natsu convinced Lucy to marry him before bringing her to Fairy Tail (the chapter about the aftermath of Natsu leaving is so good) [part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 (Edolas), Part 6 (aftermath of natsu leaving)]

the one where they all revert into children and Lucy's spirits & the remaining adults have to take care of them (Gildarts getting the chance to be his dad when she was a little girl is cathartic and sweet)

The Gangster AU (from the OP)

The one with the Pied Piper trying to kidnap the Fairy Tail kids and giving them back

The one that explores Laxus's and Mystogan's friendship

Nalu and Gruvia child's first kiss

Chapter where Fairy Tail found Future Lucy earlier in the GMG arc (some primo Nalu jealousy in this one 👌)

A deeper exploration of Natsu dimly remembering Wendy at the beginning of the Nirvana arc

Chapter where Natsu vanished with Mavis and Zeref (angsty but hopeful/happy conclusion)

hmm there's definitely more but i can't think of em now. also if i remember later maybe i'll come back to try to link the specific chapters

[spacegaywritings]

Communication of Silence - Chapter 11 Spi(c)es

Logan and Virgil are at work together but have different shifts at the library. Virgil gets to leave earlier and grabs some food with Remy. Roman makes interesting discoveries and does not know what to feel about it but he is sure Virgil is shadier than he lets on at first glance.

TW: food mentions/eating, working, watching other people, therapy talks, implications of insomnia/ED etc, Roman being a bit radical and protective, slightly stalkerish? and creepy roman, Virgil being shady af (aka dealing drugs, implied)

Tell me if you need me to tag any more than this!

Virgil uses he/they pronouns (for the day) in that chapter so the pronoun use is split for a reason. Yes, they do that for a reason. Just read on, it should be a topic later ao3 link *clicky* read under the cut:

A yawn could be heard and Virgil rubbed the sleepy tears from his eyes. Work was almost over for him and he had barely gotten any sleep after whatever this shitty thing had been with Logan.

The nerd was in the break room working on some project for one of his classes while Virgil had to take the front desk. One of their colleagues had just arrived and was getting ready in the back so they would be able to take Virgil’s part.

Only a few more minutes and Virgil would be on his way to leave. Today was one of the rare days during which he could not even relax with the smell of books surrounding him. A book on folklores from all over the globe was on his lap but he had not bothered turning the page in a long time. By now, it was more decoration than anything else. It was a comforting weight on top of that.

Another yawn caught him and he squeezed his eyes shut and covered his mouth for he was in public and attempted to maintain proper behaviour. However, it did not seem to be enough for some people.

“Dear gosh, this is so rude! Do you greet every costumer like that?”

Ah, that sound. It was the all too familiar noise of annoyance embodied by an actual person. He would have wished to call her a boomer but she was not. She looked like a woman in her uh.... late 30s, maybe fourties. Someone who decided to re-evaluate her life and start studying again even though it was lat. Nothing wrong with that but some people forgot that this was literally a bunch of tired student helping over tired students during the phase of upcoming deadlines for finals, assignments and other kinds of projects.

And there was a slender woman. Taller than him, rather fair skinned in nature but seemingly tanned by artificial help. Wasn’t tan actual damage to the skin? Why would that look healthy to anyone? Society was so weird and he was sure Logan had taught him that shit when they compared their skin colours at some point when working together on putting books into their respective places. (Nobody thought it was fair that Virgil would not put books away since he was small and he did not mean getting some help if it meant not sitting at the help desk and interact with people who smelled of desperation or entitlement at worst.) Virgil barely got to forcefully shut his own jaw and stop the yawn. Uncomfortable.

The woman was already ranting. For the sake of it, the emo just named her Karen. If he had to deal with her, he might as well try to mentally make it a bit more humorous.

He leaned back. On the outside, he seemed okay, awfully calm and probably just sleepy. The woman seemed to hate it and her head was already red as she demanded some book. He could not even ask which one it was because she rapidly blabbered herself into rage.

Did she even want help?

“Um, like.. What do you want?”

Karen had taken one moment to breathe in and Virgil was quick to slip a bookmark between the pages he had long given up on. He had spoken now and taken the wind out of her sails.

Her glossy, empty cans of eyes stared into him without any sense of understanding.

“Excuse me?”

Virgil supported his arm on his elbow and let his chin rest on his outstretched palm. He was not made for costumer interaction. Was it even a costumer? He did not exactly get money from them unless they had to pay overdue loan fees for keeping books for too long.

“I asked you what you want. You kinda talked for like”, he moved his left hand in a circle as if to show that it was an estimate rather than an actual calculation, “two minutes or something.” He shrugged. “Keep it short, it is 2 in the afternoon and I have no attention span for people yelling at me in a library.”

His voice sharpened at the end as to give an extra emphasis to the word library because it was a place of being silent. She was anything but silent.

The woman let out an unholy shriek and her angry eyes narrowed as she tried to eat his poor unfortunate soul.

“You are not listening to me and then you even dare to be this rude to me, a costumer? The costumer is always right and you suck at your job! If you keep up your shitty attitude, I will tell your manager and get you fired.”

Virgil sighed.

“I still do not know what you want. Do you want to return a book, request the library to get a special book or do you want to loan anything? Do you need help finding a book? You know, there is a computer that does not talk back at you, if you want to try with that.”

He pointed towards a row of computers, some of them having special signs to indicate that they were without internet access but only served as means to navigate around the library and find certain books.

Somehow, that must have been the most offensive couple of words ever used around the woman. She seemed to puff up in anger, her hair curling a bit and her face tinting a reddish shade.

“How dare you! You are being so rude! I thought student knew better than to disrespect their elders!”

She went on saying that she wanted to see his manager, had never been mistreated like this before and found it to be an “audacity” to be disregarded like that. Suddenly she started dashing out claims of having been insulted and discriminated against.

Virgil sighed and checked the clock. Yeah, two minutes. It was time to go and he was sure Tiara was gonna be there any second now. He rose to his feet and picked up his bag.

“Where are you going, young man?”

Ugh.. that card... He barely spared her a glance and pocketed his book.

“My shift is over and you are my colleague’s problem now.”

The small student put his bag on and blinked at her before he left his desk. His sass sparked the explosion.

“I want to speak to your manager right now! I am going to get your little ass kicked you stupid -”

She never got around to finishing this sentence but he was sure she was going to say something racist, funnily enough. But glory had it, someone behind her cleared his throat and adjusted his sunglasses.

“Ma’am”, the taller man spoke. He was probably taller because of his hair standing up.

“I am the manager and I am afraid I need you to leave. If you resist, I will ban you from this location and inform campus security about your disturbing presence.”

The woman turned around. Upon seeing the man in a leather jacket and sunglasses, she frowned.

“You are the manager?”

Her words sounded like the hiss of a snake that just met their worst enemy. Eyes narrowed, she focused on the slightly smaller man than him who just nodded towards Virgil.

“Ma’am, I asked you to leave the property. Virgil, I think you need to inform security and help this lady out”, he started and leaned in a bit, his voice just turning a bit sharper than his words already were. “Tell them to inform the police for resistance.”

By now, her head was redder than a glowing fire. She was smoking about as much. Virgil tried to look as nonchalant as ever when he picked up the phone, face unbiased as if he had never picked a side in his life.

The woman let out another screech of fury. It sounded a bit like an angry Chihuahua, ready to eat your fingercap off your hand without hesitation. She was dead serious but so was the manager. Virgil started dialing and clicked his tongue, his dark eyes looking past her raging form.

When he opened his mouth, she stomped her foot and hurried off, he gloomy eyes shooting daggers at the leather-clad man for another moment before she stomped through the library and back outside again.

Virgil immediately dropped the phone and put everything away, his hands rushed as if he was handling hot potatoes.

“Fuckfuckfuck, what if she gets me fired!?”

He ran his hands through his hair, calming the heat and dissipating the energy in his sudden kick of anxiety. The man with the sunglasses walked over and pouted at him.

“Really, you are going to panic before you even greet me? I expected better from you”, he whined and stretched out his arms to take Virgil’s bag. “That bitch cannot do shit and she totally believed I am the manager. Did you see her panic when I mentioned the police? I fucking broker her, like, TBH she will not come back when you are around again.”

His shoulders flexed under the black fabric of his heavy jacket. Eyes rolled under his sunglasses that he wore despite the rather cozy dimness within the building. Outside, it was cloudy and horridly white but there was no sun to illuminate the day. Still, looking up into the sky would hurt worse than looking into the warmth of the sun for just a moment.

“Come on, you don’t need that job anyway and you can get other jobs if she really gets through with this”, he nudged the other who just looked up at him, eyes swollen in worry and decidedly looking at the other, then past him. He made the impression there was something to look out for. “Also, I fucking killed that performance. I want a bit of recognition here.”

He sing-sang his latter sentence, the words and notes wrapping around Virgil and softly pushing him closer to the taller person.

The emo caved.

“Ri, I swear you are going to be the death of me.”

He stepped into the other and just threw his hands around him.

“Whatever the fuck. You are right or whatever. I don’t care. Fuck work, fuck Karen.”

Virgil nudged Remy’s shoulder and started walking towards the exit.

“Karen? That was her name? You know why she was here? Did she come before? She sounded gosh-fucking-awful.”

The younger of the two chuckled and walked them out.

“Do I need to teach you memes, too? Am I obligated to explain every bit of Gen Z culture to you?”

The taller one inhaled the air in offence, one hand on his chest as he slowly craned his head to look at Virgil, his mouth agape in utter shock at the rude betrayal. He got as far as to slide his shades up to his head where it rested in his dark brown hair.

“Gurl, did you just fucking straight up and murder me after I saved your ass from that suburban super mom-monster?”

The student pushed the door open for them and took the time to shoot Remy an arrogant glare.

“Thank you, oh holy knight but I do not need to be saved by some random dude. Believe it or not, I would have handled that. It is the end of my shift and I was about to stall for time.”

Remy shook his head. Before he could try and bite back another comment, Virgil was already speaking again.

“Anyway, your performance did NOT suck, so I guess you are still allowed to call yourself a thespian or actress or whatever you wanna use... “, his voice dropped from high amusement down to sincere interest, “do you feel the actor today? Or, like, just Remy?”

The actor hugged Virgil’s side and blinked slowly as they walked back to his office.

“I am gonna be your brother today. What about you? Are you feeling a sister in you? A sibling or are you my brother as usual?”

This time, he stretched out his hands to open the door.

“Uh.. I mean, .. “, the other started but broke off as he quickly ducked down and walked into the office without missing another beat. Once inside, he shrugged and sat down onto the less cluttered side of Remy’s highly professional desk. “I dunno, man. I am just a thing, I guess”

Remy nodded and gave his sibling their things.

“Ah, alright, thank you for these clear words, Misc “I can stand up for myself” Lee.”

The other reacted with nothing more than a scoff.

“Whatever, just get lunch with me. Any suggestions?”

They pulled out their phone and started typing away on it, pulling up the email app he needed to compute a text to his therapist. If he was lucky, he would get some dismissed appointment and during winter time, maybe he was actually that lucky.

“I talked to your boyfriend, you know”, Remy started and Virgil waved him off.

“I am literally messaging her right now, can you calm down? I am about to go eat with you and you can take a picture if that makes you happy. Don’t get on my ass, I am.. I am trying..”

Virgil sighed and pressed “send” without reading over it or adding these funky “sincerely, yours” words and all that shit. They were not exactly in the mood to discuss the whole thing again. Their mood was already sore enough from everything that had happened before.

“Then she probably told you that I am okay and panicked enough over that. I am trying, okay? Just leave me be and get stupid food with me.” They sighed and threw their phone over. “Please.”

Remy caught the flying device with coordinated hands and skilled fingers. With one simple motion, he fastened his grip around the phone and glared back at Virgil.

“Don’t throw your shit, kid”, he warned them but did not intend to go any further than this. His eyes glanced over the shiny display. With how they used their things and just threw them around, it was a miracle this thing was still intact - at least from what it looked like on the outside. Then again, water damage was more likely than cracking the display, seeing that Virgil was almost constantly on their phone and texting him or other people.

The display was shining brightly into Remy’s face in the unlit office of his.

“Why do you need to have such a high brightness when you work in a library?”

Remy sighed and squinted before letting his shades return to the bridge of his nose. The tinted glasses did their job in making sight a bit more bearable and less painful. It was almost as if looking at bright things did not make his eyes sting dully and his head contract in pain.

In front of his eyes was a white bunch of nothing and some meek, black letters. An email to Virgil’s therapist. Well, it was not the therapist directly but it was the receptionist who was to plan and manage their therapist’s schedule.

“The library is not a dark cave, stop pretending the world is as dark as it looks from watching it through your dumb shades”, Virgil shot back casually as they fidgeted with their hands, fingers pushing together for no reason and curling up together. If they were longer, they would definitely get tied up like wild, cooked noodles. “Also, I am literally sitting right underneath a bigass lamp at the front desk. The shelves are a bit better when you are in the section with that fuckton of heavy books nobody wants to touch unless they are forced to.”

Ah, yes.

“You don’t have to show me. You are an adult and I trust you to do the right thing.”

They scoffed but left the comment unreviewed safe for a quick glance at Remy over their brow for less than a split moment. He almost thought it was nothing but imagined because he would expect them to do that.

The smaller of the two took their phone back and scrolled through it. Their fingers seemed a bit more at rest but they still rubbed over the display as if an apocalypse of message had just exploded in their notification feed. For sure, it was unlikely to get so many messages at once but Remy did not mind the quirks too much.

“Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii”

The student finally put their phone aside and let their nickname for Remy be stretched longer than wet and sugary sweet gum for kids. The one you would use to make really big bubbles before popping them in one wet and lazy sound. Feet swung forward and fell back against the side of the desk with a dull ‘clung’.

The addressed person angled his shades. His eyes were spitting salt at the other.

“Bitch, now you are going all sweet on me -”

“I will get food without you, hoe, I just want to get it done, come ooooon!”

He could not exactly argue with that. Considering Virgil sucked at eating food, at least they seemed to get this issue together around Remy. Possibly, their body just registered that being around him meant eating anyway so there was no faking it away and skipping meals and missing carbs and minerals.

It felt funny to think about it in this way. Honestly, he would not mind it if it was that way. At least then Virgil at properly at regularly.

But threatening to throw off their lunch tradition? Unbelievable.

Virgil took a threatening step down and stood by their words. They were getting their bag.

“If ya don’t hurry, I can get you something - preferences? Disgusting food? Fake Asian food fusion imitation? Weird fruits? Vegan healthy smoothie shit?”

Remy clicked his tongue but held up his hand for a moment to signal his need of time. Then he bent over to get his purse.

“Shut up, it is my treat. I might have eaten your job after all.”

The professor clicked a turn into the ground with his vocal heels and strove for the exit of his office. Virgil was quick to follow behind. When he opened the door and closed it again, he did not notice Roman just a bit away, on the staircase. He had come to find Professor Archimeda after all.

***

”Got it all?”

Virgil’s eyes rolled behind Remy, nearly turning back into the back of their head but they stayed put - as loyal and reliable as always.

“Yeah, just fucking chill for one moment in your existence”

They trailed behind him with the bags of food in their annoyed hands. Remy kept turning around to look at them, checking whether they were there, whether the food was there.

“Like you have to be talking, honestly”

Remy’s voice was so flat, it could barely be taken as more than a joke despite it being drier than any sand-dominated desert could ever be. Virgil snorted at the familiar salty flavour of his response.

“I am not going to disappear and neither is the food, seriously, I mean, you can hear me walking behind you. It is not that much of a big deal. I am just carrying the bags, calm your protective instincts, princess.”

The professor wanted to award that comment with a snarky glare but found his shades to be in the way as always. The brightly lit hallway had the stinging LEDs that would tear into his brain if he dared to even as much as consider taking off his shades and he had done this mistakes enough already.

Sweet relief was nothing compared to the satisfaction of reaching his office once more and finally opening the door to allow the unlit room to swallow them into the dim atmosphere of his beloved office.

“Finally”, the professor announced, clutching his tea tighter and kicking the door shut without glory nor car. One might have thought he just finished a whole day of work and extra chores but no, the dude just felt the pain of migraines and rubbed his temples as soon as he crashed into his chair and got to put his tea down.

On the other side of the desk, Virgil put the food down and looked at his miserable brother.

“You know what?”

Remy sighed and slowly brought his lips to his stupid straw. It was one of these funky things that was made of biodegradable something. No idea what it was but it was something and it was not paper, probably. It kinda felt different but yeah, whatever.

He sipped his tea. Decaffeinated cinnamon winter whatever tea. It was as spicy as the tea around the theatre department. Which was pretty much a lot. To indicate his attention, one of his eyebrows rose and Remy craned his neck a bit to lean towards Virgil who just got around to opening a window yet pull the curtains shut so it would continue to be dark and private. As always.

“You look like a VSCO girl”, Virgil stated with tired eyes as he moved his chair closer to the suffering blob of leather and black. “I am kinda disappointed I noticed only know but you really really do look like one and I actually think you might be the bitch of all VSCO girls. Like, the superior boss bitch.”

Remy snorted his tea back into his straw and decided to stop hugging it and just put it back onto his desk again. Tea spilled everywhere. His pants, his jacket, a bit of floor and a whole bunch of Remy face got a big load the gulp he had meant to swallow rather than spontaneously blow back into his straw (which did not have the capacity to take it all in.

Yeah, he should have never touched it after getting into the chair…. The feeling of drinking just made the migraines a little less worse most of the time. No, before and after was just as miserable. Fuck hydration. But drinking? Drinking was the cure for migraine pains for some weird, magical reason.

At least to him.

He smacked his lips and clicked his tongue. Another sigh flew from his lips as Virgil curled into a ball of laughter at the horrible image before him. It was too good not to. Remy’s lips were slightly apart as he seemed to growl the tea away from him with intimidation skills he definitely did not have on tea.

He looked.. genuinely offended at the liquid for deciding to do any of this to him and jut ruin his jacket.

“Fuck you, Virgil, just fuck you, little hate crab.”

The professor got up and shrugged his jacket off his shoulders. At least it had time to dry before lunch was over.

“You know, you could be helpful and give me something to, like, help and stuff.”

Remy stuck his tongue out at Virgil who finally uncurled but was still grinning as they reached for the napkins and gave them to their sibling.

“Alright, princess”, Virgil commented with a smirk in their voice.

The professor rolled his eyes but refused to thank him. He patted his jacket dry but accepted the loss on his clothing. It was not much, it was not really wet or anything, just damp - if any.

Remy put his jacket over the chair and settled back into his seat.

“Just hand over the food”, he muttered in defeat and Virgil seemed to comply.

They distributed the food by giving Remy some of the boxes and just push some of his stuff aside so the desk was providing some more space for them to clutter it in food items. Not to be a bitch but this was his food space now.

“Mind me, Ri”, Virgil warned before he rose his knees as a first gesture. Remy took the hint and kindly turned his chair a bit so his sibling could access his lap properly. Their feet settled on his lap and got out some bamboo cutlery.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Virgil smiled and put the cutlery between them before he started opening basically any bit of food. No box was left closed (safe for the ones in the bags, still. They were to be spared for another few minutes until it was time for them).

The next minutes were just spent with the two starting to eat, Virgil picking a playlist of Queen songs to play in the background so Remy would be a bit happier with them.

“Hey”, Virgil mumbled and grabbed their bag. Remy hummed in acknowledgment.

“Got some more trash for you and you bet you will love it~”

Virgil whispered and moved their legs so they could pull Remy’s chair closer to him. Because OF COURSE this was an office chair with wheels and movement.This was an office and this was Remy and he would definitely have these kinds of things. The student reached into their bag and handed Remy a little brown bag. It looked like one of these lunch bags.

“Yeah, so, you know.. Met my friend again and they made you something.” They shrugged, deposing the bag in Remy’s lap, right between his feet.

“Well, this just perfect here”, he commented with a sly smile but he took the bag anyway and put it away carefully. “Thank you. How much?”

Virgil rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Just hand me those fucking honey batches, Ri, I am gonna eat them all on my own and we are even.”

Remy did not try to argue with that and silently shoved the box of dessert over to the other. They did not do much more. The rest of their lunch break was filled with some jokes and Virgil eating about as much as two people would. The two would cuddle and talk until time came for the professor to pack up and get ready to be a good teacher for his acting classes.

They parted with a warming hug right before the door, still in the safety of the dimly-lit office. Remy leaned down to press a kiss to the top of Virgil’s head.

”You take care of yourself. See you later - tomorrow? You can sleep at my place if you want to. You look like you need it.”

He touched the darkened circles under their slightly swollen eyes. They looked a bit puffy as is from crying but it was so usual, Remy barely noticed it - that is how they met after all. It was not out of the ordinary. Sadly, that was exactly the point. Insomnia should not be the new normal (especially for a growing zygote like Virgil).

They just shrugged their shoulders.

“Yeah.. I mean, maybe, I guess. I w-”, they started but a notification sound interrupted them.

The emo pulled out their phone and unlocked it with practiced movements, barely looking at the display at all. Once unlocked, they checked for messages.

“Well, time for me to go get some stupid therapy - I mean.. get therapy. You know.. whatever. I gotta get going or I will be late. I uh..” They stopped and shuffled their feet a bit, black boots clacking together. “I will text you, I guess? Thanks for the food and the...um, all the stuff..”

Remy shrugged and nudged them, warmth quickly seeping into their shoulder. He gave the student a genuine smile, even his eyes were radiating warmth.

“No problem. Now go before any of us is going to be late, Virg.”

The smaller of the two flinched as if hit by the realisation that time was still a and they, in fact, were on a clock to get to their spontaneous appointment. They quickly jumped into another hug before dashing out of the door and disappearing down the hallway with quick steps.

Their feet were walking fast until they picked up further so they would run as the storm, dark jacket flaring out and making them look like an actual storm cloud. Their steps echoing through the halls were the thunder rolling in the sky and scaring your eardrums.

Remy smiled after the figuring shrinking in size and volume before he came to his senses and reminded himself of locking up his office and walking over to his course. Roman was waiting for him and he made a bad example of himself when he was late to his own course.

Little did he know that he would probably be there first because Roman was still struck by seeing his boss and roommate interact so closely, so intimately. He turned his back on the window and hurried away, remembering there was a place he had to be.

He really needed to talk to Patton about this. The thespian was not sure what was going on but it looked shady and he could not tolerate it any longer. Someone needed to make sure that Logan would not fall for some dangerous asshole. Logan was too emotion-dumb for that. Not to talk about putting Patton at danger in his currently still rather fragile state...

Just..

No, he would not take this any longer. As he hurried through the extensive building and the majestic pieces of architectural beauty, he reminded himself to address the issue. He would try his best to convince Logan and Patton to just kick that guy out. Roman had no patience nor understanding left for someone who would constantly snap at him. He was not ready to risk his friends’ well-being for the sake of being fair. Virgil had played all his chances and lost already.

His time was over.

Just you wait, Virgil. Roman knew his friends and come time, they would realise that this stranger was nothing but trouble and needed to leave. No matter the nice benefits of him staying around.

He better watch out. Roman was coming for him.

[thebluewritingbench]

I'll Be Your West Coast, Honey

Read chapter one on ao3

“So let me get this straight,” Sam says, grinning and leaning back against Lena’s desk. “You’re going on a destination-less road trip with Kara, and only Kara, for two weeks?”

“That is the plan, yes,” Lena says, half distracted by the endless stream of emails in her inbox.

“So, you’re telling me you’re spending two weeks confined to a car with Kara Danvers and no one else as a buffer. Just you and Kara, alone together for two weeks. And this is why you need me to temporarily take over as CEO.”

“Yes, Sam.”

Sam bursts out laughing. She holds up a hand, trying to suppress it, but then something in Lena’s expression sets her off again and she’s wheezing. Lena watches in bewilderment as she wipes the corners of her eyes. “Oh honey. You are absolutely fucked.”

+

With L-Corp in chaos and Lena on the verge of a mental breakdown, Kara proposes an escape: a road trip up the West Coast. The only problem? It's just the two of them and a car on the road for two weeks, and it's getting increasingly difficult for Lena to deny the fact that she's maybe, slightly, desperately in love with her best friend.

[quarantineddreamer]

...

[cosmicmadwoman]

Adam and Eve-- Chapter 5: The Tortoise and the Hare

I’m excited to bring an update:) To read previous chapters, here is the link to Adam and Eve on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11360046/chapters/25427913

Summary: Betty and Jughead go on their first mission for the Southside Serpents, Cheryl moves in, and the core four begin investigating Fred’s murder.

Rating: M

Word Count: 4,003

Betty woke up with a raging headache and in a small, cold room with Jughead’s bare arms wrapped around her. She remembered what happened last night, crawling into a stranger’s house to cuddle with her boyfriend, but she felt hot embarrassment and regret simmer underneath her skin. She was still wearing her funeral dress and it was crumpled up around her waist. Her phone was on the bed beside her and the time read 7:38am. Betty could hear the light snores of her boyfriend and a more guttural snore from the other boy across the room. She would have never slept in the same room with a random guy with Jughead if she was in her right mind. All she could think about was escaping as soon as possible. She leaned over and gave Jughead a kiss on the corner of his mouth, making him stir and he laid his sleepy eyes on her. His eyebrows wiggled when he saw how her dress bunched up around her, revealing the black lace panties she was wearing underneath. He rolled over onto his side and pulled Betty into a more aggressive kiss. Betty pushes his off when his cold fingers tickle her clit over her underwear.

 “Your foster brother is sleeping right over there!” Betty whispered-yelled.

 “Exactly, he’s asleep,” Jughead replied in a gruff tone.

 Jughead’s hips involuntarily bucked into Betty’s side and she could feeling his morning arousal hard and thick against her. The rational part of her knew she should swat his hands away and scold his teasing fingers, but it felt so good to have the coolness of his digits playing with her. The naughtiness of it all, the rush of RJ waking up and catching them sent wetness straight to her panties. Jughead groaned as he felt her arousal moistening the tips of his fingers through her panties.

 “You’re always so wet for me,” Jughead moaned in her ear before licking the shell happily.

 The lanky boy’s probing fingers dipped into Betty’s underwear and were gently rubbing at her folds before dipping a single finger into her core. She tried so hard to keep silent, but when Jughead added another finger, Betty squealed in pleasure. Jughead captured her parted lips in a kiss to stifle the noise and his mouth buzzed with the vibration of her scream. He added pressure from his thumb onto her swollen clit and she was gone in seconds, slamming her eyes shut tight and arching her hips up as if trying to swallow his fingers inside her. They laid quietly for a moment as Jughead removed his fingers from her cavern and licked them clean with his tongue. Betty watched him with hazy eyes. Her body was spent and humming, but she was so desperate to see her boyfriend undone with his chest heaving and sweat curling the hair on his forehead.

 Sleepy hands found purchase on hard flesh and tugged lightly at first encircling the head with her thumb, smearing the silky pre cum from the top around, making the path of her hand more slick along his shaft.

 “Shit, Betty,” Jughead breathed out.

 He still could not believe Betty was his, that he loved him, she wanted touch him. Every touch, no matter how tender, left trails of heat in its wake. It took all he had every time to not cum quickly at every encounter.

 Betty’s delicate hands stroked faster and tighter. Jughead lifted the dark green blanket to look underneath and visually take in Betty’s pale hand clenched around his cock in a fist. Betty smirked as she placed wet kisses along his jawline, scratching against the sprouts of hairs grown after a day of not shaving. She moved to his lips and kissed him deeply, her tongue sinking into his mouth and twirling around his own. A strangled moan escaped into Betty’s mouth as Jughead’s arousal covered Betty’s hand in ropes of silvery substance. The pair stayed still for several minutes before Betty removed her hand from his deflated member and wiped his cum on the pajama pants he was wearing. Jughead gave a fake scowl at her and she just kissed his nose instead.

 “I love you,” she smiled.

 As a writer, Jughead had always understood the power of words, but he could not grasp how his body absolutely tingled and hummed at hearing the three simple words leave her pink lips and aimed at him.

 “I love you,” Jughead relied.

 “I’ll see you later, Juggie,” Betty said, leaning over for a quick kiss before moving to the window, opening it, and swinging one leg over to the outside.

 Jughead sat up in bed to watch his girlfriend scurry off down the road, her black shadowy form a stark contrast to the white snow covering the landscape. She must have been really drunk if she didn’t even wear a coat. Jughead snuggled back under the covers and drifted off soundly for a few more hours.

 Betty slipped through the frosted window to her room much later, the trip was a lot longer and harsher sober, she noticed, and peeled the dress off, replacing it with her tattered lavender robe. She bumped into her mother in the hallway who was already all dolled up for the day. Underneath her unclumped mascara something was blurring her blue eyes… tears?

 “Mom?” Betty asked gently.

 Alice had a rough exterior, and middle, but she was gooey and sad and as fragile as the other Cooper girls deep inside. It felt like any moment could be that moment for Betty, where she couldn’t go back to manicures and ponytails and she would be forever trapped in a void of darkness and dizziness. Polly was able to make it out of the daze Sister of Mercy put her in for the most part, but Betty couldn’t tell if she could be that strong.

 “Going to have a shower? Your makeup is all runny dear, you should have washed your face last night or you’ll break out,” Alice deflected in only the way she can, by making you feel like an ogre.

 “Mom, you’re crying,” Betty persisted.

 Alice shook her head, her flawless makeup and hair never out of place as she did so. Her face scrunched quickly, so quickly Betty thought she imagined it, but regained composure and took a deep breath.

 “Your sister did not take the news of your brother as well as you did,” Alice said simply. “I robbed her of her family, she said. The twins have an uncle they’ll never know. I forgot how nasty Cooper women can be when they’re pregnant.”

 “Did you tell her the whole story? How Dad made you?” Betty asked, her big green eyes bold and watery at her mother’s secret.

 “I wasn’t given the chance. I made a compromise with her though. Cheryl Blossom will be moving in later today,” Alice gave a curt smile full of venom and pushed past her daughter to the stairs and descended to start a bountiful breakfast likely no one would eat.

 Cheryl Blossom? Living in her house? The already tumultuous colonial would surely explode with a privileged and manipulative Blossom running amuck. Her act of burning down the mansion could act as a fiery baptism, but how many leaves can a person turn over before they can amend things with all of the people they had hurt. And for Cheryl, that’s 99% of Riverdale.

 Betty went in the opposite direction of the bathroom and opened the door to her sister’s room. Polly was sitting at her window seat looking outside, almost like she was waiting for someone to come home.

 “You should've heard Mom out,” Betty spoke up, crossing her arms.

 Polly turned around slowly and gazed at her younger sibling with smoldering eyes. Betty knew this was Polly’s way of telling her to shut up and get out, but she felt that her mother had been through enough with this and Polly needed to at least know the truth.

 “Dad made her do it. Give up the baby, I mean. She was sent off to Sisters of Quiet Mercy, just like you,” the blonde said in such away she hoped it would make Polly think it was this huge revelation that would save the day.

 “And then she sent me there? Knowing what is like to be trapped in a room of nothing, a world of nothing? That’s fucking rich,” Polly scoffed and stood up. “We have a brother, Betty. While we got to grow up in a beautiful town with everything we’ve ever wanted and what happend to him? We got to jump on the trampoline in the backyard and have Memorial day cookouts and watch Dad fall down drunk. We made cookies with Mom and she took us to soccer practice. He never got to share those memories with us. It’s not fair.”

 “Polly-- it’s more complicated than that,” Betty said.

 “No it’s not! You don’t abandon family. And that’s why Cheryl is living with us and I’m keeping my babies,” Polly stood firmly.

 “Imagine if Mom and Dad were teen parents? Would they have gone to college or have this nice house we grew up in? Have that trampoline and be able to bake? You’re living in a dream world. We can’t have it all,” Betty tried to explain, coming off rather harsh.

 “None of that stuff matters to me, Betty. Maybe it used to, but not anymore,” Polly shook her head. There was a long pause between the sisters. Betty was thinking that maybe Polly was right. She had known no other life and it wasn't perfect, but it was her’s. She had so much handed to her. Her brother deserved that too, he had a right to it as a Cooper.

 “His name is Scott,” Polly said finally. “Scott Darrow. I asked Mom.”

 “We should find him,” Betty said suddenly, surprising herself. She knew Jughead would help her. When she first told him about what happened, he offered to help her find him right away, to bring the investigating team together, but she wasn’t ready. Now, she was ready.

 -----

Jughead eventually woke up around 10:30 and took a shower. The showerhead was too short for him and he had to duck his head to wash his hair, but the soap smelled like a Christmas tree, which made him think of his upcoming first Christmas with Betty. What do you get the most interesting girl in the world for a Christmas gift? No material object compared to her as a whole being. Gifts were meaningless as long as he could hold her until they were skeletons. Jughead came out dressed to Natasha cleaning the dishes in an old basin sink.

 “There is leftover breakfast in the microwave, “ she said brightly.

 “Thank you,” Jughead nodded and ate the bacon and eggs quickly. Her eggs were bright yellow and fluffy. He couldn’t remember a time when food was waiting for him when he go up in the morning. He could get used to this.

 RJ entered the room covered in water. He shook himself out like a dog and his mother laughed. For taking in foster kids, everyone seemed airy-- not a care in the world.

 “Ginger was not happy about taking a bath,” RJ chuckled. Jughead could hear faint wailing from the end of the hall. He hated taking baths too at her age, but this girl was bawling.

 “Well then she shouldn’t be playing in the mud by the construction site!” Natasha laughed again.

 Jughead couldn’t help but envy RJ’s close relationship with Natasha. His mother didn’t want anything to do with him. Not just did she leave him, but actively kept him away. Jughead was desperate for a way out of this town, out of the mess his father created, and his mother couldn’t provide him protection, didn’t want to. A part of his resented Jellybean for being the chosen one, the only one her mother was able to love, but it wasn’t her fault. No matter how mature she portrayed herself to be during the weekly phone calls, she was still a 10 year old girl. Her 11th birthday was in January and he had to live with not seeing her. Just another thing his mother took from him. One could conclude that Jughead had mommy issues, but that phrase cheapened all she had done to him.

 The cell phone in his pocket rang and pulled him from the arctic thoughts of his mother. He quickly excused himself from the table, handed his dirty plate to Natasha and went outside on the step to answer the call. It was an unknown number, but he had a feeling he knew who it was.

 “Meet behind The Red Apple Lounge at midnight. Bring your girl,” the voice was young but determined. It must be Wolf.

 “10-4, partner,” Jughead responded, smirking at his little joke.

 “Don’t do that,” the young boy said, then the line went dead.

 Jughead thought it was funny.

 ----

Cheryl Blossom had accumulated quite a few things since she burned her mansion down. Even the bags she brought in to carry her belongings were extravagant and expensive. Betty so desperately wanted to believe Cheryl had changed, but the way she bossed Hal Cooper around, much to his contempt, and demanded she have her own room. That kink was still being worked out.

 “I don’t know why you want to be here,” Penelope groaned, accompanying her daughter to what she thought was certain death.

 “Being close to Jason’s babies is like being close to Jason again,” Cheryl replied lowly.

 Penelope just rolled her eyes in response and slapped on a cheery face as she commanded Betty to bring a cush red egg chair upstairs. The chair legs banged on each step as Betty dragged it upstairs, earning a hardened look from her aunt-in-law.

All of the things were piled in Polly’s room with no space to walk around. Cheryl also brought in a four poster canopy bed that Hal had to knock on Archie’s door and ask him for his help to bring in.

 “Cheryl is going to be living with you?” Archie knew the answer, but he could not wrap his head around it. Beads of sweat dropped down the sides of his forehead and he wiped it up with the edge of his striped blue and red shirt. Cheryl whistled from behind them from the steps and gave Archie and wanton gaze.

 “I’m never coming over again,” Archie whispered before skipping down the stairs passed Cheryl and heading back to his house.

 Cheryl strolled up the carpeted stairs in her obnoxiously high heels and stopped in front of Betty.

 “So I’m taking Polly’s room, I assume?” Cheryl smirked.

 Betty wanted to say what assuming makes her, (an ass out of you and me) but Betty bit her tongue and smiled cordially at her. If her mother taught her anything, it was kill them with kindness, with emphasis on kill.

 “Yes, she is so excited to share!” Betty replied brightly.

 Polly waddled up behind them and put her arm around her sister. Betty was taller and Polly had to get on her tiptoes to reach all the way around.

 “Actually, I was hoping I could shack up with you, Betty. It would be great sister bonding,” Polly tried very hard to present the idea to Betty in happy way, rather than for the clear inconvenience it was, but Betty conceded.

 The two had grown apart since high school, and perhaps it would be good for them. They used to have their own language and share secrets with hushed voices after midnight, but now it was like they weren’t keeping secrets for each other, but from each other. If things got too much, she could always crash with Jughead and FP’s empty trailer. She began to ponder what it would be like living with Jughead, really living together; planning out meals and buy groceries, folding laundry on the couch and watching TV, waking up every morning to his horrible morning breath-- but she would be thankful for every moment of it. With Cheryl in the house, there is less attention on her and she could live the fantasy she was spinning.

 “Alright!” Betty said happily.

Polly nodded in thanks and linked arms with Cheryl, “We have a lot to unpack and rearrange. Let’s go, Cheryl.”

 The fiery redhead gave a finger wave to Betty and disappeared into Polly’s slightly more rebellious lavender room. Well, soon to be red.

---

Betty seemed too enthusiastic for someone about to steal liquor from a high end lounge. Wolf had given her the jacket his girlfriend made and Jughead had to admit it was the sexiest thing ever. The leather hugged her curves tightly when she zipped it up over her pink sweater and pushed her breasts together, further outlining and defining their shape. But above all, the Southside Serpents emblem on the back added a heat to her persona that made Jughead want her to dominate him and take whatever she wanted. She looked so in control of herself, unleashed even, and it was everything to him in that moment.

 Jughead caught Wolf looking too, so he made a show of wrapping his arms around Betty and kissing her deeply before whispering in her ear, “I can’t wait to get you out of this.”

 Betty giggled and swatted his shoulder playfully.

 “Alright love birds, take the booze and put in the back of the truck around the corner. Keep it covered with the canvas cloth at all times. If someone is coming, drop the booze wherever you are and run to hide,” Wolf sighed as if he was already exasperated by just having to explain to them what to do.

 “Why isn’t the truck parked closer so we don’t have to carry the cases as far?” Betty asked.

 “So there isn’t a truck of stolen booze sitting in front of the truck from which we stole it from. I believe that makes sense,” Wolf quipped with a sassy tone.

 “Hey, it was just a question,” Jughead defended.

 “Let’s get moving. The faster we get this done the sooner I don’t have to see you two anymore.”

 The operation went smoothly and Wolf seemed less cold once he realized how helpful Betty and Jughead actually were. They skimmed about 20 cases off of the loading truck before peeling out in a black pick up. Wolf was driving, Jughead to the side and Betty was in the middle. Jughead held her hand and smiled warmly at her while simultaneously giving a stink eye to Wolf. The car ride back to the Whyte Wyrm was disgustingly silent, so Jughead decided to use his time wisely.

 “So, I’m looking for someone,” Jughead began, “that killed another someone---”

 “Spit it out, Jones. And don’t say you’re asking for a friend,” Wolf rolled his eyes. He expected the son of a gang leader to have more street smarts. He really was a northsider down to his bones, but he had that Southside spark in him. It was the spark of a poor outsider who has been fucked over too many times. That’s all it took to be a Serpent in Wolf’s mind, to be pissed off enough at the world to stick it right back to them.

 “Who killed Fred Andrews?” Jughead asked darkly.

 Wolf cut Jughead's seriousness with a scoff, “Fuck if I know. Jobs like that go to upper management.”

 “So you’re saying it was a Serpent?”

 “I’m not saying that either. I’m saying if it was, I wouldn’t know. But I got a little piece of advice if you wanna fill your weekends playing Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys,” Wolf said, “think like an actual detective. Do what Sherriff Keller is doing and look at the body.”

 “The body! That’s Archie’s dad, not just a body!” Betty clenched her fists as Wolf’s lack of compassion for her friend’s father. Jughead found her hand again and uncurled her fingers before she could break skin.

 “I don’t know who this Archie kid is. I’m trying to help here,” Wolf shrugged.

 “How are we supposed to get into a morgue?” Jughead asked.

 “Sounds like a Betty and Jughead problem.”

 Wolf dropped the two off at FP, now Jughead’s truck, out behind the Whyte Wyrm. Wolf rested his arm out the rolled down window and coughed trying to discreetly get their attention. The two kept walking and Wolf coughed again like a sad cat with a hair ball.

 “Uh, there’s a window,” he said lowly.

 “Window?” Betty asked incredulously. Wolf was standoffish and moody and it reminded her a bit of Jughead in the beginning of the year, however it was only cute when Jughead did it.

 “In the morgue. It’s like one of those basement windows. It’s pretty small, but you guys are deathly thin so it shouldn’t be a problem slinking through. They don’t lock it. I’m sure they figure who is going to break into a morgue?” Wolf explained, using a hillbilly mocking voice to imitate the incompetent staff of Riverdale Memorial.

 “How do you know this?” Jughead cut in.

 “I’ve been around.”

 Wolf’s old beater peeled out in a huff, a trail of smoke swirling lazily out of the hanging muffler. Betty and Jughead turned to each other wordlessly, silently asking if they should move forward and really get their hands dirty. The pair teetered on the tightrope of justice and crime. They wanted justice for Archie and Fred, but the thrill of breaking and entering, stealing booze and sneaking around was almost, if not more, satisfying. The Blossoms did not create their drug/maple syrup empire on being nice and following the law. It was built on the blood as red as Cheryl’s pouting lips. There was no way to be righteous and indignant and dish out what the world deserved.

 “I’ll call Archie,” Jughead said, breaking the thoughtful silence. “See if he wants to come.”

 Betty nodded and they slid into the truck.

 Archie said yes immediately to accompanying Jughead and Betty, and Veronica was with him and insisted from the background that she go too. It was hard for Betty not to feel high and mighty over the fact the Archie and Veronica and no experience with dealings in darkness and Betty and Jughead were up to their ankles in it. It was finally something she had that Veronica didn’t.

 Wolf was right, all four kids slithered through the thin basement window. The stench in the air was foul, not to be surprised, which clashed exponentially with the sterile look of the steel slabs and drawers of the morgue. Jughead thought Betty would at least be a little squeamish, he for sure was, but she was the first one to start yanking open the drawers and reading the tags on the toes. Veronica and Archie glanced quickly at the tables with bodies on them and didn’t touch anything. Jughead joined Betty on the drawers from the other side and the middle one in the third column made his eyes blur.

 “Guys,” Jughead whispered. “Look.”

 The three other teens looked over Jughead’s shoulder. The drawer contained two things. One was a tag that all of the other bodies had, with Fred’s name and date of death scrawled on it. The second was a childish cartoon of a turtle and on the other side of the page was a rabbit with a puffy tail and speed lines coming off it.

 “Is this a fucking joke?” Archie yelled slamming the drawer shut, causing his friends to jump back at the bellowing noise.

 “Someone knew we were coming. They’re sending us a message,” Betty said quietly almost afraid if she spoke to loudly Archie would lash out again.

 Jughead nodded in agreement and added, “They obviously aren't literarily inclined because in the story of the tortoise and the hare, slow and steady wins the race.”

[lenin-it-to-win-it]

me: *posts one single chapter update to my multichap fic*

me, shaking: Ive Become Stronger Than God, The Universe Itself Fears My Brilliance

[bakuthedeku]

baaack

HAPPY 1.2K!!