#Guys why does baby Jason literally look like joy inside out

[mockingjaylad]

Happy birthday Jason 🎂🎂 (second cake is for Alfred)

More Jason and raw drawing under!!!!

Jason complication from this year <3

[jugandbettsdetectiveagency]

@devilinhighheels:  How about a fic where Cheryl dares Betty to spend a weekend at a haunted house where she falls in love with ghost Jughead? Or Jughead tries to save her from an evil ghost with some angst but also lots of fluff? 

Ok, so this isn’t as developed as I wanted because this was supposed to be a short one shot but I seem to have forgotten how to do those so... I guess you can use your imaginations. It’s not exactly in keeping with the prompt because I was trying to keep it short, but then it got away from me just like this explanation is and I’m rambling, yeah, have this half-assed fic.

accepting halloween-y vibed prompts

“My turn,” Cheryl piped up, a sly grin planting itself firmly across her lips as she let go of Dilton Doiley’s sweater, allowing him to fall back in a post-make out daze, wiping at the corners of her mouth to remove any lipstick smudges. Somehow she seemed to be the only woman alive that managed to keep her makeup intact despite a multitude of spit swapping. Betty often wondered if the cherry red stain wasn’t lipstick at all, but that the colour just naturally deepened every time Cheryl managed to slay one of her enemies.

“Betty.” She jumped at the clipped sound of her name. Cheryl’s pupils had turned a menacingly dark shade as she focused her attention on her next victim. “Truth or dare?”

She hadn’t wanted to play this game. In fact, the only reason she was even at the Blossom’s Halloween bash in the first place was because Archie had looked at her with that liquid chocolate, puppy dog expression of his and practically begged her to come with him; she had melted just like his eyes. Betty cursed her inability to deny Archie Andrews anything as she watched him sliding closer to her best friend, Veronica Lodge, by the second. She bit the inside of her cheek as the corners of her eyes began to sting.

“Aren’t we a little too old for truth or dare?” she had protested weakly when Cheryl suggested the game earlier in the evening, noting the way the redhead kept flicking her gaze between the three of them, a mischievous glint appearing in her eyes. Betty could just picture how this was going to go.

“Betty, tell the truth. Are you in love with Archie?”

“Archie, I dare you to make out with Veronica.”

Whatever schemes Cheryl was currently plotting, Betty didn’t want any part of it. She’d been outvoted, nevertheless.

“It’s a time honoured tradition, Betty,” Cheryl stated evenly as she sat down on the crimson upholstered chaise lounge. The way she moved, with such grace and precision, never moving a muscle that need not be moved, only served to further cement Betty’s suspicions that she was actually the living dead.

“Yeah, B, come on! It’ll be fun,” Veronica insisted, barely having finished her sentence before she was glancing over adoringly at Archie, who’d come up behind her baring a red solo cup and a winning smile, guiding her to sit with a warm hand on her lower back.

“Betty, we’re waiting,” Cheryl demanded impatiently, snapping her out of her daze. All eyes were on her as she glanced nervously around the circle, like a cornered animal searching for a way out. Well, if she had to go with the least horrible option she’d pick…

“Dare,” Betty squeaked, clearing her throat a little. The joy in Cheryl’s expression faltered only for a minute before she rallied, glancing around the room for something to torture her with. In fact, she wouldn’t put it past the Blossom mansion to have some kind of secret torture chamber hidden away in its depths…

“Fine,” Cheryl sighed, “I dare you to…” She paused, her eyes looked on something just outside the window over Betty’s shoulder, corners of her mouth turning up in a devilish smirk. “I dare you to spend ten minutes in the abandoned Jones Mansion across the street,” she finished smugly.

Betty cringed, letting her eyes slide closed slowly in defeat as a hum of excitement filled the air. She’d been so focused on her prays that Bluebeard’s chamber wasn’t an additional feature to the gothic horror show that was Thornhill, that she’d completely forgotten that the Blossom’s home came complete with its own creepy, abandoned house just a few feet away.

“That place is totally haunted, dude,” Reggie announced with glee, practically bouncing in his seat. He didn’t notice the withering look Betty shot his way. “One time me and Jase kicked our football over there when we were kids and when we went over to get it I swear we saw someone moving about through one of the blown out windows,” he said solemnly, eyes wide.

“You’re freaking her out!” Jason chastised, throwing a concerned glance towards a rapidly paling Betty. Her fingers began a familiar twitch inwards towards the meat of her palms, hovering just above the surface of the delicate skin.

“You don’t have to do it, B,” Veronica consoled, resting a hand on her forearm in what she imagined what supposed to be a comforting gesture.

“Um, yes she does. She picked dare, she has to do the deed – those are the rules,” Cheryl cut in haughtily.

“Betty, you don’t have to if you’re not up to it,” Archie spoke over her, voice laced with pity.

That was it. She was done being babied.

“I’ll do it!” she burst out, instantly blushing at the sound of her unexpectedly loud voice echoing through the high ceilings. “It’s not a big deal, guys, it’s just a house,” Betty murmured quietly, unable to deny the slight tremor in her voice to even herself.

“Excellent!” Cheryl beamed, rising from her seat like Carmilla from her coffin. “Shall we?” she asked, motioning towards the door.

The group piled out, both tripping over each other with eagerness and reserve as they tried to get closer but not be the one closest to the house that haunted all of their childhood ghost stories.

The Jones mansion had sat, decrepit and decaying, for as long as any of them had known. None of them really knew who had truly lived there, only that the Jones family had been one of the founding families of the town of Riverdale, and that there were many stories surrounding their demise, spanning from debauchery to insanity. Either way, there were very few people willing to venture inside the old house that sat untouched at the other end of the Blossom’s driveway.

“Oh, and would you look at that,” Cheryl said coyly, holding up her phone that they were using as a flashlight to pick their way across the overgrown yard. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Ooh, the witching hour,” Reggie giggled, rubbing his hands together. A muffled ‘oomph’ rang out after Veronica elbowed him in the stomach, her usually highly arched eyebrows drawn low over her eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, turning her worried gaze to Betty, searching her face for signs of hesitation. “I mean, we literally just walked past so many signs saying to keep out. No one has been inside here since before Gabrielle Chanel started going by ‘Coco’. It’s just waiting to fall down,” she shivered, wrapping her Red Riding Hood’s cloak tightly around her exposed arms as the fall wind picked up ominously around them.

Betty ran a hand down the cheap costume satin of her Marie Antoinette outfit, suddenly feeling like the thin, red ribbon choker tied around her neck (her attempt at backhanded humour) was too tight, watching as she leaned back into Archie’s embrace while he rubbed some warmth into her skin. Maybe she should have worn something a little more risqué, Betty thought dejectedly, glimpsing the exposed thigh between Veronica’s short skirt and knee socks. Steeling her shoulders, she turned away from the group.

“It’s just a house,” she repeated, more to herself than her friends. Really, it was. “I’ll be in and out,” she reassured, flicking an unsteady smile over her shoulder.

“Ten minutes,” Cheryl reminded her, clearly enjoying this far too much.

“Yeah, I got it,” Betty bit out. The shadow of the house loomed before her as she sucked in one last deep breath, the full moon just emerging from behind dark wisps of late night clouds while she reached out and grasped the handle, pushing open the rotted wooden door with a creak.

Something dark and fast scuttled along the edge of what Betty assumed used to be the grand foyer, and she swallowed the bubble of a scream that threatened to burst free, well aware that she was still within earshot of the teens waiting for her re-emergence with anticipation. The door swung shut with a solid bang causing her to flinch in surprise, hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention. Betty conjured the page of the text book she’d read in her mind that explained why this reaction happened – something about the fight or flight response triggered by the rush of adrenaline in a fearful situation causing goose bumps, thus tightening the hair follicles and making the hairs stand on end. If she thought about that she didn’t have enough energy left to consider what might be casting the strange looking shadow on the wall to her left, while making her way towards the heart of the house.

A small yelp escaped her as a flurry of wings erupted above her head, coupled with the sharp snap of the bannister giving way under her sudden weight against it. Betty stumbled back, managing to keep herself upright just in time to watch an ornately carved section of the staircase creak and crash to the floor.

“Betty?” she heard Archie’s voice call out in concern. Her hand was on her chest, feeling the erratic thud of her heart beneath her palm.

“I’m fine!” she yelled back as loud as she dared. She couldn’t help but be overcome with the uneasy feeling that she was disturbing something here.

She reached the second story landing, eyes darting about in search of god knows what; she was sure she was just hoping not to see anything at all. It was clear by the mouldings this house was once a lavish structure, the height of upper-class society, now reduced to rot and rubble.

A soft laugh drifted by her ear and Betty whipped round, breath caught in her throat as her palms began to sweat. She was sure she’d heard it – it was so clear. A light breeze trailed its fingers over her shoulders, rustling her skirts as they went, carrying with it the distant sound of violins, glasses clinking, footsteps thudding. Betty spun around in continuous circles, head all of a suddenly becoming dizzy, as the noises overwhelmed her senses.

“Liza!” The voice was coated in sheer panic, growing in volume with each passing second. “Liza, my love, where are you?!” Betty turned, the air getting knocked out of her as she took in the sight that met her. A man was heading straight for her, his dark curls dishevelled, haunted eyes round with fear, his feet not touching the ground as he ran. Betty watched the moon disappear into the clouds, once more, out of the window behind his head, the flood of light pouring right through his sheer features.

It didn’t make sense, there was nothing here, there was nothing… She thundered down the hallway, the house’s foundations moaning underneath her, awakening from decade’s old slumber with each pound of her boots. The chime of a clock striking midnight reverberated through her skull and Betty cried out, falling back against a door that gave way beneath her.

She landed with a soft thud on a plush, paisley rug, the ringing in her ears abruptly ceasing. Her chest shuddered with each fear-filled breath, her eyes clenched tightly, too afraid to open them.

“What are you doing?” She knew that voice. He wasn’t real, he wasn’t real, he wasn’t real…

The warm weight of a cautious hand on her shoulder was very real.

Betty’s eyes flew open with a gasp. Her vision with filled with a lake of quivering blue, peering out from behind a simple, black mask, those curls partly obstructing the view. “Are you alright…”

“Liza?” Betty whispered, still coming down from whatever trip she’d just taken.

“Liza, are you alright?” he asked again, mistaking her questioning tone.

“No, that’s not…” she trailed off, lifting a shaking hand to her throbbing forehead, pinching her brows to try and quell the pain. She met his eyes again. Why was she trying to explain herself to a ghost? He wasn’t real anyway, none of this was. “Yeah, I think so,” she mumbled instead, finding herself flushing as he swiped a gentle thumb over her cheek.

“Then I’ll ask again, what are you doing?” he smirked, clearly trying to hide his laughter. Betty looked down at her sprawled out position on the carpet, her blush intensifying as she scrabbled to stand, his hand supporting under her elbow.

“I… tripped,” she supplied lamely, unable to meet his piercing eyes.

“Came here for some peace?” he guessed, raising a dark brow. “Me too. I’m not adept at dealing with the types that come to these kind of things. My father insists upon my attendance unfortunately,” he lamented, raking a hand through his hair in exasperation.

Betty watched him intently, waiting for him to disappear before her eyes. The man cleared his throat, straightening slightly. “My manners, forgive me. I’m Jughead Jones.”

“Jones?” she repeated, unable to keep the tone of incredulity from her voice.

“Yes,” Jughead replied, narrowing his eyes. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” he asked slowly, reaching up as if to cup her cheek before aborting the movement. “How can you be at a ball without knowing the host?” That secret smile was once again playing about his lips.

Betty pulled her lower lip between her teeth, feeling warm all over. She peeked up at the dream man from beneath her lashes, hoping her silence would appease him. It took her a moment to take in her surroundings, having been so focused on Jughead. The room was filled with a soft, yellow candlelight from the lanterns scattered about. The carpets were clean and untorn, the wood freshly varnished, and the walls filled with shelves upon shelves of neatly filed books.

It wasn’t possible, but somehow she just knew… This was the same house she’d stepped foot into, but it wasn’t the same time. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room read just gone eleven.

“I should re-join the party before my mother sends out a search party. Would you… care to join me, Liza?” Jughead asked, a hint of bashfulness creeping into his request. Betty smiled, looping her hand through his crooked elbow.

“Wait, I don’t have a mask,” she fretted as they reached the top of the staircase. She glanced quickly towards the chunk that had given way beneath her body just moments before, finding it securely in place and perfectly polished.

“Here,” Jughead said, reaching for one of the decorative ones on the cabinet behind them. She stood as still as possible while he tied it in place, his fingertips brushing along the slope of her neck, raising goose bumps for the second time that night.

“Thank you.”

The sounds that filled the air were once again familiar as they descended into the ball below. Clinking glasses, cheerful chatter, the soothing lull of violins playing. Betty was in awe as she took it all in, still not quite sure this wasn’t a dream and her lifeless body was lying somewhere beneath collapsed shingles back in the broken version of this house. But, then again, she didn’t have as much stock in her imagination to believe that she could have made up something this beautiful. And the weight of Jughead’s hand on the small of her back felt so impossibly real.

“Forsythe, dear! Ethel’s saved you this dance!” A high-pitched voice called over the noise and Jughead groaned, ducking his head while simultaneously quickening their pace so they became lost in the crowd.

“Forsythe?” Betty giggled – her imagination definitely didn’t make that up. He shot her a disdainful glare as he peered over her shoulder nervously.

“Yet another family curse,” he murmured distractedly, turning back to her once he was seemingly satisfied that they’d evaded whoever was trying to accost him. “I didn’t get your last name,” he said with an adorable tilt of his head.

“Cooper,” Betty replied, regretting her response as soon as she saw the colour drain from his face. “What?” she asked, apprehension causing her skin to tingle.

“You’re a Cooper?” The way he emphasised her name suddenly made her feel as if it were the worst thing to be right now. “What in the hell are you doing here?! How– Do they know you’re here? Jesus, I hope my parents don’t…” Betty couldn’t help but be transfixed by the way he rolled his lower lip through his teeth in frustration, the colour flooding back in when he let it go with a barely audible pop.

“No, I– I’m just here,” she stammered, because it was the truth. Jughead blew an exasperated breath out of his nostrils, appraising her with caution. Eventually he sighed, shaking his head as a small chuckle fell from his lips. The sound was deep and throaty, and not entirely displeasing to the ear.

“Well, I have to admit you’re braver than I. I like it,” he grinned and Betty felt herself preening a little at the compliment. Jughead’s gaze was drawn to something over her shoulder again, smile vanishing. “Shit. Um… Liza, will you do me the honour of letting me have this dance?” he asked, holding out his hand. Betty took it before she could think. Liza was definitely braver.

“Who are you avoiding?” Betty questioned as they began to glide across the dancefloor. She wasn’t wholly sure what she was doing (she’d only taken ballet for a few years before her mother told her she was too big boned to continue with any amount of grace), but she found that if she didn’t focus too much on her feet it wasn’t so hard.

“My mother. She’s been trying to match me with every eligible woman here,” he grumbled, a look of genuine pain crossing his face. Betty pressed her lips together to avoid laughing at him.

“Sounds terrible,” she murmured with teasing sympathy.

“It is!” he insisted, flexing his fingers against the small of her waist. “Everyone here is intolerable. I think,” he added as an afterthought, his eyes swimming again. Betty, not for the first time, began to feel lightheaded.

She lost herself in the dance, in the feeling of his body pressed against hers. She forgot that this was a dream, or that it was impossible, or that she was probably bleeding out somewhere with no one around. She hoped her friends would find her before any permanent damage was done. Instead, she chose to focus on the way Jughead looked at her with a fire she’d only ever dreamed of being on the receiving end of before. Well, it made sense…

“Why did you come here, Liza?” Jughead asked some time later, as their second dance of the evening was drawing to a close. “It could end so badly, our families despise each other,” he whispered. Betty shrugged.

“I don’t know. Maybe it was fate,” she quipped jokingly. When he didn’t reply she looked up to find him pulling his mask off. He really was beautiful. All strong lines and soft-looking lips. Something in the back of her mind reminded her that dreams had no consequences.

“Fate rarely works in my favour,” he muttered, cupping the back of her neck. Betty’s tongue came out to wet her lips in anticipation, seconds before they were pressed against his.

In the darkened corner of the room his mouth moved against hers slowly, steadily, working up a rhythm that sucked all of the oxygen from Betty’s lungs. He groaned quietly when she let out a small whimper at the way his tongue ran over the inside of her lower lip. Jughead pulled back, resting his forehead against hers when the chime of the clock bellowed, trying to regain their breaths.

“Come with me,” he whispered, pulling her from her place against the wall. Betty followed willingly, weaving through the crowd while a storm of butterflies tried to escape the confines of her stomach.

She tripped through the door at the back of the ballroom, the weight of Jughead’s hand disappearing, the cold wind winding its way into her bones.

“Jughead?” she whispered into the night, tears ridiculously pooling along her waterline. The decomposing floorboards once against creaked beneath her feet.

“Betty! Oh my, god, Betty! We’ve been calling you for ages; we heard a crash and thought something awful had happened,” Veronica sighed, pulling her in for a brief, but tight, hug.

“Something awful did,” Betty whispered, too low to be heard.

“Look what we found though,” Archie cut in excitedly, thrusting a weathered piece of paper into her hand. Betty felt the ground fall away from beneath her feet as she stared down at the figures in the picture. “She looks so much like you, maybe you’re related, isn’t that awesome?” Archie guessed with a shrug.

Betty knew they were more than just related. The woman in the picture stood next to Jughead Jones, bouquet in hand, swathed in the delicate lace of a wedding dress. Around her neck was a thin line of ribbon, tied in exactly the same way as hers was now.

She was reeling. She knew this was her, she knew it must have been real. But now, more than anything, she knew that she must make it back to him.

[the-mf-bread-babies]

20/6/20

× REBUILD III ×

+ RUNAWAY RENEGADES +

[ COLLECTION I ]

“backstories”

∆ VOLUME TWO ∆

“Odd Beginnings”

· PART ONE ·

———————————————————

CHAPTER ONE

DINER DATE

It was a rainy night. The clock inside the diner probably hadn't been fixed in decades, which only made time pass more slower for Jason. Jason Aronowitz Watanabe, 16 years old, was waiting for his first date to arrive at the restaurant. His mother and father were sitting in front of him, eagerly awaiting for her too. Among all the excuses the two had speculated, the son had grown tired and realized that maybe he didn't want to do this in the first place.

Jason stared at the unmoving clock, the sound of rain pattering filling his ears. God, it would be such a good time to sleep right now. “Honey, she's probably stuck in traffic,” said Judy, his mother. She spent hours to do her hair, makeup, and outfit. This might have been her son's date, but her and her husband's was going to take place as soon as the girl had arrived, and it was ten times more grand than Jason's. They had a reservation at Chili's.

Hisashi Watanabe, Jason's father, kept his eyes focused on the road outside. Maybe this was her. No, then that one. Also no. Well, hopefully Jason's not getting pranked or whatever. Oh, that's a cool truck. Bye, cool truck. Damn, that reservation's probably busted by now. So long, paradise pie. Two hours to get here and both dates are probably cancelled by now. Jason looks sad. Actually, he always does, it's understandable, but this time's sadder than usual.

“Jason, look outside!” The father whispered excitedly, pointing out the window. “Whatever. I wanna go home.” Jason grumbled angrily, his voice slightly cracking either from crying or just puberty. “Sorry, just… a limo,” Hisashi uttered quietly. “We can order something if you want,” Judy suggested, awkwardly smiling, her big sunglasses shielding the intense mix of emotions she was feeling– anger, disappointment, sadness. Also, hunger.

“Mm,” Jason replied cryptically. “Waiter! Can I get a menu, please?” Judy yelled out, startling the two men. She ordered something, her voice being reduced to mumbles by Jason zoning out, eyes fixated on the table. “Sweetie, do you want a milkshake? They have cookies and cream,” His mother asked, gaining back his attention. “Um, okay, sure.” Jason answered, giving his mother and the waiter a polite smile. “Thank you.” He went back to zoning out.

His parents were having a conversation about something unimportant, and the restaurant was awfully ambient. There was a jukebox, but that, too, was broken. This seemed like an appropriate situation for the boy to get distracted from everything and daydream. Damn, it would be so cool if he could play the drums. Ah, to be a transformer. Imagine going to have a heart transplant surgery, and Gerard says, “Babe, it's okay,” and then when it's done you ask the nurse who gave you the heart and she replies, “Frank Iero,” and you and the other three remaining members go get pizza or whatever. Poor Frank. Was that a bell ringing. Oh, to be a lamb in a field, eating grass. Ew, imagine eating grass…

HELLO.

A shadowy figure towered over Jason threateningly, katakana surrounding her. Who the hell is this?

“Do you need money?” Judy asked quietly, counting some dollar bills, thinking this was some random person. “Yeah!” She shouted excitedly. “Gimme five hundred thousand dollars, stat!” Jason's face turned to the girl. Her shirt read “TACO,” with an image of a cartoon taco below it. Cloaking the ugly t-shirt was a blue jacket that seemed quite old and vintage. Well, at least her outfit is matching. “Um… are you…” he asked the girl.

“Your date for tonight, partner!” Oh, she has braces. Yeah, seemed like a braces person. “Awesome! Now you two don't do any funny business, okay?” Jason's dad stated, pointing. “Dad, what.” “Well, off to visit your mother!” He added, his arm around Judy, the two scooting out of the seat to make room for the girl. “Cool! Your dad knows TF2?” The girl said, her face sparking up in joy. “I was an animator for the shorts,” Hisashi revealed, much to the girl's excitement. “HOLY SHIT!!! CAN I GET AN AUTOGRAPH?!” She yelled out, turning the heads of some people in the diner. “Sure thing,” he answered, signing a napkin. “Okay, bye, you two,”

Jason's eyes met the girl's, realising he forgot what her name was. Um… well, her brother's a senior, right? Tony… Tony Blenderson… Bender… Flanders… Uh… “Hi! You're Jason, right? From History?” She asked, raising his fear more. How did he even agree to this in the first place? Oh, right, their moms are friends. “Um, yeah, and you're…” Oh God. Grave mistake. “Man, I don't know! Most people just call me by my last name. First names are boring, you get me?” She confessed, calming him down slightly. “Oh, uh… yeah! Uh, so I can call you…” “Anytime!” She added confidently. “Huh?” Jason said, confused. “Henderson, man! Hendersonville is actually an actual place, by the way! Could you BELIEVE IT?!” Jason awkwardly agreed, not knowing what to do. “Yeah… like Disneyland or something…”

The conversation went on, with the occasional text from Jason's parents. “So then I was all like, I know karate, you dumbass,” she started, Jason trying his best to understand what the hell she was talking about. “And this stupid little goat starts headbutting me, and I'm bleeding and stuff, obviously, keep in mind I had a hamburger, that's important, okay,” The boy nodded his head along. “So, yeah, that was how gender equality is. Yeah, zoos are dumb, they're bad,” “Yeah, like, it's not good for them and stuff,” Jason said, finally having some material for the conversation.

He paused for a bit, unsure if the other was going to add anything. “So, uh, what do you do? Like, um, in general, yeah,” he asked, sipping his milkshake. “Kill people.” She blurted. “Okay. I like collecting stamps.” He replied jokingly. “HAH! God, what a riot you are! Oh boy, STAMPS!!!” Henderson laughed exaggeratedly, thinking it sounded natural, and possibly cute. “Yeah…?” “Yeah, not real people, but like, I play video games a lot. You ever play Slime Rancher? I've got six thousand days on that guy.” She confessed seriously, crossing her arms. “Also, used to play Overwatch, but that was so last rebuild. Now, in this one, I prefer Garden Warfare. You know, the FPS Plants vs. Zombies game?” She casually added, Jason sending his usual confused nodding and raised eyebrows with a slightly opened mouth as a reply.

Jason thought for a bit. “I play Apex,” He said disappointedly. “Oh, didn't it end because of that big rapper guy? Marshmello? Yeah. Sorry, dude.” Henderson comforted. “Um. I guess?” Jason ate the Oreo on top of the milkshake. “Yeah, and I also listen to emo stuff. I was born in the wrong generation.” He said, stirring the drink. “Oh, like PSY? Yeah, my old neighbor listened to him.” .. huh. “Um… yeah, and like, MGR and stuff…” “Cool! What's that stand for, again? My cousin listens to Chaos! in the Gathering, Nuclear Lad, thirty three tailors, so I know emo.” Henderson bragged. “Oh, it stands for My Geological Rocks! It's because they're pretty rock, and one of them saw this book where the title was ‘Geological Rocks’ or whatever, so they named the band that.” He explained truthfully. “ Oh ! That's Dumb ! ” She blatantly said, her hand loosely swinging a spoon.

“Oh, shit, you don't have food. Um, do you want some?” Jason realized, offering Henderson the scraps of his milkshake. “Nope! Lactose intolerance, baby!” She confessed, a hint of sadness present in her face. “Oh. Sorry,” He said as he slurped up the remains quite loudly. “Should I ask them for a menu?” Jason asked, clearly not wanting to do so. “I ate a toasted toast sandwich earlier, so I'm not really hungry.” “A toasted toast sandwich is a piece of toast slotted between two other pieces of toasted bread. With butter spread on some of them.” Henderson explained in detail. “Is it good?” Jason asked fearfully. “Duh,” she said. “Oh, okay,”

The two sat in silence. The room was quiet, even the chattering of the other customers were gone. Henderson waited patiently for a waiter to come by, her face staring at the table. “That's a weird stain.” She uttered, poking hesitantly at it. “Probably tea.” Jason added, looking at the stain. “Yeah,” Henderson agreed, resting her head on the table. They stared at the stain for some time. “So, uh, you like Jar-Jar’s Odd Journey?” Henderson asked, looking up at the other. “No, I don't watch anime,” he replied, prying at the stain with his fingernail. “Oh, okay. But like, do you like Jar-Jar’s?” Jason paused, looking at her and squinting his eyes, thinking what she was meaning to hint, then slowly realising it. “Well, do you like Power Princesses? With the cat lady and the other lady?” He asked slyly, smiling from ear to ear. “Yeah… literally and…” Henderson inspected Jason's jeans. “metaphorically… you know…” Jason inspected hers too. They both cuffed them, even though Henderson's were already a good length, now a bit too short, resulting in a very prominent hint. “So yes, I do watch Jar-Jar, then,” he replied. They nodded, smiling in Mystery.

“So, why'd you even agree to this?” Jason asked, facing her. “I dunno. Felt rebellious to steal my sister's date, I guess.” Jason leaned back in his seat, blinking interestedly. “So, if it weren't for you meddling fool, I would've gone on a date with a CRSCO girl, huh?” “Sksksksks and I oop,” Jason questioned dramatically. “Yes. That's actually why I'm late; I drove here by myself.” Henderson confessed, smirking. “And I knew I wouldn't like this date if it was at some fancy restaurant, so I picked somewhere I could eat, hence why the location is so unsuitable.” “The distance, especially. That was so my family couldn't track me down.” “As if they'd care.” Henderson folded her hands together on the table and put her head down and stared at them, her hair swinging dramatically in front of her.

“Well that's bad. And bad… ass,” Jake stated, tilting his head awkwardly. “Like, your family, that's bad, like, your brother's a… he's not nice, necessarily, but you stealing a date from your sister and driving to some random-ass diner in the middle of nowhere, that's some Gone Girl shit.” he explained, eyes burning with awe.

“I mean, I've had some friends from band that met your sister, and from what I've heard, and I'm sorry for being nosy, but, I mean, it really justifies this whole… thing. So, uh, yeah. Sorry,” Jason continued as Henderson moved her Orbs to meet his.

“So, how'd it feel to set her room on fire? Were the firefighters and shit? Again, sorry for being nosy.” Jason asked casually, doing his first attempt at the three-paragraph thing. Henderson giggled uncontrollably, wiping tears off of her Orbs. “Wha– FIRE?! Who told you that? I only just threw some of her stuff out the window, but SETTING IT ON FIRE WAS NOT PART OF THE PLAN, JASON!!” Jason sat up, stammering in response. “B-But, um, like, uh, Tristan, from band, the school band, said that– you, uh, like, it was midnight, and he woke up because of all the sirens, and– yeah.” Jason explained, his voice nervously loud, and his hands gesturing wildly. “Oh!” she yelled out, remembering the experience.

“That was the time I tried modifying the hell outta french fries and I set the kitchen on fire! Like, I was pouring the fries in, then the fire just shot up, like, ten feet, and my hair almost caught on fire, the smoke alarm was ringing, it was hell, man, hell,” Henderson explained excitedly. “So, yeah, someone called the fire station, next thing I know, I'm getting yelled at severely, and I can't play video games or go on my phone for three weeks!” Jason nodded in awe. “How did you… mod… fries?” He asked in confusion, rubbing his chin. “Oh, I put olive oil, safflower oil, cooking oil, and corn oil, also I used a flat frying pan, put in two brands of fries, made sure it wasn't overcrowded, also put a thick layer of seasoning on the pan and I folded it like scrambled eggs.”

“So yeah, a literal recipe for disaster. Never doing that again.” Henderson stated, although she was most definitely going to make the same mistake in a few years with Rachel. “Ah. I see. Why the flat frying pan?” Jason asked. “Oh, the other pans were in the sink and I was lazy.” She replied, making a disappointed face. “also i'm pretty sure that it caused the oil to like. yknow. vooooshhhhh” Henderson added, sinking her face into her hands.

Jason thought of a more embarrassing moment. “Wanna know that time I went to the ER because I was too goth?” “Wait, two times! One, I ate black lipstick, the other, I got choked by a…” Jason sunk his head down. “homemade e-boy necklace…” Henderson cackled loudly, slapping the table. “How the hell do you get choked by that?!” Jason pursed his lips sadly. “I was wearing the necklace first and put it on backwards, big mistake, it had a really heavy padlock, then my binder, which was way too tight, so it was choking me, but I was wearing my turtleneck, and my arms were stuck, so I just smacked the dresser violently.” “And that's how I came out to my parents.” Jason said, smirking and crossing his arms together. “Thankfully, they let me buy a better one that didn't, like, kill me.” He added.

Henderson's jaw was hanging open in surprise. “You're trans too?!” Jason pogged in response, “TOO?!” The two shared a very intense and complicated series of high-fives and fistbumps, screaming in joy. “Man, so this is why you stole that dumbass’ date!” “Solidarity!” Jason stated, smiling. “Thanks for saving me, uh…” He paused, waiting for a confirmation. “Uh… I dunno. Girl?” Henderson replied, shrugging. “Girl! I am Dude!” Jason shouted, giving her a thumbs-up. “Cool! Hi Dude!” She yelled out, earning a very strong high-five from Jason. “Hell Yeah !!!!!!!!”

“Man, you want something to celebrate? This shit's nice as hell.” Jason asked, visibly in a better mood than before. “To hell with it! Cheesy Frickin’ Fries for the lady!” Henderson shouted in joy. “And for the man?” Jason thought for a bit. “Truck” he uttered, giving her an emotional gaze. Get it? Gaze? “Ah, okay. Truck it is, then,” Henderson confirmed before raising her head to get the waiter's attention.

“Waiter ain't here. Should I? Go to the counter?” She asked, pointing to the front of the diner. Jason nodded in response. Henderson approached the counter, her hands in her pockets, her eyes looking around. There was not a single person to be seen, the pies sitting on the rack softly, asking to be stolen and devoured. “Be… do…” she whispered softly, her hand reaching to the pies, only to be stopped by the other one. Disappointed, she went back to Jason, frowning.

“God hates us.” She uttered, her head pointing up. “No one at the counter, no one near the entrance, so no friggin’ cheese fries.” She grumbled, “Drove five friggin’ hours in the friggin’ rain just for this dumbass shit. Can't even have the friggin’ pies, that's illegal,” Jason looked at her sadly. “Hey, it's okay, I brought snacks,” He pulled out a packet of chips from his hoodie pocket. “Here's the fries…” Jason placed a slightly melted cheese slice onto the table. “And here's the cheese!” “Hipster, innit? All deconstructed an’ stuff,” He said happily, swinging his arm a la Grunkle Stan.

“What a gentleman. Thank you, Jarnathan Jarstar, my brother,” Henderson said gratefully, unwrapping the cheese slice packet. “Good job, uh, Catra,” Jason commented, opening the chips packet. As they dined happily, a tall, scary figure approached them slowly and murderously.

“Ya can't bring outside food in here.”

“It's against the rules, kiddos.”

“Might getcha banned fer life if yer not careful enough.”

“Aah!!” Jason screamed quietly. The figure revealed itself under the illumination of the ceiling lights— a man, presumably middle-aged, dressed in a cheap chicken costume, donning a knight helmet. “You wouldn't make the cut. Ya just wouldn't.” The man uttered cryptically, confusing the two. Was this weirdo the mascot or just some guy? “I have pepper spray, creep.” Henderson threatened, pointing the self-defence tool at the costumed man. “Like that'll do anythin’.” He pointed out, glaring at the girl.

In response, Jason pushed the man, Henderson following suit by vigorously kicking the life out of him. Blood oozed out of the now-stained costume as he begged for help, trying his best to explain the current situation. “Stop! Please stop!” He yelled out, only for the helmet to be removed by Henderson, who was ready to punch the hell outta him.

Some balding white guy sporting bad facial hair had been the culprit all along. Jason pulled the remains of his hair and threw him to the floor, yelling. Out of the blue, a group of people showed up, coming to the rescue and pulling them apart from each other. “Whose idea was to be threatening again?!” The man in the chicken costume yelled out, clearly angry at all of them. “Run!” Henderson shouted, grabbing the snacks and dragging Jason out of the diner, only to be chased down by the others.

“Who the hell was that guy?!” Jason yelled, running. “I may be weird, but I definitely don't know that guy, and definitely not enough for him to just show up like that!” Henderson shouted back, confused. “Guess it's some weird kidnapper, then? Or a really odd mascot.” Jason said, dashing around the street corner. “Probably!” Henderson ran past Jason. “Hey, wait up! I was kicked outta the track team for a reason, Henderson!” The boy yelled, running out of breath. The girl went back to him, feeling a bit guilty.

“I, uh, have asthma.” Jason said, pulling out his inhaler. “Oh, um, I'm, uh, really, really, sorry.” Henderson nervously apologized, her mind wondering what would happen if Jason died right then and there. Oh, she'd definitely have to go to court. Maybe it'll be like Legally Blonde. Jason stood back up, gesturing to Henderson to keep going. “Hey, I'm okay, go ahead.” “You can leave me here if you want. Death isn't a big concern for me; I'll meet all the MGR members, then when I go to hell I can punch Brendon Urie in the face…” Jason struggled out. “… because he's like, racist,” “Bob Bryar too, man,” Henderson nodded slowly, not knowing what the hell kinda emo thing he was referencing.

Jason looked behind Henderson, surprised. “Hhhh… they're not killing us…” he tried out, pointing to her back. “Oh, hey, yeah. Let's go hide somewhere.” Henderson suggested, looking around for a good shelter. “I'm gonna tell this to my parents first…” Jason said, moving down to sit on the ground. “Oh, man. There's no reception here.” He revealed, getting more and more scared with every second they stayed there, the possibility of them being caught and killed or whatever growing steadily.

“I mean, we are in Ohio, Jason. There's a bigger chance of us stumbling into a big-ass cornfield than us getting reception in some super rural town like this.” Henderson sighed. “This place is called Van Wert, Jay. How friggin’ hillbilly is that? Van Wurrrtt, yee-haw,” She commented angrily. Jason took a deep breath and stood back up, scanning the horizon.

“Well, hard to find a place where we won't get shot immediately when entering, especially at this hour. I mean, gun store, bar, creepy pharmacy, another gun store, mom and pop, mom and pop's gun store, shooting range, farmer's market, café (with a rifle under the counter), barbershop, ranch–” Henderson smiled from ear to ear as she heard what Jason just said. “RANCH?! WITH HORSES?!”

tob e fucketh continue

a uhhh Notes by Rocco Wulfram North

oh that names so epic omg