#Though Andrew's not going to ask for sloppy make outs from Jean

[play-exy-be-sexy]

Foxes + New Years

the exy team doesn’t do a lot with the other athletes of Fox Tower. Or more accurately the other athletes don’t want to anything with them

New Years is the exception.

Every New Years the captains of all the different teams get together and organize the biggest party of the college year.

It usually takes place on the Exy court because it has the glass enclosed court but the rest is open so they can see the fireworks.

(Because no one can convince me that a stadium that sits 65,000+ is completely enclosed)

Though almost all the teams from campus attend, there isn’t a lot of mingling and it is a lot like the Exy banquets.

Except on the dance floor of course because really they’re drunk colleges and aren’t that picky about who they’re next to.

Anyway it usually goes without flaw or incidents.

Usually

But when there is it almost always involves one or more of the Exy team memebers.

And more times then not that means Andrew and Neil.

Because they are rude little shits and like to pull knives on people.

The whole thing usually goes like this:

Dan, Neil refuses to help, spends the week leading up to the party stressed and grumpy. And talking to way more people than she’d like.

Also trying to convince, or force, whatever you want to call it, certain members of the team to come.

She always manages to though because despite what they say, her team respects her.

The days before the party are spent much like the days before the banquets.

People in search of dates, alcohol, and hot new clothes.

Allison usually drags Neil with her to shop for a dress and something for him.

He never buys anything though because Andrew always has something perfect waiting for him the night of.

It sometimes even slightly cordinates with his. Not that Andrew would admit that.

This year Neils is a black shirt and grey plaid pants(because I can’t get the thought out of my head) and Andrews is a black turtle neck with grey skinny jeans.

Very hot exy bfs indeed

Power couple shit

Anywayyyyy

The party is fun for most of the foxes.

Dan and Matt always try to make like rounds to the other athletes as part of being hosts and the Exy teams designated parents.

Because no coaches or real fake parents are allowed at the New Years party.

Allison is the life of the party and is on the dance floor all night.

She also looks so hot that everyone can’t stop watching her.

Renee is a mixture of Dan and Matt and a more subdued Allison.

Though she spends plenty of time dancing with Allison.

While everyone is watching Allison because she looks amazing, they are watching Nicky because he’s a mess on the dance floor.

Like literally can’t dance to save his life even though he tries.

He tries so hard.

A big part of this however is because he gets drunk with in the first hour of the party.

The years Erik is able to come to the party he can not stop laughing.

Yeah Nicky is an idiot but he’s Eriks idiot and he loves him so much.

Usually Aaron and Katelyn dip from the party before midnight because unlike most of the athletes they have other friends.

They’d rather celebrate the beginning of the new year with the rest of the student body.

But during the time they stay it’s spent in the dance floor.

Kevin usually puts up a fight about going but is always the first to get drunk(until he stops drinking)

“Just cause it’s the new year doesn’t mean we need any more break from practice.”

“Shut the fuck up, Kevin”

He is drunk before he even gets to the court but no one talks about it.

And he stops complaining after two drinks.

Once there he stays to the sidelines with Neil and Andrew or goes to the dance floor with Allison and Renee.

Neil and Andrew are the last to come and first to leave.

They literally will leave at 12:02.

Neil hates the party so much. Too many people and lights and noises.

Plus he hates that the Exy court is used not only for a party but for one with people who don’t even know or appreciate Exy.

Andrew mostly goes cause free drinks and food but also he likes to get dressed up with Neil and even tho he never will admit it, he likes seeing all their teammates happy.

With the New Year comes the traditional 12:00 countdown and...kiss.

They stop playing music about two minutes before the new year so everyone can get to their bf or gf or get ready for fireworks or whatever they need to do.

For some on the Exy team fireworks are a big no no so they leave or get headphones.

When the countdown is done Matt and Dan are always the first ones to start kissing and their kisses are full of love and laughter.

Allison usually gives Renee a sloppy quick kiss with her hands tangled in Renee’s hair.

Nicky and Erik kisses are a lot like Dan and Matt’s but with more tongue and they definitely turn into make out sessions.

Kevin finds the closest person not kissing someone and gives them a quick peck, after he asks of course.

Maybe he brings a date some years idk??

Andrew and Neil, who are definitely not out yet during their college years usually slip out while everyone is getting ready for midnight or watching fireworks.

They’ll sneak into the the press room so that they can still see the sky and court and hear the countdown but have the privacy they want.

It’s usually a sweet soft kiss unlike most of their other kisses.

Andrew ups the percentage every year.

Because his heart still can’t comprehend that Neil is kissing him with such care and love and that they are doing something so coupley.

He loves it tho.

“Happy New Year, Drew.”

“2009%”

“Did you just say the yea-“

“No.”

Happy new year everyone!! It just turns 2021 here and I am so glad 2020 is officially in the past!

Again sorry this got kinda long and I’m too tired to proof read so it’s probably full of typos lol

[zuucc]

Not dating: W. Nylander - BLURB

Words: 1,9K (yeah I know I’m terrible at keeping it short)

Summary: “I thought you said they weren’t dating”

Warnings: just a itty bitty tongue touching and suggestive hand between bodies

Author’s note: this changes between two different point of views, divided by cursive and regular. Also, just something I had in mind.

Masterlist linked in bio

“Come on, there’s a guy on Mitch’s team that I know you’ll like,” Steph said, throwing a dress from her friend’s closet on said friend. Hailey rolled her eyes. Steph was on her way to undress her herself, to make her come out with her. “I mean it, I know you’ll like him! His name is Willy, or you know, it’s William but everyone just calls him Willy or Will, and lately he’s got this hipstery, beard, glasses and beanie thing going on, which I know is exactly your type,” with that Hailey’s eyes lit up.

“You’ve got a picture?” Hailey asked. Steph laughed and pulled up Will’s instagram for her friend, handing her phone to her. She followed her eyes closely, as Hailey hummed like ‘yes, my type’. And then her brows furrowed. “You didn’t think to tell me he has a girlfriend, though?” Hailey rolled her eyes, giving the phone back to Steph with a picture of Willy and a girl cuddled up on the couch underneath a pile of blankets, their faces all up in each other’s business - giggling.

“No, that’s just Y/N, they’re just really close, really weird best friends. You know, she’s the girl I told you about, the one who I sometimes sit with outside of the friends and family box, because she refuses to sit there, because she feels like she can’t scream in there,” Steph explained, and Hailey nodded understandingly. She had heard of this Y/N and her antics. She took her friend’s word, before quickly changing into the dress and some heals.

You laughed as you watched Willy’s face scrunch up after that third tequila shot. He never could take his tequila as well as you did, and you always had a good time watching him try and keep up with you.

“Ugh, give me some of that,” he charged at you. You tried to hold your much better tasting drink away from him, but his height and long arms defeated you. You laughed more when he took a break from downing your fruity daiquiri, just to ask the bartender for another one - he wasn’t planning on giving this one back. You got the new drink and you both stumbled your way back to the booth where Mitch and Kappy sat, the rest of the guys having disappeared somewhere.

“Did you really think you two needed those tequila shots?” Mitch asked as you both nearly tripped  back into the booth. “Obviously,” you told him, taking another long sip from your daiquiri. “The question is, did Willy need them?” Kappy adds, making you laugh and an offended look appear on Will’s face. “Excuse me?” he tried to sound mad, but didn’t quite succeed. “We all know you can’t hold you liquor like she does,” Kappy says, making another laugh roll through you.

“Okay, so we’re not friends with them anymore,” William said, turning his back on his teammates. You kept laughing but agreed to just be you and your best friend against the world. You unceremoniously threw your jean clad leg over his thigh and leaned back in the booth, relaxing as you drank your daiquiri. You were both way past the point of drunk, and you where both giggling like crazy. Will held your hand in his and fought to place big sloppy kisses all over it. “Eww, stop,” you tried to wrestle your hand out from his, but he just pulled you closer, placing his sloppy kisses on you cheek and neck in stead.

“William Andrew Michael Junior Nylander Altelius,” you drew a deep breath before messily getting through you best friend’s full name. This always used to work, as he wasn’t very happy with being granted six names by his parents. But this time he took another route, just to prove that you couldn’t stop him.

“Aww, you know all my names,” he said, taking hold of your face and holding it to him as he kept leaving his kisses, eventually getting to your lips, as you laughed against his lips. 

“Oh, god, here they go again,” you hear Kappy say behind Willy. You pulled back to watch his face as you flipped him off, making sure to stare at him while you place your hands on Will’s neck and messily kissing him again. He kissed you right back, and you decided to forget about Kappy and Mitch to rather get lost in drunken kisses with your best friend. 

You wouldn’t say it happened every time you went out together, but it usually did when you both got a little more than tipsy. Unless one of you tried to get laid, though, but most of the time you didn’t - you both had a better time when said time was spent together. But you never went further than making out, never. It was discussed and pinky-sworn upon years ago. 

Hailey and Steph met Mitch by the bar, a guy that she hadn’t seen before following behind him. She’d hoped it would be this Willy guy that she was supposed to be set up with, but it wasn’t. The guy introduced himself as Kappy before his attention was caught by Steph. “Hey, where’s Willy hiding?” Steph asked her boyfriend and this Kappy guy. They didn’t really answer her, instead they just stepped aside and looked behind them towards the booths.

“I thought you said they weren’t dating,” Hailey tried to say discreetly to Steph, hoping that the boys didn’t hear her. 

In the booth, Willy sat sideways. Over his suit clad thigh rested a leg wearing light washed loose jeans and platform black boots, over the jeans there was a big hand holding onto her thigh. The thigh that belonged to the just best friend. As Hailey had moved her stare further up, she’d seen the best friend’s hand disappearing into the back of his beanie, his hair sticking out between her fingers. She saw his hand moving up underneath her leather jacket. Their lips where slotting together in a deep kiss, and there was definitely tongue. And then they pulled back and smiled, giggled, laughed - whatever - between kisses. 

“They’re not, I promise,” Steph said, not caring about the boys listening. Kap laughed. “They just do... that, when they’re drunk, and they are both shitfaced right now,” he told her. “And it’s never more than... that.” They started walking towards the booth, and Hailey followed, even if she didn’t really feel like sitting next to them making out like there was no one else in the room. 

They pulled back when Kappy sat down next to them and literally put his hand between their faces - which he pulled back rather quickly as Y/N licked it, throwing her head back laughing at his reaction. Steph then caught her attention and she threw herself past Hailey and into the arms of the friend they had in common. “Oh my god, Steph, you’re like two hours late, I missed you,” she almost screamed, making Steph laugh. Hailey had already decided that she didn’t like her. 

“Give her back, Steph,” Willy played offended, placing his hands on her waist, pulling her back into his lap. “Willy, you’re being rude,” she laughed at him, smacking at his arms that now held her close to him. She then turned to Hailey, holding out her arm for Hailey to shake it. “Oh, Hailey, Steph has told me so much about you! I’m so happy to finally meet you,” she exclaimed, once Hailey had said her name. “And you’re so pretty, oh my god,” she added, and Hailey thought maybe not liking her could be hard. 

She still wanted what she came here for, though.

Willy eventually reached out and introduced himself to Steph’s friend, and you had trouble holding back your drunken laughter as she beamed up at him, batting her lashes. If Willy ignored it or if he was too drunk to notice it, you didn’t know. 

“Y/N, did you get my text?” Steph asked, and before you could do it yourself, Willy - who was now resting his head on your shoulder as you sat halfway on his lap with his arms around your waist - fished it out of your back pocket. You looked down at your phone, you found Steph’s message in the midst of notifications from Instagram and Snapchat. William giggled as he read the message. 

‘I’m bringing my friend Hailey, gonna try and set her up with Willy so maybe don’t make out with him,’ 

“Just a little too late,” you chuckle, William laughing and hiding his head behind your back. Steph just rolls her eyes at you. 

The night went on and Hailey tried to swallow her jealousy, focusing on spending time with Steph. Steph sometimes disappeared into conversation with her boyfriend, though. And the guy with the weird - apparently Finnish - name, he looked as if he was there to babysit Y/N and Willy, not to party and have a good time. 

Steph eventually dragged Hailey to the dance floor with the rest of them. Y/N had even managed to get Kappy out there - with a smile. She was so charming it was annoying. 

Hailey watched as Willy and Y/N danced, tip toeing on a line between childish and slightly sexual. At one point they were jumping around, Willy twirling her around - Willy bending down to fit under her arm when she tried to twirl him around. Both laughing. A few minutes later she had her back leaning on him, his hands on her hips and her hand on the back of his neck - him bending down to leave kisses on her neck, as she giggled. 

“I’m sorry, I tried to stop this,” Steph whispered to her. Hailey shook her head smiling, like it was completely fine. “I didn’t think they’d be this drunk,” she added. Of course it was fine, she didn’t know him. But he was the reason she even came. 

Willy and Y/N had danced their way closer, so close that she could hear them talking way too loudly to each other. “Stoop, you’re giving me a boner,” Willy laughed, making Y/N throw her head back in laughter. Hailey tried to look away but couldn’t really, when she very clearly moved her hand down between their bodies - just to be stopped by Kappy grabbing her wrist.

“You two are going home, now. And not together,” he said, strictly. The two of them tried to fight him, but followed behind him - Y/N having no choice as Kappy still held onto her, having now moved down to hold her hand instead. 

They stopped in front of Hailey, Mitch and Steph, Kappy telling them that he’ll be back to pick them up. He turned out to be the designated driver - not the babysitter, even if he was that, too. Y/N reached out to give Steph a hug, but Steph stopped her at arms length, grabbing Willy, too. 

“You two need to figure out your shit, honestly. Date or stay completely platonic,” she said, just as strictly as Kappy had talked to them earlier. “I know you’ve drawn a line, but this line is becoming less prominent every time we’re out,” she added. “We’re just best friends,” Y/N whined, like she was tired of this conversation. “Just best friends don’t do that, seriously,” Steph said, letting them go. 

Twenty minutes later, Kappy was back - Mitch claiming that he was fast, too fast to have brought them to their separate places. “Yeah, Y/N fell asleep on the way there, and Willy sobered up, so I let her stay, with the promise that they’d talk in the morning,” he said, looking at Steph as she nodded to him. 

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Archie//Love is a Mystery

Request: Would you write a Reader/Archie, you’re friends with a crush on him, you meet up at a party neither of you realizing it’s the other, have a one night stand (smut maybe? if you write it?) Later Archie whines about “the one that got away” you decide to help him if he helps you find your “mystery man” from the party, both of you realising throughout explaining that it's each other

i decided that it worked better without smut so i didn’t write any. i’m sorry! but i hope you still like it!!!

“Y/n!” Archie shouted down the corridor and you craned your neck to see over the mass of students trying to rush home. 

“What?!” You replied, finally making eye contact with him. He sent you a cheeky smile that made your heart skip a beat and your cheeks heat up. Thank God you were far away from him. 

“You coming to Cheryl’s party tonight?” 

“Andrews. In the entire time that you’ve known me, when have I ever missed a party?” 

“True.” He laughed. “You’re the best when you’re drunk.” 

“I’m the best all the time.” You replied and he laughed louder. 

“Thats even more true.” He nodded and you smiled brightly at him. “I’ll meet you there okay? About 8. Don’t drink until I get there!”

“I won’t! As long as you don’t if you get there first!” 

“I won’t either! I promise!”  

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

“Y/n! You made it.” Archie slurred, slinging an arm around your shoulder. 

“I thought you said you wouldn’t drink until I got here.” You raised an eyebrow and he giggled. 

“Did I say that?” 

“Yes.” You nodded as you walked further into the party. 

“Oh!” He shouted. “Yeah, I did! Thats why I had the geni-geuni-genius idea of getting you a drink every time I did! Here you go.” He handed you a large glass with a gross looking liquid in. 

“Archie?” 

“Yeahhhh.” He hiccuped. 

“This is only one drink.” 

“Soooo.” 

“I assume you’ve had more than one.” You looked him up and down. 

“Oh. Thats were the genius comes in. You see I thought it would be easier and quicker if I mixed all the drinks together.” 

“Right.” You nodded and looked at the glass in your hand. “So what exactly is in this?” 

“Beer, some vodka, I think there’s a few tequila shots, and more beer. And fruit juice so its that pretty colour!” 

“You really are wasted aren’t you.” You asked. 

“No!” He defended. 

“Archie?”

“What?” 

“You’re talking to a wall.” 

“Oh.” He turned around and faced you. You laughed at the cute smile he was sending you. “I’m not wasted! Just drunk! Now drink up!” 

“I don’t want to drink this. It looks disgusting.” You shook your head and he gasped. 

“How dare you! I put so much hard work into that!”

“Sorr-” 

“Drink it.” He interrupted and you rolled your eyes. “Drink it. Drink it. Drink it.” He chanted loudly. A few other people around you started to join in and you rolled your eyes. “For me?” He asked, a hopeful look on his face. 

“Fine.” You agreed and he cheered. You rolled your eyes at him before downing the drink. You remember thinking that you would do anything for that boy, and that is the last thing you remember until Saturday Afternoon when you woke up in one of Cheryl’s bedroom’s, naked. 

The light coming in from the window blinded you and you groaned looking around, trying to piece what happened together. Your phone was no where to be seen and your clothes were scattered around the room. Slowly you collected them and started to get dressed. However you couldn’t for the life of you find your shirt, so you just put your jacket on and zipped it up. After searching the room you finally located your phone, beside it lay a used condom and your eyes widened. 

“Well. At least I was safe.” You muttered. You checked the room to see if you’d forgotten anything when you noticed a note on the desk. 

last night was great! 

here’s my number if you wanna do it again some time. 

p x

“P?” You asked no one.”Who’s P?” You squinted slightly, trying to make out the number, however whoever wrote it must have been as drunk as you were so the hand writing was sloppy. Sighing, you shoved it into your pocket and left the room. 

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

Monday morning rolled around far too soon and you were still a little hungover. However you were excited to hear the stories of what happened and you were hoping your friends would be able to help you figure out what happened. You still hadn’t been able to remember much, apart from that you definitely slept with someone, and at some point you vomited in a plant pot. 

“Hey Archie.” You mumbled, sitting opposite him at the lunch table. You were wearing your pajamas, like the majority of students that went to Cheryl’s party, and you had sunglasses hiding your eyes. 

“Hey Y/n.” He whispered, putting his head back on the table. He looked just as awful as you did.

“Are you still hungover?” 

“No.” 

“Why do you look like you’ve been murdered, buried, dug back up and then brought back to life.” 

“You always know how to boost my confidence Y/n. What would I do without you?” 

“I dunno. You’re life would be much duller if I wasn’t in it though.” You shrugged and he laughed a little before groaning. 

“If you must know, yes I’m still hungover, but thats not why I’m like this.” He sighed. 

“Whats wrong?” You asked curiously, taking a sip from your water. You couldn’t face food yet, not even two days after the party. 

“I met a girl at the party.” He told you, his face lighting up at the thought of her, and your heart sank. You felt even more sick than you already did, however you pushed it aside, and focused your attention back on him. 

“Okay? Shouldn’t you be happy? Or was she not very good in bed?” You asked slightly hopefully. 

“No. She was great. Amazing!” 

“So you met a wonderful girl and had amazing sex with her. Why do you look so depressed?” 

“Because I wanna find her and I don’t even know her name.” He sighed.

“The one that got away huh?” 

“Yes! She’s the one that got away!” He said loudly and you both groaned at the volume. 

“I know how that feels.” You shrugged.

“What happened to you?” 

“I met a boy at the weekend.” 

“Oh.” He replied, the tone of his voice confused you, he seemed almost disappointed, and the look on his face backed that up. 

“He was amazing, kind, sweet and very hot...well what I could remember of him. And now I can’t even remember his name.” You looked at the table, and played with your hands. 

“I have an idea!” He said loudly again and you glared at him. “Sorry.” He muttered. 

“Here we go.” You said sarcastically and he rolled his eyes. 

“If you help me find my mystery woman, I’ll help you find your mystery man.” You thought about it for a moment. Did you really want to help the boy you were crushing on find his perfect woman? However, if the boy that you met was as amazing as you sort of remember, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt to find him. You wouldn’t have slept with him if you didn’t think there was something there. 

“I’m in.” You nodded and he smiled brightly at you. 

“Great! We can start on Wednesday.” 

“Wednesday?” You asked confused. 

“I don’t think I’m gonna be over my hangover until then and it hurts my brain to just breathe, let alone think.” He explained. 

“Ah.” You nodded your head. “I think thats a great idea.” You agreed. 

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

Wednesday after school, Archie made the short walk to your house. And by short walk he literally just walked next door. Sometimes it was really helpful that you two were neighbors. 

Once you were sure you were both over your hangovers you decided that the best place to start would be to brainstorm what you could remember. 

“I remember walking into the party.” You thought and lay on your bed. Archie lay beside you, your heads touching slightly. “You rambled about how you had such a brilliant idea of mixing all of my drinks together. Thanks for that by the way.” 

“What are friends for.” He shrugged and you giggled. He felt a blush start to appear on his cheeks and he was thankful that you were looking at the ceiling. 

“I remember drinking your ‘invention’ and then I don’t remember much else after that. Apart from that I slept with someone and I puked in a house plant.” 

“Oh! I remember that! It was really funny. You were talking to it and then you said ‘hold on’ and threw up in it.” He laughed loudly and your rolled your eyes. “After that you apologized to it and continued talking.” 

“Shut up.” You elbowed him. “What do you remember?” 

“Not much more than you.” He sighed. “I talked to a few people before you turned up. I gave you your drink and then I made one for myself for some reason.” He shook his head at the thought. “I also remember you talking to the house plant and throwing up.” He paused for a minute and you turned your head to look at him. “Wait! I remember something else!” He sat up and you followed. “After you puked and finished your conversation with the plant.” He giggled and you rolled your eyes. “You were talking to some boy.” 

“Boy? What boy? Did I know him?” You asked. 

“I dunno. I think you knew him but I can’t really remember. After that it kind of goes a bit blank. I think I drank some vodka after I saw you talking to him.” 

“Damn.” You sighed. 

“Sorry.” He apologized.

“Its not your fault.” You shrugged. 

“Anyway. I also vaguely remember having sex but then thats it. I don’t even remember getting home.” He laughed softly and you smiled. 

“Well that was useless.” You lay back down. 

“Yeah.” Archie agreed and lay beside you again. 

“We could always ask some people at the party?” You suggested. 

“I think the majority of them were just as drunk as we were, if not drunker.” He replied. 

“True.” You sighed. “So what are we gonna do?” 

“Did he leave anything? Like a number or a piece of clothing or something?” 

“Actually.” You sat up. “He left me a note.” 

“Great!” Archie sat up and looked at you. You stood up and searched through your washing basket until your found the jeans you were wearing. Pulling the note out you sat beside Archie again and handed it to him. 

“P?” He asked. “Who’s P?” 

“Thats what I thought.” 

“Who do we know, who has a P in their name?” He asked. You both thought for a couple of seconds before looking at each other, wide eyed. 

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

“Sweet Pea?” You asked anxiously as you approached him. Archie was beside you, looking around the bar nervously. “Sweet Pea.” You said a bit louder gaining his attention. He passed the pool cue that he was holding to Fangs and walked towards you. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, glaring at Archie. Even though the rivalry between the North and the Southside had died down, there were still a few tensions between people. Especially Archie and Sweet Pea, however you didn’t expect much more after Archie had waved a gun in Sweet Pea’s face. Archie was told how stupid he was after he did that. 

“I came to ask you a question.” You replied, trying to defuse the situation. 

“About?” 

“Cheryl’s party.” 

“The one on Friday.” Archie added. 

“I assume you went, seeing as though your Toni’s friend.” 

“Yeah, I went.” He shrugged. “What do you wanna know?” 

“Well, I err. I kinda slept with someone.” You mumbled and he raised an eyebrow. “But I can’t remember who it was. But whoever it was left this note.” You passed him the note and he read it, an amused expression appearing on his face. “And-” 

“And you were wondering if it was me you slept with because they signed it P?” He finished your sentence for you and you nodded. “It wasn’t me you slept with.” He added and you let out a sigh of relief. “But would it really be that bad if you did?” He winked at you and Archie stepped between the two of you. “Calm down Red. If I was gonna sleep with her I’d make sure it was good enough that she’d remember.” He rolled his eyes and made his way back to the pool table. 

“Well that was useless.” You sighed and began to walk about.

“Yeah.” Archie agreed and followed you. 

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

“Kevin. You know literally everything about everyone. Do you remember who we slept with?” You asked as you walked down the hallway with him. 

“Nope. I remember you going upstairs with someone, but when I saw you, you were both alone.” 

“Well that wasn’t helpful.” Archie muttered and you laughed. 

“Actually. It kind of is.” He replied. “That means that whoever you slept with, you met while upstairs.” He explained. 

“Kevin!” You squealed. 

“You’re a genius.” Archie added. 

“I could kiss you!” You smiled brightly at him.

“Please don’t.” He shook his head. “Either of you.” He looked at Archie and you laughed. 

“Why don’t you talk to Cheryl. She might know more.” He shrugged before walking away. 

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

“Hey Toni.” You smiled at the pink haired girl when she opened the door. “Is Cheryl in?” You asked and she nodded at the two of you. 

“We were wondering how long it would take the new Betty and Jughead to turn up.” She replied and moved out the way so you could come in. 

“Betty and Jughead?” Archie mumbled. 

“Because you’re investigating.” Cheryl rolled her eyes and you turned to face her. “However I didn’t think anybody could be any worse at it that Nancy Drew and Sherlock, but here you are.” 

“Babe.” Toni warned. “Be nice.” 

“Of course TT. How can we help you?” 

“We were wondering if you knew who we slept with.” 

“Haven’t a clue.” She replied. “Is that it?” 

“I suppose.” You sighed. 

“I think I might know something.” Toni interjected. 

“What?” You and Archie asked hopefully. 

“Well, I saw you talking to a plant.” She faced you. “And then you vomited on it.” 

“You did what?” Cheryl asked annoyed.

“Not my point babe.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “After you vomited, you started to talk to some random boy, it seemed that you two were getting along well if you get what I mean. Then Archie stole some vodka from Reggie. A few minutes later, you disappeared off upstairs. I turned around to talk to Sweet Pea, and then Fangs shouted for me so I turned back and I saw Archie going upstairs.” She explained and you and Archie looked at each other confused. “Thats all I know.” She shrugged. 

“Huh.” You thought. 

“Well. It was nice seeing you. Toodles.” Cheryl ushered you out the door. 

“What do we do now?” Archie asked after the door had slammed behind you. 

“Who knows?” You shrugged. 

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

“I think I just need to forget about him.” You sighed and lay down on Archie’s bed. “It’s been two weeks and no sign of him.” 

“Its okay.” He replied and lay next to you. You rest your head on his chest and he wrapped his arms around you.

“Why don’t we focus on yours. The girl that got away.” You changed the subject and he sighed. “Did she leave anything?” 

“I dunno?” He shrugged. “I don’t think so.” 

“Hmmm.” 

“Maybe its just best they stay as the one’s that got awa-” 

“Archie. Shut up.” You shushed him and he looked at you annoyed. You sat up and walked towards his washing basket. “When was the last time you did your laundry?” 

“I dunno. Like two and a bit weeks ago.” He shrugged. 

“Thats gross.” You glanced behind you and he sat up. 

“Why?” 

“Because thats my shirt.” You replied and he stood up, quickly crossing the room to stand behind you. 

“What?” 

“This is my shirt. Its the one I wore to the party.” You looked at him. “Hold on.” You told him and pulled your phone out of your pocket. “On Saturday night when I could bare to look at my phone I went through it and apparently I take a lot of pictures when I’m drunk.” You explained and he looked over your shoulder. “See. There I am, wearing that exact shirt.” You zoomed in on a picture of a very drunk you with Reggie.

“It can’t be.” He shook his head. “I ended up bringing that home with me accidentally. I don’t really know how, but it was in with my stuff.” He panicked. 

“I couldn’t find my shirt when I woke up.” You told him. 

“Did we?” He asked. 

“I think we did.” You replied. Both of you looked around the room, avoiding all eye contact with each other. 

“Hold on.” Archie told you. 

“What’re you doing?” You asked, still panicking on the inside. Holy fucking shit. You slept with Archie Andrews! Like you actually slept with him. 

Archie was having the exact same reaction as he text Reggie. He’d slept with his best friend that he’d been in love with for the past 4 years. 

‘did me and y/n sleep together?’ his finger hovered over the send button and he took a deep breath before sending it. Within a few seconds he received the reply. 

‘yeah. do you really not remember? i walked in on it. twice.’ 

“We slept together.” Archie nodded and you gulped. 

“Cool, cool, cool.” You rambled quickly. “Sooooo.”

“What do we do now?” He asked. 

“I dunno.” He shrugged. “Was it good?” He mumbled. 

“From what I can remember, yeah.” You nodded, a smile appearing on your face. “Was I good?” 

“I think.” He nodded and you looked at the floor. “Yeah. You were. From the things I can remember, you were great.” He smirked. 

“Cool, cool, cool.” You rambled again and he laughed. 

“You’re cute when you’re nervous.” 

“What?” You asked surprised and looked at him. 

“I dunno why I said that.” He shook his head. 

“Do you not think I’m cute?” You asked quietly. 

“I think you’re the cutest girl in the world.” He replied quickly. “I’m really glad I slept with you.” He whispered. 

“I’m glad I slept with you too.” You replied and he looked at you. 

“Really?” He asked. 

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Even if I don’t remember much of it.” You joked and he laughed. 

“Would you maybe wanna do it again?” He asked and you nodded. “Me too.” He smiled at you and placed a hand on your cheek gently. You tilted your head and he leaned in to kiss you, closing the gap between the two of you. He tilted your head further, deepening the kiss and his hand squeezed your hip. Pulling away he looked at you concerned. “Did I hurt you?” He asked. 

“No.” You shook your head. “I’m just shocked that this is actually happening. I’ve liked you since I was like 14.” 

“No way.” He shook his head. 

“What?” 

“I’ve liked you since I was 13.” He smiled brightly at you. You wasted no time in kissing him again and he walked you backwards towards his bed. Your legs hit the mattress and you fell against it, he crawled up your body and started to kiss you again. 

“Are we actually gonna do this again?” You pulled away and giggled.  

“I can’t believe we’re actually gonna remember it this time.” He replied and you both laughed before connecting your lips again. 

[nekojitachan]

Okay, I just felt like writing something Halloween-inspired. This is the start of something new (I KNOW, FINISH SOME OTHER STUFF).  I’m getting back to RP, I promise, but I wanted to post something since I haven’t lately, so here’s this.

Warnings for Mary (so yes, abusive relationship), and mentions of child abuse, mentions of the abusive pasts of our boys.

The Ghost in You

*******

Andrew gave what passed as a glare from him at Wymack as he stalked into the man’s office. “How the hell am I supposed to help Peter Minkin if I can’t understand him, hmm?” he asked in a deceptively mild tone of voice as he slapped his latest case file onto his boss’ desk and narrowly missed sending a pile of paperwork toppling over as a result.

Used to him by that point, Wymack didn’t even flinch or pause in drinking his coffee, merely gave Andrew the finger as if gesturing for ‘one minute’ while he finished his needed influx of caffeine before speaking. “Because that’s why I hired a damn translator last month? Which a shitty little maggot like you would know if you’d attended the supposedly mandatory staff meetings.” Wymack glowered as he folded his tattooed arms on top of his messy desk.

Andrew waved aside the usual gripe as he snatched up the abandoned file, partially mollified that he’d have a way to communicate with the kid. “That’s what Kevin’s ten page summary emails are for,” and ignored – he relied upon Renee to fill him in on any necessary details, but she was currently on sabbatical, off helping out some old Peace Corps friends with a project for a couple of months. Hmm, he had to wonder if the new translator had anything to do with the ‘hot piece of ass’ Nicky had been going on about lately, which was even more reason for Andrew to ignore his cousin. “I’m scheduled for a preliminary meeting with Peter in half an hour, the translator better be there,” Andrew said as he turned to leave the cluttered office.

“It’s already on Josten’s schedule,” Wymack called out. “You’d know that, too, if you read your damn emails!”

That was another familiar complaint which was waved aside as Andrew left, intent on having some more caffeine himself while he checked for any important updates to Peter’s files before the appointment; on the way to the kitchen and then to his own office (a lot less cluttered and disorganized than Wymack’s), he ran into Nicky and Robin, yet managed to fend them off by waving the thick folder in the air. Nicky grimaced, clearly in the mood to talk and unhappy to be denied, while Robin, finally cleared to work on cases of her own after shadowing Andrew for the past few months, smiled and wished him a good day.

It was such a hopeful thought, but highly unrealistic; the children brought to Palmetto Services (nicknamed the Foxhole because of all the stuffed foxes scattered around the place and the playful versions painted on the walls in an effort to soothe and cheer up the kids) were abused and/or traumatized, were the ones who’d been fucked over by the ‘official’ child services system in one way or another and so it had been decided that they needed more specialized attention (that they’d be someone else’s problem).

It meant that Andrew was working with kids who often suffered through the same thing he’d gone through as a child, the same pain and abuse and neglect… and he got to end the horror for them. He got to make it better, but it took a lot of work, a lot of patience and digging and effort, and he knew firsthand the nightmares would still continue even though the monsters had been vanquished at last (at least those monsters).

At least, he did everything he could to help the children assigned to him, so the new translator – Neil Josten – better not fuck things up with Peter Minkin. From what the files said about the boy, he’d been taken into custody from a violent father up on various charges with no sign of the mother, and could barely speak any English. The boy was malnourished and bore repeated signs of abuse (Aaron had done a thorough physical on Peter, and Andrew could tell from the sloppiness of the handwritten notes attached to the copies of x-rays and bloodwork that his brother was furious about the results).

He skimmed the newly added details from his brother and what Seth had been able to unearth about the boy’s father, everything committed to memory, then went to the one prepared play room where Peter would be brought for their first session. It only took a minute for Andrew to reach it since it was right down the hall, and he was surprised to find someone there already.

The person was a young man around his age, perhaps a little younger, and had a couple of inches on Andrew’s five feet. The dark grey sweater he wore hung on his lean frame, the sleeves falling past his hands, and dark brown hair fell onto a handsome face bearing a faded scar down the right side, obscuring what seemed to be brown eyes. “Andrew Minyard?” the young man asked, his voice a quiet tenor and accent bland, lacking in any regional indicators.

“Neil Josten,” Andrew said by way of an answer, and noticed that Josten didn’t offer a handshake nor seem offended when Andrew didn’t do the same. “How’s your Russian?”

“Good,” Josten said then fell silent as he took a step back to lean against one of the bookshelves containing a multitude of stuffed animals.

Not a talker, which seemed odd for a translator, but that was fine with Andrew, who wasn’t much of a talker himself. He checked his phone to see that Abby was bringing Peter, along with a surreptitious glance at his associate; despite the shaggy haircut and baggy clothes, Nicky wasn’t too far off about Josten.

It was just a casual observation while he waited for the kid.

“And here we are,” Abby said as she arrived with Peter Minkin, a bright smile on her face and ash-blonde hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Even though she was the head nurse practitioner for Palmetto Services and helped run the medical offices where Aaron and Katelyn interned, she often escorted the new or more skittish children around (her or Renee) since she projected ‘safe’ so well with her friendly smile, the colorful scrubs she wore and her genuine kindness.

As for Peter, he appeared small for his seven years (probably the malnutrition), his dark brown eyes huge in his face and his light brown hair cropped close to his skull. He was dressed in a Winnie the Pooh t-shirt and jeans that were a little too long for him, and was obviously reluctant to come near two strange men.

Before Andrew could do anything, Josten moved away from the bookshelf with a stuffed Pooh in his hands and knelt a safe distance from the boy while he spoke softly in Russian. After a couple of seconds, Peter’s face broke into a smile and he gave a shy smile as he reached for the bear; Andrew noticed that Josten was mindful to hand it over slowly and without touching the child.

Josten spoke for about another minute, and then Peter joined in as well. That went on for another minute or two while Andrew’s annoyance grew, until he heard his name be brought up. Peter’s eyes flickered toward Andrew and whatever it was that Josten said seemed to put the boy at ease, to the point that he gave Andrew a slight wave with his right hand.

Soon after that, Josten nodded once and slowly stood up as if mindful not to startle Peter. “All right, I told him that you’re going to talk to him for a while, perhaps ask him some questions but that you’re here to help him and it’s going to be all right, that you won’t touch him.” Something made Josten’s jaw clench for a moment before he went back to the one bookshelf. “No one here will.”

Interesting, that Josten said ‘not touch’ and ‘not hurt’, not that either would happen while Andrew was around. “He’s right,” Andrew told Peter even though the boy might not understand him. “As he said, I’m Andrew, now shall we play a couple of games?” He motioned toward the one table that was already set up with the various coloring books and simple games he used to help him know the children assigned to him better as well as work toward gaining their trust while Josten translated.

The session went by quickly despite Andrew’s inability to talk directly Peter, with Josten only speaking to translate and staying quiet otherwise. Peter seemed to enjoy being able to play with crayons and to draw what were probably meant to be animal shapes, but drew into himself whenever Andrew brought up his father or the one coloring book had images of a man and a woman with a child or children in it.

Probably not a good idea to have Wymack attend any sessions with the boy in the near future.

The session ended with Andrew certain about Peter’s abuse and forming a plan on how to move forward with his treatment, but aware that it would take numerous more sessions. He remained seated when Abby returned for Peter, intent on retaining the slight bit of trust he’d earned with the boy so far.

It was difficult to tell with the overlarge sweater, but when Josten left the room first, Andrew thought Nicky might be on to something about the man’s ass. Also, he’d have to talk to Wymack about having the door looked into since something was wrong with its hinges – the damn thing would have slammed shut in his face if he hadn’t stopped it in time. He also felt a blast of cold, so the air conditioning was acting up.

He stopped by Bee’s office to share his initial observations with her about the boy and go over his reactions to the new case, as well as his workload in general. After about half an hour, they moved on to more ‘safe’ topics (the latest books they were reading, a new bakery), and he brought up Josten. “What’s his story?”

“Neil?” Bee handed over a fresh mug of hot chocolate before she returned to her desk. “David felt that we needed an official translator on site rather than request one on demand all the time. We can’t keep limping along with the various languages everyone on the staff knows, so he brought in a heavy-hitter,” she said with a smile.

Andrew thought about that for a moment, about Josten’s quiet voice and professional behavior. “What does he know besides Russian?”

“That I know about? Chinese, Spanish, French, German and Arabic.” Her smile strengthened when Andrew’s brows drew together. “Yes, I know, impressive.”

“Why’s he working here, then?” One didn’t go into a social service related job for the money, and it seemed to Andrew that someone with Josten’s skills could be working for the government or some big corporation.

Bee was quiet while she sipped her own hot chocolate as if debating what to say. “I’ve only met him a couple of times and David’s been quiet about how he found Neil… but I’m willing to bet that Neil works here for much the same reason that most of us do,” she admitted. “It’s personal for him.”

Andrew thought about that after he left to continue with the rest of his current cases (Isabel and Ryan and Cory), while he worked with Laila on the upcoming court trial for Cory’s prick of a father and spent some time with Robin on one of her own cases. He had just enough time to meet with Aaron for lunch and was satisfied to have an excuse to turn down meeting up with Kevin later that evening to watch some stupid game in a bar, even if it had been too long since he’d gone out drinking or had any ‘fun’.

Josten showed up each day to translate for Peter, a quiet, unobtrusive presence who stood off to the side and relayed what Andrew and Peter spoke as Andrew worked hard to earn the boy’s trust, to slowly try to pry the truth out of him about what his father had done to him and his missing mother. Each day Josten would show up in thick sweaters despite the fall weather still being warm for that time of year, covered from lower neck to hands and feet, his hair barely combed and falling onto his rarely expressive face. He would translate and then leave, and Andrew wouldn’t see him in the break room or the small cafeteria or anywhere else around the Foxhole.

It wasn’t that huge of a building.

“What do you think of him?” Nicky asked during lunch one day, about two weeks after Peter had arrived at the Foxhole. “You’re so lucky you get to work with him – all of my kids speak English or Spanish,” he said with a slight grimace, as if he didn’t adore his cases; he worked with kids facing difficulties due to them coming out or transitioning, often because of their home life or the situations at school.

“He translates, which is good,” Andrew said as he broke apart his cheese sandwich.

“Oh come on.” Nicky rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner as he leaned back in his chair. “I’ll admit that Neil needs a major wardrobe overhaul and makeover, but he’s still hot. How can you stand being in a room with him every day and not notice that hotness?”

Andrew greatly regretted his cousin finding out about him and Roland, even if it was just a casual thing. “Because I’m working and we’ve said like five things to each other?”

Nicky frowned at that. “Yeah, he’s not very outgoing, is he? Matt’s tried a few times to invite him out to some of our group events but always gets interrupted by something. “ He grinned as he leaned forward with his elbows on his table. “I wish I had my phone out the one time the coffee maker just started shooting water out all over him! It was the weirdest thing but funny as hell! Another time he leaned against the fridge wrong and somehow hit the ice button and the cubes started just falling out onto the floor! I think Neil’s terrified of being around him because of what’ll happen next, the poor guy.”

Well, Boyd was a bit of an eager puppy when he decided to go after something, though not as bad as Knox – there was a reason the men helped Kevin with the sports therapy programs. “Nothing’s going to happen,” Andrew told his cousin. “Drop it.”

“But-“

“No.” Andrew grabbed the rest of his sandwich with the intent of finishing it in his office and ignored his cousin’s crestfallen expression with ease as he walked away.

Still, something about the conversation stuck with him, as did Bee’s. It made him study Josten even more, made him pay close attention to the way the younger man was so patient with Peter, would soften his voice or offer up a new stuffed animal at just the right time (when Andrew had to ask more details about the bastard of a sperm donor). How there seemed to be a darkness in Josten’s eyes when Peter began to give up halting details, when he drew angry red marks on the child images (and the mom images as well).

“Who is he?” Andrew asked Wymack when they met the day before Cory’s trial would begin. “Where did he come from?”

“That’s confidential information,” Wymack said with a stubborn set to his jaw. “Just know that he had great recommendations and leave it at that.”

No, not quite, but the old bastard had installed a better lock on the personnel file drawers after he’d realized that Andrew had gone through them to check up on the last few hires, so Andrew would have to bide his time to read Josten’s file (that or get enough dirt on Seth to have him hack the online version, which might be easier).

His part in Cory’s trial lasted two days, two days of mental exhaustion and barely constrained anger while he was questioned and cross-examined and had to push down the urge to get up out of a damn uncomfortable wooden seat and bash in the brains of some fucking prick who’d dared to harm a defenseless child. Two nights of the memories rushing back to the fore worse than usual, of the demons riding him harder than usual… but it was worth it for Cory to be free, for the prick to receive a guilty verdict, according to the text he received from Laila as he worked on his daily tasks once back in the office.

Perhaps it was that text, or perhaps it was the way that Peter smiled at him when the boy saw him, the sense of progress during their session, but after Peter was gone and Josten went to leave as usual, Andrew spoke up. “Soon I’ll start working in new elements, have him sit in with Bee and try some sessions with Kevin as well. He’s going to need to learn English and get back in classes once he’s stable.”

Josten paused by the door to look back at him. “Yes, I’ve been asked to do a language evaluation of him in the next week or so, and to sit in with Dr. Dobson.”

Still so distant and polite, as always. Andrew shoved aside a thought on if he was like that with other things. “No other cases you’re assisting with right now?”

“A couple.” Josten cocked his head to the side. “It’s fine, I can manage.”

“Is that what keeps you so busy? I don’t see you around here at all.”

Josten tugged the cuffs of his light grey sweater (he always wore grey or light blue, wore such boring colors and clothes) even farther over his hands; Andrew thought he caught sight of faded scars on the long, slim fingers before they disappeared. “I have things to do.”

That wasn’t much of an answer, was it? “What do you think of Peter’s progress so far? Perhaps we can discuss it over a cup of coffee?” Andrew didn’t usually do the whole ‘social’ thing, but there was something interesting about the translator, something that drew his attention the more that Josten tried to hide away.

For a moment he thought that the man was going to say ‘yes’, and then Josten drew in a quick breath as he wrapped his arms around his middle. “No, I have paperwork I need to do. I’ll send you an email with my thoughts,” he said in a rush before he spun around and almost ran from the room.

Surprised by the reaction which seemed almost fearful, Andrew stepped forward to follow Josten and find out what had provoked that response. He shivered as he encountered a spot underneath the air conditioning vent (hadn’t Wymack fixed that yet?) and cursed when the door slammed into him with unexpected force, enough to knock him aside and leave his left arm throbbing with pain; it would have been his head if he hadn’t thrown his arm up in time.

Apparently Wymack hadn’t fixed that, either.

Josten forgotten for the moment, Andrew cradled his sore arm against his chest as he stalked down the hallway to go have a ‘nice’ chat with his boss.

*******

Neil frowned when he noticed that the grapefruit weren’t on sale anymore, but perked up when the green apples and pomegranates were instead, both of which he stocked up on until he felt a harsh tug on his hair. He grabbed some radishes and yams since they were cheap enough to pass without complaint (and the few vegetables he didn’t mind), then left the produce section with some regret.

Chicken thighs were on sale as well, so he grabbed a couple of packages with a whispered ‘I’ll freeze some’, then checked to see what cheese was marked down and got some decent cheddar. He managed not to sigh over the ramen packages he added to the cart, and at least would have the chicken, radishes and yams to make a proper meal out of it, and got a loaf of not quite the cheapest white bread along with a jar of peanut butter.

He grabbed some more shampoo, laundry soap and toilet paper, then saved the first aid aisle for last where he stocked up on bandages and antibacterial ointment. At least he didn’t need hair dye for a few more weeks, he thought to himself as he headed to pay for everything, mindful to pick a different cashier than last time.

The young woman smiled at him while she rang up his purchases, talking all the while about how she loved ramen, too, and wanted to try making an apple pie that weekend. He busied himself bagging up the items as they came down the conveyer belt, uncertain as to why she had to talk so much and not just focus on doing her job, and shook his head when she asked him questions along the lines of if he baked (he didn’t like sweets) or if he liked Japanese food (he did enjoy sushi, but it was rare when he allowed himself the treat).

She kept smiling at him despite the lack of answers, and brushed his fingers with her own when she handed him the receipt after he used his debit card to pay for everything. Aware of Mary’s cold presence behind him, he was quick to grab the bags so he could leave, and didn’t flinch when he heard what sounded to be a drawer slamming shut and the woman cry out in pain.

He didn’t know why people couldn’t leave him alone, couldn’t ignore him like he wanted. Why did they have to smile and talk to him? He wasn’t worth their attention, their attempts at friendship… or worse.

Mary tugged on his hair several times during the drive back to the apartment, hard enough to make his scalp burn but not enough to distract him from the road ahead. She waited to ‘speak’ until they were inside with the door locked and deadbolted for the night.

/Did you have to encourage that slut?/ Mary accused as she yanked on his hair again, that time hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“How did I do that?” Neil asked as he forced himself to carry the bags into the kitchen, the British accent slipping back into his voice since they were alone. “I didn’t even talk to her and I barely looked at her. Next time I’ll avoid her register,” he promised.

There was another tug to his hair, but that time it was almost gentle. /Good. What have I told you about her kind?/

His head hurting and arms aching from the scratches from earlier which still throbbed, Neil set the bags on the counter and took a deep breath before he recited the words he knew by heart. “That relationships are evil and will only harm me. That people who try to trick me into one aren’t ever to be trusted, that they only want to hurt and use me.”

/Yes./ That time Mary when stroked frigid fingers through his hair, he shivered from both the chill and the gentleness of the touch, from the rare show of affection. /You need me to watch after you, to keep you from falling for their tricks, Abram./

“I know, Mum. You’re always looking after me.” He gave her partially see-through form as grateful a smile as he could summon before he started on the groceries. “How about some tea?”

/Yes./

Once the chicken was put away (most of it in the freezer, as he’d promised), he filled the kettle with fresh water and started it heating up on the stove, then decided that he wasn’t in the mood to cook that night and settled on a peanut butter sandwich with an apple for dinner. He’d just finished making the sandwich, the kitchen orderly once again with the groceries tucked into their places (it wasn’t hard to keep neat considering how little food he bought) when the kettle whistled, so he rinsed out the two mugs to warm them up before he dropped teabags in them.

Mary hovered over the steeping mug set out for her, a pleased expression on her incorporeal face, her long hair drifting about much like the tendrils of steam rising from the mug. Neil allowed his to steep a little longer while he ate the sandwich, the large apple saved for ‘dessert’.

His mother was quiet for about an hour or so, during which he cleaned up after his dinner and took to reading a book in Chinese in the living room’s only chair. /How much longer are we going to stay here?/ she asked as she floated around the bare room, her expression one of displeasure.

Neil marked his place in the book then hugged his knees up to his chest. “I told you, this is a good place for us and there’s no need to run anymore. The money’s enough for all my bills, no one’s questioning my past and I like what I do.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly when she drifted closer. “He’s dead, Mum. No one’s looking for us anymore.” No matter how many times he tried to convince her of that, it never ‘took’ for long; he didn’t know if it was because of all those horrible years of living with a monster, of the harsh time on the run or her terrible death, but she couldn’t move on from the past.

But wasn’t that what made a ghost a ghost?

(And who was he to throw stones at glass houses, when he lived with said ghost?)

There was a blast of freezing air, Mary’s displeasure made evident as she whirled around the chair and tugged on his hair once more as a furious, sparkling silver blur. /Nowhere’s good, Abram. Everywhere is full of liars and betrayers and murderers, did he teach you nothing? How many times did we think we were safe, only to run away in pain? How many?/

“Everywhere and always,” he gritted out as he forced himself to not lift his arms to protect his head, to try to shove her away (as if that would work). “But he’s dead, Uncle Stuart killed him years ago. That doesn’t make anywhere safe, but… but that’s why I have you, yes?”

The whirling blast of cold eased up and the tugging stopped, right before Mary coalesced in front of him, her head downcast and wisps of hair floating in front of her face. /Yes, that’s why I’m here, Abram. I have to watch after you, have to protect you./

“I know, Mum,” he told her with a trembling smile. “You’ve always looked after me.” She taught him French and encouraged him to keep learning new languages when they were trapped in that nightmare of a home back in Baltimore as a means of distraction, to keep him busy and out of his father’s sight (as much as possible). When the abuse had finally gotten to be too much, she’d stolen money and run away with him, had managed to keep them out of his father’s reach until that awful night in Seattle.

Even after Nathan had nearly caught them, had left them bloody and beaten, Mary fatally so, she hadn’t given up. Her spirit had lingered on after Neil (Nathaniel) had burned her body, had kept him going long enough to reach out to the Hatfords for help (at last).

Neil thought that Stuart suspected that Mary hadn’t entirely ‘moved on’ after her death, that he’d picked up on her presence around him. After all, Neil had to get the whole ‘I see dead people’ from somewhere, not that many other ghosts came around him with Mary constantly there, for which he was grateful. There had to be something special about the Hatford bloodline which allowed Mary to be so powerful as a ghost.

Or maybe it was just more of their lives (and afterlives) being fucked up and cursed.

The debate about him leaving his new life behind settled for the time being, Neil made some more tea and read a little longer, then went to take a shower before bed. He sighed at the sight of the long, red scratches along his arms and even a couple of across his chest, but none of them were deep enough to require any bandages.

That time.

He took care not to scrub them too hard while washing clean, and only looked into the mirror to check his roots (they would be fine for a few more days) before he removed the contacts and brushed his teeth for the night.

Once he was tucked beneath the heavy blankets, Mary took up position by the bed, a familiar sentinel which never tired, never wavered in her duty to watch over him. He missed how she used to sleep in the same bed as him, her back pressed to his, but knew that when he’d wake up from the nightmares that she’d be there to brush cold fingers along his sweaty brow to calm him down, to reassure him that she was there and all was safe.

He was Neil Josten (now), he had a home to call his own, one with a deadbolt and a comfortable bed (even with the gun under the pillow), with no ghosts of people cruelly murdered by his father (save Mary), no monsters in human flesh eager to hurt him lurking about to cause harm. He had a job where he got to help children, something that paid the bills (even if Uncle Stuart had set up an account for him) and allowed him to do something he enjoyed.

He had Mary to watch over him, ever and ever.

It was enough.

*******

okay, pretend i know what i’m writing about here (in general).

[ld9-the-draft]

Donation

I literally sat and spent half the day writing this. It really should be revised first, but I’m out of time, so here it is. Thank you @alexprompts for the prompt. I hope you enjoy reading it. Please read any of my other pieces, as well, and never ever be afraid to tell me what you thought. I love feedback.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Why do rain and neon always seem to go together?”

Andre paused opening the trunk of the car to process what he’d just heard. “What?”

He turned around to see Nathan standing in the middle of the alley, rain pelting him in the head. He was gently turning his hand back and forth in front of himself. The blue and red from the body shop’s neon DONATIONS sign crawled over his hand as the rain pattered against his pale skin.

“Why do—” Nathan started, still watching his hand.

“I heard you,” Andre snapped. He turned his glare back to the car and rummaged hastily about in the trunk. “We don’t have time for another one of your weird philosophizings, man. Get out of the rain and get your ass over here.”

Nathan blinked up from his hand, muttered, “Oh, right,” and hurried under the awning to Andrew’s side.

“Grab the legs,” Andre gestured with a thrust of his jaw, his hands hooked under one end of the long lumpy bundle in the trunk.

Nathan reached for the other end, but hesitated. “How do you know this end is the legs?”

Andre sputtered for a second before clamping his jaw and taking a deep breath through his nose. “Just grab you-THAT end,” he growled. Nathan raised his hands placatingly, then dug them under the bundle and helped heft it out of the car.

The two men shuffled to the door. Nathan nearly dropped it a couple of times, his hands slipping on the smooth nylon tarp while Andre huffed and glowered at him. At the door, which was not under the awning like the large corrugated cargo door, Andre had to balance the bundle onto one hand and a lifted knee while he twisted the doorknob. The knob turned, but the door didn’t open. Andre yanked on it a couple times and dropped his end of the bundle in a puddle. Water splashed up his leg and soaked his pants. He swore and shoot looks up and down the alley. Nathan followed suit a beat later.

“Dammit,” he swore again. “I thought you said the keep this door unlocked.” He fished in his jacket pocket for his lock picks. The only good thing about tonight so far was the dead bolt could be unlocked from the outside, so he wouldn’t have to break the window. That would’ve ended their little mission real fast.

Behind him, Nathan put his end of the bundle down and shrugged. He kept looking up and down the alley. “I mean, it’s the donation door, right? You’re supposed to be able to donate stuff all the time.”

It took longer than he wanted (his hands were shaking and he was sure the rain wasn’t helping, either), but Andre managed to pick the dead bolt. He jerked the door open and spun around. When he saw Nathan had set the bundle down completely, he sputtered again.

“What the hell- Why did- Jesus-” He took another deep breath and flicked a hand at the bundle. “Just pick the damn thing up already.”

Nathan complied, saying, “It’s not really a thing, you know.”

“It is now.” They hurried inside and found a dim room with a silver metal table and a collection of tools and a bunch of metal and glass cabinets immediately next to the door, so they eased their way in and set the bundle on the table.

“OK, so, now what?” Nathan asked. He was leaning his head into the hallway and peering into the shadows concealing the rest of the building. Neon red and blue shined off the rainwater on the floor that had been blown in by the wind or tracked on their shoes.

“Now,” Andre said as he flipped the lights on, “We make it look like it was already here.”

Nathan turned and eyed the tools and the bundle warily. “Can you do that?”

“Not much choice.” Andre shrugged. “After tonight, it’s either that or we get donated.” He started untying the quick sloppy knots they had used to secure the tarp.

Nathan’s brows crashed into each other and he shifted a bit from one foot to the other a couple times. “I don’t want to be donated.”

Andre paused and glanced over his shoulder at Nathan. He sighed a little and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know, man. Me, either. Go close the trunk and the door before somebody sees. I’m probably going to need your help.”

The other man nodded, still frowning. “OK,” he said and stepped outside. Andre tried not think about what he might have to do with Nathan now and instead focused on the task at hand.

The trunk slammed. Then, the wind and rain were muted as Nathan closed the door. The window rattled in the frame when he did. Nathan ran his hand over the grains of the door and examined the cracked paint and worn wood with wistful eyes. “It fits because it used to be alive, too,” he whispered.

Then, he went into the room with the bundle. Andre had untied the ropes and was yanking the tarp open. The plastic crinkling sounded especially loud inside, but maybe that was only because they didn’t want to be heard.

Inside the tarp was a man, a dead man. He wore blue jeans, now black from soaking up blood, and nothing else. He was well-muscled and looked powerful even in death. He was the kind of man you saw playing an assassin in the movies, Andre thought. The man had been shot and stabbed and he must not have been completely dead when they wrapped him because some blood had pooled in the tarp. It spilled and splattered on the tile floor while Andre tried to smooth the tarp out of the way.

“Shit,” he spat. “Find something to clean that up. Try not to touch anything you don’t have to.”

Nathan nodded, his eyes never leaving the man in the tarp. He start to back out of the room, bumped into the wall, felt for the doorway, and finally stepped into the dark hall.

Andre eyed the dead man’s body and nodded to himself for several seconds before realizing he was stalling. He took another deep breath (he wondered if he was just trying to hold on to the memory of air in his lungs for as long as possible) and grabbed an electric saw from the tools laid out beside the table.

He certainly did not know what he was doing. It took Nathan longer than he would have thought to find a mop and a bucket with some water. By the time he got back, Andre had only managed to cut off one of the man’s arms at the shoulder. He knew the cut was rough and jagged and anyone who knew what they were looking at would know it hadn’t been done by a professional, but it was the best he could do, and he hoped it wouldn’t matter by the time someone noticed. He also knew he was covered in blood. They hadn’t bothered to find scrubs or gowns or anything the recyclers probably normally used, so his clothes were a splattered crimson. Some of it had hit him in the face, too, and he tried to think of it as just dirty water or grime or some other unpleasant but normal substance he had been covered in working manual labor jobs in the past. Nathan started to wretch as soon as he got a closer look.

“Do NOT throw up in here,” Andre snapped, but it was too late. Nathan bolted for one of the sinks in the corner of the room and vomited. Andre tried to hold his temper in check and focus very hard on cutting through the dead man’s leg. “At least you did it in the sink, I guess. Rinse out the sink. Get all of it down the drain.”

The next few hours consisted of Andre cutting the man into parts while Nathan tried to keep the floor clean of all the drips and spills and to not throw up again. The hardest part was the internal organs. They had to be removed individually and that required a steady hand and delicate touch that Andre just didn’t have. He did what he could, though. When it was done, there were four limbs (two legs and two arms), a heart, two lungs, a stomach, a liver, a small and large intestine, and kidney resting in bloody bins beside the table. The head had been placed in its own bin.

“N-now what?” Nathan stammered from across the room. He gripped the mop like the world might fall away if he let go and he looked like he wanted throw up again.

“Now,” Andre managed to get out, “We bag ‘em up. Got to look like they were already here, remember?” He nodded at the remains for a second or two, then marched to the sink. He turned the water on and stood there a moment before vomiting.

Behind him, Nathan murmured, “We took his insides and now our insides are coming out. Is that how it works?”

Andre panted into the sink and ignored him. He rinsed the taste of bile from his mouth, then washed the mess down the drain. He swore again and spit into the sink and rinsed that, too. “OK,” he panted. “OK, let’s find where they keep the bags and all that.”

He and Nathan used the lights from their cells to search the building. Andre couldn’t tell if the place was old or just a broke back alley recycler. Judging from the wooden back door, it could have been both. Nobody used wood anymore. It certainly wasn’t sterile like the high end body shops, either. It’d be lucky to pass an inspection. The equipment looked out of date, too. They didn’t go into the front—they didn’t want anyone to see the lights and call the cops—but Andre bet the parts they had on the shelves (and the parts would be on shelves, not the automated conveyors designed to give you a good look without having to put your nasty fingers on anything) were low grade, stuff fished out of the dumpster or hacked off at home to make a quick buck.

It didn’t take long to find the bags and the vacuum equipment. The shop wasn’t big and the owners were clearly trying to maximize space, but thankfully they were also well organized. The bags were in boxes stacked neatly in a corner crammed beside the vacuum itself. Andre was a little surprised it still had wheels.

They dragged the vacuum and several bags of various sizes into the prep room. Andre hesitated at firs. He couldn’t remember if the parts got rinsed before they were sealed. It made sense to him they would be, but he also thought he’d heard somewhere the parts need the blood to stay healthy or something. They didn’t have time to ponder it or figure it out, so he went with his gut; they went in bloody.

Every part got its own bag. Bulk packaging was a dead giveaway the parts were illegal. Andre had Nathan hold each bag open while he plopped the organs in first. The pale man, still a little green, too, squeezed his eyes shut and looked away for each part and flinched each time the organ hit the bag.

The limbs came next. Longer, larger, heavier, it took a little more cooperation and work to get them into their bags, and the men had to try three different sized bags on the first arm before they found a size that worked. Andre swore under his breath the whole time, but couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. He wondered if they would ever stop and why Nathan’s were so steady. The head was last to go into a bag.

The next step was the worst, because it was the loudest. It was most likely to get them noticed. For as long as vacuums had existed, they still hadn’t gotten much quieter. A few flipped switches and a press of a button and the machine groaned to life. Andre’s gritted his teeth hard as the sound seemed to swell louder and larger. He knew he would never hear sirens over that noise. He just hoped they could get it done fast and get out. Nathan stood beside him shifting from one foot to the other. He had his hands clasped over ears and winced at the smothering drone.

Andre gently pushed him aside to stand by the wall. He was pretty sure he could do this part alone. He had to turn the first bag this way and that a few times, but he eventually figured out how to hook it up to the machine. He had never actually seen one in used before. He only had the same general knowledge everyone else did. It sucked the air out of one end of the bag to create a hermetic seal, while some kind of preservative was pumped into the other end. Expensive machines made seals that supposedly lasted indefinitely. Andre guessed something like this, beaten, used, and outdated, would only guarantee viability for a year or so at best.

He worked as quickly and methodically as possible. Before one part was sealed, he already had the next in hand, ready to swap them out. It was lucky the bags were tough even if they were probably cheap, because he was sure he would have torn thinner plastic. Finally, though, they were all sealed. Andre flicked switches again and turned the vacuum back off. There was a brief moment of dullness, when the quiet pressed in hard on the suddenly noiseless space.

Then, he heard it. Sirens.

“Fuck!” Andre snarled. He turned to Nathan, speaking quickly, “There was a cart in the room we got the vacuum from. Take this stuff back and bring the cart here. Now.”

Nathan nodded emphatically and scurried down the hall. Andre grabbed the dead man’s head and tossed it onto the tarp with the torso. He wrapped them up in the tarp enough that he was sure nothing would fall or drip out, then grabbed the tarp in two hands and hauled it out the back door.

The sirens were louder in the alley. Andre wasn’t sure which direction they were heading. Maybe they weren’t even for him and Nathan. It would be stupid to take the chance. Stupid to think that were true.

He dropped the bag by the car and fumbled the keys out of his jacket pocket. They slipped from his hand into a puddle. He spit a stream of dark curses while he bent to retrieve them. Another few seconds of panicked fumbling. He nearly dropped the keys again, but found the fob. He jammed it against the lock until the trunk door lifted slightly, then yanked it open. Andre grabbed the tarp and hauled it into the trunk and slammed it shut. Then, he rushed back inside.

Nathan, for once, was on top of things. He had not only returned the vacuum and the bags, but the parts were mostly loaded onto the cart. Andre silently thanked God and helped him put the rest on the cart.

“I got this. Go get in the car,” Andre told him. Nathan hesitated, bag in hand. Andre snatched it from him, tossed it on the cart, and pulled him toward the door. “Go. I got this.” Nathan nodded, somehow shifting from foot to foot while walking, but Andre gripped his arm tightly a moment first. He waited until Nathan looked him in the eye and said, “Do not leave without me. Stay in the car.”

“Yeah,” Nathan replied, looking a bit confused. Or worried. Andre wasn’t sure which.

He let Nathan go and finished loading up the cart. The sirens were definitely louder now. No way they weren’t coming for the two of them. Andre barreled down the hall with the cart. He slammed open the swinging doors separating the back rooms from the business up front and barely avoided knocking over a whole shelf of parts. Blue and red lights whipped through the front windows. Shit. It was so hard to tell how far away they were in the city.

Voices called out. He couldn’t tell what they said, but Andre knew they were for him. He rushed around the shelves, trying to use the strobing police lights to find where the parts belonged, desperately hoping they would blend in.

A gunshot went off.

“FUCK!” he cried. Something was happening outside. It was time to go. He didn’t even both putting the cart back, just shoved it out of the way. His brain flipped through a mental checklist while he sprinted down the hall. Was there anything they left? Did they clean everything up? Were all the organs sealed? Was anything else out of place? He hadn’t even made it that far before he was in the driver’s seat, stabbing the key into place.

“Wait,” Nathan started, but Andre was already putting the car into gear and accelerating. “What about the body and the tarp?”

Andre shook his head. “In the trunk. Torso’s empty; they won’t take it. It’d be weird to leave it.” They whipped out into the late night traffic, briefly heading the wrong way on a one way street until Andre took them down another alley. “Got to bring the head, too. We leave that and they’ll know who the parts belong to real fast.”

“Oh.” Nathan sat back in his seat with his brows pressed together while he considered that. “Dre?”

The other man slowed down and pulled into traffic more or less safely and in the right direction this time. He looked in the rear view mirror almost as much as he watched the road in front of him. He was so focused on looking for a tail he didn’t answer for three blocks.

“What’s up, Nate?” Andre’s hands still clenched the wheels tight enough his knuckles were white. He tried to get them to let go, but couldn’t. They would just have to drive around a while, he guessed.

“Is everything going to be ok?” Nathan sat with his hands in lap. He kept interlacing his fingers, pulling them apart until just the tips touched, then lacing them again so the other hand was on top. His feet kept moving on the floor, too, back and forth. His eyes were locked on his hands and his brows were firmly locked together.

Andre didn’t answer for another block. They had blended properly at this point, obeying the speed limit and lights. No more weaving in between other cars. It gave him time to think. It wasn’t Nathan’s fault what had happened, not really. Shitty circumstances combined with awful timing and cruel coincidence. That’s all it was.

That’s all it was.

But the dead man’s friends wouldn’t see it that way. His boss wouldn’t see it that way.

It was impossible for them to stay in the city now. Andre was scrambling to think of a safe place for them to lay low in the short term until he could come up with something more permanent. Something that would still include Nathan and his weird-ass questions and comments.

“Yeah, man,” he said, finally. He pried his hand off the steering wheel and ruffled Nathan’s hair. “Everything’s going to ok.”

Nathan looked over at him. His brows cracked enough to be two separate items on his face again. “Really?”

“Yeah, man,” Andre said again. He put as much kindness and reassurance as he could into the words. He even forced a smirk onto his face and flashed it at the man sitting next to him. “I promise.”

[unholyhelbig]

Save a horse, ride a cowboy, Bechloe?

[A/N: Is this… I mean, not exactly sexual but if you guys want a part two then I could totally do that. Cause I don’t know what this turned into.] 

The hay tasted like a sweet relief against her tongue. It frayed as her teeth crunched down on it, its edge hanging lazily from her lips like a dully lit cigar with a fine paper wrapping. She considered it a mortal sin in some way or another if she were to smoke in this church. To spark something in a hot flame. Beca Mitchell wanted the smoke to curl into her lungs and lick the back of her throat, but instead, she settled for this.

Her arm was stretched against the back of the pew, it’s cooling wood soaking through not only her button-down but her fur lined jacket. She decided to focus on the leather-bound bible in front of her instead. Its words were embossed in gold, pages brown and some dog-eared. They had been owned before, donated, maybe.

Beca moved her ankle up to her knee, trying her hardest to pay attention to the man that commanded the church with such vigor and passion. She could swear he made eye contact with her more than once. The type of gaze that lingered in eternal judgment. She simply lowered her stare and blocked her view with the wide-brimmed Stetson, the black material stood out upon the pastel reinks of proper dress attire.  

“Where do you stand with God?” The stout little man walked across the carpeted stage. It muffled his boots, and he shoved his hands in his pockets in attempt to look more relaxed. “In this very moment, sitting in this church, on this sweltering day, I bet your answer would be good.”

The woman bit her tongue in attempt to stifle the scoff that pushed past her throat. Good? Her standing with the lord was close to non-existent at this point in her life. The patrons around her shifted uncomfortably and she couldn’t’ help but wonder what most of them were compensating for.

There was a young mom in the front row, hugging her baby close, trying to keep him quiet. She clung onto every single word that the pastor had to offer. A man sat behind her and kept a glowering expression on his face. His hands were soaked in grease despite the nice flannel he had buttoned up. To the right of him sat the rest of his family; the little girl read through a book that had a neon pink casing, clearly not the bible. The boy was weaving a rope against his fingers and nudging his sister to stick her hand through the center. It was the worst game of cats cradle that Beca had ever seen.

“You are a good law-abiding citizen. You place coins in strangers’ cups when they hold them out to you. You hold the door open and give a kind smile whenever eye contact is met. But none of you here…. None of you have a clear connection with God.”

Beca Mitchell swallowed and let her vision center on the Bible once more. She had a habit of turning out the rest of any sermon that was thrown her way. This man knew nothing about God, almost as little as she did. The difference between the two of them lay in the masks. Beca didn’t’ have one, but this man did. This oily faced man who welcomed all sinners under his roof. He was sweating because of the heat, resisting the urge to swat away at the gnats that flew close to his reddened ears.

The little chapel cleared out fast after he closed his statements with a prayer and a half-hearted action from the chorus. They sang as beautifully as any small-town would. Their best singer was sure to get a job at a pub when she was old enough to stop lacing her boots to the tune of the gospel.

Beca had held her place in the back pew until everyone left, again, refusing to make obvious eye contact with anyone that this little place had to offer. They had one stop light, and their accents were thick enough to layer on sweet cream. She had no use for small minded people who followed a man like this, blindly, at that.

“Andrew Strickland?” She asked, accent strong. She had lifted her head up enough to give him a good view of midnight eyes. He was shuffling nervously with the papers on his podium, no doubt marked out with the spots of his sermon that he had to hit. He was shaking.

Beca Mitchell walked down the long-carpeted aisle between two columns of pews. They were coated in enough dust to create another desert. His skin was like leather and the closer she got the more she could smell his primal sweat.

She stopped at the edge of the first row, lifting her hat from her shoulders as she shifted the piece of sweet hay from one side of her teeth to another. “I think you owe my boss some money, sir.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He swallowed thickly. “Now, not that I don’t believe in talking to my followers. I must be going.”

He hastily walked along the stage before trying to edge around the woman. He was taller than her and his fingers were trembling worse than she had ever seen before. His breath was sour like dairy left out on a hot day such as this. “I think you know, them. The Posen’s? A very forgivin’ family.”

Pastor Andrew Strickland sucked in a heavy breath before he shook his head and sidestepped her completely, walking down the main aisle. He dropped a few papers, let them fall loudly without an attempt to turn and pick them up.

Beca rolled her eyes and placed her hat back on her head, reaching for the small pearl revolver that was holstered between the hot skin of her back and her jeans. She fished into her pockets and pulled out a single bullet, shelving it within the weapon. That’s all it took for her, just one. She aimed easily.

Shooting this man would be no worse than putting a wounded animal out of its misery. Andrew certainly wasn’t foaming at the mouth, though, and she had a strict policy about shooting a man when his back was turned. Instead, she cleared her throat and took a step forward, pushing the barrel back into place loud enough for him to recognize the sound with his insulant ears.

He turned with those eyes that almost stared through her.

“Most of the time, that is.” She took another step forward “Sometimes they get impatient when they’re not given the money that they are so clearly owed.”

“Like I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about. So if you would kindly-“

“What does the Bible say about ignorance, Pastor?” Beca Mitchell was running her finger over the edge of the gun now “They are darkened in their understanding, alienated from the life of God because of the ignorance that is in them, due to their hardness of heart. Or somethin’ like that.”

Maybe she had retained some things from the serpent eyed man that stood in front of her. Or the dozen’s of others that she had taken from this world. She had mulled over the first one but realized easily that they were all human. None were more divine than the other. This was simply her job. Her burden to carry.

“Ephesians 4:18, I’m aware.” He said, “I don’t have your money.”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t let you leave, Pastor.”  

She raised the gun once more, feeling a familiar ache in her arm. He stared her down with the deep gaze that was supposed to make her reconsider, to feel some type of mercy against the man. But none of that happened. Beca Mitchell squeezed the trigger.

“Wait!” His voice cracked. He was no longer the composed man who deemed himself worthy by judging others so cruelly. He grasped at the collars of her jacket. “I can get the money. Please. Just give me until the end of the day.”

Beca was stone-faced, his hands left sweaty prints on her coat. He was desperate, a thick brine of sweat soaking into her white t-shirt. There were terra cotta prints on the edges, yellowed stains under her arms. She wanted to cringe away from the man, begging didn’t’ fit anyone especially not him.

“You have until sundown.” She shoved him off, careful not to set off the gun. “You try to run, and I will find you. I don’t hesitate to shoot twice, Pastor.”

“Thank you, oh praise the Lord, thank you.”

She took a step back, letting him gather his papers before rushing into the sweltering day that awaited him. Beca chewed evenly on the hay. Her job was never to show any type of mercy, but she had a few hours to kill in this little dust town- there was no reason for her to not allow the pastor his earnest right of begging a dried-up bank for the money that he owed. The Posen’s held control over this place, including the tellers behind the bulletproof glass.

Beca shelved her gun once more, breathing in the musty air that the church had to offer. She cocked a brow, reaching into the closest pew, the very one that she sat at before. There must have been some type of hierarchy of sin that went into stealing a bible. It was thievery, but in the prospect of knowledge, Beca deemed it level.

She drummed her fingers on the cover and sunk down into the near middle of the pew, seemingly craving the coolness that the wood had to offer. The Stetson was removed, and she worked her hand through sweat bridled locks. Was it the New, or Old Testament that held more presence?

Instead, she flipped to the first page. It was musty and the read was droning on, but she had the time to kill. It was better than stacking up in the local pub and drowning her sorrows in liquor before a sloppy hit. Of course, if Pastor Andrew Strickland got the money, then she could be merrily on her way. She read about the creation of the earth sectioned into days.

“Let there be light, and there was light.”

The voice was airy, like light, so aptly mentioned,  itself. Warm and tantalizing. She lowered her feet to the floor and turned slightly in the pew, taking the hay from her mouth. She hadn’t heard the door open and even felt the heat that the day had to offer. Instead, there was a woman; A woman that didn’t’ seem to mind the summer atmosphere, her perfect copper ringlets falling over a long sleeve shirt, buttoned all the way to her throat. It was blue. Blue like her eyes and rolled up to accommodate for something. She held a plate of cookies. Chocolate chip, by the scent of it.  

“Ah,” She lifted her chin “Never quite understood why he divided’ it into darkness after that.”

“Philosopher, then?” The girl shifted her weight and gave a sort of a half-smile that was earth-shattering in its own right. A small-town girl that was a big fish in a little pond. Even now, Beca Mitchell could see that. She didn’t’ need a name, even though she craved it. “Have you seen Pastor Strickland anywhere?”

“Oh, you just missed him. He said he needed to run some errands.” Beca explained as she closed the Bible and set it back in its little slot. She was honest with herself- if she had stolen it, it would sit at the edge of her bookshelf reminding her that her sin wasn’t one contracted, but one decided. “Anything I can help you with?”        

“I’m not sure. My mother, own’s the bakery in town, said she owed somethin’ to the man so figured cookies were a good thing to level the field.” She laughed, angelically, “Debt is a funny thing.”

The stranger plopped down on the pew next to her, wafting a scent of lavender mixed with sweat, but it wasn’t the same way the pastor smelled. Instead, it was sweeter, and she worked the heat like it was a warm lump of clay. It was either that or the cookies.

“Want one?” She asked, moving the cellophane wrap away from the mound of baked goods “I promise you, there ain’t no poison in these.”

Beca lifted her eyebrow and cautiously took a cookie: here was this stranger, this woman who didn’t’ question her presence in an empty church or the fact that the man she was looking for had seemingly vanished. She was holding a blind trust and Beca was amused by it, taken aback. The people she worked for would never conjure up a simple act of kindness like this.

“Thank you,” She said evenly.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

She grasped a cookie herself and set the plate to the side of her, letting the chips melt further in the heat of the day. The heat of a closed area that only had light streaming from expertly crafted stained glass windows. They left crimson splotches on the carpet.

“Fraid’ not. I’m here on business with Strickland myself.”  

Beca tried the cookie, biting down on it easily. The taste that filled her mouth may have been attributed to the long dust-wracked journey that curbed her appetite, or the simple fact that this strangers mother had a fantastic choice in career. It made her stomach churn as an undeniable moan sneaked it’s way past her lips.

It made the beautiful stranger giggle, a sound that was unfamiliar and made a smile pass over Beca’s lips “Sorry, Ma’am, this is just about the damn best cookie I’ve ever had.”

“None of that Ma’am stuff. You can call me Chloe.”

“Beca,” She shifted, leaning her arm against the back of the pew. “it’s not short for nothin’, my parents just don’t’ know how to finish their thoughts.”

“You’re funny,” Chloe took a bite of the cookie in her hand, not having the same reaction that Beca did. She was probably more than used to the gooey taste of sweets. “I like that. What kind of business does someone like you have with a man like Strickland?”

She hesitated at that, breathing in the hot air. A small strand of hair fell into Chloe’s ocean eyes. There weren’t waves around for miles, but Beca could swear upon the bible that she almost stole, that she could smell the salty shore and hear the seagulls beacon to one another the longer she stared. The longer she swam.

“Not my business really. Your kin owes him, and he owes my employers.” She explained, taking another bite of the baked good, this time fighting back a groan. “I’m just here collecting what’s been promised.”

“Ah, an eye for an eye and heart for a heart.” She tapped her temple, “I think the bible says something about that too.”

Beca scoffed and rolled her head back off the edge of the pew, stretching the sore muscles that wracked her. They were taught. She got a good look at the stained glass above them: A baby in a manger that slowly turns into a man hung from a cross with bloodied nails. It was a story displayed for all to see- a guilt trip, as far as she was concerned.

Chloe set the rest of her cookie down on the plate and wiped her hands against the fabric of her expertly woven pants. She laid her head back too, squinting at the visions of reds and blues that trapped them in a terrarium of religion and its mortal stories. “You know the story of baby Jesus?”

“Haven’t read that far, I’m afraid. I’m glad I’ve got the picture version to go by. You very religious, Chloe?”

“Livin’ in a world like this?” She scoffed, her breath hot and noticeable on Beca’s cheek, it sent shivers down her spine and made her stiffen. “Who can be?”  

[stormecloudyy-blog]

Amor Proibido [vii]

I just wanna give you the loving that you’re missing Baby, just to wake up with you Would be everything I need and this could be so different Tell me what you want to do - Shawn Mendes

“Just tell me later because I really want to kiss you,” Shawn informs me matter of factly.

With that, he just takes me right into his arms as though he has every right to do so and boldly places his lips against my own. His hands snake around my waist and pull my hips against his, my frame just melding into his.

He keeps me steady against him as he leads me to the couch, carefully maneuvering us.

His hands slide up to the hem of my shirt, lifting it up with both hands over my head and throwing it aside. He does the same to his flannel, tossing that in another direction. Both of us hastily kick off our shoes, wanting to return to what we had just been doing.

Shawn wastes no time in pulling me back to him, and he resumes kissing me as though we have not been apart for over a week. He just is so damn confident that it makes me forget why I even gave up on him in the first place.

His hand slide to the sides of my thighs, slipping beneath my skirt to feel beneath the material. Running his fingers along my skin, he stops at the front of my silk panties and smirks against my lips at how wet I already am.

Expertly removing the material and my skirt, they end up on the floor before his hands are undoing his jeans and kicking them off. He kicks the pile of clothes aside and then cups my ass in his palms, squeezing it appreciatively.

Standing there barely wearing any clothes triggers so many memories and how often I just have this way of never being able to say no to him. It has nothing to do with games or his ability to just make me forget why we cannot be together, but it is just because I know there is really not anyone else who knows me as well as he does.

Shawn just kind of smiles at me in his cute way that he does and helps me down on the couch, hovering over me on both of his arms and then kissing me as though I am the only thing that matters to him at this moment.

My hands rest on his waist, wanting to keep him close to me because I really had missed him the whole time he had been away.

He quirks his eyebrows at me as though asking me what I am waiting for, signaling that it is okay to remove his boxers. I do so quickly, Shawn finishing the job by kicking them to the floor eagerly.

He looks down at me with those hazel eyes of his and says, “You give me way too many chances.”

“Shut it,Mendes,” I teased him sweetly and placed my finger on his lips. He nipped at it gently and then pinned my hand down with his own.

“Make me.”

He doesn’t give me time to reply, pressing his lips against mine to silence me.

I am lying beneath him, his hands on either side of me and my hands around his waist. He nudges my legs open with his foot, holding himself steady with one hand while the other wraps around his length.

My hips roll up to meet his, wanting to immediately grant him access to what I have been missing since he was gone.

He licks his lips with anticipation, rubbing the tip against my entrance and making me wetter.

This wait always kills me a little bit.

He takes a deep breath, positioning himself at my entrance and slowly sliding inside of me.

My legs immediately lock around him to get him deeper, his hands pinning mine at my sides so he has all of the control. Which is fine with me. This is the way it has always been, him gentle but in charge.

He closes his eyes, slowly moving up and down to find his pace. Once he seems satisfied, he begins moving more quickly and rapidly as though it has been awhile since he has gotten the chance to enjoy being physically intimate with another person.

I couldn’t help but looking at him, memorizing the way he bites his lip in concentration or the small groans he makes as he slides in and out of me. It is these little things that I miss when he leaves me, but I never know how to tell him that I miss him. Which is how we always end up in these types of situations.

My hands relax underneath his grip as my hips buck up to meet his over and over, the steady pace causing my heart to race.

Shawn presses his lips against my forehead and whispers, “I missed this so fucking much. You have no idea.”

I nod, knowing exactly what he means. He lets go of my hands and then moves his hands down to my waist, sliding himself out of me for a moment so he can position me on top of him and then he slams back into me, going harder and deeper than before.

His hands move down to my waist, holding onto me so he can thrust into me deeper and find that spot that he knows makes me completely lose myself to him. His eyes shut again in concentration, his hips meeting mine quickly and causing those little sighs and moans to just fall from my lips.

He keeps his pace going, hand resting on my hip and his thrusts never slowing down in the slightest. I can feel myself getting closer and he can tell too, because he keeps moving but he slows it down just the slightest bit.

His other hand moves up to my clit, drawing circles around it as he bites his lip as he is focusing on trying to make sure we both reach our climax.

Drawing circles around my clit, he keeps doing it as I can feel the tension building up inside of me as my walls tighten around him. I cry out his name, digging my fingers into his biceps and probably leaving marks that will be there for days.

He soons follows suit, slamming his hips against me and cumming deep inside of me with a string of curse words and a sloppy kiss on the side of my mouth.

Once he rides out his climax, he pulls out of me and collapses on top on me with a smirk and small chuckle. His hands hold me against him, his head resting on his chest as those caramel eyes just watch me with pure bliss. “So, did you miss me too?” he asks with that sweet little boy way of his that had a way of making me melt while also wanting to simultaneously fuck him all over again. “Because that would prove that you did even just a little bit.”

I just kind of stare at him for a few seconds, biting my lip and then shrugging my shoulders. “I mean, yeah…I noticed you were gone and stuff if that is what you are asking. But I might not have missed you a lot.”

He shakes his head at me, smiling like an idiot and flashing that stupid little dimple of his. “You are such a bad liar.”

“Shut it Mendes,” I replied and lean down to kiss him, pressing my finger to his lips for a moment before adding in a low whisper, “I am glad you’re here.”

The next morning I find myself calling into work, saying there is a family emergency. Shawn is still sprawled out in the same bed I share with Landon, but I am trying not to think about what a terrible person I am in regards to that. I rush through the house, taking down all of the pictures of us together and throwing them into the back of the linen closet like it’s no big deal.

This is fine. I am fine. Everything is fine. Shawn just showed up at my house where people can see he was. And we just had sex and I said I had missed him… and none of this is a big deal at all… nope. It is all going to be okay because I can just tell him to go home and it’s whatever. I just say while this was fun, we both need to go back to the real world and…

“Hi,” he says in a sleepy voice, curls askew and pants slung really low on his hips… like… man, that boy has the deepest V I have ever seen and I just… well, it makes me want to get down on my knees and shove his dick in my mouth. Wow.

He is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching me as I am chopping up bananas and eating peanut butter from a jar with a spoon.

“You want a smoothie?” I point at the blender and the bananas I have been chopping up. I mean, I can’t make him like a healthy shake but at least it’s better than nothing.

He walks over to me and places a kiss on my cheek like this is normal. Like we are a couple and can just live happily ever after… ha.

“Thank you,” he tells me before tossing some bananas into the blender and heading the fridge to look for something else to add. He looks around for a moment before pulling out some yogurt and blueberries. He places them on the counter in front of me and tells me, “I kind of ditched a photo shoot to come here. I have to be on a plane by this afternoon so I don’t get in too much trouble. Andrew will have to rebook the photo shoot and I will have to say I am sorry for being so irresponsible.”

I toss a piece of banana in my mouth and throw the contents of the counter minus the peanut butter in the blender. I make sure it is closed tightly before setting it on. The blender barely makes a noise and is done quickly. Thanks, fancy office party raffle.

Shawn pokes around the kitchen and finds the glasses, placing them on the counter and letting me pour the smoothies. He takes a small sip and raises it at me as though toasting me. “This is for me last night,” he teases me, looking so cute with his little smoothie mustache on his lips.

I roll my eyes and say, “You should not thank me because I told you this all could not be happening anymore. Yet, you call me. Then you show up at my house and now you are here in my kitchen like this is the most normal thing in the world. It is not, you know.”

Shawn sits down on the one of the stools by the counter, resting his chin on his hand and looking at me like I am crazy. “This could easily be happening all of the time. You seem to have a flexible schedule when you could come out to see me when you have time and I would come see you when I could. I mean, I do have an entire loft that is just sitting unused if you ever wanted a change of scenery. I reside in a very nice building with a gym and I even have my own studio. There is even enough room…more than enough room where someone could, you know, write things in an office space.”

Taking long sips of my smoothie so I don’t have to tell him again, I just give him the same look back like he is the one who has lost his mind because he clearly has.

He reaches for a piece of banana and pops it in his mouth. “I don’t know what you keep waiting for. We have been playing this weird back and forth game for the last few weeks, and I think you should just give in. Give me a chance.”

As much as I wish I could just live this perfect life with Shawn, that will never happen. I could only imagine the rumours that would spread at my work, along with all of the press there would be. Suddenly, I would just be someone famous’ girlfriend, not the assistant editor of one of the best music magazines around. All of the work would be for nothing. I did not work really hard just to get thrown into a box and defined by the person I choose to spend my time with. There is just too much risk and to lose for me to make such a stupid choice. 

I should just him the truth now. Rip off the bandaid and explain I am one of the worst people in the world. Next week I will be putting on a wedding dress and saying I do. My life will be so much different. I can’t foster the idea of letting this go on any longer because all I am going to do is end up breaking his heart more than I already have.

“There is nothing I can say which doesn’t make any less shitty, Shawn. You have been the one who has been chasing me since we met, and I let you. I was just really fucking stupid and I let you think I was going to be genuinely interested in you–”

“Stop.” He holds a hand up. “Just fucking stop. You can’t do this. I have told you I loved you. Which I know doesn’t make a lot of fucking sense, but it is how I feel. There is no one else I have ever felt this way about. You need to just stop hesitating with this shit and just finally be happy.”

I slam my hands down on the counter. “I can’t be with you because I have a fucking fiance, okay? I am getting married next week, okay? I am getting fucking married and can never see you again. This house I share with my fucking fiance, and you fucked me in the same bed he has!” I scream, unable to hold all of my emotions from the last few weeks. 

Shawn is silent. He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath, exhaling before looking at me. “How fucking stupid are you, Autumn? You are so fucking blind. This is not how you act when you are supposed to be getting married. This is the biggest fucking proof you could ask for you shouldn’t be getting married.”

“Don’t fucking call me names. That is what Landon does, and I don’t need to tolerate it from another fucking man. He already tells me quite often how he is unhappy I am making more money than him and how he wants me to give up my job when we get married. I don’t need to hear you tell me the same fucking thing. Get the fuck out of my house. Get out!” I scream, stomping over to him and trying to push him out of my house. “Get the fuck out of my house and stop ruining my fucking life. Everything was just fine before you came along, and you had to fuck up my whole life. I fucking hate you!”

He stumbles for a moment, catching himself and letting me pound my fists against his rock solid chest. Shawn catches my hands in his and says, “Stop, Autumn.”

The tears are pouring down my face now, complete with ugly snot and redness. “No, you stop! You ruined my whole life. I was just supposed to write this stupid story and get on with my life. You weren’t supposed to get under my skin and fuck everything up. This is all your fault!”

Shawn puts my hands down at my sides and tries to calm me down. He places one of his hands on my arm and says, “Please stop crying.”

“I told you to get out of my house. Get out.  I just ordered a wedding cake and there is a dress I am supposed to wear. All of these plans have been made and you can’t just ruin them, Shawn!” I push him away from me and run towards the bedroom.

I pick up his clothes and throw them out the bedroom doorway. “Leave now, no one wants you here anymore. All you do is fuck with my emotions and ruin my life. I don’t have the time for you to ruin my life anymore, just go.”

Shawn stares at me and his crumpled clothes. He leans down and picks them calmly. “I will leave if that is what you want, okay? But you need to know I am not trying to ruin your life. I know this situation is fucked up. You lied to me, but there is no way I can just walk away from you, Autumn.”

I snort. “We had sex a few times, and it was fun. But there is nothing else to say. You aren’t in love with me. You are going to go back to your nice famous life and there will be someone else to fuck tonight. There will also be a plethora of pussy for Shawn Mendes.”

He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and throws something on the floor at my feet. “Fuck you for saying that. Hope you enjoy the present I wanted to give you. Let me know if you ever want to let me ruin your life some more.”

There is a door slam and I am all alone.

I bend down and pick up the box. It is a small black rectangular box. Inside the box, there is a silver chain with charm on it. A little tiny rose. Nestled inside is a piece of paper which reads,  But I got you this rose And I need to know Will you let it die or let it grow?

Fuck my life.

I thought he would call me and say he was sorry. 

Say he was coming back before he had to be back on the plane. Instead his phone only goes to voicemail and all my messages are left unread. 

I have just pacing around the house all day and staring at the stupid box. He was just here a few hours ago, I could run my fingers through his hair and have the chance to kiss those stupid lips. 

He is going to back to his tour and we won’t speak. There won’t be a plane ticket. I will just get married next week and that will be the end of it.

He even told me I shouldn’t be getting married at all. Even Shawn knows I should be doing something else with my life, but I am too afraid to deal with the fall out to do anything else. 

Stupid Shawn.

Stupid necklace.

Stupid emotions.

Most of all…

Stupid Autumn.

I call Emily still full of ugly sobs and snot all over my face. Because there is no one else I can turn to. She doesn’t answer either because she is at the gym, but she texts me to say she will come see me later that evening so we can have some time to chat.

I am ready to throw my phone across the room again, but I do not want to pay for yet another one because I can’t keep my phone from getting ruined due to my own stupidity.

I am scrolling through Instagram and looking at photos to take my mind off how sad I am when I see Shawn has posted a new photo. It is just a close up of his face, head resting on my thigh. He looks half asleep and there are little rays of sun peaking put behind his head. I know it is my thigh because I see the tattoo I have right there… the really nerdy Harry Potter death eater mark I got when I turned 18 because I thought it was the coolest. He must have taken the photo while I was asleep.  The comments are endless, but all I see is his caption “Happiness.”

I close the app and try calling him again, listening to the trill of the ringing and every second making my heart shatter even more. 

“Hello?” he answers, sounding tired and sad.

“I tried to call you and…I don’t…. um, I looked at the necklace?” I offer, not quite sure what I am trying to say.

“Okay,” he says, waiting.

“Why didn’t you come back?” I question, trying not to cry but feeling the tears build up in the corners of my eyes all over again. 

He sighs. “I am not going to come back when you tell me to go fuck someone else like it is normal. That was fucked up, and you won’t even admit to it. You do not tell someone there is a plethora of pussy waiting for them when they are obviously fucking in love with you, Autumn!”

“You fucked me almost right away though.”

He pauses. “That is not the same, Autumn. Once you fucking realize the shit you say affects people, it may cause you to reconsider how quickly you open your mouth.”

I bite my lip and take a deep breath. “What about the plane ticket?”

“Fuck me. You tell me you never wanna see me again because you are getting married and now you are calling me to see about a plane ticket the week of your wedding. How fucked up are you?” He lets out his thousandth sigh. “No matter what happens, there is going to be plane ticket. You can either come or not. But you need to know if you don’t show up the day you said you were going to, I am coming back for you even if I have to come and stop your fucking wedding.”

I let out a laugh. “You would not come and stop my wedding.”

“Watch me,” he says and hangs up on me once again.

[sweetwater-betts]

The Drug In Me Is You (Bughead) Pt. 1

Summary: Betty Cooper went to the Two Crows Nightclub after she caught her longtime boyfriend, Archie Andrews, cheating on her. She expected to get so wasted she would puke up her guts, but what she didn’t expect, was to be sexually harassed by an unnamed man, and saved by a beanie-clad troublemaker.

Betty Cooper downed all of her shots even faster yet, eyes closed and head thrown back. She sighed as she set her last one down. Her meadow green eyes scanned the bar, searching for the bartender. She found him sliding a dark drink to a man with a band T-shirt. She waved her hand in the air sloppily. “Gonna need some more over here,” She said in a not-so-clear-but-also-not-slurred voice. She wasn’t drunk enough yet. She could still think about what happened, and she wanted to do anything else but that.

The bartender grimaced. “We’re going to have to cut you off, Miss. You’ve had too many,” He explained apologetically. She scoffed, but looked away. She drummed her fingers on the wood of the bar, mind wandering back to what she had witnessed only hours ago.

She opened the door to her apartment, bags of food in hand and grin on her face. “Arch?” She called into the darkness of her living room. Her hands slid against the wall, searching for the light switch. “Archie?” She called again as light filled the room. No response.

She dropped the bags for a moment to untie her hair. It fell in waves to her shoulders and she messed with it for a moment, trying to relieve her scalp of the headache caused by the tight hairstyle. She was glad to be back home. It had been a hard day at work. There were so many stories at once. Missing kid, murder of an elderly man, rape of a teenage girl. It made her feel sick. What kind of world did they live in?

She slid off her grey jacket and tossed it onto the couch. She unbuttoned the first couple of buttons to her white blouse, as it had previously been up to her neck, and kicked off her black heels. She picked up the bags from their favorite Chinese restaurant, excited to show him that she had surprised him with food and hoping he hadn’t eaten yet. She had decided he must have been sleeping as she came closer to their bedroom. Otherwise he would have responded to her constant calls.

“Archie?” She whispered as she slowly opened the door, trying not to wake up her boyfriend too aggressively. That’s caring Betty Cooper for you. She always put him before her. Whatever Archie wanted, Archie got. Perhaps all the work she put into having a perfect relationship was all for nothing. Everyone knew how undeserving of Betty’s loving treatment Archie was. The sweet girl stayed oblivious to the whispering, but there was always an nagging little voice in the back of her head that had similar words to her friends. “Archie doesn’t love you as much as you love him, Betty. This relationship is toxic, Betty. Leave him, Betty.” But she ignored it.

Until now. The food crashed to the ground, spilling rice and chicken onto the soft grey carpet. For there, in the bed she shared with Archie, was the red headed boy with Veronica Lodge on top of him. They both turned around as soon as she opened the door. Veronica and Betty gasped while Archie stayed in stunned silence. The blonde girl grabbed onto the doorframe to steady herself.

“Archie? Veronica?” The blond girl asked. She knew it was them, of course, but she was hoping she was wrong. Maybe this was a dream. She didn’“t just walk in on her bestfriend and boyfriend having sex, right? Betty, oh my god, wait.” Veronica panicked, pulling the sheets over her exposed body and tumbling off of Archie.

“Betty, let me explain,” Archie begged, following Veronica’s lead. Betty felt the blood rushing from her neck to her cheeks. “I don’t think this requires explaining, Archie Andrews. What’s happening her looks pretty obvious to me,” She fumed. “Well…” He trailed off, racking his brain for an excuse. He sighed. “Yeah, I got nothing.” Betty felt something snap.

“I’m going to castrate you Archibald!” Betty screamed. “Get out!” She screeched at the trembling Lodge. “Betty-” She tried and failed to negotiate with the hurt girl. “Get out!” She shouted again, throwing Veronica’s dress at her.

She obeyed, pulling her clothes on as quick as lightening, scared the enraged Betty was going to murder her like she almost murdered Chuck, but this time, there would be no one to stop her. Betty glared at her as she walked through the doorway. She rushed out of the apartment without another word, knowing trying to apologize would just make things worse.

She marched towards her wardrobe, pulling out the most club-ish clothes she could find. “Betty, where are you going?” Her oblivious boyfriend dared to speak. Her head snapped in his direction. “Out! Don’t wait up,” She screeched, and with that, she was out the door.

She had changed in the Uber to the Two Crows Nightclub with intentions of getting so drunk she couldn’t think straight. She didn’t want to think anymore. She just wanted to drown in alcohol, so that’s what she was going to do.

She was pulled out of her reverie was a raspy voice. “Hey there, hot stuff.” it said. She rolled her eyes, looking towards the source of the noise. “Not interested,” She said, turning her attention away from him. “Playing hard to get? Sexy. I like feisty ones,” He purred. Betty leaned away from him. “Get lost, buddy,” She growled.

He took her trying to get away as an opportunity to lean closer to her. Now she could smell his breath. He reeked of stale tobacco and whiskey. She gagged. He was probably around her age, 22. Perhaps a bit older. His skin showed signs of aging though. His skin stretched over his cheek bones, making him resemble a skeleton. His teeth were yellow and crooked and he had tattoos from his wrists to the top of his neck. He was the epitome of a creep.

“Let’s get outta here. Wanna go back to my place or yours? Or we could book a motel. That way we could be as sloppy as we want and not have to worry about the mess,” He whispered in her ear, already starting to pull her up by her waist. She writhed in his grasp. “No,” She said, trying to wriggle away, but he was too strong.

“It’s fine,” He assured her, “People have sex all the time. It’s nothin’.” Her heart beat quickened and her pulse started racing. “I don’t want to have sex with you, pig. Let go of me right now,” She said, her voice shaking with fear. He acted as if she hadn’t even spoke.

She was drunk enough to comprehend what was happening, but she wasn’t sober enough to think of a good solution, let alone trying to free herself from his inked arms. She hoped for a miracle, otherwise this night was going to be a catastrophe. She closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them, this would all have been a dream. Nightmare, rather. She hoped that Archie hadn’t cheated on her. She hoped that her best friend hadn’t just betrayed her. She hoped that she wasn’t being sexually harassed.

She regretted wearing the little black dress Kevin had insisted she buy. The one with the lace on the top, the neck so low that it showed half of her stomach, and the skirt only going mid-thigh. He wouldn’t have noticed her if she had been wearing one of her usual pink sweaters and jeans. She would have faded away standing next to the other girls at the bar.

She opened her eyes finally and was surprised to find she was sitting on the same barstool the man had tried to drag her off of. The man was still there, but now he was look at something in the distance. She didn’t know when his pulling had come to a halt, but he hadn’t let go of her waist yet. She was still grateful, though.

She didn’t know why he had stopped until she turned around, following the creep’s line of vision. There was a boy about her age, running towards them with a bottle of vodka in his hand. “Hey, Lyla! I’m so sorry I took so long. Took me forever to find this.” He grinned, waving the bottle in the air. Betty was confused and captivated. Confused because her name wasn’t Lyla, but captivated because of his beauty.

He was stunning. Breathtaking, even. He had soft-looking raven hair and icy blue eyes. His jawline alone looked like it could cut an apple and it seemed as if if you touched his Adam’s apple, you would need stitches. He wore a black leather jacket and a toothpick hung lazily between his lips.

All of a sudden, he looked aggravated. “You’re not going to leave me here for him, are you? I thought we were going to have a night out together,” He pouted. Then it clicked. She smiled a small smile. At least not everyone was awful. Maybe this night would get better.

“Of course not, Eric,” She said. The attractive boy looked at the sinister man. “You can leave now,” He barked. The man looked to Betty, then to ‘Eric.’ “Now,” The latter repeated. The coward of a man scampered off, tail between his legs like a scared puppy. Betty sighed with relief.

“Thank you so much,” She said sincerely. “It was no problem. It saw him grabbing at you and did what any decent human would do.” He frowned. “Are you okay?” He stepped closer to her. She didn’t flinch like she did when the other stranger got closer to her. “I’m okay. Just a bit weirded out. What’s your name?” Betty inquired. “Jughead Jones,” He said with an outstretched hand. Betty took it and shook it with a genuine smile curving on her lips. “Well, Jughead Jones, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Betty Cooper.”

[wordsonpages1-blog]

beautiful surprises and realism

still going with my 500 celebrations... another from Perfect Enigma series on ff.net. Basically this is a composite to Admiration to Love [I couldn’t get the link b/c my computer was not cooperating but check the bughead tag or my page and it will there, was posted just before this one] and details Betty’s journey of falling in love with Jughead. Enjoy xx

At first falling for Jughead had taken Betty by surprise. The familiar butterflies catching her off guard as they erupted in her stomach for an unfamiliar reason- these butterflies were ebony, blacking out the usual red. He had strolled into her room with a typical sardonic comment on his lips and standard beanie. However, his jeans, boots and flannel shirt had been replaced with a well-fitting suit and tie, suspenders actually across his chest for once and not hanging by his legs. He had shied under her gaze, boyish smile gracing his face as she obviously appraised him with her eyes. She thinks part of her always registered that Jughead was attractive, but that afternoon her mind was cleared of the fog of childish fantasies and she was able to see him in all his gentlemanly glory. She was surprised by the urge to run her fingers through his hair, the urge to smooth down his shirt and fiddle with the spenders. She was definitely surprised, but certainly not perturbed.

And from that day forward, Betty felt like she was finally awake. It was as though she had been living in a dream, a glossy illusion that was obstructing her from seeing the big picture, from seeing the truth and most importantly from seeing him. Suddenly she was awake and alive and all the glorified, too bright colours from that dream were replaced with realistic shadows and sharp lines. She was no longer living in a fantasy of vivid rainbows, scorching red and white picket fences. Instead she was revelling in reality, accepting the darkness and allowing herself to become enthralled with details, discovering black was not a singular shade and that the moon could actually outshine the sun.

But the thing that surprised Betty the most about falling in love with Jughead Jones is that when she thought about it, it didn’t really surprise her at all. In fact once all the dream like smoke cleared and she was left with the mirrors, every little moment came rushing back and she was suddenly acutely aware that it had been him all this time. He had always been her rock, her constant, hers. He was always the one who noticed, who consoled, who took care of her just like she did him. And they fell together so naturally, so effortlessly, without expectation or pressure and it was so utterly, catastrophically perfect.

She was five years old the first time they met and although she can’t recall much from that period of her youth, she remembers that day with a transparent clarity. Polly had gotten exceptionally ill and her parents had rushed to the hospital placing her in the care of the Andrew’s until they returned. She remembered feeling confused, but more than happy to spend a few hours playing with Archie. She was surprised though when she entered the backyard to find a boy she did not recognise. He was dressed in a silly hat, placed upon the beanie he already had on, a feather sticking out the top and an eyepatch over his face. They had looked at each other curiously for a few moments before Archie appeared dressed in an equally amusing costume, smiling and proudly announcing, “Betty this is Jughead, he’s my best friend. Jughead this is Betty she’s my girl best friend.” The red headed boy had run back to their “pirate ship” after that. Jughead eyed her sceptically, even then at the tender age of five his dark brows knitted together and his green eyes deepened with apprehension. The tiny blonde haired girl shuffled nervously, shooting him a bright smile.

“Can I play too?” she asked shyly. The little pirate seemed to consider that for a moment before breaking into a big grin and passing her his hat, “I’ll be on your team.”

He surprised her that day, not only in his very presence but in the way that he had accepted her almost immediately. He had let in to the little world he and Archie had created in the backyard and trusted her not to destroy it but rather add another layer. Sure at five years old neither was really aware of that fact, but in retrospect, knowing everything she does now about his childhood and his life, the fact was he had trusted her with something deeply personal and that was the beginning of them.

And from that moment onwards he had never, ever let her down. He had been on her team every day, weathering every storm with her even when the rain was so heavy she couldn’t see that he was standing a few feet in front of her, waiting it out. His loyalty was something she had tried to never take for granted, especially when everyone else around him seemed to. He was loyal in a fierce manner that she learned made her heart ache, and yearn to repay that loyalty, to show him that it wasn’t in vain, that she could stand beside him and weather his every storm too.

When they were ten Betty began to learn that people could let you down sometimes no matter how much good you saw in them, they weren’t always perfect. She learned that Archie, although her best friend, wasn’t always the most reliable friend in the world. She was young and naïve and pretty much worshipped the ground he walked on. But the infatuation was not mutual. On her tenth birthday the bubbly little girl was left sorely disappointed as her neighbour was guilty of forgetting her birthday. She had shown up to school practically bouncing with excitement awaiting the special treatment children typically received from their peers and especially their friends on the day that was entirely theirs. Instead she was greeted with ramblings of the guitar lessons he had just started. She remembered trying her best to put on a brave face that day, furiously blinking back tears and fisting the sleeves on her new pastel pink cardigan tightly. She had never felt as invisible in her young life as she did that day. Well actually that morning, because as soon as her other best friend, a certain beanie wearing raven haired, boy had arrived at school-late and looking slightly flustered- her day instantly improved. He had rushed into the classroom, plunking down at the desk across from her and hastily passing her a poorly wrapped package across the table.

“Happy Birthday Betts,” he whispered, finishing the exclamation with a slight smile before turning his attention to the teacher who was now lecturing him on punctuality and demanding a signed note- she learnt later he didn’t have one because his mum was working and his dad refused to take him to get her present, so he had ran to get it before turning up to school. Inside the parcel was a diary, soft pink to match her sweater with a gold B on the front. Her eyes positively glowed with gratitude and appreciation. As soon as their teacher wasn’t paying attention she reached over to grab his hand. “Thanks Juggie,” she whispered, her smile back to its bright origin and a new glow surrounding her.

That day she learnt that Jughead was especially good at making her feel important. He made her feel like she mattered to someone and that she was worth remembering. He made her feel special and happy and light. And maybe at ten she didn’t understand the gravity of that feeling. She didn’t know that happiness and ease trumped fawning. She didn’t know that mutual admiration and appreciation was much better than infatuation and she was ignorant to the value of safety and stability. But looking back it all made sense. It was always him, remembering the details, paying attention. And although she was oblivious to the fact until recently, she had been paying attention too. She had always seen him.

When Betty was thirteen she learned that she could pull down her defences with him. One of the things she had always admired most about Jughead was his ability to read a situation and know the right thing, or something akin to that to say. It was the beginning of autumn and the nights were still rather warm, cool breeze alleviating the heat but not extracting the pleasant essence. Her parents had been particularly agitated since they had gotten home, arguing over the newspaper layout and letting their stress and frustration seep into their parenting. Betty had been at the kitchen table doing her homework when her mother erupted in a tirade. It was an ink mark on her chin from where she had been resting her pen, deep in thought that had set it off. Alice Cooper had launched into a lecture about the importance of presentation and that sloppiness was not tolerated in their family. She told Betty that she should’ve known better and that her slacking off didn’t reflect well on the family- they had certain expectations of themselves and others held certain expectations of them that they would meet and her lack of respect for such things and clearly herself was not good enough.

It didn’t end there though. She couldn’t remember now what else they had been said but she knew that night was filled with arguments and lectures and pressures to be perfect. She didn’t know what her tipping point was but she remembered suddenly being outside and feeling the liberating night air against her skin. She had looked toward Archie’s window first hoping to see some light there to no avail. She had tried calling him before her spur of the moment prison break but he hadn’t answered, texting her a few minutes later to say that he couldn’t pick up because he was busy but he would walk her to school tomorrow and they could talk then.  Her heart had dropped at the message, causing more tears to spring to her eyes and further blur her vision. She took off down the street then needing to escape, to run, to be free, to let it out. Eventually she found herself curled up inside her childhood haven; Jughead’s tree house. The wooden planks encapsulated innocence and care free days- days of pure joy and childhood amusement. It made her feel warm and safe for a little while. Like maybe it was all just a bad dream that she could out run. A little while later she was joined by her peculiarly named friend, now a lanky and slightly awkward adolescent. He had clambered into the tree house and startled upon the sight of her.  

At first neither of them spoke, both too surprised to say anything and not yet willing to give anything away. He moved with miniscule hesitancy to sit beside her where she rested against the wall, his body heat radiating through his Dad’s old flannel and warming her skin. She didn’t chance a look at him this close, not wanting to draw attention to her dishevelled state. But she could feel his attentive eyes on her and waited until he had finished his examination to see what would come out of his mouth.

“Needed an escape?” he finally asked and Betty found herself suddenly extremely grateful that she was in Jughead’s company. He always seemed to know what to say to her. Always seemed to know when to point out the obvious and when- like now- to hedge around the subject until she was ready to confront it. She nodded and offered him a small, strained smile. He sighed, looking unsure for a moment.

Another second passed and she suddenly realised that her presence in this little sanctuary wasn’t the only anomaly at this time of night. “What are you doing here?” she implored him as her curiosity piqued. Jughead shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Too much noise at my house.” He wasn’t lying to her, that much she knew. He had never been good at lying to her and the thought of that both warmed her heart at her friend’s soft spot for her and simultaneously made her want to laugh at the absurdity of it; Jughead Jones, cool, apathetic, aloof, Jughead Jones being eaten alive by guilt at lying to his best friend, sweet, innocent, Betty Cooper. But Betty knew he was still hiding something from her. She let him though. Tonight wasn’t the time to pry, she was too emotionally exhausted for that and he didn’t seem ready to share.

Eventually the silence weighed on her and she felt as though she would implode if she didn’t shed her conscience to him.

“They want me to be perfect Jug, and I can’t be that.”

She felt so defeated in that moment, so tired and weak and done. He looked at her with studying, piercing green eyes though, eyes that held such empathy and compassion and something else she didn’t recognise and for a moment she felt a little better. She felt a little less broken and could breathe a little easier.

Finally he scooted closer to her, nudging her side and saying, “You don’t need to worry about that Betts, you’re perfect just the way you are.” His words were so kind and honest, she wanted with everything she had to believe them but there was something inside her that wouldn’t quite let her do that. She took in a shaky breath not wanting the damn to break again, and voiced that shred of doubt to him. She didn’t know what it was, but there was something so honest about his presence that made her feel like she could confess everything and she knew he would never judge.

“But I’m not Jug. Not to them. And no matter how hard I try to be perfect, to be who they want, she’ll always find something out of place, something to pick on. Tonight it was an ink smudge. How stupid is that? I’m apparently forsaking the family name because I had an ink smudge on my face.” She shook her head incredulously, blonde waves cascading over her shoulders wildly. Jughead sighed again, shaking his head . Then he did something that really surprised her. Placing his hand on the floor of the little hut, Jughead swiped his fingers along the wood, gathering a small collection of dirt. Then he steadily moved his fingers up to rest on her cheek, she inhaled sharply not prepared for the intimate touch. He carefully smoothed them across the skin leaving a small smudge of dirt. Then he moved his hand down to the collar of her button up shirt, gripping on side and scrunching before removing his fingers. She raised an eyebrow at him in shock. The dark haired boy just let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks became slightly flushed.

“You’re perfect Betts, just how you are, including all the little messy pieces. You’re perfect even when you’re dishevelled and feeling all over the place. They’re part of you. And you-the real you, not the you they force you to be- is perfect, the real kind of perfect, not the false idea of it your parents have.”

That was the night she learned to try and embrace her messy little pieces and quirks. She learned it was okay not be put together all the time and that he was always going to be there to remind her of such a fact. That night she felt that same elated feeling, the one where her heart contracted and her chest warmed and she felt a dizzying sense of affection for him. At thirteen she was still living in the blissful fairy tale of Archie Andrews, but she was not oblivious to the safety and the sanctity that was Jughead Jones. He brought her serenity when everyone else drove her mad. He made her feel better when nothing else could. She chalked it up to the very best of friendship only to realise later it had never been that. Because it takes someone special to make you feel that way. It takes a specific person to have such a calming, tranquilising affect. Because it’s so very rare to find that someone who accepts all of you and knows you entirely. It was never just friendship. That’s what’s surprising.

When Betty was fifteen her family life was escalating in intensity, her sister’s decisions although admirable, made their roof more difficult to live under. Her mother’s eye became even more watchful than usual, picking up the most subtle flaws and out of place features, fixing her and making sure she retained the perfect image to make up for Polly’s disgraces. She was running herself dry, picking up an abundance of extracurricular activities to please her mother and studying almost every second she was at home in order to maintain her perfect grades. It was exhausting and it was getting to her. Everything was becoming difficult, getting out of bed was a chore and darkness began to seep its way into her ‘glowing’ life. She despised the darkness then because she felt like she couldn’t control it, like it was going to consume her and it was frightening beyond belief.

She wanted to relax, to let her mind ease but she had no time for that. Her mother noticed she was becoming more introverted at home and Betty told her she was “just tired”. That’s when Alice started with the Adderall. Bringing it to her one afternoon with a spiel about all the benefits it would have, allowing her to focus more and concentrate harder. Betty didn’t want it but she took it. If she didn’t she knew her mother would force it down her throat, making up for every ounce of control she was losing with Polly.

It was just before finals when she burnt out, getting barely two hours of sleep the night before due to her compulsive stress induced need to study. She skipped breakfast due to waking up late. She had been in a rush to get dressed, her appearance was still aligned and almost on par with her usual flawless, respectable image; only those looking closely would have noticed her ponytail slightly askew, single crease in her shirt- Jughead noticed. She had barely been able to keep her eyes open throughout her morning classes, her locker was jammed and Archie-her lab partner- had forgotten to write his half of their report. By lunch she was hanging on her last piece of sanity, which of course was quickly shed by none other than Cheryl Blossom whom “accidentally” knocked Betty’s tray right out of her hands. The blonde had snapped, fleeing the scene as quickly as her legs could carry her, tears flowing freely and nails digging into her palms. She only stopped when she found an empty classroom, quickly sinking down behind the teacher’s desk and brining her knees to her chest and hoping that maybe if she wrapped her arms around herself tight enough she wouldn’t fall apart.

The door squeaked open after a few minutes; she looked up surprised to see Jughead timidly poised in the doorway. She looked at him, blue eyes glistening with tears, shaking breaths leaving her lungs. She felt vulnerable and defeated and could not find the strength to pull her walls back up and continue with the perfect façade. Jughead didn’t linger any longer, taking purposeful strides toward her and crouching down before her eyes. He was much taller than her now, puberty causing him to shoot up and his frame , although still lanky was beginning to resemble a man’s rather than a boy’s.

“Hiding doesn’t usually make things better,” he stated gently, his eyes soft and his voice calming. Betty choked on a sob, wiping her eyes before answering with a broken, “No, but it prevents a spectacle.”

He offered a wry smile, appreciating her whit even when she was at her worst. “Betts, don’t hide okay? If you need to get away, that’s fine. And if you need to let it out, that’s fine too. But don’t hide away, don’t hide all of this behind smiles.”

He was looking her straight in the eye, speaking with such conviction she couldn’t help but agree with his words, trusting him fully in that moment and letting his sense of safety overwhelm her. Betty nodded but he didn’t yet seem appeased. Searching her face for a moment he seemed to decide on something, before lifting his hand to her cheek. At first she thought he was going to wipe the tears away in a cliché gesture that seemed very antithetical to his personality. She was surprised though when instead he swiped his thumb gently downward on her cheek, smudging the black residue of her mascara in a distinct trail.

“Nobody’s got it all together, it’s okay to fall apart.” He offered her a small smile which she returned with her own watery grin, her mind conjuring images of the two of them in a tree house years ago on a dark night, with dirt smudges and affirmations that perfect was overrated. It sent warmth radiating through her that he remembered that and that he embraced her flaws, rather than holding her to the same expectations as everyone else.

Looking back now, Betty didn’t know why she was surprised by his actions that day. She supposed it was because she was still blind to the world he could offer her, too focussed on chasing that perfect image. But once that image fell away and she was left with darkness she finally let herself be drawn in by him, finding home in his deep ebony skies and noir lighting. She found comfort in the messy reality he put forth and recognised the affection he sparked deep within her soul. When he kissed her it felt like the most natural thing in the world, dispelling shock and delving into belonging. It was like he pulled up the blinds and she could finally see the view. She could finally realise that he was her constant and that stability and safety and warmth and love and dependence and selflessness were much more romantic and desirable than grand gestures and pining. She finally realised he had always been there noticing her, taking care of her. And suddenly it wasn’t a surprise at all.

The realisation was accompanied with a sense of clarity unrivalled.

So when he helped set up the search party for Polly and accompanied her to the baby shower and told her not to let go and that she was stronger than the white noise, told her that she was holding her family together with such conviction in his voice she was not surprised. And when he grabbed her collar in his trademark way of showing her being a little messy, dishevelled and broken was okay and he still adored her none the less, she wasn’t surprised. Instead she was touched, and filled with a deep sense of affection and adoration for the man before her. She yearned for his touch and when he embraced her in his arms, protecting her from the evils of the world, holding her steady, keeping her strong, she felt at peace, no longer taken aback by the way he could elicit such feelings.

No, now the only thing that managed to surprise her was that she had probably been falling in love with Jughead Jones her whole life and only now was letting herself see it.