#and afterwards you can have option to walk to archie AND KISS HIM ON HIS FUCKING STUPID LIPS and then credits roll

[goldengrecha]

Sometimes I'm just existing and then think about Maxie and Archie

Because you know Pokemon is quite a lot about People And Pokemon And Connection. This coexistence. How People is glad to be with their Pokemon, and Pokemon glad to be with People. How this is base of whole concept. Without this connection we wouldn't have everything we have. That's the base. That's the thing that nobody touches.

And then we have Maxie and Archie. One of them loves pokemon, and doesn't like people. One of them loves people, but don't like pokemon. They're basically go against this Base of Pokemon. (They're stupid ok)

This is something hitting me so much like holy shit like aaughhh so much symbolism and how the true power lays in connection between Pokemon and people and how the best ending for Maxie and Archie is to connect again to try to understand each other and make Connection

[heytherejulietx]

“I’m happy for you.” ~ Bughead

Masterlists

Requests are OPEN

Notes - This is something taken out of my Wattpad book, which you can find here! I’d really appreciate if you could go and check it out, it’d mean a lot!

Warnings - None.

Word count - 2.2k.

"When did everything start going wrong?" Jughead whispered, his arm around Betty's waist, keeping her close as he spoke.

Betty didn't have an answer to his words. Everything had been perfect in the beginning. Having been friends for so long, they both had assumed that a relationship would be weird and wrong. But it was perfect. They were completely obsessed with each other - sleeping over each other's houses practically every night, messaging whenever they weren't together, kissing whenever they were alone. They had both shared their first time with each other. Granted, it was filled with embarrassed giggled and some awkward fumbling around, but it had been special nonetheless.

Though after high school had ended, the bliss of the relationship started to fall too. They both had ended up going to Yale, and thankfully managed to get a collage dorm together. But the stress of deadlines, being with each other all the time, and sleep deprivation from staying up to finish essays started to get to them. Betty and Jughead started fighting all the time, sometimes even ending in Jughead sleeping in one of his friend's dorms to give both himself and Betty space.

Both of them knew how it had to go, but neither of them wanted to end everything. They'd been through too much together, but it was getting too much. The fights were really affecting them both, and they couldn't do it anymore.

"I don't know." Betty whispered back, her eyes cast downwards on her hands. She knew if she looked at Jughead she'd start crying, and she had promised herself that she wasn't going to cry in front of him. "This is for the best, though."

"I know." Jughead muttered, lifting his free hand to start rubbing the blonde's arm gently, trying to give her some comfort.

Even though they were breaking up, Betty still appreciated Jughead's comfort. His touch still warmed her, to the point where she knew if he wasn't holding her she'd start crying. Her lip quivered though that was all, as she'd blinked back the tears that had started to burn along her waterline.

"We were good, weren't we?" Betty asked softly, causing a light chuckle to pass Jughead's lips that sounded forced.

"Yeah, we were. The best." Jughead responded, his arm subtly tightening around Betty's waist.

"When do you have to leave?" Betty questioned after another moment of silence.

Their split couldn't have been more perfect time-wise. College was over, and Jughead was moving to New York for a writing opportunity that he'd managed to get after a submission to their company a month back. Betty was staying in the dorm for another week, before she planned to move back to Riverdale for a little while as she considered her own options.

Jughead glanced at the clock on the wall opposite the bed they were both seated on, before breathing out a quiet sigh. "Ten minutes." He responded.

"You be careful, okay?" Betty asked, the tears starting to burn along her waterline again as she swallowed back the lump forming in her throat. "New York is a little while away."

"I will, I promise." Jughead nodded. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I will be." She responded after a pause. Of course Jughead was going to be incredibly hard to get over, but she was confident that after some time she'd move on and get on with her life.

The first tear slipped down her cheek, her hand lifting up to catch it quickly. The action hadn't been missed by Jughead, who leaned down to press a lingering kiss against her temple. "Good." He whispered as he pulled away.

"I'm gonna miss you, Betty Cooper." He muttered quietly.

"Yeah," Betty whispered back, tears falling faster as the lump in her throat returned. "I'll miss you too."

The next time Betty heard from Jughead was a good few years later. To help herself move on, she had thought it was better to cut all contacts; getting rid of his number, his Instagram account, and even his email. Though it didn't help, not really. She'd gotten into a few relationships after him, though they had all ended pretty quickly afterwards. Betty missed him more than she realised. She missed the way he would touch her with such care to make sure she felt loved. She missed the way he'd kiss her passionately in the night but gently and loving in the morning. She missed him being her boyfriend, and her being his girlfriend. It felt a little pathetic, that after so long she was still missing her ex. But she couldn't get over him.

The small white envelope addressed to Betty in fancy handwriting had been dropped off on Betty's doorstep in Riverdale - where she was taking over the Riverdale Register for her mother after she'd retired. The blonde was confused as she picked it up, not recognising the handwriting nor knowing why she would have a letter other than her bills and occasional letters from Polly.

What was inside was the last thing she'd expected.

The first thing she saw was Jughead's name at the top, his full name. Next to another woman's whom she had no idea who they were.

The second thing she saw was the date for the wedding.

Betty didn't know why she had started to cry at first, but the small white card caused the lump in her throat to form quickly as the tears built up. The card was dropped onto the table as she started crying properly, sitting in one of the dining chairs as she cried into her hands.

It took her a while to decide whether she was going to go. At first she had completely sworn off of the idea, thinking it would be too much, but after a phone call from Veronica - who was still her best friend after all of the years - she'd managed to look at it in a different light. Maybe seeing Jughead happy with someone else would give her some closure, seeing him again might hurt but it would also make her move on.

So the following weekend she'd sent the letter back to say she'd be attending the ceremony, and the following July she'd flown all the way out to New York to attend the wedding.

So the hotel wouldn't be as expensive, Betty and Veronica had decided to share a room together and split the cost between them (though Veronica had insisted to pay it all herself, Betty had the decency to insist she pay her share).

The dress she'd picked for the wedding wasn't too flashy, but it was still beautiful. It was a blush pink Chiffon dress, that was floor-length with an open back and a somewhat low neckline. To go with it she'd picked out some simple heels of the same colour, and on the day matched it with some light makeup, spare the light pink eyeshadow and lipstick.

Her arm had been looped with Veronica's as she'd walked into the chapel where the ceremony was taking place, seating with the raven-haired girl in the fourth row, with others from their high school such as Kevin Keller, Toni Topaz and Cheryl Blossom (who had come as a couple, as they'd gotten engaged the year prior), Sweet-Pea, and Fangs Fogarty (who Veronica had said was oogling Kevin from the moment he'd seen him). Archie was there too, but he was stood at the front of the chapel as Jughead's best man.

Betty hadn't looked at Jughead as she'd walked in, who was stood talking to Archie and his dad whilst everyone waited for the bride to come in. But she had made eye contact with him once she had sat down. He had sent her a half smile, which she returned with one of her own paired with a small wave, before his attention had been taken by Archie again.

Jughead looked the same. His hair was still the same length, he was still the same height and slim but muscular build; the only difference was that his head wasn't crowned with his grey beanie anymore.

"Betty," Veronica mumbled, tapping her arm lightly. "Are you okay?"

Betty just shrugged, not able to respond as the music had started filling the room, and everybody stood up to see the bride walk in.

She was beautiful, was what Betty noticed first of all. Annabelle Hope had been the name written on the wedding invitation, which she knew was soon to be Annabelle Jones. Her hair was a deep umber colour, which was pinned up into a bun that had small white flowers pinned to the strands. She looked to be somewhat taller than Betty, with a petite figure that made her look a little smaller than she actually was. Her dress was a simple but elegant strapless mermaid dress, with a matching lace train that was clipped to her hair with a small silver tiara.

Betty watched Annabelle for a moment, before glancing back towards Jughead. His smile was so wide and his eyes filled with both adoration and happy tears. An expression that she hadn't seen in years, maybe even since before the start of college. She was clearly loved dearly by him.

The ceremony went as smoothly as anything. They both read their elegantly scripted vows, Jughead's one causing Betty to almost get emotional, before they'd given each other their rings and kissed shortly after. Veronica had reached for Betty's hand during the service, which she accepted with a light squeeze.

The wedding reception was just as beautiful as the service. It was in the hall of the hotel that everybody was staying at, making it convenient for everybody attending who didn't live in the area. Golden lights were strung everywhere, white chairs and tables in one side of the room with the food table and the wedding cake, whilst the other was a dance floor.

Betty chatted with some of her old friends for a while, catching up on Cheryl and Toni's plan to adopt, on Kevin's new job which had him a director at a theatre, and on other little things. Though about half an hour into the reception she'd gone to the bar to get herself a drink, soon finding herself stood next to the groom.

"It was a beautiful service." Betty told him softly as she turned to face him, smiling softly. It was oddly normal to talk to him, despite how many years it had been and how they had spent their last time together.

"Thank you." Jughead nodded. "Annabelle did most of the planning, she's got more of an artistic eye than I could ever have." He chuckled before taking a sip of his own drink, which Betty could see was rum and coke - the same drink of his choice when they were together.

"You look beautiful, by the way." Jughead told her, his smile softening as he lightly touched her arm for a moment. "I'm glad you came, Betty. I wouldn't put it past you if you hadn't, but I'm glad you came."

"I... I wasn't going to go originally, I thought it might be weird for you having your ex at your wedding," Betty told him, putting aside the truth of how it would have been too hard for her. "But Veronica persuaded me in the end."

"It was actually Annabelle's idea to invite you." Jughead told Betty, causing her eyebrows to furrow in confusion. "I've spoken about you before, and she said it might be good to see you again."

"Oh." Betty nodded, a little surprised that he had spoken about her, though it did make her smile to know he still thought about her. It was a selfish thought, but she couldn't help it.

"Jug?" Betty asked softly after another moment. "I just uhm, I just wanted to say..." she paused for a moment, knowing how her next words were going to go. Was she really about to tell Jughead that she still loved him on his wedding day? Her green orbs glanced at Annabelle for a moment, who was dancing with Jughead's father on the dance floor. She looked already like a part of the Jones family, more so than Betty had ever been. As quick as she'd looked away she glanced back at Jughead, smiling softly. "I just wanted to say that I'm happy for you. You two look really happy together."

Jughead smiled and nodded his head, pulling Betty into a brief hug once she'd spoken. "Thank you, Betts." He nodded, the use of the nickname making her heart ache more than it was before. "And we are. She's very special."

Once he'd pulled away from the hug Betty took a sip of her drink, suddenly fighting the urge to start tearing up. "I'd better go find Veronica. She told me to not let her sleep with Archie tonight, but you know how she gets when she's drunk." Betty forced a chuckle, whilst the one that escaped Jughead was genuine.

"Alright, that's fair enough." Jughead nodded. "But I'll see you around?"

Betty looked at him and forced a smile, nodding her head. "Yeah." She nodded. "I'll see you around, Jug."

[jamest-kirk]

Can you imagine an au where bones is a therapy dog trainer and jim needs a therapy dog and that's how they meet and become friends?

Jim’s always lived on the edge. Car chases, gun fights, catching bad guys and spending earnings in Vegas on gambling and sex. He’s enjoyed it knowing it’s temporary, because surely he was going to get himself killed in the field. There’s just no way he survives until he’s old and gray.

So when a mission does go haywire, he gracefully accepts death - but he makes sure to drag the bad guy down with him. Death is quiet, for a while. Then it’s pain, and a whole lot of black nothing.

“Your eyes are severely damaged,” his doctor explains when Jim wakes up. Not only does he find out he’s not dead; he’s blind and he’s never going to work the special forces again. If there was ever a hell, this would be it. Because Jim isn’t made for being helpless, stumbling around his hospital room to try and find the bathroom. He doesn’t have the patience for rehabilitation training, after being bedridden for months. Jim is clearly miserable, even when he’s finally released to go back to his apartment. It’s big and it feels empty, and Jim feels lost, tripping over furniture, running into walls, and misjudging where doors are.

The brightest thing about this is when he qualifies for a service dog. He’d never given dogs much thought; being away from home as much as he used to be, a dog wouldn’t have been a good option. But now that he has time for a dog, and is actually dependent on one, Jim doesn’t reject the option when Uhura offers to drive him to the nearest trainer.

Somehow, Jim thinks the overwhelming sounds of a dog farm can’t possibly be the right place for an actual therapist dog trainer. They’re an hour’s drive from the city, and it smells significantly different. Like trees and grass and wet dog, the latter not all too pleasant. “Mr. McCoy?” Uhura calls out, and Jim focuses on heavy boots on gravel as a man approaches them. “This has gotta be wrong, right?” Jim asks Uhura quietly, “it sounds like a dog farm.” “They’re all trained, or at least getting there, to be good service dogs,” McCoy says, and Jim winces because clearly he wasn’t quiet enough. Story of his life. “C'mon,” the other continues, and Jim feels Leonard take a hold of his hand, guiding him through a garden until they're in a barn. “I’ve been told you need a service dog as well as a therapy one,” Leonard says, and Jim raises an eyebrow. “I think two dogs is a bit much,” he says, and Leonard laughs. It’s a lovely laugh and though Jim has no idea what the other looks like, he instantly finds the other more attractive. “No, I mean a dog trained to do both.” “I don’t need therapy,” Jim says to that.

He’s unsure what to do, but Leonard makes him sit down on the ground, and before Jim realises what’s going on, there’s at least three dogs on him to investigate the stranger. Though as soon as Leonard tells them to move back, they do. Trained dogs, ready to do their job. Well, except maybe one. Despite Leonard’s warning, one still pushes himself into Jim’s personal space. “Captain,” Leonard repeats, but the large dog just refuses. “Can I have this one?” Jim asks, ruffling the dog’s fur gently. “Captain’s not a fully trained service dog yet,” Leonard says, “that is, he knows the commands but seems to only perform them when he feels like it.” “Sounds perfect to me,” Jim says. “No, Jim, if you’re going to be dependent on a dog, it should be one who won’t mess around. Captain still needs further training.” “Let me help with that, then,” Jim suggests, “he’ll get to know me. I get more familiar with dogs in general, and how to treat a service dog.” Leonard hesitates, but judging by his sigh, Jim knows the other has given in. “Fine.“

So Jim starts spending more time with Leonard and the many dogs he has. Uhura initially drives him there, the first few times, but Jim doesn’t want to take up too much of her time and instead figures out the bus schedules. It’s a long bus ride, but Jim feels instantly better when he’s out there. Leonard makes him walk with Captain on a short leash. It’s awkward at first, but somehow Captain seems to sense when it’s okay to mess around, and when he needs to be serious. Around Jim, that is. Because while Jim enjoys an iced tea on Leonard’s porch, he listens to the other chase the dog around for a couple minutes. Jim also helps feeding all of them, and he quickly grows fond of all these large dogs - and even the chihuahua. Jim doesn’t understand the purpose of such a tiny dog as a service dog, but Leonard tells him they’re actually very alert to things like seizures and such.

Jim spends most time with Captain, but he feels a little emotional when someone drives up Leonard’s porch to pick up little Archie. “You be a good girl to Mrs. Smith now, alright?” He hears Leonard tell the dog, and though the man and woman he’s handing over Archie’s care to don’t seem to notice, Jim can tell in Leonard’s voice he’s at least kind of emotional over it.

“How do you do it?” Jim asks. They’re inside, Captain’s sitting on the floor right next to Jim, his head resting on Jim’s lap. Leonard sits next to him, enjoying the silence til Jim starts talking. How they’ve evolved from trainer and client to dinners in the house and shared iced teas on the porch, Jim doesn’t even know. He does know, though, that he much rather spends time here than in his own apartment downtown. “How do i do what?” Leonard asks. “Give up your dogs like that.” “They go to someone who needs them more than I do,” Leonard replies, “I build up strong bonds with these dogs - though most of them i never see again - but knowing they are out there taking care of people in need, that’s pretty good.” “I’d cling on to all of them for dear life,” Jim says. Leonard reaches out to pet Captain’s head, and he’s so close Jim can hear him breathe. He can smell that subtle cologne, and he’s definitely too close right now. Jim thinks about kissing him, and when Captain trails off to drink from his bowl, Leonard remains so close. Jim leans in just a little closer, but when he does, Leonard finally leans away. Jim isn’t used to rejection, even something as silent as this, and it sucks.

Leonard comes to visit Jim in the city, together with Captain, so they can see how he reacts to all the different people and scents around him. “He knows traffic lights and such already,” Leonard explains to him while they’re both walking around the crowded streets, “we’ve been practising in our town center. This is a lot busier, or course.” “Quite,” Jim agrees. He holds on to Captain tightly, who walks next to Jim just as he’s supposed to. Until they get to the park. He tugs and barks and generally gets so excited about the other dogs, Jim decides to just let him run around for a while. Leonard guides Jim through the park and they quietly talk, occasionally Captain returns to check up on Jim. “He seems to really like you,” Leonard says, and Jim smiles. “I didn’t even know i liked dogs until Captain, so i guess that feeling is mutual.” “I think maybe he should stay with you for a couple days,” Leonard says, “a week or so. To see if it works out.” Reasonable as that sounds, Jim frowns at that. “What about you?” He asks. “What about me?” “Are you saying I won’t see you for a week, then?” Jim continues. “Well, I mean, what do you think would happen after you take over Captain completely?” Leonard counters, and Jim sighs. “No, you’re right. I guess I just got used to having you around. But I shouldn’t, because you have your job and such-” “I’m not a therapy dog myself, Jim,” Leonard says, “I realised you might have subconsciously used me as such, but I’m not. If you want to keep hanging out, you can just call. It’s not hard. Been told there’s phones for blind people.” Jim smiles lightly at that, and nods. “Maybe I will.” “Maybe I’ll wait for your call, then,” Leonard replies.

Having Captain live in his apartment is actually wonderful. He’s more than a service dog; he knows when Jim feels down or powerless and he just stays with him until he feels better. In the morning, they go on a jog through the park, and Captain learns to listen to Jim very quickly. Afterwards, Jim treats both of them to ice cream. On Saturday, a trip to Leonard’s house, where they have dinner and Leonard accompanies them on a long walk through the woods.

“This place is so much better than the city,” Jim says, and Leonard huffs. They were knee deep in mud just a few minutes ago, but Jim much prefers it over the city right now. Company has a lot to do with that, though. “You say that, but our town is small. You’d get bored,” Leonard says, but Jim simply shrugs. “I got bored in the city, too, and found movies and bars as places to pick people up. Here you’ve kept me occupied all the time.” “Are you saying I’m the reason you’re not bored? I’m not sure that’s a great compliment. Did you ever even succeed in picking people up? Because those compliments of yours are lousy.” Jim laughs. “I’ll have you know, before i lost my sight I was quite a catch.” “You still are,” Leonard replies, and that catches Jim off guard. “What?” “You heard me,” Leonard says, “just because you lost your sight doesn’t mean you’re not worth it anymore. I don’t know who you were prior to this, but I’ve known you for quite a while now, and you’re still worth as much-” Jim leans in to kiss him, and luckily Leonard does, too, else he might have misjudged where the other’s lips are. Jim only pulls away when he becomes aware of rain trickling down the trees, and he’s pretty sure he can sense Leonard smiling. “How bout we go get you home safe?” Leonard suggests, and Jim reaches out for the other man’s hand. “with you and Captain here, I feel like I’m already there.”

[maddiereviews]

Riverdale - Season 1, Episode 7

Jughead has a dream about having dinner with the Cooper and Blossom families, where everyone is dressed like it’s the 70s and there is cheerful music playing. Archie walks over to Jughead and asks why he stabbed him in the back. Seems like a pretty creepy dream to me.

Jughead wakes up in his new sleeping spot - a forgotten closet under the stairs at Riverdale High. When he’s brushing his teeth in the boys’ bathrooms, Archie startles him and asks what he’s doing at school so early. Jughead tries to crack jokes, but ultimately shows Archie where he’s sleeping and tells him about his situation. Jughead’s mum left with his 10-year-old sister, Jellybean. Archie is concerned and tries to convince Jughead to come and stay with him. I’m glad they had this talk, it was definitely going to happen at some point, but I’m happy Archie was so sympathetic toward Jughead.

Hermione is unimpressed to learn that Veronica has been doing some online shopping. She’s still annoyed at Hermione for forging her signature. Hermione tells her daughter they can’t live beyond their means, but Veronica reminds her she has a job now.

In the student lounge, they’re all discussing Polly’s escape. Betty is concerned about her sister, especially as she’s worried people will think Polly killed Jason. Jughead puts an arm around her, which doesn’t escape Archie’s notice. Overhearing the conversation at the vending machine, Cheryl’s minion Ginger texts Cheryl about it. 

Afterwards, Archie asks Jughead about him and Betty, and he confirms they’re kind of a thing. Archie convinces Jughead to talk to his dad FP, saying that Fred is going to give FP another chance to work for him if he wants it. Veronica also asks Betty about the situation with her and Jughead. It’s refreshing to see some general high school gossip going on, and how bashful both Betty and Jughead are about their romantic situation.

At the police station, Sheriff Keller is speaking to Penelope Blossom when they’re approached by Cheryl. She says she has information related to Jason’s case, but wants her mother’s permission to rejoin the River Vixens. Penelope gives it, and Cheryl tells them that Polly Cooper escaped from wherever she’d been the same night Jason’s car had been burned. She says that she believes Polly is the murderer.

Kevin approaches the girls at school and shows them that Cheryl has been tweeting about Polly. Of course she has, Cheryl seems to be the hashtag queen. 

Jughead heads back home to see his dad at Sunnyside trailer park, telling him that Fred is willing to give him another chance to work for him. FP says that Fred called him and he said no. Jughead says he needs to get himself together so that they can bring their family back together. I’m hoping FP can be less selfish, for the sake of his kids at least.

Betty has organised a search party for Polly, including the Coopers and other friends from school. Veronica chats to Kevin about the situation with her mum, and she says she plans to go clubbing with him, Josie McCoy and Reggie Mantle. However the Coopers are approached by the Blossom family, who accuse Polly of being the killer.

The Coopers arrange a press conference, where they announce to the media that Polly is pregnant with Jason’s child. Later, Jughead walks Betty home and they discuss whether Polly has run away before. She seems to realise something and kisses him, before heading up into the attic to look for her sister - apparently this is Polly’s secret hiding place. Polly’s there, and she asks for Betty’s help. She says she doesn’t want to give the baby up for adoption, which is what their parents want.

FP meets with Fred at Andrews Construction. He accepts Fred’s offer of employment, saying he doesn’t want his son to look at him like he’s trash anymore. Hermione arrives and is a bit hesitant about FP, but he insists he’s not there to intimidate her. It seems like everyone in this town went to high school together. So all of their parents are the exact same age? Weird.

Betty talks to her parents about Polly coming home. They say of course she’s welcome back, but when Betty asks where the baby will sleep, they say Polly agreed to put the baby up for adoption. They say considering how young Polly is, it’s the only option. Sounds just like the Cooper parents, wanting to control every aspects of their daughters’ lives.

At school, Betty talks to Veronica about Polly, when they’re interrupted by Cheryl. They go to talk in private, and Betty makes it very clear she doesn’t trust Cheryl. She insists she wants the baby to be safe and to help Polly, but Betty isn’t buying it. Cheryl says she only wants to help her niece or nephew. I’m really hoping that she’s genuine in this, it’s always nice when we see a more human side to Cheryl.

After a successful day of work, FP, Fred and their sons head out to Pop’s for dinner. FP and Fred are reminiscing about their high school memories. Archie says Jughead writes for the school newspaper with Betty, leading FP to ask who Betty is. Jughead changes the subject, but Pop approaches with the bill. Things are tense between FP and Fred for a few moments when FP insists on covering the bill, saying Fred owes him this chance.

Hermione sees Veronica all dressed up and says she better not be going clubbing. She insists she is, unless Hermione admits to what she did. She says she kissed Fred Andrews, but Veronica says she means her mum forging her signature. When Hermione refuses to tell Hiram, Veronica leaves to go clubbing with her friends. She goes out to Roving Eye and has a blast with Reggie, Josie and Kevin, only to be told her card has been cancelled. Apparently this is Hermione’s way of caving - Veronica hands over some cash instead, pleased.

FP, Jughead and Archie are jamming in the garage, when Archie asks what exactly FP meant by Fred owing him. FP says they were partners, but when he started doing risky jobs and he landed in hot water, Fred bailed him out but made him sign a form saying the bail money was him signing over his share in the company.  Archie says he had no idea about the issues between Fred and FP. Jughead escorts FP, who is pretty drunk, home.

Betty is meeting with the Blossom family, who have changed their tune a lot since finding out that Polly is pregnant. They say they don’t only want to offer financial support, but also emotional support. Penelope asks Betty where Polly is staying at the moment.

Archie confronts his dad about FP’s story, but Fred insists that isn’t the truth. He says FP was stealing money and dealing on the side. He says he did what was best for his own family, because there was only so much he could do to help FP. One of the things I like about Riverdale is that there are two sides to every story, and sometimes you don’t know which is the truth. Were Jason and Polly lovebirds, or was he not the golden boy he seems? Is FP telling the truth, or is he exaggerating?

Hermione and Veronica sit down to talk about their issues. Hermione admits that she is seeing Fred, but she doesn’t know exactly where their relationship is leading yet. Veronica says whatever happens with Fred can’t happen under their roof, and that she wants Hermione to admit to Hiram that she forged Veronica’s signature. Hermione agrees, as long as the online shopping and clubbing stops.

Jughead walks into the school newspaper office to see the principal and Sheriff Keller waiting for him. The sheriff says he’ll need to come down to the station. What, they suspect Jughead because he’s got a murder board up and is trying to solve the mystery? Apparently it’s not just that - Jughead has a history of being bullied by the football team, and he also wanted to start a fire when he was in elementary school. Jughead says he wants a lawyer.

Betty, Archie and Fred arrive at the station. Fred claims that Jughead was doing some work for his company on the day of Jason Blossom’s murder. FP arrives at the station to see Jughead has been released. FP is mad that he was arrested, but Jughead insists he shouldn’t make things worse. FP says he needs some time to clean up his act, but promises that’s what he’ll be doing. Jughead goes to stay with Archie and Fred.

Fred forges some documents to say that Jughead was working for him when Jason Blossom was killed. He says that Jughead doesn’t deserve what’s happening with him.

Veronica, Archie, Polly and Betty arrive at Pop’s, where they’re greeted by Cheryl. She says she doesn’t think her parents want to help, and that they need to find someplace safe for Polly to stay. Veronica and Hermione agree to let Polly stay with them for as long as she needs. I’m really hoping things improve for Polly soon.

FP is drinking heavily in his trailer, despite his promise to Jughead to clean up his act. Apparently it’s not that easy to break a cycle like that. However, we see Jason Blossom’s jacket - that was in the trunk of the car that was burned - in FP’s trailer. So FP burned the car - does that mean he could be another suspect in Jason’s murder too?

Riverdale’s taking a two week break so you can expect another review from me after that!

4 out of 5 stars

[anavoliselenu]

Manwhore chapter 22

I review all my notes, specifically the notes on women’s first date concerns. They range from Should I let him kiss me on the first date if I’m interested in something long term? to What do I wear that will give out the right signals?

Typing up a rough draft, I start saying definitely you want to wear something that will tell your guy, I’m not a slut, but I’m good in bed.

I follow that with tips about wearing something that hints at your curves but isn’t completely skintight.

Then I continue forward with the next thing you want your outfit to say: I’m a woman, not a girl.

Something with a little cleavage, a little waist, I type.

If you like this guy, you want him to want you as much as you want him. So your outfit should hopefully say, Hey, I’m covered up a little more than I’d like, but wouldn’t you like to know what I’m wearing underneath?

On that, I elaborate on the psychological studies proving the less revealed, the more a man wonders.

I type out two pages and edit for the next hour, hardly noticing the newsroom is even noisier than usual today. By the time I’m ready to go home at noon, Valentine drops a copy of the Chicago Tribune on my desk.

“Read it,” he says.

It’s dated for today, but it looks so read already, the pages are soft as tissue.

LINTON CORPORATION INTERESTED IN ACQUIRING A NEW EDGE

Speculation abounds that the newly minted Linton Corporation has been actively considering the possible acquisition of a small local magazine, Edge. Linton Corporation’s director of acquisitions, Carl Braunsfeld, comments that Edge, mostly known for its fashion and culture pieces, has gotten quite a bit of press after renowned Chicago darling Justin Justin’s first ever-known girlfriend was caught investigating him for an exposé. The young director said, “We’re in the process of considering many investments, but there are no firm details on any particular directions we might go, yet . . .”

Ohgod.

I squeeze my eyes shut and loathe my stupid exposé with a passion now.

“Is there truth to this?”

“Helen knows nothing about it.” He shrugs. “Hell, I kinda wish it were. Or not.”

I frown, thoughtful as I read the article again and wonder if Justin knows this Carl Braunsfeld. I memorize the name before Valentine carries it over to the colleague in the next cubicle, then I gather my stuff and head home to change.

After all morning writing about First Dates, I’m buzzing as though I’m going on one now. And wouldn’t that be a dream? A fresh start with my guy?

Look pretty, Livingston!

I settle on a loose silk blouse with a V-neck, paired with a knee-length, high-waisted black skirt that hugs my waist rather nicely and emphasizes my slight, but pretty, top and bottom curves. I add a pair of tan pumps that blend with my legs and make them look longer, then a small, delicate necklace with an R that sits right where my pulse flutters. I add an ankle bracelet just to look sophisticated and female and young, then I add a layer of coral lipstick on my lips.

I’ve looked far more seductive for Justin, true.

But I’m going to M4 and I can’t be looking like a club kitten. What I have to say is serious and I need him to take me seriously today.

Running my comb over my hair one more time, I make sure that my shirt is nicely tucked, my bra blending with my skin and not see-through, and once I am happy with the way I look, I grab my bag, make sure I have the contract pages inside, and head out.

I ride the cab in silence. This thrill of exhilaration doesn’t lie. I’m excited to see him, nervous. Afraid.

Months ago, the first time I set foot in his building, I arrived at M4 thinking it would be the story of my life. This isn’t just a story now; this is my life.

M4 is as shiny and imposing as ever as I get out of the cab and stare at the building. I can’t even see the top from where I stand. I’ve never in my life felt so little. “Oh god,” I breathe as I smoothe my hands down my skirt.

I check my phone for the time—and it’s 2:08, so I’m officially seven minutes early for my appointment.

I start forward when I notice the gleaming silver BUG 3 just up ahead, and a man emerging from the driver’s seat.

There’s a sudden stutter in my heart. My body temperature hikes. I watch the decadent powerhouse that is Justin toss the keys over the car top to the driver waiting on standby. As he pulls his jacket out of the backseat and straightens to shrug it on, his hair is ruffled by the breeze.

Holding my breath, I watch him storm into the building. And still, for long seconds afterward, I stand here. Staring at the spot where he was. I decide to give myself half a minute between us, then I inhale and follow him into the building.

“Hi, Selena Livingston for Justin Justin,” I say at reception, my eyes heading to the elevators.

Oh, fuck. He’s still there.

This isn’t how I imagined starting the meeting.

But when the blonde behind the desk verifies my name and efficiently points me to the glass executive elevator bank, I realize I can’t just stand here before her, waiting for him to go up.

Stomach knots.

Justin is standing there like an energy tower, as dark as the marble around him is light. He’s checking his phone as he waits for the elevator to arrive. Two men stand behind him—silent. Respectful. Kind of staring at the back of his head in awe.

I approach nervously and remain a few feet away too.

Once the elevator opens and the people shuffle out, many murmur their greetings to him, “Mr. Justin,” as he boards.

The men follow. I keep my eyes downcast as I board too and go into the first corner to the right.

Justin is standing right in the middle, taking up triple the space his body really occupies.

“Mr. Justin”—one of the men breaks the silence—“I’d just like to say, it’s an honor to be working with you. I’m Archie Weinstein, one of your new budget analysts—”

“Don’t mention it, it’s a pleasure to have you.” I hear Justin’s voice.

I’m pretty sure Justin shakes his hand. And now I’m pretty sure he’s looking at me. I swear he is. I can feel his gaze on the back of my head. I could hear it in his voice in the way he answered the man. The men disembark on the nineteenth floor. Just thirty-nine more to go.

Oh fuck, I wasn’t prepared to ride an elevator with him.

The moment the doors close, there’s a crackle in the air.

“I’m expecting you’ll join M4 too.”

I close my eyes. I can’t believe how his presence stirs me. How, even while merely feeling him watch me, his looks still burn me. And how—when he speaks—his voice still ripples through me. I force myself to turn halfway around. He’s looking at me with those green eyes of his. His gaze is so endless. And looking at me as if he’s trying to find some sort of answer written on my face.

I flush. As usual. “I . . .” Clear my throat. “It’s a very generous offer but—”

Ding!

He signals for me to go out, and I force my legs to work, and when he comes out himself, I almost stumble over myself to catch up with his long strides.

His assistants get flustered as they receive him. Catherine, his head assistant, leads them all with a string of messages and a pack of Post-its.

“Mr. Justin, India and UK called,” Catherine murmurs only for his ears as she comes around the desk, then she mentions a long, long list of other callers and rescheduled meetings and people asking for appointments with him.

“Update on the Interface board meeting?” he asks as he shuffles through the notes she hands out.

“Report’s on your desk, sir.”

“Good.”

He finishes scanning the notes, and when I catch one of his assistants blatantly checking me out in these clothes, I start rethinking everything.

Oh god. I want to turn around, go back down to the lobby, go home, and change.

Instead I stand here as, now, two of his assistants eye me. Thoroughly. Head to toe.

I feel a touch of nerves when he gives one last command to Catherine and then he opens the door to his spacious office and a muscle flexes in the back of his jaw before he speaks to me. “Come in, Selena.”

If I thought I could keep my shit together when I saw him today, I was so very, very wrong. All my systems are faltering as I walk forward. His eyes are on me. Straight on me, and oh so green.

“Um, thank you.”

Survival instincts beg me not to touch his body as I pass through.

He secludes us inside and we head to his desk. He signals to the two chairs across from his desk. “Take your pick.”

I waver between both options, tense.

He sounds like such a . . . businessman.

I choose the chair on the right, closest to where his own is aimed; I watch as he removes his jacket and drapes it over the back of his chair. I feel a rather big kick in my heart at the sight of that torso—which I know is hard and cut and beautiful—shrouded in his crisp white shirt.

He takes his seat and leans back as the stock tickers continue shifting and Chicago surrounds us through the windows.

Justin’s office is huge, but the center of its axis is where he is. I tell myself that the man he was with me is still there, under the intimidating businessman and under those cool green eyes. But he looks so much like the ruthless, ambitious Justin Justin right now. How can a girl find her courage like this?

“Anything to drink, Mr. Justin? Miss Livingston?” Catherine asks, coming through the door.

He waits for me to answer. I shake my head, and he adds without looking at her, “I’m set. Hold all calls.”

She leaves, but the static between Justin and me remains.

And where do I even start to apologize?

“How are you?” he asks.

I start when he speaks. It’s only three words and such a normal question. But that he cares to ask makes the arteries in my heart tie around like a pretzel.

“I’m okay. I’m trying to distract myself with work and my friends.”

“Distract yourself from what?”

“Well,” I shrug. “You know.”

Silence.

“What about you? How are you?”

“Good. Staying busy too.”

“Busy getting the moon?” My lips quirk.

His lips quirk back. “Always.”

My smile quickly fades because I don’t like him across a desk. I don’t like him to look at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time, because he’s seen me so many others. The only guy who truly sees me when he stares.

“Are you still doing those campouts?” he asks me, leaning back in his chair.

“Of course. I take everything but the tent.”

He laughs softly. “You can pretend you didn’t like the tent, but it shielded you from the elements.”

I remember.

I remember that there was no rain or earth or wind, only him.

Suddenly, the now-familiar ache in my chest branches out from my heart, reaching all my extremities.

“You must hate me. Why do you want me here, really?”

“That you’re good isn’t enough?”

I blush. “I’m not that good.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Justin . . .” I peer up at him. “Why are you still protecting me from . . . the elements?” Or your enemies?

He leans forward, his expression confused again. “Because I need to. See, I really need to. And you need to let me, Selena.”

“I can’t,” I choke out.

“Yes, you can.”

I want to tell him that I would say yes to anything, anything he asked, except this.

I cross my legs—inhaling, slowly—and try to look proper and calm when I finally speak. “I can’t take the job. It’s a dream job, with a dream salary, except that . . . I don’t want to work for you.”

“And I want you to work for me. Very much,” he says quietly.

God, this man. He’s a Bermuda Triangle of my life and I got lost there, never to be found. Why is he doing this to me?

“I don’t want the job,” I repeat, laughing lightly over his stubbornness. Then I add, a pleading whisper, “I want you, Justin. Just you. Like before.”

The calm in his eyes fades, replaced by something wild and stormy that makes me feel as if the entire room is shuddering.

“When we talked for the last time on the phone and I told you how I felt about you . . .” I start.

I’m knotted up inside as I force myself to look into those eyes, eyes that are carving into me with anger now.

“I wanted to tell you, but I never got the chance before you returned. You see, I have ambitions too. I wanted . . . well, want to give my mom a bit of financial security so she can focus on painting and won’t have to be stuck at a job she doesn’t love. She’s on Medicaid but it’s not that reliable. I guess . . . Justin, I just wanted to feel secure knowing I could take care of her. I wanted to save my magazine because it’s all I’ve known. I wanted a story but after I started, I just wanted to spend more time with you.”

My heart is pounding so hard in my ears, I can hardly hear my own words.

“When I took the assignment, I never imagined that you’d be the way you are, Justin.” I shake my head a little, full of shame. “I was supposed to find out why you had an affinity . . . to number four. And it was supposed to be an article, four things about you . . .”

My eyes well with unshed tears.

“How to stop at four? You know? I never expected . . . I never expected you to be the way you are . . .”

The heat is stealing into my face and I can’t bear having his eyes on me. It makes me anxious that I can’t read them so I stare at his throat, at his beautiful, perfect tie.

“I wasn’t going to write the article anymore. I told my boss I wouldn’t, except Victoria—I told you about her. Remember? She’s . . . she’s the one who always seems to do better than me. She released her article and I was desperate for you to hear my side.”

I inhale shakily, my eyes still on fire.

“I can’t bear to think what you think of me but I need you to please believe me when I say not one moment with you was a lie. Not one.”

With a slow, deliberate move that makes me breathless, he stands from his chair and walks to the window, giving me his back.

Oh god, what must he think of me! How he must hate me. Think I used him. Lied to him.

I stand and take a few steps but I stop when I hear him take four deep breaths, and just like that, I crumble, and a tear rolls down my cheek.

“Justin, I am so sorry,” I say.

I quickly wipe the tear away before he can see it. He’s still facing the window as he mutters fuck me under his breath and shoves his hands into his pants pockets, his anger like an incoming hurricane in the room. It seems to be costing him everything to keep that simmering energy of his on a leash. I have never seen him like this. Not ever. He’s under control, but there’s a storm inside him and I can feel it.

Finally, he speaks, and his voice is so low and controlled that I’m afraid of the force of the anger it conceals. “You could’ve talked to me. When you kissed me. When you told me about Victoria. When you needed my comfort, Selena. When your neighbor died. When you couldn’t see eye to eye with your family and friends. You came to me when you needed me. You came to me when I needed you . . . you could have talked to fucking me, trusted fucking me.” He turns and leaves me breathless when I feel the full force of his flashing green eyes on me. “I could’ve made this go away so fast.” He snaps his finger. “Like that. With one call.”

“I was afraid of losing you if you knew!”

A flash of bleak disappointment crosses his face, and as he stares me down, his green eyes could melt steel. “So you kept on lying instead.”

I wince and stare at his throat.

An eternity passes.

“There’s nothing more here for you, Selena. Except a job. Take it.” He goes back to his chair and drops into his seat.

I can hardly speak. “There’s you here. Don’t shut me out because I made a mistake.”

As I walk back, it’s the first time I feel his eyes run over me, evaluating what I’m wearing. They were supposed to make me feel powerful and good, these clothes, and I feel tender and naked and fake. So fake. Thinking any clothes would make him see me differently. Thinking something so superficial could hide the real me—the flawed me.

I’m blushing when I sit again, and Justin doesn’t say anything at all. He’s stroking his thumb slowly over his lower lip, the only part of his body moving now.

“Consider my job offer,” he says.

I shake my head. “I don’t want you as my boss.”

“I’m a fair boss, Selena.”

“I don’t want you as a boss.”

I wait a moment. His gaze smolders with frustration.

“You shouldn’t want me here,” I blurt out. “I am not a good journalist, Justin. If you want to know the truth, I lost the heart for it. I’m worthless to you. I’m not someone you will probably ever trust again.”

He cocks his head with a slight frown, as if curious over this development. “Take a week to think this through. In fact, take two.” He watches me as I struggle for words.

“I don’t want to hold you up—”

“You’re not.”

The way he studies my features causes a thousand tiny pinpricks of awareness inside of me. I know this stare. It’s a stare that makes my heart race because I can tell he’s trying to get a read on me.

“What’s so wrong about working with me?” He narrows his eyes.

I shake my head with a soft laugh. Would I even know where to begin?

I think of his assistants, half in love with him or worse. I don’t want this to be me. I don’t want to be forty, in love with a man I can never have. At least when I had my career goals, ambitious as they were, I always imagined I’d be able to attain them someday. But him? He’s already as unreachable to me as all of the sixty-seven Jupiter moons.

“Even if I dared leave Edge, which I won’t, but even if I did, I’d never accept a job I was unsure I could even do.”

“You can do it,” he says, firm and calm.

“I’m telling you, I can’t.” I laugh a little and lower my face.

When he speaks, his voice is soberly low. “I’ll stop asking you to work for me when you prove to me you can’t write anymore.”

“How am I supposed to do that? Write you something bad?” I scowl in confusion.

He seems to ponder that for a moment. “Write one of my speeches. Write the one for tomorrow. You’re familiar with Interface, its business model, objectives, cultural footprint.”

I narrow my eyes.

“If it’s as bad as you say, I’ll back off,” he adds with the kind of lazy indulgence only people who hold all the cards emit.

He sits behind his desk with a familiar little twinkle in his eye, so powerful and tanned and dark-haired and green-eyed and toe-curlingly masculine, challenging me to rise to his bait. The temptation is so strong, I have to fight it.

“I can make it bad enough you’ll stop asking me to work for you.”

“But you won’t.” His eyes gleam, and his lips form a smile that causes all kinds of visceral tugs inside me. “I know you won’t.”

I sit here, struggling.

I want to see him. I want to have an excuse to see him.

“This wouldn’t mean I’m working for you. You won’t pay me for this. It’s just so you can see that writing is . . . hard. I’m not who you need at M4, Justin.”

I’m feeling tingles in my stomach from the smile he wears. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“When do you need it by?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“And the event is at noon?”

He nods slowly, eyes glimmering in challenge. “Get it to me by ten.”

“Mr. Justin, your two thirty is here,” a female voice says from the door.

I come to my feet when Justin uncoils from his seat. He eases his arms into his crisp black jacket. “Ask Catherine for the guidelines the other speechwriters were working with.” He buttons up, and pauses. “I’ll expect to see your email.”

“Justin,” I start, but then stop. After a moment, I whisper, surprising myself, “You will.”

As I watch him head to the door, adrenaline courses through me, every part of me shaking except my determination.

When I get back to Edge, I walk to my seat like a horse with blinders, avoiding everyone. I print out some stuff for the speech and then head home. I haven’t told Gina I met with him, or my mom, or Wynn, or Helen. He’s my secret, somehow, too precious for me to share, my hope too raw and too tiny to survive the questioning of anyone else.

I don’t want to hear if what I’m doing is dangerous. Wrong. Or right. I’m doing it because I have to—I need to—because he asked me to, and this is the only way I can be close to him for now. Yes, I could accept his job offer and be closer for longer—but I’d define myself as his employee for possibly forever. That’s not what I want to be to him.

I stare at my laptop once I get home. Only seconds after I boot it up, a familiar dread starts creeping into me, as it does when I sit to write now.

But I think of Interface. Justin. How relentless he is, how ruthless, how innovative, and he’s right.

My pride won’t let me write something I don’t like. I want to dazzle him. I want him to read it and, even if he hates me, I want him to feel awe or admiration for my words. I want to talk to him through the simple act of writing his speech and if he trusted me with this little thing—I don’t want to fail him.

Before I start writing, I call my mother to say hi, check up on her. Then I tell Gina, “I’m going to write!” so she doesn’t just burst into my bedroom. Then I turn off my cell phone, close my browser, and look at my Word file as I put in the first word: Interface . . .

SPEECH

After a night spent writing draft after draft after draft, I’m at Edge early on Friday, quickly sipping an orange juice as I boot up my computer, then diving straight in to edit the best of what I wrote.

Using the brief guidelines Catherine gave me, I also applied what I’ve learned about Interface and double-checked my facts, then I marked those facts in bold so he pays extra care to double-check those.

My body’s in knots by the time everyone arrives at the office around nine, and I open an email, search his name, and attach the file.

To: Justin Justin

From: Selena Livingston

Subject: Your speech

Here it is. I promised you it would be bad, but please know that I can’t bear for it to be—I hope, actually, that it’s good.

Good luck.

I would have loved to be there.

Selena

I don’t expect a reply, but I get one nonetheless.

To: Selena Livingston

From: Justin Justin

Subject: Re: Your speech

Your name’s up front, you’re welcome to come.

I’m halfway through reading his email and the butterflies are already flapping against the walls of my stomach.

He just invited me to his speech.

I exhale and try to calm myself, but god, it’s so hard to. I’ve got to turn in my article for the Sharpest Edge column and, suddenly riding on the momentum of Justin’s speech, I finally churn out the piece on what to wear on the first date. I think of the ways his eyes change and I write down things I’ve secretly believed since I met him. That men like women to look feminine, so wearing a soft color, or a soft fabric, or a soft wave to our hair, really makes a nice contrast to all that hardness of a man. Soft lipstick might work better for long-term interest rather than bold colors, which speak mostly about sex.

Once I finish the article, I go toward Helen’s office with my printout, when Valentine swings his chair around to stop me.

“Yo! Captain!” he calls, saluting me like an army general.

He’s really got his salutes mixed up, among other things: he’s wearing a yellow vest today with a purple shirt beneath.

“Helen’s having a ball with you. She’s basically selling the idea to young girls that you know what it takes to snag the hottest bachelor in town.”

I frown at that, because it’s definitely what Helen is doing and so far off the mark, it’s absolute bullshit. “That must be why she keeps looking at me like I’m the goose that lays golden eggs,” I say, just to make light of it.

But maybe . . . no, probably . . . it’s why she’s been so forgiving about my “writing issue.”

Val smirks. “Well, you’re the goose with the eggs Justin could have fertilized.”

I’m too hyped about Sin’s message and enjoying my writing high too much to let Valentine’s jibe have any effect.

I merely roll my eyes and ask, “Are you going to McCormick?”

“Nope, she wants me to revise all this bullshit.” He signals to his screen, then winks. “But the truth is, she needs to bully me to feel alive.”

“I’m glad you seem to enjoy it.” I head to Helen’s office with my printout even though I’ve already emailed the piece.

I set it on her desk, and when she directs her attention to me, I say flat out, “Justin’s speaking at McCormick Place about Interface, and he got me a place in the reporting pool. You mind if I go, even if it’s just to observe?”

Helen looks at me levelly. “I expected you’d ask me after yellow-vest did. Yes,” she agrees. “But not as a dormouse. Ask a question! Let people know we’re covering.”

Seeing my hesitation, she quickly adds, “Getting out there and acting normal is the only chance you’ve got of things actually going back to normal.” A pause; a frown. “What? You’re not sure now?”

No, I’m not sure. I’m not sure about anything these days.

Your name’s up front.

“Come on, go! Hurry out there and make some inquiries that make us sound smart!” Helen says. “Someone who will make up for Val’s clothing.”

Bracing myself for the worst but hoping for the best, I nod and head back to my seat. Helen’s right, I need to go on as normal.

I care about him more than what anyone can say about me. I won’t pass on a chance to see him.