#bughead if you squint

[centravolonial]

astro's astronomical drabbles (4/?)

-. coffee chaos .- a riverdale (bughead if you squint) drabble

--- “Bye Pop!” Betty nods behind her with a warm smile as she strolls towards the door of the diner, turning her attention towards her scalding hot cup of coffee that she held cautiously within two hands. But just then, almost out of the blue, she hears the door latch unclasp, and within those seconds she shoots her gaze in front of her to meet uncomfortably close with Jughead Jone’s chest. They then proceed to CLASH  into each other before either of them gets even to move another inch, as Betty’s coffee goes FLYING out of her grasp, and directly onto her as a result. “Betty!- Holy shit I'm so sorry-” “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD OH MY GOD- AHHH!!” Betty then proceeds to scream at the top of her lungs, and as the coffee scorches her skin through her clothes, she flails around with absolutely no direction at all. Meanwhile, Jughead suppressed his own urge to scream as he tried to keep his composure through the situation that seemed to be moving at a speed that nobody, let alone him, could comprehend. “Okay- OKAY- STOP SCREAMING!” He plants his hands firmly onto Betty’s shoulders, trying to hold her still and in one place so he can access this mess. “IT BURNS! IT BURNS!” Jughead then conjures up an idea, that he wasn't even sure of working himself. “Here- take this off!” He then proceeds to spin her around and pull her jacket off of her shoulders in a desperate attempt to help his screeching girlfriend. “THAT DIDN'T DO ANYTHING, DIPSHIT!” Jughead blinks, absolutely flabbergasted. “WELL, I DON'T KNOW!” 

Meanwhile, Pop stands behind the counter just- in total shock, watching this circus act unfold. ---

[vzajemnik]

also i wanna fuck my fag😔like for real......not bughead style but for real...............THIS IS SO SAD CAUSE I THINK HE GOT UNATTRACTED TO ME AS SOON AS I GOT ATTRACTED TO HIM!!!!!!!!but also he said multiple times hes into lesbians and bisexual women with disorders and straight unavailable men. and if you squint im all three.

[izzysamosriverdale]

“5 x 17” Theory

Don’t laugh - I was thinking, what if the “Return to 5 x 17” theory is still in play? Maybe it wasn’t cut, just maybe postponed to mid Season 7 after they mess around in the 50s a bit? Or maybe the 50s thing is more Writer Jughead hijinks until they can return to the true Riverdale timeline at the time of the mine explosion in 5 x 17?

Still, since Ted and Evan are “BA for life” and RAS is mentally and physically absent from the writing and show running now, I won’t hold my breath. I’m still trying to make sense of the last two horrid seasons, when there probably is no rhyme or reason, just “Ted Wanks” as @stillhidden refers to them. 🤷🏼‍♀️🤡💩🤮

[imreallyloveleee]

promptathon week 2

Betty arrives five minutes after eight, carrying her notebook and what appears to be a sack of oranges.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” She drops the oranges on the desk next to his, and Jughead leans over for a closer look. They’re unusually small. And a weird choice for a study break snack – he can’t imagine her eating more than, like, two of them – but then again there are a lot of things about Betty Cooper that are weird. Weird, he often reminds himself, is not necessarily bad.

“That’s okay.” He nods at the fruit. “You skip dinner or something?”

Flipping through the pages of her notebook, she pauses to give him a reproachful look. “We’re on Chelouche Spirals this week. Didn’t you do the reading?”

He did not, in fact, do the reading. He probably could have found the time, but certainly not the will, in between preparation for their Practical Applications exam (he’d nailed it) and constantly sampling the rum Veronica was making in the attic of the Physical Kids’ cottage as she tweaked the recipe for more of a “luxury” feel (she had not; if anything, each iteration was even less potable than the one preceding it).

Three months in to his tenure at Stonewall University for Magical Pedagogy, the study of magic is far from what Jughead had expected. Admittedly, his imagination had been hemmed in by the pop culture of his youth – Harry Potter, the Eldervair and Elsewhere series – dominated by gnarled wands and flowing robes and funny words that could do anything you wanted if you just believed in them enough.

Real magic was math – theoretical math, metamath, theoretical metamath – and handwork so quick and precise it made your knuckles crack and fingers cramp. It was complex languages on the verge of extinction that might actually result in the death of yourself or someone you love if you fucked up a verb conjugation. Real magic was hard.

And yet when Dean Weatherbee had called him into his office a month ago and offered him a spot in the second-year class for the spring semester, he had not hesitated to say yes. Sure, it meant getting completely caught up on the second-year fall semester while also passing his first-year final exams – but Jughead (mostly) enjoyed the work.

It didn’t hurt that it also meant more alone time with Betty, the only other student in their year to be granted such an exemption.

Not that their study sessions have amounted to much. She’s always late, always harried, always seeming like her mind is half-occupied by some other matter entirely, even as she works methodically through one theorem after another.  

Jughead’s heard the rumors: that she didn’t even take the entrance exam, that she just showed up on campus on the first day of classes, despite the wards around the school that should have prevented her from doing so.  Whether they’re true or not, even he can tell that there is something special about the way she does magic. Watching her cast is the closest he’s come to seeing that childhood ideal made real. Betty makes magic beautiful.

Which just makes it all the more painful that she’s been avoiding him since what happened on Saturday night.

Now she is watching him expectantly, vibrating with impatience as he pages through his textbook for the spell. Chelouche sounds French, but it’s not where it should be between Charbonnier’s Eighth Maxim and the Comtois Convergence –

“It’s Algerian.” Betty leans over from her seat and redirects him to an earlier chapter of the book. “I forgot mine, so we’ll have to share.”

Jughead nods mutely, shifting the book closer to the edge of his desk. “I uh, I didn’t have time to read it.”

Chelouche Spirals, he learns, are the magical equivalent of that thing he always did as a kid where he tried to peel an orange rind in one continuous piece. Honestly, it’s kind of a letdown. And annoying, to realize that the second-year classes Veronica and Cheryl are always acting so secretive and superior about are really just a bunch of grad students sitting around learning how to peel fruit.

Betty seems mildly amused by this take on it. “It’s a lot harder than it sounds,” she says. “Try it.”

She places one of the oranges in front of him. Clementines, he corrects himself silently. That’s what she’d told him they were called when he’d asked if he could eat one.

Jughead clears his throat, reviews the spell one more time, and then recites the words in Arabic while he moves his fingers in a counterclockwise, up-and-down motion over the open palm of his left hand. She’s not entirely wrong – getting the movements right is trickier than he’d thought based on the illustrations – but he thinks he’s got it.

Until the clementine caves in on one side, and ejects a stream of juice straight into his eye.

“Ow, fuck!” Jughead scrambles up out of his chair, clapping one hand over his eye. “Jesus fucking Christ – that fucking baby orange just fucking blinded me –”

“Jughead. Jughead! Hold still.” A firm hand circles his wrist, pulling it away from his face; through his unimpaired eye, he can see that Betty is trying not to laugh, standing up on her tiptoes to get a closer look at him. She murmurs something under her breath, and touches two gentle fingertips to the edge of his eyelid. The pain dissipates.

She takes a step back as he opens his eye slowly. He rubs at it cautiously with one knuckle, but all of the citrus seems to be gone. His eye’s just watery now.

“Thank you.” He can’t quite meet her eyes. Given it took all of twenty seconds to resolve, his reaction to the situation now feels a tad overdramatic.  

“No problem.”

A beat of silence passes, and he allows himself to look at her. Her face is tilted up towards him, uncertain, and he thinks again of the party on Saturday night. They’d been standing just like this, but a little bit closer. And a little bit drunk. Toni was playing DJ in the living room, her long pink braids swaying with the beat, turning the bass so low he could feel it echoing in his chest across the room.

He’d been surprised to even see her there that night. Betty wasn’t normally much for parties. But she was there, and her hair was loose and wavy around her shoulders and she was wearing this dress that was – well, it was a far cry from the collared sweaters she wore every day. And if he hadn’t been able to stop his gaze from dropping to admire her figure all evening, then she hadn’t been able to stop smiling every time she caught him doing it.

“I’m sorry I kissed you.” His voice catches on the last word.

Betty’s mouth moves, wordlessly at first. “Oh.”

“Not that – I don’t regret –” Jughead swallows. “I should have asked, and I didn’t, and you have every right to be angry with me. And I’m sorry.”

The tiniest crease forms between her brows. “I’m not angry with you, Jughead.”

He rubs at his jaw; there’s a wet spot on the side of his chin. Probably more clementine juice. “So there’s some other reason you’ve been completely avoiding me?”

Betty turns away, but not before he can catch the flush blossoming over her cheeks. “Yes, actually.”

For whatever reason – probably that he’s an idiot, who responds to social signals in the exact opposite way of how he’s meant to – her admission propels him forward. “What?”

She stops before the desk with the bag of clementines, her back still to him. “Did you know I had a sister?”

Her words catch him by surprise.  “No.”

“I did. I do.” Betty glances at him over her shoulder. “I don’t know who knows. Aside from the faculty, I assume all of them do. Anyway, she died here, when I was thirteen. Polly.”

Any sympathetic words he’s thought about speaking die on his lips when she turns to face him fully. They’re not what she wants to hear. “What happened?” he manages instead.

“I don’t know. No one ever told me.”

Betty opens her hand and holds it level with her chest. A round, plump clementine sits in the center of her palm. Her other hand starts to circle above it, fingers bent like she’s playing piano keys.

He watches as the rind begins to separate from the flesh, peeling away in a long, thin spiral. A lump settles in his throat. It’s frivolous, yes. But it’s a lovely piece of magic.

When she’s finished Betty loops the orange peel over her pinky finger, setting it gently on an empty desktop. She splits the fruit in two, handing him one half.

“I don’t know what happened to my sister,” she says. “But I’m not here to – to make friends and go to parties and – meet a boy.” She drops her gaze on the last part. “I’m here to learn magic and find out what happened to Polly. That’s it.”

“Then I’ll help.”

Betty shakes her head slowly. “No. You didn’t even know her, you don’t –”

“I know you. And I want to help.”

Jughead wants very badly to touch her – to cup her face in his hands, brush his thumbs over her cheekbones. To kiss her again.

But as surely as he wants it, he’s also sure this is not what she needs from him right now. Instead, he waits. He slips his thumb between two sections of the fruit in his hand, separates them. The clementine bursts sweet and tart on his tongue.

Betty watches him, her eyes darting from his eyes to his mouth and back again. Something in her face shifts. He wants her trust, he realizes. He wants her lush mouth and her clever words and her elegant hands – he wants all of her – but more than anything, he wants her trust.

“Okay,” she tells him. “Okay.”

(written for week 2 of @riverdalepromptathon​! prompts used are orange, magic, & anger. this is an AU set in The Magicians universe.)

[screamingintosilence]

Songfic writing challenge 2019 Day 5

Soulmate - Lizzo

Adulthood AU where Betty just broke up with her asshole of an ex and Veronica brought her out to her favorite pub

"Fuck Chuck Clayton!” Veronica slammed her palm on the bar top. Definitely not her first choice of place to bring her newly single (about fucking time) bestie, but Betty claimed it was the best burger and fries in town and what her bestie wanted, her bestie got.

“Fucking cheers to that,” Betty clinked her glass of beer with Veronica's Cosmo, downing the rest of it before resuming munching on her burger, groaning into the heavenly taste.

“Do you know how long it's been since I've actually had a burger? Let alone one from Pop’s Wyrm?” Betty licked the juices off her fingers, not caring for the first time in a long time what she looked like right now. “2 years and 8 months. Literally from the day before my first date with Chuck, can you fucking believe?” She popped another fry into her mouth as Veronica watched in fascination.

“What a fucking ass,” Veronica waved down the handsome-as-sin bar owner who had been subtly watching them in amusement from down the bar.

The place itself want busy as it was a Tuesday night, and the sexy blonde was a sight for sore eyes. It might have been nearly 3 years since he had last seen her in his pub but she was a face he'd never forget.

“What can I get you ladies?”

“Jug! What the hell do you put in your burger and fries?! I bet it's cocaine.” Yeah, Betty Cooper had been such a regular that she too remembered him. His was a face that she had dreamed about, sometimes even imagining him while she was having sex with Chuck just to get herself off.

“Also, why the hell did you name this place Pop’s Wyrm?” Veronica chimed in. When Betty had first pulled her into the pub and practically climbed over the bar to greet Jughead (something very interesting that Veronica was deciding to store away for later) she had mentioned how Jug was the owner and on Tuesday nights also the bartender.

“It's definitely not cocaine,” he laughed. “It's what going 3 years without one will do to you.”

“A mistake I vow to never let happen ever again.” She put her hand over her heart in mock seriousness as he snorted.

“And it's named for my favorite diner growing up and my dad's bar, Pop's Chock’lit Shoppe and The Whyte Wyrm,” he turned to Veronica, scratching the back of his head at his slight discomfort of her piercing gaze.

“Interesting,” she gazed at him a moment longer before tapping the wooden counter once more to get Betty's attention. “I'm thinking we need a shot of something stronger than just your beer. What's your poison of choice, B?”

“Well, I think in celebration of getting rid of the cheap, pretentious asshole, and getting that promotion to Editor, I'll take your finest whiskey. And extra fries,” she smiled disarmingly at Jughead.

“Never pegged you as whiskey girl.”

“Don't worry, I haven't pegged many people myself,” she quipped causing Veronica to choke on her Cosmo and Jughead to cough in surprise.

“Oh my God, B, yas! Let your kink flag fly!” Veronica clapped bemusedly as Jughead turned to pull a bottle of The Yamazaki 12 Year from the top shelf.

“I'd let you peg me any time you want,” he winked at her, setting the glass of whiskey on the rocks in front of a blushing Betty. “And for you?” he glanced at Veronica while

“Your finest tequila, por favor,” she smirked, conveying how unsubtle these two were being.

When he came back with a shot glass of Don Julio and Betty's basket of fries, Veronica raised her glass to the blonde.

“To being free of two-faced Geminis who don't know how to pleasure a lady; to self love because who needs to put in that much mental and emotional effort when you can just use batteries; to realizing that you're your own soulmate and you're fucking gorgeous; to not having to cook for a jerk who has no idea what good food, or good pussy, tastes like.”

Jughead was coughing with repressed laughter as Betty was sure her face matched the hue of a tomato.

“To best friends who have no shame,” Betty clinked her glass with Veronica's before both girls downed their drinks and the Latina called for another round.

“Now, about this pegging kink.”

“V….”

[daphnefangirling]

My brain KNOWS this isn’t Bughead... but my heart WANTS it to be Bughead 😭

havent drawn pjo fanart in forever

[soyforramen]

Prompt: Dance + Hangover Bughead

Betty groaned and pressed a hand against her throbbing head. That was the last time she’d let Veronica drag her anywhere, let alone out of a particularly productive study session. With the bar only a month away, it was all to easy to succumb to Veronica’s promise of a stress free evening at the most exclusive club in the city.

(The fact that Veronica owned said club certainly helped convince Betty. After all, who could turn down an all expenses paid night out at the Bijou? Opportunities like that didn’t ordinarily crop up for most environmental law interns, especially the ones who didn’t get paid to save the planet.)

As she shifted on the bed, a twinge of pain shot through her ankle. She glanced down to find it still wrapped in a shoddy attempt at a brace. A memory of being swept off the dance floor – literally – by a tall, dark stranger flashed through her mind, along with her stilted attempts at flirting that lead to three spilled drinks and a twisted ankle.

Well, perhaps he hadn’t been a stranger stranger. After all, whenever Veronica’s latest beau came by Jughead trudged along. And he wasn’t terrible company; in fact they managed to get along quite well on their third-wheeling excursions. And last night had been rather enjoyable, despite it ending with a marathon Jenga session after sharing a cab back to her apartment.

Pushing herself into a sitting position, Betty forced down the remnants of the dark rum and syrupy sweet mixers Veronica had insisted on. The alcohol oozed from her pores, leaving behind a sticky, disgusting feeling. Still wearing last night’s clothing – a dress that was high necked, low backed, and far too short for any decent legal scholar – Betty couldn’t help but feel like an absolute gargoyle queen.

She stumbled towards the shower and, most importantly, a handful of ibuprofen.

It wasn’t until she was in her normal Sunday morning outfit of sweats and an old faded jersey that Betty finally felt human again. Now that that was taken care of, her mind moved onto more practical things. Breakfast was out of the question – her stomach roiled at the thought of anything else being funneled into it. Her pounding headache demanded otherwise, and she walked towards the kitchen with a guilty glance towards her abandoned stack of BarBri study guides.

The pot of coffee in his hand hovered in the air above a mug, suspended by her sudden appearance.

“Hey,” Jughead greeted softly.

“Hey,” she replied. “Are you going to drink all of that?”

He shook his head and slid the mug towards her. When she lifted it to her mouth she found it filled with a thick, hot brew strong enough to clean a carburetor. Unable to stand the small, Betty opened the refrigerator for a hearty dash of creamer.

“You stayed the night?” Betty asked as nonchalantly as she could.

While she wasn’t concerned that he had stayed over, she was curious. Mostly, however, her curiosity’s own hangover could only extend as far as to wondering when the last time she’d vacuumed the couch he’d likely slept on.

Jughead nodded and poured a second mug for himself. He downed half of it and refilled it before answering. “Wanted to make sure everyone got home okay,” he said with a glance towards Veronica’s still closed door. He lifted the pot and Betty shook her head, still nursing her first cup.

It was oddly endearing, she realized, to know how concerned he had been about not only his roommate, but also about Veronica. Something of Betty’s own worry must have seeped into him last night between her constant glances between the door and her phone. At first glance, she’d assumed Jughead to be nonchalant and a believer of one for one, and none for all. But as they became closer, it was a comfort to know that appearances could still be deceiving in a good way.

“And I might have had too much to drink last night to get down Scarlet O’Hara’s grand staircase,” he admitted.

Betty laughed at that. It seemed Veronica still hadn’t told Jughead about the service elevator in the back, forcing him to take the three flights up to their apartment.

“You and me both,” Betty said, trying to soften the mood. “Is this your handiwork, or mine?”

“Sorry about that. We Jones’ are more Nurse Ratched than Nightingale,” Jughead said with a wince.

He reached up and rubbed at his forehead, another victim of Veronica’s penchant for sweet liquors. As he did so, a lock of hair fell over his face and Betty realized that he was cute. Not a head turner, like his roommate, but cute in a way that grows on you.

“Like a fungus,” Betty murmured under her breath.

Jughead glanced up, squinting at her, and she blushed. Veronica had definitely been right about studying too much if Betty couldn’t keep from talking out loud.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Betty said. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “You bartend, right?”

“I wait tables. At the old diner,” Jughead correct her, a note of bitterness in his voice.

“Ronnie said something about writing a book too, though, right?” Betty said, trying to sway the conversation away from his fits of melancholy.

At the mention of writing, his eyes flashed to life. “It’s nothing, really. Just a few pages.”

“Oh?”

Betty did her best to act coy, leaning against the kitchen island and cupping the mug in her hands. Most certainly it was a pale imitation to Veronica’s practiced flirting, but a girl had to start somewhere. It was bolder than Betty normally was, but last night had been fun even with the minor bodily harm.

“I’m trying to study the decay of the American small town and what it might do to the character of the people living there.” As he spoke, energy came to his body and the space around him felt alive, caught in his orbit. “Maybe as an allegory about what our culture is today and what it thinks it used to be.”

She lifted her mug to her lips and sipped at the hot coffee as she thought through what to say next. Jughead’s eyes flicked down to her lips, and an slow ember lit in her chest.

“Ronnie and I grew up in a small town, though –“

A loud patter of giggling echoed down the hallway from Veronica’s room. Before Betty could roll her eyes, a loud moan followed it. Jughead’s eyes went wide and Betty blushed down to her toes, both reeling from the second hand embarrassment.

“Maybe we should get out of here?” Betty offered.

Jughead nodded, his head moving like a bobblehead on a shelf during an alien invasion.

“Sorry, Toni can be –“ he trailed off, his face scrunched up in discomfort.

“I can’t begin to tell you how many study sessions were interrupted by them,” Betty offered to try and lighten the situation. “I’ll just get my jacket?”

Jughead nodded. “It’s a date. I mean - ?”

Betty set her hand on his arm and smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

Another sound came from Veronica’s room, and Betty and Jughead both headed towards the door.

“Or maybe I can just borrow yours?”

[heytherejulietx]

riverdale masterlist

* = favourite

Bughead;

Sleepy kisses. - fluff

“Go home.” - angst

Lingerie. - hurt-comfort

“I’m happy for you.” - hurt

Fake plant. - fluff

Chocolate cake. - fluff

Whiskey. - fluff

Drunk. - fluff

Precious. - fluff *

Soulmates (series; 2/3 posted). - fluff

The Office. - fluff (hurt-comfort if you squint) *

Never Had Enough Time. - angst / hurt-comfort *

Stressed. - hurt-comfort

Gold. - fluff

deep breath - hurt-comfort

tipping point - hurt-comfort

Jughead Jones;

“I live here.” - hurt-comfort

Rain. - fluff

Fine. - hurt-comfort

Soft. - fluff *

Blood. - angst / hurt-comfort

Surprise. - fluff *

stranger - angst / comfort; sister reader

him - angst / comfort *

shattered - hurt / comfort *

Sweet Pea;

Bed. - fluff *

zombie - comfort *

ill - fluff / comfort

need you - hurt / comfort

Riverdale drabbles masterlist.

[naceisonthecase]

Summary: Basically, red string of fate but make it supernatural.

Word Count: 5,218

[Read on AO3]

@aceandnancy @bughead-bones @ismokechurros @nacegolden @nocturne-alley

🔎

The Red String of Fate: Fact or Fiction? The title of the article read. Nancy couldn’t read anymore, not even if it was Bess who had sent it and was most likely going to broach the subject as soon as she came downstairs. Grabbing her bag off the hook she left her room and headed down the stairs.

“Good morning Nancy!” Her dad and Ryan echoed as she entered the kitchen. This was still taking some time to get used to, her two dads side by side drinking coffee and cooking breakfast as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Which, Nancy thought, would explain the state and smell of the kitchen.

“Morning,” Nancy replied. She moved through the kitchen toward Carson, letting him wrap his arms around her. As he moved away Nancy spied a circle of red around his pinky finger. “What happened to your finger?” Her eyes wandered away from the mark on his finger, the same size and shape of his wedding ring, scanning his face for any sort of incriminating clues.

“Must have burned it when helping Ryan cook.” He said, nonchalantly. He shook his hand as if that would erase the mark.

“That’s unusual for a burn. It’s a perfect circle.” Nancy had grabbed her father’s hand and was turning it back and forth to observe it more completely. “Does it hurt?”

Carson wrestled his hand back. Placing both hands on Nancy’s shoulders he held his daughter at arm’s length. “It’s just a burn, Nancy. Nothing serious, nothing supernatural.” Another thing that would take some getting used to -- her dad knowing about the weird, paranormal happenings around their seaside town. “And, no it doesn’t hurt. Not even a little.”

Nancy nodded at her father, not quite convinced, and he released her. She wandered over to a cabinet and grabbed a mug to pour herself a cup of coffee. The action caused a small red object to be knocked off the countertop. Her coffee momentarily forgotten, Nancy bent down and picked it up. A spool of red thread. How did it get there? Who did it belong to?

“What’s this?” She showed the spool to Carson. He had started dishing himself up a plate of food and squinted at the object in Nancy’s hand.

“It's a spool of thread. Probably belonged to your mother.”

“Mom didn’t sew.”

Carson shrugged. “We’ve reached our before breakfast question quota. Can we discuss it after we eat?”

Nancy put the spool back on the counter and turned to Ryan. He was wearing an apron and a gaudy chef’s hat standing by the stove with a spatula in hand.

It would have been comical if it wasn’t so disastrous.

“You want some,” Ryan asked proudly, showcasing his burnt scrambled eggs as if they were a masterpiece.

Nancy screwed up her face. “I think I’ll pass.” She said, finally pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“They aren’t as bad as they look or smell.” Nancy turned to see Bess seated at the breakfast table. She had a plate of burnt eggs, bacon, and toast in front of her and was smiling around a mouthful of food.

“Nancy, you have to eat something,” Carson said, passing by Nancy to seat himself down by Bess.

“I’m fine with just coffee. I’ll just get something at The Claw,” she said, shrugging off her father’s recommendation. She snuck a look at her phone to check the time. “Speaking of, Bess, I think we should get a move on. You know how George is when we’re late.”

“You think it’s a good idea to go back to work so soon after…” The rest of Carson’s sentence faded away, the implication of after hanging heavy in the air.

“Yeah, Nancy, George ok’d your extended absence. Just as she did Ace’s.” Bess was quick to add, filling the silence.

At the mention of his name, Nancy’s hand tightened around her mug, her stomach spinning. She put the mug back down on the counter. She hadn’t mentioned her dreamscape or the part each of them played in the journey to any of her friends. The closest she had come was Ace, and that hadn’t gone as planned.

“It's been weeks. I need some semblance of normalcy back in my life, and that means,” Nancy swung her bag over her shoulder so it hung across her body, “returning for my usual shift at The Claw.”

“Remember, you can come home at any time.”

The smoke alarm chose then to blare its angry head. Carson rushed off to the smoke alarm, ordering Ryan to begin opening windows around the house.

“And, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Nancy said to Bess, speaking louder over the wails going off in her house.

Bess nodded, just as happy to escape the chaoticness of the household as Nancy was. She reached for a napkin that was laying on her lap, dabbing at her lips politely as if she were dining at a fancy restaurant, and quickly went off to get her belongings.

🔎

“Don’t you think it’s quite romantic though?” Bess said, continuing the conversation they were having on the ride over about the article she had sent Nancy.

“It sure is something.”

Bess gasped, a hand flying to her chest in shock. “You don’t believe in soulmates?” She nearly screeched.

“Love I believe in,” Nancy said, approaching the door to The Claw, “but soulmates…there’s no proof.” Nancy pushed open the door to The Claw. Her gaze travelled over the room -- she spotted George and Nick at the bar. With Ace.

Ace was home? He wasn’t supposed to be home for another two weeks.

Nancy felt her throat constrict, she stood frozen in place. She thought facing him with these new fully realized feelings would be difficult enough standing on his front stoop, a rehearsed speech at the ready, but that didn’t hold a candle to seeing him unexpectedly here amongst their friends in a familiar environment and completely lost for words.

Ace looked up at the door at the sound of the chime. He beamed when he saw his two friends but his eyes remained on Nancy longer, Bess having already sauntered into the restaurant and over to the bar, wrapping her arms around Ace from behind, Ace’s hand coming up to pat her arm. His concentration broke off Nancy for the time being.

Nancy took a deep breath, then crossed the threshold.

Out of Bess’s hold, Ace was off his stool and was coming towards her before Nancy was even halfway across the restaurant. She froze in her tracks.

“Hey, Nancy!”

“Hey, Ace! Uh, how was your trip? How is...how is Amanda?” She felt a sudden prick against her finger, nothing more than a needlepoint but it made her look down anyway. Her finger was snagged in her bag buckle and she yanked it free.

“It was great.” She heard Ace saying And looked back up. “Amanda is good too.” It was as if he wanted to say more but shut his mouth instead.

They were such simple answers but it made her heart ache. The throbbing in her finger intensified and she jammed her hands into her coat pockets, slowly moving away.

“I should put my things in the back,” Nancy announced, walking away.

“Wait, Nancy.” He reached out a hand to stop her progress, his hand lingering on her arm. “How are you doing?”

She took a deep breath in before answering. “I’m alright.” She nodded, a faint smile tracing her lips. “Just recovering from nearly dying. So, you know, the usual.”

Ace nodded, not taking his hand or eyes off her. The pain in her finger had subsided, it was nothing more than pinched flesh after all. She was only thinking about it because she couldn’t allow her thoughts to settle on how Ace’s touch felt on her arm. Like his touch was meant to be there.

She gulped, trying to find her voice, and pulled away. “Ace, I need to go.”

She saw visible disappointment, concern, and curiosity flash through his eyes. Then she turned and disappeared into the kitchen. He stood there watching after her until Bess called him back to the bar to fill them in on his romantic getaway, and as a loyal platanchor he willingly obliged.

🔎

Nancy sat on the bench in front of the set of lockers. The kitchen was empty and she could spend the short time before her shift alone. And, Ace wasn’t yet in the kitchen, watching her from above.

He was with Amanda, and according to him, they were doing good. She couldn’t have these thoughts. She had to forget about this crush, or whatever it was, and move on. No matter how much she wanted to run her fingers through his gorgeous locks, again, or kiss him, and not an almost dreamscape kiss this time, she couldn’t act on it. She wouldn’t. She would just have to figure out a way to get through this shift without these feelings interfering and then figure out how to get over him.

“Drew, get your ass out here. We need you.” George called from the dining area signalling that her shift had begun.

She stood from the bench and smoothed down the front of her uniform, composing herself before heading out into the thick of it. Her first day back in weeks.

Ace was entering the kitchen as she was leaving, the two were in a dance for access to the door. He moved to his left, she moved to her right. Then vice versa. Eventually Ace allowed her enough room to scoot by, laughing. She felt his eyes on her back as she moved past. What greeted her on the other side was the typical Saturday lunch rush. She did want normalcy, she remembered, as she dug into her pocket for her notebook and flipped it open to a clean sheet to begin taking orders.

From there the hours became a blur of jotting down orders, filling and refilling water glasses, and polite smiles that she didn’t wholeheartedly feel. It was filled with lobster rolls, fried calamari, fish and chips, and The Claw’s famous clam chowder being passed from the kitchen to the awaiting customers. She was more or less in a state of workflow uncommon to her gig as a waitress when Nick stopped her, pulling her aside.

“Nancy, your hand looks serious.”

It had begun to hurt more, a constant pounding but she continued to play off as best she could even though the pain was getting to her. She looked down and saw that her finger was scratched up and bleeding, and a rash was beginning to spread through her entire hand.

“I must have been itching it. Not a big deal.”

George and Bess had gravitated towards her too and Ace had moved to the serving hatch, a cloth hung over his shoulder and his arms resting on the ledge. Great a full audience!

“I know first aid,” Ace piped up eagerly from the hatch, “I was a Boy Scout”

Nancy’s heartbeat quickened but she kept her voice steady as she said, “as much as I appreciate your concern, and I do, it’s just a few scratches. I can easily wash it up in the bathroom and be back in a minute.”

“You are not serving food with that,” George pointed in the direction of Nancy’s hand, a look of horror on her face.

“Oh, Nancy, it’s dripping!” Bess exclaimed, hands fluttering to her mouth. A few patrons close enough to be in earshot turned to see what the commotion was about.

Sure enough, during the few seconds of the conversation, it had gotten worse and now a green goo was emanating from the wound.

“Oh, ew,” Nancy said, extending her other hand quickly just in time to catch a glob before it fell to the floor.

“Take Ace up on his offer,” George ordered, nodding towards the kitchen, “then go home. The rest of you back to work.”

Nancy sighed. Keeping her mind preoccupied and not focusing on her crush on Ace hadn’t worked and now she was going to be in a room alone with him. Unprepared and in unknown territory. Then she winced and pulled her hand toward her chest. Her hand was in excruciating pain and she had to admit that it needed tending to. So, with a groan, she turned to meet him.

🔎

Ace was sitting on the bench searching around in the first aid kit when Nancy arrived in the back room.

“Let me take a closer look,” he said when he saw her paused at the top of the steps. He tucked his hair behind his ear, watching her descend the stairs and closing the distance between them.’God, that hair!’ she thought as she sat down beside him and extended her hand for him to inspect. “It looks like an infection. A gnarly one.”

“Gnarly?” Nancy said an awkward laugh in her voice. He smiled. She looked away. She couldn’t fall back into their usual behaviour no matter how easy and familiar it was.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing we can’t fix.” Ace said, picking up and ripping into the small packet, unfolding the wipe into the perfect square with such care.

She found herself staring too long at his hands as he took her own and wiped away the blood and grime from her skin. She flinched, shaking herself away from the memory of those fingers entwined in hers.

“Does it sting?” Ace’s hands slowed. Nancy shook her head. “Good,” he said, ripping into another packet. “Because this isn’t a one-and-done job.”

In the end, it took seven of the tiny wipes to clean the blood and green goopy mess. During which, Nancy had gone through all the symptoms she’d experienced with the lust butterflies, many times over. Although, fortunately for her, under better control. By the time Ace was applying a thin layer of an antibiotic ointment to the scratches she was wondering if he could feel how fast her pulse was racing, how sweaty her hand was in his or if he could see the heat upon her cheeks, and if he did, did he assume it was just a side effect from the infection or something more? After he secured the bandage in place he dropped his hands to his lap.

“All done.” He said, proudly. He admired his handiwork for a moment then looked up, meeting Nancy’s eye.

The two of them shared an extended moment of eye contact, his eyes so blue and portraying a deepness that many didn’t know the extent of, an ocean she was falling into. She scrambled to her feet at once conscious of how close she had gravitated to him. She had been practically sitting in his lap.

“Uh, thanks, Ace. It feels better already.” She felt herself falling back into those eyes, and pulled away before it could last any longer by heading for her locker. “I should be getting home.”

“I can give you a ride.” Ace said. Nancy popped off her lock and turned to look behind her. Ace was still on the bench, his hands balled together in his lap. He was rubbing his thumb against his other hand, watching her, eager for her to accept.

“It’s fine, Ace,” Nancy said. “I can walk. Bess can drive my car home.” She proceeded to shimmy into her jacket, careful not to upset her bandaged finger and fanned out her hair that had been trapped behind the collar. She then reached into her pocket for her car keys, putting them into her empty locker and writing a quick note, slipping it through the slates of Bess’s locker.

“Are you mad at me?”

Nancy faced Ace, her hands stilled on her coat buttons. “No--no I’m not mad at you.” She couldn’t take that sad, puppy dog-eyed look and busied herself with her coat.

“Then why have you been avoiding me all day?”

Nancy thought back on her shift as she continued with the buttons. When Ace was at the serving hatch she would wait until he was back at the sink before continuing her job. When she was in the kitchen she would ignore his calls and waves for her attention, And, if he was out in the dining area fetching something or chatting with George, Nick, or Bess she would take the longer route to where she was going. It hurt to stay away. It almost felt as if she was being pulled in his direction but she fought against that feeling.

“I--I wasn’t -- I haven’t been avoiding you.” Nancy lied.

“And, you’re letting Bess drive your car? She still drives on the wrong side of the road.”

“You should keep Florence here,” Nancy said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “For when you pick up Amanda from the hotel.”

“Um, Nancy, actually about that.” Ace started. He stood from the bench in an attempt to stop her but she had already made her exit through the back door.

Outside, Nancy leaned back on the wall of The Claw. Her eyes shut.

When did this become so hard?

Ace was her best friend. But she had to put a kibosh on these thoughts before it ruined what they had. And, luckily for her, she had a mystery on her hands to do just that. Literally.

🔎

Nancy hadn’t walked home. Instead, she had made the trek to The Historical Society. She had let herself in and found Hannah doing inventory.

“I need your help,” Nancy said after acquiring Hannah’s attention. She had her bandaged hand raised. When she had left The Claw it was, as she had told Ace, feeling significantly better but by the time she had reached The Historical Society the pain level was off the charts and the green goo was seeping through the bandaging. And, she was beginning to feel faint.

Hannah was at her side at once, immediately leading her over to a chair. She re-cleaned and bandaged the wound and handed Nancy a high-strength painkiller and a glass of water, which dulled the pain a bit. Hannah sat down across from her to hear the events that lead to this predicament.

“Hand me your bag.” Hannah requested after Nancy finished detailing the story. “I’m going to test the buckle for any supernatural or natural causes of this infection.” Nancy did as she was told, but the short litmus paper-type test turned up nothing of concern.

“Could it be something from the lockboxes, something I let out when I got the shroud? Which, again, I profusely apologize for.”

Hannah was silent for a moment, in thought. “This is nothing like anything I recall seeing or hearing about before. But we can take a look.” Hannah got up from the table and returned with an armload of gathered papers, records, and books that could be of use.

That had been four hours ago and still, there were no answers. And, her finger was again protesting loudly.

“I’m sorry, Nancy.” Hannah placed a hand on the younger woman's uninfected hand and squeezed it.

“It’s alright. We tried.” Nancy reassured her. “Actually, Hannah, while I’m here could we discuss something else?”

“Anything.”

Right now Nancy needed motherly advice. And, after losing a mother, a grandmother, a potential step-mother, and learning about her biological mother’s death all in less than a year, Hannah Gruen was the last maternal figure she had.

Nancy took a deep breath, letting it out in a slow exhale. “Have you ever had a crush on someone that wasn’t available?”

“Yes, I have. My best friend.”

“What did you do about it?”

“I told them.”

Nancy’s eyebrows shot up. “You told them?” She said in disbelief. “Even though there was no chance you’d be together? Weren’t you worried you were risking your friendship?”

Hannah shook her head. “I was at the beginning. But, it ended up being better for the both of us that I told the truth. The truth holds power.”

The truth holds power, that was something Nancy believed too.

“Thanks.” Hannah gave Nancy’s hand another squeeze, then she got up from the table to return to her work.

Nancy felt a sudden weight in her coat pocket. Reaching in she pulled out the spool she had found in her kitchen that morning. She stared at it for a few seconds in bewilderment. How had it magically appeared in her pocket when she had left it on the counter before she left for The Claw? The longer she stared at it the object and the colour became familiar for some reason, something that Bess was talking about. Nancy dug her phone out of her other pocket and opened it. The article that Bess had sent her was still on the screen. The red string of fate. Nancy scanned the article.

‘According to Japanese legend,’ she read, ‘there is a thread that originates from the heart and extends through our pinky finger connecting us to those that we are fated to meet.’ Nancy looked down at her finger. The infected finger, the one now covered in bandages, was her pinky. The red mark her dad swore was a burn wound its way around his pinky. ‘It is said that no matter how much you stretch or tangle the invisible red string it can never be broken.’

Nancy recalled how her finger felt better when feelings of attraction were coursing through her body when she was in the back room with Ace and had gotten worse when that attraction was being suppressed, as she was trying to do the entire day. How she had felt that strange pull whenever she was near him as if being pulled closer by a thread.

So much for forgetting these feelings. They were as much a part of her as her traumas.

“Hannah,” Nancy called, and the owner of The Historical Society appeared in her office doorway, “I think I know what this is.”

Nancy placed the spool on the table and handed her phone to Hannah so she could read through the article herself. She recounted for Hannah finding the mark on her dad’s finger. Him downplaying it as a burn.

Nancy’s eyes widened, as a thought occurred to her. “I need to see if he’s alright.”

“You check on your dad, and I’ll look further into this,” Hannah said, handing Nancy her phone back. “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

Nancy grabbed her bag off the table and ran out of The Historical Society. Her phone clutched in her hand, she dialled her home number. Carson didn’t answer after the first or second ring and the worry began to build in Nancy until her stomach ached. When he did pick up on the third ring he could hear him talking to someone in the background. Ryan she presumed.

“Did you happen to touch the spool? The one I knocked off the counter this morning.”

“Hello to you too,” Carson replied sarcastically. He covered the receiver but she could still make out him saying “It’s Nancy.” to Ryan. They had a snippet of a side conversation and then she could hear the sound of the speakerphone being turned on.

This wasn’t the time for the speakerphone.

“What were you saying?” Carson asked and Nancy repeated herself. “I kicked it off the stairs by accident, picked it up and put it on the kitchen counter. Is this important for something sleuthing-related?”

“I’ll get back to you on that,” Nancy said, putting an end to that line of conversation. She decided to change her tactic to avoid his growing suspicion. “Hey, by the way, how’s your hand?”

“Same as the last time you asked.”

“Alright then, I’ll see you soon.”

“You’re coming home?”

“Yeah, I’ve had a long day.” Nancy ended the call and dropped her phone into her pocket. She slowed her pace, suddenly feeling weak and dizzy. Her worry catching up to her.

She had nothing to worry about. Her dad was fine. Good even, he seemed to enjoy having Ryan around. Maybe she was wrong about this lead and the spool hadn’t caused the infection. But that still brought to mind why she had found it in her pocket. Nancy caught herself itching her finger over the bandage as she thought this over. The wound had begun leaking through the bandages again and she stopped her itching.

Suddenly her phone began ringing and she took it back out to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Nancy,” it was Nick who answered the phone, “you have to return to The Claw ASAP.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

There was a shuffling as the phone was passed between hands. Now it was George’s voice on the other end. “It’s Ace, he’s caught whatever weird finger fungus you have.”

No, this was definitely the spool.

🔎

Nancy got back to The Claw in record time. Although it was not yet eight o’clock the restaurant was empty of patrons and only Nick and George could be seen in the dining area.

“They’re in the back,” Nick called as soon as Nancy passed through The Claw’s doors.

Ace was sitting on the bench, Bess knelt in front of him pressing a damp cloth to his face. “Oh, Nancy, you’re back!” She exclaimed once she saw her.

Ace turned. He was pale, too pale, showing off dark bags under his eyes and a sheen of sweat glistened on his skin, soaking through his clothes. And, his pinky was just as green and goopy as hers was. Despite this, he smiled at the sight of her. Nancy threw her bag to the side and knelt beside Bess.

“I’ll give you two some time alone,” Bess said, handing Nancy the wet cloth, then she exited the backroom.

Her phone then decided to ring. She snuck a look at the caller ID. “It’s Hannah.” She said to Ace. “I should take it.” Getting to her feet she walked a few paces away to take the call.

“I was looking through my photocopies of the Women in White’s spellbook,” Hannah explained after Nancy accepted the call, “and found a spell similar to this red string of fate curse.”

“This isn’t exactly the Women in White’s MO.” The moment she voiced it she knew. “It’s Temperance’s.”

“I was thinking the same thing. She’s changed the spell in some way. To only hex those who haven’t found or confessed to their destined partner. If they have it shows up only as a red mark around their pinky, no infection.”

The red mark showed her dad had met his soulmate, her mom, and even though she was gone she was still his soulmate.

“The bad news does remain the same,” Hannah continued, “when the infection gets to the heart both destined partners die.”

Nancy swallowed hard and looked back at Ace. He was looking back at her. This time when they shared a long moment of eye contact she didn’t avert her eyes. Her heart pounded. “Is there a cure?” Nancy felt her voice crack on the final word.

“Nothing that I’ve found yet, but I’ll keep looking.”

There was no discernable cure. Ace was running out of time. And, because this curse had connected the two of them, so was she.

Nancy thanked Hannah and hung up, gravitating back to Ace, and sitting by his side. She entwined her hands with his cold, clammy ones. Not caring how the goop squelched between their fingers. It had made her feel better when she was at her worst when they were unattaching the wraith from feeding on her life force, and she wanted to show the same compassion to him. The longer they sat there, the worse her symptoms got until she was the same feverish mess that he was.

She held his hand as tight as she could, ignoring all the butterflies fluttering inside her. “This is my fault,” Ace parted his chapped lips to protest but Nancy silenced him. “No, that’s the truth.”

This reminded her of what Hannah had told her back at The Historical Society. Truth has power. Maybe confessing would lessen the curse.

She couldn’t look at him as she spoke instead looking over his shoulder as she recited a modified version of the script she had planned weeks previously. “In New York, I had this dreamscape experience with you at the bluffs. It was -- it was powerful and I felt things. For you. At first, I thought that it was the wraith manipulating how I felt but it wasn’t. I-- I know that now. And, I know you’re with Amanda and I don’t want to ruin that. And, right now I should be my first priority and put relationships on the backburner. And, I know this could risk everything we have, but, I needed -- I needed to tell you.”

Ace was silent, and he removed his hands from hers. Nancy was preparing herself for the worst, for Ace to say that he didn’t want to be friends with her anymore. That she should stay out of his and Amanda’s relationship. She frantically wiped at her eyes, trying to compose herself for what was coming.

“And, you don’t need to reciprocate. You’ve--you’ve become very special to me and I--I can’t lose you.”

“Nancy, slow down,” Nancy looked tearfully into his eyes, stopping her unconscious stream of thought, and he grabbed her hand again. Some of his colour had returned and the dark circles under his eyes weren’t as pronounced. “Amanda broke up with me.

Nancy gulped. “She did what now?” She hadn’t expected this.

“She said I wasn’t all in. And, she’s right. I’m not. So, she stayed behind in Portland.” Ace squeezed their conjoined hands. “And, you’re right too. Your first priority should be yourself right now. You shouldn’t be jumping into a relationship with me or anyone else until you're ready. But, I’m always going to be by your side. Nothing will change that.”

A sudden green smoke filled the room making Nancy and Ace cough. When enough smoke cleared away, and they were able to get a good look at each other, Nancy noticed Ace’s pinky had healed, good as new, and quickly removed her bandages. Except for the line of scratches, it was as if nothing had happened in the first place.

George, Nick, and Bess rushed into the back room, waving the smoke away with their hands that was drifting towards them as it drifted to the kitchen windows.

“What the hell is going on back here?” George said, “We smelled smoke.”

“It’s the tail-end of Temperance’s soulmate curse,” Nancy responded.

When each of her friends looked back at her with confused and shocked expressions she unclasped her hands from Ace’s and stood to face her friends. She had another truth to reveal.

“Temperance is back. She used my blood from her machine to return. Now, she’s somewhere in Horseshoe Bay. Waiting. Trying to learn about me. About us. About this town. So she can destroy it.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Ace said, coming up to join her. “How are we going to kick this bitch out of our house?”

Nancy smiled at him.

Maybe there was something about this soulmate thing after all.

[nightskyye]

Untitled

A/N: This can be read on it's own, or as a part 2 to this fic. They have no connection besides being in the same universe and bughead giving each other notebooks. Post 5x10 btw. For @riverdalepromptathon week 11. Prompts: White, waiting.

The white page stared back at him, blank and never changing. It drew him in, had him sitting by the typewriter for hours upon hours. Jughead remembered when he used laptops, it seemed so long ago. And even though it was easier to send to Sam that way, the ideas came slowly (if at all). They trickled in slower than the time went by, until Jughead felt like ripping his hair to shreds. The files would always be empty, blank and untitled. They would make him stare and stare until he went mad.

He sighed, trudging out of the bunker. Squinting at the sudden exposure of light, he slammed the hatch shut and made his way to Pop’s. Pop’s was a safe haven, it always has been. Because no matter who you were and what you’d done, the Chock 'lit Shoppe was always open. And Jughead had found that all his best ideas came in one of it’s booths, with a burger, a few fries and a milkshake. It’s where The Outcast had been born, it’s where he learnt to write and found his voice.

The bell above the door rang lightly as he stepped into the shop. The air was warm, tinged with the scent of fresh burgers and coffee. He looked around hoping his usual booth was empty. It wasn’t, but he wasn’t particularly disappointed by that fact.

Jughead marched up to the booth, hoping he appeared more confident than he actually was. Betty sat unknowing, lost to the world. He peered over her shoulder, only to find her gruesome case files again. A frown made it’s way to his face as he plopped into the seat opposite her.

He tapped her hand, ‘I thought you were taking a break?’ His words pulled her back to reality, and she blinked at him in confusion.

‘Oh- I was, but I found another lead and-,’ she stopped upon seeing the look on his face. ‘Don’t look at me like that, you haven’t been out of that bunker in three days,’ she scoffed, crossing her arms.

And, yes she was right. But there was a big difference between staying cooped up underground, and repeatedly going over murder cases. Jughead sighed, ‘not that I got anything done.’

Her face softened, ‘writers block?’ Her hands played with his fingers unconsciously, she didn’t notice. But all he wanted to do was lace their hands together, and feel the warmth that radiated from her. He nodded, looking at his shoes, ‘I just keep waiting for the ideas to come, and they never do,’ he rasped.

Betty frowned, her brows curved only slightly. He felt the urge to run a hand along her cheek just so she’d smile.

‘Well, you can’t give up.’

He whipped his head up, that was the last thing he’d expected her to say. To say that his relationship with Betty was confusing at the moment, was an understatement. They were friends, that much he knew. Everything else was just a big blur.

She stood up abruptly, her files splayed across the floor. From the counter Tabitha huffed about scaring away customers. He dropped to the ground helping Betty recover all the files, that other people should be spared from seeing. She hugged them against her chest tightly, and grasped his hand with her other hand. And towed him out of the diner, he followed without a second thought.

~

Sweetwater River was the same as before, nothing much had changed. Besides the bridge, which had broken down and still hadn’t been fixed. He doubted it ever would. Jughead sat next to Betty by the river bank, swinging his legs back and forth. Her hair seemed ablaze under the setting sun, wisps of hair tickled his face. The sky was painted orange and yellow, it had been quite a while since he last saw a scenic view like this.

Jughead licked his lips finally daring to ask the question that plagued his mind, ‘did you bring me here to watch the sunset?’

Betty smiled, ‘kind of.’ She inhaled deeply, ‘isn’t it pretty?’ Her gaze lingered on him, before turning back to the sun. And even though that’s were her eyes were, she herself seemed faraway.

He didn’t say anything and just nodded, still confused about her intentions. Instead he fixed his gaze on her. This wasn’t the Betty he’d seen just a few weeks ago. She’d been doom and gloom back then, looking like she’d pass out at any moment. She looked better now that Polly had been found and was safe. The bags under her eyes had vanished, and she looked much happier.

‘I know first hand that near death experiences can-’ she paused looking at the sky thoughtfully, ‘suck the joy out of life.’ He turned to her, taking her hand without really thinking it over. She dug through her ivory white bag, and emerged with a blank notebook.

‘Here, write down anything that comes to mind,’ she whispered, ‘don’t think too much about it.’ Betty looked so earnest, so genuine. Her eyes shimmered, as he took the notebook.

Jughead flipped through it, unsure weather it would help. ‘It works trust me,’ she assured him. And he found himself wanting to believe her.

So he did, he believed her like she’d believed that he was alive. And the next time he sat down in front of his laptop, the file was no longer named untitled.

[like-romeoandjuliet-love]

Bughead Drabble Challenge June Edition

Day 7: The Pet Platypus

Jughead squints as he comes up behind Betty. She’s writing an article, he knows, that’s she’s been obsessing over for a little over a week. “Are you researching wether you can have a pet platypus?” He laughs softly as jumps, startled.

“I am actually.” She nods, glancing at him. “But not because I want to.”

“Is this what your article is about?” He asks.

“No. It’s related. The article is about the Platypus Anonymous.”

“The...Platypus Anonymous?” He raises an eyebrow.

“It’s what we named it.” She shrugs and then pats the chair next to hers. “I’m trying to solve the mystery, Jug. There’s someone in this world obsessed with asking one question and one question only. “What if you had a pet platypus?” And it has been driving everyone crazy. They’ve sent it everywhere. Even my boss is puzzled. And it’s not just the Times. The Post. Everyone. Even freaking Buzzfeed. They’ve emailed everyone but they don’t respond when we reply.”

“So you want to crack the mystery, huh?”

“I’m sending out a national outcry for whoever this genius is.” She grins. “We’re gonna find the Platypus Anonymous.”

“Maybe it’s Doofenshmirtz.”

“Idiot.” She snorts. “The dedication they have is astounding, honestly. I wanna find them and send them a gift basket.”

He laughs softly. “Platypus Anonymous....you’ve got me hooked.”

•••

For you, Platypus Anon ❤️

[jugandbettsdetectiveagency]

Fluffy Bughead at varchie fancy engagement party where they keep trying to sneak off to be alone please 💗

No matter how many times she sees it, the butterflies in Betty’s stomach never tire of the sight of Jughead in a suit.

The one he’s in now is a far cry from the borrowed, oversized thing that he first turned up to her bedroom in—

(That will always hold a tender place in her heart.)

(That Veronica would kill him for, if Jughead ever attempted to show up to one of her events in something that improperly fitted.)

—but the effect it has is similar all the same. Betty squints against the lowering summer sun, painting the sky the same deep wine purple that is almost certainly coating her lips. Her eyes scan the crowd, finding his immediately, already looking at her and crinkled at the corners.

A gentle bubbling that has nothing to do with the open bar spreads throughout her limbs, dancing towards the tips of her fingers and down to the soles of her feet. Betty could be content to watch him from here, head tipped down in laughter at something Kevin has said, Jughead clapping a hand on his shoulder fondly. The tie she’d wrestled him into just before they’d left the apartment sits in her purse. Several of his shirt buttons are popped against the heat of the evening. Betty scans the skin on view, exhaling heavily into the rim of her glass.

One foot steps towards him, leading her forward on the giddiness of the celebration.

“Hey there, Maid of Honour,” Veronica says, appearing at her elbow, a coyness about her lips. “Enjoying the view, I see.” Her eyes slide in Jughead’s direction.

Betty knows her cheeks are already flushed enough to hide any new colouring. “Yes,” she says pointedly. “This place really is so beautiful, V. I’m so happy for you and Archie.” The chatter of guests is loud, but Betty still hears the contented sigh that slips past Veronica’s lips as they look out over the rolling hills of the hotel gardens. Betty tips her head to rest against hers.

“So am I, B. Nothing has ever felt this right, you know?” Veronica’s eyes are shining in the fading sunset, warm and eager in equal measures.

Betty turns to find Jughead again. He’s closer, caught in Archie’s enthusiastic embrace, and she allows her smile to deepen. Everything settles into place. “I do.”

***

Jughead weaves his way through the dense crowd, one destination in mind.

He’d done what he promised. Several sweeps of the patio—several passes at the buffet table—talking to their friends, and friends of friends. It still doesn’t come easy, but neither does denying those widened green eyes anything.

“Only a few hours… For our best friends, Juggie.”

Like she still needed to convince him.

“Yeah, yeah. I know, I’m not complaining at all.”

And he wasn’t, not really. The warmth in his chest is proof enough of how much he was actually enjoying himself. Here in this setting he never pictured himself in, with people he thought would fade from memory once he passed the threshold of high school for the final time—and it was good.

More than good, he thinks, watching Betty lean her head against Veronica’s from across the way. Her limbs look loose and content, even from here. Several tendrils of her soft updo have come undone in the gentle breeze that passes over them every so often; they catch the setting sun with a golden glow, illuminating the air around her like a halo. Jughead watches the graceful arch of her bent neck, following the smooth expanse until it disappears behind the blush fabric of her dress. Betty’s lips part in a smile and he can’t help but drift closer.

“Hey, bro!” Jughead struggles to right himself, arms now full of a tipsy Archie—he’s uncontrollable at the best of times, but adding alcohol makes Archie about as easy to tame as a new puppy. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

Jughead grins at the happily dazed look on Archie’s face. “Just making the most out of the free food,” Jughead replies, making sure Archie’s on his feet before he lets his arms drop.

“Yeah, sure. Really you just love me. And Ronnie. And Betty. And—” Jughead uses Archie’s hiccup to cut off his declarations with a laugh, deep and from his belly.

“We all love each other, I get it,” he says with a fond shake of his head. “Proud of you, man,” he adds, swallowing thickly.

“Proud of you,” Archie echoes, suddenly looking far more sober. Jughead feels his ears warm, but he smiles.

***

“Do you know how hard I’ve been trying to get close to the prettiest girl in the room all night?”

Betty shivers against the breath at her ear, the low timber of Jughead’s voice rolling down her spine, smooth like whiskey. His arms snake around her body and she lifts her hands to rest against his.

“Let me know when you succeed,” Betty sighs, mischief tinting her smile. She tips her head against his shoulder, letting the firm planes of his body support her, lips seeking. Jughead meets her half way, a delicate brushing of lips that matches the hushed atmosphere of the drawing night. A light moan catches in the back of her throat. Jughead’s arms tighten, sparking goosebumps across her skin.

She turns fully in his embrace, dragging her fingers through the hair at his nape, watching every shade pass through his eyes, intent on her, as they darken. “Crazy that we’re at Veronica and Archie’s engagement party,” Jughead mumbles as they stay locked in a sway. The distant sound of music filters in.

Betty’s brows furrow. “Crazy how?” Her voice is almost a whisper, afraid to disturb the air around them.

Jughead dips forward to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then to her cheek, her temple. “Just that it seemed like we’d never get here somehow. That it was never coming.”

Betty hums, nodding, understanding. “I’m glad though,” Jughead adds after a moment. “We finally got here. Hell of a journey,” he huffs, blinking rapidly against a barrage of memories.

Betty tucks her smile against the crook of his neck before drawing back to look at him again. “You don’t say. But we made it.” She pauses. “It always felt kind of inevitable though, didn’t it? This.” She doesn’t let go to gesture around, sure he’d understand.

“Yeah,” Jughead grins, pulling her impossibly close. “Yeah, it did.”

The kiss he gives her is deep and unhurried, promising so much more when she can peel him out of this suit and let him retrace the maps he’s made of her body over this journey they’ve called life together.

“Home?” she hears him ask when her eyelids begin to droop.

“Home,” she echoes, taking his hand.

[imreallyloveleee]

i am looking through my MANY abandoned fic docs and found that in July 2019 i started writing a speculative s4 fic wherein the core 4 did witness and/or commit a murder (unclear which) and decided the only way to evade suspicion was to set up a fake betty/archie hookup at a party so someone (probably reggie) could catch them in the act and tell everyone and then the core 4 would blow up and go their separate ways...

if anyone’s interested here is what i wrote, may as well share since i’m not going to finish it - the b/a plan is not explicit here, it’s just what was in my mind, this is actually very bughead friendly:

And so they do it.

They burn their clothes, and Jughead’s beanie. They slip their shivering bodies into the swimming hole in silence, one by one. They scrub at their arms, their necks, their faces until their skin aches.

Until the blood is gone, untraceable.

   -

   They graduate. Betty sweats beneath her polyester gown in the midday sunshine, squinting up at the podium as Ethel Muggs gives her valedictorian speech. She throws her cap into the air with the other seniors. She smiles for photo after photo, with people she likes, people she tolerates. She signs yearbooks with a steady hand. She poses with J.B., and tries not to cry when the younger girl loops her skinny arms around Betty’s middle.

She wraps her own arms around the best friends she’s ever had and thinks I love you, I love you, I love you.

She kisses Jughead goodbye in the parking lot, sweet and soft, and says, “I’ll see you tonight.”

   -

   The party is well underway by the time Betty arrives at Reggie’s house. The thump of the bass is so loud she can hear it from the sidewalk, but there’s almost zero chance the cops will show up. Reggie does pretty much whatever he wants now that his father owns a stake in the prison.

Finding Jughead is easy: he’s seated halfway up the staircase, frowning at something on his phone. She settles onto the step beside him and presses a kiss to his cheek.

His eyes soften as he takes her in. “Hey. I missed you.”

Betty’s told him that she wishes he wouldn’t say things like that anymore; they only make it harder. But she presses her nose to his shoulder, then lifts her head, smiles. “We should find Veronica and Archie.”

Their friends are playing beer pong in the backyard, laughing, smiling, shit-talking. Veronica spies them first. “B!” She claps her hands together and waves, Archie’s arm slung over her shoulders.

Archie catches Betty’s eye, and she forces herself to stare back. It’s a look she used to dream about, lying in her bed at night, gazing out her window to the darkened room across the way.

Tonight, it makes her stomach hurt.

It takes only as long as they lock eyes for her to make a decision. “Let’s go,” she says into Jughead’s ear, her voice low as she tugs on his hand.

His brow creases. “That’s not part of the plan.”

“I don’t care.” She can feel the panic beginning to rise tight in her throat, tries to swallow it down. “It’s early. We can come back, I just – I don’t want to be here. I don’t want us to be here.”

His thumb sweeps a slow circle against her palm as he looks back to their friends. Archie and Veronica are fully focused on their game again, Archie’s tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he aims his next shot. They’re both so much better than her at playing pretend.

Jughead squeezes her hand in acquiescence. “Where do you want to go?”

   -

   He drives them to a spot along the banks of the Sweetwater, just a mile or so north of town, where they’ve had picnics, spent afternoons stretched out on a blanket, reading in the sun. (There are so few places they have left with only good memories attached.)

They make their way to the water’s edge hand in hand, and slip off their shoes, letting their feet dangle into the water. It’s too cold, but Betty forces herself to keep her feet beneath the surface. To keep feeling.

Her hair is loose around her shoulders tonight, and Jughead tucks a piece behind her ear, his fingers warm where they brush against her neck. “What are we doing here, Betty?”

      She nearly laughs. Everything, every single fucking thing has been wrong since that night in the woods. And there’s no end to it in sight. Just the rest of their lives, unfolding along roads they never meant to take.

Met with her silence, he tries again. “What are we doing here?”

She thinks it should be obvious. Maybe it is.

“I don’t want to do it, Jug,” she admits, her voice a near-whisper. “I don’t want to leave you.”

His hand falls heavy on her shoulder. “Betts…”

“What if we left?” She twists around, to where his motorcycle sits, about a hundred paces behind them. “What if we just ran away?”

Jughead drags his hands down his face. “Then we look suspicious. Then everybody wonders why Betty and Jughead disappeared on graduation night instead of going off to college like they planned. Then Archie and Veronica are left to fill in the blanks.”

She knows he’s right. She knew what he’d say before he even said it. They’ve been through it a million times, the four of them, teasing out every possible course of action to its logical, probable end. They’ve agreed: the only solution is the first one, the one that sprung to Betty’s mind as she stood half-naked in a clearing in Fox Forest, her bloodstained hands trembling as she shed her clothes and fed them to the fire.

But now it’s actually happening, and she feels like she can’t breathe.

“What if we just waited?” She shakes her head, stares out across the water. “It doesn’t have to be tonight. There’ll be other parties.”

“Then we risk losing our shot.” His fingertips find her chin, nudging gently. “Betty, look at me.”

She does.

“I love you.”

[go-ldy]

Riverdale 4x18

Greetings from rainy Canada where Riverdale airs a day later. Please accept my belatedly thrown together post-ep thoughts:

We opened with some quality Smith-Cooper-Jones family time watching the masked Betty and Jughead snuff film. Cool bonding exercise!! I’ll take it though, I love when this family hangs out. I wish RD would just give me a whole episode of the Smith-Cooper-Jones family having awkward dinners together and navigating the hallway as each couple goes to their respective rooms but instead I get tickle porn. Fine.

Look, this BA narrative was poorly constructed and unearned. But I can at least buy into the idea that Betty has nostalgia over what she and Archie could have been or might have had on the eve of graduating and everything changing. The thing that I CANNOT understand no matter how much I tilt my head and squint? Flat-out turning down a chance to investigate the voyeur tapes because she doesn’t do “mysteries” anymore. WHAT. SINCE WHEN.  The only thing I got is that she was actively trying to avoid Jughead because she felt guilty being around him + wanted to spend time with Archie to sort out what was going on and it wasn’t about the mysteries at all, but beyond that... I got nothing.  

I cannot abide by the way that these kids always have their shoes on the bed. Look, I have a thing in general about people wearing shoes in the house (WHY DO PEOPLE WEAR SHOWS INSIDE IT IS LITERALLY SO EASY TO TAKE SHOES OFF), but seeing Betty and Archie multiple times this episode wear shows on a bed was TOO much for me as if I was not uncomfortable enough already.

Little Betty and Archie were so precious but after all that build up there was like 60 seconds devoted to the flashbacks? Max? Anyway it was cute.

"That’s maybe even, dare I say, endgame?” Wait, if Betty and Jughead are now “endgame” can @shinyopals still taunt me with the fact that Barchie was called "endgame" in the Pilot? Or are the scales equal now. Discuss.

Actually for a while there I thought Riverdale had finally retired the word "endgame" but they were just saving it up to whip it out in a context I wouldn't hate. And you know what good for them. Other writing teams may feel that the word “endgame” was permanently ruined by the Avengers, but Riverdale is out there still trucking along and using it unironically whenever it can.

DESTROYED ME that Betty interrupted Archie mid song like she tried to be patient but after 30 seconds decided she immediately had to put a stop to it.

I don’t really have much more to say about where this all went - like it was kind of along the lines of speculation? And it seems even clearer now that this whole plot was done to scatter the Core Four before the time jump. For me at least I feel like I can understand enough about where Betty was coming from to square this in my head and enjoy the next few months following the hiatus before Riverdale comes back and ruins everything again.

I will say that this episode did Varchie and Veronica real dirty. I felt like the BA narrative, such as it was, was more or less told from Betty’s POV. Like we know that she was on a nostalgia trip and then actively rejected that in favour of being with Jughead and what she has with Jughead. But I honestly have no idea where Archie’s head is. He says he loves Veronica, but like meanwhile he was writing Betty a love song and ready to... idk start an affair? Leave their partners to be together? There was no real affirmation that he loves Veronica and wants to let Betty go. So are we to take away that he is still interested in Betty while staying with his girlfriend? I really don't know and I am upset on Veronica's behalf, it’s pretty gross especially as she was shunted off to the side to have go round # 1000 with Hiram. sigh.

Oh my god are we done with the tickle porn plotline now can we be done please when I said I wanted Toni to have a plotline that didn’t involve Cheryl, never in my wildest imaginings did I want this.

I’m glad that the Bughead Sex Tape came back, news of its demise came too soon. Also I am dubious at Ethel that she only watched a few seconds and that she then kept it to spare Betty & Jughead’s dignity like she also could’ve brought it to them, girl. PONYTAIL PLAYMATE THOUGH XD XD XD o m g

[fitzwilliamsdarcy]

For the fake dating prompts: I'll buy you coffee if you hold my hand with Bughead

It was a hot chocolate kind of morning. Extra dollop of whipped cream and a generous sprinkling of sugared cocoa on top for good measure. Betty sighed in anticipation as the queue moved forward and she was one step closer to getting her sugar fix.

The coffee shop was busy for a Sunday morning.

Most customers didn’t bother coming in until the mid-morning sun had warmed the pavement and the city was bustling with the brunch rush, but the dreary summer rain had forced the early risers to seek cover and an extra helping of caffeine.

She counted how many people there were standing between her the counter (six), scrolled absentmindedly through her Instagram feed, thumbing the like button on random photos of pets (three), carefully lit selfies (nine), and uninspired inspirational quotes (twelve).

The queue moved again (five).

She didn’t notice him until a pair of black boots came to stand in front of her. Her downcast eyes traveled up until they met those of a stranger. Dark hair, sharp features, an ambivalent smile. Oh.

She blinked. “Yes?”

“This is going to sound really odd, and I apologize, but I really need to ask for a favor.”

He kept his voice purposely low and she had to strain to hear him. She moved closer to him.

His motorcycle jacket was faded from use, more dark gray than black and fraying at the sleeves. Betty wondered it felt as soft and it looked.

He looked around discreetly before reaching for something in his back pocket. It was a police badge. Detective Jones.

“What can I do for you, detective?”

“I’ll buy you a coffee if you hold my hand?” He phrased it as a question, smile turning sheepish as he pocketed his badge and raked his fingers through his hair.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m on a job. Undercover. There’s a suspect coming into this coffee shop in about 5 minutes and I need to blend in,” he explained. “Please?”

Betty, law-abiding citizen that she was, was more than happy to help. The fact that detective Jones was handsome and had a certain air of mystery about him had nothing to do with it and she was prepared to swear by it in a court of law.

“Sure,” she agreed, holding out her hand, much to detective Jones’ noticeable relief. “But just so you know, I’m not skimping on my order.”

His hand engulfed hers, fingers wrapping tightly, but not uncomfortably, around her own. His palm was cool and slightly callused.

“Do your worst, Miss—?”

“Cooper. Betty.”

“Well, Miss Cooper Betty, I believe your noble service entitles you to the most elaborate, sugary drink in this joint.”

He squinted his eyes at the menu hanging on the wall above the counter.

“How about a… triple chocolate caramel mocha, or in layman’s terms, diabetes in a cup?”

Betty laughed, which pleased him. He had a way of showing emotion through his eyes, while keeping his overall expression reserved. It intrigued her.

“I’d rather keep my teeth cavity-free. A regular hot chocolate will do.”

He nodded. There was an ease to this simple back and forth that unwound some of the tension in Betty’s shoulders. He squeezed her hand almost imperceptibly.

Betty was about to ask him what his drink of choice was when a faraway look settled over his face. His body tended and he cocked his head to the side as if he were listening to a parallel conversation. An ear piece. Betty scanned the area to ensure that no one was paying them any undue attention.

“Copy,” he muttered, masking it with fake yawn.

“I’m sorry, there’s been a change of plans.”

The look he gave her was apologetic and Betty felt the sharp bite of disappointment somewhere in her chest. They had reached the front of the queue and a bored looking barista was waiting to take their order.

“Whatever the lady wants, keep the change.” He handed over a ten dollar bill. To Betty, he said, “the suspect is going somewhere else.”

“Oh,” Betty nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

Detective Jones frowned. “You were great, I’m sorry I hijacked your morning.”

“Happy to help.”

An impasse. Time trickled by.

(Three.)

(Four.)

(Five seconds.)

“I have to go,” he smiled, unmoving.

“Go,” she smiled, holding on to his hand.

Someone shouted instructions into his ear piece and they broke apart. Betty squeezed her empty hand, trying to retain some of the warmth.

His feet carried him backwards away from her.

(One.)

(Two.)

(Three steps.)

“Don’t go getting into trouble, Miss Cooper, or I’ll have to arrest you sometime.”

Betty smirked. “Is that a promise?”

He laughed. It delighted her.

“Oh, you can bet on it.”

Finally, Detective Jones turned and pulled out the beanie he had poking out of his pocket, shoving it down to cover his ears. Such a good look. It softened the overall harshness of the all-black ensemble and made him look younger.

He turned back around just before reaching the front door.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Betty nodded. Wiggled her fingers. Smiled.

“I might even let you hold my hand for free.”

Now on AO3

[finalfrontierpioneer]

2019 Fic Recs

To celebrate the end of 2019 (and also to procrastinate on my own fics!), I figured I’d round up 19 of my favorite fics of the year! Now, to be clear, these were all written (at least partly) during 2019, and they’re all complete. But that’s like all they have in common. They’re from random fandoms and some are def explicit and they’re in no particular order, but mostly it’s Riverdale lmao. Bc i’m trash and i ain’t ashamed.

Starting out with the Riverdale here babyyy:

Things unrequited by Bearfacedcheek

New Veronica, new type?

Set after S01E01 Veronica decides that Jughead Jones is the perfect antidote to all the bad romantic and moral choices she always seems to make. But making Jughead hers doesn't prove as straight forward a task as she expects

No peace nor rest by Bearfacedcheek

They're not stupid. They know there's no peace in revenge. But the sight of Betty and Archie together makes them stupid and whisky makes them weak, so they take the only revenge they can.

Set post 2x08 Betty and Archie enter a relationship, leaving Jughead and Veronica heartbroken and a night of drunken revenge sex morphs into something far more complicated.

have i been too discreet? by partyhardy

In which Betty realizes she slowly watched Jughead fall for Veronica. 

keep telling myself i'm not the desperate type by Krewlak

The new kid at school argues with Veronica and it sparks something inside of Jughead. 

Supporting Characters by torombolo

Maybe this was inevitable, Jughead thought, staring at the couple in front of him. He spared a glance at Veronica. From the look on her face, she thought the same thing. Betty and Archie. Archie and Betty. Perfect. The American Dream.

“Fine,” the dark-headed girl had told him, “I’m fine.”

“Me too,” he said convincingly. Whether he was trying to convince her or himself he wasn’t sure.

But Darling, Who Ever Said That Love Was Fair? by bothromeoandjuliet

There is no room for blood and thorns in the bubblegum scented word that was Betty Cooper's life, and both Jughead and Veronica know it. But that doesn't mean that they can help what they are or what they feel. Only, nothings fair in love and friendship. 

Hindsight, As They Say, Is Twenty-Twenty by bothromeoandjuliet

Betty's always wondered why Jughead Jones broke up with her, and now, eight years after the fact, she finally gets her answer. (A one shot/drabble ft. past!bughead, and past!veggie, with a healthy dose of jeronica sprinkled all the way through.) ((Also I manage to write fluff that doesn't just turn to angst!)) (((So thats exciting)))

Some Stucky:

This Side of the Blue by notlucy

Tucked against a set of crumbling, stone steps was a tank made of metal and glass, filled to the brim with greenish water, distorted sunlight filtering through and casting strange shadows. Playing tricks on the eye. A trick was the only explanation for what Steve saw floating there. This figment of his childhood. This myth. This legend.

Within the tank, the siren bared its teeth.

Paper Tree by Ellessey

Bucky just laughs and shoves another bite of egg in his mouth, giving Steve a shrug and a full-cheeked smile. He's so damn cute Steve wants to shout at him, but he can't seem to say any of the right things. "Shoulda got you a comb for Christmas," is what he comes up with instead.

"What did you get me?"

It's Steve's turn to shrug now, and if he looks more terrified than cheeky as he does so, he can only hope Bucky doesn't catch it before Steve hurries out the door.

--

On December first, Steve wraps up a letter for Bucky and sets it under their Christmas tree. Now he has twenty-four days left to figure out how to tell Bucky what he wrote, face to face.

Political Animals by crinklefries, Deisderium

Okay, so the real problem is that you shouldn’t fuck your arch-rival, political enemy, and the person you loathe the most in the world where you work. Or like, at least, you shouldn’t keep doing that.

But okay, the thing that Descartes or whoever didn’t know was that Steve really tries, but Bucky Barnes has a mouth that should probably constitute an eighth sin or something.

Jesus fucking Christ, Sam’s going to kill him.

(or—Steve’s best friend is the U.S. Constitution and he can’t seem to stop fucking a hot Republican. They shouldn’t fall in love, but somehow they do. That’s it, that’s the fic.)

like heaven stood up in you by napricot

“You said you were gonna miss him,” says Bruce slowly. “He was supposed to be back in five seconds, but you hugged him and said ‘I’m gonna miss you.’”

Bucky’s face is serene again now, and gives nothing away. “I know Steve,” he repeats. “You think you can hand him a time machine and some rocks of unspeakable power and he’s just gonna go put ‘em right back where they belong?”

Steve does put the Infinity Stones right back where they belong. He just does a couple other things too. Or: three timelines and a Reverse Time Heist.

Drive It Like You Stole It: A Bodyswap by AggressiveWhenStartled

Steve had gone fully red-faced with pedantic altar-boy fury. “Did your computer forget how to Google translate?” he bellowed, sticking his head up and over. Bucky yanked him down again. “What are you even trying to say?”

Bucky tried to shake the sparkles off the grenade he had been planning on lobbing over the divider. “It sounded like Latin to me,” he said reasonably, pursing his lips and frowning at the explosive. It dripped a sparkle, and a puff of purple smoke curled up where it hit the concrete.

“That’s because you spent Sunday school flirting with Sarah Cunningham,” Steve accused, bobbing back up to throw his shield and ducking back down to dodge a shining ball of blue light. “You wouldn’t know Latin if it came up and kissed you on your ugly mug.”

“I’d sure know it if Sarah Cunningham did, though.” Bucky grinned, struck by the memory. “That gal really knew what she was doing.”

Some DC stuff (Halbarry):

Iconoclast by the_mythologist

When an alien race’s covert invasion and assassination spree decimates the Supercommunity, the survivors must band together to defeat against an unseen, invincible enemy. With many of their greatest heroes off-world or dead, the remnants of the Justice League, Teen Titans, Birds of Prey, Batfamily, and a few unaffiliated ‘heroes’ are all that stand in the way between the ‘Iconoclasts’ and Earth’s annihilation.

John Constantine is most unamused.

Slowing Down by Cinderstrato

It hadn’t been long after they first met before Barry began to suspect, in a vaguely-formed way, that it would be easy to fall in love with Hal.

sweating out a hot day by magnetocent

it's a hot day, but barry decides it's not hot enough 

Okay now some one-offs from random fandoms/pairings:

Off The Record by crookedswingset

Peter Parker is a corporate lackey whose sole job is to root out problem executives who waste Oscorp’s money and time. Wade Wilson is a reserve Avenger on the hunt for a prize even Iron Man couldn’t nail down: the real identity of everyone’s favorite webhead.

Too bad most people think Spider-Man is Harry Osborn.

Stars Beneath His Skin by ElloPoppet

On the white piece of paper was a smattering of small, black dots. McCoy turned the paper, in search of a pattern or alignment of some kind but not finding even a trace. The dots appeared to be drawn at random or rather, McCoy noticed as he squinted, printed. He looked up at where Spock was standing over him and returned a cocked eyebrow of his own.

“If you need help cracking some kind of code, this isn’t exactly my specialty, genius.”

Rather than banter back, Spock responded immediately and smoothly. “It is not a code. That is the alignment of stars that would have been visible in the night sky from Earth should one have been standing at the coordinates where my Mother was born at the moment of the occurrence.” Silence blanketed the room, McCoy not having a goddamn clue how to respond to that. Luckily, Spock wasn’t finished.

“I wish to memorialize her with what most races would call a tattoo, and I would like your help with the matter.”

Too Close To Love You by stylescoalition 

Aleks used to have a big crush on Brett but he doesn’t anymore, which is great considering they work together, on top of being good friends (suuuper lit). Now, Aleks is going to be living with Brett in LA until he finds a place of his own, but just because he isn’t crushing on Brett doesn’t mean that Brett isn’t crushing on him. Suffice to say, it makes things complicated… except it really isn’t as complicated as they think. 

drawn to wilder nights by detectivemeer

Scott and Derek start a frenemies-with-benefits relationship, and it goes about as well as one would expect.