#but i feel like that implies that it would be more titillating than i plan on it being

[gamebunny-advance]

@gamebunny-bunsout

After much deliberation, I've decided to start a mature side blog. I've been wanting to post some of my more "crass" material without censoring it or putting it on this otherwise general blog, so I made this blog.

There's nothing there right now (and there might not be for a while), and I dunno if I'm gonna put any of my old material there, but any new dick jokes or otherwise sexually inclined material is going to go there from now on.

That said, this is a mature blog, so only follow if you're 18+ please.

[slugtranslation-hypmic]

What're your thoughts on everyone's MC names? Or maybe your ratings out of 10?

This is going to be a roasting session because I do not have high opinions of any of them.

Buster Bros - B.B., M. B., and L. B. These all get one bullet point because they are pretty much the same thing. Therefore their score will be cut into thirds for each Bro. Unfortunately, that score is not going to be high because the creativity level on this set of names is just about negative. A lot of the MC names are based on kanji readings or other things in Japanese that I’m sure I would find incredibly clever if I didn’t understand English. Unfortunately, I do, so characters named “First Son”, “Second Son”, and “Third Son” going by “Big Brother”, “Middle Brother”, and “Little Brother” utterly fail to impress me. Rating: 1 out of 10 (1/3 out of 10 for each)

Samatoki - Mr. Hardcore Oh, he’s trying. Samatoki feels like one of those people who tries so hard to prove how badass and tough he is while I’m loudly yelling from the sideline, “You’re doing great, sweetie! Tell your little friends we have Capri Suns and fruit snacks when you’re done with your playdate!” A perfect man child. Rating: Nemu’s secondhand embarrassment out of 10

Juuto - 45 Rabbit This one feels really impersonal. The 45 is from one of the Yokohama telephone area codes (afaik) and the rabbit is from the kanji for rabbit in his name. It doesn’t tell me anything about Juuto’s personality, though. I feel like MTC probably all had animal names once upon a time before they realized that “bush warbler” (Riou) and “horse” (Samatoki) aren’t exactly the most intimidating of titles. I mean... it’s okay. Could be worse. Rating: 4 out of 10

Riou - Crazy M This one confuses the hell out of me. Why, out of the entire cast, did they give the title “crazy” to the character who most strongly resembles a grandma? I also find it bizarre that they chose to honor the “M” from his middle name, but I think the writers at Hypmic are so titillated by the concept of middle names that they don’t know how to handle them responsibly. Rating: ??? out of 10

Ramuda - Easy R I really dislike this one for no good reason, but it does imply the existence of a “Hard R” which is very useful for making infantile jokes. Rating: 69 out of 10

Gentarou - Phantom This one isn’t bad. I think it’s a bit of an odd choice in English, but I completely understand where it comes from in Japanese. I’m assuming they wanted the word 幻影 which means an illusion or a vision. It fits with his whole theme and Fling Posse’s theme as a whole, so I’ll give it to them. Rating: 8 out of 10

Dice - Dead or Alive Outside of an 80′s British pop band, I have no idea what this name is supposed to make me think of. Perhaps it’s foreshadowing for the dark turn the FP storyline takes later on...? This is another odd one. I’d like to imagine that Dice and Riou came up with their MC names together while absolutely hammered, and when their teammates went, “Really?” they were at that point too hungover to think of anything better. Rating: ??? out of 10

Jakurai - illDoc When I was first doing the job interview for my current job a few years back, I had to listen as my now-boss, a white, old, upper-middle class, absolutely disillusioned about everything old codger, called himself “the OG” to my face. “It means Old Guy,” he told me. I smiled and nodded, because I wanted money, and in the meantime I wondered who the fuck called him an “original gangster” and then never properly explained what it meant. This is the exact same way I feel about this name, but Jakurai doesn’t pay me, so I can say whatever the hell I want about his tenuous grasp of slang. Rating: God no out of 10

Hifumi - GIGOLO Appropriately for Hifumi, I am of two minds about this. On the one hand, I hate it. On the other hand, Hifumi’s name is written as “1 2 3″ in kanji, and “jigoro” is pronounced as “4 5 6″, so that is very clever. Rating: 7 out of 8

Doppo - DOPPO I hate this one so much. I seriously wonder if this is a leftover relic from very early planning sessions where Gentarou was a part of Matenrou or something. (I say this because “Doppo” would be fine for an author character, as many classical authors are referred to by their given names. But it makes no sense for an office worker.) I have no idea what the point of this is. He didn’t even try. I headcanon that Hifumi wrote it down on their DRB entry forms as “Doppo-chin”, Doppo saw it last minute, and barely had the time to change it or come up with anything better. Rating: 0 out of 10

Sasara - Tragic Comedy This is a nice little reference to Sasara’s backstory and his inner monologue. It’s cute, if a little ham-fisted. Rating: 7 out of 10

Roshou - Wisdom Ugggggh. This is the most math teacher thing I have ever heard. I can imagine no less than three of my coworkers trying to choose some variation of this name if we were tasked to give ourselves MC names. He lives on teacher Facebook. I just know it. Rating: C- out of 10

Rei - Mastermind I think this is too on-the-nose to be clever, but I do really like the in-universe implications of him very casually calling himself that in public. Just throwing out to the world that he can make Chuuouku do whatever he wants. That’s a power move, and I respect that. Rating: 9 out of 10

Kuukou - Evil Monk Like Gentarou’s, I can tell what they were going for, but they kind of missed the mark in English. Kuukou is sometimes called a “bad monk”, but I think that’s more because he’s bad at being a monk in some respects (like not swearing every five minutes). It’s appropriately stupid for him, though, and I love it. Rating: 10 out of 10

Juushi - 14th Moon Someone really likes the number 14, huh. Rating: 14 out of 100

Hitoya - Heaven & Hell This is literally his name. He stuck an “and” between his surname and his given name and called it a day. Are you kidding me? I know lawyers are too busy to waste a lot of time on shit, but come on. You did not even try. This is so lazy it doesn’t even deserve a rating.

[a-simple-imagine]

Misunderstandings

Requested by anonymous: The whole school knows you’re planning to go to Hogsmeade and rumors of who you’ll be asking to go with you spread fare and wide. But things don’t quite go to plan and so instead you find yourself studying all weekend and a very determined and apologetic Hermione Granger following you around

Pairing: Hermione Granger x fem!reader

Words: 2.2k+

A/N- The more stories I write about Hermione, the less confident I feel. I always feel like there is something missing or they’re getting worse but alas, I do hope that whoever requested this does it enjoy it. 

Warnings - Prejudice, minor bullying 

The sound of childhood giggles and idle conversations echoed through the corridors of Hogwarts school. Hiking Pansy Parkinson further up your back, you charge through the sea of students; first years and fifth years alike also on their way to have dinner in the great hall. Slipping between them with surprising grace as you raced an invisible clock.

"Times running out" your fellow Slytherin whispers in your ear. Had it not been for sharing a dorm room, you probably wouldn't be friends with Pansy. She had never been the nicest of girls to pretty much anyone who wasn't in her immediate circle of friends. And her friends were also stuck-up purebloods who thought they were better than everyone else.

"We're nearly there," you choke out, Pansy's arm pressing dangerously tight against your neck. "You're just heavy."

"I am not," she growls playfully earning herself a giggle. A glorious smell titillates your tastebuds signaling you're almost at your goal. This race was as good as won and you couldn't wait to rub it in Pansy's smug little face. Proving once and for all that you were strong and could carry her from the dungeons to the great hall without dropping her.

"Stop!" Busted. You come to an abrupt stop almost smashing into two Gryffindor boys who had also thought the instructions were for them. "Put down Miss Parkinson, please." Pansy slips down off your back and you both turn to see A displeased Professor McGonagall staring back. "If I find either of you running around the corridors with reckless abandon again I will take points from Slytherin house, do you understand?"

"Yes," You both bow your heads as a sign of apology mumbling out a quick Sorry Professor. Scurrying off around the corner and out of sight of the dread teacher, Pansy immediately jumps up onto your back and you continue your journey. It's a little clumsier this time, students harder to avoid as they move together like a herd of sheep. Slowing down as you reach your destination, Pansy shoves a little Slytherin to the floor. In her defense, the girl was in the way but Parkinson didn't have to be so rough. Making a mental note to apologise later, you drop the girl at the threshold but not without strangling you a little on the way down. One hand runs over the delicate skin of you neck, as the other shoots up in celebration. "I am triumphant,"

With a less than favourable look, the Raven-haired Slytherin's head shakes slowly. "You dropped me."

"Yeah but only because McGonagall made me," you protest, arms falling. "so it doesn't count."

"It does count." You shove her forward, watching her stumble into the hall as you follow behind.

"It does not- that's not fair," Pansy looks back to you with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. It was a look you knew all too well. She was trying to get a rise out of you.

"You dropped me," Her hands connect to your side, pushing you back. "So you lose. Just face facts that you're a loser,"

The argument falls short at the sound of your name. With a roll of your eyes, you're met by two giddy students you didn't know. One was short with long blond hair and ugly wide framed glasses. She was still wearing her Raven claw robe. The other was taller than her friend but still short; her brunette hair was pulled into a messy bun and she had a badger clip keeping stray strands at bay. You reckon they're first or second years. Either that or you're more ignorant than once thought. "What's up?"

"Word around the school is that you're going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" The little Ravenclaw spoke first. Pansy comes up behind you, slumping an arm around your shoulder. The two girls backed up just a little.

"Who told you that?" You wonder. The whole school always seemed to know your business. The two of them giggle between themselves.

"It was Hannah," the Hufflepuff blurts out; at least you assume that's her house.

"Hufflepuff Hannah?" You ask and they nod. You didn't know a lot of Hufflepuff's personally but Hannah was one you'd come across more than once.

"She also said you're planning to ask someone," your heart stops. "The forbidden one?"

"We think it's Harry Potter," The blonde comments and you relax a little. Of course, they would assume it was Harry of all people. "I mean he is the chosen one after all. And for him to be with a Slytherin? well, that would shock everyone,"

"Yeah," her little Hufflepuff friend agrees. "Apparently Harry wanted nothing to do with Slytherin when he first came here."

You chuckle; exchanging an amused look with Pansy. "I am going to Hogsmeade yeah but not with Potter- now if you'll excuse us."

Removing her arm, you pull Parkinson away before the conversation can continue. "So you like potter?"

"No," you shake your head. "At least not in that way. I'm not going to Hogsmede with him if that's what you're getting at."

"You can just admit it- I won't tell anyone."

"Yes you will," It'd be stupid to trust Pansy with information like that before telling the forbidden one yourself. "You'll tell everyone," With an extra hard shove, she stumbles into none other than Draco Malfoy. He was someone you had trouble getting along with. Before you get an earful, you slip into the crowd and make your way to the Gryffindor table while Pansy deals with the spoilt rich kid.

"Hey Hermione," Her name drifts from your lips as you slide in next to her. Her brown hair was pulled up into a bun and she had her head buried deep in a book; her brow crinkled adorably as she focuses.  "Ron," you nod your head towards him as he takes a bite of sausage. And then you turn to the most famous wizard you would probably ever know. "And... don't tell me... it begins with an H... Henry Porter right?"

"We were just talking about your," Ron announces.

"All good things I hope- I'm not crushing on the chosen one."

"What brings you here?" There is a chill behind her voice, once that suggested you weren't welcome. You didn't read too much into it, she probably just didn't want you to disturb her.

"She's allowed to sit with us Hermione," Ron jumps to your defense.

"I'm going to Hogsmeade this week and I was thinking, that maybe we could go together? If you want to like?" You grab a goblet and begin pouring yourself a drink. "I mean Hermione by the way. Not you, Ron- No offence or Henry over there."

"You know my name is Harry,"

"Is it? my bad, I'm awful with names." It was always fun messing with the chosen one. Everyone knew who he was, he was a legend after all although he wasn't all that impressive up close.

"I can't," Hermione states firmly drawing all attention to her as she snaps her book shut. "I have to study for our upcoming potions test. Considering some of the grades you've received since returning, I would advise you to do less gallivanting and more studying."

You had never gotten the best grades but you were in no way failing and for her to suggest such a thing was a little mean. "You know what?  you're right, maybe I will hit the books instead."

"We could-"

"I'll see if Cho is free this weekend," you suggest, slapping your hands against the table and rising to your feet. "She's really smart."

"Cho Chang?" Harry perks up. You wonder how many other people he knew with the name Cho to ask such a silly question.

"Harry's got a massive crush on her," Ron snidely adds, struggling to hold back his devilish bark of laughter.

"Seriously," Cho Chang was arguably way out of his league but it was still amusing. "I can't really blame you, she is cute. I'll put in a good word for you." And with that, you take your leave.

Cho Chang was an older, well known Ravenclaw. Beautiful and with a heart of gold. The two of you had become pretty good friends since your first year and her second so it was no surprise that she agreed to help you out.

Study hall was the bane of your existence. It was almost always incredibly boring and you found sitting in complete silence with a bunch of other students rather awkward. Today you were working alongside Cho as she takes you step by step through the Goblin Rebellions.

"Can I have a word?" The tapping on your shoulder was from Hermione, who you briefly glance at before turning back to your work.

"What?"

"I just... can we talk in private?"

"Why?" You bite back quietly.

Please?" With a heavy sigh, you apologise to Cho and follow Hermione. She takes you far enough away from the hall as to not disturb anyone.

"Well?" You huff, leaning against the wall.

"I wanted to apologise for the other day,"

"You're gonna have to be more specific?"

"You're not a bad student by any means," Her gaze drops to the floor. "I should not have brushed you off the way I did."

"It's whatever," you shrug. "Is that all? I have studying to do."

"No," she answered quickly, you meet the uncertainty in her eyes. "...when I said you should study too I didn't think you'd ask Chang."

"Why do you care who I study with?" You sound more defensive than intended. "You didn't want to hang out anyway."

"That's not true," Hermione mumbles softly. "I was kinda hoping to study together but you were so quick on the defensive-"

"Because you basically called me stupid when all I did was ask you out."

"That's not entirely accurate," Hermione fires back. "I never called you stupid."

"You implied it," you growl. "so sorry I'm not smart enough for you,"

"You know I didn't mean it like that

"Do I?" You ask. "I'd invite you to study with us but we're probably not on your level." Without giving her a chance to reply, you walk away.

"Everything okay?" Cho asks as you return to the table.

"Just dandy," You offer her a smile, sitting back down beside her and picking up your quill. "Shall we continue?"

The following Friday, you walk into the great hall alongside Millicent and Pansy; listening to Parkinson drone on about how funny it was to watch a first-year fall flat on their face. Sitting down, you chat idly when Hermione takes a seat next to Pansy who looks nothing short of disgusted. Shoving Crabbe further up the bench so she could move away from her. "Are you avoiding me?"

"What makes you think that?" You don't bother looking at her as you take a sip of water.

"We don't want dirty witches like you here," Pansy spat.

"Don't worry Pans, you won't catch anything," You never understood her distaste for muggle-borns.

"I apologised so can we go back to being friends or something?"

"You want to be friends with someone like me?"

"I'm sorry okay," she blurts out. "Really sorry."

"This is kinda sad to watch." Millicent comments. "Didn't you like her not too long ago?"

"Yeah until The mudblood called her stupid, keep up."

"Pansy," you growl, shooting her a glare. "Don't call her that,"

"I'm going to Hogsmeade this weekend, maybe we could go together like you wanted?" Hermione suggested abruptly drawing the attention back. "Ron explained what you actually meant when you invited me. He also seems perplexed that you aren't in love with Harry."

"Him and just about everyone else at this school," you chuckle. "why would you want to go with me?"

"Because I... I like you,"

Pansy and Millicent snicker to themselves and you can't help but smile. "I'm sorry I didn't quite hear that."

"I like you,"

"You what?" You ask loudly; forging confusion.

"I..." The red of her cheeks betrayed all her attempts to act like this wasn't embarrassing for her. But after what happened last week, she kind of deserves it. "Like you too okay? When you invited me I thought it was no big deal not that you wanted to go on a date." She practically shouts, surprising you and everyone else who had decided to listen in on the conversation. "You don't have to come with me, it's... fine."

She scampers you her feet and tried to walk away.

"Hermione," you call out. The girl comes to a stop, turning back to you. She can't look you in the eye, it was almost sweet. "We should go together."

Your friends are struggling I hold back their laughter so you elbow Millicent in the side. "Really? you're not mad anymore?"

"Never was," You admit although it wasn't entirely true. I'm the moment it had but you quickly got over it's "it wasn't a big deal. I just like pushing your buttons."

"Okay. Well- great then," she coughs awkwardly. "So Saturday then? Yeah."

It's like Hermione can't get away fast enough. Perhaps she was worried if she stayed around much longer you'd change your mind or maybe she just wanted to get away from your awful friends. "So you're really going with Hermione of all people,"

"I am," you nod, your lips curled up in a triumphant smile. "And I wouldn't have it any other way so shut up and eat your food, Pansy."

[thewebcomicsreview]

Homestuck 2 has updated! Christmas is ruined!

Previously, on Homestuck 2: Literally nothing happened, and a non-trivial portion of the patreon supporters gave up and quit. Can this update pull a Christmas miracle and right the sinking ship of Homestuck 2? Probably not, but let’s find out! 

We’re back in Candyland, having completely skipped over Karkat and John talking about Dave’s apparent death, because this comic is only interested in long conversations when they’re boring and not about anything at all. That’s alright, I got the gist of it.

When Karkat is finally gone, John still doesn’t move. It isn’t as though he has nowhere else to go, since there are quite a few places he might attempt to make himself useful, for better or for worse.

So, it appears to be morning now, meaning that John’s son has been missing in a war zone for almost 24 hours and I guess John literally forgot Harry existed?

Prediction: This conversation is going to end in some variant of “Where is our son?” “Oh shit!”

ROXY: hey john can u do me a quick solid

ROXY: actly idk how quick itll be but its definitely solid

ROXY: harry anderson says i just missed u being here but could u skip back on over?

What.

So, I went back and checked, and apparently nowhere is it explicitly said that Harry Anderson was also looking for the Vriskas, so I guess he....stayed home? Which makes sense, I suppose, but maybe a “Stay here I’ll go look for them” would’ve helped. I wasn’t the only one who thought Harry was out looking for Vriska too. 

ROXY: sup

ROXY: follow me

ROXY: well were just going to my room so i guess technically u know the way

JOHN: haha ok.

John follows, trying to shake the ominous feeling he got from what she’d just said. He’d been in and out of this house a lot in the past few days. Why should this be any different?

Is Roxy....horny? Is the solid she’s looking for John’s dick? I mean, that’d make her saying Harry wasn’t available kind of weird, but I think this framing is a fake-out.

...

What the fuck is that lamp, Jesus Christ it’s awful. Just a cat’s asshole, facing the door.

ROXY: r u kiddin me rn egbert

JOHN: i’m not? unless you were, in which case yeah lets say i was also kidding.

JOHN: oh my god, i’m sorry, i don’t know why this making me freak out.

ROXY: i remember our past boot knockin with fondness but that is a situation im not interested in revisiting

Oh hey, it was a fakeout. Good job, Homestuck 2. You successfully implied something just through the art. Art which, by the way, looks a lot better than the last chapter. There are backgrounds and everything. I wonder if Chapter 15 was rushed out due to Hiveswap and that’s why it was so weak?

He’s almost embarrassed by how relieved he feels. So what if his ex wife wanted to hook up? Shouldn’t that be a situation he could navigate? Don’t people like to find solace in human physical connection during dire times? Why did the idea of it make his mind white out in panic more than, say, any number of the traumas he just experienced?

I’m not the biggest fan of the way the narration is going JOHN IS AFRAID OF SEX WITH ROXY LIKE HE’S A TEENAGE VIRGIN AGAIN (LIKE IN HS1!) AND IT DOESN’T REALLY MAKE SENSE PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IT’LL BE IMPORTANT LATER, but okay, noted.

ROXY: u said ur house is gone??

JOHN: yep.

JOHN: completely.

ROXY: jeez

Heh. I like Roxy, still. 

JOHN: so i just sat there, watching, trying to figure out why watching my house burn down felt like i was being released from prison.

If this comic actually uses the phrase “home” and “stuck” in the same sentence I’m turning this blog around and we’ll go right back to Winnipeg.

ROXY: aight then no wind bending just use your mangrit

Roxy flexes, the corner of her mouth pulled up into a familiar grin. John feels his guts, so recently calmed, twist up into knots again. Her eyebrows shoot up and the smile loosens. He must have shown something on his face.

ROXY: ok or just like push when i push

ROXY: we both got sick muscles

ROXY: no other adjectives necessary

I feel unqualified to talk about how hard Roxy is pushing the June Egbert thing.

....Is that the fucking portal from Hiveswap under a tarp? Also hi Candy Callie, appearing in HS2 for the first time. One of the Calliope’s is nonbinary, I think, but I honestly can’t remember and I think it’s Meat Calliope? 

JOHN: do i get to know what that big thing under the sheet is?

ROXY: hmmmmmm no

JOHN: oh ok.

JOHN: are you sure? i mean, it seems like a pretty prominent feature of the room.

JOHN: space.

JOHN: wherever we are.

ROXY: and a totally mysterious n COMPLETELY inconspicuous feature it will have to remain for now

ROXY: we r kinda in a hurry here fyi

ROXY: and by that i mean

ROXY: we are in precisely the amount of hurry that means im excused from having to a that specific q rn

JOHN: right, sorry.

JOHN: i will pay no attention to the object behind the curtain.

ROXY: u catch on fast egbert

Oh thing HS2 has not been great at is that it has a lot of plot mysteries that are supposed to keep us enticed but they don’t really get implanted into the audience’s head (Remember Vrissy mysteriously collapsing that one time? Probably not, she did it off screen and the boys kind of laughed it off). This one’s hard to miss.

JOHN: so... this is all downstairs?

JOHN: it seems like you had a lot of work done.

ROXY: well no not x actly

ROXY: were in the old meteor

It’s kind of weird how this meteor keeps popping up like this. 

CALLIOPE: besides, hUman divorces are even more fascinating than i had ever imagined, and being able to witness yoUrs in motion was an honoUr.

This is an unexpected but not unwelcome direction for Callie to have gone.

CALLIOPE: ah right, right. yoU're probably a little cUrioUs as to where the dickens we are.

CALLIOPE: how much do yoU know aboUt black holes?

Oh, wow, we’re going right there, then. This does seem like a bit of a reaction to complaints HS2 wasn’t shmoovin’ enough, but maybe I’m reading too much into it.

CALLIOPE: no, i mean, what if oUr whole WORLD was inside a black hole.

JOHN: ok.

A’ight, that got a laugh out of me

JOHN: ugh, i fucking KNEW it!

JOHN: i'm so sorry.

JOHN: i'm so sorry that i put the earth inside a black hole everyone. ):

I like this conversation a lot. 

ROXY: iirc at least part of y u got so weepy was the fact that u couldnt believe a version of earth existed where ppl got 2 watch more mcconaughey films than you

JOHN: listen.

JOHN: i simply don't think you all appreciated the gift you were given.

Quite a bit, in fact.

ROXY: ur not gonna enter a weird time vortex and change the trajectory of a little girls life with the power of love

JOHN: aw.

Roxy and John have a good dynamic. 

CALLIOPE: bUt Upon her departUre, the rift closed for good. as far as i can see, there's simply no way for Us to commUnicate with the world oUtside the black hole.

CALLIOPE: i woUld certainly be very sUrprised to find oUt that anyone had managed sUch a thing!

JOHN: ...right.

John’s phone has very good coverage, since he was able to talk to Terezi in the epilogues, as we’re being subtly reminded of here with that ... before the “right”. I wonder if it still works after alt-Calliope left.

CALLIOPE: oUr exclUsion from the overarching coUrse of events which governs all reality means that oUr existence here is liable to dramatic and violent Upheaval.

CALLIOPE: to pUt it another way, becaUse nothing in here "matters", we are likely to be sUbjected to things which are a bit bats in the belfry, for no reason other than it's totally insignificant to the wider canon of reality.

CALLIOPE: and mUch thoUgh i am personally titillated by some of the conseqUences of this predicament, it is a degrading way for Us to live. u_u

Okay, so we are now being explicitly told that living in the black hole is fucking with the characters and is part of the reason they make such baffling decisions, like Rose not telling Kanaya about Yiffy, or naming her daughter “Yiffy” in the first place.

CALLIOPE: we need yoU to free vriska from the clUtches of oUr misgUided friend jane, and bring her here, to the singUlarity.

ROXY: weve been calling it the plot point

CALLIOPE: yes, the plot point is a key part of oUr plan

CALLIOPE: as far as we have been able to sUrmise, the only remaining method for escaping oUr grim confinement depends on leveraging the UniqUe properties of this location to create an event of sUch catalcysmic proportions that it simply cannot be contained within the black hole any more.

CALLIOPE: something SO dramatic, so hyper-relevant, that it becomes ontologically impossible for anyone to ignore it.

CALLIOPE: for that, we need an individUal of sUfficient narrative cloUt, so to speak.

CALLIOPE: and to liberate her, who better than the embodiment of the aspect of freedom itself?

So, the plan is literally for Vriska to be such a Huge 8itch that the black hole itself gets sick of her and yeets Earth C out of its own event horizon to freedom.

This is actually a great plan. 

And that’s Hamsteak. This definitely feels like a bit of a reaction to complaints about HS2, but hey, I dig it, I guess? Definite improvement over the last chapter.

[coffeecomicsgalore]

Chasing Feelings

Summary:

Ao3

Day 7: Reveal

“Ready?” Adrien said softly to Marinette.

“Ready.”  

Marinette and Adrien walked in to class holding hands. It wasn’t any different than the previous day so no one made a fuss, but when Adrien guided her to her seat, he leaned down to give her a simple peck to her lips before sliding into his own seat. Marinette smiled and Adrien winked ready for what would happen next.  

Three... Two... One.  

Alya’s eyes were ready to fly out of her head and a loud squeal erupted from her chest. Nino’s eyes were just as wide, but instead he just yelled “Dude!” and slapped Adrien’s back. Chloe, still reeling from yesterday’s fiasco, chose to ignore it as best she could, but everyone could still see her stewing with her arms crossed and nose stuck up in the air. The rest of the girls – Mylene, Alix, Juleka, Rose, and even Sabrina – all squealed in happiness. Lila sat in the back and scowled, not saying a word.

Adrien and Marinette looked to each other and shrugged. “We have no idea what you guys are implying. We’re just friends.” Adrien said with a straight face.

Alya’s jaw dropped while chaos ensued everywhere else. They all surrounded the pair, trying to figure out what was going on, mainly asking about the kiss.

“Doesn’t everyone kiss their friends? I mean, we are French. Is that not normal?”

Marinette tried to hold back a laugh and straightened her face to respond. “I know you guys have been wanting to hear this for a long time.” She reached out and grabbed Adrien’s hand that was draped over her desk. “We upgraded our relationship and made it official.” This prompted a gasp from the girls. “We are now best friends!”

Alya almost fainted. “What the heck! This is not what I meant when I wanted this ship to sail.” She turned to Adrien. “Yes, we are French, but we kiss each other on the cheeks, NOT the lips. That’s strictly relationships.”

“But Alya,” Adrien whined, “we are in a relationship. We are the best of friends! And best friends have an amazing friendship! We love each other like family. It’s okay to kiss family like that, right?”

So many groans filled the room. Ms. Bustier walked in and brought the attention back to order. Marinette and Adrien shared a giggle with each other before Adrien cleared his throat and faced the teacher. Marinette could feel the heavy glare coming from her best friend. She turned to her and shrugged her shoulders, placing her index finger to her lips to ‘shush’ her and promptly watched the board like a model student.  

----

At lunch, Marinette and Adrien found each other in the courtyard and gave each other the biggest, gaudiest hug that anyone had ever seen.  

“BEST FRIEND!” They said in unison as they embraced.

The groans could be heard around the school, making this entire thing so much more worthwhile. Earlier that morning, as they walked into the school together, Marinette explained that the class has been waiting for this moment ‘for like ever’. Adrien – as Marinette had found out, enjoys being a bit mischievous – brought up the idea to play a prank on the class. Intrigued by the idea, Adrien continued and mentioned that they should make a show of their “friendship” throughout the day, then reveal their relationship the next morning. The plan was working and it just amused to two of them to no end.  

Really, the real reason they needed to wait to announce to the class was because they needed to tell their families before news spread around quickly. With Adrien being famous, their relationship was bound to be on the front page of some sleezy newspaper and he didn’t want to defend their relationship to his Father. It was important that he tell him the news himself first.  

As soon as their friends left the courtyard, Adrien wrapped his arm around Marinette’s shoulders and kissed her temple. “I’ll come back as soon as I can so we can hang out before classes start.”

“I’ll wait for you. Text me when your close?”

Adrien led the two to a discreet little corner of the entryway of the school. He leaned down and placed a chaste kiss to her lips, relishing in the softness. “I’ll see you soon.”

----

Lunch at Marinette’s went well. Telling her parents the great news only ignited a celebratory passion in Tom’s belly. Sabine had to bring him back down into the world of Paris, and insisted she bring Adrien over after classes were complete so they could give the young man a hug and a cake of his choice. Marinette asked if they were buying Adrien’s love with food, allowing Tom to agree with another bakery pun. A quick text of a thumb’s up emoji to Adrien and she enjoyed the rest of her lunch in peace.

Adrien’s lunch was quiet, per usual. It took some time to coax Nathalie to request Gabriel’s attention for an important announcement that needed to be had before he went back to school. Nathalie was able to find five minutes of his time, which Adrien hoped would be enough to state his case on having a relationship with Marinette. It took some convincing, a little back and forth badgering, but then Gabriel obliged. Happily, Adrien responded back to Marinette’s text with a thumb’s up emoji and a heart.

Only forty minutes more to go before he could see her again.

-------

The afternoon brought in an early summer storm, but that did not stop the two superheroes with their weekly patrol. Ladybug and Chat Noir walked by the Notre Dame Cathedral huddled under an umbrella to save them from the rain.  

It was late in the evening by the time they were almost finished with patrol, with only a few Parisians out faring the crummy weather. They waved sweetly to the children, but were left mostly alone to each other’s company. Even with the slight chill in the air, the mood was delightful.

Ladybug could not contain her giddiness; Chat was in an extremely adorable mood. He was whistling as he walked and Ladybug could see that his nerves could not contain his excitement any longer. Every so often, he bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting to spill his happy secret, but he wanted to wait until his Lady asked him first.

Ladybug was just as distracted but could not contain her enjoyment for the cat’s antics. She shook her head and gave in to his excitement. “Alright Chat.” Chat’s ears perked up. “What has gotten you so happy all of a sudden?”

Chat was titillated that she took the bait. “Well, Milady, since you asked so nicely, I have some purr-fect news! I have a girlfriend now!”

Ladybug felt a twinge of jealousy, but it was short lived. Honestly, if anything, she was excited for him. He deserved to have someone who loved him the way he should be loved. “Is this one of your silly games to get me jealous again?” She teased.

“No, not at all! I have been thinking about this girl for a while now. After a simple misunderstanding, this night-in-shining armor asked his princess out on a date and to be his girlfriend.”  

“Chat, that’s great!” She hid the confusion behind her fringe. He used to call me princess. But she continued. “And I assume that with all your bouncing around that she said yes?”  

“Yup!” He cheered, popping the p. “She was so happy she let me kiss her. It was seriously amazing.”

Ladybug smiled as she played with the handle of the umbrella. “I guess I should share my news too then. It seems like you’re not the only to start a relationship.”  

Chat looked at her with the softest kitten eyes and waited for her to continue. “Do you remember that boy I’ve been pining over the last year?”

“You mean the one that I called a dummy for not seeing you for who you are since day one?”

She pouted at him. “Yes, Chat. That boy.” She lightly slapped his arm. “And don’t call him a dummy!” He chuckled as he feigned hurt. “Well, after our own misunderstanding, he asked me out on a proper date.”

“That’s awesome, LB. I’m so happy for you. What are the odds that we would both be with someone on the same day?”  

“Yeah, what a coincidence.” Ladybug added. She heard a laugh coming from her partner and Ladybug just had to inquire. “All right Chat. What is so funny?”

“I was just thinking about my day. Actually, my girlfriend told me something interesting, and because I am such a mischievous kitten, I asked her if she was willing to pull a prank on our class.”

Ladybug stopped in her tracks and turned to him. This was becoming awfully familiar. The conversations between Tikki and Wayzz over the last few weeks were starting to make sense. She swallowed thickly and decided to ask. “Did you happen to prank your class that you and your girlfriend were best friends instead of being in a relationship?”

Chat looked at her with his eyes wide in shock. “Ye- yeah?”

A few seconds passed in silence before they broke it in a whisper-yell.

“Adrien?”

“Marinette?”

Their expressions went from shock, to happiness, to an overwhelming feeling of amusement.

“We’ve seriously been pranking everyone all day all to end with us being the biggest clowns of our lives.” Chat said in astonishment.

Ladybug could only nod her head in agreement. “I’ve had this feeling for weeks. Tikki and Wayzz have been urging me to have us reveal ourselves and now I know why.” She dragged her hand down her face. “You have no idea how crazy I was over both sides of you! I have been in love with your civilian self for over a year and I recently fell in love with this version of you. Having to choose between the two of you was one of the most awful things I had ever had to experience.”

Chat let out a boisterous laugh. “Oh my gods. You know I’ve been in love with you for over a year! I fell in love with your civilian self over the last couple of weeks.” Chat then realized what she had just said. “Wait, you have been in love with me for over a year?” Ladybug nodded bashfully. “I cannot believe we have been chasing our tails over the last year only for us to fall in love with each other two times over.”

“I’m so glad I don’t have to choose. I’m so happy that I get to have both sides of you.”

Chat pulled her into a hug. “You just said you loved me.”

“Yup.”

“And you love all of me.”

“Every single side of you, mon minou.” She thumbed his cheek. “And I believe you just said you loved both sides of me, too.”

“Mhmm.” He hummed sweetly in her ear as he nuzzled his nose in her hair. “And I will tell you this again and again until the day I die. I. Love. You. Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“And I love you, Adrien Agreste.”

They stood there under the umbrella, thunder rolling in the skies above them, falling deeper in love with each other just like she did that faithful day over a year ago. They fell into their heavenly gaze, soaking in the love and compassion that radiated from their souls, intertwining them together as soulmates so often do.  

Adrien cupped her cheek and leaned his forehead against hers, nuzzling his nose with hers in an endless supply of eskimo kisses to fill his heart. An adoring smile spread upon his lips before pulling her into a slow, but passionate kiss. Pulling back slightly to see the light blush on her cheeks, he relished in the thought that he was lucky enough that both sides of her would always be a huge part of his life.

And if the look of desire in her eyes had anything to tell, she felt just as lucky as he did.  

[bladekindeyewear]

Freed up some time, actually!  Gonna blog the new pages of HS^2.  Liveblogging resume...

FYI, the post I glimpsed that alerted me to the fact that new pages exist had a translucent screenshot of Brain Ghost Dirk on it, so I know that at least is in store for me.  Makes sense; a way to involve Dirk’s voice obnoxiously heavily even when he’s too far away to narrate.  And ties into this... chapter(?) name, of course.  Chapters, huh?

> CHAPTER 1. Ghostflusters

God. Damnit.

Could we NOT???  No?

Fuck you, Dirk.  I blame you for this.

So we have greenery, a can-city and Sburb-legal human house mix... some sorta cow-looking thing from far away in the front yard...

The void resounds. Space seizes and warps as the bounds of relevance erode away to nothing but the wishful nostalgia of times passed. There is a hole in the middle of the universe, and it is hungry.

All very literally true.

But the denizens of this particular iteration of Earth C don’t know it. All of this is just business as fucking usual for a planet plagued by war, continuous inclement ghost weather, and the general malaise of being absolutely severed from canon.

--oh, FUCK.  This isn’t the new planet, this is Candy timeline Earth.  I didn’t wanna come back here!  :C

I guess that explains most of the content warnings.  Except fucking ALCOHOLISM.  Gee, thanks for adding THAT to the Candy timeline, as if it wasn’t fucked over enough!!!  Bluh.

I thought the closing lines of the Epilogue were that after RoboDave, Aradia and alt!Callie dove out of the Candyverse inside the singularity, the black-hole timelines and Dirk’s presumably-still-”relevant” nonsense weren’t going to collide with each other again?  So... why are we seeing this?  Is there going to be MORE influence like that, and the ending line was just fancy-talk?  Is it just an irrelevant little follow-up to Candy to show things turning out okay or pseudo-okay, like an epilogue to the epilogue?  Or is some of this Dirk nonsense presumably within the bounds of some sort of canon going to still have some last bit of influence on this so-called non-canon timeline?

That last one would make sense, given that it echoes how Homestuck^2′s dubious canonicity would still have definite influence on fanworks outside of canon.  Right?

Let me pull that last line from the epilogues again--

...where’s the Epilogues’ log, this is getting kind of hard to find with all their reorganization... fuck, I had to guess at the URL even.  Here we go, the last page of Meat...

The hole leaves behind an absence in the sky so calm that continuing to call it a sky wouldn’t seem to do it justice. It’s a perfectly neutral expanse into which anything one can imagine might be summoned. And for a while, anything was. But not anymore. Where the hole gaped just moments ago, there now exists an imaginary line.

Above this line resides all that matters. Below exists all else. Never again the twain shall meet.

...Right.  This implies that Canon and Non-Canon shall never meet again.  BOTH ways.  Doesn’t quite gel with the fact that we’re cutting back here--

Oh.

This is about Jake and Brain Ghost Dirk isn’t it.  I noticed his name down further on the page.  THAT’S why we’re cutting back here.

So, Canon and Non-Canon aren’t exactly meeting... not for anything relevant, anyway.  But we’re using Candy Jake’s visibility of Brain Ghost Dirk to get a better idea of Dirk’s broader self and plans through a splinter of him?  While getting another glimpse into how the post-epilogue Candy timeline is going for our, er... “curiosity”?  Is that it?

Hm.  I guess that doesn’t count as the twain “meeting”... I’ll just keep reading now.

They spend their days absorbed in the petty and pointless pursuits of “having jobs” and “raising families” and “falling in love”.

Is this Dirk’s narrator voice?  This sounds like something the current megalomaniacal Dirk would say.

I’m not going to quote the rest of the text’s further reminders of how Jane has been made into an absolutely fucked-over asshole in every timeline except the one where she grew old to open a Joke shop, adopt Dad, die, get prototyped and timeline-doubled, then mysteriously disappear from any mention in the Epilogues as if the Sprites were just forgotten about completely eventually.

> (==>)

Oooh, using the less-relevance-surrounding-parens that were used on retconned ghost!Vriska back in Homestuck proper to denote our presence in the non-canon Candy timeline? How handy!

Not a far-away cow, then.

John has been an incredible pal, opening up his home to Jake and his son on such short notice, and even offering him a pair of pants, as well as a shirt that he has so far neglected to put on.

Alright, that got a chuckle from me.

John’s house doesn’t have air conditioning.

What the flying fuck.

...Ah, John’s been away patching things up with Roxy some more, I presume.

It, like the rest of his assets, is in her name. She’d seen to that as soon as they were married.

Life players and assets, huh?  Always gotta be hoggin’ em.

He hasn’t seen much of Tavros today either, but that’s not unusual. He’s probably out with his kismesis, the one he thinks Jake doesn’t know about.

Huh.  Maybe Candy’s young Vriska?  Couldn’t get the real Tavros with your main self, so your alternate nigh-clone self settled with a human by the same name?  Or one of the other kids we heard of from this ‘verse..?

> (==>)

Jake’s hot man-bod cropped out of this image to avoid titillating my readers too much.

(Tumblr keeps jumping back to the top of my post after I add images and I keep thinking the title reads “Ghostfuckers”.)

Jake washes the dirt out from under his fingernails, and his eyes fall on the bottle still sitting on the counter. John had opened it, but together they’d barely touched the stuff. Jake had promised him and Tavvy he’d dry up his act and all, but... well.

God damnit.  If this is still Dirk-voiced narration -- I’m not sure it can be, now I think about it, as he’s supposed to be “out of range” or something, unless non-canon is just malleable like that, which wouldnt be surprising (or Dirk’s splinter’s presence allows it) -- he could literally be inducing or writing in Jake’s drinking problem just to hurt him more.  You can’t really put an overstep that assholish past Prince Dirk the way he’s gotten to be.

There was another ask in my inbox insisting that Dirk wasn’t going to stay the true villain here, if only as some sort of karmic revenge for declaring his self-importance... but I still don’t think that’s the case.  For one, Dirk HASN’T declared himself the villain... he still can’t see how fucked-up and unjustified his trampling over of everyone’s wills IS.  Shadows of recognition... but not really.  He really honestly believes he has the fucking RIGHT to do what he’s doing.

(Which is, incidentally -- to answer another ask -- why there’s basically NO chance that Rose has some sort of control or recognition of her situation under the surface, and is playing Dirk, as another person hopefully surmised.  No.  She really IS being unknowingly steered away from personal growth and recognition of the thought-control she’s under... because nothing less could feel as horrible to us.)

Part of the entire POINT of Homestuck and its Riddle was to show that these crazy kids, if they put their wills to it, always had the potential to be the literal Gods of the world around them.  That when ordinary people grasp the will and drive to shape the world around them, they can turn everything back from the brink of destruction... or vice versa.  Thus, it’s only appropriate that a player from this game could become a villain more disgusting than any we’d imagined in the series so far.  What he’s been doing -- writing twisted sorrow directly into the lives and experiences of those around him, nurturing their worst, most power-hungry tendencies (Rose) and deceiving them more directly than Doc Scratch (who was PART Dirk) ever did, making a JOKE of their free will in a more terribly direct way than ANY have been shown onscreen to do?? It IS, and is MEANT to be, the worst we have EVER seen in Homestuck.  Not as clumsy and from-the-outside as Lord English, but just as blatantly direct.  Not as easy to ignore or mistake as Doc Scratch’s horrible, intentional Prince-of-Hearty worsening of the players, instead just as impossible to gloss-over as it is to bear witness to.  That very TITLE, “Prince of Heart”, can embody the very ANTITHESIS of the Ultimate Riddle itself, robbing EVERYONE of their ability to shape not just the world around them, but even so much as themselves or their very thoughts.  When used the way Dirk is using it RIGHT NOW, anyway.  And his ambition is to impose this on all of Paradox Space.

There COULD be another villain, later.  But I can’t imagine a single one more appropriate.  And Andrew’s just the type to use one of the Striders, both practically self-inserts of parts of his personality and presence, as that ultimate villain to be overcome in a story about escaping Canon, too.

Turning his ex into an alcoholic just for his own self-satisfaction?  In a side timeline where Jake didn’t even try a relationship with him again and finally had a chance to grow up happy in SOME universe?  I wouldn’t put it past him, and you shouldn’t either.

Moving on.

> (==>)

Eugh.  I just... don’t want to think about him being an alcoholic on TOP of everything else.  As if there wasn’t enough to deal with in Candy already.

> (==>)

Hm?

> (==>)

The jungle air is heavy, humid, and familiar. Twenty years on and the thick drag into his lungs settles on him in a blanket of nostalgia, reassuring in its discomfort.

Hm.  Is this his fantasy, or a view of him in another timeline?

He is deeper in the jungle than he’d ever venture in his waking hours. There were places on his island that not even his Gran would tread, and she’d been the bravest person he’d ever known.

Hmm.  So he even knows it’s a dream, but is still in control...

Jake doesn’t recognize anything. The jungle of his dreams is wild and unknown, and there are things moving in the dense undergrowth.

...Hhhuh.  Still not sure what to think of this yet.

A sudden wind thrashes the canopy. There are pine needles in his mouth. There aren’t any pine needles in the jungle.

Very Dream, then.

> (==>)

--Yup.

> (==>)

Yoink--

> (==>)

JAKE: Yes you are i know that much. I saw your body! I carried your coffin chock full of all those stupid fucking swords! DIRK: Nope. JAKE: Dont nope me mister!

They would pile all those shitty swords into his coffin, yeah.

Anyway, now to see how much Prince Dirk is in this Dirk.  And if he’s in one mind with himself or has the slightest chance of feeling rebellious.

JAKE: I know a dead dirk when i see one! DIRK: Sure you do. But that wasn’t me. Are you really surprised to find out I got a couple of spares? JAKE: So what youre saying is you arent my dirk. DIRK: ...That is a whole ‘nother conversation that we really don’t have time for, pertaining to exactly who or what ‘your dirk’ actually constitutes. DIRK: Do you mean the Dirk from your timeline? DIRK: Then yes, that Dirk is dead. DIRK: If you mean the Dirk that you fucked and then ghosted, no, I’m not your Dirk. DIRK: If you mean the Dirk that you felt closest to, that you really knew--

...well, this Dirk still knows how to be a presumptuous, pushy creep.  :(

JAKE: Ahhh! Brain ghost dirk! DIRK: In the ghosty flesh. JAKE: Crumbs bro where have you been? JAKE: I could have used someone on my side! JAKE: You just disappeared one day without even the odd toodaloo to mark your passing! DIRK: That isn’t strictly true. I did disappear, but it was in a catastrophic blaze of hope-drenched pathos. I even threw out a couple one-liners. DIRK: But you wouldn’t remember that. JAKE: Because...it was a different dirk? DIRK: No, a different Jake.

Hhhuh.  So in the claymation-reproduced Lord English stagefight -- or, maybe more likely, the pre-retcon Aranea-induced Game Over timeline -- he was too washed out by hopesplosions to manifest properly?

DIRK: Until recently there’s been a shortage of ambient narrative relevance for Dirks, since one particular motherfucker has been sucking it all up like a thirsty little twink at his first interspecies rave.

Hm!  So Prince Dirk has been making it so other splinters of himself have really limited ability to influence, huh?  Guess that’s a sort of price for the narrative-hijacking power he’s attained.  Wonder how this Dirk really feels about that.

> (==>)

--Pff.  He’s certainly not shy about letting Jake know he shouldn’t trust him, though!  That’s a good sign.

I’ll split the post here for a bit.  Seems we’re about halfway through this upd8 from the look of the log.

[freedom-shamrock]

Two are Better, But Three is Best - Chapter Three

Also on AO3

<<< Previous Chapter

The second part of this chapter includes some sexy talk and implies sexual intent, but there is no on screen sex. 

Please Stay

Marinette was a little surprised to hear voices from inside the apartment when she reached Luka's door.  He hadn't mentioned company, and it was a little disappointing because she kind of wanted to pounce on him for a nice heavy makeout before they went out dancing.  She knocked on the door.

"Come on in," Luka called.

She stepped across the threshold to find a scowly Adrien sitting on the couch next to her boyfriend.  "Hey Adrien." She kicked off her sandals and scampered over to give both young men a hug. "You okay?" she asked, surprised when he continued to look frustrated.  He was a people-pleaser, and it was in his nature to hide things rather than make people uncomfortable. That he wasn't concealing his feelings spoke volumes of how he felt here at Luka's or just how angry he was.

Adrien shrugged, slouching into the couch a bit. "My father's being a complete asshole."  He rolled his eyes. "Even more than usual. Like, take his usual dickwad behavior and turn it up to eleven."

She winced. His language alone was a good indicator of how bad things were with Gabriel. "I'm so sorry. You don't deserve that at all."  She gave him another hug, holding him a little longer this time. "Is there anything I can do?"

He shook his head, his messy blond hair flopping about. "I have to make some pretty extreme decisions on how I want to deal with this, and… really, it's all on me to do that at this point. I've put it off way too long already."  He looked at Luka. "Thanks for letting me vent, for listening. I really appreciate it."

"Anytime, Adrien," Luka promised with a slow nod. "And when you've decided what you want to do, let me know.  Let us know. We're here for you, okay?"

Adrien's smile was small and hesitant, but it was genuine.  "I will." He stood up. "Now I'll get out of your hair. I know better than to mess with date night."

Marinette giggled.  "A fiend having a crisis trumps date night."

"Definitely," Luka agreed.

"That's really nice to know, but I'm good for now," he promised.

"You're not going to go out drinking, are you?" She gave him a stern glare.  

Adrien shook his head.  "Still not a drinker, Mari. If my father couldn't drive me to it, I suspect it's just not my thing"  He sighed. "Oh, hey, I love the hair." He reached out and touched the strands of red she'd pulled up on the sides to create a colorful ponytail over the loose black hair.  "It really suits you. Fun, but on your terms."

"Thanks," Marinette said with a laugh.  The day they'd done her hair was a ton of fun.

"We did it last week," Luka added. "And it's been well received."

"I can see why."  He leaned in and gave each of them another hug and a quick bise. "Catch you later."

Marinette grinned when she realized she and Luka were both watching him walk away with the same degree of interest.  She waited for a few moments after the door closed before turning to her boyfriend. "He has an unfairly perfect butt."

Luka laughed and grabbed her in a hug that pulled her onto his lap. "Just one more thing we agree on. And those legs… hmmm."  He nuzzled her neck. "He's gonna come hang out with me Tuesday afternoon when you're working that shift at the bakery. I think we're going to figure out his plan of action, once he's picked a path. You should come over when you're done and we can make him dinner or something.  He needs supportive friends right now."

"Is his rebellion imminent?" she asked, leaning back to look at him.

Luka nodded.  "I really can't see any way for him to get out of his current situation otherwise. He's tried the sensible adult options. He's tried talking to his… father. Ugh, such a repulsive man." He kissed her cheek. "But enough about Adrien. It is date night, after all, and I'm really excited about this."

"Maybe scale your expectations back a bit," she suggested.  "I'm not that great a dancer. I love it, but…" She leaned into him to hold up her feet, her toes wiggling.  "Two left feet."

Dancing with Luka was somehow both better than just making out, yet also ten times more frustrating. Neither of them were big fans of public displays of affection, so any grabbing or touching had to be extra subtle or extra sneaky, so she was both literally sweaty and completely hot and bothered when they finally stumbled out of the crowded club onto the sidewalk.  They hadn't gone three meters when she stopped and grabbed him by the belt loops to pull him close. The only bad part of dating Luka was that he was so damn tall she couldn't kiss him without pulling him down, jumping, or literally climbing him, which she hadn't tried yet, though she was sorely tempted. Fortunately they were on the same page, and he bent to capture her lips with his.

His kiss seared through her, igniting the heat in her belly to explode throughout her entire body. She forgot about things like public decency or the lengthy walk home, focusing solely on the moment. When he broke the kiss, he didn't pull away. He rested his forehead against hers, his eyes still closed, as his hot breath caressed her face in sharp pants. It was nice that he was as affected as she was. She slipped one hand into his hair, and his eyes fluttered open.

"Stay with me tonight," he asked softly. "Please Nette."

She shivered in delight at the thought that he wanted her. They'd had at least three conversations about sex in the last few weeks, agreeing to let it happen naturally without rushing or overly scheduling it.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to," he promised.

"What if I want to do… things ?" she asked, gently tugging at his hair. "What if I want to be the one to rock your world for a change?" She grinned when he gasped, closing his eyes. "Think you'd be up for that?"  Chat Noir would laugh his tail right off if he ever learned that she'd propositioned her boyfriend with puns.

"Very much so," he sighed. He loosened his hold and stepped back, catching her hand when she did the same. "Let's go." They still had several blocks and a subway to catch.  "And on the way, I think we should get creative to… sustain the mood."

She raised her eyebrows, looking at him in question as they walked faster than necessary down the sidewalk.

"Little things that aren't indecent, but… titillate," he suggested.  "I can go first."

"Please do." She wasn't sure what he was looking for, and she did not trust her ability to provide dirty talk.  At least not any that wouldn't result in laughter.

"That thing you did with my hair was super hot," he pointed out.

"Aaah. I've noticed that you like it when I play with your hair."

He nodded, pink washing over his cheeks.  "Yeah, but that grabbing a fist-full and pulling on it, just a little?  That's definitely a kink."

Ooh.  So that's what he meant. "Did you know about this one?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nope. It's a new one for me, but I very much liked it and am happy to encourage a repeat later."

They slowed down a bit for the stairs to the subway. "I'll take that under advisement," she said. "Hey, did you know that you're like, ridiculously sexy when you dance?" She couldn't quite bring herself to try for special voice or anything, but her words alone were enough, and he stumbled a little on the last stair.

He was grinning stupidly, his lower lip trapped by his top teeth. "You think I'm sexy?" he asked.

She raised her eyebrows and gave him a look. "Obviously."  She stepped closer to him on the platform. "Adrien's not the only one with an unfairly perfect butt." She loved watching the pink fill in his cheeks as his eyes went wide. "When we were dancing, there were a couple of times I brushed up against it entirely on purpose." The station was deserted, so the worst that could happen was a security guard would catch her copping a feel on video.  She slid her hand up the outside of his thigh, before dragging her fingers around to grab his ass.

He let go of her hand to pull her close, his forehead resting on her shoulder.  "You're too good at this. I think I'm going to die before we get back to my place."

She giggled, basking in the warmth and affection of his embrace. "I've seen you in shorts and without a shirt, and I have to tell you, I really like what I've seen. I'm looking forward to peeling away all your clothes when we get back to your place."

"Yeah?" he asked.  "Then what?"

"I want to touch you everywhere, kiss you everywhere." She let out a startled squeak when his lips attached to the side of her neck. "Aah, you're not supposed to start that now, you know," she spoke in a soft breathy voice.

A gentle rumble warned them of the approaching train, and they stepped just enough apart to be decent.  Once they were seated, side by side in a mostly empty car, Marinette snuggled up to him. Stretching up to breathe across his ear, she whispered to him. "So what's on your wishlist for tonight, Rockstar?"

He closed his eyes and took a slow deep breath. "If you'll let me, I want to make love to you." His eyes fluttered open and focused on hers.  "I want to narrow your awareness to just me, worshiping your body. I want to make you lose all track of time and language as I tease and taste you, learning how you like to be touched to bring you to bring you over the edge."

She squirmed a bit, feeling uncomfortably aroused in the bright light of the subway. She was more than a little tempted to transform so she could get them back to his apartment right now. "I like your plan."  She shivered.

"Oh, I'm not done," he said with a sly smile.  "That's just the warm up, Nette."

"Oh my god," she whined. "If you don't knock it off, I'm going to pin you to the bed and fuck you stupid."

He chuckled. "I'm a fan of that idea, but not tonight.  Tonight isn't about fucking. It's about loving." He ran one thumb under her jawbone as he slid his hand to cup her cheek. "If that's all right with you."

"Since you asked so nicely, I guess we can do it your way," she agreed. She pulled her phone out of her purse and sent a quick text home.

"What are you doing?" he asked, peeking at her screen.

"Making sure my parents don't worry when I'm not there in the morning," she said.  They weren't still up, not with early bakery hours, and her message shouldn't wake them. And while they would probably suspect where she was, it was common courtesy to let them know.

"Is this going to make things weird with them?" he asked, sounding a little nervous.

"Hmmm?"  She tucked away her phone. "Why should it? I'm an adult. They know I've been sexually active, and they much prefer I engage in relationship sex than one night stands." It was something they'd discussed as part of her decision to live at home through university. "It also helps that they like you; they haven't been fully on board with everyone I've dated." When they'd talked about past relationships, she'd been surprised to find that Luka had been in two long term relationships and had done very little casual dating. Her own experience had been a bit more chaotic and varied.

"I like your parents," he said. "It's nice you have such a good relationship with them."

She kissed his cheek.  "I like your ma, too." She gave him a mischievous smile.  "Am I going to have to worry about what she thinks of me, going home with you like this?"

He chuckled. "You know my ma.  She's all about free love."

She felt the subway slow down.  "Oh look. It's our stop." She grabbed his hand and pulled him, laughing, to the door as they were pulling into the station.  "In the morning, I'm going to wear your clothes while I make breakfast."

He pulled her to his chest, leaning over her shoulder to breathe in her ear. "Do that, and I will interrupt you." He relaxed his hold on her as the doors slid open, then it was he who was urging her out of the train and to the steps.

She grinned at him as they walked swiftly, hand in hand. "I'll take that as a promise."

Check out Chapter Four  >>>

This took several days longer than intended. I've kind of over-committed myself on paying projects, which is a good thing when you're a freelancer, but it can put a damper on fun projects. I have some family vacation and spring break coming up next week and hope to get the next chapter in during that.

⁂

If you’re so inclined, feel free to support me over on Ko-Fi

[hnrywinchester]

Fare Thee Well - - Chapter 13

Summary: She hasn’t seen Gabriel since he died nine years ago, then a phone call changes everything.

Pairing: Gabriel x OFC

Series Warnings: ANGST, smut, swearing, character deaths, PTSD Gabriel, canon compliant

Beta’d by: @aquietuniverse

Words: 5k

The bar was bustling, but the four people sat in the back corner booth paid no mind. On one side was two brothers, they’d saved the world once or twice without so much as a thank you, and they’d do it again in a heartbeat if they had to. On the opposite, a fallen archangel and the human woman he’d fallen head over heels for. His eyes fell to her every few minutes, just so he could look at her. Most times she didn’t even notice. When she turned to talk to him, his head would always dip ever so slightly, bringing his ears closer to her so as not to miss one syllable of whatever it was she had to say. One might think it was because the bar was loud, but no, anyone would see him doing the same thing in a silent room or the back of a car, it was a habit at this point. When she laughed her head would fall onto his shoulder and his face would turn to rest against hers, smiles mirroring each other’s. It was a palpable kind of love, one you could feel when they were in the room. It was visible and infectious, unquestionable and undeniable. “Okay, so one time I was hunting a ghoul in Arkansas, whatever, things are nasty. But this chick, man… she made that whole shit show so worth it,” Dean retold, the neck of his fourth beer nestled between his fingers, “Crazy, the things she could do… flexible-“ “All right, that’s enough,” Sam laughed from beside him, stopping the story before it got too graphic. “No no! I wanna hear the rest!” Gabriel insisted, throwing his empty whiskey glass down onto the table as his other hand ran absentmindedly up and down the thighs across his lap. Liv clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes as her head fell back against the wall. The alcohol was swimming through her blood stream now and she welcomed that familiar floating buzz. The hands on her legs were warm and soothing, if she could stay wrapped in a moment forever this one was in the running. “What? Not like I could tell any of my stories…” Gabriel pouted, fingers briefly dancing along her side causing her to quickly convulse in defense, “I don’t think you’d appreciate them knowing all your tricks.” “Gabe!” she scolded through gritted teeth, bolting up and grabbing his forearm in warning. He responded to her threat with a kiss, pressing his lips gently to hers and just as quickly as it had come, her anger washed away. Maybe it was the booze or the way his hair brushed against her forehead but her heart swelled in her chest. He’d been around for thousands of years and in a conversation centered around their ‘best hits’, he was rendered quiet so as not to embarrass her. Now, she knew he also could be keeping hush because he didn’t want to bring up his past flings but they’d talked about them before, no reason he couldn’t have now. “So go on,” Gabriel urged, turning his attention back to the man across from him. “She could put her feet behind her head,” Dean bragged, “and hold them there. For awhile.” “Oh. Love that. ‘Nother round?” The table erupted in agreement and the angel tapped the knees locking him in place. She regrettably lifted them, craning her neck around to watch him as he walked off. His slightly bowed legs gave him an unmistakable sway, the hair on the back of his head unruly and curling behind his ears just the way she liked. He was the epitome of perfection. It was at that moment she knew without a doubt that it was the alcohol talking, and she was loving every minute of it. “I’ll admit it,” Dean confessed, snapping her from her trance, “I was wrong.” “What?” she questioned, turning back around and looking at him, lip turned up in confusion. “About you and him. I never thought it was… real. I was wrong.” “Well, uh, thanks? I guess?” Gabriel returned moments later, four beers in his hands and a waitress trailing behind with four distinct shots on a tray. Tequila. Each occupant of the booth had a different reaction at the sight of the lime embellished glass shooters. Dean rubbed his hands together excitedly, his tongue shooting out from between his teeth as he eyed the cute, brunette waitress when she set his on the table in front of him. Sam groaned, knowing the headache he would undoubtedly wake up with in the morning but still unable to resist taking his. Liv smirked, she’d had many a wonderful nights under tequila’s spell with the man who was sliding into the booth beside her. He remembered, and he wanted it again. “You a tequila girl, Liv?” Dean asked skeptically, winking at the server one last time before she walked off. The corner of Gabriel’s mouth ticked as he watched the smile spread across her face. This was his favorite Liv, inhibitions gone and a little drunk. He watched as her eyebrow raised confidently, Dean was about to be proven very wrong. To start, she pulled her lime off the rim and then turned to Gabriel, holding it in front of his lips. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion but he complied opening them and allowing her to wedge the slice between his teeth. His eyes went wide with a little shock but mostly excited anticipation as she turned back forward and grabbed the glass with her thumb and forefinger. When her tongue darted out to lick the salt from the rim, he felt a little jolt in his stomach, she was going to be the death of him. Soon enough he’d have her like this all the time, she was going to put that ‘archangels could only be killed by another archangel’ rule to the test, he just knew it. Sam and Dean watched intently as she tipped her head back, draining the liquid in one fell swig, the little cough they expected from the burn of the liquor as it slid down her throat never came. She was tougher than she looked. She gave the boys a self-assured glare before grabbing Gabriel’s chin between her fingers and pulling him to hers, her tongue sweeping in to pull the lime wedge from his lips. Keeping her grip on his face, she squeezed the juice from the fruit, his eyes glazed over in unhindered adoration and titillation. Her gaze was dark and absolutely intoxicating as she pulled the rind from her teeth, he’d never felt this hypnotized ever before in his life. When she closed the distance between them again, her tongue pushed between his lips and he could taste the tequila and lime still lingering and it took every ounce of his self control to not grab her and throw her across the table. “Do that again,” he growled loud enough for only her to hear as they separated, foreheads and noses still touching, “and we’re having sex right here and now.” “Promise?” she breathed, tongue flicking out across her bottom lip. Oh she was pushing every boundary and limit, and she knew it. Well two could play this game and he’d launch his own attack when she was least expecting it. “Can you two not…” Dean complained from across the table, “we’re in public and you’re eye fucking each other so hard I feel like I have to pay you. Have some decency.” “Sorry…” she chastised, grabbing her beer and swigging it, keeping her eyes locked on Dean now. The hunter understood some of the allure now. God damn… and somehow this quirky, sarcastic winged prick got to go home with her every night? Sometimes life wasn’t fair. “Dean’s just jealous ‘cause he’s striking out with not one, but two people here tonight,” Gabriel implied, his voice ringing with a hint of caution, “It’ll be him and righty-tighty-all-nighty at this rate.” “Shut up,” Dean snapped, causing the other two occupants of the table to erupt into laughter. “You’ve lost your touch.” “Oh? I’ll show you…” They all watched as Dean stalked off in the direction of that cute, brunette waitress that had brought their shots to the table, his steps growing more and more confident the closer he got. Maybe he did still have a little of that former charm and magic. Gabriel leaned over and pressed his lips to Liv’s again, this time his kiss sweet and slow and she couldn’t hold back the smile and soft drunken giggle that escaped as his stubble tickled against her jaw. Sam couldn’t help the grin that twitched at the corner of his mouth. It was almost refreshing being around them, their pure, unbridled happiness was contagious. It almost made him forget where they were going tomorrow, who they had a one-time chance of fooling. While the other members of the group didn’t seem concerned, Sam knew there was no way this all went as planned. “Well look at him,” Gabriel commented as he peered over at Dean flirting against the bar, “looks like he may have actually worked his way in. You two wanna go? He can drive himself home, yeah?” Liv and Sam agreed. She was ready to have Gabriel all to herself, the tequila finally taking effect. The angel quickly flew them home, Sam immediately stalking off towards his room as soon as they’d landed. The couple watched him walk off, both of their carefree mindsets stumbling a little. While they hadn’t expected him to stay around, they knew what they’d been doing all night, him walking off without so much as a word was jarring. “I’m gonna go take a shower real quick,” Liv informed Gabriel, leaning up to kiss his cheek before walking off. As the water cascaded down around her, she was lost in her thoughts. The hot steam trapped within the glass doors was thick and heavy, almost making it hard to see. If there was one thing she loved about this bunker, it was the water pressure and the scalding temperatures that the water reached. She was humming a song she couldn’t even remember the name of, something catchy that had played over the bar’s speakers, simply letting the spray warm her skin, enjoying the peace and quiet. Gabriel shook his head as he watched her. She was so caught up in her own world she hadn’t heard him come in and open the door to her stall. How the hell she survived in her field of work was a mystery to him sometimes. His eyes followed the droplets that trailed down her back, marveling at the sights before making himself known. Slowly, he slid in, his presence still unknown, and wrapped both of his arms around her middle, his chest pressing into her back. He expected her to jump, or scream, or at least startle, but she didn’t. He could see her face lift into a smile as her arms snaked over his. “Hey,” he greeted, his voice deep and husky. “Hey,” she replied, her smile growing up into her eyes. “You have the worst reflexes and senses of any hunter I’ve ever met.” “Or maybe I was just expecting you.” It was his turn to smile now, “Am I that predictable?” “Little bit.” There was no way he was letting her win this one. This was supposed to be his great retribution for her antics at the bar. Looks like he had to up the ante. He hummed in appreciation as his lips pressed against her neck, his beard leaving a little trail of red as he traveled upward towards her ear. Ever so slightly, she pushed herself farther back into him as her body grew flush at his motions. The water was warm, but Gabriel was warmer as he cradled her tightly against him. “You’ve… always had a thing for showers,” she sputtered, her throat going dry as his mouth began dragging across it. “Oh? What else do I have a thing for?” he inquired, enjoying that his plan was working. Liv felt her knees buckling at his tone, “Um… the back of my car….” “Mhmm.” “The uh… standing. Standing up.” “Ah. Do you know why I like standing up?” In one swift motion he spun her in his arms and hoisted her up around his waist, her back pressing into the wet tile. Her legs immediately wrapped around him as her hands shot to his shoulders for stability she knew she didn’t need, he had her. His eyes were hard as they bore into hers, the normally golden hue a darker amber as he waited for her response. She couldn’t think straight. His mouth was parted slightly, his hair dripping and plastered around his face and neck. It wasn’t fair. No one was supposed to look this good soaking wet. The only response she could muster was a single shake of her head. Finally, payback was his. “Because, when you’re like this, it’s up to me and me alone to turn you into a quivering, whimpering mess,” he began, nipping his mouth against the curve of her chin, “It’s my responsibility to take care of you properly, to give you what you deserve.” His lips had traveled to the hollow behind her ear and she couldn’t help the needy whine that fell from her throat. Her stomach was knotted so tight she could hardly breathe and as badly as she wanted relief this torture was exquisite. Every nerve was aching to be touched, but he kept his hands on the back of her thighs; she couldn’t believe the fire searing over her skin from his words alone. She hadn’t noticed, but he had, that her body had gone completely slack in his hold. “I like it when you give up control for once in your fucking life, like this, right now… limp in my arms… waiting,” he snarled, every word tightening that knot further. Of course he was right. It was rare when she submitted to anyone completely, even him. She was chalking it up to the alcohol, but deep down she knew that every once in awhile, she needed this. Her breath was coming out in jagged pants now, her eyes snapped shut as she did exactly what he said she was: waiting. The water still spraying out from beside them now felt cold on her overheated skin. “When you’re mine…” he finished, pulling a groan from her as she locked her fingers into the hair on the back of his head. Gabriel laughed. That was worth it. He typically wasn’t the type for this kind of thing, but she’d earned it tonight. She always seemed to enjoy it when it did happen, and pulling this response from her was always deeply satisfying. “Even after all these years, huh?” he asked, his voice back to it’s normal playful tone. “Mhmm,” she hummed, unable to form a word, a breathy laugh escaping as she smiled. “Let me help you out then sweetheart,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to her bottom lip. Shifting her slightly he lined up, pulling her down on top of him and her groan of relief that echoed off the walls was downright depraved. “Shit… I didn’t even touch you,” he whined as his hips easily slid flush with hers. “Keep talking,” she begged, squeezing her legs around his lower back. They’d had their fair share of sex in their heyday, but this, he thought, this had to take the cake. Never had she ever been so responsive and desperate for him. He began to move inside her, short shallow thrusts and within seconds he could already feel her tensing and trembling; this was some kind of record. “No one else has ever given you what you needed, have they?” he started again, obeying her request, “They could never make you feel what I can, not even if they tried.” “No,” she whimpered, “wouldn’t want them to.” “You come undone for me, only me.” “Yes.” “Let me feel it then.” At his command she felt that coil in her stomach release and the wave of endorphins wash through her. All she cared about was him. In that moment she’d do anything he asked of her. Years of desperation and frustration were washing away, relief settling deep within her bones. When his mouth finally pressed against hers, soft and sweet, she couldn’t deny that right here and now, she felt complete.

“That’s my girl,” he praised against her lips, the fog finally starting to clear. At his words of praise she whimpered, he knew every single one of her buttons and exactly when to push them. She needed more of him, all of him. Roughly, she grabbed his face in her hand and pulled him back to hers, kissing him hard, her tongue begging for entrance against his lips. “Made for you,” she affirmed, kissing his face as it scrunched in desperation. She knew how to use her chips just as well as he did his own. He hissed as her words sent a shockwave searing through him, his pace picking up and growing more and more erratic with every glide of her body against his. Their tongues battled for dominance now, his taking a slight upper hand as he finally slid one hand from behind her thigh to grip her hip. She was absolutely the most perfect thing this Earth had ever created. “I love you,” she cooed, her fingers falling to that magic spot behind his ear, “You’re all I’ll ever want, all I’ve ever wanted.” Suddenly, she felt her thighs trembling again, that familiar pressure building in her stomach. She hadn’t been expecting it and it’s sudden re-emergence caught her off guard. He could tell, and he pushed back his own impending release, trying to get her to her own first. “Don’t stop,” she begged, clawing at his back as she wrapped herself around him. “Not stopping,” he assured, hoping he could keep good on that promise. “Oh… god please…” “Not God. Met him a few times though.” If she hadn’t been so worked up she would have rolled her eyes and laughed, but right now her body was burning as it waited for release. She went completely limp in his embrace, giving him whatever range of motion he needed to relieve her of the weight bearing down on her core. “Gabriel…” she sighed, her voice hoarse. Hearing her moan his name like that was sinful, there was no way he could hold back much longer. His hand shot between them as he began pressing and circling over her in hopes she’d reach her own ecstasy before the dam broke loose. Within seconds of his fingers beginning their dance, she was screaming, the sound muffled by his shoulder as she buried her face into his body. As soon as he felt that familiar tightening he let his own guttural groan rip from his chest, pulling her impossibly closer to him. His hand tangled into her hair as he grunted against her head, his twitching, uncontrollable thrusts slowing as he finally relaxed. “Fuck…” she sighed, releasing the grip in his hair in favor of slow, scratching affections. “Yeah… I know,” he agreed, “you’re impressed. I get it. I’ll give you a second.” She laughed, “Have I told you how lame you are lately?” “Not lately, no.” Their eyes finally met again, both sparkling with mischief and love. She tilted her head in and kissed him, the urgency was gone, replaced with gratitude and devotion for the man in front of her. “You’re fucking lame,” she whispered, running her hands down his chest as they parted. “Yeah? Well my lame ass just blew your mind, again, and don’t try to deny it,” he bragged, diving in towards her throat to plant sloppy, open mouthed kisses across. Slowly, he shifted her down onto her feet, already missing her warmth and the security of her embrace. He spotted her shampoo on the shelf behind her and snatched it, lathering up his own hair before turning his attention to her. His fingers raked and scrubbed against her scalp, relaxing her into a deep sense of serenity and bliss. He turned her to face forward, his fingers working the base of her skull and neck now, rubbing her permanently tensed muscles with gentle fervor. Her head fell forward as she relaxed, letting him continue with no resistance. “You met him a few times? Really?” she teased as he pulled his hand away, leaning back against him. “Yeah.. not my best. Also not my worst. In my defense, I was pretty distracted…” he defended, leaning down and pecking his lips on hers. “No. Not your worst.” “So no one else, huh?” His question shocked her. He’d asked as his arms had come around her waist, hands flat against her stomach, which then dropped beneath his touch. She wasn’t sure she wanted to give him that answer. She knew it wasn’t unreasonable, no way he expected her to tell him that she’d decided to wait indefinitely for him, it still felt wrong to have ever been touched by anyone else as she stood there in his arms. “What?” she stammered, and he could feel her body tense. “Did you mean it, when you said no one else could do that to you?” he clarified, dragging the tip of his nose along her cheek. “Yes.” “Why?” “They didn’t care enough to try. I didn’t care enough to convince them. I just wanted you.” Guilt seeped into his chest as she turned to look at him. Her lips were settled in a happy little smile, but he didn’t share in the sentiment. He felt like she’d punished herself over the years, that even when he was gone he’d still held her back. Granted, he knew she hadn’t been the most sexually liberated woman when they’d met, he’d thought he’d changed that, but now it seemed that that side of her was reserved for him. Whether it was by choice or subconsciously he wasn’t completely sure, but from what she’d just said, it seemed more of a choice. “Guess I have a lot to make up for then,” he promised, tilting her head back into the spray to rinse the soap from her hair. They finished their shower in silence, passing kisses and lingering touches filling the quiet perfectly. When they emerged from the glass stall, every surface was covered in tiny droplets of condensation, the result of the too long shower, even their towels were slightly damp. They laughed as they discovered the consequences of their actions, Gabriel opting to help them along with a quick snap of his fingers. As soon as the bedroom door closed behind them, his hands were on her again. He couldn’t help it. An old T-shirt of his she’d kept throughout the years draped loosely around her shoulders, hanging down to the middle of her thighs, and the flood of memories that washed through him set his actions into autopilot. He remembered slow, lazy mornings and frantic, touch-starved nights. With every hour that passed back in her orbit he felt as if one apart washed away. They were settling back into exactly how things were before, better in fact, and he couldn’t stop chasing that high. All she ever wanted was standing in front of her, his fingers digging into her hips, hair hanging shaggily into his face. He looked happy, genuinely, unabashedly happy to be alive. His smile sparkled into his squinted eyes as he laughed with her, dimples pressed so far into his cheeks she thought they would never disappear again, and she hoped they wouldn’t. She was still a little drunk and the surge of serotonin he’d sent coursing through her lingered so it felt like she was floating through a dream. For a moment she considered maybe she was, this felt too good to be true, but the feeling of his lips and hands against her were far better than the justice her memories had given him. “Come here,” he beckoned as he laid back onto the bed, his arms open wide for her to crawl into. When she was near it was if her aura itself pushed the pain away, blocking behind a light and power only she could emit. There was no doubt or uncertainty, it was life just the way he wanted it. Finally. “Tired?” he whispered as his thumb ran up and down her arm. “Mhmm,” she mumbled in response. He felt her slowly drifting off to sleep. Her breathing deepened and her body went slack against him, leaving his mind to wander in her silence. He wasn’t concerned about his trip to Lucifer, from what Castiel had told him earlier he was really down on his luck, it would be easy to fool him. However, taking her into another dimension with a radioactive Michael was really putting a pit in his joy. The Michael he had known was a dick, but this one seemed worse. This one had been playing God for far too long and he had a pretty good idea of just how that would have warped his older brother’s already flawed mindset. He hated the humans enough as it were, ready to torch the world based on nothing more than a half-assed request from an absent father. There was no telling what he would do to a human that had, for lack of a better term, corrupted an archangel. That’s how he would see it, Gabriel knew. Then his mind wandered further down it’s path of familiar destruction and he considered that this could be the last night he spent like this, pinned down with her hair splayed across his chest. The rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing may soon cease to exist. At the thought, he clutched her in a little tighter, feeling his lungs constrict as he pushed back his tears. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop her, and he wasn’t risking any form of coercion, but as he pressed his lips firmly into her hair he wished she’d consider it. “Hey…” she slurred, the tightening of his grip rousing her from the light sleep she’d fallen into, “what’s the matter?” “Nothin’ sweetheart, go back to sleep,” he lied, he could hear the pain in his voice and he knew she did too. Clumsily, she shifted, pressing her chest flat against his and reaching up to gently grab each curve of his jaw in her hands. When her lips pressed against his he felt his sob catch in his throat, he didn’t know if it was a cry of relief or fear, maybe both. She was pouring her soul into her movements, her lips pressing and dragging slowly and comforting, nothing motivating her beyond easing whatever anguish he was feeling. She continued until she felt him loosen and his reciprocated kiss eased into her own. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” she assured as she kissed the tip of his nose, “you’re home.” Deep down she knew he’d always be a little afraid, anyone would be, but it was her goal to push back as much as she could. She continued her revering touches, pressing her lips to the lids of his closed eyes, then up onto his brow before one final press to his forehead. He needed more still. His hand slid against her cheek and he redirected her back to his mouth, grabbing hers with more vigor and urgency than she had his. “I love you, you know,” he sighed, pressing his forehead into hers as his eyes pinched shut. “I know,” she replied with a smile, brushing her fingers down the side of his face, “You look tired, love.” “I am.” He was. That weariness he’d felt since he’d been pulled free had faded but was still very much present. Particularly in times like this, when it was quiet and peaceful, he felt it the most. While his body begged for a few hours of rest he didn’t want to miss one single second of what he was living, because now he knew it could be ripped away without a moment's notice. “Tell me what you need,” she requested, dipping her head to press her lips to his chest. Now seemed like a better time than any. “I don’t want you to go,” he confessed, “across that rift.” “Gabe…” “I need you. You asked me what I needed and that’s the answer. We don’t know what’s over there, or who’s over there… I’ve seen you knocking on death’s door once already, I can’t do it again. I’m not gonna tell you what you can and can’t do, but I will ask you to please… stay here. For me?” His words reverberated through her. Every instinct she had was telling her that staying behind was a bad idea. She needed to be with him, not stuck behind waiting for him… again. A piece of her wanted to be offended, it was like he had no faith in her abilities or skills. She’d proven to him time and time again she was no damsel-in-distress, but then she remembered being laid out, hanging on by athread less than two weeks before. He’d been there. He’d seen it. She knew that seeing her like that wouldn’t have been easy for him and being forced to walk away was probably even harder. Rowena would also be staying behind, surely there would be some work to be done behind the scenes as well. For me? For him… TAGS: @idabbleincrazy @analisespn @nodistressdamsel @morganas-pendragons

[lia-nikiforov]

Spring 2018 Anime Watchlist

THERE IS TOO MUCH ANIME THIS SEASON I HAD TO BINGE 37 EPISODES IN THREE DAYS TO CATCH UP

Dropped

Mahou Shoujo Site: Although I originally intended to irony watch this one, expecting something like MahoIku or King’s Game, its sadistic reveling in the main character’s suffering was impossible to stomach. I felt physically ill at the end of it. I’m not, in principle, opposed to gory stuff, y’all know I sat through the whole stupidity that was King’s Game, but MahoSite doesn’t even reach the level of ridiculous over the topness to make it funny, it’s just a cascade of misery porn with not a single moment of levity or triumph for the heroine. I think I was done the moment that gratuitous “if you punch my stomach my period won’t come” line, because apparently some dudes get off on the idea of a woman being so brutalized she stops menstruating??????

Kakuriyo Yadomeshi: I was willing to give this one the three-episode trial after the first episode in spite of the godawful main love interest and the fact that the grandfather sold the MC into literal slavery wtf, because the main girl seems proactive and independent buuuuuuut fuck I hated episode 2. Not only does she seem to quickly forgive her grandfather for SELLING HER OFF, the men around her keep speaking over her and making decisions for her and she turns out to be just independent enough to not be a complete doormat, but not enough to appear defiant and I hate it. Thanks but no thanks, I ain’t here to see a romantization of being literally sold into an arranged marriage.

YOU THINK?!

Cutie Honey Universe: Before this, I’d had zero interaction with any other iteration of Cutie Honey, so I wasn’t sure of what to expect beyond knowing this was from the creator of Devilman. Certainly blatant homophobic jokes and jokes about physical abuse wasn’t in my list of thigs I expected to see, yet here we are. I ain’t here for “hyuk hyuk look at these fat/butch/ugly lesbians, aren’t they ridiculous” jokes either.

Butlers x Battlers: I completely forgot I watched this one. I don’t remember anything about it except being confused

GeGeGe no Kitaro: This one didn’t do anything wrong, but I was never gonna watch it. I just checked out episode 1 because I heard it made a dig at Logan Paul. I wish they’d gone all the way through and killed that character, but I guess you can’t have it all. It was actually a pretty decent episode, and in a weaker season I’d probably keep watching it, but there’s just too much stuff coming out. And I have watched previous Kitaro anime and it’s sometimes too meanspirited for me.

Uma Musume: I didn’t expect much from this show and was pleasantly surprised by the double-length first episode. Special Week was a nice, fun protagonist to root for and although the world-building was weird as heck, it was fun and positive. So I’m not exactly sure of what happened with episode 2/3 that it left me feeling completely dry. The pacing was super rushed, the characters all felt horribly flat, and the races weren’t super exciting because rather than any strategy or strong emotional realization, Special Week just has to start running even faster and faster in the final leg. It was also kind of implied she had gained weight? But then never brought up? And it’s not made very clear why she lost in the end? Was she supposed to learn humility and not getting too complacent? Seems too early for her to learn that when she’s supposed to be an underdog. I don’t know, it didn’t really work for me and I don’t feel like I care to watch more of it.

Because this post is long af and has a lot of gifs some folks were having trouble loading it on mobile, so you’ll have to read under the cut to know which are the shows I’m actually watching oops

Chopping Block: 

There is too much anime and I’m near the end of the semester so I’m gonna have to cut at least one -preferably two- of these shows

Sword Art Online Alternative: This was another one I intended to hatewatch? But rather than offensive or idiotic it’s so far been pretty boring. Episode one was a slog. The first half of episode two was a horrendous spectacle of hating your own body. The only think I liked was the friendship between LLENN and Pito (btw Pito meand ‘dick’ in Spanish and every time she says “call me Pito” I die). Then episode 3 was more boring exposition. FPS games are the least interesting I could think of, and I’ve never been into Let’s Play, so this show is hitting all the right notes to make me bored out of my mind. I also don’t appreciate the big dude not telling Llenn the plan and just kind of being condescending to her. If next episode is just 20 more minutes of the dude explaining things to Llenn, I’m out. (Also, Pito is 100% Elsa Kanzaki)

Legend of the Galactic Heroes: Not feeling this reboot at all. It’s all very dry and just dudes expositioning strategy at each other. Also there are 30 characters in the Ending and only 2 of them are women???? I’ll give it one more episode, but tbh I’ve had problems even paying attention to 2 and 3, it just doesn’t grab me.

Libra of Nil Admirari: Although I like the heroine and she might be one of the strongest reverse harem heroines I’ve seen, the plot itself is very... eh. The guys are also very uninteresting so far. There’s also the fact that Tsumugi claims to have no interest in men or love, but this being a reverse harem with a bevy of men starved for her attention makes me worry this’ll end with her being “fixed” by an actual nice guy who is worthy of her or something. But the OP is very cute!

Hatewatch

Darling in the Franxx: Boy oh boy, the otaku have been creaming their pants and tearing their clothes off for the last three weeks, but “Don’t call it Fucking, It’s Making Love” in the Franxx’s greatest achievement in my eyes is going for idiotically offensive to just bland and clichéd. A recent AMA on reddit with the producer seems to imply that none of the themes of sex, gender and heterosexism that have been at the core of the show were even properly thought out, nor were their implications even remotely considered. I don’t know if the show’s heterosexism would be worse if it was active propaganda rather than what it seems to be: a bunch of ideas the producers thought would be “cool” and “titillating” with no particular meaning to them. Also we’re 15 episodes in and all we’ve achieved is Palurdo has finally tamed his beast waifu who is Not Like Other Girls. Oh, and I guess the monsters actually had humans in there, what a shocker, never seen that before, never expected such a clever twizzzzzzzz....

Mid Priority

Tokyo Ghoul: Re : I thought I was done with Tokyo Ghoul after trying to read the manga and being bored shitless by all the unnecessary exposition, but this one, while not quite excellent, managed to pique my interest. The conceit of Kaneki losing his memories and joining the Doves and helping in exterminating ghouls I’m super not interested in, but his encounter with Nishio has made me curious enough about what has happened with the rest of the characters to keep watching for now.

Rokuhodou Biyori: The iyashikei show of the season I guess. The guys’ personalities are a little bland, so I might bump it down to the chopping block, but it’s only been two episodes, so I want to give it a fair chance

Persona 5: My history with Persona has never been good. Episode 1 of P4 made me sleep, and I watched the first P3 movie THREE TIMES and never managed to parse wtf it was about. This show shares some of the same problems in making me struggle to pay attention, but at least so far the plot seems interesting, the visuals are creative and striking, and I really like the main character’s design. I’m also more inclined to keep watching because Sayokan directed the OP for the videogame.

Hisone to Masotan: There’s a cynical part of me that watches this show and feels like I’m watching a commercial for the JSDF. Yvan eht nioJ, come join us, we have cool dragons!!! I also don’t love the fact that the dragon turns into a plane :/ BUT the characters have a lot of heart, the dynamics so far between Hisone and Masotan and Hisone and Kanzaki have been very touching. A part of me though, wishes Hisone had stuck with Otofu because it’s such a cute name and she sounded really funny yelling “OTOFU!!!”

Safe Sequels

Although some of these sequels would go in higher categories, I was unsure about how to rank them -especially the 2-cour ones- compared to some of my top premieres of the season, so I’m just putting them all together because there are A LOT of sequels.

Yowapeda Glory Line: FINALLY SOMETHING POSITIVE HAPPENED FOR SOHOKU. I was starting to feel exhausted with all the gloominess, especially for seeing Teshima punished, HE DESERVES EVERY GOOD THING. Now we can get back on track and hopefully have a fun race without Teshima brooding all the way through the episode. ALSO THANK YOU FOR THE EXCELLENT TESHIAO CONTENT

Nanatsu no Taizai: FINALLY ESCANOR SHOWED UP. It’s felt like the first half of the show dragged a lot compared to the manga, so I’m happy we’ve reached one of the coolest parts. Though if memory serves, the rest of the season will be spent floundering around, but damn, the Escanor vs Galand battle is very satisfying to watch.

Lupin III Part V: So this time around they’ve added the social media factor into Lupin’s adventures, and so far the result has been quite interesting. I don’t have a lot to say, the artstyle looks closer to classic versions of the franchise and has lost some of the edge from part IV, but the comedy and Lupin’s plans are still creative and fun to watch, even adding a unique spin to the social media component, so I’m excited to see where they take this. But we need more Fujiko yesterday pls

Binan Koukou Chikyuu Boueibu Happy Kiss: A soft reboot of this magical girl parody franchise, with frillier costumes and even more ridiculous attacks and transformations, and I’m here for it. I do wish we’d get at least some cameos from the original gang. I also feel that so far, apart from the Red guy (Kyotaro?) the others don’t seem to have much of a distinctive personality. It’s only episode three, so hopefully that’s something we’ll see developed as the show goes on.

Hozuki no Reitetsu: It’s the same as it’s always been, a brilliantly dry workplace comedy. If you haven’t watched the previous seasons, you’re missing out on one of the best comedies of this decade.

Boku no Hero Academia 3: After the recap first episode, the series has gone back full gear ahead into the next story arc and so far it looks pretty cool. Although I’m never a fan of “regular MC activity gets interrupted by villains”. Idk why it bothers me a lot -a prime example being the S Class exam getting cut short in Fairy Tail and the concept of S Class mages completely ditched thereon after. But anyway, I have faith in the writing that they’ll make this villain interruption cool and worth it. I do however wish they’d let us meet the Class B guys better.

Steins;Gate 0: You know, I was 100% ready to be disappointed and abandon this one right away, but damn, damn have these first two episodes been brilliant. The nuances in Okabe’s characterization, the portrayal of his grief, and his more mature attitude seem like a mirror of the watcher who has grown all the same in the seven years since the show’s original season. I’m hoping the teases about Maho as a potential love interest are a red herring, but other than that, I’m blown away by how good it has been so far. Just delete Daru please.

Card Captor Sakura: Clear Card: Things have started happening! We’re starting to see that Akiho’s mysterious book is somehow having an effect over the events of Sakura’s life. The episode with the animals was particularly strong, with a new card that had a nice renovated design, and a really emotionally effective scene of Sakura and Syaoran embracing to help Sakura regain confidence to save her friends. It’s one of the strongest episodes of the series so far, so hopefully we’ll have more of those and less of the “finding a card that only minimally makes 10 cm from a bookshelf disappear” type. As a sidenote, I find Akiho’s obsession with Sakura’s play a bit offputting.

High Priority

Mahou Shojo Ore: Given how little I knew about this series going in and how excited I was about it in spite of it, I’m pleased to report the show has lived up to my expectations in one way or another. The weird comedy is on point and also everyone is fucking gay. I’m rooting for you Blue Girl! Easily the superior show with Mahou Shoujo in its title.

Hinamatsuri: You know, I didn’t have super high expectations for this one, but it’s turned out to be a very nice surprise. It has that charming paternal relationship between Nitta and Hina that is cute and hilarious. I have to say I’m not super into the classmate-forced-to-become-a-bartender storyline and I’m not sure how that even fits with the rest of the show, so I hope there won’t be a lot of vignettes about it.

Piano no Mori: Wonky CGI and occassionally questionable character design choices (Ajino was so BEAUTIFUL in his youth, why does he look so ridiculous in the present?!!!) aside, this has been one of the strongest premieres of the season. I know fans of the manga have criticized it, but as someone unfamiliar with the original, I’m definitely intrigued by this story.

BESTEST

Megalobox: This one wasn’t on my radar at all. It’s one of those numerous cases of me seeing a title that sounds stupid and deciding to ignore the show based on that alone. I’m glad I stumbled on all the praise the premiere episode received because damn is it good. The story behind the cameras is that this is a 50th anniversary project for Ashita no Joe, and it was meant to be a reboot, but the director couldn’t find a way to make it work, so he created something entirely new, and aren’t we glad about that. It has a unique retro look and although the plot beats do call back to Ashita no Joe, our Joe feels like his own person alright. I think my only nitpick is that I’m not entirely sure of what is even the point of the additional gear. Also, I know how Ashita no Joe ends and I hope this show won’t end like that too :’D

Golden Kamuy: How long has it been since the last time a multi-awarded manga not only wasn’t disappointing but ended up being one of the most promising anime adaptations of the season? Yes, everyone’s seen the ugly CGI bear, moving on, this is a captivating and unique historical show with a so far excellent portrayal of Ainu culture and a kickass lady coprotagonist.  I am really excited to see where this one will go. Also, it was really exciting to hear characters actually speaking ainu language. I’ve done some research on Ainu history (and kickass Ainu women) for school, so I’m very pumped about this one.

Otaku ni Koi wa Muzukashii: By far my favorite premiere of the season. So far, two episodes in, it’s all I ever hoped it would be and more. The characters are charming, Narumi and Hirotaka’s relationship feels natural and effortless -both the romantic aspect of it, and the way they easily become comfortable with one another-. Narumi is delightful and very well-rounded, being as cheerful and optimistic as she can be cynical, and her quick-developing friendship with Hanako is so violently relatable I was screaming. I really love this show. ALSO THE OP IS SUPER CUTE

I FINALLY FINISHED WRITING THIS IT TOOK FOREVER BECAUSE THERE IS TOO MUCH ANIME

[getoffthesoapbox]

[GS] Goblin Slayer’s Foundational Sublayers

“Don't worry about the snakes in your garden when you've got spiders in your bed.”

I hope I’m not stepping on a landmine by posting about this particular show, given it’s controversial nature, but I’m quite floored by the layers I’m discovering in Goblin Slayer now that I’ve watched the first two episodes. I guess I’ll preface this with a couple disclaimers, then work out the rest under the cut.

First of all, I know nothing about Goblin Slayer other than that it is a light novel and has a manga variant. I’ve never read either, and have no intention of reading either in the near future. How the story unfolds or whether or not its intriguing and gripping premise devolves into pointless harem hijinks, I know not. If it’s merely a male power fantasy or if it has more substance, I know not. These things I will discover as they come within the anime. My post at this time is concerning what is right in front of me, the two episodes that are out. Whether the story can make good on what its more subtler layers are promising remains to be seen. 

Second of all, this post will not delve into the controversial elements of the two episodes other than to refer to them lightly as necessary. While I believe the human mind is stronger than common wisdom implies, I’m not interested in fighting people over what should have been warned or not, so I won’t be messing with it. It just bogs down the flow of a post to have such things, and it goes against my principles, so I’ll be stepping around it entirely. 

Preamble over. Let’s get crackin’.

Edgy Exploitation Fantasy or Psychological Horror Fantasy?

There used to be a subgenre of horror filmmaking called exploitation or grindhouse films. Some of the discussion I’m seeing about Goblin Slayer reminds me a bit of the controversies surrounding these shadier elements of filmmaking throughout film history. Artists are always pushing boundaries, touching taboos, and getting bit for going too far. This is the nature of art, and the whole process is fine--boundaries should be set by culture, but they should also be poked and prodded by subculture. It’s an eternal dance that is necessary and desirable for the health of a society. Go too far one way, and you’re too rigid. Go too far the other way, you’re unable to get your bearings. There is a time and a place to explore exploitation, and artists need to be free to go where the normal civilized person cannot. (Or at least, that’s what I believe.)

Where does Goblin Slayer fall, then? On the surface, one might say it easily falls into an exploitation subgenre. The first episode alone features men being viciously murdered and women facing far worse, all to set up the Heroic Entrance of the blank slate (quite literally, as he has no face) Audience-Insert Hero character. This Audience-Insert Hero Character then proceeds to Destroy All The Bad Things and save the day. In episode two, we find out the Audience-Insert Hero Character not only saves the day, but he’s the Only One who saves the day for the Little Guy and no one but his Harem, who he doesn’t notice because he’s Too Manly, appreciates him. 

If the above were all that Goblin Slayer had to it (and perhaps future episodes will truly devolve into such a premise), then I would agree with those who criticize its exploitation of its female (and male) characters for the sake of elevating its hero and allowing its audience the opportunity to both be titillated by the violence being done to the victims and enjoy the fantasy of rescuing the damsels in distress who can be rescued. In some ways, Goblin Slayer certainly isn’t shy about indulging in its exploitative opportunities. But I do think there’s more to it than merely the exploitation layer, and that’s why I haven’t dropped it. 

I think Goblin Slayer’s world building is some of the strongest I’ve seen in an anime fantasy setting in a long time, and the first episode left me with a genuine sense of horror that I haven’t felt in a long time. Horror is much like humor--it’s easy to spot and hard to do right. Jump scares and spooky sounds are one thing, but narrative horror--the kind you’d find in The King in Yellow or The Turn of the Screw--is much more difficult. The kind of horror that creeps up on you, that gets you thinking, that’s much harder. The same is true of slapstick comedy--it’s easy to do body humor, but difficult to do the more complicated forms. Goblin Slayer does an excellent job building its world into something truly horrific in its first two episodes, and while this does elevate its hero to truly “heroic” proportions, it also emphasizes just how difficult, unrewarding, thankless and necessary a task this man has undertaken is, and the depths of the evil which has snuck in by the back door. 

But more than the world building, more than the harem elements, Goblin Slayer gets so. much. right. on two very important narrative levels most people never even think about: the evolutionary level and the mythological/religious level. These two levels are buried beneath our stories, and most of the time in the rush of planning characters and plots and themes and the “things of heaven” so to speak, writers don’t even realize the “hell” at their feet, the foundation upon which they’re building. When a writer gets it right, you know, because people are drawn to it without being able to understand why, even if the plot, characters, and “themes” are badly written or terrible or repugnant morally. When a story gets the foundation layers right, there’s something in it that really calls an audience’s attention, for good or ill, and that’s what I want to explore here today. 

The Serpent In The Garden & The Heart

What struck me about the first two episodes of Goblin Slayer was that this world was fucked inside and out. This is the layer of myth and religion--whenever a story starts with a premise like that, we’re going straight back to the origin stories of mankind--the angry gods and goddesses, the banishment from paradises, the murdering of first brothers. Even if we’re secular people, we all carry within us the DNA of generations upon generations of people who held this mythology within their lives and blood. It influences us in ways we don’t even recognize to this day. 

Goblin Slayer makes a clear-cut case for the evils of the goblins themselves, and they’re the easiest to address first. The goblins are this story’s initial enemy, the “serpent in the garden” to to speak. They are the thing, according to the Hero, who is keeping the World from Paradise. The source of the fall, so to speak. And the story does an excellent job of establishing the horror of these creatures. In small groups or one-on-one, outside of their nest, they’re no threat at all, much like a lone rat might be or a lone wasp or a lone termite. But enter their nest and their layer, ignore them to let them multiply, and you’ll soon find yourself battling an infestation of the little buggers. These goblins are nasty little creatures--smart as dogs and rapacious as bed bugs. They hide from larger, scarier monsters, and loot poor, ill-defended villages, pillaging for supplies and women, who they drag back to their layers. Much like pillagers throughout humanity, these creatures swam what they want and devour it in whatever way strikes them. They’re truly horrific creatures.

Now this alone would be rather one-sided if the goblins were the only evil the story highlighted. But fortunately, there is a second layer that touches on the snakes that exist in the heart of every creature. Why are the goblin infestations increasing? Because humans don’t feel like dealing with them. They’re a hassle (like pests), they’re easy to kill as long as you don’t get swarmed, and there are bigger fish to fry (likely legitimately, but that hasn’t been justified yet). Worse, they tend to attack poorer villages that can’t afford to put up a town defense much less hire adventurers to assist them. The bounties aren’t worth it for anyone but the greenhorns looking for experience. So much of the destruction caused by these green menaces is due to human greed and sloth--”strong” humans are too important to waste time on “small” fry like goblins. Greenhorns are then sent to the slaughter--the ones who survive become regular adventurers and soon escape the grind of goblin-hunting while the unlucky ones get slaughtered or worse. 

Even with these two sides of horror--nature and the heart of man--this story would fall flat if it didn’t have one last piece of the triangle. Generally when stories fail at this level, they fail because their protagonist is “above” the serpent within. Fortunately for Goblin Slayer, the Goblin Slayer himself is not this kind of character. He may have a harem and he may be “heroic,” but the first two episodes of the story do not justify him or his actions. I think it might be easy to take his backstory flashback as a justification, but there are a few key moments that the story emphasizes which, in my opinion, make it clear that the flashback is merely to explain why he’s obsessed with his mission to eradicate the goblins, not to justify his actions. The first moment is in the first episode when he slaughters the helpless goblin children--while his words may be “correct,” they neither convince the Priestess nor do the visuals agree with him--he’s portrayed visually as an overbearing monster bearing down on the hapless creatures. In the second episode, he attempts to justify himself to the Priestess again, but what we see from her is not her nodding in agreement or having a Sudden Realization of his Righteousness--instead she is praying as they’re slaughtering the goblins. She still views him as wrong, even if this is a necessary evil in order to protect their own kind. 

On top of the Priestess’s alternative viewpoint and the camerawork, we have his Childhood Friend, whose pain and loneliness is emphasized. His work isn’t justified by her story, it’s criticized. While he’s off chasing down this endless revenge quest, he’s hurting a woman who has cared for him for most of his life. He’s missing out on the beauty of her company and her companionship, on the brighter side of life, on “heaven” so to speak. Her uncle wants her to give up on him, and understandably calls him crazy. But she is faithful in waiting, and in hoping that one day he’ll turn toward her. To be fair, the story does try to play things evenly rather than simply criticizing its main character (it does want you to root for the Goblin Slayer), and it does this through the Guild Clerk, who in my opinion is the least trustworthy of the heroines so far. She may “value” the Goblin Slayer, but she’s certainly willing to hand out goblin missions to unqualified greenhorns and use them as cannon fodder when necessary. The story makes it clear that she has a serpent in her heart as well. 

What I see here, with these three key elements in play, is the set up for a huge redemption arc not only for the Goblin Slayer, but also for the world at large. We’re starting off with both a fall from paradise (the goblin infestations rising) and the Problem of Malice/Evil (the indifference of the other adventurers and the obsession of the Goblin Slayer), both of which will have to be addressed and rectified before the end. It’s clear from the opening that, much like Guts from Berserk, the Goblin Slayer cannot complete his mission alone. He is not going to be able to actualize himself as a person and as a human being and free himself from his obsession until he is shown a bigger picture through the perspectives of the people who come into contact with him. 

The exploitation in the first two episodes to me seems to be ultimately necessary for establishing the sheer magnitude of the stakes in this story not just for the main hero and heroine, but also for the world itself. It is a world that has turned a blind eye to injustice in favor of greed, a world that is not functioning with proper order and is allowing chaos to flourish because people are trying to avoid facing what they don’t want to face. If this theme carries on throughout the entirety of the story, and if both the Goblin Slayer and the world change by the end, I think it could have the makings of quite a satisfying quest on the most fundamental of levels, even if it indulges in a few harem hijinks. 

Evolution On Display

This might be kind of a funny thing to notice, but I think the evolutionary layer is a key layer in storytelling that perhaps isn’t acceptable to modern sensibilities despite resonating deeply due to the nature of evolution.

On average, women tend to flock toward the men at the top of a hierarchy. These men, evolutionarily speaking, are the most likely to be able to offer security and safety for the woman and her offspring. Since only in the modern age have medicine and work opportunities become available to allow women to not rely so heavily on men’s assistance, this is something buried deep within the female psyche that they most likely don’t even realize is operating within them. 

Harem stories are annoying to me in general because I tend to find them unrealistic in some senses (generally the male figures in them are not what women themselves would pick as the “top of the crop” which is why women can so quickly pinpoint a male fantasy character vs. a legitimate top male). Male fantasy characters tend to be average schmucks whose only selling point is that they’re “nice” and can help solve the girls’ problems. Characters like that tend to be off-putting for female audiences because let’s face it, in real life you kind of need more to sell than just your niceness. ;) So in most harem stories of the anime variety, the harems the males gather to them are not earned the way real top males earn their harems. 

Take, for example, a star actor or a star sports hero--these men work their asses off night and day to rise above the crowd. They may get several girls who like them when they’re first starting their craft, say, in high school. By college they have a respectable harem of ladies who are interested. By the time they make their first break in the industry, maybe they have a new girl every night if they want. By the time they’re famous, they most likely can have whoever they want whenever they want. This is the nature of what it means to be on top. And this makes sense, because think about what comes “with” being a star of this kind--immense wealth, immense notoriety, immense resources. On a biological level, it only makes sense that these men would be incredibly attractive to women, women who might not mind sharing if it means having a piece of such a man. 

What I love about Goblin Slayer is that it actually accurately gets this element. Women see the worth of men and the likelihood of them making it to the “top” of the hierarchy earlier than men do. This is why the Childhood Friend’s conversation with her uncle in episode two was so interesting to me--he sees nothing of worth in the Goblin Slayer, but she already is seeing a man who has the ability to secure the life and resources she needs. She’s seeing the future while her uncle can only see the worthless sack of shit in the present. You see this effect also on the Priestess, who the Goblin Slayer rescues. She sees his worth as a protector, thus security. The Guild Girl also sees his worth in the status sector--he’s the Only One Who Will Fight Goblins, which is a status. The reason he gets ridiculed by other adventurers is because they don’t understand that he’s carving a niche status for himself (he himself doesn’t understand this either), but they instinctively fear that niche status. Ridicule comes from an instinctive fear of excellence. Whenever a man (or woman) begins reaching for excellence, it stirs up anxieties among the people around them who know subconsciously that they’re not striving for the same thing. 

Thus we end up with this realistic harem that actually works for once because it’s based (most likely subconsciously on the writer’s part) on actual evolutionary development. The Goblin Slayer is in the process of earning his status, his resources, and his harem. He is doing that with single-minded attention toward his goal, which is ultimately the eradication of goblins. Now, his goal is wrong, and he’ll have to temper it, but it’s an important part of the process guiding him toward the top of the hierarchy, where he’ll find the happiness he doesn’t know he’s looking for now. 

Why Fantasy Stories Aimed At Men Still Matter

I wasn’t going to go here when I started my post, but apparently I have something about it I want to say. 

There is certainly a push now to make stories of all shapes accessible to women, and I absolutely have no problem with this. Expanding the audiences for stories is perfectly fine (and smart from a business-standpoint!). But at the same time, I think something has been lost for male audiences in the process, and for female audiences as well, in removing the opportunity for a truly male-oriented worldview for (some) stories.

Stories are essentially a way to understand each other, to bridge the gap between our heads and other people’s. It is as helpful for a woman to watch a male harem fantasy as it is for a man to watch a female reverse harem fantasy--both offer windows into the dreams and wishes of each gender and give clues as to what kinds of personality traits are worth cultivating and what traits should be snuffed out as quickly as possible. 

The problem comes when one gender gets a monopoly over the other, or when one gender becomes naval-gazing and self-indulgent at the expense of the other, which is why (understandably) we’re seeing a movement toward stories with broader perspectives. The only downside to a broader perspective, of course, is that you lose intimacy and you lose the ability to enter a specific type of person’s worldview. (This brings me to mind of something like Lolita, which probably would not be able to be published in the modern day.) When you can’t narrow the perspective of a story to reflect a single mindset, you definitely lose some flavor along the way. Whether that flavor is worth losing or not is probably up to each individual viewer. 

The other problem that I’m seeing at least with recent storylines in anime is that even as they’re extending the narrative umbrella to female audiences, in the process they’re losing the aspirational aspect of men’s journeys. These stories aimed at men are no longer guiding them toward becoming the kind of men who can attract the women they want and be respected by their peers; instead they try to placate young men who have made nothing of themselves by offering them women who will accept them “as they are.” I see the same thing happening in stories for girls--girls aren’t aspiring to become the best partners they can for the men at the top of the hierarchy, instead they’re being told they can just “be themselves” and the top males will land in their lap for no reason at all simply because they’re the heroine. I find these kinds of stories to be dangerous in a great many ways because they foster false expectations and senses of entitlement that aren’t helpful when navigating difficult gender dynamics in the real world. 

What does this tangent have to do with Goblin Slayer? Well, as far as I can tell, Goblin Slayer is getting this right. The Goblin Slayer is not a layabout useless sack of crap whose childhood friend has to wake him up every day by jiggling her unrealistic assets in his face. He’s a man who is making his way in the world, a man who has a purpose he chose for himself, a man who pays for his rent, a man who gets himself up every day, a man who politely escorts the lady of the house where she wants to go, a man who is respectful and civilized. He is a man “in process,” which is a great place to start with a hero. Of course there is still growth--he needs to become more than merely a goblin murderer. If he wants to earn the harem he’s beginning to attract, he needs to expand as a person. But what I appreciate about this story is that it establishes the basics of what one needs to begin attracting the opposite sex--a job, industriousness, and excellence in one’s field of work. What’s even better is that this story is establishing that this can all be done without looks being a factor--the Goblin Slayer is never seen without his helmet, which means he’s attracting people based on what he does and how he acts. In other words, the Goblin Slayer is an aspirational figure, even with his flaws. 

Stories like this are necessary for young men so that they can see themselves as something other than useless layabouts who need a woman to wake them up in the morning. Stories like this are also necessary for the brave women who care to overlook the male perspective in order to gain understanding of how much work a man has to put in to even be able to attract any notice, and to what men are looking for both in relationships and in their lives in general. I guess maybe I as a viewer just like to see this aspect respected and hope that stories won’t be afraid to regain a bit of what has been lost in transition here. Again, I don’t want to lose stories that appeal to everyone, but I think it’s fine for some stories to focus specifically on one gender in order to help work through many of the problems and challenges that gender faces in the world. Goblin Slayer by itself can’t do that alone, and I’m not even saying it’s the best variant of this genre, but at the moment it’s getting things right and I like to praise things when I see them getting things right. 

He Who Runs Away Today Lives To Run Another Day

I hope I haven’t offended anyone with this post (it’s hard to talk about controversial subjects without offending at least half the room), but if I have I offer my sincere apologies. This was meant to be an exploration of the thoughts and feelings this story and some of the controversy surrounding it stirred up within me, and I’m not really sure I accomplished much more than merely getting some thoughts out on paper, but it is what it is. 

Whether you love Goblin Slayer or hate it or are indifferent to it, thank you for making it all the way to the end of this and I hope we’ll cross paths again.

Until next time!

[toonstarterz]

BECAUSE I’M NOT POPULAR, I’LL READ WATAMOTE: CHAPTER #125

Nico Tanigawa decided to waste no time and jumped right into the next field trip arc. I’m sure some fans are concerned that the pacing is a little too fast, but I honestly think that’s only because we don’t have many hints as to where this manga is going after the field trip, at least in terms of tangible school events. There’s still plenty character relationships to explore in this manga, so I’d say we just go with the flow, and see where Tomoko’s experience at the House of Mouse will lead her. 

Chapter 125: Because I’m Not Popular, I’ll Start My Field Trip

Yuri would probably die without her pockets.

Showing exposition through character is another strength of this manga. We don’t need the teacher or some omnipresent narrator to explain how the field trip is gonna go. We just need the character’s thoughts to set up the context of the chapter. Tomoko’s comment on how hands-off the teachers are implies a lack of adult supervision, which then raises the stakes for whatever shenanigans our girls will inevitably get into.  

Yoshida’s default scowl is now her default smile. I’d expect nothing less at the Happiest Place on Earth. 

Like I said, these tidbits of conversation actually give meaning to events that happen later on. In Yoshida’s case, knowing that she plans to hang out with others is going to be very significant for what’s soon to come. 

Team Normie from left to right: Finding Nemo, Glasses-kun, Short Guy I Don’t Recognize, Suzuki, Guy I Do Recognize But Don’t Remember Where, Little Fanged Bitch, Class Mom, and Pineapple-chan. 

Layouts like this are awesome because of how much they show without any words. If you showed this panel to someone unfamiliar with Watamote, they could likely tell that Nemoto and Okada don’t like each other because of how the six in the middle are facing inward, while the girls on the far ends are facing outward. 

On that note, I’ll always be impressed by how well Nemoto can hide her negative emotions under a smile. Okada, not so much. 

Perhaps this is just my limited experience with manga and anime talking, but I always find it interesting by how platonically intimate the boys and girls are in Nemoto’s group, i.e. using nicknames. Granted, close friends across different genders is nothing surprising in manga/anime, but there’s often this romantic subtext, usually from other characters, which fans often take as evidence to there being something more. In Nemoto’s group, I haven’t seen this implication at all other than first year Tomoko’s delusions. It’s rather refreshing when I come across a series that can pull this off.

Flustered Minami is annoyingly cute. 

Guess I better stop beating around the bush and address the elephant in the room.

In actuality, I had thought that Nemoto and Okada had got into a fight in the previous chapter, but I didn’t touch upon it because I didn’t think there was sufficient evidence and I would’ve been talking out of my ass. But, lo and behold, they really were having a fight. 

It’s Yuri and Mako from the previous trip all over again.

As for what that fight was about, I’m 99% sure it was about Nemoto coming out of the otaku closet. And if I may guess, I don’t think Okada has an issue with Nemoto’s interests, but that the latter lied, or at least, dodged the truth, about her desire to be a voice actress. A barrier of trust seems to have cracked between them, and because Watamote is a great manga that doesn’t let its audience take any obvious side, it’ll be interesting to see how they patch things up.

So here’s a question: Why doesn’t Minami go off with her other friends? Y’know, the ones she had before she got placed in class 3-5? Perhaps her friends were not as close to her as she originally thought, but more likely, I think it’s just that Minami is trying to cement her “place” in Katou’s clique. Given that’s still in the periphery zone, disconnecting from Katou’s group would bring her two steps back, so better that she strike now while the iron is hot.  

More like a fourth wheel, but same difference. 

Nemoto’s at it again with the half-lies. If we’re getting real here, I honestly don’t think Nemoto would join up with Tomoko’s group if she could help it. Right now, she just has a convenient excuse to not join her usual friends, and at the moment, Tomoko is her rebound. Of course, she has to play it up as her being extra friendly, or she wouldn’t be Nemoto. 

Mako, bless her soul, is obviously the go-to-gal to speak with, being the most socially adept of the three. She may just be the indisputable nice girl of the series, next to Yuu. 

I’m inclined to believe that little blurb of how they’ve never talked to each is all in Nemoto’s head, ‘cause there’s no way she’d ever be that tactless. In any case, it’s be a real treat if Yuri and Nemoto ended up on the same ride, only to start discussing their mutual buddy, Tomoko. 

Nemo gotta chill with that passive aggression. Physically imposing herself over Tomoko, and speaking in such a manner that leaves the latter with no room to argue...Nemoto is quite the manipulator, and it’s totally intentional on the mangaka’s part. On second thought, keep it up Nemoto, because it’s admittedly entertaining to see you go at her like that.

Writing about Nemoto is always hard because it’s very difficult to get a good read on her. It does often seem that she’s actively pushing Tomoko out of her comfort zone, but whether she’s doing that out of simple kindness or to feel better about herself is unclear.

I do wonder how Yen Press is going to handle the censorship for this arc. Obviously, Disneyland is going to be asterisked, or renamed into “Mouseyland” like in volume 9. But does Splash Mountain require censorship? It is a real name, so I believe it would...

I’ll get back to Nemoto and the whole mouse ears thing later. 

This scene was more significant to me than was probably intended, because I believe it’s the first time Tomoko has viewed Yuri with any obvious admiration. Yuri’s unwavering nature is one of her likeable traits, and for someone like Tomoko, who often finds herself sucked into uphill battles, being able to go against the flow must really speak to her. Hopefully, this will develop Tomoko’s side of her friendship with Yuri.

PFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTT.

Ucchi’s presence was a mandatory for this arc, and it’s great that they manage to include her in the story in a way that is both times utterly ridiculous and completely realistic for this manga. 

Playing the victim card is entirely Ucchi’s modus operandi, to varying degrees of effectiveness. It allows her to hopefully achieve her objective, while at the same time removes any responsibility for her actions. Is it an effective strategy? Certainly. Will Ucchi pull it off? Not a fucking chance. 

dem crocodile tears.

Because Ucchi, a.k.a My Legs are Numb, is such a terrible liar, she has to rely on her second tactic when the first tactic inevitably fails: false accusations. By putting the blame onto Mako, Ucchi continues to free herself of responsibility while Mako is pressured into helping her out of guilt. I call this accusation “false” because I’m not entirely sure to what extent Mako and Ucchi are friends. But it doesn’t really matter at the moment, because as long as there’s a sliver of friendship between them, Ucchi will use it as ammunition.  

I remember asking for this girl’s name back in my review of chapter 117. Wish granted. (But now I’m gonna start thinking of Studio Ghibli films whenever she shows up.)

And because nothing can ever go Ucchi’s way, her final tactic is...throwing a tantrum. Admittedly, it takes a lot for Ucchi to start openly freaking out, and only when is on the verge of losing or is losing the thing she wants. It’s here where Ucchi’s logic becomes very suspect, and her bitch tendencies start to become more apparent. 

Props to Mako, for being so collected during this hissyfit.  

Subtlety...

...Ucchi is not. The dramatic irony of this manga is spectacular whenever Emoji-girl is concerned. For the two girls here, Ucchi’s antics probably come off as her just being physically assertive. But the readers all know what’s really going on. Ucchi forcing herself between them is clearly a bold attempt at getting closer to Tomoko, and it’s crazy how supposedly meaningless actions like this suddenly carry so much meaning when performed by a particular character.

6 seconds...7 seconds....8 seconds...

I fully expect the fanart to explode with this image. 

Many people in the fandom are calling this fan-service, and in way, that’s true. but I want to distinguish what part of this is fan-service, and what isn’t. To put it finely, Yoshida dressing up in Disneyland gear is not fanservice, because the series has long since set this up as a part of Yoshida’s character, so narratively, it makes perfect sense for Yoshida to be donning mouse ears and a faux-Tigger jacket. 

What is fanservice is how Yoshida’s presented, and, in the most objective way possible, how erotic it is. It’s not just the “gap moe” of a tough girl in cute clothes, but Yoshida’s appearance is obviously meant to titillate the viewers. The roughened up demeanor, the jacket slightly falling off, the bruise clearly meant to look like a blush, and her pouty expression are all an intentional decision meant for the Yoshida fans. 

As a final note, I’m not condemning the mangaka for this, because as far as fanservice goes, this is very tasteful. Why? Because it says more about Yoshida’s attractiveness as a character than any half-assed attempt to put her in “sexy” situations.   

As I had just suggested, I love how Nico Tanigawa subverts our expectations by giving Yoshida what looks like a blush, when it’s actually a bruise. Well played.

Nemo, I don’t think anyone expected Tomoko and Yuri to be friends with Yoshida, at least as close friends. She likely finds it confusing that a delinquent like Yoshida would get along with relatively good people like Tomoko and Yuri, but as is a common theme in this manga, strong friendships are forged not through similar interests, but in shared temperaments and values, by which the T-Y-Y group most certainly have.

23 seconds...24 seconds...25 seconds...   

Funny you should think that Nemoto, considering that you were the one who first suggested you’d all get mouse ears in the first place. But in all seriousness, this surprise could just be exclusive to Yoshida. Buying mouse ears as a group falls in line with the “typical things to do at Disneyland”, so it’s natural from Nemoto’s perspective. Yoshida, whose character is rather atypical to Nemoto, likely came off as the type to be resistant to such cute things.

You have a lot to learn in this group, Nemoto. 

And this is the first hint towards the question, “What happened between Yoshida and her friends?” The common theory going around seems to be that Yoshida and her yankee friends got into a falling out, possibly over Yoshida’s cuteness, leading to the bruise on her face. Given I don’t see any other reason why she would switch plans, it does suggest that at least something foul went down, which could possibly lead to Yoshida being more comfortable with her loner crew in the future. 

Also, that bruise healed up fast.

Something tells me Nico Tanigawa are trying to beat the readers to the punch by tsukommi-ing at points where the readers may have doubts. I certainly wouldn’t want them to do this often, or would be more of a crutch than anything. But used sporadically, it helps assure the users that the mangaka has considered the same thing, and will likely proceed the story with that in mind.

67 seconds...68 seconds...69 seconds...

Ucchi, BLINK for crying out loud! 

Nemoto: I’ve always liked how Nemoto’s opinion on Tomoko is neither positive or negative. Just...interesting. If I had to say where I think this opinion will end, it’d be a begrudging respect for Tomoko and her weirdness.

Ucchi: Emoji transcended the fourth wall and came out with an insight straight out of 4chan. Her annoyance, I believe, stems from a realization that Tomoko is more likeable than Ucchi thought, which sort of negates that feeling of importance Ucchi gets from Tomoko’s supposed attention. 

Yuri: Not surprisingly, Yuri totally blindsided Nemoto and Ucchi when referring to their four-person group. I don’t think Yuri’s eager to add more people into her circle, but hey, Nico Tanigawa may come to surprise us.

Mako: With that stoic expression, Mako? Then again, only a bestie like Mako could see the subtle changes in Yuri’s emotional state. 

Yoshida: So aggressively cute! Leave it to Yoshida to head the group at a time like this. I must admit, I was worried that Yoshida would fall too much into the “delinquent likes cute things” cliche, but I like how it’s done here. Yoshida’s demeanor isn’t a lightswitch that changes between ‘violent’ and ‘adorable’ with no in-between. Her toughness is still present, whether she’s beating up Tomoko, or fawning over cat plushies. 

This was a set-up chapter, all things considered, but it gets the job done by hyping the readers for what’s to come. If I know this series as well as I hope I do, something will happen in this arc that will change up a character relationship for the rest of the school year. It could be anything at this point–Yoshida breaking off with her delinquent buddies, Ucchi giving a cringefest-of-a-confession to Tomoko, Nemoto and Yuri sharing an unexpected bond–the possibilities are endless.

Place your bets!

[believe-that-you-can-my-friend]

Fruit Punch Lips & Leather Jacket Dreams

Part 2/3: Heliophilia

Part 1 - AO3 

A/N: This part made me hate life and everything in it. I’ve re-written it more times that I can count. Sorry for making you wait this long, this didn’t want to come easy at all! I hope at least it’s semi-decent and enjoyable. :) Also, this is 40 something pages long so you might wanna grab some snacks or drinks and make sure you have plenty of time for that disgrace of fanfiction. Anyway, hope you enjoy!  A/N (2): Later on the chapter, when the steamy action starts, the song that’s playing is Ready For Love by Bad Company. Listening to it will get you more in the mood. ;) Warning: Rating changed because Serpent Jughead only comes with a lot of sin.

The River Vixens.

Young, beautiful, sanguine, an ornament of fine femininity throughout the entire sports history of the quaint town of Riverdale.

Cheryl Blossom; the Redhead Amazon, the top of the pyramid, the woman in charge, the H.B.I.C. of this squad of model-like beauty and long legs. The leader-born, even though second-born, the rebellious spirit, the cold sweat laced wet dream of every teenage boy that couldn’t make it to her selective list of conquests.

Veronica Lodge; the Midnight Pussycat, the city girl that shook the easy-flowing waters of the town that lay sleeping, the socialite that climbed the school’s social ladder overnight, the cheerleader that got the quarterback in an fairytale adolescent love story that was bound to lead to a June wedding somewhere in Upper East Manhattan.

And then, Betty Cooper; the Ethereal Goddess, the student most-likely to succeed, the trophy daughter, the next-door sweetheart, the old starlet beauty with doe eyes the shade of lush meadows and pouty lips in the prettiest cherry color of Lolita innocence.

The girl that came from a successful line of Coopers. (Hal Cooper, varsity captain of the championship winning football team of 1984, Alice Cooper (nee Smith), vice-captain of the cheerleading squad, Student Body President, Prom Queen, Chic Cooper, head of the school’s newspaper, star football player and top scorer of Riverdale Bulldogs, his jersey with the number 26 still hanging proudly on the school’s gymnasium, Polly Cooper, multiple award winning Mathlete and the first and only cheerleading captain to achieve first place for the River Vixens at the Nationals.)

The girl that had the background and the talent to be Vixen captain but refused because she knew that was her cousin’s childhood dream.

The girl that passed out on last year’s Homecoming, even though she was going to be crowned Queen, to mop over ice-cream with Veronica because Archie was being a dick.

The girl that held Kevin’s hand the first time he came out to his father.

The girl that self-stitched Archie’s practically ruined punching bag, making it better than new.

The girl that wrote an expose about sexual harassment and rape culture flourishing inside the grounds of their high school, a place that was supposed to shape brilliant young minds not deteriorate them.

The girl that co-founded the first high school club of young feminists.

The girl that was volunteering at the Southside.

The girl that stood her ground against a seemingly dangerous but poorly educated Serpent.

The girl that right now was being just a girl, rolling her glorious hips in some tight spandex Nike training shorts in ash grey in coordination with her fellow cheerleaders but better than the rest, sassier, deliciously tantalizing.

Jughead Jones was putty for all the versions of that girl.

Sprawled on the wooden bleachers of the school’s gym the five Serpent friends were watching the mouthwatering sight of the dancing girls in front of them. The young leader was at the center, Ricky and Gush on either side of him with eyes round and barely blinking and mouth lightly agape, Blaine on the bleacher behind him, where Jughead was resting his elbows, having a leg perched up casually and a dumbfounded smirk on his blushing face and Reggie in front of all of them, giddy grin intact and mischief in his shinning coal like eyes, laying comfortably on his side and holding his head up on an elbow, next to his best friend’s outstretched and crossed at the ankles long limbs. No one was talking, no one was even breathing because, truthfully, there were a lot of bare legs and tight active wear clothes on feminine curves to allow enough blood supply in their brains for another body function apart from staring.

Looks like you've been starving

You've got those hungry eyes

You could use some sugar

'Cause your levels ain't right

Any other time Jughead would appreciate the female virility but today sex-on-legs Cooper was to Cheryl’s right, making it a herculean task to look away. It was like watching her in slow motion; stunning face shining with glee, messy ponytail and rebellious locks swaying to some pop song he’d never heard before with every gracious twirl she took, a veil of sweat coaxing her collarbones and some salty droplets leaving a zig-zag trail down her sternum, disappearing into her white sports bra that pushed her breasts up deliciously, the perfect round mounds bouncing to the beat and making him follow the action with hooded eyes and a tiny side smirk of appreciation.

'Cause I'm all that you want, boy

All that you can have, boy

Got me spread like a buffet

Bon a, bon appétit, baby

They were supposed to be rehearsing for some kind of innovational musical the theater kids were due to perform in a month, thus their own choice of athletic wear instead of their usual cheerleading uniform or their yellow and blue practice attire. However, he wasn’t sure how on earth this seemingly food related play was appropriate enough to be performed in front of elated, camera holding dads and proudly cooing moms when clearly the type of tasting the lyrics implied wasn’t dinner time material. As quickly as the thought sprung to his mind though, it vanished completely because Betty Cooper was exquisitely shaking her sexy body in skin-tight shorts and a fitting sports bra and all he could do was ogle her strong legs and watch her firm butt pop and move side to side, Jughead being minutes before actually groaning at the soft porn performance she was offering, with witty eyes concentrated only on him the entire time.  

“Betty, on one!” the redhead captain’s imposing voice sounded over the loud music, startling the raven haired boy but not the girl in question that merely nodded and formed a line along with the others behind Cheryl, before the girls divided in two and Betty was left standing in the middle, bouncy ponytail and all. Jughead’s grin reached his ears, like the one of a five-year-old boy on Christmas morning; she was going to have a solo part and he shifted more comfortably on his seat, intrigued to watch the marvelous show.

So you want some more

Well, I'm open 24

Wanna keep you satisfied

Customer's always right

There was a hip bob in perfect coordination to the beat before she dropped to the maple hardwood floor in a split position at the “open” part with a wink thrown his way and Jughead was gone, practically feeling himself twitch against the zipper of his dark grey jeans and his teeth painfully bite on his lower lip, as she was now rolling on the floor, arching her back and rising up with a subtle but utterly sinful twerk of her butt. The cheerleaders around her were doing some kind of choreography too but he couldn’t even register people let alone motion when there was a hurricane of blonde hair blurring his vision, as she twirled her head wildly, and her stomach muscles were flexing in a titillating way while her hips were rolling, fueling his desire to move along with her in a similar way that required less people and definitely less clothes.

And it's okay

If you take your time

Eat with your hands, fine

I'm on the menu

(Go ahead)

She was joined by the rest now, but even with a million girls around Jughead would always see her, especially when she was challenging him to a food fiesta with not burgers and fries but her as a full course meal. An image of the blonde beauty sprawled on his bed covered with whipped cream and strawberry frosting as a creek of milky chocolate was drawing a path from her slim fingers to her full lips, down her neck, the valley of her breasts, dipping in her navel and disappearing to the place he bet she was sweeter than any baked good invaded his mind and the foxy smirk on his lips was inevitable along with a hard gulp, the boy trying but failing to keep his hormones at bay. He could actually feel his mouth salivating more, drooling at the sight of her being confident and smiling and happy, and Jughead couldn’t wait anymore for tomorrow night to come, for finally being alone with her at the first date he had solemnly planned and he was praying to be of her liking. At least he hoped that neither his sweaty palms nor his - perpetual around her, it was ridiculous really - boner would be evident enough for him to send her away running.

“Alright, Vixens, that’s enough for today. Hit the showers; you stink.” Cheryl’s voice brought him out of his reverie once again, along with Reggie’s loud attempt to coordinate his long limbs and stand up straight before erupting in some wholeheartedly approving clapping that echoed boastfully in the now silent gym. The Vixen captain raised a cold eyebrow at their direction.

“Great job! Totally.Freaking.Great.Job!” Jughead’s childhood best friend unashamedly hollered in his baritone voice with a shit-eating grin and face elated and colored with boyish appreciation, earning a snobbish look from Cheryl and some giggles from the amused girls around on their way out of the gym and to the locker rooms.

Betty followed the same trail, engaged in girly chatter with Veronica and two other cheerleaders while taking a sip from her water bottle, some droplets trickling down her chin, hydrating the skin around the chain of her tiny silver key necklace and dripping in the valley of those luscious breasts that Jughead got acquainted with nearly a week ago, making the mesmerized boy lick his suddenly dry lips, as if to taste the water mixed with salty sweat for himself, another vision added to his midnight reminiscing of her and her glorious anatomy as he laid on cold bedsheets against his overly heated skin. She felt him staring and she turned to send him a lovely look over her shoulder and her tiny bra strap, offering him a blushing smile and then biting her lower lip when he reciprocated it with her favorite boyish smile, and that was enough of a sign for Jughead to take the hint that she longed to spend time with him just as much, that she had missed him just as much. Suddenly, the hours felt too many and tomorrow too far away and the urge to kiss her lips even for a blink of a moment felt compelling, the boy jolting to his feet abruptly, snapping violently the hormonal bubble that his friends were still floating into.

“Someone’s in a hurry to get his cheerleader fix.” Reggie commented with a crooked smile, eyeing his friend that practically jumped over him in his attempt to skip down the bleachers two at a time.

“At least I’m getting mine.” He teased him good-heartedly, looking up at him with a clever smirk while taking some steps backwards and towards the door. “Here, pal” he then pointed at the corner of his mouth wittily “you’re drooling more than Hotdog at the sight of shoelaces.” He threw in his snarky comment and walked out of the gym doors, hearing Reggie behind him laughing loudly as he swore to make him pay for that, his own lips slowly curling upwards in amusement.

He lurked at the corridor for some minutes before double checking both ways and then smoothly, like a night cat, he sneaked into the forbidden territory of the girls’ locker room, being extra quiet and cautious not to get caught but, mostly, trying to be respectful in case some cheerleader was still changing or getting dressed. The sound of running showers and girly chatter could be heard and the room seemed pretty empty so Jughead exclaimed in relief before spotting with a giddy smile the reason of his rule breaking, Betty, bent over a wooden bench, too busy in untying her white sneakers to notice any kind of movement. Tip-toeing to her while unashamedly checking her raised butt with a tiny smirk, his large hands grabbed hold of her firm hips, bringing her flat against his chest and causing her to yelp out of surprise and almost fear.

“Jesus Christ, Jughead!” she hissed as a hand shot to clench the front of her chest, nerves relaxing upon recognizing his distinctive scent of faint nicotine mixed with minty body wash, but heart still thudding against her ribcage because of the same scent and the close proximity of their bodies. “You scared the hell out of me!” she whispered-yelled, alerted eyes darting around in fear of a prying audience, but his hot breath against the nape of her neck was too tempting to ignore and focus on anything else.

“Sorry.” He smirked against her skin, leaving the softest of pecks on her pulse point. “The element of surprise is my specialty.” His lips were tickling the side of her neck and his fingers laced against her bare abdomen, pinkies slightly pushing against the elastic waistband of her training shorts, as he grounded his hard body more against her soft curves.

Betty sighed, eyes fluttering closed and head tilting to the side lazily, offering him more skin. “You almost got me fainting in your arms.”

“Almost?” Jughead exclaimed in faux offence. “Well, let me try again.”

His tone was playful, light, but his actions proved to be the exact opposite as Betty found herself trapped between him and the row of blue lockers, back slamming roughly with metal and the impact causing a sharp gasp out of her bubblegum lips, before she was shushed by a demanding mouth that opened hotly against her own. The kiss was ferocious, her ponytail getting squished against a locker as he was trying to taste every inch and every corner of her mouth, wet tongues twirling in frenzy and his lips bruising hers in his desperate attempt to have her closer, inhale her if possible. His hands were firm on her hips, keeping her flashed against him, and her fingers were clawing the leather on his shoulders, tiny female whimpers and deep male inhales filling the already steamed from the showers and their sexual tension atmosphere around them.

They had missed each other terribly. Yes, Betty’s punishment had been lessened – tree days of suspension instead of five all because Alice Cooper was a force to be reckoned with and extremely vocal about her disgust towards Weatherbee’s favoritism, shooting him down with threatening mentions of an expose regarding the verbal sexual harassment of a female minor – and yes, Chuck was also reprimanded with not being able to play at two of the following football games – Alice Cooper was practically glowing after leaving the principal’s office in a chaos – but still with Betty’s small absence and Jughead’s one-week detention that was unnegotiable, the two love-struck teens hadn’t had the chance to catch each other alone after that sole time of their first kiss or, more accurately, heated make-out. Small glances, tiny smiles and his trademark winks were their only interaction but they were still enough to keep the fire burning between them, maintain their intense connection and fuel the anticipation for their official first date.    

With a pretty nasty swipe of his tongue against hers that made Betty sigh inside the kiss and a hard tug of her lower lip from his sharp teeth, Jughead’s lips started traveling south, nibbling her jaw, licking her neck and exhaling hotly over the trickling sweat that still lingered on her collarbones, their pants and heartbeats in perfect coordination.

Betty blinked rapidly to the hideous ceiling as her voice came shaky and weak with need. “Are you trying to kill me or something?”

“No, Cooper.” He let a breathy chuckle against her collarbone, teeth biting her flesh hard and making her groan lightly, squirming inside his embrace. “I��d say my ulterior motive is charm and enchant you.” He watched proudly as a round redness spread across her irritated skin, before moving to her grey bra strap and giving it a light tug with his teeth, the elastic material snapping back against her skin causing her to momentarily arch her back against him. Jughead smiled, loving how responsive she was at the simplest of his touches, before raising his head, nose brushing against nose and witty blue eyes connecting with her hazy ones. “But I wouldn’t say no to offering you some multiple little deaths.” Betty’s cheeks flashed crimson at his naughty smirk and his innuendo, the girl biting her lip at the rush of adrenaline and arousal that shot through her veins, her chest heaving sensually against his khaki S t-shirt.

The action wasn’t unnoticed by the young Serpent, his eyes traveling to the silky pushed up mounts, before his lips returned on her neck, sucking wetly at its hollow and moving to the central bone of her sternum, leaving open-mouthed kisses and dirty bites, feeling the vibrations of her heavy breaths and enjoying the rise and fall of her soft breasts against his jawline.

“Ugh, stop, I’m all sweaty and gross.” Betty complained self-consciously, her slender fingers threading inside his thick hair and tugging lightly, a tiny groan echoing from his throat.

“Sweaty yes, gross never, sexy always.” He whispered smugly against her lips, the blonde girl smiling sweetly as her heart fluttered at how he made her feel, before leaving a chaste kiss on his now swollen lips. “That was some show you put on out there.” He raised an eyebrow in appreciation, hands sliding from her hips to her waist so for his arms to curl around it.

“I had a feeling you’d like it.” She giggled, tightening her own arms around his neck, massaging his scalp gently.

Jughead hummed at the tenderness of her touch, eyes blinking closed for a second, before opening again, playful and agile this time. “Well, the pop song was insufferable but it had mentions of food and you were in tiny shorts so that was a pretty safe way to my heart.” He joked sarcastically as always, bopping his nose against hers.

“Good to know.” Betty head-butted him playfully, making him snort a tiny chuckle.  “We’re also gonna be dressed as sweets.” That caught his attention, eyebrows rising in intrigue. “Yeah, nothing else apart from pink colored pillow filling wrapped around our hips to resemble cotton candy and two cupcake toppings right above here.” She dragged the word deliciously as she was twirling her pointers cheekily around her breasts, before halting the action so her fingers were pointing at her nipples. With a dorky smile and her lip trapped between her teeth, Betty waited for his reaction as a dumbfounded grin slowly crept on his lips, baby blue eyes blinking slowly in shock and mind trying to hold even an ounce of blood as all of it was rapidly gathering south.

“You’re messing with me, aren’t you?” Jughead finally breathed, head tilting to the side in self-pity at how easy it was for her to turn him into a pathetic fool.

“Of course I do!” Betty burst out laughing, him shaking his head at her brilliant antics. “This is a school play, Jug! There’s not a chance on earth that Weatherbee would let us dress, or more correctly, undress like that.” She pointed out, her hands sliding up his shoulders once again to keep him trapped against her.

“You minx.” He pretended to scold her before his voice turned deep and laced with a sex-appeal he only seemed to muster. “You know, there is no wardrobe policy in my bedroom.” He informed her cleverly, hips rolling ever so subtly against her hipbone.

“A little presumptuous, aren’t we, mister?” Her tone turned flirty too, dropping her head back to send him her best good girl look under her eyelashes that had his eyes darkening intensely.  “Who said that I’ll be interested in a tour of your bedroom?” she challenged, a perfect eyebrow urging him to hit her with his best shot.

Jughead let a low chuckle that screamed danger, moving to whisper hotly against her ear. “Oh, you will, trust me. You may got your moves but I got mine too.” The promise was dark and sinfully exciting and Betty felt her knees give away a little at the sound of his husky voice. He smiled – he knew what he was doing to her – and brushed his parted lips against her cheekbone, leaving a sensual kiss against the corner of her mouth, before unwrapping himself from her body. The trembling sigh that left her lips at the loss of contact nearly made him lose his mind.

“Eight o’clock tomorrow, Cooper.” He reminded her with a boyish smile, readjusting his bag against his shoulder. “I was promised a mini dress and a smile.” He winked, reluctantly taking a half step away from her.

Betty smiled breathlessly, supporting herself to the locker behind her and with cheeks still vibrant red. “Never the one to back out on a deal. I’ll see you tomorrow, Juggie.”

“I still can’t believe you are not grounded.” Hints of genuine shock were coloring Poly’s voice, the speakers of Betty’s dusty pink MacBook complaining at the high pitched remark.

“I am grounded. I just have some allowances.” Betty shrugged a shoulder, too preoccupied with applying some light powder over her already flawless face, laptop perched to her right on top of the white wooden vanity.

“Well, I never had allowances when grounded.” Polly raised an eyebrow at her sister, even though the younger Cooper had her eyes glued to the mirror. “Nor Chic, for that matter.”

“Guess we now know who the beloved child in this family is.” Doing a dramatic flip of her head, Betty beamed in fake arrogance before flattering her eyelashes vigorously at her sister in innocent sibling teasing.

“Ugh, take it down a notch, daddy’s princess; I still got nana Kathryn on my team.” Her sister scrunched her nose in a snooty manner, the three Cooper kids always joking around about which family members showed more affection to whom. “And Uncle Timothy is swerving lanes as it seems; he sent me an espresso coffee maker the other day!” Betty gasped in amused shock at her flabbergasted tone and round green eyes while grabbing her mascara, the rare occasion of their dad’s uncle sending someone a gift, let alone this someone not being Chic, coming as a total surprise for the whole Cooper household. “Well, probably second-hand and the most horrendous one on EBay but still, he sent me a gift, Betty. Brother Dearest hasn’t spoken to me all week; he’s pissed and I’m pleased.”  Polly giggled in delight and she joined her loudly, before turning serious again to tend to her eyelashes.

“Well, he’s pissed at me too for showing my boobs to the world.” The youngest murmured with a hint of a sigh around her words.

“I’m not completely okay with the idea too” Polly agreed with the rest of the family “but you had a purpose and I’m female so, I understand the unfairness.” The older girl gave her a supportive smile which she returned in gratitude. That’s why Betty had allowances; her mom was a female too, and although she always wanted her children’s behavior to be proper and according to the rules, she couldn’t help but rebel at the idea of a teenage jock turning her daughter into a sexual object without facing consequences. Deep down, secretly in the depths of her chest, Alice Cooper was proud of her daughter’s fiery personality which reminded her so much of herself in her youngest, more carefree years.  

“And on the bright side, I told you, Betty, your boobs looked great.” Polly tried to lighten the mood with the first thing that had come out of her mouth upon her too seeing the infamous video of Betty flashing her bra to the world, when some lovely classmates of hers had hacked the school’s website to share Betty Cooper’s semi-nude debut.

Betty snorted a laugh at her sister’s comment.

“Veronica and Cheryl thought so too.” She shook her head in amusement, picking a brush to apply some faint blush on her naturally rosy cheeks. “And Kevin. And probably all the jocks and all the creepers around the world that logged into the school’s website before that video was taken down.” She stopped the ministrations on her cheekbones, eyes turning wide, before her whole face dropped, a painful whine escaping her throat upon turning to look at her sister with a disgusted expression. “God, am I internet porn now?”

“It’s a career?” Polly winced adorably at her attempt of light teasing, her sister sending her a glare. “But seriously it’ll die down like everything in high school does, don’t sweat it.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Remember when I was pissed about those outrageous pregnancy rumors in junior year? Barely lasted a week.” She assured her lovingly, the two sisters sharing a smile.

“Now” Polly’s tone screamed excitement and the atmosphere changed. “Tell me all about this date you are getting all dolled up. Where is this Jughead taking you?” she asked in intrigue, cooing lightly at the shy smile that immediately creeped on Betty’s lips.

“I don’t know.” Betty blushed more than the adding shade of petal pink on her cheeks, a warm fuzzy feeling spreading all over her body at the mention of her big upcoming date with the Southside boy. “He said it’s a surprise that he thinks I’ll enjoy very much.” She bit her lip in a silly girly fashion, briefly contemplating a nude lipstick and a shimmery strawberry flavored lip-gloss, before naughtily picking the second. She had the feeling Jughead would appreciate the extra flavor.

“Aw, he’s cute.” The eldest Cooper daughter clasped a hand over her heart with a dreamy smile. “Is he picking you up with the bike?” His beloved means of transportation and Betty’s second source of excitement was trademarked at this point.

“Yeah.” Betty squirmed adorably, sporting a blissful smile that all girls welcomed on their lips upon talking about the guy that decorated their teenage notebooks at the center of colored pen hearts. “Oh, Pol, I feel like a giddy hot mess.” She groaned in despair, green eyes focusing on her sister anxiously. “Why do I feel like this? Everything was very cool and casual with Trev or, you know, Chuck.” She spit his name and grimaced at her choices but that didn’t cloud her mood nor eased up the knot of nerves low in her stomach.

Betty Cooper was royally screwed.

“Well, my guess is that this certain someone is gradually making my lil sis fall in love.” Polly replied with a smile so big that reached her ears, a small sing-song tone of girly delight adorning her statement.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Betty scoffed, rolling incredulously her pretty eyes. “We’ve kissed only a week ago.” She argued but not with her best persuasive face.

“I’m not saying that you are there yet.” Her sister shook her head, explaining softly. “But you like him a lot and he seems to like you just as much, so, embrace the feeling and grab that bad boy from his messy raven locks tonight.” She proposed boldly, perfectly plucked eyebrows wiggling in an awful attempt to appear seductive.

“You are embarrassing me, stop.” Betty frowned at her dork of a sister, earning a loud laugh from the young woman at the other side of the Skype-call, before she gave her blonde locks a shake, checking her hair and make-up in the mirror. She had opted for trading her usual tight ponytail with golden curls cascading freely down her shoulders, wanting to try something different for the occasion, something different for him. Taking a deep breath, she stood up, readjusting her mini dress, and made a small twirl in front of her MacBook screen, showcasing her choice of outfit.

“So, you think he’ll like?” she asked for a second female opinion, lightly chewing at the inside of her cheek, more anxious now than ever.

“Oh, he’s gonna love, trust me.” Polly winked, making Betty let a big sigh and then laugh lightly in relief. “Nice to know that my dress didn’t get lost on moving day.” The older Cooper girl remarked in a scolding tone, an eyebrow raised at how awfully bad Betty was at being sly.

The other girl huffed, curling her arms over her bust and narrowing her eyes. “And it’s nice for me to know that my sweater didn’t shrink in the washing machine as somebody claimed it did.” Polly gasped in fake offence, making paws with the sleeves of her, well Betty’s, cashmere sweater uneasily before curling her arms too in a defensive manner. Both sisters burst out laughing at their childish attitude until the chime of Betty’s iPhone interrupted the easy-going fun of the two, the girl rushing to retrieve it from where it was thrown next to her bag on her floral bedspread.

Down and waiting. I’m the one dressed in black.

Betty smiled at his text, biting her lip so for her face not to break under the wave of nervous enthusiasm his silly words had spread all over her body. “He’s here. Gotta go, Pols.” Her eyes were shining in elation when she addressed her again, shoving her phone into her bag before lacing it over her shoulder in a cross-body way.

“I’ll be up late studying, skype me when you’re back! I want all the juicy details!” Polly matched her enthusiasm with a wide grin. “Oh, and remember protection is always always unnegotiable.” She fixed a serious expression on her beautiful face, the Dr. Cooper expression Betty and Chic always teased her about, urging her sister to begin a healthy and respectful sex life.

Betty eye’s widened for a minute, urgent fingers moving rapidly to lower the volume on her laptop and cheeks turning crimson, before continuing in a hushed tone, hoping that her parents were still working at the study downstairs. “Polly, I’m on birth control since I was sixteen and I’m sure nothing to that extend will happen.” Well, there was going to be heavy make-outs involved for sure and Betty was willing to get a sample of more of his touches if he was up to it but apart from that, well, they had to wait and see how it would go.

“Oh, please, like I don’t know how your ovaries explode every time he just happens to be in the same room as you.” Polly snorted, throwing her silk curls over her shoulder in a ‘whatever’ manner. “And if he is sexually active, condoms are a must. Do you know how high the transmission rate of STDs—” her med student spirit was creeping up again but Betty was quick to cut her off this time.

“Geez, Pol, now it’s not the time for one of your crazy Dr. House rants.” She exclaimed in exasperation, palms slapping on top of her vanity as she almost stuck her nose against the camera of her laptop, passing her frustration to her sister from up close. “I’ll call you later. Bye!” she barely spared her a wave and ended the call, huffing loudly before taking a deep breath to ease up her nerves.

Chin up, Betty Cooper. You got this.

The confirmation that she indeed got this came a few minutes later when she was walking to the next block of her house – because a beasty black Harley stopping right in front of the Cooper residence would attract a lot of unwanted attention – her steps becoming more and more eager once a vision of black invaded the pristine white suburban aura of her neighborhood. Jughead was leaning back on the leather seat of his bike, long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles on the pavement and fingers drumming aimlessly against the polished black cover of the fuel tank while he was lazily enjoying a smoke with his free hand, his attention turned up to the changing blue and lilac undertones of the skyline.

Damn, he looks good, Betty thought as she took him in with delighted eyes, creating a bee-line over his appearance, and smiling to herself at what seemed like a more spruce version of his everyday style. He had combat boots on, not his typical dark brownish, but some seemingly more new and ceremoniously gleamed ones, a nice pair of black jeans, not skinny but formfitting enough to show off his slim legs, rolled up at the ankles, a blue denim shirt with a white t-shirt peeking from underneath the two top undone buttons and his trademark leather jacket stretching deliciously over his board shoulders. Not that any other day Betty didn’t feel weak in the knees at the sight of his gorgeous self in any type of clothing but still, she appreciated the effort he had put to appear more attractive in her eyes, even if that was humanly impossible.

Betty put an extra skip in her step, her footsteps echoing but still not loud enough at this distance for him to be alerted. Placing the alight cigarette between his teeth, he untangled his limbs and bended his knees to be on eye level with the bike’s side mirror, the girl watching him as he went to check the condition of his untamed raven locks, ruffling them a little before combing through some waves that fell freely on his forehead to smooth them in an attempt for his hair to coordinate with his more cared for appearance. It seemed that he had spent some time on his hair too, trying to style somehow his unruly mane but with no success back at the trailer and with no success now too, since the stubborn strands bounced back, poking his ocean blue eyes as usual. Jughead huffed audibly in anxiety laced despair, a huge cloud of  smoke swaying seductively in front of his handsome face and Betty bit her lip as she felt herself get flustered by the old-school bad boy vide he obviously had prescribed in his DNA.

“Excuse me, Mr. Danny Zuko; did you happen to see my date?” she caught his attention with her clever remark, Jughead’s eyes snapping from the mirror in front of him to the source of the teasing voice, the impact of seeing her all dressed up for him mimicking the one of a deadly bullet piercing right through his chest. His breath got stuck in his throat and he felt as though everything had frozen around them for a torturous minute, upon seeing her walking towards him in a nice yellow mustard slip dress, spaghetti stipes barely visible against her creamy collarbones, fabric tight against her luscious curves and reaching a tantalizing length at the middle of her toned thighs, and long legs bare and offered on a plate for him to hungrily devour with his eyes, appearing even more shapely than they already were with the low-heeled brown sandals she had opted to wear, a delicate thin stripe closing around her equally delicate ankles. Her golden hair was down in loose waves, soft, silk and lightly kissed by the wind, framing her stunning face in a way that caused his stomach to drop in a foreign manor, tingles of electricity shooting in all of his nerve-endings at the sight of the most beautiful woman on this earth walking over to join him, a mere mortal caught in an amorous adventure with Venus and Athena reborn as one.

“Tall, broody, flannel draped around his hips, ring any bell? Name’s Jughead Jones.” She toyed with him impishly as he rose again in his full height, a pleased smirk trembling on his lips as he pinched the stud of his cigarette with his thump and pointer, taking a last, long drag, before yanking it off his lips, blue eyes narrowing at the smoke that invaded his nostrils.

“Sounds like a weirdo.” Jughead went on with her little theatricals, apathetic and snarky as always, flicking the now useless stud at the nearby bin. “Run now when you still can.” He advised her in all certainty, eyebrows raised for good measure.

“Nah” Betty dragged the word with a foxy little smirk “he has a bike so I’m pretty sold.” One of her fingers brushed over the shining silver details on the side of his motorcycle before his own fingers laced around it, pulling her gently flat on his chest, her legs ending on either side of one of his, as he curled his arms at the small of her waist, not an inch of personal space left between them. “Hey.” She giggled, slender fingers forming a loose grip at the opening of his denim shirt, as she relished in the perfect feeling of contentment and warmth the faint nicotine along with his minty body wash and pure Jughead scent were creating.

He smiled, boyish and happily, baby blue eyes caressing her face and the blush on her cheeks, making it deeper under the intensity of his gaze. “Wow, Cooper…” he then looked between them, spending a minute too long tracing her left leg resting casually against his. “If looks could kill, I’d definitely be your victim right now.  You look gorgeous.” The compliment was said in awe but the rasp in his voice indicated desire and raw male appreciation. Betty felt as if she was already floating in cloud nine.  

“Thank you.” She replied sweetly, a pretty smile highlighting more her gorgeous futures, Jughead dropping a tender kiss laced with a playful groan on her cheek because truly he couldn’t resist her and her soft skin and her jasmine perfume and the sunshine that seemed to pour right out of her pores. “You don’t look bad yourself.” It was time for her eyes to travel down between them, smoothing her palms against the fabric of his shirt and biting her lip at how good it fitted him in all the right places. “But you lied; I thought you were the one dressed in black.” She looked up at him cheekily, eyebrow rising in fake reprimand.

He chuckled incredulously. “Technically I am. I just added a little splash of color.” He informed her in his most convincing fashion blogger voice, straightening his posture more as she swayed merrily inside his arms, giggling.

“Well, I like it.” She confirmed with a playful nod before adding in a soft tone, lovely smile intact and green orbs gentle and shining against his. “It brings out your eyes.”

A dopey grin curled his lips and some color found its way to his nice cheekbones, him ducking his head in modesty to hide it, and Betty felt her heart fluttering in her chest at the sight. Smoothly, like a cherish cat, she snuggled more against him and left a gentle kiss against his jawline, the ends of her grin colliding with his as she felt the vibrations of a faint short chuckle at her sly action, Jughead turning his head lightly and finding her lips with ease, groaning at the taste of strawberry that invaded his senses and making her smile inside the kiss in triumph for her choice of lip gloss, before saucily tugging on his down lip with her teeth. Their short make out was lazy and wet, with deep moaning inhales of much needed oxygen and desperate clinging to each other’s arms, before pulling back for air.

“So ready?” Jughead asked, a tad breathless, reluctantly uncurling his arms from her tiny form to swing his leg on the other side of the bike, ready to start the engine.

“Duh!” Betty exclaimed in enthusiasm, like a kid at the gates of Disney world. “I can’t wait to get on this thing.” Her green eyes were round in joy and Jughead couldn’t help but laugh good-heartedly at her unique self, before handing her something from behind his back.

“Here, take this.” She frowned down at her now filled hands, a white and pink, glitter adorned helmet staring back at her, an epic contrast with the black, hi-tech one of his that was lying on the console between his opened legs.

“I didn’t know biker guys had helmets with fairy princesses on them.” She grimaced in amusement, shimmery lips pushed together to hold back the waves of laughter that were threatening to escape in full force.

“Shut up.” He let something between a groan and a huff, eyes rolling in fake annoyance. “It’s Jellybean’s and, yes, of course, she hates it too.” He let her know in sarcasm, scoffing at his sister’s, irrational in his eyes, loathing for the girly item. “It’s the very first one I bought for her when she was little but apparently now all this pink feast is tarnishing her reputation or whatever.” He waved a hand in a bored manner, literally hearing JB’s voice complaining each time she had to ride with him in that helmet. “I’m saving money to buy her a new one but, in the meantime, she and you, hoity-toity ladies, need to follow the rules of the driver.” He pointed a warning finger at her, like a parent scolding their rebellious child, sporting his best alpha male expression.

Despite finding him extremely sweet, Betty curled a palm around his finger, playfully pushing it away and altogether ignoring the command. “I thought hot bikers cared more about style and impeccable sex-appeal and a helmet definitely defeats the purpose.” She challenged him in a clever tone, arms curling over her chest stubbornly.

“What?” he exclaimed in fake offence. “Safety is sexy.” He threw back in his smartass tone that made her scoff a tiny laugh. “Besides, trust me, nothing can shadow the power of those legs.” He winked devilishly after a brief checking out of the said legs and a lick of his lips, making her smile to the ground as her cheeks flashed crimson, the engine coming violently to life snapping her back to its rider. “Hop on, Cooper.” He yelled over the noise with an impish grin, putting on his own helmet and accelerating the engine in the sexiest way Betty had ever witnessed.

With a deep breath, she shoved his sister’s helmet over her blonde tresses, before using his board shoulders to climb behind him, each of her long legs resting on his sides and arms wrapping loosely around black leather and flexing abs.

“I look ridiculous! You look like a motorcycle god right out of GQ or something and I’m like an eighty year old grandma, riding on my grandson’s bike with a stupid borrowed helmet.” She shouted more than necessary, voice getting muffled behind the clear glass, feeling the vibrations of his laugh against her front, before Jughead turned lightly to give her an amused side glance.

“To be fair, you do make a hot grandma.” He replied boyishly, knocking lightly her helmet with his in affection, making her roll her eyes but eventually laugh at his awfully charming self.

“So where are you taking me?” she asked impatient now.

“Heaven, Hell, who knows?” he shrugged in fake innocence. “You’ll tell me by the end of the night.” With a last smirk, he pushed down the black non-transparent glass of his helmet and kicked the side stand with the heel of his combat boot, before they were speeding down the road and through the dusking sun.

The feeling was euphoric; travelling on two wheels rather than four, piercing through the wind, almost flying, almost floating in the depths of the horizon. Betty never felt this light or carefree or exhilarated before in her life, like she can do anything, like she is invisible, like she is seventeen and ready to take on the entire world. He was the one to show her another way of living, as he maneuvered steadily and expertly between cars and traffic lights, picked up speed when necessary and made the fine piece of vehicle roar obediently under them, or let her feel the heat of the asphalt grazing her bare knees at every turn they took, the chill-rising leaning over from side to side appearing controlled and sure in his strong arms, him treating the rules of gravity like a true bad boy was supposed to; by defying them.

But the highlight of the night was one and only; the intimacy. Betty could feel the hard planes of muscle against her forearms, the flexing shoulder blades against her cheek, his strong arms taming the beasty vehicle and Jughead was relishing to the wonderful sensation of her tiny frame practically glued on his body, her soft curves pressed against his back, the ends of her blonde tresses teasing his neck as they fought viciously against the wind, her miles long legs keeping him trapped against her body heat, the new length of her dress barely leaving anything to the imagination as it was getting wrinkled against the hem of his Serpent jacket.

The drive wasn’t long and soon enough Betty knew that they were heading at the outskirts of town but on the south side of it, somewhere she’s never been before. The buzzing of people could be heard gradually and after a couple of minutes a wide opening appeared, right at the edge of Sweetwater River, filled with twinkle lights, neon signs and, much to Betty’s delight, cars; beautiful, polished antique cars.

“What is this?” the excited girl practically jumped off the bike, once Jughead has safely parked, wobbly legs stumbling adorably as she yanked her princess helmet and shrieked loudly, her green eyes shining while taking in the sight of people strolling between multiple rows of fine vehicles.

Jughead shook his head in amusement, mentally exhaling in relief at her joyful reaction, before hopping off the bike himself and curling an arm around her shoulders. “It’s the annual car exhibition here at the Southside.” He started explaining to the flabbergasted girl to his side who gasped, clenching the hem of his leather jacket still watching the sight in front of her in awe.

“The Serpents are avid four-wheel collectors so every year at this day they leave their bikes at home and showcase their retro taste in cars. It’s non-profitable and there’s not an auction or anything but people do vote for the model of the year. It’s a fun gathering; you can talk with the owners, learn more about cars and mechanics and generally ogle nice wheels.” He shrugged casually, a small smile adorning his face too, loving their little tradition and the look of pure elation on Betty’s profile. The arm that was draped over her collarbone squeezed her affectionately to his side, before he spoke next to her temple. “I thought it would be something you’d like.”

“Of course it is!” Betty exclaimed, turning her head up to look at him, chin resting on the base of his neck and dashing smile curling her bubblegum lips. “Juggie, this is incredible! I don’t know how to thank you enough.” She gushed in total happiness, eyes boring into the ocean blue ones of the guy that made her heart beat faster than ever before, of the guy that now was feeling his own heart throb for the first time at the look she was giving him.

“Well, a kiss would be great.” his thinking expression had her laughing carefree at his theatrics, Betty raising on her tip-toes and cupping his cheek as she kissed him, his free hand landing on her waist and fisting the material of her dress as their lips kept moving in a heated slow-dance.

Jughead pulled back with a wet smooch, lips slightly red and eyes closed, a tad lightheaded by the spell she was casting upon him with every kiss and every touch. “You really wanna go to this car festival instead of making out with me right now, huh?” he breathed in his usual sardonic manner.

“Yes! Badly!” Betty squirmed giddily against him, hiding her face at the crook of his neck and giggling as he shook his head in fake disappointment. She left a peck against his soft skin before focusing up on him and taking his hand, walking backwards to the exhibition. “I promise I’ll kiss you more after.” She gave him her best puppy dog expression and of course he caved, letting a tsk sound as scolding to himself at how whipped he already was but couldn’t help the happy smirk that appeared on his lips as he let her drag him towards the crowd of people.

They spent the next hour or so strolling around hand in hand or with his arm curled loosely around her shoulders, while her arm was resting casually on his waist with fingers cheekily playing with his belt loops or getting buried inside the back pocket of his jeans and making him smile incredulously at the good girl glance she had spared him unashamedly. Jughead was introducing her to the Serpents he knew and being a great tour guide but mostly listening to her bombarding him with trivia about each car they would come across or watching her, proudly if he dared to confess, interacting with car owners of his kind and mesmerizing them, just like she had done with him. Truth be told, Jughead didn’t want anything more from this date; the glow on her face and the utter excitement in her sparkling eyes were everything he had ever hoped for, making him more and more smitten with the magic that was Betty Cooper.  

“So tell me again, how you, pastel colors and all, ended up with grease stained hands and a love for anything automobile?” they were reaching the end of the exhibition by now, hand in hand as always and with Betty’s free hand curled around his elbow, an easy-going chit-chat interrupting the crowd noise from around them.

“My dad is an ultimate gearhead so I guess I got the gene.” Betty shrugged a shoulder, eyeing with interest an old Ford Mustang. “He used to work at a mechanic shop when he was in high school but even after he and my mom got married and started the newspaper he kept going there as a hobby, to pass time or blow off some steam when my mom was driving him to the wall.” She laughed lightly, Jughead smiling fondly too even though her attention wasn’t on him. “For some reason I always wanted to tag along so eventually it became our Saturday morning father-daughter ritual.” She shot him a pretty smile, upon turning to look at him, caressing affectionately the inside of his elbow where her fingers were resting.

“That’s nice.” He nodded, tightening the hold of their hands as a reflex. “You must be really close then.” Jughead assumed, reciprocating her smile with a nice one of his own.

“Yeah, we’re buddies in every sense of the word.” The blonde girl laughed lightly, loving the close relationship she still had with her beloved daddy. “Our favorite is bringing vintage cars back to life.”

“That sounds pretty cool. Yet, you drive a Mini-Cooper, Cooper.” His eyebrows rose in emphasis, teasing her for the consequence of her choice of transportation and her last name being the same.

“Not you too!” Betty groaned, eyes rolling in exasperation and making him chuckle. “I’ve had enough of Kevin’s and Cheryl’s mockery since I got my license.” She huffed annoyed but not really holding it against them. “And this is just my mom’s insane obsession about new cars equaling better safety, which is ridiculous, but no one in our household can deny her anything.” She was wildly gesticulating now, a habit that Jughead found rather adorable, although that word was not very flattering for his vocabulary. “If it was up to me I’d choose a ’64 Pontiac or, I don’t know, a Volkswagen Camper van.” She murmured matter-of-factly, him looking down at her in shocked amusement.

“Seriously?” Jughead scoffed in disbelief.

“What?” she exclaimed like she was offended. “They are cute!” she snuggled to his side in a girly manner, voice oozing sugary sweetness, and the boy next to her couldn’t help but let a silly grin at her adorableness. A kiss was delivered to the top of her head as a comfortable silence spread between them.

“Doesn’t your parents worry that you drive a motorbike?” Betty casually questioned after some minutes.

“Well, I’m from the South and most dads there are bikers. What makes you think that mine isn’t?” He offered a pretty good point which emphasized with a rise of his eyebrows. “As for my mother” his body language changed all of a sudden and the word held a foreign bitterness that Betty had only heard him use before when addressing Chuck Clayton “she’s not in the picture in order to have an opinion.” He stiffened besides her, looking straight in front with an expression that she could hardly read, a dark ominous cloud shadowing his handsome features.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Betty caught herself muttering with a frown and suddenly a heavy heart.

“Don’t be.” Jughead sighed as if to chase his demons away, momentarily closing his eyes before turning to her and offering her a small smile in assurance. “She never loved this side of the town and apparently having two kids wasn’t reason enough for her to try and adjust. She ran away when I was nine; haven’t seen her since.” He laconically let her know.

It was Betty’s turn to squeeze his hand that was intertwined with hers, the revelation and his sullen exterior breaking her heart. “That must have been tough.”

“It was, especially for my dad.” Another sigh and his focus was on his boots, kicking tiny pebbles as Betty snuggled closer to his side, a tiny gesture of support and understanding. “Overnight, he was left all by himself and two kids; my sister was barely three at the time.” He remembered with frown lines getting deeper on his forehead, Betty wondering internally how on earth a mother could abandon her children like that. “And you know how people either step up or get drowned in the face of a challenge? Well, he did the latter. He started drinking, getting involved in some very tricky situations, distancing himself from us.” Jughead shook his head for the bad memories to scatter away and then continuing in a chirpier tone, his mood gradually brightening again. “But he came through and I’m proud of him. He cleaned his act and I can say now that he is someone I am not ashamed to call a father.” The two teens shared a smile of contentment, him at his fighter of a father and her at the way his blue eyes seemed to shine so lovely every time he smiled happily. “Maybe he is a tad unconventional and at times it seems like we are more college dorm roommates than adult and child” he chuckled and Betty lightly giggled at the image “but he is pretty incredible. And I have a feeling that he is going to love you.” He told her shyly, his lips never shredding that smile she loved and she felt her heart flattering at the statement and the amazing guy he was proving to be.

Teasingly, she bumped her shoulder with his bicep, throwing him a glance that screamed confidence. “I charmed one Jones man; I think I can handle one more.”

“Definitely.” He breathed with that intensity that always seemed to use when addressing her, leaning down to capture her lips in a slow kiss, his hand covering the side of her neck in affection. “Now” he spoke against her lips, eyes darting in a clever manner at something behind her “I can spot a sleek black Pontiac right there waiting for you.” The speed that Betty turned around almost made him faint since a hurricane of blonde waves thwacked his face, the scent of her shea butter shampoo attacking his senses and turning his mind into musk. “Why don’t you hop in and I’ll take care of the food?” he suggested with a light chuckle at her reaction.

“Can I?” Betty’s eyes had never been rounder in surprise and bliss.

“Yes, you can.” He confirmed still laughing at how adorable she was. “The guy that owns it is a friend so, even though getting in the cars isn’t exactly allowed, he can turn a blind eye for us.”  Jughead winked, outstretching his arms to catch her as she squealed and practically bounced to hug him.

“You’re the best, Juggie!” Her excited voice came muffled against the leather of his shoulder, slender arms closing around him in a thigh, affectionate grip before pulling back with smiley eyes and aching cheekbones. “But I’ll go half on the food, here, let me—” she made a move to reach her small bag but he stopped her, closing lazily his arms around her waist again.

“Cooper, you are on a date with me. And, damn straight, I’m going to spoil you.” The tip of his nose brushed against hers, a tender habit that he seemed to grow around her and Betty secretly loved, the girl biting her lower lip at the kaleidoscope of butterflies he only knew how to set free inside her stomach. “Are we cool with hotdogs? Anything to drink?” he wanted to make sure.

“Do they have milkshakes?” Betty went with her all-time-favorite go to drink.

“Only the best.” He bounced his head back smugly. “What’s your flavor, Cooper?” for some reason the question sounded so sinful coming for his lips, undertones of sexual innuendos and another type of flavor coloring his seemingly innocent words and she couldn’t hold back, as she let her mouth dance over his in a flirtatious whisper.

“What do my lips taste like?” She challenged and a smirk trembled on the said lips at his tiny groan, the raven-haired boy eyeing her shimmery pink flesh and moving to close the almost nonexistent distance between them, not because he didn’t remember – oh no, at this point that exclusive Betty Cooper taste was imprinted on his mind – but because her mouth was sinfully irresistible and the greatest addiction he ever experienced in his life.

Her pointer on his lips prevented him for doing so, the little minx toying with him like she only knew how.

“Mmm” Jughead moaned again, licking his own lips while eyeing hers in a trance of desire “strawberry.” He sighed around the answer, seeing her grin in triumph. “You’re such a little menace.” His teeth grazed the pad of her finger in warning, promising to get her back and get her good. Betty just rubbed herself sensually against him, green eyes sparing him a bring-it-on look that had his pupils dilating in lust in seconds, before pulling away. “Go, I got this.” He urged her to the direction of the car with a small push at the small of her waist and a lopsided smirk that she reciprocated with a dashing smile over her shoulder, as he walked to one of the food vendors to take care of their order.    

He came back minutes later, hands proudly presenting her with a red plastic tray full of hotdogs and two large orders of fries, a strawberry milkshake with extra sprinkles and whipped cream for her and a coke for him, Betty laughing in shock at the amount of food he insisted was mediocrely sufficient for the both of them.

“Okay, this is a little weird.” Jughead scrunched his nose upon eyeing warily the bread and sausage goodness in his hand. “I have a dog and his name is Hot Dog so me eating this violates so many owner-pet friendship rules.” Betty almost chocked around a mouthful, a series of laughter erupting from her chest as she tried to chew around her fist bite. The sight was truly unladylike and Jughead was hooked.

“You named your dog Hot Dog?” she shrieked incredulously once her giggles subdued, Jughead sending her a side glance.

“Hey, I was five and obsessed with junk food!” he protested. “Burger just didn’t have a nice ring to it.” He rested back on the leather interior of the car with a shrug, officially taking a rather large first bite of the forbidden fast food.

“Can I meet him sometime?” Betty murmured sweetly, brushing her palm in a silly manner against the corner of his lips where some breadcrumbs were left behind, offering him an equally silly grimace. Jughead’s eyes widened for a minute and some faint color appeared on his high cheekbones, sending her an apologetic smile. She didn’t care; she all but found him extremely cute and that was another plus in the pleasant surprise that was Jughead Jones.

“If you want.” He went on with their small chat, nodding happily at the thought of her wanting to do so. “Though, fair warning, he is sickening friendly and you’ll definitely fall in love with him.” His tone was alluring, a small smirk playing on his lips at the teasing warning that applied not only to Hot Dog but its owner too.

“Well” the blonde girl shrugged in faux apathy “it helps that I have a soft spot for his owner.” She threw him her best sweetheart-material smile and Jughead actually felt his chest puffing with a strange longing, a feeling of numbing heat and warmth spreading all over his ribcage and shaking him to the bone. His baby blues stayed trained on her and intensity made them crease at the edges, him being unable to look away.

“What?” Betty spat in confusion upon catching him staring, her hand immediately shooting up to her mouth in panic. “Do I have something on my face too? I swear to God, sometimes, I’m such a messy eater I end up—” a fierce kiss in full force had the words dying on her lips, almost making her drop her unfinished hotdog, as he took her breath away one more time with the lewd tenderness of his actions.

“You’re good.” Jughead let a breathy chuckle, forehead resting against forehead as she tried to slow down her heart. “It’s just…” he toyed with a blonde lock before pushing it behind her ear delicately, connecting their eyes. “Your hair looks great like that and it’s quiet distracting, okay?” he chuckled again in disbelief at how sappy he was turning overnight, only for Betty to peck his grinning lips lovingly before he reluctantly pulled back from her warmth. “Plus, a girl with an appetite is a huge aphrodisiac.” He sent her a wink, biting playfully at what seemed like his third hotdog for the night.

Betty felt the heat rise in her body, the goosebumps appearing on her skin just from his sexy choice of words and that damn distracting signature gesture of his. Without thinking twice she leaned over, melting against his side as he draped his arm around her shoulders in reflex. “In that case then” her voice dropped a suggestive octave, slender fingers coming to play with the buttons of his denim shirt “and since, due to recent history, having an audience is not really my scene, I’m down for expanding my horizons and seeing more of the Southside.” She proposed in a seemingly standoffish manner, arching her chest against his in a delicious way. “Like, its make out spots?” the grin that slowly found its way on her full lips was borderline illegal, inviting him in nighttime shenanigans that he was oh so willing to engage in with her.

Faking scandal, his eyes widened and a single eyebrow arched in boyish mischief. “Are you trying to get into my pants, Cooper?”

Betty slid more up his chest, Jughead casting a brief glance down at the modest cleavage her dress allowed. “Well, technically, I’m trying to get you out of them.” She replied with a playful grimace.

A dark chuckle echoed faintly between them, his eyes turning dark blue and boring lustfully against hers. “Watch what you are wishing for.” His wicked toned sent a pool of desire low in her stomach, Betty biting her lip to keep herself from moaning. “Come on; I know just the right place.” He left a final chaste but wet kiss against her bubblegum lips before getting out of the car, her mimicking his actions. He waited for her to round the fine vehicle, before his arm was once again curled around her shoulders, Betty finishing her remaining milkshake on their walk back to his bike, the cold sensation of the melted ice cream doing nothing to ease the heat of anticipation and giddy nerves he had arisen inside her with just one look.

The drive was short, through neighborhoods that Betty didn’t recognize but held a haunting mystique, an intriguing aura of an old retro movie. Everything looked more natural at the Southside, more raw and untouched and that was something that mesmerized the girl on the back of the Serpent’s bike, desperately wishing she could paint or photograph as her bewildered eyes were taking the scenery in with a hungry lust for life. And when the pine trees at each side of the high road they were speeding down narrowed, creating a thick barrier of nature, Betty was awarded with a view so gorgeous, she was sure it only belonged to a fairyland far far away.

A small clearing right by the edge of Sweetwater River, the whole North reflecting with faint shadows against the peaceful waters, yellow flickers and moonlight painting a silver trail that connected earth and night sky. She practically had the whole Riverdale at her feet.

“Wow…” she was held spellbound, eyes not even blinking as she stood frozen on her spot while Jughead was securing his Harley. “It’s so beautiful. It feels like the city lights are floating on the river.” She mused in awe, subconsciously taking some steps back to lean at the sponge seat. Once she registered the boy next to her chuckling, she turned to him, a playful smile trembling on her full lips.  “Does this view work on all the girls you bring up here?” Betty teased him wittily.

Jughead chuckled again, this time timidly and with his focus turned on the ground, rubbing the back of his neck before addressing her again with shiny blue eyes, a hint of hope and nervous anticipation intensifying their lovely color. “You tell me. Is it working?”

Betty frowned adorably, despite how lightheaded she felt by the look he was giving her. “Wait… Am I like the first one you come here with? What about all the others, Mr. Biker God?” she snorted a small laugh in disbelief.

“They were just…” he struggled, watching his fingers fidgeting with the keys of his motorcycle “others.” He settled then with a defeated sigh. “It never felt right enough. But you, Betty Cooper” his attention was back at her once again, tentatively moving closer and closer to her with that intensity of his stare, making her insides twist and turn in a ridiculous dance of nerves and hormones and feelings “you are something else; special.” He found his place right in front of her, a long leg finding its way between her slightly bended ones, face inches away from hers, hot breathes mingling, fireworks erupting in the depths of both their souls. Betty felt the need to gasp at the earth-shaking connection but not a single sound came out of her parted mouth. In fact, that wasn’t necessary; the magnetic pull of their bodies said it all, the sense of gravitation towards each other, the feeling of electricity running through their veins without them even touching.

“You—” Jughead choked in a breath, the words getting stuck in his throat, as he examined her awestruck and confused, her pretty face glowing under the moonlight and causing his heart to beat in a way he had never felt before and that was terrifying and disturbing and exquisitely exhilarated.

Betty’s fingertips found his mouth, silencing him. She didn’t need any of his words or declarations; it was in his eyes. “Kiss me.” She begged him in a hushed whisper, needy and ready to get lost into the world of recklessness she was careful not to indulge in all those seventeen years of her life.

Their lips crashed, mouths falling open in lewd despair, her whine embracing the heat of his soft moan at the contact. His tongue gained easy access in the tantalizing abyss of her mouth, exploring every inch of hidden flesh and forcing her own muscle to sway with his in an erotic dance that had her mind spinning in coordination with the sinful twirls of his experienced tongue. Her hands found their favorite place inside his thick ebony hair, pulling and fisting just how he liked, making him pant heavily against her opened mouth and kiss her back with more vigor, more heat, more desire to have her impossibly close. With a naughty tug of her down lip with his sharp teeth that had her half-gasping while he soothed the irritated skin with a tender suck and a swipe of his tongue, tasting strawberries and going insane, Jughead’s hands grasped her hips and slid her back on top of his bike, nesting between her legs and colliding his hard chest with her soft feminine mounds. Their bodies started that delicious push and pull, igniting sparks of desire like two electrified bare cables that attract each other violently and deadly.

Moans and groans mixed with wet sounds and hard breaths were the only thing disrupting the silence of nature, Betty bringing her hands to fist the lapels of his jacket in wanton desire, urging him more against her body, her thighs flexing at each side of his hips. He grunted and the said hips bucked at the involuntary action of her muscles, Jughead feeling himself growing harder by the minute, by each dirty swirl of her tongue, by each rub of her breasts against his chest, by the heat that radiated right at the place that ached for her. Forcefully, he gripped her hipbones harder, nails digging at the soft material of her pretty dress, and jerked them against him, Betty being dipped back from the force of him attacking her mouth more enthusiastically as they both moaned loudly at the sensation of his prominent erection against her center.    

“You are the most addicting thing I ever tasted.” Jughead breathed a primal groan against her mouth, lips dancing to change the angle of the kiss, Betty’s tongue curling to leave a sultry wet trail against the center of his chapped lips, from down to upper, too high on him and the way he had her whole body burning with his illegal kisses and sinful compliments.

“Good girls are not supposed to kiss that way.” He grabbed her chin to force her to look at him, green eyes hooded and filled with filthy promises, as her fingers slayed against his scalp holding him captive against the softness of her bee-stung lips.

“Guess you unlocked the bad girl underneath…” her erotic voice travelled all the way through his bones, a gut-wrecking grunt erupting from his chest before he dived forward in sexual frenzy and demanded to torture more skin, his skillful mouth travelling south, leaving open-mouthed kisses on her porcelain neck laced with soft moans of appreciation at her natural female essence and that lilac perfume that made him instantly a weak man at her mercy. A series of filthy sucks and dirty licks had her gripping leather once again or anchoring herself from his now more unbuttoned shirt, the denim a wrinkled mess under her claw like fingers, Betty moaning her enjoyment with her head thrown back and her blonde locks cascading like a waterfall of lust down her arched back. Her legs hitched higher in reflex as he delivered a hard bite at the sensitive skin of her pulse point, the soothing figure eights the tip of his tongue was applying sensually afterwards making her dizzy and a mess of high-pitched sighs and heavy pants, as her hips were rolling in-sync with his. One of his large hands slid to her smooth leg to caress softly from her knee to the pushed up hem of her dress, his lips found the valley of her breasts, her wet underwear grinded roughly against his thickness and Jughead groaned against the curve of her heaving mounts, gripping forcefully the skin of her thigh to restrain himself, thump inches away from the lace he was sure adorned her perfect curves underneath.

Betty’s hand shot between them, grabbing hold of his wrist, both of them pulling back to look at each other, breathless and panting like they had just ran a marathon. “Jughead, I haven’t…” she admitted in a small voice, doe eyes filled with lust turning shy and alert waiting for his reaction. She hoped her inexperience wouldn’t be a deal breaker for the utterly hot and definitely widely experienced guy in between her legs.

Jughead blinked a couple of times to collect his blood-less brain. “…Nothing?” he stupidly blurted, mentally kicking himself in the gut as soon as the word left his swollen lips for sounding so insensitive and such…a guy.

Hopefully, in between all the awkwardness of the situation Betty found some amusement that made her smirk cheekily, despite her scarlet cheeks and still timid eyes. “Well, my brief fling with Chuck had me excelling in manual labor and him enjoying plenty of benefits, if that counts.” She bit back in sarcasm, despite her more rosy cheeks at the sexual activities she was admitting of.

“Always an ass, can’t say I’m surprised.” Jughead nearly growled, his hold on her thighs tightening possessively for a minute, before he sighed lovingly, rubbing the tip of his nose against hers. “It’s fine. We don’t have to—” like the perfect gentleman he was, he went to let her know that everything was absolutely perfect as it was and she didn’t need to indulge in anything she wasn’t ready or didn’t fancy at the moment.

She was quick to cut him off, the edges of her voice colored with desire. “I want to.” Without missing a beat or breaking their heated eye contact, she buried her hands under her dress, shaky but determined fingers taking hold of her panties at her hips and tugging forward, the blonde Vixen momentarily retracting her long legs from around his waist to push the offensive garment completely off her body. Jughead gulped at the action, burning desire and a knot of anticipation making his Adam’s apple bob in a painful manner, leaving her eyes to look between them when he felt Betty pushing the skimpy lace inside the front pocket of his jeans, a part of it hanging out loosely like a shiny trophy or a flag of conquer. It was the same baby blue thong Jughead had complimented with a round hickey against her prominent hipbone during their first make out session, the blonde minx staying true to her promise, and right now Betty Cooper was approaching a very dangerous Jughead Jones territory.

“Touch me.” She breathed in bone-aching need, making a show out of opening her legs once again on either side of his hips, Jughead moving more against her body and gripping the back of her knees as his predatory orbs slid from her flirty eyes to her heaving breasts and down to his own promise land, still hidden by her utterly frustrating mini dress.

“You know, Cooper” his wicked little smirk and gravelly voice made her whole body shiver as he slithered his body against hers, cheek pressed on cheek, chapped lips talking hotly against her ear as the fingers of his right hand were running torturously slow on the inside of her thigh and towards the center of her arousal “right now you are making my ultimate fantasy come true. Public place, my bike, a long legged beauty perched on top of it, open-wide and” the pads of his fingers reached their destination emitting a breathless gasp from the said beauty “so fucking wet.” He growled against her cheek, his teeth grazing the blushing flesh, before grinding together at the sensation of her being already so ready for him.

The hurricane of lust that followed had them in a wrecked mess of broken signs and desperate push and pulls. With a strong hold on his biceps, short nails digging painfully on leather, Betty forced his whole weight on her, Jughead lashing forward with a moan that got suppressed by her hot mouth, their tongues sliding against each other passionately, feverishly. His fingers were massaging her nether lips, spreading the salty wetness in a teasing way that had her losing her mind and grinding helplessly against his miraculous hand, loving the grunts and heavy male breaths he was leaving inside her wide open mouth. His thump found her clit easily, rubbing the sensitive nerves in slow but film circles, Betty throwing her head back and disconnecting their lips to let a deep throaty sigh as he watched her with his mouth open in desire leaving cries of pleasure under him.

Her broken more was all it took for Jughead to completely unwind.

The intrusion of his fingers was slightly uncomfortable but utterly fulfilling, the first one teasing her like no one ever had, the second burning her alive and causing a chorus of filthy moans and erotic high-pitched sighs to escape from the depths of her subconscious.

“Juggie, oh God…” The girl dropped her head back, eyes rolling at the back of her skull at the newfound feeling of pleasure he was offering her.

“Fuck, baby girl, you are so tight.” His dirty talk only made her moan louder, her legs tightening involuntarily at his sides and her hips rolling to meet his heavenly fingers, both of them hearing  how soaking wet she was at this point.

His free hand caressed heavily down her neck, collarbone, sternum, his pitched black from desire eyes following the movement until her breast got captured in a strong hold, the young Serpent palming the round flesh slow and erotic, making Betty dizzy and in the verge of slipping off the edge. His fingers played with the hem of her dress around her rich cleavage, slowly lowering it along with the cup of a strapless baby blue bra and revealing a dark pink and perky nipple, Jughead groaning low in his chest at the steamy visual the sexiest girl on earth was offering for his eyes only. Without warning his lips captured the hard nerve-ending in coordination with his thump finding again her clit and Betty lost it, fisting violently his now messy raven locks and forming sounds she never thought she would.

“Let go, baby.” Jughead murmured against her skin, freeing the abused flesh with a pop and delivering a wet lick with the flat of his tongue from the curve of her breast all the way up to her neck, nibbling at her jawline. His fingers curled inside her, pumping hard and fast now and poking that very spot that even Betty had trouble finding, Jughead bucking against her heat involuntarily when she tightened even more and her moans became heavier. Splaying a hand on the side of her neck and using his thump on her chin to get her to look at him, he commanded with that dark sexy look in his intense eyes.

“Do it, Betty.” The use of her first name, uttered for the first time and in the hottest situation she ever experienced, drew the much needed orgasm out of her, Betty’s whole body spasming at the force of the feeling and her head dropping heavy on his shoulder, her hot moans and pleasure-filled sighs causing goosebumps to appear at the sensitive skin of his neck.

Her wince of complain at the loss of contact turned into a filthy groan at the sight of him sucking his fingers clean, tasting her sweet feminine essence on his mouth and moaning his appreciation. 

“Okay, officially best date ever.” Betty let a breathy chuckle, Jughead joining her too with a shake of his head, the blushing girl curling her arms and legs around the boy that not only made her heart flutter but her bones melt too with desire.

“Who told you that I’m done with you?” He raised his eyebrows with a wicked side smirk, his fingers trailing again at the inside of her thigh.

“Oh God, again?” Her shiny green eyes rounded in bisbelief, her hips jerking forward once the pad of his index finger connected with her clit, still hyper-sensitive after her amazing high. “What about you?” She worried her down lip with her teeth, momentarily glancing down where his prominent erection was stretching his jeans, only for him to lean forward and leave a chaste kiss on her lips. 

“Shush, Cooper, and enjoy your benefits for once.” Jughead grinned, bopping his nose against hers and making her giggle happily despite the fingers that were again spreading her wetness under her dress. “Plus, I really wanna cross ‘eating on a motorbike’ off my bucket list.” He told her cheekily, lowering himself to the ground in front of her and offering her that sexy wink of his right before disappering between her thighs.

Betty Cooper found a new love for motorbikes that night.

“So those cryptic memoirs of yours involve me in any way? And, if so, how PG are they?”

A hot breath next to his ear startled him, denim clad shoulders jumping lightly in fright at the sudden intrusion, and Jughead snapped out of his deep state of concentration which roughly translated to him muting the annoying human beings around him and sulking in self-pity that he got to spend yet another Monday in the hellhole that was called Riverdale High. The sly giggle that followed though, along with a blur of blonde hair gathered in a bouncy ponytail, forced a sigh of relief to tremble out of his smiley lips, watching in amusement as his favorite girl rounded him to take a seat on the cement step he was sprawled over. His right foot dropped on a step lower to make room for her and his left one stayed put behind her, the inside of his leg touching the tan material of her jacket at the side of her arm that complimented nicely her natural beauty along with her soft teal sweater and white slightly ripped at the knees skinny jeans. Suddenly, his mood was as bright as the happy colors of her outfit and her personality, contradicting every choice and belief of his moody self.

“Nice attempt at snooping, Cooper” he scoffed, closing the small black notebook he was always scribing away in, trapping its black cord inside to mark the page “but my lips are sealed.” He shot his eyebrows up in a playful manner, leaning a tad forward while she did the same, a dashing smile on her shimmery lips. “Hey you.” His tone turned soft as well as his handsome face, fingers timidly sliding to drum against the small patch of bare skin on her knee in subtle affection. “Any reason you are awfully cheerful today?” he questioned teasingly, blue eyes shining in delight under the morning sun.

“Mmm…” Betty made a thinking expression, as her hands made grabby motions against the sheepish lapels of his jacket, her eyes roaming over his torso in appreciation. She hadn’t really seen him in anything other than his Serpent jacket and, even though the black leather was something that always made her mind go spiraling, she had to admit that the blue denim he was sporting today was definitely a strong worth-drooling-over look for him.  “Probably the yummy hotdogs I had on Friday night.” She replied with an Oscar-winning poker face, before curling her lips into a cute grin, green eyes impishly darting around as she dragged her next words. “Maybe a yummy guy too.”

“Is that so?” Jughead faked obliviousness. “Do I happen to know him?”

“Probably not.” she pushed her lips together while nodding in all seriousness. “He’s way too cool to be of your league.” At his offended gasp, Betty couldn’t help but burst out laughing, him smiling big at the carefree sound.

“Really, Cooper?” he knocked the side of her knee with his while she kept on giggling, the fingers now full on splayed on her thigh, delivering a torturous slow caress. Their eyes connected as he leaned even closer, Betty’s laugher fainting into a lovesick smile and his voice dropping an octave as he whispered practically against her inviting lips. “Well, I could show you some cool tricks with m—”

“Ah, predictably.”

A chirpy and borderline annoying voice dissolved the amorous cloud around them as a flash of red voluminous hair invaded their peripheral vision. Betty sighed, closing her eyes momentarily at the interruption, both of them leaning away from each other and turning to face a demanding Cheryl Blossom.

“Well-well, another episode of Betty and Cry-Baby caught in a maypole of denial and restrain when all they wanna do is shove tongues down each other’s throat.” The redhead waved a hand to indicate how fed up she was with their cat and mouse game. “If this was a TV-show, it would be canceled by the second episode.” She deadpanned.

Jughead frowned at her, Betty let an amused scoff. “What’s up, Cheryl?”

“Oh but I’m not here for you, Betty dearest.” Her voice turned sugary sweet, shooting a teasing smirk at her cousin. “I’m interested in you” she pointed a perfectly manicured finger at Jughead “Jax Teller of our quaint little town.” The young Serpent shook his head at the comparison while the blonde girl formed a mirthful grimace. “Next Saturday mommy and daddy dearest are going to be in all their successful business people glory in an out of town investors trip so there’s gonna be a party at my place, 9 o’clock. Don’t be late, bring booze and even your” Cheryl paused to find civilized words “werewolf pack of corny Neanderthals.”

Betty and Jughead shared a look. “You do realize that you are planning weeks ahead, right?” her cousin just shrugged nonchalantly, way too excited to spread the word about yet another epic party organized by the Queen Bee of Riverdale High. “And anyway, when was this impromptu party decided?” she questioned her suspiciously.

Cheryl pushed her bloody red lips in thought. “Uh, first period. I am horny plus craving alcohol so this equals a big Blossom party minus my clothes!” she shrugged matter-of-factly.

“Math genius, right there.” Jughead remarked in his usual sarcasm.

“Thank you, you walking orgasm.” The popular girl thanked him almost sincerely, placing a hand over her chest, and making him raise his eyebrows smugly at the nickname. “So that’s all, I’ll let you get back to ruining Betty’s panties one per glance.” The aforementioned girl huffed in scandalous embarrassment, the raven-haired boy next to her nodding in appreciation with an amused smirk as the chaos that was named Cheryl Blossom turned to leave. “Later, losers.” She threw over her shoulder with an essential flick of her red tresses before she was sprinting down the school’s backyard in search of other innocent victims.

“Okay, she is a bit…” Betty struggled to find a suitable word as they watched her joining some girls from the cheerleading squad.

“Of a psycho crackhead that reincarnated into the body of the teenager version of those bratty toddlers right out of Toddlers & Tiaras?” Jughead quickly offered cleverly.

“I would say excessive but you’ve got a point.” She grimaced as he turned back to her, merriment obvious on his face. “I’m sorry about all this” Betty sighed “I haven’t even told her about our date and already she is making a fuss about the two of us.” She squirmed uneasily, hoping that the tactless ambush wasn’t going to scare Jughead away.

“You didn’t?” he eyed her surprised, a frown of confusion shadowing his face. They hadn’t had the chance to meet again over the weekend, mainly because he was neck deep with Serpent duties and she was prepping hard for an upcoming English quiz, but they were practically glued on their phones talking and texting non-stop, so in his books that appeared to be pretty auspicious. The lack of her not blubbing all about their date to her best friends, just like any other typical teenage girl, well, that brought an alarming code red sign to flash in his mind.

“No, not really.” She refused with a small shrug. “I mean” she was quick to add when she saw his face drop at the revelation “I didn’t know if that was something you wanted or, more so, if there’s an “us” to begin with.” A nervous chuckle accompanied the end of her sentence, as she dropped her head, suddenly eager to watch the picking of her fingers.

“Betty” there was the use of her first name again, uttered so softly and sweet that made her feel warm all over, as the hand that was on her thigh slipped between hers and he laced their fingers together, Betty eyeing their joined hands with a small smile “we went out and had a great time and kissed a lot and it was amazing…” his voice trembled around the adjective, as if he still couldn’t believe the kind of connection they had. “Plus, you know” he ducked his head to find her eyes, his tone becoming a naughty, collusive whisper “there’s still a blue thong in the pocket of my nice pair of jeans.” This made her blush and bite her lip in embarrassment, Jughead chuckling lightly at her reaction and tracing the red on her cheek with the thumb of his free hand, mesmerized. “So, there’s definitely an “us” for me.” He concluded in all honesty, ocean blue connecting with meadow green in a stare-off that held so many newfound feelings and words unsaid.

At her silence, he hesitated. “Isn’t this something you want? For us to be us…” He was mildly frustrated by his poor vocabulary and anything but eloquent word structure but he was too preoccupied with searching for any hint of rejection on her pretty face to care about his crumbling ability to talk, his heart beating impossibly fast at the possibility of her not spending the previous nights awake and thinking of him just like he had done, rewinding every moment of their date with shiny eyes happy and alert towards his bedroom ceiling.

“Yeah, of course.” Betty assured him passionately. “I had a great time too, obviously.” She smiled wholeheartedly at him, tightening the hold of their hands and watching him exhale the big breath he was holding, relieved and content. “And all this with you is new but very exciting and incredible…” her eyes rounded in delight and her cheeks became crimson at the way he made her feel. “I just wasn’t sure how official you wanted to make it.” She admitted in a small voice.

Jughead’s fingers curled under her chin, raising her head to look at him. “Well, how official can it get if I do this?” he whispered cheekily before his lips were on hers, Betty letting a squeal of surprise that gave the perfect opportunity for his tongue to invade her mouth, the kiss turning feverish and needy in a second. Heads twirling from side to side in languid passion with demanding lips nibbling and sucking and drowning every sigh and sharp inhale of breath, both of them lost themselves inside the kiss ignoring the hushed whispers that instantly rose from the prying eyes of the teenagers around them in the crowded yard.

Reluctantly, Jughead pulled back, eyes still closed and lips wet and dark red from their intense make out, leaving Betty gasping and leaning forward for more. “Definitely front page material to the school’s newspaper and the talk of the town.” She confirmed his speculations breathlessly against his lips, combined with a faint dreamy smile and flattering eyelashes, still trying to steady her poor heart and reconnect her brain with reality.

“Hm” the shaky breath of his hum fanned her face, his thump caressing the corner of her now lip balm free lips. “I was aiming more for a worldwide trend but I guess there’s always tomorrow.” He joked still lightheaded, leaving a chaste kiss on her grinning lips and fully pulling back, his hands dropping to rest casually on her hips.

“Listen, about this party…” Betty shook her head to rearrange her thoughts. “I mean it’s in two weeks, I don’t even know why Cheryl is spreading the world just yet, I guess she is always extra like that, but anyway because I’ll be there, you don’t have to—” she started to rant uncontrollably, anxious and scared that she was forcing him into something he was better off without, but he was fast to cut her off.

“If you’ll be there, I’ll be there.” Jughead promised. “Plus, Reggie is really getting on my nerves with his constant nudging about me not being an effective wingman because apparently it’s my fault that every logical human being flees at the mention of him taking off his pants.” He used a snarky excuse but Betty knew that him coming to this party was all for her sake. And her heart skipped a beat at the thought.

“Well, I’m sure a party at Thornhill will grand him the heartfelt love story he is desperately seeking.” She grimaced in fake understanding before laughing at Jughead’s eye roll. “Gotta go, I have a freshman waiting for me and my AP Physics brain at the tutor center and I’m already late.” She announced with a tiny groan, patting his jean clad thigh before standing up.

Jughead smirked in confusion. “Seriously, Cooper, what else can you do?”

She leaned down, closing his chin between her thump and her pointer before whispering flirtatiously inches away from his face. “Right about everything and a lot of other things that you haven’t seen yet.” She challenged with a playful wiggle of her eyebrows, leaving a wet smooch on his gasping in shocked amusement mouth. “Talk to you later.” she laughed as she gathered her backpack, loving the fact that she caught him biting his lip at the promise. “And” she was minutes from skipping down the small stairs before she turned and fisted the sheepish lapel of his jacket “don’t brood.” She warned with round, mischievous eyes. “Now that we’re official, it tarnishes my image of sunshine and rainbows.” The blonde menace snorted a laugh as she freed his jacket only for him to collide with the cement half wall behind him, Betty earning a light smack on her butt from his notebook that made her squeak happily, Jughead watching her with a shit-eating grin make her way through the crowd.

Oh, Cooper, it’s so on.

There was nothing atypical about this night. The crisp night air was lingering like a thick veil as a true reminder of what spring always looked like in Riverdale, the heavy downpour was staying true to the words of every meteorologist and every weather forecast that promised biblical storms before the residents of the small town could enjoy some sunnier days. It was an ordinary Wednesday, a little after nine, and two teenagers were running down the abandoned roads of the Southside, soaking figures in search of a shelter.

Three weeks together and of course there was never a boring moment between them.

“We’re gonna catch pneumonia, you crazy girl!” Jughead hollered, more amused than annoyed, eyes squinting under the ferocity of the water droplets against his face.

“We need to take this beauty somewhere safe.” Betty insisted for the hundredth time, voice rising over the noise of nature around them, gripping tighter the right handle of Jughead’s Harley, as she was assisting him in the manual task of pushing the broken down vehicle. They were having their usual date night after Betty’s shift at the Southside Elementary, enjoying a refreshing drive down at the edge of the river when suddenly the bike stopped working only for the malicious rain to be added to the equation of unfortunate events.

“Believe me, I’m crying really un-manly on the inside but right now the bike is not a priority.” The raven haired boy sent her a side glance under his dripping locks against his forehead, pushing her hands out of the way to take control of both handles stubbornly.

“We can’t just–” The blonde girl started to object, equally stubborn too with a scrunched nose in a girly whine, only for a loud thunder to cut her mid-sentence, its earth-shuttering echo making both teens jump and Jughead to lash forward, his torso curling over hers in an attempt to shield her from any danger and potential harm. Once the ominous sound subdued, Jughead, taking matters into his own hands with determination, pushed down the side stand of the motorbike, leaving it to lean over the pavement, before quickly ushering the angel of a girl on his side to the nearest wall, the edge of its rooftop offering the much needed protection from the violent cries of heaven.

“Jesus, Cooper, I should have known from the start that you are going to be the death of me.” The young Serpent huffed in disbelief, face glistering from a thin layer of water and eyes from the adrenaline running through his veins.

Betty chuckled lightly, resting back against the wall and fisting his leather jacket, pulling his soaking form flat against hers. “I thought you were a fan of wild rides, Jones.” The teasing in her tone screamed trouble and her smirk was the definition of sin as she let her lips brush against his ever so lightly.

“Fire.” Her murmured inches away from swallowing her whole, eyes closed as he desperately tried to control his breathing. “You’re always playing with fire…” he sighed in warning, always putty under the spell of her feminine presence, and joined their mouths in a kiss that made Betty’s toes curl deliciously inside her ruined sneakers.

“Are you okay?” Jughead asked once they reluctantly pulled back for oxygen, concerned about her wellbeing, rubbing the side of her arms vigorously to offer any added warmth he could manage to her freezing limbs.

The blonde beauty let a faint giggle at the adorableness of the action, prompting him to laugh lightly too. “I’m perfectly fine.” She let him know in all honesty, down lip trapped inside her pristine whites in order to prevent her face from breaking from the giant smile of happiness and love that threatened to appear on her rosy lips.

Jughead examined their surroundings briefly, frown lines deepening between his eyebrows. “The rain is only getting worse. You stay here; I’ll run to the trailer and then come pick you up with my dad’s work truck.”

“You’re not running anywhere in this weather!” Betty objected to the absurd idea in a high pitched voice.

“It’s fine.” Jughead shook his head in an aloof manner. “Driving you home safe is number one on my emergency list right now.” He made a move to pull back from her, ready to go on with his plan, only for her to grab the inside of his forearm.

“Jug…” she all but whispered, green eyes intense and hiding so many undertones of things unspoken. “I don’t wanna go home.” The sentence was simple but the desperate whine in her tone, the need in her stare, had Jughead’s mind spiraling.

“Betty…” he breathed, the rare use of her first name indicating that the situation was serious or tender, examining her carefully, double-checking, needing to make sure.

She sensed his hesitation, driven solemnly from his principal of always making her feel comfortable. “I don’t wanna go home.” She repeated, firmer, more sure, nails digging in the leather on his forearm and eyelashes fluttering over the sensual shade of her irises.

There was the silence of a heartbeat, Jughead’s eyes dropping down over her dripping figure, a white t-shirt clinging on her curves and turning his throat dry at the faint shadow of some vibrant colored bra underneath.  “Okay.” He answered in a pant, taking off his black leather jacket in a hurry and draping it over her shoulders and her light grey jacket for extra layers. “C’mere. I know where we can go.” He told her softly against her ear, Betty too preoccupied with the butterflies in her stomach to even nod, as she let him guide them back towards the waterfall of rain.

Moments later they were climbing up a slippery fire escape, Jughead expertly flicking open the wide window at the very top and helping her climb inside before following behind her with an agile hop. Illuminated only by the moonlight and the horrendous white light of the lamppost down the road, the room looked tiny under Betty’s trying to adjust eyes, with barely minimum furniture; an old desk tucked against the wall under two selves suffocated by books, an old TV-set with a basket full of old movies next to it on the floor, a round floor mattress covered neatly with some dark purple sheets and littered with random throw pillows, creating a colorful puffy headboard. It was cozy and sheltered, the atmosphere of the small attic offering a weird soothing feeling at Betty’s spiked nerves of anticipation, the drumming of the water against the wooden roof mingling with the faint sounds of some old school rock coming from the rest of the building beneath them.

“It’s called The Wythe Wyrm; it’s our most popular Southside bar.” Jughead went to explain quickly upon watching her examining the place. “My dad owns the place and when my sister and I were younger he used to leave us up here while he worked.” He moved to turn on a small heater at the corner, shaky hands fumbling with buttons. “Now this is mostly my lone wolf dent when I want to write or read or just disconnect myself from the world.” He concluded with a sigh, rising up to his full height, before turning to face the girl that all this time was watching him with doe eyes alight and delighted by the view of his slim figure clad in a soaked black band tee and ripped jeans while leaning back against the wide arched window.

“Also” the word got caught in his throat, his hands getting buried inside the pockets of his jeans for him to hide his ridiculous and newfound awkwardness “my intentions are purely innocent; I’m not assuming anything by bringing you here.” He told her truthfully, his baby blues soft as they connected with her shining green orbs.

Betty bit her lip while slowly taking off her jacket – his Serpent jacket already folded and placed on the window sill with care – her icy cold fingers then moving to play with the hem of her t-shirt. Jughead followed the action, eyes drinking every inch of porcelain skin, until the sticky garment was a worthless puddle on the hardware floor. “And what if mine aren’t?” She whispered the visual innuendo she was offering him, freeing her wet and frizzy golden locks from their elastic prison, the ends of her halo-like hair grazing her heaving mounts and the magenta silk of her elegantly sensuous bra.

“We don’t have to do this…” Jughead breathed with difficulty, his hands curling in fists inside his pockets at his attempt of self-restrain, slowly walking to stand inches away from her inflamed half naked body. “As bad as I want to, I-I can wait.” He promised her in all honesty, his face the epitome of a guy in love for the first time.

“I don’t wanna wait.” Even though a whisper, Betty’s voice was certain, determined, the innocent-like girl sliding her hands up his arms to rest lovingly against his cheeks. “I wanna feel this with you.” The confirmation that he wanted her just as much came through his eyes, pitch dark and pupils dilated, and Betty didn’t need any other sign to rise on her tip toes and move to crash her lips against his, only for the sensation of his hot breath on her parted mouth to disappear last minute, along with the air inside her lungs, as she felt his strong hands turning her around, her back colliding with his strong chest and her semi-bare front being forced against the already foggy window.

Walking down this rocky road

Wondering where my life is leading

Rollin' on to the bitter end

Finding out along the way

What it takes to keep love living

You should know how it feels, my friend

The faint echo of a slow rock song started filling the silence between their gradually heavier breaths and Jughead’s wet sounds against her skin. Holding her hip for leverage, his free hand brushed her dumped hair off to the right side of her neck, attacking the other one with lazy sucks and teasing bites, his teeth nibbling and marking, having her writhing against him and throwing her head back against his shoulder in despair. She wasn’t cold anymore but she was shivering, not from the rain, but from his heated ministrations and the filthy way he was starting to ravish her body, the wetness in her underwear competing against the rain-inflicted wetness all over her body and winning. With an on-point and rather hard bite on her pulse point, Jughead tugging skin and moaning around the abused flesh, her own moan fogged the window and one of her hands shot back to grab his thigh, her firm behind finding him half-hard and ready to introduce her to a new world of wonders and sin. Both of them moaned loudly at the contact, Jughead’s hips bucking against her glorious ass and his fingers turning white around her hipbones.

Ooh, I want you to stay

Ooh, I want you today

“Do you have any idea how much I want you?” Jughead’s manly whisper caressed the shell of her ear, before his teeth grazed the soft skin, his long palms caressing hotly from her shoulders to her shoulder blades, ribs, hips, where they stopped to jerk her backwards and ground her heavier against the place that felt heavenly thick and hard against her round curves. Betty sighed loudly in wanton and bit her lip at the thought of feeling him without any barriers, between her legs, inside her, her thighs clenching involuntarily at the images her dizzy brain was creating, images that were minutes away from becoming reality.

She felt his lips travel from the back of her neck all the way down her back, biting and leaving open mouthed kisses before his fingers were at the button of her jeans, quickly undoing it and pulling the damp material down with difficulty, his make-you-weak-in-the-knees kisses continuing down the long expense of her legs until the denim was abandoned to the side. The midnight blue thong that greeted him, barely there and utterly lacey, had him groaning low in his chest and involuntarily delivering a hard bite against the curve of her ass, causing Betty to squeal a moan of approval. Sliding back up, Jughead used the tip of his tongue to leave a wet, sinful trail all the way up her spine, unclasping expertly her bra on the way and throwing it to join the rest of her clothes on the floor. Betty was a moaning and mewling mess at this point, head rolling back against him and body following his hands blindly in search for something, anything, that would give her sanity back.

“Please, do something. Touch me.” Betty whined in dark desire, one of her hands landing with a slapping sound on the glass in front of her, her short nails clawing the transparent surface in frustration, as his hands kept roaming all over her body, her stomach, hips, thighs, ribs but never on the places that were aching for the simplest of his touches.

“Where do you want me to touch you, baby girl?” His hoarse from arousal voice had her thighs clenching, a groan leaving the depths of her chest when his palm lightly caressed her underside of her breast. “Here?” he faked innocence as he squeezed urgently the soft mount, moaning low in his throat at the sensation of her nipple hardening more under his touch. “Or, better yet, here?” his free hand pushed her panties to the side without any warning, finding her dripping wet, Jughead grunting painfully at the discovery and the high pitched erotic sigh that left her plump lips.

The firm circles and hard pinches on her nipple were in coordination with the expert rubs on her clit, the neglected pink bud of her left breast enjoying the miraculous cooling sensation of the cold glass as the blonde angel was forced under the weight of the guy that was pleasing her, coaxing her into engaging in a filthy concert of operatic moans. When two of his fingers invaded suddenly her wet heat, immediately curling against the spot that always made her see stars and planets, both of them cursed under their breaths, her at the wonderful things he was doing to her body and him at the unbelievable tightness she was promising him.

“I want to feel you inside me.” Betty’s stuttering around a loud sigh was what stopped him, the said girl groaning in frustration at the loss of contact before he turned her again, effortlessly picking her up and urging her long legs to close around his hips, one of his arms curled around her waist while the other held back the waterfall of blonde waves to kiss her senseless and with all the passion he had for her and only her.

I'm ready for love

Oh baby, I'm ready for love

Ready for love

Oh baby, I'm ready for love

Oh, for your love

“God, I have to taste you.” Jughead growled while dropping her on the round mattress, Betty’s soft gasp blowing away the balls of dust that were caused by the action as she landed on the dark sheets with a soft thud and on a cloud of slick hair, her miles-long legs still wrapped around his waist, while he rested on his knees between them, fisting the back of his shirt to pull it off his chest, hard planes of muscle glistering under the moonlight from the dumbness of the rain. Her slender fingers came to caress the hardness of his torso on their own accord, her doe eyes following muscles and popping veins as she could practically feel her panties getting ruined by the state of arousal she was in, her index finger curling around his belt loop and her hips rising up to seek some friction in coordination with the embarrassing mewl of want that left her swollen lips.

A devilish smirk curled on his lips, dark blue eyes impishly provoking and connected with hers, as he confidently popped open the button of his jeans and lowered the zipper, wanting to give his suffocated self some room to breathe and giving Betty a dirty sneak peek of a thickness that made her stomach drop with excitement. Without breaking eye contact, Jughead curled his fingers around her lacey excuse of panties, pulling them down her shapely legs torturously slow until they were only an accessory around her ankle, exposing her fully to his eyes and groaning low in his chest at the sight of her open and ready. He dove for her neck with a faint growl, teeth unmercifully creating purple marks and palms caressing hotly the sides of her open legs, Betty moaning loudly and anchoring herself on his strong back, as her own lips started leaving kisses on his cheek and neck, making him groan into her skin. She could feel the ends of his dark waves tickling her skin as his lips moved lower to nibble on the bony valley of her round breasts, making her throw her head back in a series of moans, both his palms caressing up her sides until they settled on her soft mounds, massaging them and pushing them together while he watched from his spot between them her pretty face getting lost in pleasure. Once satisfied with the growing hickey on her central bone, Jughead’s lips traced the soft skin until a perky nipple was inside them, causing a loud moan to leave Betty’s lips while he sucked and licked the pink bud. He brought his other hand to tease the neglected one and she felt up in the air with the wonders his tongue and teeth were doing, the guy that was featured in all of her late night fantasies switching between his breasts to pay the other the same treatment and making her a moaning mess under him. He sucked harder his time and Betty almost ached off the bed with eyes round and covered in lust, causing him to groan along with her around the sensitive bud and continue more vigorously than before, his hips giving an involuntary hard thrust against her heat and pinning her hips more forcefully under the weight of his.

She didn’t find it in herself to feel ashamed when her back arched and her lips let a whine of complain as he freed the abused flesh with a wet pop, or when she caught a glimpse of the dampness at the front of his black boxers caused by her. Her brain couldn’t function when the tip of his tongue gave her hard nipple a last teasing kitten lick, or when his open and breathing hotly mouth trailed down her stomach or when his palms took hold of the back of her already shaking thighs to push them more open and back towards her. And she definitely lost every ounce of sanity she had left when his tongue licked sinfully from the inside of her thigh to the place that was burning for his attention.

Now I'm on my feet again

Better things are bound to happen

All my dues surely must be paid

Many miles and many tears

Times were hard but now they're changing

You should know that I'm not afraid

Betty never thought it would feel that way. But with her legs open wide and thrown over his strong shoulders, his fingers toying with her sore nipples and his mouth not letting even a drop of her arousal go to waste, she was forced in a sweet agony, with her waist arched like a perfect bow and her head thrown back against the pillows, the veins on her neck popping under the volume of her erotic sounds and a shade of crimson coloring her inflamed skin. He was licking and sucking, teeth grazing just as much, tongue curling in all the right places, and the vibrations of his manly moans of enjoyment felt so filthy, Betty looking down momentarily at the guy between her legs but losing the staring battle once she caught him watching her, then awarding her with a loud wet suck. She spat a “fuck, Jughead ”, her legs tensed up and shivered and her hips started grinding against his tongue with vigor, his groan of surprise and arousal at the use of the swear word and the single digit that slipped effortlessly inside of her triggering an orgasm so intense that changed the whole route of her existence.

Betty used her strong hold on his messy hair to pull him up in a desperate need to have his lips against her moaning ones again, their tongues meeting instantly and starting battling with hunger, the taste of her arousal having them both panting heavily. She felt him nibbling her down lip and she let another moan when he tagged it between his teeth, her in reflex sucking at his tongue and driving him crazy, making him fist her sprawled on his pillow golden locks and angle her head to smother her mouth with his, desperate to swallow all her feminine sighs and groans. Jughead pushed into her opened legs more, her arching her waist towards him and curling a leg around his thigh, succeeding in rolling them over and gaining the upper hand with a victory grin inside their kiss.

“I’ve never been so wet before.” Her bee-stung lips danced hotly against his ear, hard nipples grazing against his pecs and hips rolling deliciously over his, her tongue curling teasingly over the spot behind his earlobe that always made him shiver in her arms. He let a moaning chuckle, closing his eyes at the treatment and the filthy mouth that no one else but him knew she, Betty Cooper good girl extraordinaire, possessed.

“I guess I’m that good after all, Cooper.” The Serpent teased her with that cocky smirk of his, his hands squeezing heavily her bare ass and his lips nibbling at her prominent collarbones.

“We’ll see about that.” She forced him back against the mattress by his shoulders, looking down at him with that glint in her green eyes and her good girl smile, circling her hips over his painful erection and smiling bigger when he threw his head back against the pillows, too wound up by the action of her hips and the sight of the naked goddess on top of him. The blonde angel leaned forward, lips starting to leave a trail of wet peck kisses down his heaving chest as they kept their hooded eyes locked with each other’s, Jughead’s fingers threading in her hair as she moved more south, teeth lightly tagging at the skin next to his happy trail before sucking a mark on one of his prominent V-lines that she always wanted to taste, causing him to grunt painfully and his hips to buck violently against her face.

“Careful.” Jughead warned with his raspy aroused voice and that dark intensity in his predatory stare. “You are approaching war zone.” Even his sarcasm had turned dark and sinfully wicked, Betty licking her lips at the promise behind his words.

“Any lethal weapons?” She decided to play along, raising a perfect eyebrow in a challenge, while sliding his jeans down his legs and leaving him to kick them off completely as she climbed back up his raven hair littered thighs.

“Ready and loaded.” He offered her the boyish smile she fell in love with, only this time it screamed danger and hedonic sin.

Betty lowered his boxers, his impossibly hard erection springing free, and making her lick her lips again around a delighted smirk. “Then I can’t wait to pull the trigger.” She told him in a sultry whisper before her glossy, full lips wrapped around his tip and sucked sensually, making him hiss unceremoniously and curse under his breath. Jughead felt his member getting more and more buried in the heat of her mouth before being released wet and dripping and an unknown force gave him strength to lazily jolt his head up and watch her incredulously, eyes wild with sexual arousal at the sight of the symbol of Riverdale’s purity, the one and only Betty Cooper, greedily licking the underside of him from bottom to top with a loud slurp that made his knees weak and his heart drum like crazy inside his chest.

“Jesus Christ, Betty…” her lips engulfed him again and his head dropped back with a puffy thud, Betty taking more of him in her mouth this time and actually bobbing her head a couple of times, creating an amazing friction and tightness low in his belly, Jughead feeling three hundred percent positive that if she kept that up he would be spilling everything inside her pretty little mouth in a mere matter of seconds.

“Fuck, stop…” The writhing boy underneath her let a deep moan, resulting in her gasping around him and letting her tongue caress heavily the vein on the underside of his thick member, Jughead’s hips shuttering at the change of temperature and the depth of her mouth. His eyes scrunched closed and his hand shot to fist her still damp golden locks at the top of her scalp, his legs tensing at the back of her thighs as she was straddling him.

She was not in a mood to stop but he was not in a mood to be disobeyed.

Ooh, I want you to stay

Ooh, I want you today

The air left her lungs and her lips opened in a silent scream as Betty was forced again on her back, Jughead’s weight heavy on top of her and one of her hands violently pinned over her head. “I need you, goddammit.” He snapped against her lips, frustrated and minutes before exploding, his hips thrusting against hers and the tip of his cock parting her, making them both moan at the contact. Jughead could feel his heart thudding loudly inside his heaving chest, the first time wanting a woman with such frenzy, trying to control his male urges from fucking her to oblivion.

“Take me.” Her breathless whimper dissolved every small ounce of self restrain he had left. His gaze was all-consuming as her naked chest was rolling deliciously over his, her dripping center rubbing up and down his iron hard on and he dropped his opened mouth against hers, their lip-lock immediately turning wet and urgent and dirty, as the hand that wasn’t holding her wrist captive blindly went to search for his jeans.

Betty moaned inside the kiss, grabbing his bicep to stop him, Jughead pulling back with concern painted on his disorientated face. “I wanna feel you whole inside me.” She bit her lip timidly, her cheeks turning even rosier and his eyes a tad wider at her breathy request. “I’m on the pill and I haven’t been with anyone before.”

“I have.” Jughead lamely stated, his hushed tone a mix of shame and regret and his eyes softening upon examining her beautifully flustered face, scared that he was disappointing her, scared that he was disappointing his own self by not knowing any better and not waiting for his first time to be with that amazing girl.

“I don’t care about that, Juggie.” Betty offered him a dashing smile, her hand coming up to cup his cheek and wash away all of his doubts and worries. “I just care about being with you and being—” he didn’t let her finish, his turn to vanish all her worries.

“I’m clean, annual checkup and all.” He was quick to inform her. “But still, we can do it with a condom, it’s fine, whatever you want.” He was more quick to assure her again that her being comfortable was a priority.

Betty’s heart melted at his thoughtful and sweet nature. “I want your skin to burn my skin. I want your everything.” She whispered against his lips lovingly, forehead rubbing against forehead and her thumps forming idle circles on his cheekbones.

“Okay.” Jughead breathed in barely a whisper, his eyes close and his senses in hyperactivity.

“Okay.” Betty agreed, letting a trembling sigh as she felt his cock twitch against her warmth, Jughead nesting more comfortably inside her open legs.

“You’re shaking.” her observation was a hushed mumble, her own heart shivering against her ribcage in anticipation and sweet nerves, her green excited eyes boring into his calming sea blue ones. 

“Good shaking.” Betty barely heard his voice breaking, his eyelids fluttering closed as he claimed her lips again, soft and tender, his strong arms wrapping around her waist and his hips pushing forward, until their bodies became one, an overwhelmed gasp filling his mouth and long legs shivering against his sides as his own body shot weightless in the clouds of heaven and the depths of hell.

I'm ready for love

Oh baby, I'm ready for love

I'm ready for love

Oh baby, I'm ready for love

“Are you okay?” There was concern in his hoarse voice, his forehead dropping heavy and dizzy on hers, Jughead breathing loudly through his nose and never letting go of her eyes as he tried to keep a painfully slow push and pull of his hips to prevent her from any further discomfort. The newfound feel of him buried to the hilt inside her without any barriers was not making his task any easier. Their skin started to grow sweaty and their heavy pants and cries were tangled together as they kept their lips against each other’s and parted but never fully kissing, both of them getting lost at how good he felt pushing and pulling inside of her.

“Yes, yeah…” It was a confirmation and a sigh of pleasure, Betty only experiencing a tiny sweet ache but mostly insatiable desire, a burning need to have him closer, harder, deeper. “Please, faster.” Her mewl was high pitched and desperate, her slender fingers sliding through his raven locks at his scalp and tugging lightly, loving the soft moans and manly breaths he was leaving against the sensitive skin of her lips.

Jughead complied, hands tightening their hold on her hipbones. “Fuck, you feel…” the words dried on his lips as his mouth opened in a silent moan, his pulsing member sinking deeper inside her and hitting a spot that made her let a loud sigh, her ankles coming to close on his waist, holding him captive inside her feminine abyss. “Mmm, Betty, you are burning me alive.” His teeth bit her shoulder, losing his mind and forcing both her wrists over her head in dominance, the action causing her to curse loudly next to his ear and then start sucking on his neck, as their hips kept meeting in fast, curt thrusts.

“Jug…” his name sounded so erotic out of her swollen and bitten lips that he actually had to restrain himself from coming undone right at that second. Her small muscles started spasming, wetness dripping all around him and to the sheets beneath them. “I-I need…” she stuttered with a long moan, throwing her head back and giving him the change to lick a wet trail from the base of her neck to her jaw.

“I know what you need, baby.” He murmured between his labored breaths, his forehead dropping on her chin and his eyes taking a glimpse of how good she was taking him inside of her. “You need to come around my cock.” He accompanied his order with a hard, forceful thrust that had her back arching off the mattress, her walls closing impossibly tight around him and threatening to coax his undoing. “Do it, angel, come.” He used one hand to keep her wrists over her head and the other traveled down her body, forcing her legs more up his back and delivering a loud slap against her ass that had her trashing uncontrollably under him, leaving moans and sighs of pleasure.

“With me.” Betty whispered out of breath, almost in a trance of sexual frenzy, freeing her hands from his hold and curling them tightly around his shoulders. “I need, oh God, please, with me.” She kept begging and begging, her legs shivering violently and her hips following his urgent thrusts, her body stiffening and tensing asking him to get lost inside her.

A hard rub of her clit with the pads of his fingers was all it took for her to disconnect from reality, shot up in the sky and shutter in a million pieces, her legs closing around his ribs and her muscles forming a tight vice around him. Her orgasm came hard and fast, wild moans of his name being repeated like a mantra while riding the high Jughead was offering her, her palm smacking his back in order to hold on to something and her nails clawing down his flexing muscles in erotic despair. Jughead grabbed her hips, as she clenched and quivered around his cock, her legs shaking violently around him and making his own groans increase at the sight of her being in such state because of him and at the painful pleasure her nails and tight muscles were offering him back.

Betty was a vision to behold at the final state of pleasure with blonde tresses a mess, body arching and crimson - the redness interrupted by the occasional light purple of his kisses - eyes painfully shut, rosy full lips open in the most sinful expression of bliss. For the first time in his life Jughead felt his whole body numbing and spiraling out of control, surrendering completely and being reborn, restarting, living. Pinning one of her legs on the mattress by her thigh, opening her more for him in order to continue his trusts, now sloppy and more urgent than before,  Betty’s eyes snapped open at the intense pleasure he continued to give her, making her spasm and shiver through her aftershocks, and she felt him starting to twitch inside her before sighing loudly, his own orgasm being minutes away.  She bit hard on his neck, nails digging in his ass to force him fully inside of her and help him find his release too, and he grunted loudly, his hips thrusting sloppily two or three times before she felt his body go rigid and his chest erupting a moan that went straight to their joined cores. He forced her lips on his with a strong grip on her hair and he pinned her on the mattress, hips slapping against hers in frenzy and bones surely getting bruised at his forceful actions. He came right after her, filling her up and sensing his arousal running down the inside of her trembling thighs, his lips leaving hers and forming an animalistic grunt of her name as the marks of his nails against the irritated skin of her hipbones became deeper.

Her still spasming legs gave up and dropped open against the bed as Jughead fell on top of her, weightless and in a mess of jelly bones, both of them trying to control their breathing, as their lips connected in a slow make out, their tired, sated grins getting swallowed inside the new intensity of their kiss.

“Wow... Is this what I kept missing? Does it always feel that way?”

“No… It takes something more to create that kind of magic.”

I’m ready for your love 

Oh, for your love

“This is not a crocodile!”

“How can you not see it?”

“Well, because it isn’t!”

“Says the girl that only knows how to shape butterflies and weird looking cats.”

“Oh, I’ll eat your stupid crocodile!”

“Not before I eat you first.”

The ferocious attack of her unconventional tabby cat on what he claimed to be a crocodile, along with her playful grunts of attack and silly nom-nom sounds were cut short by the nibbling of his lips against her laughing ones, him pretending to eat her alive with giddy loud groans while drowning her giggling shrieks inside his grinning mouth, their childish behavior lasting barely a blink of a second before they were kissing with the newfound intensity they had acquired earlier that rainy night. Naked and sated bodies tangled up in the dark purple cotton sheets of the round mattress, they were relishing in the afterglow of their first time union wrapped tightly around each other with Jughead’s back perched on a throw pillow and Betty laying horizontally on his lap, one of his long legs bended to support her back and his strong arms curled around her as he cradled her lovingly against his muscular chest. The silver moonlight was the only witness of their surrender to each other and the water droplets trickling down the stained glass of the window their background symphony, in perfect pitch with their soft laughs and hushed words as they watched shadow puppets dancing and kissing and running and flying with the assistance of their hands against the wall opposite them.

I used to do that with my sister, he had told her, heartfelt blue eyes focused on the fearless eagle his long hands were making fly away in utter freedom and loving green ones focused on his handsome profile, her index finger drawing abstract shapes on his abs absentmindedly at her still lightheaded state. When she was young and my parents were fighting or later on when we were just the two of us and she was scared, I’d make up a story for her and bring it to life with shadows on the wall. It always took her mind off things.

Betty had felt the need to ask what about his mind and if it was ever at ease but the words hadn’t been strong enough to escape her mouth, not when he was resting utterly vulnerable and open next to her. Instead, she had brought him down for a kiss, a loving and tender one that gave his eagle more strength and will to fly on his own wings, before she had joined him, adding a cheerful butterfly on the moonlight illuminated white canvas so for his sullen eagle not to be alone.

Equally affectionate was the kiss they were sharing now, with his tongue exploring gently the inside of her bruised and swollen lips as one of her hands was curled at the back of his neck, urging him closer, needing him, his own arms tightening the hold around her bare shoulders and fisting the hem of the sheet against the soft skin of her back.

Pulling back, their lips disconnected but barely an inch of distance separated them. “Betty…” his voice was almost a whisper, still a tad raspier from the kind of high he had never experienced before. “I think I’m falling for you; fast, hard, crazy.” The declaration held something so raw and honest, uttered in a broken tone that shook Betty’s whole being, the soft pads of her fingertips moving up on their own accord to trail feather lightly against his cheekbone, his eyes fluttering close at her touch.

“I think I’m a step ahead of you, Juggie.” She matched the volume of his voice with a small disbelieving smile, a silent agreement between them not to desecrate the moment, Betty feeling her heart thudding violently against her ribcage at his words and the captivating look his sincere baby blues possessed in the darkness.

A beat of silence washed over them and then he said it; the only thing she never expected to come out of his lips.

Forehead upon forehead, blues upon greens, soul upon soul and his baritone voice in the weakest frequency.

“I’m scared.”

Betty pulled back lightly, taken aback by the honest declaration, a frown settling on her pretty face. “Of me?”

“Of the way you make me feel.” He admitted in defeat, feeling smaller in size, lesser, his orbs timidly dropping from her face to the space between them, the sheet the only thing preventing their skin from touching. “Because you make me feel.” He corrected himself quickly, snapping his head back up to look at her, spying on her reaction behind raven locks, disheveled and untamed. “Because when my heart gets involved it never leads to a happy ending. And I don’t know how many more stitches and bandages it can endure.” Her own heart cracked painfully at his confession, the bad guy she was raised to believe he was, transforming into the saddest boy on earth, seeking his own safe place to land.

“What are you afraid of?” Betty gently pushed those ebony waves back, her body snuggling even closer to his in a subtle sign of affection and support, in a subtle sign that she was here, with him and she was more than willing to chase all his demons away.

Jughead sighed, his arms tightening ever so lightly around her delicate frame.

“You remember when I told you that I haven’t seen my mother since I was nine, since the day she left?” He saw her nodding, her attention on him never fazing, and he took a deep breath to continue. “That was not true.” He admitted in a small, defeated voice, her genuine confused frown contradicting his stoic and troubled expression, the young Serpent licking his lips to try to find the words, to try and slow down the chaotic corridors of his brain.

“Two years ago, when my dad was still in too deep with alcohol and his refusal to acknowledge us, I was angry and frustrated and desperate so I tracked her down. I wanted an answer, not just a figure disappearing like a thief into the night; I deserved that much.” His voice raised an octave, its tone vibrating into the silence of the room in a firmer and upset manor, Jughead shaking his head momentarily and letting a small cooing sigh to control his growing anger. It worked; his soft, calm voice adorned the rest of his words. “I don’t know what I was hoping for, maybe nothing, maybe everything. So I got on my bike and drove four hours to the city, where some Serpents had told me they had located her. I don’t even remember how many hours I was just out there, staring at the nice house that my mom was now living and feeling like I was intruding, like I, her first son, didn’t have the right to be there.”

Betty could see the pain in his now icy eyes, the agony and desperation behind his words, her fingers caressing lovingly the hard planes of his chest, taking great care of the place that his heart laid underneath, broken and beating fast.

“And at some point the door opened and a man came out, holding a bubbly little boy no more than five, before my mother appeared right after them with that dashing smile of hers that still haunts the very few joyful memories of my childhood.” His face had turned cold at this point, a mask of disappointment and pain hardening his handsome features. “She took the boy’s other hand and the three of them disappeared down the street in a chorus of happy laughter and family chat, not even noticing me, not even sparing me a single glance.” He laughed with no humor at all, bitter and defeated, eyes focused on the wall that his hand shadow of an eagle was flying fearlessly some minutes ago, his stare hard if it wasn’t for the thin layer of salty water that was softening the dark color of his irises. “She called him my little Icarus and that was always her nickname for me.”

His voice broke, a tight knot suffocating his already dry throat and this time Betty’s heart not only cracked but shuttered into a million tiny pieces at the image of him getting betrayed by the only person he needed most, at the image of him now beating himself up and carrying around some self-inflicted guilt and notion that he wasn’t worthy of anything. In Betty’s books, he deserved the world and she vowed to keep telling him that until her voice was stronger than the one of that heartless woman inside his head.

Jughead sniffed lightly, snapping out of his nightmarish reverie and dropping his head to the floor in shame, giving it a shake to put an end at his moment of weakness before sending her a side glance and a forced smile.

“It stupid really” he let a faint chuckle, wanting to ease the worry and frustration and sadness that were painted on her face before turning serious again “but she always used to say that the story of Icarus fitted me; the sense of freedom, the drive and ambition, the will to escape. Later on, I understood that it did fitted me but not for the reasons she gave me that nickname. It is the melted wings and the burning torture and the drowning that resemble the story of my life.”

Betty knew all about the Greek myth and the boy that felt exhilarated and careless upon flying with his wax and feathers made wings, getting mesmerized by the sun and moving closer and closer towards its golden light, only for his wings to melt and him to end up drowning tragically in the ocean beneath him. Icarus didn’t have anyone to save him but Jughead had her, pulling him out of his own personal sea of loneliness after years of suffocation.

“That’s not true.” The golden haired girl exclaimed passionately, cradling his cheeks in her palms and forcing him to look at her, a heartbreaking pout on his face. “You have eagle wings, Jughead Jones, and you have me. If you’re drowning, I’m drowning with you.” She promised him, fiercely, honest and clear, her thump caressing the corner of his curled downwards lips.

Resting his forehead on hers with a grateful sigh, he breathed tired and hopeless. “I don’t wanna drown. I’m tired of drowning.” He knew she was his own personal sun; and he feared that maybe getting too close would result to his ultimate destruction.

Betty could feel moisture gathering in her own eyes that stayed soft and connected with his. “Then I’ll help you fly.” She whimpered with a small tender smile, prompting him to smile back with an affectionate rub of her forehead against his.

Jughead offered her a boyish lopsided grin, the burden on his chest lessening a tiny bit at her promise, warm sunrays embracing the winter of his soul, not burning deadly, just offering him a contentment he was never before fortunate to have.  

“I only ask that you be gentle with this.” He brought her hand on his chest, laying her palm flat against his erratically beating heart and lacing their fingers together, pleading her with his lovely eyes to be the exception in his world of disappointment.

Betty took his other hand to do the same against her own fragile heart, his bony fingers resting against the swell of her breast, the sheet now barely covering the sensitive pink flesh of their peaks. “Only if you promise to do the same.” She snuggled even closer to him, her voice coming out as a breathy gasp, vulnerable at the words exchanged and already hyperaware of his touch against her skin.

The promise was sealed with a kiss, loving, tender, slow, bone aching and earth-shuttering.

“Will you stay with me?” Jughead’s breathless murmur was delivered against her wet lips, his innocent hand on her chest fisting the dark purple sheet and, tantalizingly slow, pulling it down to reveal her glorious breasts to him.

“Yes. I will.” Betty half-gasped, his hand already on a mission of sweet assault on her sore, bruised flesh before their lips met with passion and inevitable magnet-like attraction.

He didn’t mean only for tonight.

And she agreed because she had forever in mind too.

Under the flickering lamppost across the road, a dark silhouette spoke hushed and collusively to the receiver of their late night phone call.  

“It’s me… I’m on the Southside. They are together.”

[professorspork]

Stop! Making me want to watch Riverdale specifically, exclusively for Betty and Veronica. My heart cannot take another queerbait!

I AM SORRY I REALLY AM

but this does give me an excuse to talk about the definition of the term “queerbait” so pardon me as I ramble for a minute

as anyone who has followed this blog for a while can tell you, i am a big fan of defining terminology as precisely as possible, because otherwise people end up having conversations about two different things even though they appear to be using identical words

this is why i have made several posts about Bury Your Gays

to my eyes, it seems like now people use “queerbaiting” as a catch-all term to apply to anything that happens on tv that the community won’t like. I have seen clexa referred to as queerbaiting because they killed lexa off; i have seen queerbaiting defined as anything that might get clicks from LGBT viewers, which may be a literal translation of the words “queer” and “bait” but is such a massive umbrella it then fails to be productive.

queerbaiting has always been, at its heart, a con. it’s a lie. it’s giving an implied promise of payoff to a fanbase by teasing them with seemingly-significant emotional scenes between their faves and letting the actors winkwink any questions off as “well who knows, ANYTHING could happen.” Queerbaiting is creators giving just enough breadcrumbs to keep fans thinking “maybe this time” when they never have any intention of delivering on those hints.

things i would call queerbaiting: destiel. johnlock. bering & wells. rizzles.

but, like. I wouldn’t call cartinelli queerbaiting, for example. that ship was CATNIP FOR GAYS, maybe, because it seemed to be handed to us on a plate, but s1 of agent carter was written largely in a vacuum, and whatever implications could be read out of peggy and angie’s relationship were unintended. how can I tell? because they promptly wrote angie off the show when they saw the effect it had on us. if they’d wanted to bait us they would have had angie follow peggy to the west coast and complain loudly about peggy’s boy troubles. they KNEW without a doubt that their audience would have eaten that up with a spoon. but they had zero interest in that, so instead they cut the thread entirely.

which brings me to a nebulous alternative category, which is still frustrating and sometimes painful, but isn’t overt queerbait-- the category to which I think betty and veronica fall.

and that’s “fanservice.”

fanservice is the concept of “well, let’s GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT, whether it’s ultimately narratively rewarding or not.” it’s gratuitously including things that are never meant to go anywhere just because it will make people happy. sometimes that’s seeing people with their shirts off. sometimes that’s making meta jokes about other shows actors have been on, as a sort of easter egg. sometimes that’s quinn and rachel having meaningful conversations in bathrooms.

and sometimes it’s two girls kissing.

in all of the interviews i’ve seen, Team Riverdale has made it VERY clear that Betty and Veronica are just friends and are never going to get together romantically. Lili has said it, Camila has said it, the showrunners have said it.

and even then, they’re still like “yeah, they’ll probably kiss again at some point just to make you happy.”

to me, the ultimate defining characteristic of queerbaiting is that people are being purposefully misleading. and that’s the one thing i cannot accuse team riverdale of; they have not once minced words on this subject.

obviously, i am a big believer in actual representation. obviously having canon ships with good stories told well is important and necessary; that’s what i’m planning to spend my career doing. obviously we deserve to see ourselves on screen for purposes of honesty and revelation, not titillation. 

but there is also, from a fan’s perspective, more to shipping than just “end goal is canon or bust.” if that were true there wouldn’t be a point to fandom at all. sanvers is canon; supercorp will never be. but i love them both equally because they entertain and fulfill me in COMPLETELY different ways for COMPLETELY different purposes. 

and i’m okay with Betty and Veronica only ever being girlfriends in my head-- it’s not like their show would be good any actual relationships it DOES write. two episodes in and our example relationships are “teacher fucks underage student,” “het jock succumbs to gay feelings but SHH DON’T TELL,” “these twins were maybe sleeping together,” “the dead twin probably raped betty’s sister,” and “everyone feels entitled.” so like. do i WANT that show to try and write me my ship of dreams? hell no! i am more than capable of writing that much better than they could myself.

to summarize this ridiculously long post you did not ask for:

riverdale has said over and over that it has no intention to represent me-- but it does want to entertain me. and fuck me, but i think i’ve decided to let it.

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: I Am Not Your Negress: On Violence and American Necrophilia

James Baldwin in I Am Not Your Negro, a Magnolia Pictures release (photo courtesy Magnolia Pictures, © Dan Budnik, all rights reserved)

Written on the birthdays of those enduring women: Toni Morrison, still on this side, and Audre Lorde, loving us from the other.

  I did not read the reviews, because I had not seen it yet. I had planned to read them after I saw it. By all accounts, the film was riveting, moving, good, and all of that. An important comment on race and national history in the era of Black Lives Matter. A beautiful articulation of those genius words of that genius Baldwin, wrapped appropriately in the prescience and urgency of their prophesy. A mirror to America, to who we really are, to our individual and collective responsibility. A painful but loving, optimistic look. A good, important film that everyone should see.

Raoul Peck’s documentary I Am Not Your Negro opens with an implicit promise to pick up where Baldwin left off, to revisit the last book Baldwin had been writing but did not finish, which was to be about his friends, Medgar Evers, Malcolm X, and Martin Luther King, Jr., and their assassinations. This, of course, is a difficult promise for a documentary to fulfill, despite the fact that Baldwin’s prophecies about race in America feel perhaps closer and truer than ever. After all, it was said that Ralph Ellison’s Juneteenth, comprised of chunks of an unfinished manuscript edited together by his literary executor John Callahan, was the writer’s words but not his novel. And we all know not to watch the “Lost Episodes” of Chappelle’s Show.

After seeing it, I read the widely circulated A.O. Scott New York Times review of the film, which, perhaps unintentionally, conflates the lushness and poignancy of Baldwin with the documentary that draws on and flanks his words. I noticed the customary film information at the bottom of the review, run-time, director, and the like. And the rating:

I Am Not Your Negro Rated PG-13 for racial slurs and implied violence.

I wondered how such a spectacularly and explicitly violent film — punctuated by the nude body of Malcolm X, pictured from the shoulder up with the giant’s mouth agape at the very beginning of the film; casket photos of Medgar, Malcolm, and Martin; photos of lynched bodies, their snapped necks and foaming mouths in clear view; grinning, vile, white mobs heaving, lynching, shoving, stopping the Communist plot of desegregation; police batons rising, falling, and cracking onto black bodies without ceasing; an indigenous woman, stripped naked by white soldiers, her breasts bare; an officer getting a running start to shove a nameless black woman to the ground; an extended look at the LAPD beating of Rodney King — might be described as having “implied” violence. The film jerks the audience on a necrophiliac roller coaster, plunging us into the serenely violent whiteness of classic Technicolor musicals and then jerking us back to Mantan Moreland. Pulling us down into the assuredness of Baldwin’s words, then unsettling us with police beating a black person. Some of these images of violence are from documentaries, some from films, some from photographs, some from real life. How are we to distinguish one from the other these days as we are so inundated? I searched for the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA) explanation to understand more:

Rated PG-13 for disturbing violent images, thematic material, language and brief nudity

The MPAA explanation is certainly more accurate for what is depicted in the film, but the description at the end of the Times article is more accurate for how we relate to images of black death today. The violence might be described as implied, and in fact not really mentioned in the Times review at all, because we have become accustomed to visual representations of the murders of black people and their murdered black bodies, real or Hollywood. They are implied because even when captured on video, live on Facebook, no one is guilty of them.

This is the problem with this film and other projects like it (think 12 Years a Slave). White audiences demand proof of their brutality and we give it to them in its rawest, most spectacular, most primitive, most titillating form. Interspersed with Baldwin’s eloquent and exhaustive observations and critiques about race and/in America are these images of spectacular violence. Rather than letting Baldwin speak about sexuality, in the nation as well as his own, the film instead suggests it, in its first few minutes, through a government surveillance record that declared Baldwin “a homosexual.” Through this rhetorical move, Baldwin’s sexuality is shoved in the closet, setting up the audience, and particularly a white male liberal audience, to be quietly, secretly intimate with him in this expansive Narnia of living and dead black men’s bodies that we access through Baldwin’s beautiful wardrobe of words. These images of dead and abused black men’s bodies are almost always juxtaposed with images of enchanting white women, the Doris Days, the Joan Crawfords, dancing about, looking innocent, contemplating, being forlorn, wondering and wandering in their equally spectacular oblivion. The point, of course, is to show that the ease of white life is made possible by black suffering, but it falls into that trap of what cultural studies scholar Tara McPherson has called “lenticular logic” — the idea that black and white experiences, or oppression and supremacy, cannot be represented in the same frame. This point is then buried under the necrophiliac sexualization of black bodies. With killing this shocking, this jarring, this pleasurable, this thrilling, this grotesque, this climactic, who would want it to stop?

*   *   *

Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr., and James Baldwin in I Am Not Your Negro, a Magnolia Pictures release (photo courtesy Magnolia Pictures)

In the context of this all-consuming violence and the glossing over of Baldwin’s queerness, I wondered about his dear friend Lorraine Hansberry, the playwright and writer who was also a queer black woman, who appears briefly in the film as an aside of sorts. Against Hansberry, the documentary inflicts a different kind of violence: it silences her, renders her absent. Over the familiar photograph of the smiling writer, Samuel L. Jackson, the film’s narrator, reads Baldwin’s recounting of Hansberry’s conversation with Bobby Kennedy in that famous New York City meeting in which Kennedy was trying to ascertain “what the Negroes wanted.” Hansberry reportedly said to Kennedy, “I am very worried about the state of the civilization which produced that photograph of the white cop standing on that Negro woman’s neck in Birmingham.” The documentary recounts Baldwin’s reflection on the way Hansberry had smiled at Kennedy, a smile perhaps of disappointment and rage and disgust and menace, as she rose to leave. Said Baldwin, “I was glad she was not smiling me.”

While men speak in the film — Martin, Malcolm, Harry Belafonte, Baldwin, Poitier, Kenneth Clark, and so on — we do not hear Lorraine’s voice. Instead, we are provided only with Jackson’s narration of Baldwin’s retelling, itself so far removed from Lorraine’s voice, her importance to Baldwin, and the sanctity and beauty of their queer friendship. And then we learn that Lorraine has died at 34. Of what we are not told. There is no casket shot of Lorraine. No way to consume her death or linger on it or to mourn it. Just her absence.

I always wonder about Lorraine. I have especially wondered about her this year because I am 34, the age she was at the time of her passing. My colleague and I, my best friend from graduate school, my co-author and collaborator, call ourselves James and Lorraine. He says he will not let my end be like Lorraine’s. Or like Zora’s. Sweet, sharp, brilliant, beautiful Lorraine Hansberry.

If we were making a list of demands, I’d want Hansberry to be added to the film’s list, but she would not be. I’d want her name and all of the women’s names to be said aloud. The dead and the dying. The ones beaten, assaulted, lynched, and raped. Say these women’s names first, even, before the litany of men’s names, to mark the intersecting terrors of racism, sexism, and heterosexism at work in those women’s lives and deaths. The film refuses to reckon with the complexity of broad structures of oppression in the same way it refuses to reckon fully with Hansberry, or Baldwin for that matter, beyond their relationship as two black writers.

In its closing bits, the film compels the audience to look directly into the faces of black people, using a series of shots, each several seconds in length, where the subjects look directly into the camera. Even here, most of the documentary’s subjects are men. First, two close shots show black men’s faces looking out at us, followed by one or two shots of black women’s faces, followed by more men. Look at their faces, white folks, the documentary seems to say. Unlike most of the film’s focus on the dead, these black men are living, which means you could go to their neighborhoods and find them and fuck them, but they might die if you don’t do something about the violent racism they face, and then you’d have to fuck them in that other way, but why not have it both ways, as you always have? The documentary also presents a list of the black children slain in the era of Black Lives Matter, their pictures on one side of the screen, their names on the other. Aiyana Stanley-Jones is the lone girl on the list. How many black girls were missing?

(God bless that woman Lillian Smith. She knew.)

Lorraine died of pancreatic cancer. Though epidemiologists and men and white people will not admit this, among black people, and black women in particular, cancer has the same cause as a lynching or a rape. The same kinds of racial violence — the absence of white empathy for black pain, the perception that black people do not experience pain like white people, unequal healthcare quality — are the cause.

How, then, are we to advise white people — because this film is about advising and satisfying white people — about the everyday structural and interpersonal violences they mete out, even when they are not actually stringing us up from the nearest real and actual tree? That their continued ignorance — after all of this black writing and marching and singing and pleading and litigating with them to not be ignorant in a million different ways — is not just annoying but fundamentally violent? Why must I wait to die before they realize they are killing me? I can barely make a living because they are killing me, and my friends; we patch each other up with hugs and kisses and bourbon and chocolate and so, so, so much reassurance that we are right and good and okay and we will prevail for our children. Like our mothers and fathers and aunties and uncles, like Uncle Jimmy Baldwin, who thought they would prevail for us, their children and other kin. Like they did in some ways, but didn’t in others.

We die, by the hundreds, by the gun, the baton, the emotional stress, the trauma, the eviction, the diabetes, the cancer, the rage, the stares, the resentment, the little nervous laughs white folks have when we are still eloquent and joyful and beautiful. They wonder if we hate them and that wonder is heavy on us because it is the worst kind of gaslighting. They ask with their eyes, and sometimes directly, as happened to me recently after a lecture I had given: “Do you hate me for being ignorant to your suffering despite the fact that you have told me of it?” No, I am suffering, and to hate would take too much energy and I am weary. We die from white ignorance. We die from white refusal.

I suppose, perhaps, this is the “implied” violence. The violence that kills us slowly. Upside down car loans and mortgages. Payday loans. Thieving bankers opening up phantom accounts. That violence where we can’t stop the babies from coming and when they come, we can’t have them because we got to take care of the other babies. That violence that turns us against ourselves. That makes us yell at our children when we meant only to say softly that we just didn’t have the money for that activity this week but we would really, really, really like to provide you with that little thing you wanted, baby, because we want you to know you are loved despite what President Agent Orange says. That makes us eat and eat and eat and drink and drink and drink until we vomit and fall asleep on the floor next to that vomit. That makes us mad that we woke up the next morning because we got to clean ourselves up and get out there and face this shit again. I wonder how we might depict that in a documentary to make them know.

These days we call this kind of racial violence implicit bias. I suppose that’s like implied violence. The prospect of being outed as racist is hard for white folks, as though it’d be easier if black people weren’t around (dead, gone to Africa, so forth), so there wouldn’t be anyone to be racist against. But I’m still damned dead and someone is standing over me with a ghoulish smile, shocked but loving.

But I am not your negress. I am my own. And I think that is important to say amid all this clamoring that gawks at, consumes, and possesses black lives and deaths.

I Am Not Your Negro is playing in theaters across the US.

The post I Am Not Your Negress: On Violence and American Necrophilia appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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[blackwatchmase]

White Women (some ninjas think anything is better than Black ) and before you criticize read A True Story that Happens 1,000 times a Day As Peggy Sue walks, her skirt rides up so that her wishing well legs and knob-knees protrude outward. She does not like to wear shorts. The material in the expanded sewn seams is stretched and gets caught in her crouch. Her translucent White skin shows varicose veins because of the weight she carries from the waist down. The excessive weight has not produced a rounded buttocks but a wide flat white bottom. The excessive weight and large breasts cause her body to hold more heat than a person of average weight. The heat causes her hair to become bone straight as it strings down her back, and perspiration beads on her forehead. Peggy Sue is a good person who has been raised to love God and respect all mankind. It is a Friday, and she has plans to go out with her friends that evening after work to a singles club in the metropolitan area. When she gets to the club, there are a lot of single men and women looking for mates, but she feels she does not have a chance because of her appearance. The music is vibrating, and the party is jumping. She watches her friends dancing. She wishes she could dance but does not want to bring attention to herself because she might bring the roof tumbling down! She looks up. A handsome Black man looks in her direction and then asks her to dance. She waddles toward him--legs looking just like the turkey drums on a Thanksgiving Dinner table--fat and greasy. Mr. Bernard Black Hunk is impressed. She is beautiful. Her skin is so smooth and White. Her hair is straight and lays flat on her head. Mr. Bernard Black Hunk has the immediate startling realization that he has one of the biggest White diamonds on Earth. His dreams have been answered. Peggy Sue is so exquisite. She is mild mannered, quiet, and is eager to talk about his interests. She has the right attitude!!!--To match his White-right attitude!!!--The White Subliminal Created Attitude!!! Mr. Bernard Black Hunk tells one of his friends that he has just met a beautiful White woman in which he could become very interested. His friend says, "Is she pretty?" Bernard comments, "She's White isn't she?" Mr. Bernard Black Hunk has just met Peggy Sue but immediately comes to the realization that even if she is strung out on drugs and in re-hab or on furlough from a mental or correctional institution or has head lice, she is one White Gem. "In fact, I might even marry her," says Bernard. He remembers reading a statistic that in 1995, 10.5 percent of all Black men who married legally, married a White is right woman. Mr. Bernard Black Hunk is driving a Mercedes, has a MBA and loves him some Big Greasy White women. He has internalized and perceived himself as worthwhile only when he can accentuate his actions and feelings in accordance with the WHITE grain. To put it plainly, he wants a part of the so-called American Dream. He suddenly forgets about where he came from and sees the White woman as an object to help him get "on top." He often denies feelings that are inconsistent with internalized conditions of worth. His quest to--DESPERATELY SEEK WHITENESS is the only way to be truly worthwhile. This ASSIMILATION assures acceptance in his mode of building self-esteem. He will share whatever he has with her. He praises her!!! He worships her!!! She is his world!!! This White woman has been placed high on the IDEAL pedestal!!! She truly has become the superior being constructed by the White Race to carry on the 8%!!! She can shake her naked booty as a stripper or sell her naked booty on the street corner. . . But the White skin has made her superior to any Black woman. Some Black men need a White woman--this type or any type of White woman to boost their self-esteem. White women have become fascinated with the Black man because contact was forbidden just 20 years ago. Television screens show these Black handsome muscular hunks in sports arenas. As they run, their bodies sway from side to side in synchronization. Naturally, this causes psychological mystique and excitement from the rigid calculated Caucasian man. The fat, ugly, low social strata White woman has never received this kind of wholesome attention from a White man. So she eats up the attention--raising her self-esteem. She gives Bernard Black Hunk all of the praise and attention he needs to make him feel he is "THE MAN." As he hollers, "WHO'S THE MAN?" He has crowned her "QUEEN" for life. Mr. Bernard Black Hunk now has a White woman by his side. It makes him feel he is just as good as any White man in our "White man dominated culture." He has the professional job, big house in the suburban community, and beautiful mulatto children so that he may assimilate into the White Culture to assume PSYCHOLOGICAL. The "Klu Klux Klan" has been appearing behind sheets in small towns for years and recently on major network talk shows. All over America the Klan members hold meetings to talk about racial purity and burn crosses. All over America Klan members have been burning Black churches. On talk shows the Klan members jeer, chant, and taunt. "Ya Al' Niggra Boys just keep hav'in babies, collecting Welfare checks, and smok'in dope." "Ya Al' need to go back to Africa and give us back this here U-N-I-T-E-D S-T-A-T-E-S O-F A-M-E-R-I-C-A." "This here is our country." "Why ya here taking our money and our pretty White women?" "We confirm a pure White Race." As the Klan talks, the network talk show hosts and guests seem to be more accepting of Blacks and racial issues than other group of people in this country. The Klan sneers at the audience--"P-o-r-c-h M-o-n-k-e-y-s." The effects of interacting with a group of people are different than with an individual. The process of interacting with others changes people. People tend to act like other members in a group even when asked to conform to a particular point-of-view. People who appear on talk shows will continuously tell panel members they are wrong in their racist thinking and that all people are equal. The group rehearses before the media audience implying a love between different races and purporting a colorblind society. The audience members swear that when people walk down a street and see someone to whom they are attracted, skin color does not play a role and that love is colorblind. People usually make decisions on the basis of what they think others will think of them--particularly parents and persons of authority. Because of implanted color rules and biases, people make decisions based on these learned rules. Peer groups represent the most important people in an individual's life. White peer group orientation just like Black peer group orientation includes conformity to the ideas and judgments of that group whether it is peer influence or parental influence. People adopt the values, attitudes, style of dress, and language of their parents and peers. If a mixed group of Blacks and Whites listened to a speech about Adam and Eve being Black and all skin colors coming from Black, do you think they would be more likely to believe Minister Louis Farrakan or Billy Graham? Of course, Whites would believe Billy Graham--So would Blacks. We are all subjects of persuasion. Society has a high degree of influence in social situations affecting our behavior. Groups influence individual behavior through our own tendencies to conform with a group even when we are not asked to do so. Sometimes Black men outwardly seek White women. Sometimes Black men subliminally and psychologically do not realize why they seek White women. When they look at White women, they consider them beautiful because of perceptual expectancies that have been created by media suggestion. Since their perceptual expectancies have been titillated, Black men view White as the premium of all women. Television, movies, newspapers, and magazines feature the most beautiful people in the world as White lead actresses and White centerfolds. Perceptual learning has built up mental categories of beautiful people being blonde and blue eyed. Note: Blacks are not the only ones who want honey blonde hair. Clairol makes many shades of blonde dye for White women. "Blondes have more fun." Perceptual categories make a difference since we know people are often categorized. Categories might include the following: "punks," "mental patients," "queers," "honkies," "Niggers," "bitches," "dysfunctional" "welfare queens," and "Nubian Queens." When labels define people, observers are influenced (Coon, 135-6). The illegitimacy rate is nearly three times as high as in the immediate aftermath of slavery. Individuals from illegitimate births provide over half of the US murder statistics. 94% of Black killings and murders are Black-on-Black crime. Categorically Speaking: For Whites to be with other Whites and Blacks to be with other Blacks seems to be an unlearned, inborn reaction to an unconditioned stimulus that we here in the US have accepted for centuries. Some White fathers may provoke their daughters to seek out and pursue the Black man. When children are little, and parents have tried to suppress inappropriate behavior in a negative manner, a child soaks up the stimuli from his environment and becomes rebellious; thus, trying to get back at the parent. Parents attempt to assert their authority, and conflict develops. This may cause the child to direct feelings away from the primary father object and seek something else that makes her feel better. When children are in the formative years, things happen to them that they remember as they grow into adults. Example: By repeatedly spanking a child for "talking back" to you may lead the child to quit talking to you altogether. A common reaction to punishment is to dislike the person who inflicts the pain, and sometimes reacting combatively towards the person. An aggressive reaction to get back at parents may be to aggressively seek Mr. Black Hunk and retaliate. The retaliation might be to seek Mr. Black Hunk because he has been labeled "forbidden." The "forbidden" label may entice excitement. This is the type of White woman, who after marrying the Black man has a hard time accepting the fact that her children are Black. She realizes that she has made a grave mistake with her rebellious behavior and does everything in her power to convince her children that they are not really Black but mixed. People of the White Race have found themselves in a quandary. Their White women have gone astray--keeping themselves not only unto White men. White couples seem to be thwarted with infertility and need fertility drugs for production and manufacture of White babies. The Author has a theory to insure "White man existence." Maybe fertility drugs are the rudiments to White Race mortality. The telephone Yellow Pages in large cities has pages of doctors and clinics specializing in fertility clinics, in vitro fertilization, sperm banks, and drugs to help the "White endangered species" survive. The "White endangered species" continues to push Norplant in Black communities while picketing abortion clinics in the White community. In fact, there are birth control methods used globally to stop the production of people of color--What's up with that? Another thing that thwarts Whites in this country is abortion of White babies. Because Whites can afford the procedure, they are more likely to use abortion to terminate an unwanted pregnancy. Recently, there has been widespread news coverage about White couples adopting babies from Russia and Croatia. There are White couples who adopt Black children--but can Black couples adopt White babies??? That's unheard of--You know it is. There are many National reports on the condition or orphanages in Russia and how Russian babies need good homes. Could a Black family go to Russia and adopt a White Russian baby? As Black women are encouraged to use Norplant--a method of birth control, White women are taking fertility drugs. There is no secret that White childless couples would pay almost anything on the "Baby Market" to adopt a White baby inasmuch as there is a shortage of White babies. It seems obvious that there may be some reasons why. In White neighborhoods there are stores that sell leather straps, spikes, and chains to nourish sexual arousal. It should not be a surprise to anyone that a woman, regardless of color, runs like mad to get away from the practice of sadism--chains, whips, and spikes? A White woman does not have to put up with treatment like that. There is a Black man that will hang from her every movement and word. He will kiss her butt and may even lick it. Black man bashing has yielded the unconscious turned conscious feeling that White is right, and the White woman is thusly virtuous. Self-hate Therapy ^equals^ A White-right woman! In the US there is a silent war declared. This war is with the forfeiture of America's White women. America will protect its White women. Legislatures in this country will work hard to get the racial category "multiracial" on the next US Census. General determinants of interpersonal attraction have variables that influence the Black man's perception of White women. White women perform and transact the ultimate "Physical Attractiveness Role" in society. A member of the Aryan Race that is untouched by Jews and non-Whites is holy, pure, and in the likeness of God. White men and a whole lot of Black men perceive the image of White skin as the ultimate in physical attractiveness. Black men, following in the shadows of murky waters and mainstream obstructions perceive White women in an identical manner. Physical attractiveness is the most important factor in the early stage of a relationship. To that end, opposites attract. The opposite characteristics complement or advantageously "fit" with one of the Black man's own attributes--feeling U - N - I - T - Y with the rest of the world. A Black man feels better about himself because he has the revered White woman at his side, and he has an accurate view of the self-actualized life. The White woman is a positive step in the right direction. He feels a sense of harmony with the White Brotherhood Kingdom. His self-esteem has been bolstered. It is only natural that humans possess an inner drive to grow, improve, and use their potential to the fullest. Because of cultural differences White women tend to be more submissive than Black women. A dominant person might prefer a submissive person, and a person who likes to nurture and "take care" of others might prefer someone who will take care of them.