#five minutes is pretty damn lenient all things considered

[rampantram]

Some Goat with their "Narinder" (aka Janira)

[fireylesbianhell]

(Completely inspired by @thefactsofthematter ‘s wonderful tag story. i hope you enjoy. please please for the love of god please tell me and point out any spelling or grammar errors, this was all hastily written over mobile it’s a huge help)

Jack was losing his shit right now and his poor, sweet little child was taking after him doing this, of all things.

Jack was sure he was no easy baby, hell, he’s not even easy now. Damn whatever mother had left his father in the same situation he is now, but Jack is starting to understand why the two were so crazy.

Jack isn’t about to claim college is some kinda easy feat, especially when your an arts student with not only yourself to look after but another human child. It was a damn miracle she was allowed to stay with him on campus, considering all the other loans and aids he has right now, on top of being constantly blittled by everyone for not picking a more “Reasonable choice”, but by all means Jack Kelly was all but ready to drop out if one more thing went wrong today.

He was already about a few minutes late for a class that was nearly a five minute walk from his place if he really got lucky, but his babysitter, some freshman girl who took some childhood classes or whatever in high school and seemed nice enough to Jack, just flailed out on him. He couldn’t call Crutchie again either, poor guy was swamped with class stuff and had been having some medical issues, and Jack wasn’t some asshole about to drop a baby on him on top of everything else.

He looked over to the baby, starting to doze off right now. Her binky was basically falling out and her frazzled hair was a mess.

He sighed and smiled, looking down and re-adjusting it as she wiggled and huffed around in only a way babies could make cute.

Considering for a moment, he relented, murmured a curse, and picked her up and rummaged around to get her comfy in a baby carrier and went to find the bag with her things in it.

Professor Jacobs was a good guy.

—————————————-

David pulled up his extremly short, mostly re-cap lesson plan before checking over his desk that the stack of papers was all good and organized in front of him.

The quiz was mostly to make sure the students would be ready soon for the finals down the road and that the material was being comprehended properly.

Reaching over to his coffee mug, he took a sip as people started to enter and take their seats. He was lenient about tardiness, students seeing it as a perk of having a “cool young professor” (their words, not his at all.) and understood that sometimes Shit Happens. As long as you showed up and made an effort to try and have a good excuse, he didn’t care too much.

But walking in with a baby and red rimmed eyes wasn’t exactly in any prepared policies he or the school had.

Jack Kelly, he hopefully recalled properly, and an adorably small baby in a carrier that looked strikingly similar to the man holding them.

Oh. Okay then.

He saw Jack catch his eyes and slowly walk up, slumped and clearly exhausted out of his mind. David grimaced out of pity and scooted closer as they finally reached talking distance-

“Hey, Mr Jacobs, i am so so sorry about this but by babysitter flaked and i have no one else to watch her and i promise she’ll be good and quiet and everyone she just started to sleep and-“

“Jack, it’s okay.” He said calmly, looking as a small fond smile made its way down to the baby.

David Jacobs was pretty good with kids and babies, as an oldest brother and former elementary teacher before he got his higher teaching license he just clicked them.

he was more worried about jack’s personal state at the moment.

It was always fairly clear he was more, well, stressed out than a few other students he had but, never felt the need to pry unless it was clear he was in some kind of danger to himself or others.

But this re-contextualized everything, truly.

David nodded again to a star-struck and grateful Jack

“As long as she’s okay and isn’t a distraction to any other students, she’s welcome anytime, aren’t you sweetie.” he said, slipping into a dumb baby voice. Sue him, he couldn’t help it.

Jack still seemed star-stuck and blubbering as he thanked the professor again, taking his paper, his baby, and then his seat.

The ensuing lesson recap was boring by all means, just flash notes, a key of things to remember and a mini overview of the unit so far, before he proceeded to call for eveyrone to get whatever notes ready and begin the quiz.

He went back to his chair and opened his laptop, mindlessly sifting though twitter or whatever and checking submitted aissignments from other classes.

The minutes went by slow and careful, as as the hand creeped close to the finish time on the clock david started to hear a murmur or two, and some frantic “shshshhhshhhhhitsokaypleasesleep” and David had a good idea of where that came from.

Eyes landing on the student in the final seat in the front row looking down and hushing a wriggling baby in his arm while holding a pencil in the other and looking up to his test and jotting an answer quickly, Jack seemed more frantic by the moment as the baby continued to fuss.

David debated a moment in his mind on what to do before carefully standing up and making his way over

Jacks face flashed in a quick horror as the teacher approached, certain this was the final straw and that he was gonna be kicked out and failed and havenowheretogo-

“May i?”

—————————————-

It wasn’t often simple questions left Jack puzzled but this was an exception.

He stared at the curious and well meaning professor standing in front of him for a moment with confusion written on his face clear as day.

Realizing he was just quietly scrutinizing him, he snapped out of it.

“Oh, well- uhm,” he stumbled out “If you’d like.” He nodded , shifting so that he would be able to pick her up properly.

Professor Jacobs nodded an brought her up slowly, immediately moving into the proper position to hold a baby in (something that took jack weeks to ace, and this guy just did it like that???) And moved backwards

He paced around slowly, holding her gently and humming a beautiful soothing tune, rocking her ever so slightly and so carefully.

Jack was staring again at this, this amazing and gentle guy treating his daughter like the world- and so expertly as well, so used to the parental motions of making such a small creature happy so fast. Jack immediately was awestricken and wondering if this guy was single cause he would make a great father and boyfriend and was kind of cute.

Woah. Okay. Lot to unpack there.

But that was for later Jack, because now Jack could ditch trying to ace this quiz and focus on the man in front of him that he already just straight up wants to propose too.

But apparently, Now-Jack had been fantasizing about Mr Jack Kelly-Jacobs for longer than he though, as he was starting to walk back with a sleeping, happy little baby and that same breathtaking smile from before.

Placing her back in her carrier gently, he looked up and gave Jack a thumbs up before making his way back to his desk.

He shook himself out of it and went back to his quiz, mind slightly more distracted by a certain David Jacobs.

————

As Jack was standing, holding his completed quiz in his hand he saw Mr Jacobs look up to him, before tearing off the corner of some paper in a blue notebook decorated in stickers, and scribbling something down quickly.

He placed the paper in the little collection basket, before hearing-

“Jack!”

He turned and saw Mr Jacobs holding out the scrap of paper folded up.

“It’s my phone number. if you ever think you need a baby sitter again, i wrote down what times i have free on there throughout the week. Call me whenever you need me.” He smiled that stupidly infuriatingly amazing smile again before waving goodbye to him and a smaller, goofier goodbye to the still sleeping baby in the carrier.

Jack Looked down as he left the classroom to the note in his hand.

Fuck.

harried community college professor davey and night class single father student jack. is that something.

[thepartyresponsible]

welcome to the all fluff, all the time network. i said here that i was taking prompts, but i neglected to mention that i’m writing all of them as fluff. or as close to fluff as i can manage, anyway.

this one’s for the anon who asked for jason with anyone with the prompt “please don’t do this.”

it’s a standalone piece of a much longer hockey au. endgame is jason, bucky, and frank.

                                                          ---

“Please don’t do this.”

“Oh,” Jason says, “I’m gonna do it.”

“Jason,” Bucky says. He leans over, as close as he can get. He’s pale, a little wide-eyed, bottom lip red from his attempts to bite back the pain. “Come on.”

The trainer doesn’t look up from carefully rotating Bucky’s arm, checking the range of motion, but Jason knows damn well that the little frown on his face is not good news.

They were on Injured Reserve together, him and Bucky. Back when Jason first got traded, when he showed up with – no shit – hundreds of stitches in his throat and exactly zero endearing personality traits. Barnes had been quiet, distracted, kinda lost in his head, but he’d always been so Goddamn nice. From day one, when Jason showed up exactly like some prissy, sullen bastard who’d never been traded, never expected to be traded, never wanted to suit up in anything other than Bats’ black and gold, Barnes had treated him like he was something worth keeping around.

And here they are, five games into Barnes’ big comeback, and Brock fucking Rumlow just took a swipe at Bucky’s freshly-healed arm.

Castle’s out sick, or this would be his responsibility. Hell, if Castle were playing tonight, Rumlow probably would’ve kept his fucking hands to himself.

The Avengers don’t need an enforcer. That’s not Jason’s job. But Jason considers himself a well-rounded player. He can fill in where he’s needed.

“I’m gonna fucking do it, Buck,” Jason says, eyeing his route, sighting his target. “I’m definitely gonna do it.”

“Todd,” Coulson says, tone kinda sharp but not angry like he means it, “we don’t need any theatrics right now.”

“Philly,” Jason says, “Philadelphia. Cream Cheese. All I’ve got is theatrics.”

Coulson sighs and turns his eyes skyward. He keeps Jason on the bench until the Avengers score on the power play, and then he sets him loose. As far as Jason’s concerned, that’s practically a benediction.

Thor heads in for a change, worried eyes pinned on Bucky, and Jason’s over the boards and racing up the ice a full two seconds too early, like too many men is a summation of his recent dating history and not a perfectly fucking legitimate penalty.

Not that his behavior would indicate he gives a good Goddamn about taking penalties right now.

He does – and he hopes Bruce notices this when he watches the tape later, hopes Alfred appreciates the depth of his personal growth – wait to drop his gloves until after Rumlow calls him a pretty boy and a bitch and a coward who lost his balls. He waits, like a professional, until Rumlow’s own gloves hit the ice before he throws a mean, messy uppercut directly to his throat.

Rumlow’s a good fighter. It’s why his fans love him. He floods his Instagram every summer with pictures of himself shirtless and sweating in a boxing ring. Jason shouldn’t know that, probably, but it’s not like he’s ever had a problem compartmentalizing I wanna fuck you and I wanna fuck you up when he needs to.

Rumlow fights like someone who knows how, who learned in a ring with his knuckles taped or behind a school with someone to hold the other kid’s arms back. He knows to go for weak points, mainly. It’s served him well so far.

Jason hasn’t been in a fight since the one that damn near killed him. And he never had any formal boxing lessons, but he grew up doing his best not to get stabbed to death in Gotham’s back alleys, and the result of that practical training is a fighting style Roy Harper once fondly described as honey badger on a life-altering hit of PCP.

Jason’s swallowing blood when it’s over. His knuckles are fucked, and there’s an unfriendly tingling in his gumline that suggests his emergency dentist might be about to earn herself another tropical vacation, but Rumlow’s flat out on the ice, and he’s bloodier than Jason, and that’s all that matters.

Jason goes, easy and compliant, when the linesman pulls him away. Wide-eyed and innocent, who, me? all the way to the bench because maybe it’ll make the officials more lenient. It must work well enough, because they both take five minute majors, but Jason dodges the instigator penalty, saved by Rumlow’s notorious willingness to fight anyone smaller than himself or maybe by the mercy of officials who just watched him slam his stick against Bucky’s arm like he was trying to split firewood.

A five minute major with 4:38 left in the third period. So that’s the end of Jason’s game, then. Worth it.

Bucky isn’t on the bench when Jason gets skates up, but Wilson gives him an approving clap on the shoulder as Jason shuffles toward the tunnel, and it settles Jason enough that he gets all the way through the trainer’s pestering, weathers them checking his teeth and patching his knuckles, and then walks himself to the locker room before his lungs forget how to process oxygen.

“I asked you not to,” Bucky says, long-suffering but still so fucking nice. He wraps his good hand around Jason’s neck and tips him forward. “Breathe.”

“Fucking,” Jason says, as he tries to focus on a sane breathing pattern. “Fuck you, Buck. I wasn’t gonna—we just got you back.”

He feels like his throat is closing up.

It’s the blood in his mouth, he thinks. And the blood he saw on the ice. The crowd, roaring like that. Bloodthirsty.

They’d been thirsty like that in Gotham when he squared off against Bane. Biggest fucking guy in the league, and there was Jason, scrappy and pissed off, fighting Bane because Bruce wouldn’t.

He’d known he was gonna get hurt. He’d been ready for that.

It was an accident, what happened. Bruce didn’t mean it, and Jason’s heard, if you watch the footage, you can see Bane trying to stop it, his giant hands grabbing for Jason as he falls.

Jason’s never watched it. He doesn’t need to see himself catch Bruce’s skate blade with his throat. He lived through it. That was enough.

“I had to, Buck,” Jason says. He’s got his head propped against Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky, because he’s a nice guy, because he’s a good teammate, is running his hand through Jason’s incredibly disgusting, sweat-soaked hair. “He hit you, and Frank’s not here, and Rogers can’t leave the crease, so--”

“You’re sweet,” Bucky says, which is something no one has ever said to Jason.

“Had to,” Jason repeats. Because it’s not about being sweet. It’s about making sure everyone knows what’ll happen if they hurt his people.

“My arm’s gonna be fine,” Bucky says. “They took some x-rays, just to check. But it’s gonna be fine.”

Jason breathes out, and his lungs remember their function, and he can breathe again. “Good,” he says. He scrubs at his face. His hands barely come away bloody at all.

“Shit,” Bucky says, with a heavy sigh. He takes his hand out of Jason’s hand, slides his fingers carefully along his cheek to his jaw, and then he lifts Jason’s face toward the light. He frowns at the split lip, the forming bruise. “Frank’s gonna kill me.”

“What?” Jason says. He runs his tongue over his lip, and Bucky’s eyes track the movement. There’s a weird, wrung-out feeling twisting in the pit of Jason’s stomach. “I’m the one who didn’t— he just whacked the shit out of your arm, Buck. Right in front of me.”

Bucky smiles at him, crooked and a little rueful. He stares at him for a second longer, and then he pulls back. There is, faint but still audible, the roar of a hometown crowd getting a victory.

Well, they were up 4-1 when Jason went after Rumlow. Whatever Bruce, and Tim, and all of Gotham’s management think, Jason isn’t incapable of growth. He’s getting better. He is learning, finally, to pick his battles.

Maybe all he needed was to get the fuck out of Gotham. And someday he’ll probably even feel alright about being wrenched out of his hometown and discarded like trash down a storm drain.

“You should take a shower,” Bucky tells him. “Put some ice on those hands. The guys’ll wanna buy you drinks.”

After Jason’s second-to-last fight in Gotham, he watched from the penalty box while the other team scored the goal that won them the game. Bruce was so mad that nobody in the locker room spoke a word afterwards. Nobody talked to Jason at all.

After his last fight in Gotham, the Bats traded him while he was still in the hospital.

It’s been a long damn time since anyone bought him drinks after he fought for his team. Since back before Roy was traded. Since way back in the early days, when he was a rising star instead of a letdown and a liability.

“You think so?” Jason says, biting back a smile. “No shit?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. He’s smiling when he does it, so there’s no sting to it at all. “Go get cleaned up,” he says. “No one’s gonna let you in a bar with blood on your face.”

There are bars in Gotham that wouldn’t recognize him any other way. But Jason’s starting to think – with a stupid, flickering hope he’d left for dead years ago – that maybe things will be different now.

[lustresky]

chocolate [peter parker x f!reader]

summary: Ned’s idea turns out to be not that bad after all. (Or, a story in which you and Peter play the Pocky Challenge.)

wc: 4000ish. 

themes: teenagers being teenagers, asian snacks, fluff (to be very honest this is the very first story of mine to only have. like. a teaspoon of angst haha), mj’s bffs w reader, ned is the best wing-man we never knew we needed, peter’s adorable as usual

a/n: title is a song by bbolbalgan4 which i think perfectly describes reader & peter’s sweet ass relationship. this idea came to mind when i was eating pocky lmao. also! i imagined reader as asian cause i am too and i kinda ended up putting irl things about me (being an immigrant, a nerd, and having strict but loving parents) into her story, so if you want to imagine her as such, please feel free to do so! i don’t think that it really matters much in the end tho haha

“I’m gonna get some snacks,” You announce as you stand up from the sofa, popping your neck and letting out a satisfied sigh as you hear it crack. “You guys want anythin’? Mom and I stopped by the Asian store last night.”

“Ooh!” Ned breaks his stare from the TV screen, lowering his controller onto his lap and looking up at you with a grin. “Did you guys get some Shrimp Chips? It’s been a while since I’ve had some of those.”

You let out a snort, “Duh! One pack of Shrimp Chips comin’ right up.” You say as you open the kitchen cabinet in which your family kept the snacks; a colourful array of different chips and biscuits staring back at you in greeting. You ruffle through them to find the familiar pink and white plastic packaging.  “What about you— Pete, MJ? You guys cravin’ anything?”

“I’ll have some Hello Panda, if there’s any!” MJ calls back, and you didn’t have to look up from your position to know that her face is still buried in her true crime novel. You hum back in response at her request.

“Pete, what about you?” You say, as you finally find two packets of Shrimp Chips hidden in the corner of the cabinet; you take one in your arm as you proceed to look for MJ’s snack.

“I’ll um— I’ll just have whatever you have, Y/N! Thanks!” Peter answers back just as you find the familiar diamond shaped, pink box containing the strawberry filled cookies. You place it in your arm, right next to Ned’s snack.

“You sure you don’t want anythin’ specific, Pete?” You reply back, as you dig through to find the snack that you’ve been craving for ever since coming home from school with them three.

It had become an unspoken tradition between you four to hang out at your house every Friday after school; you really don’t remember when it had first happened exactly, but you had never once complained about it. It’s, and had always been, fun spending time with them— and the fact that your parents always have their ‘date nights’ (Which, to be fair, you think that they deserve to have as a tradition considering how hard they work to give you a good life.) on Fridays means that you four have the entire apartment to yourselves, which is pretty nice.

Surprisingly, your parents— as strict as they are with their upbringing of you sometimes— are pretty lenient with them staying over every single time. You assume that it’s only due to the fact that they’re all nerds (No hate, you’re one too.) who actually get good grades and focus in school, but it could also be that your parents just want to make sure that you aren’t hanging out with the ‘wrong’ crowd.

Hah, you laugh to yourself. If only they knew the truth.

Not that they’re a ‘bad’ crowd per se, but you don’t really think that they’d react nicely to finding out that you’re actually hanging out with your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man and his ‘posé’ every Friday afternoon… nor the fact that you’re harbouring a secret crush on him. Nope, nope. You’d get your ass whooped.

“Yeah, just pick whatever you want, Y/N!” Peter responds just as soon as you find the thin, red rectangular boxes behind the packets of dried mangoes. You hum back in reply to Peter’s answer, grabbing two packs, licking in your lips in anticipation. To top off the pile, you add a few random packets of candies and a few bottles of Yakults, Milkis and Banana Milk. They didn’t ask for any drinks, but you figured that it would only be appropriate to get some while you’re at it.

Trudging back to the living space, you let all the snacks fall from your arms once you reach the sofa, hearing Ned whoop and MJ set her book down on the floor as she rummaged through the pile for her own snack.

Within a blink of your eye, only the two boxes of Pocky and a bottle of Banana Milk and Milkis are left. You let out a laugh as you see MJ and Ned promptly stuffing their faces with their respective requests.

You plop down next to Peter on the carpet, desperately ignoring the rising heart-beat in your chest. God, keep it together, Y/N! You tell yourself.

Peter didn’t notice you nor react, much to your disappointment; his head’s still buried in his textbook, right hand scribbling away on a piece of scratch paper beside it. His brows are furrowed, lips set in a tight line as a bit of his tongue poked out in concentration— Christ, who the hell gave him the right to be this cute?

MJ suddenly speaks up to Peter, breaking your gaze from his form onto hers. “Dude,” She says, lips popping off of the Milkis can. One of her eyebrows rises up as her hand lays down her book onto the sofa. “It’s Friday, can’t you like— do your homework some other time?” She pauses to pop a Hello Panda in her mouth. “You have the whole weekend for that.”

“Yeah, Pete,” You agree, siding with her. You pop open the other can of Milkis as you slide the Banana Milk over onto Peter’s side. “Come on, I know that we’re all nerds and all, but still…”

Peter looks up at you, and that’s when you notice how his cheeks are tinted with colour. His brown eyes pass over yours and then onto the drink that you had slid over to him. Letting out a sigh, he rakes his hand in his hair, effectively messing it up even more and making your heartbeat rise faster against your wishes. What the fuck, how can such a simple move get you so bothered?

“Fine,” He breathes out, dropping his pen onto the table, taking the drink and ripping open the plastic in which the straw for it was enclosed in. Peter stabs it in, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down at each gulp he took. After a few sips, he gives you a small, grateful smile as butterflies subsequently flew into your stomach. “Thanks, Y/N.”

You grin back, feeling heat creep up into your cheeks. “No prob Pete, anytime.”

As he looks back onto the table to inspect the other snacks that you had brought, consequently ending your eye contact with him, you see MJ looking at you with a huge smirk on her face as her eyebrows wiggled up and down.

You scrunch your nose at her, annoyed and embarrassed at her teasing; though you can still feel your cheeks flaring. You had discovered your feelings for Peter just a few weeks ago, and you had only confessed about it to MJ just last week— but she definitely made sure that she knew of the fact every chance that she got.

“Come on, Y/N!” She had hissed— a few days after you had told her. You had been in front of your locker, desperately trying to ignore her words as you focused on getting the stuff you needed for your next class. “Peter likes you too, I’m a hundred percent sure of it.”

You had closed your locker in a huff, the metal door slamming with a pretty loud bang. You ignored the eyes that had turned towards you in consequence as you stared down MJ, whose arms were crossed as she leaned to the locker adjacent to yours. “First off, how can you be that sure, and two, why do you want me to confess so badly anyways?” You had asked, annoyed. She only meant well, you knew that, but you were tired of her constant and incessant teasing.

“Because one, my observation skills are pretty damn great— I didn’t figure out who the web-slinging neighbourhood hero was for nothing,” She had replied, voice lowering into a whisper as she reminded you of how she found out Peter’s secret.

“And two, because I’m tired of you guys waltzing around one another like some kind of five year olds in kindergarten!” She had replied back, and before you could’ve retaliated, the first warning bell rang; telling you that you only had five minutes left to get to your class.

So you had left it at that, her words ringing in your ear as you stared down the mathematical formula on your notebook.

“Ooh… What are these?” Peter breaks the memory that had suddenly resurfaced in your mind, his hands holding up the slim, red, rectangular box. ‘Pocky?’” He asks as he reads the English words on the packaging.

“Yep,” You say, grabbing the snack from him as you ignore the brush of your hands on his. Keep it cool, Y/N. “You’ve never had some before?”

Peter shakes his head. “No— at least I don’t think so?”

“Well then, you’re in for a treat,” You say with a smile as you open the box nonchalantly, taking out the plastic packaging in which the sticks were in and ripping it open; making sure that you open it non-coated part up so that he wouldn’t get chocolate all over his fingers. “Here.”

“I— um, thanks.” He says as he grabs one of the biscuits and promptly takes a bite of it, eyes widening in delight as the chocolate coated his tongue.

You let out a small giggle, amused at his adorable expression. Holy fuck, my heart can’t take more of this shit.

“Did you guys just say Pocky?” Ned suddenly intervenes, concentration breaking from the TV and onto your outstretched hand. “I didn’t know you had some, Y/N!”

You let out a snort as Ned promptly takes one for himself. “Well, you didn’t ask, so.” You shrug, laughing at the look of betrayal on his face.

He just shakes his head and takes another bite of the chocolate dipped snack. “Ah,” He muses, one hand on his chest while the other holds up the Pocky as if it was a buried treasure that he had just uncovered. “This reminds me of that one time me and Betty did the Pocky challenge… What a pleasant memory.”

“Oh, really?” You laugh at his antics, grinning up at his dork-like stance. Ned never failed to bring up his summer fling with Betty; and you don’t think he’s ever really going to bring that down. Ever since they broke up, citing that they’re better off as friends, he had started acting like he knew the ins and outs of teenage love.

“Uh-huh.” He replies, a wistful smile on his face, effectively making you snicker. “It was nice…”

He suddenly drops the hand on his chest, lips forming into an ‘o’. You raise an eyebrow at his unexpected change of demeanour. “What’s up?” You ask, taking a gulp of your Milkis.

“I have a great idea,” Ned answers. You just raise an eyebrow up in response, urging him to go on as you continue drinking.

He claps his hands together. “Let’s do the Pocky challenge!”

You almost snort out your drink; making you cough excessively.

Peter quickly looks up at you in concern. “You okay?” He asks, hand instinctively going to your back and giving you a couple of soft pats. If it weren’t for the fact that you had almost inhaled a handful of liquid into your lungs, you would’ve spluttered like a teenage girl in love (Which, honestly, you think you would end up being if Peter keeps acting like such a sweet fucking gentleman.) at his action, but instead you just tried your best to breathe; chest heaving at the sudden intrusion.

“Yeah— yeah— no, I’m fine,” You wheeze, letting out an embarrassed chuckle at your little accident. You try your best to ignore the fact that his warm hand’s still laying on your back, still patting it softly. “Just got surprised— that’s all.”

Peter sends you a nod, a smile on his lips as he retracts his hand back to his lap. (You try not to let your disappointment about it show too much— MJ would never live it down.) He looks back at Ned, and asks, “What’s the Pocky challenge, anyways?”

You also look back at Ned, who gives you an eyebrow raise in concern— it isn’t really his fault that your mind had immediately supplied you with the image of you and Peter doing the challenge, promptly almost making you choke in response. Well— technically he did bring it up, so maybe it is kind of his fault… but seriously, who can get angry at Ned?

“Yeah, Ned,” You try to play it cool, clearing your throat. “What is it, anyways?” You add, as if you don’t already know. Come on! Anyone who has had a Tumblr or has watched anime knows what that is.

Ned claps his hands once again. “Okay, so basically,” He starts, taking another Pocky stick out from the pack, showing it off as a diagram. “Two people each bite the end of the Pocky as much as they can, and the one who pulls away first, loses!”

You feel Peter flinch from beside you. “Oh—“ was the only response that he had for Ned’s explanation. You didn’t even try to reply; your imagination seemingly deeming it the best time to go full on creative mode, much to your dismay.

Ned continues, “Well, you know most people just stop after a few bites— but me and Betty…” He trails off, the wistful look from before appearing on his face once more.

You let out a snort, ignoring the way your cheeks feel like they’re on fire. “Okay, okay— we get it, Ned,” You say, shaking your head. “You and Betty did food play, TMI, but— okay.” You joke, trying your best to steer the conversation away from the topic.

Ned breaks his recollection with an offended gasp at your words, whilst you hear MJ cackle from behind you and Peter.

“Y/N!” He says, scandalized. “I can’t believe— we’re children!”

You roll your eyes. “Ned, we’re literally going to college next year,” You reply, popping another Pocky in your mouth. “Plus, Tumblr and Twitter exist, dude. I bet I know way more than you do.” You laugh.

You feel Peter straighten beside you, and you inwardly take a 180. Christ, was that too much?

Sure, you’ve been friends for two years— but now that you think about it, you’ve never really discussed anything about… things in the bedroom before. Sure, you’ve talked about crushes and people that you find attractive, (You always made sure to keep your feelings a secret, though.) but nothing more than that.

You were about to take back what you had said, but before you can even do so Peter clears his throat. “Well— are we—” He says to no one in particular as he shrugs his shoulders.

Raising an eyebrow at him, confused, you ask, “Are we… what, Pete?”

Peter looks at you completely. You force your heart to beat at a normal rhythm. His face is tinted pink as he answers, “Doing— the… challenge?”

Your breath hitches in your throat.

Damn you, thalamus.

Ned answers, much to your disagreement. “I mean yeah, why not? Not like we’ve got anythin’ else interesting to do.” He says as he shrugs his shoulders.

After a beat, his face morphs into a look of disagreement. “But like— don’t do it with me, though. As much as I love you, dude, I don’t think I’d be able to do that.”

“Yeah, no—” Peter scrunches his nose up at the same thought. “Love you too, bro, but same.”

Ned’s face quickly lights up, however, and suddenly you have a gut feeling that you aren’t going to like whatever it is that he’s going to say next.

“You can do it with MJ, though—” Ned doesn’t even finish his sentence as a throw cushion goes hurling at him.

“Yeah, I’mma have to stop you right there, chief—“ MJ says, disgust evident in her voice. “My lips are not going near anyone else’s tonight. Thank you.”

Ned just grips the pillow in his lap and looks over at you. Oh no.

“Well, Y/N, how ‘bout you?” He raises an eyebrow, and you try your best not to show the fact that your heart is leaping out of your chest.

Play it cool, Y/N. Play it cool.

The correct answer is probably “Yeah, thanks but no thanks.” but God, this is probably the first and only time that you’ll ever be able to get this chance.

So you muster up some courage, acting nonchalant.

“I mean...” You clear your throat as you look at MJ, who’s already staring at you with a sly grin on her face. She nods, urging you to say yes.

Fuck it.

“I’m not… opposed to it?” You answer, shrugging.

Peter’s breath hitches— and before you even know it Ned has opened the other box of Pocky as he forces you and Peter to sit properly in front of one another.

“Okay, you guys know the rules,” Ned says all seriously, acting as if he’s a game keeper. You let out a laugh to get your jitters out. “First one to pull away loses!”

“Didn’t think I’d be doing this on this fine Friday evenin’.” You joke, doing a horrible southern accent and trying your best to keep the butterflies in your stomach at bay. Peter— thankfully— laughs back, putting you at ease somewhat. You grab a Pocky, taking the non-coated end and wrapping your lips around it.

“You may begin!”

Peter lets out a breath and goes in.

You can hear MJ cheering you on whilst Ned cheers for Peter.

As you continue biting down on the biscuit, Peter does the same.

Neither of you are slowing down.

Once your mouth reaches the chocolate part, you smirk as an idea pops in your head. You really don’t know how this will end; but one thing’s for sure, you aren’t going to lose.

You look up at Peter and make eye contact; trying to be clever by intimidating him.

Being this close to him allows you to gaze right through his eyes; and your smirk immediately falls from your face as you realize…

His pupils are dilated.

Fuck.

The heat crept higher up your cheeks— but no, you are not backing down.

You quickly break the eye contact as you continue nibbling on the biscuit, choosing instead to focus them on his nose.

Shit.

You had never realized that he had freckles before.

Peter doesn’t stop biting down— and so you don’t either.

You hear MJ whoop louder, as Ned resorts to full on squealing.

By now there’s only a few centimetres between you two, and you can’t help but look at his eyes once more.

You notice the faint indents of lines around them, the slight bags under his eyes, the flutter of his black eyelashes as he stares right back into yours.

The beat of your heart rises, making you break your gaze and dropping them onto his lips.

Pink, pillow-y, soft…

Before you know it, your concentration breaks as Peter suddenly retracts himself— leaving you with the last bit of Pocky in your mouth.

MJ cheers and laughs louder, whilst Ned groans in defeat.

You won.

The living room’s filled with noise as MJ teases Peter relentlessly and congratulates you. Ned promptly disses Peter and gives you a reluctant, but still somehow proud, pat on the back.

You know that you should be happy too— you won, just like what you had told yourself that you’ll do; but the sound of your heart dropping in disappointment by Peter pulling back from you is deafening.

Looks like MJ’s observation was wrong.

After the impromptu ‘celebration’, you four decide to binge watch a new series on Netflix.

Ned then sits himself next to MJ, both of them sprawling out on the sofa whilst Peter sits on the floor.

Usually, you would sit right next to him, you two sharing a throw blanket and almost cuddling beneath it; but this time you choose to sit far from Peter— sitting by yourself on an armchair.

You just don’t think that you can handle being in close proximity with him for the time being.

It’s dumb, you know that. It isn’t his fault that he doesn’t like you— but damn, did it still hurt.

If you’re telling the truth now, before the game had started, you had hoped that it would end in a kiss; but now that you think about it more, you just feel like an idiot for even thinking of that as a possibility.

You feel a pair of eyes on you, but you shake it off and try your best to focus on the show in front of you.

After a few episodes, you hear the front door open and close. Your parents must be back.

MJ must have noticed, too, as she brings her arm up and pauses the show with the remote. She stands up, cracking her back and letting out a sigh. “Well, that must be our cue to go home.”

You tear your eyes away from the screen, looking over at the clock. It struck 10 just a few minutes ago.

Ned stands up too, letting out a yawn. “Yeah, I’m dead.” He groans.

You let out a snort, forcing your body to stand up too. “Fine, fine,” You say, popping your neck. “Go home, you invaders.”

Peter stands up as well, but he doesn’t say anything.

You follow them three towards the front door, passing your mom and dad on the way. They both give you a peck on the cheek as a greeting, giving MJ, Ned and Peter a nod as well. They seem tired, but the huge smiles on their face are enough for you to know for sure that they enjoyed their night out.

You see Ned out first, who gives you the handshake that you both had come up with two days before as a goodbye. MJ scoffs and Peter’s eyes widen, but it’s evident that they’re both impressed.

“Bye, Ned!.” You chuckle, ending the routine with a fist-bump.

MJ’s next and she gives you a hug; her perfume wafting in your nose and instantly calming you down. Her arms seem to last longer around you than usual, but you don’t say anything about it.

“Goodbye, my lil’ nugget.” She says, and you laugh upon hearing the nickname, your head resting on her chest.

They both left first as they took the same path home. You’re then left alone with Peter as usual, who still hasn’t said anything since you got up with them three to say goodbye.

It’s always been like this, Peter being the last one to leave; but it doesn’t feel the same anymore. The awkwardness and tension residing in the air due to the game that you both had played.

So there, in front of him, you had stood; hands playing with one another, eyes cast down on the floor, as your heart felt hollow in your chest.

You sigh.

Best to get it over with.

As you open up your mouth to say goodbye, Peter beats you to it.

“Y/N I—“ He starts, and your eyes immediately rise up to make contact against his.

Your breath gets caught in your throat.

With the glow of the moon and street lamp, he looks… wonderful: his brown eyes glowing with the faint light, the freckles on his cheek now visible to your eyes upon your discovery of them a while ago, his brown hair tousled and messy…

You muster up some courage, and you open your mouth once more—

Except you’re cut off with a kiss.

When Peter pulls away, you’re greeted with the sight of him flushed; cheeks, ears and lips tinted red.

You don’t say anything for a while, still needing to process the unexpected yet welcomed surprise in your mind… and also the delightful sight in front of you.

However, Peter’s face quickly morphs into a look of distress, promptly breaking your silence. “Shit! I’m sorry Y/N! I didn’t—“ He fumbles with his words. “I didn’t ask—“

You shut him up with another kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck and pushing him closer to you.

Peter melts like chocolate in your arms.

He tastes like it, too.

When you pull away, you smile at him; your eyes crinkling and your heart hammering in your chest.

“We should’ve done that earlier.”

thanks for reading! as always, requests are open! & pls don’t forget to like and reblog, thank you! c: 

[writehardwhumpharder]

OC Drabble - Carson and depression

I wanted to show what's it like when Carson gets really depressed. Usually he's okay but every once in a while he'll have an episode and stop functioning almost entirely for a few weeks. Daniel does what he can to help him when that happens.

Carson pulled the blanket up over his head and turned on his side, facing the wall. He doesn't know why he gets like this sometimes. He's not even sad about anything, he just feels... empty. At some point he stopped going outside, stopped answering his phone, stopped cleaning his apartment, stopped eating. He just stopped. Not even having the energy to get up out of bed, and it fucking sucked.

He was about to go back to sleep when he heard the door to his apartment click open and someone came in, going straight to his kitchen. Carson listened as Daniel opened his fridge and started messing around, putting new things in and getting old things old. Next was the dishes that had piled up in Carson's sink over the last few days since the last time Danny came to clean up. He was relieved that he didn't try to talk to him as he did. Carson just couldn't bring himself to see anyone right now.

To his dismay, Daniel didn't immediately leave after cleaning up in the kitchen or after he went into the bathroom to make sure Carson wasn't running low on his prescriptions. With a groan, Carson prepared himself for the demanding task that was social interaction and sure enough, a minute later he heard a quiet knocking on the bookshelf as Danny came into his bedroom.

"What," Carson said, barely audible. He didn't like being rude but he also wanted to make it abundantly clear that he wasn't in the mood for conversation.

"You're taking your meds right?" Daniel asked. Carson swore he asked that same question every time he stopped by even though it was always the same answer.

"Yes, now go away," Carson mumbled into his pillow.

"No can do, it's shower day," Danny said, sounding eerily like his mother.

"Already?" He whined.

"Yep, and I'm already being pretty lenient at four days so get up," he said, trying not to sound overly harsh.

"I don't want to," Carson whispered.

"I know you don't," Danny sighed, raking his hands through his hair, "do I have to drag you in there again?"

"...maybe."

With an even deeper sigh Daniel pulled the covers off him and grabbed his arm to pull him up. Carson didn't object, he didn't really react at all as he let Danny drag him into the bathroom where the shower was already running. He deposited him next to it and went to leave but stopped when he saw Carson just standing there, making no move to take off his pajamas and get in.

"It'll just take a few minutes okay, but you have to undress and get in the shower. Don't forget to brush your teeth," Daniel turned to leave again but Carson still didn't move. He rubbed his hands over his face in frustration before stepping all the way into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He knew Carson didn't like feeling exposed, and he'd hate someone else taking off his clothes even more but to be honest, he was starting to smell and something had to be done about it.

"Alright, looks like I have no choice. Just stop me when you're ready to do it yourself," Daniel said as he grabbed Carson's oversized t-shirt and pulled it over his head. He vaguely recognized it as one of his own t-shirts that mysteriously disappeared a couple years ago. Without his shirt on he couldn't help but notice how unhealthily thin Carson looked. He was already thin and the depression definitely wasn't helping... Next were the sweatpants, he slipped them off with ease but it was getting increasingly uncomfortable to do. Daniel looked around the bathroom for a small towel and spotted a clean one, he wrapped it around Carson's waist before grabbing his hand and securing it around the towel, it was the least he could do. Daniel hesitantly pulled off his boxers too and despite being covered by the towel the action felt oddly invasive. Honestly he expected Carson to have stopped him by now and it was quite concerning that he hadn't.

Daniel checked the water temp one more time before helping Carson sit down in the tub. Asking him to stand for the whole five minutes necessary to shower would simply be too much to ask at this point.

Carson picked up the shampoo with a painful slowness and absentmindedly put some into his hand to comb through his hair. Daniel left quietly so he could give him some privacy and went to change his sheets for him. Normally neither Daniel nor Carson would care about that sort of thing but apparently sheets tended to get dirty a lot faster when the person using them wasn't very clean. Not to mention he's practically living in that bed for the time being. After that was done he went to go check Carson's answering machine and responded to any important messages. There was a lot of "he's unavailable, he's not coming in sorry, don't call back, and yes this is Carson Hall I'm calling to pay this months credit card bill."

He put Carson's phone back down on the kitchen counter and turned off the messages leaving the apartment quiet enough that he could hear Carson humming quietly to himself in the shower. The sound made Daniel smile like an idiot, both because it was cute and it was somehow relieving given how apathetic he's been. He decided to wait on the couch until he was done, surprised that a whole thirty minutes later he was still in there. Daniel knew for a fact that the buildings water heater would be running out of hot water right about now but sometimes when Carson finally did get into the shower it was hard to get him out. The water shut off a moment later, no doubt because it had gotten too cold to bear and Carson came out of the bathroom wrapped in two large towels. Wordlessly he passed through the living room to his bedroom and grabbed the first clean shirt and sweatpants he could find then promptly got into his freshly made bed. He made a mental note to thank Daniel in a week or so when he was feeling better.

Knowing Carson wouldn't suggest doing anything himself, Daniel walked back into Carson's bedroom after he was dressed and went to pull out Carson's laptop.

He didn't need to ask to know that he was going to pull up some cartoons to watch like they usually did when Carson had a nightmare or a rough day. He gave Daniel an ingenuous scowl for inviting himself in but otherwise didn't tell him to leave. Carson simply ripped the comforter out from under him like the petty bitch that he was so he could fully wrap himself up in it. Only Carson's face was visible under the blanket and Daniel shook his head in mock disapproval. After picking an episode and pressing play Daniel got up and walked away. Carson's brows furrowed with worry that he was just going to set things up for him then leave but a minute later he came back with a bowl of tomato soup and a piece of toast to dip in it.

"Here, eat this," Daniel said, trying to hand him the plate. Carson leaned away and visibly grimaced at the sight of food, "I swear you're going to starve to death if I don't make you eat occasionally. Look I even got you soup, something easy to eat." Not only was soup the go-to food for any kind of illness but Carson also just loved soup for some weird reason. Right now though even that looked unappetizing.

Carson accepted the plate and Danny sat down next to him seemingly appeased, until he immediately slid the plate on top of his nightstand and out of his way.

"Don't test me," Daniel threatened, eyeing the soup firmly. Carson ignored him and turned back to the show, sinking deeper into the comforter if that was even possible. "Seriously, you need to eat the soup, I don't want to force you." He was starting to get impatient. He really did need to eat something. Having seen the inside of his fridge it looked like Carson had barely eaten anything in the last two days.

"God damn it," Daniel muttered and reached over him for the discarded meal. The second he got close to his personal space Carson tipped over on his side, hiding his face completely with the blanket. Being a more touchy person (or rather, being a normal person, only considered touchy in comparison to Carson who was basically a glacial fortress when it came to physical contact) he tried to touch his arm comfortingly. Instead Carson went stiff and started to sob, muffling the sound in the blanket.

"Oh, don't do that," Daniel said, taking a big step back, softening his voice as well. If things got any worse he'd have to call Carson's mom so she could keep a better eye on him. Seeing his dog also helped him calm down when he got especially depressed. "Let's just watch the show okay, I won't try to touch you, and I guess you can eat the food later..." he said, giving in.

Carson sniffled and quieted down, barely poking his head out to watch the show when Daniel pressed play again.

[seventeen-scenarios-blog]

[DRABBLE] Hogwarts AU - Aurors!Meanie

Pairing: Meanie (Wonwoo x Mingyu) Genre: Fantasy, crack, comedy, some crack, some bloodshed, mostly crack Word Count: 2,288 Warnings: Lots of cursing because I’m a potty mouth, description of injuries

A/N: And that about wraps up all I have for my birthday week! Thank you guys for all the wishes and love! It was so fun blending my vast HP knowledge with my love for the Meanie relationship dynamic, I hope you guys will enjoy this too!

wooed<3

Also, this entire hunka junk is inspired by the gif below vvv

“I… really hate you so fucking much right now.”

It is a venom-laced spit from the shorter boy as he struggles with the rope around him. “How in the actual hell did you manage to become an Auror again?”

“Give me a break, Wonwoo. I panicked,” the younger male gripes through gritted teeth. “They’ll send in reinforcements and we’ll be out of here in no time.”

“Getting out is not what I’m worrying about, damn it. I’m going to be a damn laughing stock when this gets out to the rest of the Ministry… Captured by freaking muggles. This wouldn’t have happened if I was with Joshua. Go together with Mingyu, they said. It’ll be fine, they said.”

Even with his back against Wonwoo’s, Mingyu can very well picture the roll of his companion’s eyes, and tries hard to suppress one of his own. It’s not his fault Wonwoo’s previous partner came down with a bad bout of Mumblemumps, and it’s not his fault that the head-of-office decided to pair him and Mr. Grumps-oh-I’m-always-so-mopey-and-miserable together for their mission. And it’s most definitely not his fault that the muggles they confronted pulled guns on them!

He may be a pureblood, but even he knows that guns are basically the muggles’ equivalent of an Avara Kedavra to the face.

Wonwoo, on the other hand, is faring just as poorly as his partner.

Trust Mingyu to ruin the mission like how he’s made Wonwoo’s life a living hell in Hogwarts. Two Korean immigrants in an almost all-British institution… It should come as obvious that they would stick to each other like glue. But to everyone’s surprise, they despised each other.

Wonwoo first met the living breathing definition of a “walking accident” when the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws shared the same Potions class in their first year. That pureblood brat knocked Wonwoo’s cauldron off the burner when he was reaching for a bezoar. He had the gall to laugh it off, offering to share his cauldron with him, but Wonwoo vehemently refused. What was supposed to be a mild, teal-coloured liquid somehow ended up as a frothy, sickly-green abomination in Mingyu’s cauldron.

Wonwoo had wondered if Mingyu was concocting an antidote to common poisons, or the poison itself.

Year 2 saw the Hufflepuff in the same Herbology class, and Wonwoo is immensely grateful that the one incident involving Mingyu hadn’t ruined his favourite subject for him. It’s a miracle that he hadn’t rendered half the class deaf when he curiously pulled the baby mandrake out of the pot without warning. It was thanks to Wonwoo’s quick thinking and his timely yelled-out, “Quietus!” which muted the ugly plant enough for the damage to not be too severe. Mingyu’d learnt his lesson after a harsh dressing down from their Professor, and Wonwoo was satisfied enough.

Care of Magical Creatures quickly became Wonwoo’s least favourite subject in their third year when he realised how terrible he was working with animals. He was never favoured by the Hippogriffs, lost count of how many Flobberworms died in his care, and don’t even get him started on the damn salamanders. He thought he’d be okay with Kneazles, since he raised cats in his muggle household, but trust Kim Mingyu to accidentally step on the tail of one Wonwoo managed to get close to, sending the furry feline into a mad frenzy.

Wonwoo completed the curriculum with three scratches down his side and a mind to never take the subject again. But he had to admit it was funny seeing the Kneazle frantically clawing its way up Mingyu’s robes like he was a tree. The claw marks remained on Mingyu’s yellow-and-black scarf till this very day.

Year 4 passes by rather (thankfully) uneventfully, with the both of them only sharing classes for History of Magic. As much as Mingyu is a klutz in any way imaginable, it’s hard even for him to mess up in a boring class like this.

Maybe that’s why he got picked to be a Prefect the year after, that announcement causing a raised eyebrow of disbelief from Wonwoo at the welcome feast. Maybe the Head of Hufflepuff was so amazed at Mingyu’s relative lack of mishaps that they gave him that position. Wonwoo had been approached by his own Head, but he had declined the role for he’d much rather be studying for his upcoming OWLs.

Besides, if being a prefect meant that Wonwoo would be subjected to seeing Mingyu more often than necessary, he’d gladly pass the offer, thanks.

When Mingyu was proclaimed Head Boy of Hogwarts, Wonwoo had choked on his pumpkin juice.

Back then, Wonwoo could never fathom the thought of having to spend life after Hogwarts with Mingyu. Seven years was definitely more than enough. So imagine the dismay he felt when Wonwoo was met with his worst nightmare on the first day of Auror training, said nightmare greeting him with a nonchalant “sup”.

Sure, Mingyu had miraculously excelled in his NEWTs, scoring all five Exceeding Expectations as Head Boy and earned his position as an Auror. But what good would booksmarts do if all he does is collapse on-field?

Thank Merlin, Wonwoo had been assigned to have Joshua as a partner while Mingyu… Honestly, Wonwoo doesn’t care that much to find out who that poor unfortunate soul is. It’s a miracle that said partner survived two whole years of enduring Mingyu’s accident-attracting tendencies, considering how it’s barely into Wonwoo’s first mission with the boy and here they are, tied to a damn lamppost because Mingyu caved at the sight of a gun.

It had been such a simple mission too. The muggles they had been tasked to deal with aren’t dangerous at all, going by Joshua’s research, just a bunch of wayward youngsters. The thought of it all just rubs more salt into Wonwoo’s wound.

“We have fucking wands!” Wonwoo had hissed in incredulous disbelief when Mingyu threw his hands in the air in surrender.  

But before Wonwoo could take his wand out to do some damage, Mingyu’s mistake had cost them the fraction of time Wonwoo desperately needed. Before they both knew it, they were knocked out cold by blows from a baseball bat. Wonwoo had woken up with a splitting headache, tied up like cattle prepared for slaughter.

To make matters worse, his wand has been knocked clean off his grip. It lays amongst the foliage, hidden within the patch of grass next to the lamppost  they were tied on. Thankfully, his trusty wand of chestnut appeared nondescript enough to not attract any attention from the muggles.

“Rotten luck,” grumbles Wonwoo again. He can already hear the mocking laughters from the colleagues at the Ministry by now.

“Look, I’m sorry.” Wonwoo feels the rope around his body tighten and slacken ever so slightly as his companion heaves a heavy sigh. “I know I shouldn’t have let my fear get the better of me. But it was a gun we were facing head on, Wonwoo. I don’t know too much about the muggle world, but I know how dangerous that shit can be. And with your life at stake, there’s no way I can risk anything.”

“We’re wizards, Mingyu,” Wonwoo sighs exasperatedly. “Worse comes to worst, we could always pull off a Stupefy, get our job done and Obliviate them later. The Ministry would be lenient knowing that our lives are being threatened by a muggle gun.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know.” Mingyu dips his head, his voice hushing until Wonwoo has to strain his ears to pick up his following words. “I have never been on the field.”

“Wait, what?” Wonwoo barely contains the incredulity in his voice.

“Yeah,” his companion scoffs with a hint of bitterness. “They’ve never sent me out on the field. Suspected they had a Legiliment in on my job interview, knew I’d collapse on missions, knew that I was too stupid to handle things on my own…”

“You’re not stupid!” The words fly out of Wonwoo’s mouth before he can stop himself. Really, Wonwoo? Right after insulting him to his face? He’s just befuddled by the unfairness the Ministry is displaying. He hasn’t even been given the chance to prove his skills in the first place! “I mean come on, you’re Head Boy of Hogwarts and obviously - Merlin knows how - you had to have done well on your NEWTs to have landed a job here.”

Mingyu grunts. Wonwoo has never heard him sound this down in his life. “Don’t lie to me, Wonwoo. I’ve seen the way you look at me. I know you think I am a waste of space.”

“No, I don’t!” Wonwoo is quick to defend himself, but at Mingyu’s skeptic turn of his head towards him, he relents with a guilty cough. “I mean, sometimes, you do… you know, do certain things that can be…” He struggles to find a mild way to put it. “... inconveniencing for others and hence it can be pretty frustrating. But that’s still no reason for the Ministry to bench you without giving you a chance to prove yourself!”

“Apparently, it’s enough.” Mingyu slackens his body in defeat. “It was a mistake coming here, to apply to be an Auror when I was never cut out for the job in the first place. I mean, they didn’t even give me a proper place to work. I had to occupy the boiler room for crying out loud. After this passes…” he swallows as though the uttering following words are like choking out thistles. “I’ll hand in my resignation letter and leave. My dad has always wanted me to work in our parchment production company anyway.”

“Now just wait a minute.” Wonwoo can’t believe that he’s actually feeling sorry for Kim Mingyu. But as a halfblood, Wonwoo himself had his fair share prejudice and rude assumptions. He had been scorned for not having pure magical blood, which only prompted him to work even harder in his studies to prove the naysayers wrong. If he could do it, why couldn’t Mingyu?

“Alright, alright, listen. You and I are probably a lot more similar than you think. I know I may have been a little… mean to you back in school-”

“A little?”

“A lot,” Wonwoo grits his teeth admittingly. “But despite that, you’ve never failed to bounce back from your mistakes. And truth to be told, that’s something I begrudgingly respect about you. You’re just so goddamned… positive about everything. Hell, you’ve burnt a hole in my cloak the first time we met and nearly set fire to the potions room, but here you are: a Prefect, Head Boy and now an Auror. You’ve made it this far while driving me absolutely nuts, so who’s to say how much further you can go with me finally by your side?”

“Yeesh, I feel all the love,” Mingyu shudders, but his words have an amused edge to it. He bows his head with a chuckle. “Thanks, Wonwoo. And, I’m sorry again for getting us stuck in this mess.”

“Fuck apologies,” the older scoffs. “Let’s put our five-NEWTs-scoring-brains to the test and figure a way out here before the rest of the Ministry arrives to turn our predicament into the front page of the Daily Prophet.”

“Alright, just gimme a sec,” Mingyu groans in discomfort, writhing about in his constraints. “There’s this annoying itch on my back that I just can’t reach. If only my wand was long enough for me to reach it.”

The gears in Wonwoo’s analytical mind grind into a screeching halt. “Your… what?” he starts off tentatively, praying with all his might that he’d just misheard his companion’s words.

Mingyu stops squirming. “My wand. I’ve had it the entire time, why-- ohh…”

His voice turns sheepish and he lets out a nervous giggle as Wonwoo’s glare turns fiery enough to rival an Incendio charm. “Mingyu, I’m giving you ten seconds to get us out of this place before I rip your throat out.” His sweet voice offers a stark contrast to the dark pit of anger Mingyu can feel boiling behind him. He swallows, barely managing to poke his wand out between two binds of rope.

“I… uh… what’s the spe-”

“DID YOU REALLY PROGRESS BEYOND THE SECOND YEAR?! DIFFINDO!” Wonwoo all but rages, and Mingyu repeats the spell with an alarmed yelp to boot. There is a coarse “rriiiipppp” noise as the ropes give way, causing the two boys to fall onto the floor with gasps of relief.

Wonwoo sings all the praises to Merlin as he scrambles to retrieve his precious wand.

“Alright, I’ve got my wand. Let’s quickly Apparate out of here before those bastards come back. Mingyu. Mingyu?”

He turns around when the male doesn’t respond to him, his eyes immediately zeroing in on the pool of blood dripping from a cut in Mingyu’s arm.

“Hyung,” the young wizard whines, calling Wonwoo with the appropriate honorifics for the first time since the first grade. He clutches at the spot above the wound. “I cut myself while cutting the rope.”

Of course you did...

“You stupid, stupid boy,” Wonwoo rolls his eyes in exasperation, but he doesn’t admit to the way his heart jumps at Mingyu’s title for him. He approaches him, looping his stronger arm under both of Mingyu’s armpits to hoist him up, careful to avoid the affected area. “Let’s get you back and cleaned up. Who knows, maybe they would believe that it’s an honourable battle scar you’ve earned.”

Mingyu laughs. “Am I allowed to perform my own Apparition charm at least?”

Wonwoo shudders at that thought. He’s not too eager to have any of his body parts splinched off anytime soon.

“Nope, now shut up and let me help you.”

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

Hii! Can you do a fic in the future where jughead already published his first novel and he has like some sort of conference or sth where he gets asked questions and all and somebody asks about the girls next door and he talks so sweetly about her and like Betty is in there too and all. Idk if you get it but English isn't my first language. Oh and I love your writing btw you are really talented

#GirlNextDoor

*insert here Titanic’s “It’s been 84 years” gif* Yes, it’s a prompt!! I finally uploaded one! Easter holidays are totally messing my writing scedule and I’m so terribly sorry for that. But I’m back in the game and I promise I’ll be my usual bughead obsessed self from now on! So, I’ve finished this just before the episode aired yesterday (I was just so tired to go over it and post it after the episode ended, I’m sorry) and I’m very pleased a lot of things that I wrote became canon. I had so much fun writing this because I’m a sucker for future fics and because that’s pure fluff and a huge, much needed dose of happiness to Jughead’s life! Also I changed the request a little, I wrote this as a TV interview just to make it more grande for Juggie, I hope you don’t mind, nonnie! Thank you for requesting and for your lovely words!!!

Betty could literally feelherself bouncing on her heels with nervous excitement, the velvet material ofher blush colored pumps getting scratchy as they rubbed up against each otherbut, truly, right now, she didn’t give a damn about her potentially ruined shoes.She could only focus on the red digital numbers changing sequentially over the silverdoors of the semi-packed elevator she was in, biting her lip nervously andcounting mentally in her mind as if that way, somehow, the numbers would runfaster and the silver cage would miraculously arrive on her floor in ananosecond.

7,8, 9, 10…Ding! Betty had never felt before a bigger wave of euphoria at the sight ofthe wooden door with the silver 10B at the end of the corridor and shemaneuvered herself around a happy family of four and a middle-aged businessmanbefore pumping shoulders with Mrs. Pomphrey from the twelfth floor, causing thealways preppy and posh looking older woman to raise an exasperated eyebrow ather unusual unmannered behavior. Betty managed to send her most sweet and goodgirl smile over her shoulder, wanting to maintain her pure, naïve façadetowards their landlord, and she saw the woman shaking her head disapprovinglybut finally turning a tad lenient, regarding the young of Betty’s age, justseconds before her wrinkly and full of make-up face disappeared behind the doorsof the elevator. “The mammoth DaisyBuchanan”, Jughead’s nickname for the woman in his usual snarky tone ofvoice came to her mind and Betty burst into silent laughter as she ran down thecorridor and jiggled her keys, unlocking the apartment door in a swift motionbefore closing it with force behind her, quick fingers already tugging at thelapels of her beige, ruched sleeved, loose fit blazer.  

Her Cambridge blue bag droppedto the hardware floor with a loud thud, the cotton tote bag on her shoulder filledwith documents and paperwork followed after and her bare knees under her darkgreen skirt collided with the corner of a big carton box that laid there nextto a minimal set of drawers, making her hiss in pain as she twirledungraciously to throw her blazer in the coat closet by the door in a hurry. Ithad been nearly two months now that they had moved from New York to Boston,Betty scoring an amazing opportunity for an internship  at The Boston Globe a year after they hadgraduated NYU that left her ecstatic and Jughead the proudest man alive, butstill they weren’t quite settled in, similar beige boxes filled with books orutensils or other random household necessities, laying around in pretty muchevery room of their new and cozy apartment, a wonderful change of pace fromtheir old and smelly hole that it was their first apartment in New York.    

Hugging her laptop bag againsther chest, Betty literally slid down the small hallway until she reached thejoined spacious living room and kitchen, unhooking the ankle strap of her leftheel and groaning in despair as she simultaneously jumped on her other foottowards the grey couch, dropping her laptop carelessly and snatching violentlythe remote control from between the fluffy pillows, pressing some keys untilshe reached the channel she wanted. Seeing that commercials were still on, theblonde girl let a loud sigh of relief.

Today was a big day for them;today her long-time boyfriend and lifetime soulmate, Jughead Jones, or mostly commonlyknown to the public, J. Jones, was going to give his very first big interviewon TV.

Perfectly timed with his highschool graduation, Jughead had drew an end to the chapter of their lives thatwere titled Riverdale and Jason’s Blossom murder, effectively putting the lastfull stop of his first novel right before taking off to college. Despite thefact that he and Betty had reached the end of the labyrinth by the end ofsophomore year – their dedication and sharp minds coordinated with theirpassion about finding the truth and wicked love about the detective film noiressence of the subject brought them first face to face with the real killer –there was still a veil of chained mysteries and ploys that surrounded theirsmall town and needed to be solved first before the day the vicious murderwould be held accustomed for his crimes, shocking the small community ofRiverdale and changing it forever.

Jughead had printed it out, asingle copy only and with no title, bound it and gave it to Betty to read thenight of graduation, after the loud and carefree party of their graduated classat Sweetwater river and after their personal after party in his room at thesmall house he and his, back on track, dad were renting at the time. Betty hadbeen ecstatic, glowing even more as she lay next to him wrapped in the greysheets of his twin-sized bed, finally able to get her hands on what she was surewas marvelous work. “It’s yours” he had said in a whisper against her temple,crashing her inside his embrace, bare back against bare chest and coaxed inpassion blamed sweat “I’m not gonna publish it; I just want you to have it.”

Betty had turned to send himan incredulous look over her shoulder, the thick stash of papers that held hisyears-long work slipping from her fingers to rest on the small spot on the bedtheir tangled up bodies didn’t occupy. She had been utterly confused, he believedin that novel and always considered it his breakthrough work, his one-wayticket out of the impurity that stained their hometown and his free pass to prosperity.Jughead, though, had a good reason to contradict.

This was their story. Yes, thecontent of the book was mainly a mystery, a Hitchcock-like narrative of abrutal murder, of a kid’s murder, that shook a small town with every secretthat was being unraveled like a domino effect after that dreadful night on July11th. But under the misery and the lies and the deceit and thehorror, the story at its core was a love story. At first glance, an expressionof appreciation and devotion towards beauty and purity at the form of a longforgotten Riverdale, underneath which the true subject of the author’sinfatuation laid; the aerie presence of the girl next door, the one and only, BettyCooper.

He didn’t want for the wholeworld to know, he didn’t care. He was more than content with him and herknowing, with them keeping his first work of words their sacred secret andtheir personal relationship chronicle. It didn’t feel right by him to put outin the world something so personal, to strip bare for just five-minutes of fameand a probably small paycheck. His desire had been to keep it away fromjudgement, scrutiny or misinterpretation, adamant to put on sale a part of hissoul and knowing that the true meaning behind his eloquent words would betwisted and ultimately lost. The whole book was his adolescence, hers, theirfriends’, and, on top of that, his own coming of age story as a writer and as aman, and the thing he dreaded the most was for his blonde muse to be desecratedor lessened into something filthy and sexualized for the sake of publication.

Betty had felt flattered andmore in love with him than ever. They had made love again that night over andover again, slow and tender this time, and with hushed words of devotiontrembling against their gasping lips. The next day they had taken off to NewYork, Betty riding shotgun on an old black Buick Riviera – FP’s graduation giftto his son – packed to the hilt with carton boxes and suitcases, and having hernose buried in the book of the love of her life, drinking the words hungrilyand reliving every little step along the way that had brought them there, roadtripping their way to college with rolled down windows and his hand layingaffectionately on her bare thigh, petal pink skirt brushing his knuckles withevery blow of the morning wind. She had reached the end of the magniloquentbook by the same night, with tears in her eyes and a swelling heart, declaringhow beautiful it was and how terribly in love she was with him over and overagain as they made love under the stars.

Years kept passing, collegewas keeping them busy and Jughead’s mind had been working overdrive,brainstorming new ideas and getting excited and engulfed in his desire to writethem on paper. Two more small novels had been written by his miraculous mind duringtheir college years and with Betty’s encouragement to finally let other peopleenjoy his outstanding work - her words not his - Jughead had taken the big stepand sent his work to publishers. However, it seemed that their opinion didn’tquite align with Betty’s. No phones had ever rung, no one had come knocking ontheir door searching for the mysterious and impeccably talented J. Jones. Jugheadhad felt sixteen and not enough once again.

One particular night, whenBetty had woken up and found him for the fifth night in a row awake and at thesmall worn-out desk that they called their office area, head buried inside hishands in despair and what seemed like his fourth cigarette for the nightbetween his fingers, its smoke escaping in a peaceful line from the open rustywindow and getting mingled with the Chinese food smell from the restaurant nextto their cheap but anachronistic apartment building, she patted back insidetheir tiny bedroom and unburied the solemn copy of his beloved first novel fromher nightstand drawer, where she kept it as something as important as her ownheart. Coming back to him, she rubbed his back affectionately, Jughead’s chestreleasing a big sigh as on reflex to her soothing touch and offering her a sad,tired smile upon tilting his head slightly to face her, Betty pecking lovinglyhis temple and then the prominent bag under his left eye. She had laid thenovel in front of him, Jughead looking intensely at his first page as she spoke,plain and white, with just his and her name in dedication. “This is your voice,Juggie.” She had whispered sweetly through the darkness “Don’t worry. Peoplewill love it for the right reasons; you and your words make sure of that.” Andwith a nudge of her cheek to the side of his forehead she was gone, leaving himagain alone with his thoughts.

Jughead had stayed up allnight, contemplating and huffing. And near the crack of dawn he did it; he typedthe first title that came to mind, TheScarlet River, and spent the next hours changing each and every name,putting familiar sounding ones for authenticity but keeping their trueidentities hidden. He had mailed his finished work to only two publishinghouses, the ones he thought were more respectful to the author’s work in hisopinion, and went to bed, enveloping a sleeping Betty in his arms and prayingthat he had made the right choice. A week later, both companies had showedtheir interest in publishing his work.

It was a rollercoaster afterthat. Jughead wanted to choose the deal that would offer him the most creativefreedom, both companies practically bending backwards and promising him thestars and the moon to have such a brilliant and intelligent young artist intheir publishing family, but he wasn’t really interested in the paycheck. Hisonly condition before giving his consent had been no third party editing hiswork whatsoever and he got it. So he shook hands with a smiley middle aged man andthe printing began, the book with the minimalistic black cover illuminated by arunning red river at the center and his name at the very top of the glossy hardpaper hitting the bookstores just a few days after his and Betty’s collegegraduation. And to his amazement and Betty’s delight that she was right allalong, people actually had gone crazy for the first novel of the mysterious J.Jones.

Hordes of people from all ageswere queueing in bookstores and shopping malls to gain a copy, bloggers weretalking about it on the internet, magazines were featuring this newbreakthrough mystery novel in their must-read lists. Betty had startedcollecting every newspaper snippet that mentioned her boyfriend’s name orquality work, bookmarking every site and every online article that praised hiscaptivating writing skills and sharing the results of her daily research withJughead, loving seeing his boyish wide smile being reborn again on his lips andlighting his whole face after months of him being in a dead end author andcharacter wise. There were Instagram posts from people reading all over the country, the cover of the book being photographed on kitchen countertops nextto someone’s breakfast or amongst bedsheets before midnight, inside travelbags, next to business calendars, on floral teenage bedrooms or emo lookingones, even being featured in plenty variations of the most common millennialpicture, the one depicting the view of a beautiful beach and a book against theslender legs of a sunbathing girl, that book being J. Jones’ spectacular novel.That made even Archie admit that his best friend was starting to get famousafter all. People were starting to reach out on him, following him on his upuntil then low-key Twitter and Instagram accounts, asking questions about hiswork, demanding more, wanting to know if the story was real or a well-mapped fictionidea out of a very talented writer’s head. Betty and Jughead would go on withtheir everyday lives normally, go to work every morning on their part-timejobs, run errands, go out on dates but now they would come across people beingengrossed in Jughead’s book everywhere, on the subway or the grocery store, atcoffee shops, at restaurants, on a park bench, both of them feeling a swell ofpride each and every time.

Jughead had refused to do anybook tours or press conferences, even though the publishers and his manager –yeah he had one of those now – had all been a huge pain in the ass and wereconsistently insisting in him doing so for the sake of his income. He wasadamant again; he was perfectly content with how things had turned out to be.People was loving his work, he was being recognized for his talent and he hadnow more than enough money in his pockets and his bank account to offer thewoman of his dreams the best life she deserved; he wasn’t interested in anyempty popularity façade. To keep his deal with the publishing house though hehad to agree to some terms of marketing, even though he completely despised theidea. Betty and her overall brilliant mind had been once again his savior, her comingup with an innovational concept that had the publishers rubbing their hands indelight and Jughead loving her even more, and that was humanly impossible. Aninteractive site had been launched where the author in question started postingthoughts and information about his work, answering questions to readers fromall over the world, discussing theories with them – something that made himsmile like a five year old and type way in excitement – and even doing somelive shows once in a while to interact with his fans more. Sales had skyrocketedafter that, the book was being printed over and over again, people were talkingabout it amongst friendly gatherings, over drinks after work, even dedicatingthought and time on the internet to interpret each and every of his words,discuss either bizarre or well-thought theories and just go ballistic over andover again about the edgy and vague ending, intrigued to extremes to find outmore.

By the end of the year, The Scarlet River had ranked first onthe New York Times’ annual list of bestselling novels. It had been the firsttime that Betty saw Jughead cry from joy, fingers and voice trembling whilereading to her the small paragraph of criticism under the bold title of hisbook, words like “innovational” or “outstanding” or “deliciouslynerve-wracking” standing out amongst other praising compliments. She had jumpedon him with utter excitement and joy, legs wrapped around his waist and armscradling his neck in a tight embrace to show him even more how proud she wasfor him, his face buried in the crook of her neck, thanking her over and overagain for being patient with him and, most importantly, believing in him.

And now they were here; himready to take on the world with his gorgeous, tortured artist looks and hissharp mind and her biting anxiously on her lower lip as she waited in front ofher screen in nervous excitement, feeling her heart beating rapidly just likehis was beating too, many miles away from her. Betty hated herself and stillkept beating herself up for not being able to accompany him to one of the mostimportant moments of his career. She had been there getting hyped and excitedwhen the first copies of his book were delivered, she had been therecelebrating with him every time it got picked for another round of printing,she had been there smiling encouragingly at his first conference with bookcritics and she had been there when his phone rang and a polite assistant fromLarry King Now asked when his hectic schedule would allow him to give them thepleasure of an interview, both hers and Jughead’s jaw dropping to the floor. Butthis time she couldn’t be there. Her internship was demanding and with herbeing a newbie the chances of taking a day off were zero to none, even thoughshe begged and pleaded for an exception just for this particular case. Jugheadwas bummed too but totally understanding as always, although Betty knew hedreaded the fact that he would have to face the unknown alone. So that morningBetty woke him up with breakfast in bed and kisses, styled his hair perfectlyand drove him to the airport despite his objections, dragging him to a bathroomstall just minutes before he needed to be at the check-out line and giving himan intense and full on sultry blowjob, a well-thought plan of hers to ease hismind and offer him the male ego and confidence boost he needed. A pleased anddisbelieving at his luck, awestruck smile never left Jughead’s lips up until helanded in New York.

The business-like chime of herphone cut her reverie short and she rushed to answer with flushed cheeksand a wide grin, seeing the lovely picture of Jughead bare-chested on their bedand smiling sleepily popping on her rose gold iPhone screen.

“My hands are trembling.” Thesardonic voice of her boyfriend came right through when she swiped left toanswer, apathetic as always but with anxiety creeping behind his well-builtarmor, not bothering with a sweet greeting but jumping straight to the point.“My throat feels dry and I keep chugging bottle of water after bottle water andI really think that I’ll get the urge to pee exactly when the interview starts.And I’m sweating, all the way through my jacket. I didn’t even know I couldsweat this much. Plus, what’s with those lights, why are there so many? And I’mhooked with microphones and—” he rambled in a nervous rampage before hersoothing voice interfered.

“Juggie, breathe.” Bettyoffered with a faint giggle, pouting at how cute he was against her phone.

An audible deep exhale filledthe silence before he continued a tad calmer this time. “I’m gonna screw thisup. Please say you’ll still love me when I screw this up and go back to being yourdaily dose of sarcasm in the form of a boyfriend.” He pleaded in asemi-teasing, semi-serious voice drawing another giggle from her lips.

“Um, I don’t know, Jay Jonespushes some of my right buttons. He is such a turn on.” She teased him, fakinginnocence, getting a small amused scoffed in return. She smiled at her littleachievement.

“Great. Even my alter ego ismore suave than me.” He retorted like the definition of a drama queen.

Betty shook her head to no onebut herself. “You’re such a dork and I love you for that.” She let him knowcheerfully, envisioning his rolling eyes and the sideways smirk she was sure hewas definitely sporting right now at her loving teasing. “You are going to dogreat! We’ve done so much prepping!” Once the day of the interview wasapproaching and Jughead was starting to become a mess of nerves and sweatypalms, Betty had had enough. So she conducted a list of possible questions, gavethem to him to answer in the best way he could express himself, bywriting, and then urged him to memorize those answers. They would spend everynight after that going over the questions again and again, Betty sitting ontheir mahogany dinner table pretending to be the interviewer and him acrossher, pacing up and down while he tried to remember the words that best expressed his mind.

“Well, Betts, it’s a tad moreintimidating when you have Larry King in flesh asking the questions.” Heblurted his clever response hearing her sharp intake of breath from the otherend of the line.

“Thank you, Juggie, forranking my sex appeal oozing intimidation under the one of an eighty three year old man.” She grimaced in amusement and shock, Jughead flinching to himself toobecause, who was he kidding, Betty Cooper intimidated and intrigued him to noends and that’s why he always ended up chocking or pushing her on the nearestsurface with mad desire every night she sat across him, playing the part of theinterviewer and challenging him with those piercing green eyes.

“So you talked to him? How ishe in person?” Betty’s whole tone changed as curiosity kicked in, wanting to know more about the well-known TV and radio host.

“Old.” Jughead threw hissardonic one-liner, the blonde huffing a tad in exasperation but smirkingnonetheless. “We just met and talked for a bit. He seems cool, interested andinteresting enough for us to have a discussion of shorts. And apparently hethinks I’m a real deal? Betts, can you believe?”  he gasped like a five year old in a candy store.

“That’s huge, babe!” Betty urged his excitement on. “See?There’s no need for you to worry, just go in there and kill us all with youreloquence and your charm.” She encouraged him in her usual sweet and soothingtone of voice.

Jughead exhaled again with agroan, fidgeting with the lapels of his jacket in an attempt to fix it over hisshoulders. “I just hope that question number twenty six will not be asked.” Hemused, arm dropping to his side in frustration that even his attire was givinghim a hard time today.

“What’s your inspirationbehind the conception of the girl next door and why do you think people rootfor her this much?” Betty recited the question under that number in aheartbeat, even herself having memorized the list and his possible answers. “OhI hope question number twenty six willbe asked.” She colored her sentence with enough girly delight, biting her lowerlip at the image of him getting all flushed and terribly cute while worshipingher in front of the world.

“So you and the whole countrycan watch me drown in my own spit and die of embarrassment on live television?”Jughead’s voice went an octave higher at the more than possible scenario ofappearing like a complete freak show. “You know what? I’ll just go, I’ll flee,yes, that’s what I’m going to do.” He shrugged and his nervous outrage startedagain, anxiety coiling low in his stomach and making him actually want tovomit, even though he had spent the whole day famished and consuming only adozen cups of black coffee, something that spoke volumes for someone thatcouldn’t spend a day without gobbling at least five full meals.

“Jughead—” Betty tried tointerfere but it was a lost battle.

“Oh crap, they saw me lurking.”He murmured in alarm. “They are calling me over. Shit, shit, shit what do I do? Lie about having a fatal illness thatneeds immediate assistance? Pretend I’m having a stroke?” he was in full onpanic mode now, trying to give his overly sweaty self some much needed air byswaying vigorously the front of his button-up, desperately trying to fanhimself. “I think that I am actually having a stroke to be honest.”

Betty scoffed at his anticsfor exaggeration. “Stop! Just go!” she urged in a high pitched whine. “Everything’sgonna be fine, if you walk in there like the determined and over-achieving manyou are. I’ve seen you thrive in way worse; you’ve got this, Jug, you trulydo.” She offered her small pep-talk wholeheartedly, absolutely believing thathe could pull off anything he set his mind to.

“Alright.” He sighed deep butthis time it was with pure determination. “Here I go, wish me luck. And pleasechannel some of your inner sunshine and badassery vibes my way; it would bevery much appreciated.” He pleaded for her aid in a joking manner but stillserious enough, knowing that with her backing him up, even in spirit, he couldbe the strongest man alive.

Betty’s melodic laugh was atrue oasis at his time of need. “I will.” She promised before continuing in afoxier, more Betty Cooper in the sheets voice. “And if, at any point, you feellike your confidence is crumbling down think about me.” The girl suggested,before causing her voice to drop a sensual octave down. “Naked.” The adjective was colored with all the necessary unspokeninnuendos and Betty bit her lip, failing to hold back her beaming smile at theadrenaline filled state she surely got him in at this exact moment.

Jughead couldn’t hold back hisown sly smirk. “You’re not helping at all with the situation, Betts.” He warnedher in a whisper, voice husky and suggestive just how she liked, as he took a seat atthe chair an assistant pointed him to, before the man proceeded in doing a last minute check on hismicrophone.

“Oh, I think I was definitelyhelping with the situation this morning at the men’s bathroom of the airport.”Jughead’s mind got bombarded with the dirty images of Betty in a compromisingposition looking up at him while sending him flying to the sky, and he felt hisbody heat increasing in an instant, smiling awkwardly at a young woman thatfilled a mug with mineral water on the table in front of him and adjustinghimself on the comfy chair, praying to find just a small ounce of strength todefeat his raging male urges.

Thankfully, the girl thattormented his body and soul went back to her sweet, ultimately kind-heartedpersona, giving him a chance to breathe. “It’s your time to shine Juggie. Theworld doesn’t stand a chance, just like I didn’t.” her words, depicting herlove-sick smile on her lips, brought a big grin on Jughead’s face who ducked hishead in vulnerability and utter love at the thought of her believing in him. “Ilove you.” She told him the only thing he actually needed to hear in order topuff his chest with courage.

“I love you too. I’ll callyou when this sorcery is over.” He promised and sent her that boyish smile she hadlabeled as her favorite, even though she couldn’t actually see him, before reluctantlyending their short call.

Minutes after Betty hadabandoned her phone on the coffee table in front of her and curled her legsunder her on the sofa, getting more comfortable, the characteristic intro ofLarry King’s talk show filled the silence of the living room, making herstraighten her back and glue her round excited eyes on the TV.

“Welcome to Larry King Now.”The elder interviewer addressed straight to the camera as he opened the show. “Ourspecial guest is Jay Jones,” the camera panned to Jughead across him, whooffered a timid boyish smile to the audience before turning serious, the focuscontinuing to be on him as Larry King’s voice went on “writer of thebestselling novel, The Scarlet River,a post-modern murder mystery that raised quite the frenzy from the very firstmonths of its publication. After nearly a year now, the book that came to upsetthe tedious waters of 21st century’s detective fiction has sold overfour million copies through Amazon and Barnes & Noble, is featured on thebest books list of American Library Association and The New York Times and isnominated for an Edgar Allan Poe Award for Best First Novel.” He finishedlisting Jughead’s accomplishments and turned to the man in question with a warmsmile.

“Now, I’ve met a lot of youngwriters in my life but never came face to face with somebody that achieved allthat in such small amount of time. Is it overwhelming?” The first question wasfired.

“If I claimed that it wasn’t Iwould be lying and the dormant principal in my life is honesty and transparency.”Jughead started and Betty was immediately sold at the way his voice sounded sogravely, at his surprising in-charge posture, at how illegally handsome helooked in the blue button-up and beige jacket she had picked for him to wear onhis big day. Not to mention his raven locks that were still styled the way she had attempted this morning but a tad disheveled, certaintly because of his fingers running over them nervously, creating a messy, sophisticated look that made him look unbelievably irresistible.  “It truly is astounding how people responded to my very firstwork, the blowup and the paroxysm of it all, in the good sense of the word,still blows my mind up to this date. The pace is definitely a Lamborghiniappropriate one and I’m an old rusty Buick in regards to adjusting to out of mycomfort zone situations but I’m eternally grateful to everyone that came along tothis new adventurous ride with me.” He huffed awkwardly and his lips formed anadorable nerdy smile of true happiness and Betty couldn’t help but aw at theway he was acting so charmingly sweet, her heart thudding violently in herchest at the sight. He was still nervous, she could tell, but he was masking itperfectly and gradually getting more unwound.

“For anyone that’s been livingunder a rock, care to sum up the story for us?” Alright, basic question, Jug isgood, Betty thought with a nod.

“Yeah, yeah, of course…” hepaused for a minute, shifting on his seat. “Um, the narrative begins with themurder of a seventeen year old boy, James Blake, on July 11th, spreadinga dark veil of sorrow and turmoil over the small town of Riverdale. A maypoleof lies and deceit is being weaved around the up until then lawful residents ofthe frozen in a bygone era close-knit town, its innocence and purity longbefore lost. At a mist of it all, four high school students take it uponthemselves to unwind Ariadne’s red ball of threat down the end of thelabyrinth, on the way getting face to face with their own inner demons andbringing to light their well-hidden skeletons in the closet. They seek justiceand at the end of the day they are capable of doing anything to put an end to thisvery vicious cat and mouse game.” Jughead offered the synopsis of the bookperfectly, resting back on his chair in waiting.

“You say high school kids.”Jughead nodded in affirmation. “But this book is anything but solemnly focusedon teen audiences. What do you think makes it so popular and especially in awide range of people demographically?”

A snarky smile found its wayto the author’s lips, as he watched his fingers drum on the table. “I’massuming you’re asking me how an adult-aimed book, bare of any sexual tones,survived and, not to sound boastful, succeeded in a lewd defined world. Well,yes, sex sells but gore sells better.” He replied cleverly, the elder manchuckling faintly at the response which brought a smile to Betty’s lips too.Jughead was starting to win the room and that was very pleasing to watch.

“To be truly honest with you,I believe that the key was authenticity.” The raven haired boy turned seriousto elaborate his answer more. “The innocence of a classic film noir portrayedin a modern world and being put into words, the nostalgic essence, the maturityand rawness of the characters’ feelings and actions that anyone can reflect on,despite age or sex or color or sexual orientation. It’s the Scooby Gang, as Ilike to call it,” he smirked at the inner joke “but in a total alternative,wicked universe; it’s gruesome, it’s horror, it’s mystery, it’s a trip frominnocence to reality, from childish mentality to adulthood. It’s realistic interms of people’s growth, truthful, and people nowadays need true feelings intheir lives more than ever.”

“You talked about authenticityand that opens a window for me to drop the million dollar question; how much ofthis is fiction?” the interviewer went on. “Are there any true events at all ortruthfulness just applies in regards to staying true to human nature and itsantics in a hypothetical incident of a public-shocking crime?” Betty flinchedin coordination with Jughead’s sigh on the screen. That was the most frequentlyasked question about his book and the question he always hated to face, in fearof revealing parts of their lives that weren’t mend for the public’s eye.

“Oh, the million dollarquestion indeed.” Luckily, he had managed to compose himself quickly and brushit off with an aloof and polite grin. “I have a fear that I’ll spoil the magicif I do give an answer to that or probably get fired” he chuckled lightly andBetty scoffed a laugh “but I think people’s speculations are reaching extremes bynow so here goes nothing. The story is indeed fictional to its biggest part.”He didn’t want to lie to the people; that was never his intention. He justwanted to protect the most vulnerable parts of their adolescence.

“But Riverdale exists, it’syour hometown, and there was indeed a murder of a young boy there.” Larrypushed him further.

“Yes, that is true, along withother bits and pieces of the plot.” Jughead nodded and licked his lipstentatively before continuing. “But is it really realistic that four sixteenyear olds were involved in the most bizarre and otherworldly situations?” Hescoffed in a perfect act of disbelief, the girl watching him rolling her smileyeyes at his theatrics. “Or that Rebecca and Bughead, or Becca and Bug as theirfriends call them throughout the novel, our very own Sherlock-Watsonsleuthering duo, solved a bewildering homicide case with the aid of just theirsharp minds and a couple of cheeky adolescent kisses here and there?” Bettygasped in shocked amusement, not really believing that Jughead shared some oftheir chronic banter regarding the beginning of their relationship with the world. “I’m not even gonna mention our very ownLolita reincarnation, Alfie Akers,” that caused Betty and Larry to laugh loudly “orthe bad girl gone good, the classic riches to rugs heroine, Victoria Lewis.Every character carries a big, fat cliché on their shoulders and I think thisspeaks volumes about whether or not the story is reality or fiction after all.”He put a delicate but firm full stop on the subject, wrapping it up the bestway he could and hoping that he was persuasive enough.

The man’s agreeing nod fromacross him was all he needed to relax. “Fair enough point.” He admitted,checking something on the papers in front of him. “Now Bughead; that is a nameI’ve never stumbled upon in my life. How come you chose such an unconventionaland borderline comical name for the narrator of your story and the character thatseems to go through the most emotional turmoil?” Betty smiled pleased toherself; that was one of the very first questions she had typed down on herpersonal list, because she knew the name sounded obscure and out of place andeveryone wanted to know what the heck had inspired the writer to give hisprotagonist a name like that.

“Because he is unconventional.”He replied without missing heartbeat. “And he is a bug, he bugs people; atfirst with his dark parade appearance and dry humor and later on with hissnooping around and asking all the uncomfortable questions in thirst for thetruth. The guy is a nuisance; that was the most fitting name I ever came upwith.” The idea was actually Kevin’s, since the boy was obsessed with callinghim and Betty like that, and even though the ship name sounded weird in Jughead’s ears it was indeed fitting forthe character in his book that annoyed people and was consumed whole by Betty Cooper.

“Readers don’t see it likethat though. Bughead appears to be the most beloved character of them all.” the host contradicted.

“And I’m very happy about this.He does have a special place in my heart.” Jughead’s smile was genuine, wishingfor his younger self to have been able to see him and how his life had turned out now.

“So what happens to him at theend, then? This is me asking as a big fan here! The book ends with him sayingthat there were three people in that booth. Was he there all along? Wasn’t he? Washe just a product of somebody’s imagination, an empty phantom?” Larry voicedthe confusion of the whole fandom.

“Well, first of all I’mhonored, truly.” There was the boyish smile again and there was Betty’sfluttering heart once again, as Jughead leaned forward resting his elbows onthe table and smirking intrigued. “But now you have to go for it; humor me,what’s your theory?” he challenged, always enjoying hearing each interpretationof his ambiguous book finale.

“I finished the book with theimpression that he was there, that he indeed lived the story from up close. Theend of his narration is just him being objective, a true observer like healways was, and overly protective of his experiences and the ones of hisfriends, sharing a story but not oversharing because of his morality and hisown personal ethics as an author.” The older man had managed to read behind thelines and his spot on theory had Betty biting on her lip nervously andfrowning, expecting Jughead to not be able to hold his calm this time.

However, his control neverfazed. Instead, he even looked amused. “Wow, never heard of that one before.Most people think that the whole story is just a man’s reverie on his deathbedor the wishful thinking of some lonely and borderline mentally unstable vagrantthat wants to be accepted and a part of a community, of a family.” He went onincredulously, holding back the urge to roll his pretty blue eyes. “I’m sorrybut I’m gonna stay true to my character and not proceed to any revelations thathe wouldn’t want me to share.” Laconic and intimidating, Jughead drew a line in the cleverestway possible, causing Betty to grimace in appreciation.

Larry King smiled. “What aboutBecca, the girl next door? She’s the most loved character amongst the hordes ofyour fans. What’s the magic recipe behind creating such a fan-favoritecharacter?”

Question number twenty six.Here we go, Betty thought in delight that she was correct yet again, butactually fighting with the urge to bite on her nails anxiously at the state ofuneasiness Jughead was at the moment. He cleared his throat, trying toprioritize his thoughts despite the fact that with just a small mention ofBetty Cooper every logical order got thrown out of the window. Betty opened hermouth to recite along with him the scripted answer he had for this question buthe yet again surprised her.  

“You said it yourself, it’s magic.” Jughead colored the worldwith a disbelieving huff and a head over heels smile. “Honestly, when I thinkabout Becca Cupper this is what comes to mind; imperfection at its finest.”Gasping, Betty fisted the front of her blouse at the sound of the words and theanticipation for more. “She is this strong, wonderful young woman and she isimperfectly perfect. But that’s the beauty of her whole magnetic character. Sheis a field of sunflowers and a sky of thunderstorms at the same time, a forceof nature that can mesmerize you and intimidate you in equal amounts. Nobodywould survive without her, nobody wants to survive without her. She is theepitome of kindness, forgiveness, strength, compassion, feminism, acceptance,but most of all she is the epitome of love. A purified love, a love that isunconditional and irrevocable. And no one can do anything but love her,unconditionally and irrevocably.” Jughead finished his perfect speech,momentarily darting his shy eyes to the camera to address her fully, Bettybeing at the verge of tears at his incredible words but most of all at his over-allincredible character. Betty was lucky; she knew that much from the first timeshe caught him looking at her from the doorway of Pop’s.

“By how you’re worshippingyour heroine, I assume this is Jay Jones’ dream woman too?” the interviewersmiled lovingly. “Or maybe she is not a dream after all and maybe you do haveyour very own girl next door in your life…?”

“Well, maybe I do.” He droppedhis head in modesty, still not believing how the heck he had got so lucky withher. “One that makes even my wildest dreams, a reality.” His smile washonest, genuine and warm and his eyes held that head over heels gaze that madeBetty weak in the knees in an instant.

“Isn’t that thetrue importance of it all?” the older man wondered out loud, sharing a smilewith Jughead before he turned to address the audience once again. “We’ll discussmore with Jay regarding writing inspiration and the industry of publishingright after this.” The show’s theme tune burst out of the speakers signalizingthe start of another round of commercials and Betty dropped back on the couch,looking at the ceiling and smiling like an idiot. His original answer, the onethey kept rehearsing over and over again, was cute and still flattering butthis was something else, a spontaneous act of love and a shot right through theheart that left her giggly, utterly in love and sixteen once again.

Apparently peoplethought Jay Jones’ love declaration was something right out of the pages of themost romantic book ever written too because the #GirlNextDoor was trending for thewhole night.

Jughead came home to a darkand silent apartment as he let the door close behind him with a soft click andhis keys rattle inside the silver décor bawl they kept keys and otherlast-minute things in on top of the set of drawers by the door. Abandoning hismessenger bag next to it and kicking his oxford shoes off recklessly, he shreddedhis beige jacket off his shoulders while sock covered feet brought him lazilyto the living room, blue eyes adorably heaving with fatigue but still alertenough to go on a hunting mission for his blonde angel. The frown lines on hisforehead, him being slightly confused by the radio silence that greeted him andnot her warm embrace and loving words, immediately softened once he spotted heron the couch, deliciously sprawled on the puffy pillows in an old, brownJurassic Park t-shirt of his and just a pair of cheeky, lacey Eton bluepanties, a long leg in delightful display as it lay lightly hitched and overher other wool blanket covered one. Eyelashes resting on rosy cheeks and pinkvoluminous lips parted in a cute little pout, she was dreaming away peacefully,hand still armed with the TV remote control as faint sounds of his voice couldbe heard from the flat screen across her, his previous interview being playedover and over again for her to enjoy. Jughead couldn’t help by smile, thatcontent, lovesick smile he reserved exclusively for Betty Cooper, at heradorably disheveled state but mostly at the swelling feeling of happiness thatemerged in his chest at the thought that she was proud of him, she loved himand she would be always there to wait for him to come home.

Dropping his jacket to one oftheir vintage armchairs, he quietly sat next to her on the couch and let thepads of his fingers feather-lightly brush against her cheekbone in affection,brushing away some threads of hair that fell rebelliously from her messy bunatop her head. His smile became wider once she scrunched her nose prettily andstirred awake, disorientated green eyes turning alert and alit upon spottinghim all sweet and terribly handsome in the dark.

“You’re back.” She cooedsweetly and with the most delighted smile, fisting the material of his bluebutton-up a little over his elbows, coaxing him to lean forward and rest hischest against hers.

“I told you I wasn’t stayingin New York without you.” He was adamant to stay the night at a hotel and takea plane back to Boston early in the morning; his place was at home and home waswhere Betty lay. She smiled pleased and in love, caressing up his biceps forher arms to curl behind his neck, holding him captured in her embrace.

“Ronnie is mad at you. Shewanted to relive crazy college nights with you tonight.” The girl in his armsteased with a humorous grin. The three of them together had spent their collegeyears in New York and the Lodge heiress was starting to miss them terribly nowthat the couple was mapping up their life in Boston. So during an hours-long skypecall that the two young women had after the interview was over, the brunettecity girl was very vocal about her comic irritation at the disrespect ofJughead Jones turning her and her excellent night out planning skills down again,after congratulating Betty for her amazing hubby,as Veronica kept calling him all those years.

“Yeah, I know, I gathered thatmuch from the phone call she paid me the minute I landed in New York.” Jugheadretorted in his usual deadpanned manor, making her giggle faintly. “Firstly,you were the one satisfying her city girl antics for a good clubbing night backthen, never me, and secondly, sorry, I’m still sane enough to know better thanfollow Veronica Lodge into a night trip in the city of sin.” He scoffed like hewas offended. Yes, the two of them had grown closer through the years and heconsidered her one of his closest friends now but still her type ofentertainment wasn’t his cup of tea.

Betty shook her head inamusement. “She loved you in that interview though; said, and I quote, that youkicked some serious butt. Archie and Kevin think so too.” She kept running herfingers through his hair as she spoke, loving how he relaxed and destressedunder her touch, and loving more the messy hair look he had created over thecourse of the day. His waves weren’t anymore styled as she had done thismorning and that made him even more irresistible in her eyes.

“Saw their texts when I got ina taxi here.” The two boys had texted him a hurricane of kind and supportivewords at how incredible he had been in his maiden appearance on screen thatactually left Jughead smiling besides himself, especially at Archie’saffection-oozing message and the words ‘brother’ and ‘proud’ he read amongst his flattering others. “Ican’t believe everyone actually tuned in to watch.” He raised his eyebrowsincredulously, clearly surprised, because as he kept joking on and on the weeksprior to the show he truly did believe that the ratings of tonight’s broadcastwould be the lowest of the season, if not of the entire history of television.

“You have devoted stans now,mister, you better get used to it.” She tilted her chin up proudly, tapping hischin in fake warning. “There was also a gathering of equally hyped stans inRiverdale, did you know about that?” Seeing him shaking his head no andscoffing a laugh in disbelief, Betty went on. “Yeah, apparently there was thisbig audience watching at my mom’s; your dad was there, Fred and Hermione,Polly. Even Jason and Lizzie stayed up passed their bedtime to watch cool uncleJug’s television debut.” Jughead chuckled at that and Betty joined him, theyoung author not quite believing that everyone came together to witness him ofall people do something great but the realization seemed to intensify theperpetual lovely smile he was sporting all the way back to Boston.

“Mom even called to gush aboutyou and your articulacy and your brightly opinioned mind, but what’s new inthat?” she rolled her eyes in fake irritation, an on-going inside joke betweenthem through the years that Alice Cooper loved Jughead more than her owndaughters. He ducked his head in modesty at the complimentary impression thewoman responsible of bringing his other half to the world had for him from thevery start. “Said she’ll call tomorrow to talk to you in person too.” Bettypointed out with an exasperated sigh, not at all mad but, on the contrary,delighted and just teasing him as always about how in too deep in Alice’s goodbooks he was.

He just dropped his foreheadon hers, sighing in relief that he actually didn’t make a fool of himself, thatpeople were proud of him for the very first time. There was this deliciouslysuffocating feeling in his chest, that kind of feeling that life was actuallywinking at him, promising that everything was going to be just fine. Afteryears of him walking around lonely and uncared for, he now had a family, a big familyconsisting of people that loved him and would be there for him for every stepof the way and that was the ultimate happy ending he ever wished for. A happyending that he could witness taking form every day, with every look of love outof those green eyes that held the meaning of his existence. Yes, people wereproud of him; but what mattered most was always the opinion of the first familyhe ever came to know, Betty Cooper and the sanctuary of her love and embrace.

“And what did you think?” hewhispered unsure and vulnerable, because this novel was a part of his soul andtalking about it out in the open was as nerve-wracking as the very first nighthe gave it to her, stripping naked of each and every emotion he held for her inhis broken heart and offering everything for her to take.

“Are you seriously asking thisquestion?” she cupped his cheek, raising his head to look at her, sea of bluegetting lost in forest green in the most beautiful exchange of love anddevotion. “You were amazing, Jughead. Unique, respectful, intelligent and so terribly handsome.” She colored everyword with tenderness and determination, wanting him to know that she meant all ofit and so much more, feeling him visibly relax against her and sneaking hisarms between her back and the couch to cuddle her tighter. “You don’t even knowhow irritated and sad I am that I missed it.” She sighed in regret, stillbeating herself up for having an icy-hearted boss.

“Betts, you would have gottenfired if you pushed the subject of a leave more.” Jughead cut her off with afierce shake of his head. “There’s not only one of us building a career here,you are too, and you must pursue the hell out of it.” He reminded like theperfect boyfriend and guy he was, Betty smiling up at him in gratitude. “Seriouslybabe, stop worrying about it, I know that you wanted to be there. But you werethere for every step of the way before that and you will be there for thenext ones to come, so ease your pretty little head off, okay?” his soothingvoice urged her to relax, brushing the tip of his nose a couple of times overhers, before smiling against her already smiley lips. “Plus, I wouldn’t be ableto utter even a single word if you were standing there watching in person soit’s a win-win.” He shrugged matter-of-factly and Betty giggled lightly, bothof them clearly remembering how distracted and flushed he became every time hecaught her eyes watching him with admiration through the crowd at his first andonly book launch event in Boston. Jughead Jones still got tongue-tied like hissixteen year old self under the power of those crystal clean green orbs.

“So, you do love your girlnext door, don’t you?” she cheekily asked in a candy cane voice, squirmingadorably under him to hug him more.

“I thought we’ve establishedthat by now.” He replied with equal amount of sarcasm seeing her smile growfonder and more dashing. “The question is, did I win her affections back?”

Betty tilted her head againstthe cushion of the sofa, a sigh trembling on her lips at the way he stillsought her confirmation of love after all those years and the way her chestheaved with maddening, head over heels adoration every single time he did. “Becca pulled back and sighed heavily againsthis still parted lips, the force of her kiss causing the course of the planetsinside his mind to change in lightning speed, disturbing the perfect dullnessof his universe. “You taught me what it truly means to fall in love, Bughead. Idon’t wanna settle for less, I can’t settle for less, not after you. I love you.”Betty recited perfectly the lines of his book, quoting every word she haddeclared that night at end of sophomore year when he tried to flee town like amad man, after he had broken down inside her arms as everything around them wascrumbing down. She still meant those words and he knew it, knew that they wouldalways be together, Betty and Jughead being the definition of forever in theirpersonal dictionary of life.

Jughead’s lips formed ananosecond smile at the memory and the way her words and his were mingledperfectly on her lips before Betty continued, eyes focused solemnly on his. His previous words, his public declaration of love and confession of how truly one of a kind she was in his eyes, had stirred something in her, something that commanded her to shower him with her own words of affection. “There’sno one in the world like you, Juggie. You see the world in a way that no oneelse does. And your version of the world is the only one that I want to picturemyself in for all the years to come.” Her hands came to caress his cheekslovingly, Jughead relishing in her touch with fluttering eyes and a flutteringheart. “I can’t even find the words to describe how much I love you, how myheart skips a beat every time I wake up and you’re lying next to me, how Ican’t help but smile every time I hear you whistling in the kitchenabsentmindedly, how I just have to stop and stare whenever you’re typing deepin thought or how butterflies still flutter in my chest every time you look atme with that intense gaze you only reserve for me.” Both of them were seriousand emotional by now, Betty’s voice barely over a whisper in fear of disrespectingthe sanctity of the moment. “You are the person that I admire the most, my bestfriend, my soulmate, my everything in a world of nothing. I never liked beingthe girl next door. But you came along and made that a badge of beauty andhonor and all I ever want now is to be that girl, but only if this door leadsme always to you.” She ended her confession with a trembling but at the sametime certain voice, seeing him look at her like the moon or the stars werenothing in comparison to her.

“Marry me.” Jughead blurted inbarely a heartbeat, mind numb and heart thudding in his chest, not reallyregistering the importance of his question because for him that wasn’t aquestion, he already considered her his everything too; his best friend, hissoulmate, his wife, his person, his own anchor.

Betty’s gasp and blinking wateryeyes were the prettiest reaction he had ever witnessed in his life. “Yes.” Shereplied in simplicity too, like agreeing to them having burgers instead ofsomething healthier for dinner or reassuring him that there was plenty of hotwater for him to take a shower. There was no question, no need for any biggestures or extreme shocked reactions, no thinking about it, like there was noneed for the earth second guessing its centuries old rotation or for the sun torise in the sky at every crack of dawn.

The boyish smile that curledJughead’s lips was the most content and the most make-you-weak-in-the-knees onethat Betty had ever seen him sporting. “God, I love you so much.” He breathedin a disbelieving chuckle before crashing his smiley lips against her damp fromsome rebellious happy tears ones, kissing her senseless and more than terriblyin love, like their life depended on it and they were coexisting because ofeach other’s breathing. And that was maybe indeed the case with them.

“Take me to bed, JugheadJones, and make love to me until I’m gasping for breath and the only thought inmy mind is your beating heart against mine.” Betty pleaded lovingly against hisalready bruised lips, wanting to get completely lost inside of him, the mostwonderful man she got to call hers.

“Is this a wife’s order?” hesmirked against her own red and irritated lips, feeling like the luckiest manon earth at that very moment and vowing to give her everything she ever wantedand so much more.

“Say that again.” Betty’swhisper caressed and warmed his whole face with its tenderness, the girl of hisdreams melting at the sound of the word spilling lovingly out of his lips.

“My wife.” Jughead repeated, husky and with his usual devotionregarding anything Betty Cooper, his eyes caressing every inch of herstunningly beautiful face, falling a little more in love with her at how evenmore breathtaking she looked radiating utter happiness and sunshine in the dark.

She kissed him again,intimately and affectional, heart drumming way too much for her to form actualwords, squealing into the kiss happily as he raised on his feet abruptly,bringing her up with him and causing her to curl arms and legs around him in atight koala hug. And as he continued ravishing her lips while making his way totheir bedroom only one thing was more certain than the power of their love;that Betty and Jughead wasn’t just a happy ending of a book but of an entirelifetime.

[cardiaccadillac]

A fic for @kittycat-cas who helped with the brainstorming ;) We were thinking about the kind of training Kendricks might involve, among other things how to lie convincingly. They do have a pretty top secret operation going on.

Polygraph

Summary: Before he can graduate Kendricks, part of 18-year-old Arthur Ketch's training requires him to pass a polygraph test.

Maybe part one of more, but for now is a standalone.

(AO3)

“Arthur.”

Hess’ voice is harsh, immediately grabbing Ketch’s attention as he makes his way through the corridors of Kendrick’s east wing. He turns, body stiffening as he addresses her. “Ma’am?”

She gives a sharp jerk of her head, expression stern. “Come.”

She turns to pace in the opposite direction and, confused though he is, Ketch obediently follows. Class starts in five minutes, but if the school's principal has other business with him, he finds himself wondering what's so important that she's making him miss it. They soon reach the part of the school off-limits to students, and Ketch swallows nervously as she leads him through the heavy wooden door to the staff quarters, then further on to an office. The room is small, unusually plain considering the ornate architecture of the rest of the building. Inside, a man in a suit is sat at a table, laptop open in front of him and several wires connected to instruments branching off. There are three chairs: two office-style swivels beside the computer, and one plain wooden hard-backed one opposite.

“Sit,” Hess says curtly, nodding at the wooden chair.

Ketch crosses over to it, but can’t help but let his confusion show. “Ma’am? What’s this about?”

“That isn’t for you to ask.” She fixes him with an admonishing look. “Now, sit.”

The man by the computer cuts in. “Jacket off first, if you don’t mind,” he says. “And the shoes.”

Ketch slips off his Kendricks blazer followed by his oxfords, then takes an uncomfortable seat in the chair. His mouth has gone dry.

Hess watches him closely as the technician takes the instruments from the table and begins to clip two tubes to his shirt, one running across his chest and the other just below his ribs. He then slips a blood pressure cuff around Ketch’s upper arm, securing it tightly, before finally asking him to rest a hand on the table so he can fit sensors to Ketch’s fingertips.

Ketch swallows anxiously as he does so, the white dressing covering his fresh tattoo in plain view. He knows Hess sees it, but she doesn’t comment.

The man finishes securing sensors around Ketch’s index and ring fingers before returning to sit by the computer, the screen hidden from view. Ketch has figured out by now they’re running a polygraph test. What he doesn’t know is why.

“Arthur, I’m going to ask you a series of questions,” Hess says. “All we ask is that you answer truthfully.”

Ketch swallows again. “Ma’am, if you please, could I at least know why I’m here?”

Her nostrils flare, and he immediately regrets asking the question. “I think you know, Arthur.”

Genuinely, he doesn’t, but he isn’t about to press the issue. Hess picks up a clipboard from the table and slips on a pair of reading glasses while the technician watches the screen. She perches the glasses on the end of her nose, making her look every inch the stern schoolmistress. “Now, let’s begin with something simple. Is your name Arthur James Wesley Ketch?”

Well, that is simple enough. He still doesn’t know what he’s doing here, but Ketch tries to breathe slowly to calm himself. He has nothing to hide. “Yes.”

She continues without a reaction. “Are you a student at Kendricks Academy currently in training to become a Man of Letters?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ask permission from your superiors before obtaining a tattoo on your right hand?”

Ketch grits his teeth. He didn’t, and there will be consequences for it, but right now he needs to show honestly. “No.”

“Have you been regularly engaging in sexual intercourse with Lady Antonia Bevell?”

That one catches him off guard. He pauses, swallows, then steels himself to answer, “Yes.”

“Did you lose your virginity to Lady Bevell?”

Fuck. That one’s a low blow. Ketch can feel his face burning, heart rate and breathing creeping higher despite his best efforts. “Ma’am…”

“Just answer the question, Ketch.”

Another pause. “No.”

He sees her raise a sceptical eyebrow, expression disapproving, and he knows he isn’t good enough to cheat the test. “Wait…” Ketch swallows as Hess fixes him with a piercing stare, then drops his gaze to the floor. “Yes.”

Hess doesn’t comment, moving straight onto the next question. “Have you ever entered restricted areas of Kendricks Academy without authorisation?”

“No.”

“Have you ever logged into a Kendricks staff computer with stolen credentials?”

“No…” This is the first question that genuinely confuses him. He waits for the next question to come, but then looks up to see Hess fixing him with a piercing stare. The technician turns to her, mumbles something, and Ketch can suddenly feel the thumping of his heart at his sternum. A bead of sweat trickles down his neck underneath his collar, which suddenly feels too tight.

“We know you’re lying, Arthur,” Hess says, and Ketch can feel the almost full-blown panic building in his chest.

“Ma’am, I swear I know nothing about this.”

She looks unimpressed. “Ketch, this is a serious matter. We need to know the truth. Did you break into staff quarters two days ago and download restricted files?”

He needs to stay calm. He knows he does. But he’s telling the truth and she doesn’t believe him. “No! I don’t even know what you’re talking about! If the machine is telling you otherwise, it’s wrong.”

Hess rises from her seat, glare fixed in place, and strides over to him. “This is grounds for immediate expulsion, Ketch. Though, we appreciate honesty. We would be prepared to be more lenient if you tell us the truth.”

Fuck, but he’s hyperventilating. Expulsion. No. No, that can’t happen…

“Ma’am, I swear…” He looks up at her, pleading. “I would never.”

“Last chance, Arthur.”

Oh fuck. What is there to lose? “Alright, I did it!” he lies, desperate. His heart hammers manically. “I hacked the computer.”

There’s a pause. Hess peers down at him, watching his flushed face as gasps for breath, then reaches down and rips the tubes from the front of his shirt. “Disappointing,” she says, a note of disgust in her voice, and Ketch feels his throat has gone tight. “There was no break in at the staff quarters,” she says as she roughly removes the BP cuff from his arm. “This was a test. The first part of your training in how to pass a polygraph test.”

Ketch blinks, mind racing as his body tries to catch up. “You...made it all up?”

She finishes off pulling the senses from his fingers then strides back to her seat. “Of course I did. Pull yourself together, Arthur. This was all a test to establish how you would respond in a stressful situation, and I must say, you performed poorly.”

Ketch flushes crimson again, and bows his head. He supposes he did, and he’s embarrassed.

“Has your sniper training taught you nothing?” Hess continues, accusatory. “You should have better control over your emotions; more discipline with your breathing and heart rate. You allowed yourself to panic.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ketch mutters, forcing himself to look at her again. He’s let her down. Not to mention let himself down, and he hates it.

“You’ll report back here tomorrow at 9am to begin your formal training,” Hess orders, and the look of disappointment in her face stings. “That will be all. Get back to class, Arthur.”

Ketch nods and collects his jacket and shoes before exiting the room, not putting them back on until he’s back out on the corridor. Fuck, he curses himself, face still burning too hot despite the immediate panic being over. It was so obvious, and he should have known.

At least Hess had been wrong about his sniper training: he was learning well, even if he’d momentarily forgotten it all in a moment of stupid fucking panic. He flattens a hand over his chest as he takes a deep, calming breath, then presses two fingers to his carotid and times his pulse as he tries to calm himself down. It takes him under two minutes to bring his heartbeat back to a normal rate, body temperature cooling as his sweat evaporates and the flush in his cheeks fades.

He’s okay. It will be okay. He’ll show up to training tomorrow and he’s going to be the damn best in the class, just as he is with everything else.

Only once he’s convinced himself of that does Ketch head back out into the hallways to finally get to class.

[hiddenpuncher]

My First Game Jam: Winter 2017

Here we go again!

Over the next two weeks (January 7th - January 21st) I'll be making a game for My First Game Jam: Winter 2017. This will actually be my second game jam, so please, nobody call the police. In spite of the title, the jam invites complete beginners and experienced programmers alike, so long as the latter try something new. I'm still a beginner, but I'll honour that agreement and strive to try new things this time around. Aside from learning new things and making a new kind of game, one of those new things I'll be trying is to keep a development blog. This will be it.

The first game I made was "Boyle and Bubble" a very short little SHMUP for GBJAM 5, which spanned the first ten days of October 2016. It's incredibly simple, but I learned a lot in creating and finishing it; I'd fooled around a little with prototypes before, but never "released" anything that could be called a game. Before I get started on this next game I'd like to take note of what I learned in my first game jam, and keep it in mind going forward.

No matter what, just start

Get going! Boyle and Bubble grew really organically, and I'm not sure if this is because I got very lucky, or if I it was because I didn't have any grand designs in mind to begin with, and just played around and let it happen. I built a game around realistic restrictions I observed about my own skill and the conditions of the jam; the art had to be simple, I am terrible at making engines for platformers, and it had to feel like something that could have existed on the Game Boy. It also helped that GBJAM 5 happened to fall in the run up to Hallowe'en, so there were a lot of pumpkins and ghouls and skellies flying around social media. I realised a SHMUP would make movement easier on me, and I idly started to pixel a small cutesy witch.

From that point, everything came together pretty simply -- a witch typically has a cauldron and casts spells, so the enemies became elemental, and the player had to mix up elements in her cauldron to come up with new magic. Granted, this is an incredibly simple premise, and it didn't birth a ground-breaking new type of gameplay, but going in without a colossal set of expectations and goals was really liberating. There was only a week to work with, and a simple concept like that seemed to work.

Releasing feels good

Most of the reason I'm taking part in this jam, aside from to learn something new, is quite frankly to release something, and get that buzz. I still have lots of prototypes lying around, but since the end of GBJAM 5 I've been committed to working on a new game that I think has a manageable scope that I still know will take me a good deal of time to complete. Sometimes I can feel myself burning out working on it, and I'm eager to find reasons to go back and work on other projects -- maybe now I know this, I can do this better, or maybe so-and-so project didn't fail that badly, if I just try something like this... So a game jam is a great compromise. A set period of time when I can focus on something outwith my long term project, and happily draw a line under it when the deadline comes around. I'll get back to my larger project, but I'll have that wonderful Game Finished And Released feeling.

Plan small, and then resmallerise it

Talking about the size of my current project brings me to the next point - size.  Planning simple and planning small are key. Certain ideas lend themselves better to jams than others. Boyle and Bubble in some ways suited a jam really well, but less so in others. In the game you can play now, there's a singular level, but I spent so much of the week programming and making consistent the elemental combination system and plugging in all the different spells that I didn't have time to build all the levels and enemies and bosses necessary to showcase those spells. All of that code exists in the game, but playing through the only level on offer, you'll never see it. I had to settle for letting you choose to use two elements separately, or combine them depending on the circumstances. My plan was small going in, but even so, planning smaller still wouldn't have hurt.

Prototype core mechanics first

This is going to seem like a silly thing to even have to say, but I have to say it, if only to myself. I talked about how Boyle and Bubble grew organically from the restrictions and spriting the player character, but even that was probably a mistake. It helped that the Game Boy limitations meant my art was never going to have to be super complex, but a square box would have suited for pretty much every enemy in the game until much later.

More importantly, Boyle and Bubble had no failure condition for the majority of development, so "playtesting" really was just to see if enemies behaved according to plan. The player couldn't take damage from enemies or projectiles, so there was no incentive to move evasively -- a pretty core mechanic in a SHMUP, second only arguably to, you know, "shooting 'em up". Since there was no threat, playing the game only began to feel like actually 'playing a game' much later. I floated through the levels and saw how movement patterns worked and how projectiles behaved, but the feel of the game was missing for a long time. Had I been playtesting with player death for a great deal more of the development, the game might have felt very, very different earlier on, and probably for the better. The simplest form of the final game is what should be built first.

Budget time around the smallest features with the biggest impact

Hit points! Damn it! Closer to the deadline for GBJAM 5, I started doing my best to budget my time accordingly. With two days to go, I was taking a look at my "development log" (notepad file filled with annotations like "FIX!!" and "this is bad, probably do this like this") and being pretty brutal about what to cut and what to prioritise. It's the reason why the game only features one level, limited enemies, attacks, etc. But even though this was good practice, I still managed to goof colossally.

With about 20 minutes until the deadline and the itch.io page all filled out and ready for the upload, I was almost finished, but had to choose between two things to finish. I'd wanted for a while to program in a three-hit HP system to make the game a little more lenient, but I also had no way to round the game out. There was a boss, and he had an attack cycle, and you could defeat him and he blew up, but then nothing happened. I knew what should happen -- Boyle should glide slowly over to the right of the screen, her adventure complete, fade to black, credits roll. That's how a game should end. So that's what I did. I shelved the HP system ("hey, at least the player can die and restart") and plugged in a way to take control from the player after the boss is defeated, float them over to the right side of the screen, and whipped up a quick credits reel. Boyle hovers up top and waves to you as the names scroll up, and then it boots you to the main menu. Fine! Good. But this was a mistake.

Considering how few people played the game, it really couldn't afford to turn people off quickly. Getting hit by an enemy and being told to restart is a pretty good way to lose patience with a game, I think, and not only that but the threat of taking damage persisted through the level -- the credits sequence was good for a few moments at the end of the game. It wasn't a good trade-off. I don't know that anybody else ever saw them. Four of the five comments people kindly left as feedback for the game reference how unforgiving it was to have a one-hit kill mechanic in the game. One even notes that they were disheartened to die in one hit the moment they encountered the boss.

The ultimate gut-punch here is that on the day after the jam ended I opened the project file back up and carried on tinkering. I'd planned on taking a break, but I couldn't get out of the habit after a week of working on the game religiously. I knew the game should have the three HP system, even before the feedback, so I looked into it. It turned out to be incredibly simple, and took me less than ten minutes to implement.

Don't neglect sound

Another small feature that would have dramatically changed the game was sound. In the run up to the game jam I'd read or watched something (I regret I can't remember whose advice this was) where this point was stressed -- not to neglect sound, because it makes such a big difference. I knew this going in, and told myself that there might be no music, but I would at least have time to whip up a few sounds in BFXR. In the end I cut sound as something to accomplish, and I wish I hadn't -- I went to the trouble of adding particle effects and little explosions and a couple of animations that sound would have really spiced up, even without music.

I wasn't particularly concerned with "winning" GBJAM 5, but I was surprised how well the game did in a few categories (visuals especially), but you can see from a quick breakdown of the categories that having no sound really made a difference. The best score you can possibly honestly give for a game with no sound is a middling one -- that's taking a generous view, with the approach that "well the sound wasn't good or bad", but I think really the score you give to a game with no sound is the lowest possible score.

I deprioritised sound in order to play to my (relative) strengths. I knew I could just about program the game, and I can make very simple pixel art, but with sound, I have no experience. In some ways maybe this wasn't such a bad thing, but again, there's a catch; immediately after the jam ended, I was surprised that people actually approached me over social media offering to give the game a soundtrack. I had thought of working on the jam as such a personal project (and knew well enough people from all discipline's loathing of being asked to work for free, or worse, for "exposure") that I made peace with the idea that if I can't do it, it won't be in my game. The generosity of strangers really caught me off-guard.

Don't neglect your health, either

Budgeting time is important to get your game finished, but you have to budget the time in the day to keep yourself going, too. I made some duff decisions on what to cut from the game, but I think in some ways they were excusable because it meant I finished the game. But I cut time out of my routines outwith programming that simply aren't sustainable -- I stopped running for that week and ate very badly, because it was easier than taking time out to cook smart meals, and an hour out for a run was an hour I could spend bugfixing. I was glued to my screen, and pretty much the only social contact I had was a stalwart friend who was practically responsible for safeguarding my brain and keeping me sane as I stared at code for hours and hours on end. This was okay for a week, I think, but I don't plan on doing it again, even for just the two week span of MyFirstGameJam.

Game development fridge magnet wisdom is actually really, really good

If these nuggets all seem incredibly familiar, I'm sure it's because they have been expressed (much more effectively) in a hundred other lists like this. Derek Yu's "Finishing a Game" probably covers everything here and more, and it's all really great advice. His book on Spelunky was also really insightful and helpful to read. Following Tom Francis's development of both Gunpoint and Heat Signature and learning from his "Make A Game With No Experience" series and dev logs helped me a ton, too. I probably couldn't cite all the sources that I try to keep in mind when fiddling around with a little prototype -- the almost zen koan-status game design wisdom of Miyamoto Shigeru, that one Mega Man X Sequelitis episode, Mark Brown's really insightful Game Maker's Toolkit series, and so many others. All this is really just to say Take Advice From Smart People, You Dummy.

Show people your game, and talk to other people that make games

This was the #1 thing learned -- show off your game on social media, and find other people making games there too. I dislike a lot about social media platforms and what fills them, but I met so many amazing people that were super supportive, and offered advice and feedback. Also, as a complete novice, everyone was like a mentor to me, even if indirectly; watching much more experienced devs create amazing games alongside my own efforts was much less off-putting than I would have thought, and actually just inspiring. It was really gratifying for some reason to see titles I'd seen in development on Twitter (Bob&Dob! Soulstice! Zero Star! Noru! Monster Buds! Zipper League Hockey!) appear as fully-fledged games on-site on the final day. Also, to reiterate an earlier point, Twitter was the medium through which people offered to pitch in with sound and music post-release. People coming out of the wings to support you is amazing.

If nothing else, game jams are the ideal way to get as many hands as possible on your work. Boyle and Bubble has only been downloaded something like 40 or 50 times, but this is way more people than would ever have played my first game otherwise. Feedback is incredibly important to learn lots of important lessons early on in any discipline, and jams really foster that. That was fantastic to experience, and I'm looking forward to it again.

With that said, My First Game Jam: Winter 2017 is well underway, and I have lots to do. Next time I post, a brand new baby prototype will have been born.

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