#ive torn the car my house and my backpack looking for this thing

[archivedbyebye]

Lose something? No. I don't lose stuff. My things just take vacations in the empty void of hell without my permission.

They also don't bring me any souveners, so that's my stuff for you. Lost, and ungrateful.

[scoopsgf]

67 and 57 for the drabble challenge please

67. “You’re bleeding all over my carpet.” 

& 

57. “Just get home as soon as possible, okay?” 

-

He’s dying.

He’s totally, definitely dying.

Peter glances down at the blade buried hilt-deep in his side, just to be sure. He nods to himself. Well, at least it’s raining and he’s not going out on a nice, sunny day. That would just be rude.

“Hey Karen?”

Nothing, predictably. Her systems must have been fried when he’d been tased.

Peter really, seriously hates tasers.

He stumbles blindly toward the alleyway’s exit, clinging to the walls for support. He actually sticks to one when his knees give out which is—okay, he can handle this.

“Baby steps,” he whispers to himself. “Just a little further.”

It’s hard to tell how much blood he’s lost exactly, given his rain-soaked suit. There’s a dark crimson stain around the blade and that’s about all he can make out. For a second he contemplates pulling the knife out, but no. That’s the opposite of what you’re supposed to do, right? Isn’t that what May had said?

Peter aches to rip his mask off if only to breathe.

But of course he can’t. Sometimes secret identities really suck.

He rounds the corner and spies, to his relief, a pay phone. It’s covered in graffiti and surrounded by cigarette butts and narcotic needles but hey, a phone is a phone, and germs can wait when you’re dying, right?

Peter reaches for it before he realises, belatedly, that he doesn’t know Mr Stark’s number.

A fresh wave of terror engulfs him. God, he’s gonna die. He’s gonna die in some back alley with a knife sticking out of his side that reads Babycakes on the handle and no one is gonna find him until he starts to smell, and he doesn’t know Mr Stark’s number, and Karen is down and he’s gonna die.

He’s gonna die in spandex.

“Okay,” Peter mutters under his breath, “okay, Peter, think.”

No number. God, he doesn’t even have any change? What had he been thinking?

Peter pushes away from the phone. He glances at the knife again. “I can feel my mortal spirit dwindling. Oh ye god, why?”

If he’s gonna go out, he’s gonna do it in style.

Peter’s ears perk at the sound of a car horn honking. Then, an older man screeching out his window at the kids riding their bikes in the complex parking lot. A cell phone ringing.

A cell phone. His cell phone.

God, he’s an idiot.

All he has to do is find his backpack. If he can do that, he can get to his phone. With any luck neither of them have been stolen.

Oh, who is he kidding? They’ve both definitely been snatched up by now. It’s been three hours since he started patrol, the webbing has long since worn off. It would take a miracle and a half for them to still be tucked away behind that dumpster with Larry the cockroach on lookout duty.

Problem B: he can’t even remember where he left it. He doesn’t even know where he is.

Time is running out. He’s losing more and more blood and he doesn’t need Karen around to tell him that. He can literally feel it, like he’s half empty all the sudden, drained to the waist.

Still, he keeps moving. It takes seven precious minutes, but eventually Peter finds the right alley.

Miracles are real, as it turns out. He finds his backpack and phone right where he’d left them. Peter sinks to his knees in relief. The screen lights up and oh shit, his phone is closer to death than he is.

There are five missed messages from Tony.

Peter listens to the most recent one, heart pounding too slowly, too loudly; hands shaking, head light.

“Kid, listen, I’m starting to freak out a little. Your vitals were dropping and then the readings just stopped and I—I’m going out looking for you, but if you hear this, just—just get home as soon as possible, okay?”

Okay.

Sure.

Peter might be rapidly losing blood and fighting off black spots and literally dying, but—home?

Home as in May’s apartment? But May is double booked with shifts this week. Tony knows that. He knows because he’s letting Peter stay over at the tower until things are less hectic, but like… just because he’d made Peter up a room and also served him homemade pancakes in bed this morning, that doesn’t mean the tower is, like, home, right?

But what else could he mean?

“Wow, this is way too heavy for me to think about right now,” Peter whispers to himself, stashing his now dead-phone away (yay, how convenient). He puts his backpack on and checks his webshooters. There’s just enough to get to the tower from here.

Hopefully. Probably.

He sets off.

The rain has kicked up to a storm by the time Peter makes it to the tower. Thunder rumbles as he practically plonks against the window of the topmost floor. It’s always so hard to stick when he’s wet, so he’s careful as he scales the glass.

His bedroom window is open, just like he’d left it. The balcony is wet and inside it’s freezing cold, but at least he’s not getting actively rained on anymore.

Peter has to practically drag himself from his room to the MedBay. The lights turn on automatically as he enters, too bright and harsh for his eyes.

He hauls himself up onto the nearest gurney. “Hey FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“Where’s uh… where’s Tony?”

“He’s on his way back right now. I notified him of your return.”

“Cool,” Peter croaks, “thank you.”

“It was my pleasure. His ETA is thirty seconds.”

Peter nods. He swings his legs as he waits, feeling too much like a tired little kid. He hangs his head, hands curled around the edge of the gurney.

“You bled all over my carpet.”

“I think you mean our carpet,” is the first thing out of Peter’s mouth.

Whatever. Being loose-lipped is definitely a side-effect of imminent death.

Tony shakes his head and as he approaches, his suit breaks apart into particles. The bites return to their housing unit and only three seconds later, it’s like they were never there at all.

Tony sits on one of those backless wheeling doctor chairs and slaps his knees. “So, what seems to be the issue, Mr Parker?”

“Oh you know,” he shrugs, “your standard impalement. Plus like… a lot of blood loss. Probably.”

“Uh-huh. Do me a favour and lose the leotard, would you?”

“You’re making fun of your own merchandise, you know.”

“Hey, I’m just the mechanic. Now chop chop, Pete. Suit.”

Peter presses the spider emblem at the centre of his chest. The suit deflates and peeling it down to the wound is easy enough. Tony tells him not to go any farther just yet.

“The mask, kiddo?”

Peter blinks stupidly up at Tony. “Right,” he whispers, and hopes that the unfiltered light won’t blind him, or worse, make him cry.

He peels it off. It’s worse than worse: blindness and crying.

“Woah, woah, what’s up, kiddo?”

Peter shakes his head. “S’too… too much.”

If he weren’t so out of it, he’d be mortally embarrassed when his first instinct is to reach for Tony and bury his face in the crook of his mentor’s neck, where it’s warm and safe and dark.

“Well okay then,” Tony says. “This isn’t a hug, right? You’re just using me for a blindfold?”

Peter nods, sniffling. He’s so tired and it feels like his brain is full of air and everything is so cold.

“Alright, let’s get you hooked up to an IV and we’ll balance out those fluids, how’s that sound? Then I’ll stitch up the stab wound. Just remember that before we return to our regularly scheduled programming, you’re getting a lecture.”

“You could kill two birds with one stone and yell at me while you stitch me up?”

“Nah, too much to think about. I like my sutures pretty, not crooked. Stay there, eyes closed, I’ll be right back.”

When Tony leaves it’s like something is being ripped away from Peter. He feels hollow, he feels frozen. Still he sits with his eyes shut tight and strains to hear the footsteps of his mentor: distant, then approaching once more, finally close enough that Peter can reach out to lean on him again.

Tony doesn’t say anything. Peter doesn’t know what to make of that. In a way, it scares him, but his brain is too foggy to really focus on why. There’s just a feeling of underlying unease.

“Little prick here,” Tony warns, as the IV needle goes in. “Alright, now for the knife.”

It’s a tricky business, especially given their positioning, but not once does Tony ask Peter to move. He pulls out the knife and Peter bites back a sob. After that it’s just frigid hard air in the wound, like an aggravated bee sting.

Tony hums to himself as he works.

Peter wonders if he even realises he’s doing it, or if he’s so focused he can’t hear anything but his own heartbeat. Sometimes Peter gets like that, zeroes in so much on a chemistry project or experiment that Ned can say his name eight times before he actually hears it.

“Almost done,” Tony says suddenly. Peter nods against his shoulder.

A few minutes later and finally the gentle pulling sensation at Peter’s side stops. Tony puts a bandage over the wound. “Brilliant, show-stopping. Some of my best work. And Bruce said practising on bananas was a waste of time, shame on him.”

Peter can’t even smile. With every passing second more fresh blood is being pumped into his veins and he’s growing more and more lucid. The humiliation is beginning to wax, the embarrassment, the second guessing and anxiety. God, he’s been clinging to Tony like some lost little kid for half an hour, crying silently onto his shoulder.

“Kiddo?”

Peter pulls back. He wipes his eyes. Blinks a few times, but it’s still too bright.

“FRI, lights at half percent, please?”

Immediately, Peter feels relief. It’s less like a glaring sun and more like a lamp without a shade. He wipes his cheeks dry and sniffs. “Sorry, Mr Stark.”

“Sorry? For what, almost dying? Yeah, well, I’m sure you are. It’s scary stuff, but it happens sometimes.”

Peter frowns. “I thought you said you were mad.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony shrugs. He doesn’t look at Peter as he carefully packs away his suturing kit. “Things change. How are you feeling?”

“A little better. Thanks for patching me up.”

“Hey, anything for my spider-baby,” Tony says easily, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Peter is torn between screaming or asking the thousand and one questions cropping up in his mind. He settles for staring stupidly. Tony catches this, tilts his head, and grins.

“So I take it you wanna talk about it?”

“What? What? Talk about that?”

“Me calling my home your home.”

“Oh, you—” Peter clears his throat. “Uh, I mean, if you want to.”

Tony sighs. Then he swings up onto the gurney to sit next to Peter. “I want you to feel welcome here. I want you to feel safe here. The rest of the team… well, suffice to say they don’t come around so much these days. You know that. But when they did, it sort of felt… Well, anyway. Just remember I’m always here. For you. And just always here in general. Seriously, I rarely leave, it’s frightening, actually—”

“Thank you, Mr Stark.”

Tony stops short. He nods. “Of course.”

“So… did I really ruin the carpet?”

“Oh yeah. Looks like a crime scene. It’s nice stuff too, imported from France—”

“Oh my god, seriously?”

“Seriously, but I figure a few more years as my indentured servant and you’ll work it off.”

Peter hangs his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Kid, what have we said?”

“‘I can’t hear you when you’re looking at your feet, Peter, for the love of god stop mumbling—’”

“The other thing.”

“Oh. Uh, stop it with the sorrys?”

“You got it.” Tony bumps their shoulders together. “Now come on, grab your little blood bag there and we’ll get some good old fashioned red meat into you. How do burgers sound?”

[fanfictionandstuff]

Secrets- Riverdale X Reader Chapter 4- The Last Picture Show

Fandom: Riverdale   

Warnings: Ms. Grundy and the clusterfuck that comes with that...<<also swearing apparently. 

notes: yikes ive been inactive for forever jfc oops SORRY!

word count: 3,500 (ish)

You woke up on the soft and worn blue fabric of your living room couch the soft evening light filtering through the window. Your phone was blasting your moms ringtone and her smiling face lighting up the screen. You groggily picked up the phone and hit the green 'answer' button 

"hey mom" you mumble still not 100% awake, you were not prepared for her this soon after waking up.

"Hey sweetie, how are you?" she greeted you chirpily, you groaned internally she wanted something 'sweetie' was a dead giveaway.

"I'm fine mom." you replied, sighing internally you just wanted her to get to whatever she wanted.

"Good, thats good...so I heard they found Jason Blossoms body...Sweetheart, I know it might be tempting to tell someone about your...ties to that family. But remember, you'll be ruining both our lives." your moms voice was almost happy and carefree, but there was definite worry under it, finally her reason for calling became clear.

Its not that your mom was a bad parent, but she was flighty and a bit self centered if it didn't suit her it wasn't an option and it had always been like that. When you were 12 she had left you for a month with a babysitter and gone to Rome for work. She tried she really did but she wasn't cut out for kids, honestly if you hadn't come along by accident your mother probably wouldn't have had kids. She was like the professional fun aunt, she was less flighty when you were a kid but something had changed when you were old enough to (kind of) take care of yourself and that was that. It stung a bit when it had first started happening but now you were just tired when it came to your mother.

"no mom. I haven't told anyone. I know the consequences."

"Good! lets keep it that way pumpkin, the Blossoms aren’t people you want to get mixed up with." she sighed with relief. 'pumpkin' was new. 

"Are you coming home soon?" you asked, knowing better than to ask about her comment about the Blossoms you didn't ask about your father and she didn't tell, you had learned that one young.

She breezed past your question. "I have to go (y/n), talk later!" and she hung up before you could even say goodbye. You hit the end call button and threw it at the foot of the couch, and covered your face with one of the navy throw pillows in a form of protest against everything.

You glanced at the wall clock and realized it was almost 6pm, and you were starving so you changed into fresh clothes grabbed your backpack and slipped out the front door. Locking it behind you and walked the few blocks to pops, the neon signs greeting you as you approached.

You walked through the door to find some of your friends already sitting there. Jughead was gesturing angrily as you grabbed a chair from a nearby table and pulled it up. "The Drive-in closing, its just one more nail in the coffin that is Riverdale! No. forget Riverdale. in the coffin of the american dream." Jughead was ranting, he was still doing the angry gesture thing outrage in his every word. "As the godfather of indie cinema,  Quentin Tarintino, likes to say--"

Kevin cut him off. "please, god, no more Quentin Tarintino references." "What? Im pissed. And not just about losing my job The Twilight drive in should MEAN something to us, people should be trying to save it!" Jughead continued his mini rant.

Veronica was next to chime in, "In this age of Netflix and VOD, do people really want to go watch a movie in a car? who even goes there?" “People who want to buy crack" Kevin added. 

"And cinephiles and car enthusiasts--" Jughead started listing off people who go to the twilight and you were the one to cut him off this time.

"I go." you chimed in, you had been a bunch of times when the house got too empty or you felt too isolated. You would take the old beat up pick-up from the garage and go to The Twilight. Just to be around people for awhile, and not have to worry about oversharing. considering everyone in the freaking town only wanted to gossip about the blossoms and Jasons murder.

"See (y/n) gets it! The Twilight drive in is a riverdale treasure, right Bets?" Jughead gestured at you and then turned to a very distracted Betty. She blinked a few times before nodded and smiling politely. "Totally."

"Anyway, its closing because the town owns it but didn't invest in it. so when an anonymous buyer made mayor McCoy an offer she couldn't refuse--" Veronica cut Jughead off again. "Anonymous buyer? What do they have to hide, No one cares." "I do!" Jughead retorted.

"I kind of do too, well more about the drive in closing than the person who bought it. I wont--" have anywhere to go when I cant deal with the big empty house.  "--I spend alot of time there." you catch yourself mid-thought. Jughead gives you that weird stare again like the first time you met in the gym. the weird 'I’m trying to figure you out not just looking at you' stare, after you chime in, and veronica and Kevin gave you half-hearted looks of curiosity.

Jughead breezed past it though. "Also, you guys should all come to closing night, Im thinking 'American Graffiti'. or is that too obvious?"

Veronica perked up at the slight topic change. "I vote anything starring Audrey Hepburn. Or Cate Blanchett." "Or the talented Mr.Ripley." Kevin added. "Betty, your choices?" Betty blinked like she had just woken up. "Everything OK, B?" Veronica asked. "Yeah, yeah. Im just thinking. um....Maybe 'Rebel without a cause?'" Everyone looked at you next, and you shrugged helplessly. "Rebel without a cause sounds good to me."

Veronicas mom came over and set down a basket of fried something or other in front of Veronica. Veronica smiled. "Thanks mom."

Kevin opened his mouth to bring up a new topic but was cut off by cheryl slamming her hand on top of Veronicas mothers a few tables over and glaring at her. "Be sure to put all* of that cash in the register. You are a Lodge, after all--" Veronica got up and started towards Cheryls table. "--and Lodges are known to have sticky fingers."

"oh no" you whispered under your breath. this had the possibility to be bad. "Cheryl." Veronica stated warningly, but her mother put up a finger to stop her.

"Honey I got this. Cheryl, I went to school with your mother. She didnt know the difference between having money and having class either." Veronica practically beamed with pride, while you tried to suppress a laugh at the look on Cheryls face. Veronica slid back into the booth just as the chime on the door jingled. 

Kevins eyes widened slightly, "now thats* an odd combo of people."  

The four of you followed kevins gaze and saw Archie, ms. Grundy, and Archies father walk through the door. "Ill be right back." Betty said while sliding out of the booth.

"Betty, no. dont." Jughead grabbed for Bettys arm but she was already on her way over to the group. You stared in confusion at Jughead and Bettys strong reaction to Archie and Ms.Grundy walking in together. She seemed nice enough, you didnt take any of her classes and didn't know her well you only really knew what Doily had revealed at the blue and Gold office. And then it clicked Archie had been AT Sweetwater river July fourth, and from what Dilton had told you so had Ms. Grundy, but you had never considered they were there together, that was so...oh god.

From the look of horror or shock on your face, Jughead seemed to follow your thought process and shot you a 'I'll explain later' look.

Kevin leaned back into his face his gaze flicking between you, Jughead, and Bettys retreating figure. "Wait, whats happening?" You and Jughead ignored him as you watched Betty and Archie exchange a few words and then head outside. You slid into Bettys now vacant seat next to Jughead to get a better view out the window. This was all about to come crashing down around Archies head, and like watching a trainwreck you couldnt look away. Even as unease and disgust was causing your stomach to flip.

"Whats happening out there? Do we know? Is it about me?" Veronica shot off rapid fire questions at Jughead as Kevin peered out the window. Jughead slumped down in his seat, his face contorted into unease. "I have a strong inkling and no, Also I'd let it go." "Yes, but you're you, and I'm me. You do you, girl. Ill be back." Veronica said while getting up from the booth with a lighthearted smile. "Veronica. You really should just let it drop." You added in an attempt to stop her from going.

Veronica just smiled at you mischievously and walked out the door into the parking lot. Jughead sighed and rolled his eyes. Kevin leaned in and looked at Jughead, "What was it like before she got here? I honestly cannot remember."

You laughed lightly, a slight hint of darkness clouding your eyes. "You mean Riverdale wasn't always straight out of a soap opera? Somehow I find that hard to believe." your words were dripping with sarcasm and a hint of bitterness.

Kevin just smiled awkwardly and turned his attention back to the window. You closed your eyes and leaned back into the vinyl of the seat and let out a long sigh. You were torn between just fleeing this insane town ASAP or punching Ms. Grundy in the face...or maybe just having her arrested...and then punching Archie in the face for once again being an idiot. All options sounded pretty good. When you opened your eyes Kevin was gone and Jughead was staring at you. "I'm not going to rat Archie out, Jughead. If thats what you're worried about somehow I think that would just hurt everyone worse." you offered quietly while switching to the other side of the booth.

"I wasn't worried about that. you just looked queasy." he replied. You sighed and ruffled a hand through your hair. "Student-teacher relationships Jughead. its sick. I know Archie is your friend, But its so, so,* wrong. And its all just about to get worse as far as I can tell." Jughead nodded and dropped his gaze down to the table. you grabbed a pen from the table and flicked it back and forth between your fingers, watching absentmindedly while it spun. An uneasy silence filled the air around the booth. "do you mind? if...if I hang out here for awhile longer? I dont want to go home yet." you asked quiety, your gaze on a small dent in the table. Jughead smiled, "As long as youre buying." he joked.

you grinned, "Paying you in food to hang out. its a little hookerish, but you have a deal Jones."

You grabbed your sketchbook that you had thrown in your backpack, and Jughead pulled out his laptop from his bag under the table. You both spent the next few hours in a comfortable silence, only talking occasionally to order a refill on a milkshake or get another round of food. At around 1am you finally had to tap out, your eyes were starting to close by themselves and it was getting harder for you to stay awake. You packed up your belongings and slipped on your jacket, Jughead looked up from his laptop. "Hey Jughead, I'm gonna head home now. My goldfish probably misses me." you smiled sleepily at your own semi-joke.

"Your goldfish, and not your parents?" Jughead asked. which would be a fair question, not many people would let their kid stay out so late.

"My goldfish is the only one missing me at home." you said quietly, your gaze averting from his. Jughead shut his laptop, before slipping it back into his bag.

"I know the feeling" Jughead said softly, his eyes cold. You didnt pry, it was obviously a touchy subject. So you grabbed your backpack and paid the tab the two of you had racked up shaking off the heavy tension, and headed towards the door, but Jugheads voice stopped you. "See you at school tomorrow (y/n)?" You smiled at him, "Count on it."

The next morning as you walked past the blue and gold offices an arm shot out and pulled you into the room. You stumbled and twirled around to see a nervous Betty wringing her hands, and waiting for you to get your bearings. "Betty! what the hell?" you said annoyed.

Betty looked around nervously before closing the door, "Sorry (y/n) I just need your help with something. I have something to tell you about Ms. Grundy and its--"

"That she and Archie are...dating?" you cut Betty off, cringing at the last word. She gaped at you, "You know about that?" You nodded, "I figured it out at pops the other night...wait, about that, is there something else?"

Betty walked over to her computer and gestured for you to follow, "Yeah look at this-" Betty pulled up a Bunch of tabs, all different social media accounts of Geraldine Grundy. "-everything about her was made around the same time, a year ago. before that Geraldine Grundy doesn't exist."

"...shit. Does Archie know?" you asked as ran a hand through your hair, sighing loudly..

"No. Im meeting him at Pops after school, I'm going to tell him then." Betty replied.

"Betty why are you telling me this?" "I just wanted a impartial third party to confirm that I wasn't being totally crazy about this social media thing." Betty said.

"Look Betty its super sketchy, but be careful. This whole Archie and Grundy bullshit is going to come crashing down Don’t get caught in the mess."

Later that day, you were sitting at the kitchen table working on biology homework when a knock sounded at your front door. You stood up from the wooden chair with a sigh and padded across the tiled kitchen floor into the living room, and then to the front door. You opened the door to see Jughead standing on your porch.

"I need your help, noone will listen to the concerns of one disgruntled employee, and you're the only other person in this town who cares the starlight is closing." he had his arms crossed, but his face was pleading. an odd mix of vulnerable and guarded.

"Hello to you too, yes this is a new shirt thanks for noticing, I'm also sorry for missing you at school." you paused but Jughead didn't respond. You sighed."Of course I'll help Jughead." You grabbed his arm and pulled him with you into the kitchen. "Do you have a plan?"

Jughead glanced around your kitchen, taking in the wood paneled floors and the weird mint green cupboards the previous owners had installed. "I want to appeal to Mayor McCoy directly, show her there are people other than addicts and thugs that frequent the drive in." Jughead started, but you cut him off.

"I take it im the 'people' in this scenario? you know for all you know I could be an addict AND a thug...I mean, I'm not. but wouldn't Betty be better for this? I’m kind of an unknown in this town."  you said sarcastically as you hopped up on your kitchen counter.

Jughead stared at you from across the room. "Bettys distracted with the whole Archie and Grundy thing-" You grimaced. "-But, it doesn't matter, Betty doesn't go to the drive-in. you do. So we'll show her normal highschool kids show up, not just Riverdales 'criminal element'."

You pushed yourself off the countertop and grabbed your jacket from the back of a wooden chair where you had flung it earlier. "Alright. lets go." You and Jughead walked side by side to city hall, going over your strategy. so far the plan was use you as a prime example of the twilights redeeming qualities and if that failed, wing it.

When you got to city hall, the mayors secretary waved you in while she chatted on the phone. You trailed behind Jughead. The mayor was moving around her office flipping through papers. "Mayor McCoy you cant close the Twilight Drive-in."  Jughead piped up before the mayor could say anything "Its a staple of this town!"  You nodded along.

She moved to stand behind her desk, "I'm sorry, but the Twilight Drive in? Its a blight thats become a cesspool! And a hangout for criminals and transients." she took a seat in the red leather chair and continued to flip through her papers. "And normal highschool students! Im there almost every weekend." You shot back from next to the scale model of the town. annoyance biting at your words. The mayor smiled at you tightly, like a parent trying to get their child to behave in public. "Look kids, The deals done. Andrews construction is set to demolish the lot on monday."

You narrowed your eyes slightly at her. You were pissed beyond belief, but you had no idea what to say. 

Jughead bit his lip and glanced down, bouncing slightly. He grabbed a chair and pulled it up to the mayors desk. "Mayor McCoy, when I was a kid, my family and I would go to the drive-in all the time.- " She finally put down her papers and crossed her arms, leaning on her desk, giving Jughead her full attention. "-We couldn't afford tickets for everyone...so my sister, Jellybean, and I would hide in the trunk until we parked. we'd sneak out." He shook his head slightly at the last part. your heart broke for him as he looked the mayor in the eye again, his expression pleading."It's like my home."

The mayor glanced away and then looked at him again. "Thats a very sweet sentiment, Mr. Jones. But the future of Riverdale is at stake." her expression and voice were almost kind, but there was an edge of condescension in every word. Jughead shook his head and stood up from the chair, heading straight for the door.

"Jughead!" you called after him. but he didn't stop. You turned to face the mayor and gave her the best glare you could manage before running after Jughead. You headed out the double doors of the mayors office to see Jughead disappearing around the corner, The floorboards creaked softly as you jogged to catch up with him.

"Jughead, wait!" you called after him again, your voice echoing through the empty hallway. He finally paused and turned to face you. "I'm sorry." you said, there was nothing else you could say. you could tell he was hurting, and you had no idea how to help.

"Thanks for trying." was all Jughead said before he walked away again. And this time you didn't follow. 

That Friday night you trailed behind Kevins truck in yours, his truck only had two seats so you had to take yours. He and Veronica parked and you took the spot next to them, the three of you immediately climbed out of your vehicles and started setting up the blankets. the spots around you started quickly filling up as just about every person in Riverdale arrived in the gravel lot for the Twilights final showing. 

Kevin and Veronica settled in as you pulled out your sketchbook, an empty page staring back at you, but you had a plan for it. You grabbed your pencil and started recording what you saw in graphite and paper, The twilights curtain call. The people of riverdale moving around you, the soft glow of the screen, casting everything in shadows. You knew things were happening around you; Cheryl climbing in with Kevin and Veronica, Bettys mom showing up and dragging off Archies dad. But you were focused on this scene, not anyone elses.  

For almost two hours you sketched, shaded, and erased. until you had something that reflected what you were trying to capture. You carefully tore it from your sketchbook as the movie began to roll the credits in the background. You folded the page and scrawled a note on the back.

'a little piece of home. --(y/n)'

As people started to pack up their things and go home, you walked to the projector house and looked at the paper in your hands again, the words on the back staring back at you as you slipped the drawing under the door and knocked, before turning and walking away to join the line of people leaving the drive in for the last time.

But even as you climbed into your truck, you couldn't shake the feeling the twilight drive-in wouldn't be the only thing changing in Riverdale.

Tags list: @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @deanackles67 @thejourneyofabrokenheart @bbyhansol143 @half-and-halfxx @yummyphoenix39 @scrolling-my-life away @littlefrenchbird

[sp-aarrow]

Heres the truth you wont tell everyone <3 

In August 2 years ago my mum went to the hospital because her toe was severely infected and she was getting excruciating pain up into her thigh. She left around 3-4 A.M. and I was woken up by her leaving, when I was told what she had gone to the hospital for I had called or texted Tasha to let her know that mum was in the hospital and I was going to try and find a way to get there. Tasha was the one that offered to come down so we could go sit with her so she wouldn’t have to be alone. Tasha was told not to come down by my father and my mother. But Tasha still came down and that was fine, no one complained. We sat there for a few hours and we were home by 8 A.M. When we got home, mum sent us to the store with her bank card and a shopping list. Tasha bought some groceries for herself because she was going to stay the night. She was the one who decided to pay for take-out from Swiss Chalet after both mum and dad said no because it was too expensive. She had no problem paying for any of it, she wanted to help.  That night was okay until we had to bring mum back to the hospital around 3 A.M again because there were red streaks coming from her foot and making their way up her leg. Mum was put on an I.V. for a few hours until the red streaks went away. They left the IV in her arm so a nurse could come by later that day and hook up a new IV to her and a machine that would continuously pump the meds into her at certain times. When Jake came back to the house we went to Walmart to pick up a few things and dinner before they left to go home which mum paid for. It was okay for a week, but she kept bugging mum to come down to come with her to a doctor’s appointment. Mum didn’t want her to come down because she didn’t want Tasha to have to take time off work when I already had the day off and was going with her. Tasha came back the day before the appointment in the evening because I was upset and had called her crying, and she offered to come down. When Tasha got here she was fuming and waited for my dad to take the dog for a walk to go upstairs. Mum had no idea Tasha was even there. She only knew because Avery had run upstairs and Mum shooed her downstairs. Mum was upstairs because the medicine they had her on was causing an extremely upset stomach. When Tasha came upstairs all hell ensued.  She started freaking on mum, I can’t even remember what about because I wasn’t in the room at the time. By this time my dad had come home and went upstairs to see what was happening. I knew something was about to happen so I went upstairs to make sure it didn’t become an even louder yelling match. By the time I made it upstairs with Jake, Tasha was ripping off her jeans and showing my mother the cuts on her legs and blaming her for them. This is the time Jake started in on my mother about Rich and how my mother never told her anything about him, which is actually funny because I knew all about Rich and he’s not even my father so there is no way she never knew anything about him. Mum had said Tasha must be an Academy Award winner for best actress because it was the biggest load of shit she has heard. Jake got in her face after that and told my mother she was a nothing but a lying bitch and to go fuck herself. Tasha had told mum that she hopes her foot falls off as she was going downstairs. Dad had told her to get the fuck out the house, and Tasha said she wasn’t leaving until I was going with her. I was freaking out at this point because I didn’t know what to do, so I packed some clothes into my backpack and was going to leave for a couple days. When I went downstairs Jake had started a fight with my father and told my dad he was too fat and slow to do anything. Dad had picked up his foot stool and threw it on the couch to get into Jakes face. He had no intention on hitting him. He wanted to get him out of the house. I didn’t know what was going to happen at this point so I got in between them to separate them. Tasha and Jake were leaving at this point, but I had my dad holding me back so I wouldn’t leave, but if I did I wasn’t coming back. He didn’t say it as I wasn’t welcomed back home, he was saying it as Tasha probably wouldn’t let me come home. At some point during this whole thing my mother had called the cops and was told there was already some en route because the neighbour had called already. All mum called about was that Tasha was causing a commotion outside because she was continuously yelling and wouldn’t get in the car, and that she was trying to take me and she didn’t know if she was gonna bring me back at all.  I was being held back by my mother while she was on the phone with cops because they wanted her to stay on the line until they got there. I was screaming my head off, I wanted to go, I didn’t want to see my family torn apart, but it was. It was my worst nightmare come true, and I blame Tasha and Jake for it. The cops had made Tasha come back into the house and apologise for it. She never fully apologised, it was so half hearted she might as well not even apologised. She said that she was sorry and that she loved her but if she ever called the cops on her again while she had a full bag of weed in the car she would regret it, and that’s when she left. If my mum had the intention on actually getting her in shit with the cops she would have said something about the weed to them, she just wanted Tasha and Jake to leave. My parents haven’t talked to Tasha and Jake and vise versa since that night. I tried to maintain a relationship with Tasha but whenever a holiday came around Tasha would start her shit again and fight with me, and slam my mother and I won’t say I always defended my mother because I didn’t. I was scared to lose my sister. But she did it again a few months ago just before Christmas and I was going to go there for a few days, and I haven’t talked to her fully since. I haven’t seen Tasha since after my 18th birthday in October at this point. Now I’m sorry to say it but I looked back on this night and saw how wrong it was and it changed my opinion on them. She broke this family and she didn’t even try to repair it. She kept severing ties until it was only our grandmother that talks to her, but even then, its only around holidays to get money. Ever since I posted that text post on Tumblr, Tasha cut ties with my grandmother. I know this all sounded harsh but it’s the real truth about what happened. 

[clairedmaddox]

Wasting Time

The following is an excerpt from The Lund Loop Newsletter. To learn more click here.

It was an interesting week.

Sunday was Father’s Day and I didn’t get in a fight with my wife. That’s a major accomplishment because it seems like right before every holiday – both major and minor – we get into an argument.

The blame is mostly mine for not being mindful of the stress these holidays give her, and thus treading lightly in the 24 to 48 hours before they begin.

I made the same mistake (again) this year on Mother’s Day – though I was oblivious to it at first.

Rising early, I got everything set up to celebrate the day, but by 11:00am, my wife had not come downstairs. A text inquiring if she was up yet went unanswered, so I decided to run out and do a few errands.

Being a heroic husband, I texted again around noon to see if she wanted me to pick her up something for lunch.

Ding!

“No, thanks” was the response.

Whew, I thought. I’m in the clear.

But I wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

Ding!

“By the way, I’m mad at you.”

That was followed by a series of “dings”, each indicating that a new one-line text had come through, none of which were very flattering towards me.

“I’ll give her a minute to cool down,” I said to myself. But a few minutes later, the dings were still coming in hot and heavy.

It reminded me of playing slots in Vegas and hitting 7 – 7 – plum – cherry – 7. It’s a winner but not listed on the payout chart, so you don’t know how much you’ll get or when it will stop.

At five texts I thought about defending myself, but before I could think of something to say, we were at ten texts, and at that point, even I knew better.

After strategizing a bit, I decided to reply with “I hear what you’re saying.”

But before I could hit “send” my wife must have seen the three floating dots indicating I was writing because she preempted me with “don’t even start texting right now.”

Backspace, backspace, backspace…

At fifteen I thought it’d be safe to use the emoji version of “I hear you,” and begin giving every fifth text the thumbs up symbol.

Suffice to say, there was a lot of venting going on, and though I was fully prepared to let it run its course, she could have at least taken some etiquette from Twitter and let me know how long the textstorm was going to last.

“1/432 You’re an asshole.”

But on this Father’s Day, I (finally) learned my lesson. Though it is my day – in theory – I tiptoed around the days leading up to it and made sure I didn’t do, say, or even think anything that would get me in trouble.

Tuesday found me wrapping up another year of my kid’s scholastic career. It’s always a painful day for me.

My father liked to work with his hands and always had a project going on. When he died, he was in the middle of building an old-fashioned children’s sled -which was rather odd as we lived in Southern California and there were no children in the house.

His process was meticulous.

The garage workbench was the nexus of the project. It was there where he kept the plans, tools, and materials needed to build the sled, as well as the custom-made hardware, decals, and ornamentation, each stored and labeled in their own specific pullout drawer.

Each piece had significance. Each piece had import. And losing just one of them – even a single stainless-steel screw – could stop the project in its tracks.

But the moment he died, the project – and the pieces that made it up – lost their meaning.

The hand-carved runners. The polished blades. The rose and thistle stenciling. Every part of the sled suffered a terminal loss of what made it important.

A small death brought on by a larger one.

Fully aware of the dramatics the statement carries, the end of the school year is a small death of sorts for me.

The backpacks and lunch boxes so deliberated over just nine months prior are cast aside, tattered and torn.

The required folders for each subject, decorated with doodles of boredom and superheroes of inspiration, have no more part to play.

The science project we stayed up until midnight to finish, the lines for the school play we memorized, and the 36 grammar and spelling packets we stressed about weekly no longer mean a thing.

And my kids could care less, so it’s up to me to sift through the ephemera from their final day to determine what things – if any – I should save.

Lecture notes, quizzes, and homework assignments are easy – trash, trash, and trash.

It’s a toss-up with the art projects, term papers, and report cards, things they might look back on with fondness – or at least curiosity – 20 years from now, but then again, may not give a damn about.

I used my best judgment and saved about 2/3rds, while the rest went into the trash.

But the backpacks and lunch boxes aren’t as clear cut.

In my mind, I envision mounting them chronologically – trophy hunter style – along a highly lacquered piece of oak, with appropriate grade level and teacher’s names on brass plaques under each.

I will then present these totems – with great pride and tears in my eyes – to my children at their respective wedding receptions.

To which they will, if I’m lucky, respond with a gentle hug and “there, there” pat on the back, while winking at the crowd behind me. But more likely, will just stare in shocked embarrassment, then give the DJ a frantic head nod, meaning, “quick, play some Bruno Mars so we can get out on the dance floor.”

So, I put them in the “we’ll see” pile.

Finally, I come to the gut punch pieces. The “Why I Love My Mom/Dad” type pieces. The easy pieces.

When I turned 20 my mother kicked me out of the house – rightly so as I was an insufferable A-hole. But when I left, boxes of my belongings – packed by her – came as well.

In those boxes were years of art projects, term papers, and report cards, but also “Why I Love My Mom” projects. To this day I can’t figure out why? Why didn’t she want to keep those for herself?

I made them for her.

When it comes to my kids there’s no question about those types of items – I want them all. And so, I hoard every single one of them.

Friday found me lying in a dimly lit room as a technician moved warm gel around my abdomen with an ultrasound wand.

No, I’m not pregnant.

Two weeks ago, I went in for my annual physical. For the most part, everything checked out okay.

But when the labs came back, there were some minor issues.

My cholesterol was slightly above normal. This is a semi-regular occurrence since turning 40 and means I’ve been too sedentary. I start riding my bike, running on the treadmill, and limit my Double-Double intake to once every other week, and like clockwork it goes back down into the normal range.

I also had slightly elevated liver enzymes. And when I say “slightly,” I mean “slightly.”

Google “normal liver enzyme range” and you’ll universally get a range of between 10 and 40. However, for some reason, my doctor/labs say 10 to 35 is the normal range – and I came back at 38. Last year I was at 37.

To me, this was not very worrisome. Lot’s of things can raise your enzyme count. Alcohol. Check. Prescription medication. Check. Tylenol. Check. Let’s just say, it was no mystery to me as to why my levels might be slightly elevated. But my doctor suggested an abdominal ultrasound.

I’ve got great insurance, so why not?

Lying on the table, I tried my best to avoid playing “game the technician,” but it was unavoidable.

The rules of the game state that the technician will know exactly what they are looking at on the screen. Kidney stone, swallowed car keys, stage IV cancer, they can discern them at a glance.

And so, I watch the technician for telltale signs.

A furl of the brow. A twitch of the eye. The almost imperceivably quick frown which says, “WHOA! THIS MUTHER FUCKER HAS CANCER.”

But my tech had a poker face and wasn’t giving away any clues.

No problem. I have a fallback plan.

She was taking a lot of time on my right side. And one spot – just under my ribs – seemed to have a particular interest for her.

Back she went to that same spot, over, and over again.

“SHIT, SHIT, SHIT…SHE’S FOUND SOMETHING,” I screamed to myself.

Okay, calm down, I thought. You don’t know how this is done. Maybe this is part of the standard procedure?

Desperation breeds genius, and in a stroke of revelation I came up with a plan. If she spends the same amount of time scanning my left side as my right side, then everything is normal.

The right side had taken about 5 minutes, so when she started on the left side I began counting.

“Okay, we’re done,” she said.

It had only been two minutes.

“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, I’M DYING. I’M A DEAD MAN!”

The report came back fine. Everything is fine.

But laying on that table it occurred to me that everything could change in a moment. You go along in your life thinking everything is great, then you get hit by a car, your child gets ill, or they find a tumor on your liver.

And it also occurred to me that if that happened, I’d be so mad at myself for having wasted time arguing with my wife, or stressing out about keeping worn out backpacks, or worrying about getting sick while I was healthy.

As I said, it was an interesting week.

Wasting Time published first on your-t1-blog-url