#ao3 the jock and the snob
Text
#jane rizzoli#maura isles#rizzles#jane and maura#rizzoli and isles#rizzoli & isles#rizzles fanfic#ao3#ao3 the jock and the snob#the jock and the snob on ao3
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
How to Rehabilitate a Jock Pt 16
Part One Part Fifteen Link to Ao3. Part 17
So late but I needed to post this as soon as I was happy with it haha! Thank you to @stevethehairington for betaing and @thefreakandthehair for listening to my endless rambles
Step Sixteen: Fix What You Brea
Decorating a christmas tree was an interesting experience.
It wasn’t like Eddie had never seen a tree before, it just wasn’t something he had ever personally done. Before living with Wayne, his parents had never stayed in one place long enough to have a tree, and after he moved in with Wayne, they both agreed that the money would be better spent on having a present for Eddie instead of a tree to just stare at. Eddie had always thought it would be kind of stupid anyway. What was the point?
But decorating Steve’s tree was actually pretty enjoyable.
Sure, Frank and Jeff were fighting over eating the popcorn string instead of hanging it up, and yeah, Jonathan kept making little side comments to Nancy about it that were almost a shade too sarcastic for comfort, but the air was filled with laughter, and Steve was directing him on where to put the important ornaments, so it wasn’t all bad.
“What about this one?” Eddie asked, holding up a delicate glass design. It was shaped like a pair of ballet slippers, hanging on a pink ribbon that gleamed in the lights on the tree.
This was the best part in Eddie’s opinion. Every single one of the ‘special’ ornaments had some story attached. A family anecdote or a tradition long held. Steve wasn’t on Eddie’s level of storytelling, but there was something incredibly cozy about holding out an ornament and listening to Steve tell the tale as they hung it up together.
“That ones my mom’s,” Steve said, his voice inordinately warm as he took the ornament and leaned into Eddie’s space to place it on the right side of the tree almost all the way at the top. “She was a ballet dancer back in the day. The ribbon is from her first set of pointe shoes.”
“That’s cool,” Eddie said, looking closer. Sure enough the satin was too thick to be a traditional ribbon, and there were rips in it that had been sewn back together with pale pink thread.
“Yeah. You have to replace pointe shoes every twenty hours of dancing or so, but my mom’s family never had much money, so she used hers until they were too broken to dance,” Steve explained, tracing his index finger down the side of the ribbon, his eyes far away somewhere Eddie couldn’t quite reach.
Huh.
It was strange to think of anyone in Steve’s family as anything but rich. The Harringtons were well known snobs, and although Eddie didn’t personally know Steve’s mom, he had definitely heard about her. Head of the PTA, head of the ladies auxiliary, head of the church prayer group. She was a socialite through and through.
Initially Eddie had heard the word ‘ballet’ and imagined an uptight little prima in a sterile looking studio with starched white tutus and perfect form. Steve’s story had shifted that, and now Eddie’s mind was conjuring up images of a tiny girl practicing and practicing her steps with shoes that were tearing at the seams. A small child trying and trying to be as good as everyone else when the tools she was working with were nowhere near what everyone else got to have.
The same way Eddie himself had practiced on his first guitar before he had started dealing and was able to afford his Warlock.
“Why’d she stop dancing?” Eddie asked softly, suddenly desperate to know the answer. He needed to make the two images connect, needed to find the through line that could turn a poor kid who just wanted to dance into a formidable small town queen.
“She married my dad,” Steve replied, giving the exact answer Eddie hadn’t wanted to hear. “They moved here, had my brother, and Mom didn’t need to work anymore. The back room used to be her studio, but my parents decided to make it a second office for my dad.”
Eddie bit his tongue, looking at the tree but avoiding the shimmering ballet slippers sitting on the branch above his head.
Steve’s mom had been like him, then she married a rich guy, and gave up all the things that mattered for money. She had been just like him, once upon a time.
Would that happen to Eddie?
Was he turning into someone different now because of his crush on Steve?
It wasn’t a completely lunatic idea. He was here decorating a tree, which is something he normally saw as completely arbitrary and useless. He was letting a jock into hellfire, and not just any jock but the King.
Would being near Steve chip away at all of Eddie’s long held beliefs? Would he move backwards and backwards because of this idiotic infatuation, until his guitar was just an ornament on a tree?
“Eddie?”
And then with just one look, Steve erased the entire idea. One flash of those big brown eyes and that little side quirk of his head, and Eddie is a goner. There was no way Steve would ever turn his partner into some cookie cutter perfect picket fence person, no planet on Earth where Steve wouldn’t love someone enough to love their weird bits too. This was Steve.
And besides, it wasn’t even like Eddie was the kind of person that had a shot with Steve in the first place. For a lot of reasons.
“Sorry, got lost in thought, Sweetheart,” Eddie said, crooking his mouth into a half smile and ignoring the panging ache of guilt crushing his chest. Steve’s shoulders relaxed and he leaned closer, letting his arm rest against Eddie’s.
“Well, don’t go somewhere I can’t follow,” He murmured, the smell of his cologne and the feeling of his body sending Eddie into a tailspin.
Just like before when their hands were joined and Steve’s warm breath was blowing across his frozen fingers, Eddie’s mind stuttered to a halt. The endless loops and running thoughts were stuck in place, held motionless by the enigma that was Steve Harrington. It was overwhelming, too much and not enough all at the same time, and Eddie needed to get away from it before he did something he couldn’t take back.
“C’mon, we’ve still got work to do, lazy bones!” Eddie chirped, slipping away from Steve and practically jumping over to the box of carefully packaged decorations. He was so focused on escaping, that he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings until it was a moment too late.
At the same time Eddie picked up the next ornament, Jeff and Frank’s battle over the popcorn string reached its apex. Jeff let go of his side of the string, and Frank flew backwards. He barreled into Jonathan, who crashed into Nancy, who stumbled and bumped into Eddie just enough to make him lose his grip.
The air was filled with the terribly delicate sound of breaking porcelain, and everything seemed to freeze in place. All six of them stared at the ground, where a tiny angel rested in three pieces where it had once been whole.
“Shit, I’m sorry-”
“We were just fucking around, but we shouldn’t have-”
“Steve, I’m so-”
Floods of apologies from the rest, but Eddie stayed silent. He was watching Steve like a hawk as he slowly bent down on one knee and began to collect the pieces of the broken ornament.
Steve hadn’t said a word yet, but he was still saying plenty. His shoulders were almost at his ears, and his fingers were shaking as they tried to grab onto the porcelain remains. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were starting to take on an honestly terrifying shine, and his blinking was getting more and more rapid by the second.
Eddie should have left it alone, should have given Steve space to collect himself, but he had never been good at leaving things be. So, knowing it was the wrong thing to do, Eddie knelt down by Steve and reached out to put a hand on Steve’s shoulder.
“Sweetheart?”
“It’s fine,” Steve instantly replied, a completely hollow smile materializing on his face as he continued to blink far too much. He leaned away from Eddie’s touch, a tiny jerky movement that put a twenty pound weight on Eddie’s chest. Steve scrambled upwards, cradling the broken ornament close to his heart as he continued to fake a smile. “It was an accident, Babydoll. No worries.”
It was an accident, but that didn’t make it ‘fine’. Steve was obviously so far from fine, and even that little silly name wasn’t enough to assure Eddie of the lie. It actually made it worse, like Steve was trying to appease him, to make Eddie let it go, when he really didn’t think he should.
“I’m gonna go see if we have superglue. It doesn’t look too bad,” Steve said to the entire group, still faking it. Unlike Eddie though, the rest were buying it, tension leaking out of them with relieved smiles and quiet sighs. “You guys finish up though, people will be here any minute.”
And then he was gone, ducking into the kitchen and disappearing from view, leaving Eddie unmoored and unsure of where to go. Every fiber in his being wanted to chase after Steve, catch him alone and hope that he wouldn’t keep trying to hide, but he was stuck in place. Steve had leaned away, escaped as soon as he could, that had to be a sign that he didn’t want Eddie near him.
Wasn’t it?
“Nice job, butterfingers,” Frank joked, gently jabbing an elbow into Eddie’s ribs in an effort to lighten up the air around him.
Eddie threw him a distracted smile, still staring at the doorway Steve had disappeared through and trying to ignore the part of him that was desparate to follow.
“I’m gonna go check on him,” Nancy murmured to Jonathan, nearly inaudible over the sound of Jeff and Frank looking for a broom to get any remaining slivers of porcelain on the ground. Jonathan nodded with a quiet hum, kissing Nancy on the cheek before letting her go without even a word.
Because it was oh so natural for an ex-girlfriend to leave her current boyfriend in the dust to go check on her ex-boyfriend.
Eddie watched her perfect little curls bounce in their perfect little ringlets as she practically skipped out after Steve. Now Nancy was going to go in there and comfort Steve, act all sweet and soft and drag Steve into thinking that she cared when she was the one that had cheated. Hell, maybe they would even kiss, and she would have her hooks in Steve again.
Why wasn’t Jonathan upset about this?!
… Why was Eddie so upset about this?
Eddie let his eyes slip shut, his breath escaping in one huge gust as he finally began to wilt. It wasn’t really any of his business. He and Steve were friends. That was all. If Steve wanted to kiss Nancy, then he would kiss her, and that wasn’t Eddie’s choice. All Eddie had was a fanciful crush, a ridiculous dream, a hope for something that he should never have let himself hope for.
But still.
“I’m gonna find a bathroom,” Eddie muttered to no one, slipping out of the room and carefully creeping down the hallway towards the kitchen.
He could hear the indistinguishable sound of voices coming from the room ahead, the open door tempting him closer and closer for a taste of what Steve and Nancy were discussing.
Was Eddie really doing this?
Yes. Yes he was.
Resolved, Eddie leaned against the hidden side of the doorway, letting his head hit the wall as he shut his eyes and focused on eavesdropping.
“-really don’t want to talk about it, Nancy,” Steve said, sounding utterly exhausted as cupboards opened and slammed shut.
“Okay,” Nancy relented, clearly not happy to let the subject go, “let’s talk about the other thing?”
Other thing?
“Other thing?” Steve asked. Eddie bit back a snicker, his heart fluttering at the way Steve had mirrored him without even knowing it.
“You invited Eddie?”
The humor instantly fled, rushing out of the hallway along with all of the oxygen, leaving Eddie dizzy and struggling to breathe. His indulgent smile soured into a scowl, and his hands curled into tight fists.
It was the tone. That tone that Eddie had heard his whole life. The condescending, lower-than-me, dirt on the shoes of society tone. It was the kind of thing that girls like Nancy could use because they lived in perfect two story houses on cul-de-sacs, and Eddie was trailer trash from the bad side of town.
Well fuck her. Fuck Nancy Wheeler and her stupid perfect life, and fuck her for hating him just for existing. Eddie could hate her right back. He had hating the conventional down to a science, an art form almost. He was brilliant at striking first, and he had half a mind to walk in there and tear her down a few notches, just for the fun of it.
“What is your problem with him?”
Eddie stopped in his tracks, blinking his eyes open and staring in shock at the wall in front of him, watching Steve’s shadow turn to face Nancy’s.
“I don’t have a problem,” Nancy scoffed.
“Obviously you do, Nance,” Steve shot back, crossing his arms “Eddie’s a good guy. They’re my friends.”
A good guy.
It wasn’t exactly a glowing recommendation or anything, but the words and the protectiveness in Steve’s voice was doing terrible wonderful things to Eddie’s stomach. His fingers were still burning from being held by Steve before, and now his brain was on fire too, caught in the blaze that was Steve damn Harrington.
“I… I just think he might be trouble,” Nancy admitted softly, quickly continuing when she heard Steve’s inhale of interjecting, “and not in the way you’re thinking! I promise.”
A long silence, one that gave Eddie too much time to think, one that left too much room for endless questions with zero answers.
What kind of trouble did Nancy think Eddie was dragging Steve into? What would Eddie do that she was so scared of? Did she really care that much about Steve’s reputation? Steve didn’t even care about it anymore!
Was she scared for her brother? Why was all of this so damn cryptic?
“In what way?” Steve finally asked, and Eddie leaned in, needing the answer.
“Just-” Nancy cut herself off with a frustrated little sound, and her shadow eclipsed Steve as she stood on her tiptoes to put her arms around his shoulders.
“If you ever need to talk. About anything. Me and Jonathan are here. We would never judge you for anything. You know that right?”
Eddie barely heard it, the words muffled between the two bodies, but he heard Steve’s soft chuckle, and saw the way his shadow arms wrapped around Nancy.
Even just an image of them on the wall looked so… right.
It made a small part of Eddie die inside.
He closed his eyes once, hating the burn that was already there waiting. He shouldn’t have come over and listened. He shouldn’t have done any of this. But as Eddie took a step back to walk to the living room with his tail tucked between his legs, Nancy spoke again.
“And you need to tell them about El before she gets here.”
El?
Who was El?
“Shit, you’re right,” Steve sighed, pulling away from Nancy, “I totally forgot.”
“Do you remember the story?”
“Nancy I’m the one that came up with it,” Steve said, annoyance tinging his voice, “I remember the story.”
Story?
Eddie was definitely eavesdropping about something bigger than relationship woes now, and the mystery of it all dug right into his soft spot, pulling him away from his aching heart and tugging him forward with a desperate need to know more.
This was the thing that Wayne always tried to warn him about. Eddie’s need to know everything was always getting him in trouble, and he had heard plenty of times about what curiosity did to cats.
That was all true… but the thing that Wayne always seemed to forget was that satisfaction brought that cat back.
“It’s important that we get this right, Steve. You know what-”
But whatever Steve knew, Eddie didn’t seem destined to hear it. As he leaned closer, intent on catching every word, he overbalanced, tripping over his own feet and slamming his entire body against the other side of the doorway, coming into full view of both of them. Steve and Nancy both jolted, pulling away from each other and staring at Eddie with slack jaws and wide eyes.
Fuck.
“This is what I get for never tying my shoes,” Eddie joked awkwardly, trying to be casual as he straightened up and let out the world’s worst fake laugh. His brain was racing, running as fast as it could to come up with any rational reason for him being there besides eavesdropping.
“Are you okay?” Steve asked, his brow furrowing. He didn’t even seem to catch what was going on, but Nancy was practically glaring, her lips pursed in quiet fury.
“I’m fine, Sweetheart,” Eddie reassured him, ignoring Nancy’s look in favor of focusing all of his attention on Steve. If he played it right, then Nancy calling him out would just look like she was against him, which Steve had already tried to stop.
He wasn’t being manipulative. This was just strategy, the same kind of strategic thinking that any dungeon master worth their salt would employ. It was improv, a game, an act. Nothing bad. Nothing wrong.
So why was guilt creeping cold fingers down Eddie’s spine?
“What do you want?” Nancy asked, clearly trying to go for nonchalant but coming off completely cold with her crossed arms and flat inflection. It wasn’t working in her favor if Steve’s quick sharp look was anything to go by, and Eddie did his best not to preen under Steve’s protection.
“Drinks? The boys were wondering if you had anything stronger than eggnog,” Eddie wondered, coming up with his excuse on the fly. It would work. Frank was never one to turn down a stiff drink, especially if it came loaded with whatever ridiculously expensive alcohol the Harringtons were keeping stashed away here.
Nancy tossed her hair over his shoulder, raising a single brow as her expression stayed firmly unimpressed. It made Eddie want to squirm in place, but he held firm, meeting her head on.
“You know there’s gonna be kids at this party, right?” Nancy said, her voice a little less frosty, but a hell of a lot more condescending. “And the chief of police.”
Eddie bristled, opening his mouth to tell her exactly where Hopper could stick it, but Steve intervened before he could.
“There’s nothing wrong with having a little,” Steve offered in a mediating tone, already moving towards one of the high cabinets and starting to open it. “But just one before they get here. Last thing I need is the brats trying to convince me they’re old enough for whiskey.”
“Jack and Coke? Or are you spoiling me with the good stuff?” Eddie asked, possibly laying it on an inch too thick, but unable to help it when Steve was giving him that fondly annoyed side eye.
“We do not drink the good stuff as a mixed beverage,” Steve lectured, grabbing a fat bottle from behind a box on the shelf and bringing it down, “but I think breaking out the crown wouldn’t be amiss.”
“A crown for a king!” Eddie crowed, taking the bottle of Crown Royal from Steve and wiggling his eyebrows. Steve huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head at Eddie’s antics and turning towards the fridge.
“Here, Nance,” Steve said absentmindedly, holding out a bottle of coke for her, “take that inside and you guys can make your own before everyone else gets here. I’ll be in once I find the glue.”
“Why don’t I help you?” Eddie blurted out, his mouth moving before his mind even caught up with what he was saying.
“Oh, sure,” Steve agreed, still distracted as he began to root around in cupboards.
“You’ll be needing this,” Eddie said sweetly, offering up the bottle to Nancy as she walked past him.
Nancy’s eyes narrowed impossibly further, and she let out a short sigh, taking the bottle of alcohol with a vicious little swipe and striding out of the room. Eddie watched her go, barely resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at her retreating form.
He had won. That was what mattered.
Did Eddie even know what he had won? No, but he still felt like he did.
Once it was just the two of them, Eddie’s hackles began to slowly lower. There was no need to be on guard when it was just him and Steve. He idly twirled around the kitchen table, leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen and looking around the room with distracted curiosity. He had been in the kitchen before, but never really cared enough to explore the details.
Now every fridge magnet was a new discovery, and the way that the spices were lined up on the rack was information that seemed important. But the most interesting thing in the kitchen was the angel on the counter right by Eddie’s fingers.
It was a pretty thing, delicate, but somehow still beautiful, even in parts. The sculpted wings were curled around the figure of a little boy, kneeling with his hands cupped over a star. At the bottom of the ornament was the name ‘Jaime’ in ornate script.
Jaime.
“Who’s Jaime?” Eddie wondered aloud. He had mostly been talking to himself, but his words caused Steve to stop short, flying around from the drawer he had been searching through and whirl around to face Eddie.
“Where did you…” Steve trailed off, noticing the angel. He wilted like a dying flower, biting at the inside of his cheek as he turned his back to Eddie, returning to the drawer of odds and ends.
“Jaime’s my brother,” Steve said shortly.
Eddie’s shoulders were starting to tighten, but he pushed through the feeling. It wasn’t a rejection, or an outright refusal to speak. Steve was just being cagey, secretive the way he sometimes was.
Eddie could crack that.
“Ah, yes, the elusive mystery brother,” He joked, putting on a fake accent and bopping over to Steve’s side, bumping against him in an effort to get Steve smiling again. “Will the elder Harrington sibling be making an appearance at tonight’s festivities?”
Maybe if he was, Eddie would get some answers. Reasons for the panic attack at the Hideout, or some details on the mysterious ‘El’. The possibility of unraveling another part of Steve was enticing, coaxing Eddie further down the rabbit hole.
“Um…”
Just like that the curiosity was gone. Instantly killed by the way Steve’s adams apple was starting to bob, and the sharp shaking inhale that went along with it. Eddie’s heart fell to his feet, and his fingers felt cold for the first time since Steve had touched him.
“I was just kidding around. You don’t have to-” Eddie began.
“It’s okay,” Steve interrupted, still worrying his lip as his eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere but at Eddie. He was gearing up, trying to find what he wanted to say or maybe trying to force it out. Either way, Eddie was going to be frozen in place until Steve was ready to speak.
“Jaime um… Jaime died,” Steve finally managed, the word practically shooting out of his mouth the second he was done choking on it.
It was like being dunked in a freezing cold shower and tossed out in the snow. Not only had Eddie forced Steve into talking about his dead brother, he had broken the ornament obviously meant to commemorate him.
If he had a gun, he would be pushing it up against his temple. Nope. Even that wouldn’t be enough.
“Fuck,” Eddie hissed out, wishing he could just shut his damn mouth for once, but he was too keyed up to stay quiet. The apology was worthless, but it was already spilling out of his mouth, vomiting itself up, “Steve, I-”
“Really, it’s fine,” Steve insisted, busying himself with looking for the glue. “How could you know? Besides, he died before I was born, so…”
“So?” Eddie prompted, not really sure where Steve was going with that.
Steve said ‘so’ like that meant it didn’t matter, but from just one glance Eddie knew how much this did. Steve, who was one of the most open people Eddie knew, was hunched over, practically trying to disappear from Eddie’s gaze, hiding away whatever emotions were trying to push themselves up to the surface, demanding to be felt.
“So- I don’t know,” Steve said, cutting himself off with a sigh. He held up the tiny bottle of superglue, walking over to the other side of the counter, his back to Eddie again. “But it’s my mom’s favorite ornament, and she would get really upset if she came home and it was broken,”
Steve gave a tiny laugh that wasn’t really a laugh, the tip of his finger running over the edge of the wing like it had run over the satin of the ballet slipper ribbon.
“Not that I even know when she’s coming home again,” He whispered, the bitterness in the words so heavy that it was sitting on Eddie’s tongue.
It was just wrong. Eddie had never heard Steve sound so beaten down, even in the parking lot the other night. This was somehow worse than just watching Steve shake through an unseen panic that he couldn’t control.
But, unlike that night, Eddie could do something about this. So, rather than satisfy his own curiosity, Eddie put his needs to the side.
“Can I?” Eddie asked, holding out his hand for the glue and the angel. “I work on miniatures all the time. I’m super steady.”
Steve looked down at the hand outstretched toward him, then up at Eddie. A long slow look that went deep in Eddie, making him want to squirm with how far it was going.
Then, finally, Steve relented. He handed over the pieces and hopped up onto the counter, watching Eddie like a hawk.
Eddie immediately went to work, bending his head close to the angel and narrowing his eyes as he carefully glued first the broken wing on, and then the small corner of the name plaque. He held both in a firm but soft grip, balancing the ornament effortlessly between his hands as he waited for the glue to bond the pieces back together. And, as he did all of that, he worked up the courage to say what he was thinking.
“You know it’s okay, right?” Eddie whispered, unable to make his voice any louder.
“What is?” Steve whispered back, just as quiet.
“If you aren’t okay,” Eddie replied, braving a quick glance up at Steve’s face.
It was the wrong thing to do. The blank look of utter shock on Steve’s face was painful, hurting Eddie inside in a place he didn’t even know existed.
All at once Eddie was sure that he was the first person to ever tell Steve such a thing, and that was just… too much. It was too much pressure, too much potential to fuck it up and hurt Steve even more, too much of a chance that Eddie would say the wrong thing.
But it was also too much to not be sure Steve knew that it was the absolute truth.
“You’re allowed to not be okay,” Eddie said, gently placing the repaired angel in Steve’s palm.
Taglist: @paopaupaus @zerokrox-blog @surferboyzaza @whatever-is-a-good-name@minjintea @addelyin @5ammi90 @hagbaby420 @shinekocreator @bornonthesavage @starxlark @electrick-marionnett @resident-gay-bitch @ash-a-confused-enby @classicdinosaurdeathpose @valon-whomsttf @rotten-lil-goblin @thereindeerlady @love-ya-kash @kerlypride @sparkle-fiend @thefreakandthehair @flowercrowngods @milf-harrington @sadcanadianwinter @gothbat99 @hotcocoaharrington @henderdads @lightwoodbanethings @colorful565 @h0n3y-dw @craterbbox @sourw0lfs @lesliiieeeee @bidisastersworld @tinynebula @ravnlinn @bonescaro @mexmatch @cottagecoredreams @joruni @hellykelly @maegan1116 @farewell-wanderlvst @desertfern @due-to-the-fact-that-im-a-slut @anythingforourmoonyedits @eerielake @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @sidekick-hero
#Steve joins hellfire au#Steve harrington#Eddie munson#steddie#steddie au#steddie ficlet#st#stranger things#stranger things 2#stranger things au#post stancy breakup#post s2#Steve and eddie#st au#stranger things 2 au#steve harrington#Writing(with a capital W)#Nancy wheeler#Jonathan Byers#jancy#Jeff stranger things#freak stranger things#Steve has ptsd#tw: suicide mention
194 notes
·
View notes
Text
Lost Time: Ch. 10
Fandom: Time Warp Trio
Author: The_Bookkeeper_96
Rating: T
Summary: Another summer at Horae Manor begins, but before Joe and Tessa get the chance to train, they are sent out on a mission to explore the magic capital of the universe, Mancika. Rumors of illegal magic conversion spread throughout the city, and Joe and Tessa need to locate those responsible. But after the events of last summer, Joe isn't eager to work with his Aether partner, and the two are struggling more with each other than with their enemies.
Read on AO3
-----------------------------------------------------------
Preview:
“The magics are like cliques, each representing a different stereotype to disturbing accuracy. The corpomancers are the jocks. The nerds and know-it-alls are the cephamancers. And then there’s those annoying space and time users. The popular ones. The perfect ones. Or at least, that’s what they think. If you ask anyone else, they might have a different opinion.” - Excerpt from a tourist’s travel blog entry titled “Mancika – City of Magic, Snobs, and Over-Priced Coffee”
--------
Any confidence I have about this mission being a success vanishes the minute I step foot into the Time District.
We are surrounded by tall buildings and people on all sides jostling us to and fro. The whole place is disorienting. One minute, I’m looking at medieval cobblestone houses, the next, everything is modern with large floor-to-ceiling windows and a mix of wood and tan brick siding. Even the outfits people wear are constantly altering. A girl next to us waves her arm down her body, changing her clothes from a bright yellow knee-length dress to a simple t-shirt and jeans. To top it all off, the entire district is filled with a green haze, and my body is practically singing in response. This place is filled with power. I’m dizzy from just standing here.
I almost lose sight of Tessa in the fray. I barely manage to grab onto the back of her jacket before she disappears into the crowd. This is exactly why I never want to live in Manhattan.
The jacket slips down her arm, revealing a pink scar on the back of her shoulder. Before I can look any closer, Tessa quickly grabs her jacket, tugs it back on, and zips it shut.
An apology starts to form on my lips.
“How do you want to go about this?” Tessa says first.
“I- Uh, what?” I stutter.
“The mission.” Tessa tilts her head, looking side to side at the people surrounding us as if they’re all potential subjects. Which, I guess they are. Then she whispers, “How do you think we should get information on the time decay?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. I haven’t thought this far ahead. “We should probably get off the main street though. We’re not going to get anywhere out here.”
She nods. “You’re right. We need someplace more private, and it wouldn’t hurt to find a map of the city. You think they have tourist brochures here?”
My backpack suddenly feels very heavy. “I might have something we can use. But we’ll definitely need to be somewhere more private before I take it out.”
Her eyes flick toward the sky. “I have an idea.”
Once again, she grabs me by the wrist and drags me away. This time into a slim alley just off the street. She better not make a habit of this. The last thing I want is for her to drag me all over this city against my will. Who knows what kind of trouble she’d get us into.
As soon as we’re off the main street, I yank my arm back to my side. Tessa either ignores my sudden separation or doesn’t notice it. Probably the latter.
No. I need to try to stop thinking like Tessa is out to get me. It won’t get me anywhere, but it would help if she opened up a bit more. Or at least talked me through her plans before executing them. Like right now.
Tessa eyes the wall of one of the alleyway buildings. I’m not sure what she’s looking for. A secret door?
“How good is your climbing?”
“Uh...” I stare at the wall. It’s brick with no windows on this side. I don’t see any ledges or ladders for me to grab onto. The only semi-climbable thing is a drainage pipe, and it doesn’t even look that sturdy. “Not that good.”
“Fair enough.” Tessa steps away from the wall, and her hands begin to glow violet.
“What are you doing?” My heart stops. I push her hands back down and whip my head around, hoping no one saw her. “Ro and Cas said no magic.”
“No,” she says, bringing her hands out again. “They said no grand displays of magic and to blend in. We’ll stick out more if we don’t use any magic.”
Chewing my lip, I move my arms back to my side. Part of me knows she’s right, but the other part is scared of accidentally causing a scene like last night.
Tessa’s hands flare to life with their signature purple sparks. She closes her eyes and keeps her palms facing down flat. While her right hand drifts up to her shoulder, her left drops down to her waist, fingers twitching momentarily before stilling. In one swift movement, she brings her hands to the same level at her chest.
And suddenly I’m looking at the roof of the building we were just standing under.
My foot slides across the ground until my toes brush the edge of the roofline. I hold my breath and stiffen my arms as I step over the ledge, convinced this is all one of Tessa’s illusions. When my feet find solid ground under them, I finally exhale and let the tension in my shoulders drop.
Tessa walks onto the roof with no such issues as the magic in her hands fades away. In a blink, the alley is gone. Back below us where it belongs.
I glance over the side of the building. Just how high up are we? At least three stories by the look of it.
“You know, you’re really good with Aether magic,” I say, the words slipping out before I realize what I’m doing.
Tessa beams. “Thank you. I think that’s the first nice thing you’ve said to me this summer.”
Not wanting to dwell on that fact, I quickly add, “Why do you hold back when you’re training with Ro?”
Her smile turns strained. “I don’t.”
“But Cas said-”
“I always perform at my best.” She brushes past me and looks over onto the street below. “You said you had something that could help us find our way around the city?”
Why is she lying? My eyes narrow. What is she hiding? The whole trip better not be like this. I need to get to the bottom of this.
With a sigh, I set down my backpack and pull out The Book. “This should have everything we need.”
“Your magic history book?” Tessa studies it with narrow eyes. “I thought that thing was like my sabre. It just helped you focus your magic.”
“Uh, no. The Book is kinda the embodiment of the entire space-time continuum.”
“And you’ve read the entire thing?”
“Well, not exactly.”
“Then how do you know it can help us? What can it do exactly?”
“I don’t know everything it can do, but it should have a map we can use.” I start flipping through the pages, waiting for a map to turn up. “It’s helped me and my friends out lots of time during warps.”
She crosses her arms and frowns at me. “You’re telling me, you have one of the most powerful objects in existence. And you’ve never read it to see what it can do? What if we can fix the time decay with it? Here, let me see it.”
She yanks The Book from my hands, and I nearly rip out the page I was holding.
“Be careful! Who knows what could happen if The Book is damaged.” I try grabbing it back, but her grip is too strong.
“How do you know anything will happen if you’ve never read it?” She pulls it back to her. My shoulders ache in response.
I tug it back. “Because I just do, okay? You have to trust me. Why is that so hard for you?”
“Trust you? You don’t even trust me. I barely even know you.”
“And who’s fault is that?”
“Stop blaming me for everything!”
We could have kept fighting forever. We probably would have, but The Book had other plans.
A shock wave shoots up my arms, nearly blinding me in pain. I distantly hear Tessa cry out and see a burst of green light before falling to the ground.
I struggle to regain my senses. A sharp ringing has started between my ears. The Book lies on the ground in front of me, and Tessa is sprawled out on the ground on the other side of it.
Forcing myself upright, I reach for The Book. Gently, my hand comes to rest on top of it. I flinch, expecting another shock, but nothing happens. A sigh I didn’t know I was holding escapes between my lips as I pull The Book into my lap.
That was weird. The Book has never attacked me like that before. It was probably just trying to get Tessa off of it and accidentally got me in the process. Oh well, at least I can get back to finding us a map now.
I turn The Book up on its spine, gently grasp the cover, and pull.
The pages don’t budge.
I pull harder, hoping to crack it open just a little, but it refuses.
“Great,” I grumble to myself.
“What the hell just happened?” Tessa asks, rubbing a spot on her knee where a bruise is already forming.
I glare at her. “The Book is very picky about who can use it. I guess it doesn’t like you very much. I wonder why.”
Her lips press together in a thin line. She glares at the ground as she says, “Why is everything always my fault?”
For a moment, it’s almost as if she’s referring to something else. Her face slackens for just a second before returning to a harsh sneer. I shake away the thought. Clearly, I’m seeing things.
“Well, now we’re screwed. The Book is sealed shut, and I have no way of finding a map for us.” I cross my arms in a huff. In the back of my mind, I’m aware of how futile fighting is. But somehow Tessa irritates me more than my sister does. I can’t help but think the two would be best friends if they ever met. Let’s pray that never happens.
At least when I fight with Anna, I still love her at the end of the day. It’s easy for us to make up.
“I’m sorry,” Tessa whispers.
I’m so deep in my thoughts, I almost don’t hear her. It takes a second for her words to click. Even then, I don’t believe that I heard her correctly. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” she says louder this time. Her fists clench at her sides, as she looks anywhere but at me. “I shouldn’t have grabbed your book. I’m sorry I broke it. I’m sorry about everything that happened last summer. And I’m sorry that you can’t bring yourself to trust me. I don’t blame you.”
I’m about to scoff at her apology and point out all the other things she has to be sorry for, but then I see her face. Her sullen expression makes me pause. A heavyweight settles in my chest.
I’m really not being fair to her. But I can’t bring myself to trust someone who is hiding so much. If she would open up just a little, maybe we could work towards something next to friendship.
I run a hand through my hair, debating with myself.
One more chance. She gets one more chance.
“It’s okay. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. I don’t think this is all your fault.” I offer her a small smile. “The Book acts up like this all the time. It even trapped Sam inside it for a couple of days.”
“It what?” Tessa jerks back, scrambling to her feet.
I wave away her concern. “It was a one-time thing. I think.”
Her gaze flicks back and forth between me and The Book. “Right.”
"Look, you want me to trust you? I need you to be honest with me. Actually open up a little and tell me about who you are and what you've gone through. I don’t even know your full name or where you lived before your parents sent you to Boston to live with Arwen." My arms fall to my lap and rest on top of The Book. "I want this to work between us. I really do. But after everything you pulled in Paris and Cealus, you make it seem like you would rather be doing this all by yourself. And you said it yourself, we're stuck with this for life. So we might as well try to make it work."
Tessa chews on her bottom lip. I can see the internal argument she's having with herself. I fully expect her to brush me off like normal, but then, "Has it ever occurred to you that the reason I don't talk about my past has nothing to do with you? Maybe it's because I don't want to relive it?"
I open my mouth to respond, but can't think of anything to say. "No," I manage. "I guess not."
Now it's my turn to look away. I feel my cheeks heat up. Why did I assume she's secretive because of me? The idea that she didn't want to talk because she didn't want to remember never crossed my mind.
"Is it really that bad?" I dare a glance at her. It feels rude to ask, but I can't imagine what could have happened that was so horrible that she can't talk about it.
She's shifted so that her back is to me. She pulls her leather jacket tighter around herself before answering. "It's just not something I'm ready to face yet. When I am, you'll be the first person I talk to." She finally gives me her full attention. If I look close enough at her contacts, I can almost see the purple glow from underneath. "I promise."
I nod. It's probably the best we can do for now. We're moving closer to where we need to be. Not quite friends, but no longer enemies.
“Therese Estela Morel.”
“Bless you.”
“No.” Tessa rolls her eyes and offers me her hand. “My name. It’s Therese Estela Morel.”
I gladly take her hand and get to my feet. “Oh, that’s a pretty name. French?
“Creole, actually. I’m from New Orleans. I spent most of my life on the road with the circus, but New Orleans is still my home in my heart.”
I nod and smile. “Thank you for that. Anything else you want to tell me?”
Tessa scoffs. “I think that’s enough for now. You have to earn the rest of my story.”
“Well, lucky for me our mission has just begun.”
“About that.” She twirls an errant strand of auburn hair around her finger. “How are we supposed to do this without a map?”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure The Book will start working again.” I hold it out in front of us. “It just needs some time.”
As if I’d said the magic words, The Book begins to glow a soft green. A tingle of warmth spreads up my arms and into my chest.
“See? What did I say?” I flip open the cover and let the pages float apart. Unsurprisingly, The Book’s magic opens to just the right page and a map of Mancika reveals itself before our very eyes.
“Impressive, but we need a map of the Time District, not the whole city.” Tessa furrows her brow. She hovers her hand above where the Time District is on the map but leans away as she does so. Her fingers delicately touch the map, and The Book instantly zooms in, revealing only the Time District. Tessa beams and leans back in. “That’s better. This book of yours is pretty darb.”
“Much better than some sabre,” I tease.
“Say that again when we get into a fight later.”
“You actually know how to fight with your sabre?” I’ve only ever seen her use it as an accessory or to help her tear. I never thought she could actually use it as a weapon.
“Obviously. It’s not just for show.” Tessa flips her hair over her shoulder. “Where did you get your book anyway?”
“My uncle. It’s kind of a family heirloom.” I smile before I remember that he’s still missing, lost somewhere in the universe. “It was a birthday gift.”
Tessa catches the change in my voice. “Is this the same uncle that’s been missing for a year?”
“Yeah,” I force down the lump in my throat. “It is.”
I don’t know if I can accurately describe the way my grief feels. We were so close. Everything was going so well with me and The Book. I’d successfully fought off Mad Jack and brought Anna, Jodie, and myself home safely. Then he just left, leaving only a short note behind. Maybe this is why I have trust issues.
I refuse to believe that Uncle Joe is gone forever. He’s been doing this whole magic and time travel thing a lot longer than me, and I’m still around. The worst part of it all is not knowing where he is. He could be trapped in the stone age, waiting for someone to help. I’ve checked The Book almost every day since he vanished, hoping for a sign. But there’s been nothing. I don’t even know where to begin looking for him. Everything feels hopeless.
“Have you brought it up with Ro and Cas?” Tessa asks, pulling me from my thoughts. “They might be able to use their Great Wizard powers to find him.”
“I haven’t… but if The Book can’t locate him, I don’t know how they could.” Not to mention they’re both busy trying to stop the world from ending, I add to myself. The last thing they need is trying to find a missing person somewhere in the entire space-time continuum.
“It’s worth a shot. And even if they can’t, they might have some advice for you. They are supposed to be our mentors. This is what they’re here for.” She puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “That and to make sure we don’t kill ourselves on accident with our magic.”
I can’t help but smile. “Okay. When this is all over, I’ll see if they can help.”
“Who knows? Maybe he’s hanging out in Mancika, and we’ll stumble across him by the end of the day.”
“Maybe,” I sigh, refusing to get my hopes up.
Shifting my focus back to the task at hand, I study the map laid out in The Book. Even when it’s zoomed in to just the Time District, this city feels too big for us to search in just one day.
“If you were an evil mastermind trying to destroy the universe for whatever reason, where would you set up your base?” Tessa purses her lips and taps a slender finger against them.
“How do you know it’s just one person?” I ask. “We could be going up against a whole evil organization.”
“Well I don’t know it. I just hope that’s the case. I do not want to have to take down an entire league of villains. A small council is about all I can handle.”
A short chuckle escapes my lips, but I don’t disagree with her. If this is all because of one person, that makes our jobs infinitely easier. But where do we start?
I frown at the map. “I just wish we had a starting location.”
The Book starts to glow. I flinch, fully expecting the mist to seep out and warp us away, but instead, the glow fades. It shrinks down to a single dot on the map. The spot of light pulses, like an ominous “do not press” button.
“Are you sure this is a book and not a genie?” Tessa says with a smile.
“Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it.” I grin to myself. Really, I should know by now to watch what I say around The Book, but sometimes it works out in my favor.
The spot continues to pulse on the map, inviting us in. I peer closely to find its exact location. It’s a building not too far from where we are now, only a couple of blocks away.
There’s a glint in Tessa’s eyes that should worry me, but I’m just as excited as she is. “Shall we?”
“Let’s.”
#time wartp trio#fanfiction#joe#sam#fred#writeblr#oc#kellie writes#kellie fanfic#kellie twt#writing#my post
4 notes
·
View notes
Note
I've gotten so many lovely fic recs from this blog so I wanted to share this fic rec with you because it's practically my favourite kind of fic, it has everything soccer player Clarke (with Fratboy Griffin vibes), a seriously cute Lexa who's a beer snob going to Clarke's games and painting Clarke's team colours on her cheek
It's called this modern love on ao3
I haven't finished reading it but omg I'm already loving it, thank you so much for the rec!!!!
I love jock fratboy!Clarke and cute a little awkward and older TA Lexa 🥰 I'm a little sad it isn't finished but still, it's been a great read so far!!!
For anyone who might want to read it, here's This Modern Love link!
#letter opened#clexa fic rec#thank you so much truly#:DD#I love how natural the interactions feel#although i love the octavia raven clarke trio#sometimes they are written a little stiff and weird#here they feel so much like actual best friends#and Lexa is uptight but not so much so she stops being a believable human
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Iambic Pentameter
A Gendrya AU. Read it on AO3 here.
“Meeting with Ms. Smallwood, Guidance Counselor, 7:30am.” the Welcome Letter had read. Podrick was used to meeting with Guidance Counselors by now. King’s Landing Prep was just one in a succession of schools he’d attended over the years as his father moved the family around for his job. He’d promised Podrick that this would be the last, not that it mattered as it was the start of spring semester of his senior year and he’d be done with school in May. At least he could stay in King’s Landing after he’d graduated if his father did move them all again.
The impressively tall secretary, Miss Tarth, had smiled at him when he arrived, directing him to the chair he currently occupied as he sat quietly in the front office waiting for Ms. Smallwood to see him. He could hear muffled voices before the door swung open. Being shooed out was a very large, very surly looking student who was saying, “It was a joke with Mrs. Heddle in the cafeteria,” followed by a small woman draped in a colorful shawl, who must be Ms. Smallwood, replying, “A bratwurst? Aren’t we the optimist. Don’t let it happen again Mr. Waters. Now, scoot!”
The teenager glanced at Pod as he made his way out of the office. Pod immediately looked away, not wanting to be noticed. Under the radar was the best place for him to be, Pod felt. Ms. Smallwood looked at Pod and gave him a vague wave into her office before returning to her desk. Pod scrambled to follow as she made a few clacks of her keyboard, “Your fourth school in three years, military brat?” she asked.
“Not quite, my father is,” but he never got to finish as Ms. Smallwood made a few more clicks.
“Uh-huh. Well you’ll find King’s Landing Prep to be the same as any other. High school is the same from Dorne to the Wall. Same little shits, different locations,” the printer clattered behind her and her chair rattled as she turned to take the pages. “Schedule, map, locker information, parking pass, we’ve assigned someone to guide you to your first class. First bell is at 8:15, don’t be late. I don’t want to see you in here again. Now, scoot!”
Pod managed to not drop the papers as Ms. Smallwood shuffled him out the door. It closed behind him with a snap and Pod found himself back in the main office wondering what had just happened. Miss Tarth gave him another smile and pointed to a young man sitting near the front door, clearly waiting for him.
“Howard Pie, but my friends call me Hot Pie, I’m supposed to show you around” the boy said, jumping up and shoving a hand out. Pod juggled the papers and his school bag enough to shake it, unsure if this meant he was to call the boy Hot Pie or Howard.
Hot Pie led him out into the main courtyard, talking as he went, “So the courtyard at KLP is the best place to get the lay of the land. You have the art preps,” he gestured at a group of people in dark clothes with thin scarves and little hats, not a paint splotch to be seen, “by the coffee cart are the coffee snobs, if they’re behind you in line just let them cut. Also the pastries are subpar but I can make you some recommendations if you’d like,” three boys began to shout at each other as one stumbled and splashed some of what was apparently Braavosi dark roast on the ground, “the stoners, the jocks, the band geeks, the theater kids” each group was distinct as Hot Pie kept talking, “and finally you have,”
Whatever Hot Pie was about to say next was lost on Pod as a tall redheaded girl stepped into their path, talking with a slightly smaller brunette next to her. She was wearing a sundress in the golden King’s Landing morning and her pale pink purse matched her backpack as the girls walked ahead of them.
“Who is that?” Pod whispered, awestruck.
“That is Sansa Stark, she’s also a senior but don’t even think about-” but again Hot Pie was interrupted.
“I burn, I pine, I perish!” Pod had never seen a girl so beautiful. The sunlight was shining on her hair as it swept down her back.
“Of course,” Hot Pie muttered, “You know she’s beautiful, and deep.”
The boys could just hear a snippet of the conversation between the two girls as Sansa said to her friend, “But you know, there’s a difference between like and love. Like, I like my Sketchers, but I love my Sand Snakes backpack.”
The other girl looked confused, “But I love my Sketchers?”
Sansa giggled and shook her head, her hair shimmering in the light, “Jeyne, that’s because you don’t have a Sand Snakes backpack!”
The other girl giggled too, “Oh, I see now!”
Hot Pie pulled Pod to a stop as the girls continued on, “Listen, let me fill you in on a little King’s Landing Prep info. Forget her, her father is the King’s Hand and it’s widely known that the Stark Sisters aren’t allowed to date.”
Pod nodded, still staring after Sansa, “Yeah. Got it.”
Hot Pie sighed. The new kids always learned soon enough.
#gendrya#gendrya fanfic#10 things I hate about you AU#arya stark#gendry waters#my writing#this has been percolating since October#finally publishing#updates weekly
38 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey, do you know of any enemies to lovers fics, preferably slowburn, from Blaine's POV. I just read the hating game and I was so good
I’m struggling to come up with fics that meet all 3 requests. I’ll list a few enemies to lovers fics and hopefully you can find something you like among them (I think most of these are slow burn??? but I’m not sure about POV)
Caffeine and Love by thistidalwave [AO3] (10,871words Teen&Up)
In between cleaning stainless steel counter tops and making cups of coffee at his job as manager of Anderson Coffee Inc. in Midtown Manhattan, Blaine dreams of breaking out of the shell he’s been trapped in all his privileged life--though of course his father would never allow him to strike off on his own. When someone sets up shop in the abandoned building next to the coffee shop, Blaine thinks nothing of it save that at least his father won’t complain about it going into disrepair anymore. That is, he thinks nothing of it until he meets Kurt Hummel. Then it basically all goes to shit.
Clinging to This Hating Game by notarelationship [AO3] (38.269words Explicit.NC17)
Based on this prompt from the Klaine-prompt-a-fic blog on tumblr:
Kurt and Blaine couldn't stand each other in high school, maybe one was a jock/cheerleader and the other a nerd/glee clubber. Or they were bitter rivals for competition solos if they were both in glee club. Now they both live in NY and their friends set them up on a blind date, not knowing they went to the same high school.
This Hating Game by hazelandglasz [AO3] (5.693words Mature)
From @prompt-a-klainefic : Kurt and Blaine couldn't stand each other in high school, maybe one was a jock/cheerleader and the other a nerd/glee clubber. Or they were bitter rivals for competition solos if they were both in glee club. Now they both live in NY and their friends set them up on a blind date, not knowing they went to the same high school
Out of the Blue by lilyvandersteen [AO3] (36.548 Teen&Up)
Kurt organises a fake wedding for Brittana to get presents from random billionaires. Cooper is one of those invited, and he shows up with his brother in tow. Sparks fly, but not of the good kind. Enemies to lovers, anyone? With a slight Pride and Prejudice vibe?
True Like by DualWielding [FFN] (44,359 Mature)
Kurt loves his job at the off-Broadway theater. As for Blaine Anderson, Kurt might have to work with him, but he doesn't have to like him. AU. COMPLETE
Hummel and Oates by elfinder [AO3] (75,347words Mature)
Klaine ‘80s AU. Sometimes even potential soulmates can get off on the wrong foot. Enter Kurt, the ballsy co-manager of Dare to Flare, the hottest gay club in the East Village, and Blaine, a newly hired cover band artist at the same club. Right from the start, the boys’ first impressions of one another go astray thanks to some incorrect gossip and an accidentally spilt drink. Can two men who aren't even on a first name basis ever put their differences aside?
Courageous Dreams by KlainebowsAndDramioneflies [AO3] (7.212words Teen&Up)
The names ‘Blaine Anderson’ and ‘Kurt Hummel’ are well-known in the Broadway scene. Both men have found their way to the top and fight for the key roles in the biggest and boldest titles to hit NYC. While the two stars squabble, seeming stuck in their unwillingness to compromise or get to know each other in the least, two anonymous tumblr users strike up a friendship without knowing anything about each other ‘IRL’. As fate would have it, two worlds collide. Can two people connect without outside forces getting in the way, or is the sudden lack of anonymity a death sentence for the budding relationship, strengthened by the cutthroat nature of fame?
Neon by BeautyHeldWithin [FFN] (56,072words Mature)
AU. Las Vegas is nicknamed The City of Despair by the people who actually live there. Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson are two lost souls wandering the streets and they could help each other, if they didn't hate each other from the first night they met.
Pride & Prejudice & Superheroes by a_simple_rainbow [AO3] (50,741words Not Rated)
Blaine, the reluctant superhero amateur with the lamest backstory ever. Kurt, the apparent snob with an impatient attitude and an aversion to expressing gratitude. They hate one another, but the universe has other plans if the way they keep running into each other is anything to go by.
College & Superhero AU
45 notes
·
View notes
Text
Birds Of A Feather
AO3 FFN
Summary: It was funny, really, someone like her dating someone like him. She was a bright and preppy whilst he was a cynical pessimist. People always say opposites attract, so who are they to disagree?
Pairing: Sasori/Sakura
The two are like night and day, dark and light, yin and yang. One would think neither Sasori nor Sakura would ever be able to put aside their differences long enough to even think about dating, and yet here they were. Sitting in the mall food court doing just that. Sasori's friendly can recall just how many times the red haired man has lamented on and on about how he despises shopping despite the fact he went constantly with the pink haired medic. Never once complaining when his girlfriend drags them into the fifteenth store to try on a multitude of items only to either walk out with nothing or just a couple things. It was a well known fact that while Sasori acted patient, he was not a patient man. His friends honestly had no clue how the man could put up with the lively and talkative woman until they saw how soft his eyes seemed to get whenever she was around. Somehow, in spite of his introverted nature, the man always spent as much time as possible with the extroverted pinkette.
Much like Sasori's friends, Sakura's friends also didn't quite understand how the two were dating. Ino could list five different times off the top of her head when the medic would burst into their shared apartment, annoyed at something a kid in her art class had done, only to find out that it was Sasori all along years later. Although the blonde was grateful to no longer have her messy best friend living with her, Ino couldn't help but worry about the other woman. Sasori was mean, cold, calculating, and incredibly cunning. The blue eyes woman is also convinced his morals are all out of wack regardless of Sakura constantly saying otherwise. Ino could tell, despite her preconceived notions of the man, that he made the green eyed girl much happier than the blonde had ever seen.
So in spite of some people's curious gazes, the two continued to enjoy themselves, laughing as they munched on mediocre mall food. Though Sakura would never admit it out loud, she too couldn't believe how the both of them have been together so long. Most men she dated got intimidated by her thriving career, fiery temper, and the fact that 9 times out of ten she was stronger than them. Sasori never once gave off that vibe and always told her how proud he was that she reached a new fitness goal or got a promotion at work. Those aren't the only reason's though for the unwelcome thoughts lingering in the back of her mind.
Sakura was very messy, something Sasori absolutely couldn't stand, and they used to get into loads of arguments when they first moved in together. Since then she's actually gotten better about not just leaving her clothes lying around and actually doing the dishes once in a while. It's actually a little funny how he pretends to be annoyed when she puts her laundry in with his and he tells her to knock it off but does it anyway.
Whenever she thinks about how little they have in common, she just laughs because there is so much that they do have in common, but sometimes she thinks they really are like yin and yang. For example, Sasori is such an art snob sometimes and even though she took an art class for college, she just doesn't get what he gets into arguments with Deidara for. After all, art is art, right? Wrong apparently as Sakura found out once as they both started spouting nonsense at her when she was trying to calm them down. Another example is how she is literally the definition of a prep/jock, and he is the embodiment of an angsty emo (eyeliner and all that Sakura (not so)secretly thinks is hot). And although he is taller than her, she can hold her liquor better, which you would never know since she gets into shenanigans more often due to two certain blonde friends of hers.
Despite their differences though, they really do have somethings in common. They can both cook. for instance, even if his food always tastes better. They're both interested in medicine, albeit different sides of medicine. They both get jealous easily even though they trust each other 100%. She likes working out and he likes watching her work out, definitely not because she gets all sweaty and her hair is messed up, no way no how. Sasori loves it when she walks around their house wearing his shirts as does she. Both of them also really enjoy cuddling with Sakura as the big spoon holding Sasori while she plays with her hair. He loves drawing her and she loves that he thinks she's worthy of being drawn.
Honestly there are as many differences as there are similarities between them, but the one that really brings them together is the fact that they're both only children. They understand what it's like to grow up wanting for siblings and finding them in your obnoxious blond friends instead. Sure they could focus on the differences that shouldn't make their relationship work like so many others, but why would they? Yeah, they could break up right now, or even tomorrow because of them, but if they only focused on the negatives that's exactly what would happen. After all, regardless of whether or not their relationship lasts, Sakura is going to continue to mooch off of her boyfriend for his heavenly back massages.
"You about finished with your smoothie?" Sasori questioned, breaking the girl from her thoughts.
She took an extra large sip from her banana smoothie, a slurping sound coming from the straw letting them both know it was empty, while she raised one eyebrow up at him in response.
"Wow, Haruno, could've said 'no'." He teased in a sarcastic tone, "You don't have to be so dramatic."
"Oh as if I'm the dramatic one in this relationship," A scoff followed the end of her sentence as the pinkette stood up to throw their trash away.
"Nobody would be surprised." He retorted, grabbing her bags and following her lead.
"Just cause you've got them all fooled Red."
"Psh, whatever, you're the one who has everybody wrapped around her little finger."
"Oh are you jealous?"
"Hah! Of you? Never."
"I can see right through you sweetie, you're so jealous that Konan loves me more than you even though you've been friends longer."
"As if Haruno, I can't hold that against Konan or you for that matter since everyone who even comes within a five mile radius of you is immediately struck by cupid's bow."
The woman merely scoffs and shakes her head at the absurd notion, a light blush dusting her cheeks. Sasori knew just the right thing to say to make her feel like a schoolgirl again. Giving her a light, happy feeling in her chest as her heart beat a little too fast for her liking. The man in question simply places his arm around her shoulders and pull her closer to him as they continue walking past stores and out to the parking lot.
"We done for the day?" Sasori inquired.
"Yeah," Sakura replied thoughtfully, "I'm pretty sure we've got the prefect gifts for everybody as well as some cute outfits for me, of course."
"Of course." He joked back, looking down at her with nothing short of adoration in his eyes.
Sasori was not an overly affectionate man and he certainly did not like PDA. In general he was not even considered a loving man, in fact Sakura was the first real girlfriend he'd ever had. Of course he's dated girls before and slept around, but none of them ever made him feel anything. That was naturally before Sakura came running head first into his life, literally. She came barreling through the door of his art class on the first day of school and fell over herself trying to slow down so as not to run into him, but ultimately failing as they collided and their collective stuff fell to the ground with them. He was naturally annoyed with her, so he told her off, shocked when she decided to tell him off back. From then on he was intrigued by the energetic pink haired girl who's name he failed to catch.
Growing up in a small town, Sasori was used to all the woman being polite and meek, and obviously Sakura was anything but. She is wild and loud and snorts when she laughs too hard. Sakura Haruno is a spitfire and if the red haired man was being honest with himself, he quite enjoyed teasing her and watching as her cheeks turned red from anger, although he wasn't sure why. After all, he'd never felt anything for anybody before, so why on earth would him having feelings for her even make the 'top 20 reasons why he could do this list' in his head? He actually told his grandmother about the strange woman in his class during winter break and could not for the life of him realize why the old lady was suddenly on the floor laughing her pants off at him.
"How did I raise such an oblivious child?" She asked him once she finally stopped chortling, "How is it you are so observant when it comes to other people, yet so obtuse when it comes to yourself and your own emotions?"
"What on earth are you talking about old lady?" He was getting tired of this.
"Honestly kid," She wiped a tear from her eye and chuckled in disbelief, "I never thought I'd see the day you'd actually get a crush on someone."
"I don't have a crush on her. She's annoying and obnoxious and her sense of justice is overpowering!"
"Whatever you say dear." His Grandma Chiyo was starting to walk away.
"She can't even draw!" Laughs could be heard from the kitchen as he called after her, " She didn't even know what oil paints were until last week!"
Of course his grandmother was right, but Sasori wouldn't let the woman know that, despite the fact that the man introduced the two most important women in his life just after three short months of dating. Now here they are, going on six years, and he had never been happier in his entire life. At first Sasori was afraid of how much he cared about Sakura in the beginning and actually started to push the poor woman away. Could you blame him though? Here this seemingly perfect woman comes into his life, pulling his walls down brick by brick, and you expect him to not freak out? Especially one who wears her heart on her sleeve and seems to be everything he's not. However she was much smarter than she let on and refused to let Sasori shut her out. She actually came knocking on his door after the third day of silence and demanded to be let in. That was their first real fight and their combined tempers made it explosive. Somehow Sakura managed to calm down, which calmed him down, and they were able to have an actual progressive conversation as opposed to a screaming match, trying to force their beliefs on one another.
They've been going strong ever since and Sakura has proved over and over that his insecurities about their relationship are unfounded as she will always prove just how willing she is to work on their relationship together. She eases his anxieties and vise versa. Who cares if he's a morning person and she's not, or if he enjoys quiet nights in while she wants to go out? Though are trivial things that don't matter when one looks at the big picture. Sasori can feel the familiar weight in his right inside pocket, the small box bringing a comforting feeling to the otherwise apprehensive man.
"When are you going to get hitched?" His grandmother's voice rang in the back of his head as the memory of her words played over and over in his mind. She always asked that whenever they would visit, always making sure to pull the man aside.
Sasori always shrugged off the question, acting nonchalant about it. To be fair the ring has been sitting in his pocket for a little over two years now, but he never managed to find the right time. Sakura was constantly busy with her career and finishing off her last year of school, not to mention how she always had her friend dates every Thursday. Honestly the man took what he got when it came to what little free time the pinkette had, he was selfish like that. Was it wrong to want her all to himself though? He didn't think so, and Sakura didn't seem to mind either.
He coveted the nights when she was able to get off early and he could actually make her dinner, or their lunches together in his studio. He enjoyed being able to draw her sleeping form as the sun began to peek above the horizon and creating a halo effect on the woman. As an artist, his girlfriend was quite possibly the most exquisite thing he'd ever had the honor of bestowing his eyes upon, especially when she was resting as the tension left her shoulders and pink strands fell around and on her face.
Who cares if she makes him go hiking with her when he just wants to read a book? Her excuse is that she wants a workout buddy, but he knows she already has one. That just means she wants to spend time with him, and who is he to object? Really, everybody knows Sakura's the boss in their relationship anyway and he couldn't tell her no if he tried. Yeah he'll pretend to make a show of it whenever she asks him to go on a new trail with her, but that doesn't mean he doesn't already have his shoes on before the words even left her mouth. Plus, if she makes him go hiking then that means he gets to drag her to every boring art show he has to go to and show her off. The other people are superficial at those events anyway and somehow his girlfriend is the master of small talk, and he really thinks she's an angel at least fifty times a day.
The red haired man probably couldn't have fallen harder for anybody else if he tried. Sasori was looking forward to having her yell at him for using all the hot water cause his showers took too long again, or how they can simultaneously sit in comfortable silence for hours on end and talk non-stop. Their conversations are enlightening and she forces him to look at things from a new perspective, her optimism rubbing off on him. Sakura Haruno is a storm and he is looking forward to each new day alongside her.
"What do you think of Akasuna no Sakura?" Sasori asked to woman beside him as they finally made it to their car, the sun beginning to set.
The question seemed to catch her off guard for a second as she simply looked at him before replying, "That's okay, but what about Sasori Haruno?"
He shrugged and they got in the car and he started it, looking at his girlfriend from the corner of his eye.
"I don't mind it." The red haired man told her casually.
"Oh really now?" She inquired.
"Yeah." The radio played quietly as he waited for Sakura's reply.
"Did you just propose to me?"
"I suppose I did."
This caused a laugh to rip through the woman's throat as Sasori looked at her quizzically, trying to pay attention to the cars driving around them, a slight annoyance flowing through him. Was the thought of marrying him really that funny? He was about to tell her off but then she started speaking.
"About time."
"What? What does that mean?"
"You know what it means Red."
"How long have you been waiting for me to propose?"
"How long have you had that ring in your pocket?"
They were almost home now, but that made Sasori do a double take. She knew? "You knew?"
"Of course I did, you started acting a little weird when I wore your jackets and always insisted on checking the pockets first."
They pull into their garage, park, and he just looks at her for a minute. Really looks at her. Takes in her short pink hair that's no longer a chin length and to her shoulders, her emerald eyes that always had a mischievous twinkle in them, her straight nose that was just a little crooked from being broken although you couldn't tell unless she told you. She gives him her sweet smile that he knows never reached her eyes in the beginning of their rocky friendship, but is delighted at the fact that it almost always does now. Sakura was a firecracker and now she'd be his firecracker forever.
Slowly he takes the ring box out of his pocket and her eyes follow the movement. Sasori opens it and takes her hand in his as she waits for him to speak those life changing words, both still in the car as one of them holds her breath. Meanwhile he takes a deep breath to steel his nerves, all the words he wanted to say, all the things she means to him, have suddenly vanished from his brain. It doesn't matter though, he can always tell her in his vows and every single day for the rest of his life if she wanted him to.
"Will you, Sakura Haruno, do me the pleasure and honor of becoming my wife?"
"Of course," She replies with a sigh, letting him put the ring on her finger before pulling him into a kiss.
#fanfiction#my writing#sasosaku#sasori#sasori of the red sand#chiyo#sakura haruno#naruto#same age au#real world au#bitternessbitesback#please read and give me feedback#thank you!!!#i love you all!!!#sorry to mobile users!#i put the read more two paragraphs in#whoops
31 notes
·
View notes
Text
Take Your Guess by <a rel="author" href="/users/pietromaxicough/pseuds/pietromaxicough">pietromaxicough</a>
read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2GBGuqk
by pietromaxicough
Merlin hated those kind of guys. Popular, rich, snobby, a jock and most of all, a huge prat.
~
Arthur made up his mind. He'll begin his little courting game the next time he sees Merlin. Merlin will be his in no time.
~
AKA where an oblivious Merlin is a new student at Camelot High and meets Arthur Pendragon, the biggest snob in the school in Merlin's opinion. Little does he know that Arthur has different opinions about him...
Words: 1752, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Merlin (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwaine (Merlin), Gwen (Merlin), Freya (Merlin), Leon (Merlin), Lancelot (Merlin), Hunith (Merlin), Gaius (Merlin), Kilgharrah (Merlin), Morgana (Merlin)
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - High School, Flirting, Awkward Flirting, Pining, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Oblivious, Oblivious Merlin (Merlin), First Kiss
read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2GBGuqk
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Take Your Guess
read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2GBGuqk
by pietromaxicough
Merlin hated those kind of guys. Popular, rich, snobby, a jock and most of all, a huge prat.
~
Arthur made up his mind. He'll begin his little courting game the next time he sees Merlin. Merlin will be his in no time.
~
AKA where an oblivious Merlin is a new student at Camelot High and meets Arthur Pendragon, the biggest snob in the school in Merlin's opinion. Little does he know that Arthur has different opinions about him...
Words: 1752, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Merlin (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwaine (Merlin), Gwen (Merlin), Freya (Merlin), Leon (Merlin), Lancelot (Merlin), Hunith (Merlin), Gaius (Merlin), Kilgharrah (Merlin), Morgana (Merlin)
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - High School, Flirting, Awkward Flirting, Pining, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Oblivious, Oblivious Merlin (Merlin), First Kiss, Swearing
read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2GBGuqk
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
So You Are Falling for an Extrovert: Now What?
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3hZ7KBl
by feraljaskier
Loki did not know how to feel about this whole predicament, yes he loved his brother.. Yes he wanted him to succeed… he liked to be around him sometimes.. But those feelings were not strong enough for him to be particularly thrilled that Thor had followed him to college.
Loki just wanted to forget his previous life living under his brother's enormous shadow in high school, and build himself up as the snobby lonely dark law student he was born to be. If only he could avoid happy bubbly sunshine grey haired boys he might even get the chance to actually be left alone.
Words: 1087, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: Loki (TV 2021), Loki - Fandom
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M, Other
Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), Mobius M. Mobius
Relationships: Loki/Mobius M. Mobius
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Loki is a snob and they know it, Mobius just wants to have a good time, Jock Thor, gender fluid Loki, everyone wants Loki to be happy except Loki
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3hZ7KBl
0 notes
Text
Chapter 21: We’re All Crazy
Chapter 21 of my ongoing Bughead fanfic is up of AO3
Chapter 21
: We're All CrazyChapter Text
“What!?” Jughead asked, sitting up fast, almost knocking Betty off of the bed and onto the floor.
She sat up, too, pulled on her robe, and tied it around herself. She stood up and went over to her dresser and picked up an old photo album from Alice’s senior year and handed it to him. “After my mom gave birth to my secret brother, she and my dad broke up briefly, and she fell in love with Snake.”
“So was your mom a Serpent?” Jughead asked. He got up, got dressed, and put his beanie back on. He sat on the window seat and rested his elbows on his knees, a stance she knew usually meant he was thinking, piecing together information into a story that made sense.
“Not exactly. Turns out my mom was from the Southside-just one of the many secrets she kept from me. Remember when we were in kindergarten and had to write a report on our mothers? She told me she was born and raised here in Riverdale, even showed me the house where she said she grew up.”
“That was the first time you had to read something out loud in class,” Jughead said. “Reggie Mantle laughed at you when you accidentally said your mom was the homecoming king instead of queen. He made you cry.”
She smiled, recalling the memory. “And I ran into the girls’ bathroom. You found me and sat with me while I cried. You told me my article was the best thing ever written. And then you punched Reggie in the mouth during recess.” She had forgotten until now, but Jughead remembered. He remembered everything. “You were the first kindergartner at Riverdale Elementary to ever get suspended.” She sat down next to him on the window seat.
“First and only,” he said. “I told you that I've loved you my entire life.”
She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. “I love you,” she said.
He grinned at her before going back to the topic at hand. “So Alice and Hal were Riverdale High’s retro Romeo and Juliet? Rich boy falls for a girl from the wrong side of the tracks.”
Betty flipped the photo album open and showed him a few more pictures of Alice and Snake. “They didn't last long, she said. Just a little rebellion before Alice fully committed to my dad.”
“So that Romeo and Juliet end up together,” Jughead said.
“But my parents aren't happy. They pretend to be, but they aren't. You make me happy, Jug.”
“Ditto,” he said. “So what is Goldhead? What did your mom say?”
“As far as she knows, it really was a dance club where they all used to hang out, but it was beneath the Whyte Wyrm. Kinda a speak-easy of the 90s. High school kids could drink. Some did drugs. The owner looked the other way and let the kids engage in whatever debauchery they wanted. They only let Keller come because his dad was the original Sheriff Keller, and they thought if young Keller was with them that the Riverdale Police Department wouldn’t bother them.”
“In the basement,” Jughead said. “What happened there twenty-five years ago?”
Betty shrugged. “She swears she has no idea. After she and Snake broke up, she slipped into a depression. With having to put my brother up for adoption and losing who she said was the love of her life, it was too much for her. She finished up her senior year at the Sisters of Quiet Mercy.”
“So she has no idea what the secret is that got Fred shot?” he asked.
Betty shook her head. “No idea. We need to find out who else was in that picture that Eric has. Should we go talk to Fred?” Betty suggested. “I mean, he's the one who was shot, after all. Maybe he'll tell us why.”
“Yeah. Let's do that. But there's something I want to show you first.” He pulled out his phone and showed her a screenshot of the article he’d found in Fred’s files.
She read it and then said, “So? What does an obituary about an old man have to do with anything?”
“I found it in a file labeled Goldhead,” Jughead said. “I think this guy used to own the Whyte Wyrm.”
“So we have a shooting, this old, dead man, a 90’s dance club, and a secret shared by seven people, and we still don't know who two of those people are. We don't know much anything. It's just a few random clues. What if they don't mean anything or aren’t even related?”
“That's never stopped us before. You'll figure it out.”
“We will. Together.”
He stood up and offered her his hand. “Let’s make a trip to the hospital.”
They found Fred asleep in his hospital bed, hooked up to machines regulating his vitals, his breathing rough and shallow. The hollows of his cheeks sunken in, his skin yellowish in tint. His usual stubble was a full beard now. His wheeled serving tray was pulled up to his bed, over his lap. The warming lid still covered Fred's uneaten food, and surrounding it was small folded up pieces of paper with cramped, unreadable lettering the serving tray.
Jughead eased into the seat next Fred's bed, and took the man's hand in his. Betty stood back and watched them--Jughead and his stand-in father, the man who had loved and protected him when his real family had written him off. Jughead didn't let people in easily, but when he did, it was for life. If Fred didn't pull through, and if with FP locked up in a federal prison, Jughead stood to lose both his fathers, the only family he had left. She squeezed his shoulder, kissed him on his temple. He'd always have her.
“I love you,” she whispered.
He rested his hand on hers, his fingers tightening around hers. “I love you, Betts.” His head tilted as he kissed her.
He loved her. Everything was good between them. Then why was it still there, looming over her like a thick black cloud, blocking out the light, weighing her down. Her emotions went slack, her vision tunneled. She grabbed ahold of the back of his chair. How long would it be before he stopped loving her? Until he no longer wanted her as a part of his family? How long until he saw her for the fucked up girl she really was. Jughead Jones had enough to deal with in his life. Why would he want to deal with the mess that was Betty Cooper? She had been such an idiot. Why did she leave herself so vulnerable? Why was she like this? She was worthless, stupid, unable to control her own mind.
She glanced at the sink next to Fred's bed, to the drawers and cabinets, and wondered if there was a hidden scalpel, maybe Fred's shaving kit. She didn't deserve Jughead. She did deserve anything. Her fingers curled into her palm, sinking into her flesh. The biting pain was grounding, euphoric. She squeezed harder, felt her skin sliced, break open, and she signed.
“Betts? Betty?”
Her eyes focused and Jughead was standing right in front of her, hands on her shoulders, leaning his head down. His eyes were the blue of a summer sky after a storm. He was her anchor, a reason to step back into the light. Wanting to hide the shame of her self-harm, Betty shoved her hands into the pocket of her coat. But Jughead knew. He knew her. He pulled her hands out and uncurled her fingers.
“Betty. . .” he said gently, his mouth turned down. “What’s wrong?” He kissed the fresh wounds on her palms.
She didn't want to tell him. There was nothing wrong, not really, just her own irrational fears plaguing her. She could trust him. He wouldn't judge her. She could tell him anything. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the hospital room door swung open.
But it wasn't a nurse who interrupted them. “Visiting hours are over,” said a man dressed in a silvery blue suit that looked like it cost more than her mother's station wagon. He was probably in his mid-forties, tanned skin, black hair slicked back from his face, and dark brown eyes that were unlined with wrinkles. She'd seen those eyes before.
In protective mode, he stepped in front of Betty. She still held onto his hand, but everything was steady now.“Who are you?” Jughead asked, squinting at the man.
“Hiram Lodge,” Betty said. She'd seen his framed pictures in Veronica's bedroom.
“I thought you were in jail,” Jughead said.
Hiram flashed his straight, pearly whites at them. “Out for good behavior,” he replied. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down in the chair Jughead had just vacated. “Maybe I should send my lawyer your father's way. Pro Bono, of course. I know the Joneses haven't been as financially blessed as the Lodges have.”
Jughead’s body stiffened, and he took a step forward, so Betty clutched his hand, keeping him next to her, keeping him from a fight he should not get involved in right now.
“Does Veronica know your home?” Betty asked. This time, she stepped in front of Jughead, shielding him.
“Oh, yes,” Hiram chuckled. “Meet her jock, red-headed boyfriend, too. I got to know him a little too well, if you know what I mean. Betty, you must tell your best friend to lock her bedroom door when she has a male friend over. You know, like you do with FP’s kid.” He cocked his head towards Jughead. “Some things are best kept a secret, like your white trash boyfriend here.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Betty asked. She reached behind herself and held Jughead back. What was wrong with people in this town? If Riverdale was full of snobs who judged a teenager boy on who his parents were and how much money they had, she would happily move to the Southside with him and never look back.
“I’m Hiram Lodge. I own this town and I think it’s time to take out the trash.”
Betty didn’t remember making the move, but she was suddenly attacking Hiram, her hands wrapped around his throat, her fingers pressing in, his tendons popping. She had pushed him against the wall next to Fred’s bed. Her ears rang, almost drowning out Jughead yelling her name, clawing at her, trying to get her to let go of Hiram. His dark brown eyes were wide, bugging out of his head, bloodshot and red.
“Oh my god,” Betty said, her hands dropping at her side as she realized what she’d done. Jughead grabbed her around the waist and hauled her out of the room as a nurse rushed in. Jughead dropped her to her feet, but kept her upright by holding on to both of her elbows.
“Betty! Betty!” Jughead repeated until she looked at him. “Are you okay?” She nodded, and he guided her down the corridor, to the back stairway, and out of the hospital exit. Her hands shook as she fastened her seat belt while Jughead cranked over the truck’s engine.
“Where are we going?” Betty asked.
“I don’t know. Away from here.”
“I choked him,” Betty said, looking down at her balled up fists. Her fingernails were digging into her skin again, cutting into the fresh wounds. “I . . . I don’t know how. . . He was saying horrible things to you, Jughead. I couldn’t let him hurt you.”
“It’s okay,” he said. He reached across the seat and placed his hand over her fist. “It’s okay. You just need some time to calm down, a place where we can be alone for a little while.”
As they drove, Betty concentrated on the clock radio in the dashboard, watching the green analog numbers, the seconds clicking past. It wasn’t even seven in the morning and already she was so exhausted. Why had she reacted that way to what Hiram had said? Yes, Mr. Lodge was rude and out of line, but that didn’t make what she had done okay. Shit, what if he pressed charges? What if he called her mom and told her what she’d done? She was crazy. Just like her mother, just like her sister, just like every other person in her family. Betty Cooper was the queen of the crazies. Betty sighed in relief when Jughead passed her neighborhood and went over the railroad tracks to the Southside. He parked the truck in front of the trailer and helped her out.
“I’m so tired, Juggie,” she said as they walked in the door. Hot Dog came up to greet her. He licked her hand, and then she rubbed his head.
“Go lay down,” Jughead said. “I’ll make some breakfast.” He kissed her forehead and scooted her off down the hall. Hot Dog followed him into the kitchen.
He didn’t ask her why she’d done what she did. Or if she was nuts. As always, he was kind and gave her space when she needed it. She laid down on the bed, pulled the thin covers up over her face, and closed her eyes. But sleep didn’t come. Instead flashes of Hiram Lodge, gasping for air jolted her awake. It was no use. She couldn’t quiet her mind enough to allow her to rest.
Jughead was in the kitchen, but he wasn’t standing in front of the stove frying bacon. Instead he sat at the kitchen table, looking over small folded up pieces of paper. The ones that had been sitting on the tray next to Fred’s uneaten dinner in the hospital room.
“When did you take those?” she asked. Jughead jolted when he heard her voice, but relaxed when he looked up at saw her leaning against the doorjamb.
“Right before Hiram came in,” he said. “I told you about it, but you didn't register that I was talking. You were staring off into nothingness.”
“I'm sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry that your girlfriend is crazy.”
He turned his face up to her and he took her hands in his. “No, Betty, you’re not crazy.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he wouldn’t let her. “You’re not.”
“I just choked my best friend’s dad. I throw birthday parties that no one wants. I gouged my fingernails into my palms so hard that I have scars. I cut myself last night. And there are times that I’m so weighed down by it, by the darkness or whatever you want to call it, that I can’t move, can’t speak, can’t breathe.”
“We’re all crazy,” he said, smiling, trying to lighten the mood. It was what he’d said to her the first time he kissed her. Back then, he didn’t realize just how serious she was about worrying over her sanity. When he could tell she wanted to keep this conversation serious, his demeanor changed. He palmed her cheek, his eyes wide and loving. “Elizabeth Cooper, you are not crazy. I love you just the way you are. There is nothing wrong with you.”
“But there is,” she replied. As much as Jughead wanted to looked past her mental illness, to only see the good, she knew she couldn’t. There was danger in ignoring the signs she knew were there. “I think my mom is right. I need to be back on my medication.”
“Then start taking it again. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“I can’t get control of this on my own and it makes me feel weak. I don’t like the stigma attached. I know I hate the word perfect, but that’s still how I want most of the world to see me. I don’t want people to know.”
“But no one will know. And medication doesn’t make you weak. If you had a broken arm, and your doctor said you needed to wear a cast to repair the bone, you wouldn’t say nah, it’ll heal up on its own. You can’t will a broken limb to set itself. Getting help isn’t weakness, but a strength."
Everything he said made sense, but she still didn’t like the idea of medication. While it helped regulate her moods, sometimes it made her feel nothing at all. But wasn’t numbness better than overwhelming sadness, better than choking Hiram Lodge or trying to drown Riverdale’s football captain in a hot tub? She nodded in agreement with him. “I’ll refill my prescription.” She opened the drug store app on her phone and did just that. The pills would be ready in about half an hour.
She looked back to Jughead and the papers he was studying. She turned one over in her hand, trying to make out the chicken scratch. “What does it mean?”
He shrugged. “Dunno. I needed you to help make sense of it.”
She sat down next to him and spread all the pieces out on the table. Nothing stood out. She shuffled the papers, moving them around in a different order. Nothing. She tried again and stared down at them for a few minutes while Jughead went to the stove and started pulling out frying pans. As he bumped around in the kitchen, the papers started to make sense. Each paper had one word written on it, but only one letter on each was really legible. She rearranged the pieces once more, and finally the letters formed a word.
“S-W-E-E-T-W-A-T-E-R. Sweetwater,” she said.
“Sweetwater River?” Jughead asked. He turned down the burner and came over to look over her shoulder.
“Only one letter on each paper stands out. It spells Sweetwater.”
“You’re so smart, Betts.” But then he pointed to the five extra papers she hadn’t added in. “What about those?” he asked. He placed all the pieces beneath the others and they both stood back. “Cabin! Those spell cabin.”
Betty touched each lettered piece of paper. “So Fred wanted us to know something about a cabin in Sweetwater?” she asked. “What about it?”
Jughead snapped his fingers, pulled out his phone, and then he showed her a picture of the article he’d told her about. “This obituary I found in Fred’s files said that Michael James died in a cabin on Sweetwater River. And he owned properties on the Southside.” Jughead went over to the hook where his messenger bag hung and took out his laptop. He brought up the public records search page online and looked up Michael James. He had several properties listed. “Look! He owns a piece of unincorporated land on Sweetwater. That has to be the cabin.”
Betty read the list, too. “And that’s the address for the Whyte Wyrm. All properties were in his name until 1992. Then they were sold to Hector Lodge at Lodge Industries. That has to be Veronica’s grandfather.”
“Hiram was right. The Lodges do own this whole damn town. They’ve spent generations buying up land. I’m sure they saw that Michael James didn’t have any living relatives at the time of his death and bought the Whyte Wyrm on the cheap.”
“Do the Lodges still own the Whyte Wyrm?” Betty asked.
With a few strokes on his keyboard, Jughead had the answer. “No. Public record says that some comowns it now. FAL, LLC.”
Betty took that info in, but it didn’t mean anything to her. “So maybe Goldhead, aka the Whyte Wyrm, has nothing to do with anything. Maybe Goldhead is just code for something else. We don’t really know anything.”
“There has to be a connection. What does this old guy, the Whyte Wyrm, and seven pesky teenagers have in common?” Jughead asked.
“I have no idea,” Betty replied. Her brain was so foggy from exhaustion that she was having trouble thinking. “We need to get in touch with your dad.”
“Or go to the cabin where Michael James was killed.”
“But it burned down,” Betty said.
“Doesn’t mean there isn’t anything there for us to find.”
“I guess you’re right.” She caught the smell of something charing on the stovetop. “Your pancakes are burning.”
“Oh, shit!” he said, getting up and going over to the stove. He scraped the blackened pancake into the trash. “I guess we know who the real cook is in this family.”
He turned back to the bowl of pancake mix and stirred it. He hadn’t even realized he’d called her family, and maybe that meant more than if he’d said it intentionally. She knew they were way too young, but she couldn’t see her future without him. One day after college, they’d have their own kitchen to make breakfast in. Their own house, children, a life together that would never be separated. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed his shoulder. But then she caught sight of the lumpy disaster that was the pancake mix. She took the bowl and whisk out of his hands.
“Let me help you,” she said and went to work. Within a few minutes, she had fluffy pancakes stacked on a plate for him, and she joined him at the table.
Knife and fork in hand, he grinned at her. “Sorry to sound antiquated and a little masochistic, but damn, woman, you can cook!” He took a bite and sighed. “I would have loved you even if you couldn’t, but I’m happy you can.” He ate the entire dish without taking a break, and then leaned back in his chair. She stood up and took his plate, but he stopped her. “I’ll do the dishes,” he said.
“Shall we go look around a creepy, deserted forest for the remains of a dead man?” Betty asked.
“I couldn’t think of a better way to spend a Saturday,” he said. “Or maybe I could.” He tugged gently on her hand until she landed on his lap. He nuzzled against her neck, kissed her thin skin and then drew it between his teeth. “You taste good.” He worked his hand in between their bodies, up the skirt she was wearing. His fingers slipped up her thigh and ducked underneath the elastic of her panties. “You know what else tastes good.” He stood up and set her on the table, knocking off her plate of unfinished pancakes onto the floor. He spread her thighs apart, but before he reached his knees, her phone rang. They both froze.
“It could be my mom,” she said. “She probably is wondering why I’m not home. I didn’t tell her where I was going.” She picked up her phone, but it wasn’t her mother. “It’s the pharmacy.”
Even though Jughead knew what the call was about, she stepped into the hallway to listen to the recording tell her that her prescription was filled and ready. She leaned against the wall. She knew that taking the medication again was in her best interest, but it felt like a failure, a loss of control.
Jughead came into the hallway with her, his jacket was on and he handed her the Serpent leather one. “We’ll stop at the pharmacy on the way to Sweetwater River,” Jughead said. He put the leather jacket around her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “It’ll be okay, Betts.”
A sob hitched in her throat. She curled herself into him as his arms went around her. He kissed her hair as he whispered words of reassurance to her, and after a moment, she felt balanced, and steady. She nodded against his chest and then took his hand and lead him outside to the truck.
On the way through town, the morning sky began to blacken, dark clouds rolling in from the east. Jughead pulled into the drug store and went in with Betty. Once they were back in the truck, she unscrewed the pill bottle and washed a pill down with the bottle of water she’d purchased. As they drove to the outskirts of Riverdale, Betty closed her eyes and tried to figure out if she felt any different. But she didn't. Maybe the medicine wouldn't work anymore, the dose wrong.
But everything around Betty went hazy as they drove toward Sweetwater River. Her emotions dulled, her limbs felt like they were packed with sand. Don’t do this, Betty. You’re fine. You are stronger than this. She repeated the words over and over again in her head, but nothing changed. Her feelings didn’t return. She was numb.
The sky rumbled with thunder, lightning crackled, sending electric ribbons through the sky. The clouds cracked open and released the rain they'd been holding as the truck jostled and jolted drove down a tree-line path toward the property address they’d found for where the cabin once was. The windshield wipers struggled to clear the rainwater from the glass. The sky had darkened so much that Jughead had to turn on the headlights to guide them. After about three miles, the trail opened up into a clearing. Address numbers were nailed to one of the trees.
“3856 Deertail Rd,” Jughead said, reading the address. “This is it.” He hung a right and proceeded down a narrow driveway. The headlights flashed across a cabin. The structure hadn’t been well maintained. Shingles were falling off the roof, the wooden logs had splintered, but the cabin was in-tact. Jughead huffed out a breath. “It’s not burned down at all.”
Betty wanted to reply, to say something, but the words did not come. The darkness had closed her throat. She stared at the forgotten cabin. When Betty didn’t move, Jughead came around to her side, unbuckled her, and with his hand on hers, she came out of the truck. The downpour fell on them as they rushed through the front yard, the raindrops coming down with such force that they stung her skin when they hit. And it felt good, a sharp reminder that she could feel something.
The stairs that lead up to the cabin were missing, so Jughead jumped onto the porch and pulled her up with him. Weeds had grown through the slats of the wooden porch, and a porch swing dangled from one chain. The front door wasn’t locked, but swung open when Jughead pushed on it. By some miracle, the electricity still worked. Inside the cabin consisted of a main room and was both a living room and a kitchen. Nothing had been touched in years, the cabin frozen in time, somewhere in the 80’s. Everything was a little dusty, but nothing was out of place. Jughead pulled off a sheet from the couch, dust clouding through the air for a moment. He fluffed the pillows and then set Betty down there. He must have sensed that his girlfriend was out of it. He kissed her forehead and went about searching the cabin. As lightning flashed, Betty stared at the stuffed deer head on the wall. Its fur was a golden brown, but its eyes were black, unseeing, dead. Is that how she looked to Jughead right now?
“I can’t feel anything, Juggie.” Her voice was just a whisper, but he heard her.
He turned from the bookshelf he had been going through and sat next to her. “What do you mean? Is numbness a side-effect of you medication?” He squeezed her hand. “Can you feel that?” he asked.
“That’s not what I meant,” she said.
She rose up and swung her leg over him, her knees resting on either side of his hips. Her lips moved against his neck as she pushed his jacket off his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt. Bending herself down, she kissed his stomach, the middle of his chest as she pushed his shirt up and over his head. She tossed it behind the back of the couch.
Jughead’s hands moved to the back of her neck and kissed her throat. She could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against her inner thigh. That’s what she needed from him right now. He clawed at her shirt, struggling with the buttons until she impatiently brushed his fumbling fingers aside and removed the shirt herself. She unhooked her bra and threw it in the same direction as she’d thrown his shirt and jacket. He sat back and just looked at her for a moment, drinking her in. With both hands he reached out and cupped her breasts, squeezing and molding them. He leaned down and took one pink nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. His other hand snaked between them, his fingers slipping into the front of her panties, finding her wet and wanting, ready for him, alive with need. His fingertips circled her bud of nerve endings, sending a jolt of passion through her, making her hips buck forward.
He surprised her when he lifted her up and plopped her to sit down on the couch. He spread her knees apart as he knelt in front of her. He pushed her skirt all the way up to her hips. His hand brushed up her thighs as he reached up and pulled her panties down until he removed them. He kissed his way up, from her calf to her inner thigh. But then he waited, stayed where he was, his mouth against the softness of her leg. She felt the rush of his breath, the slight tickle of his hair, but his lips did not touch her. Not yet. The anticipation made her impatient, alert, bustling with need. Alive.
He smiled against her inner thigh, grabbed onto her hips, and tilted her forward. His tongue was tentative at first, but not because he was shy, but because he was teasing her, building everything up inside her. His lips drew in the bud of flesh, causing her to rise up off the couch cushions a little, wanting to be closer, wanting more. His tongue darted, stocked her up and down, around in beautiful circles that made her cry out. She combed her fingers through his hair, keeping him fix against her.
And then every fiber of her being buzzed to life. She felt more than she thought she was capable of feeling as she quivered. As she lay on the couch replete, she heard Jughead stand and readjust his clothing, and then he was inside her, filling her up.
He thrust into her. “Can you feel that?” he asked. She shuddered and nodded her head. He slipped out and drove himself into her again, harder this time. “Can you feel that?” he repeated.
“Yes,” she replied. “Yes.”
This was what she needed. This. Him. She felt everything now. Every inch of her was buzzing with love, with life. Her inner walls clenched around him as he pumped faster. The release was blinding, bright, light bursting into her soul.
He lay there, his weight resting on top of her, but this was a weigh she did not mind. It was comfort, steady, a firm body and love against her, keeping her grounded. After a little while, he rose off of her. Even though the rain outside was freezing, her clothes were damp with perspiration, twisted around her body.
Jughead kissed her and the rolled off the couch and onto his feet. She watched him as he stretched his lean body. God, she was so lucky to call him hers. Jughead pulled on his shirt, but stopped when he was halfway finished with the buttons. He leaned in to look at something on the dusty bookshelf. He picked up a 3x5 framed photo, studied it for a moment, and then handed it off to Betty.
Seven teenagers were posed together, some looking at the camera, some at each other, all smiling. This was the first time Betty had seen it, but she knew this had to be the picture Eric had found. They were all there, standing in front of a gold lettered sign that said Goldhead, the five people they knew about--Fred, Mary, Snake, FP Jones, Sheriff Keller--and the two they didn’t.
To get a better look, Betty grabbed the frame from Jughead. She recognized the two people on the ride side of the photo. “That’s Hermione and Hiram Lodge!” Betty exclaimed. “And they both are wearing Southside Serpent jackets.”
http://archiveofourown.org/works/10213313/chapters/22666340
0 notes
Text
Genuine question what is the length/word limit for a fanfic for you guys?
#like my current fic will probably grow to well over 300k words and ai dunno if that’s too long#how many words are too many words#jane rizzoli#maura isles#rizzles#jane and maura#rizzoli and isles#rizzoli & isles#ao3#rizzles fanfic#ao3 the jock and the snob#the jock and the snob on ao3#ao3 writer#ao3 fic#ao3 fic length
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
2 new chapters because I felt like it
#jane rizzoli#maura isles#rizzles#jane and maura#rizzoli and isles#rizzoli & isles#ao3#rizzles fanfic#rizzoli and isles fanfic#rizzoli and isles fic#fluff#ao3 the jock and the snob#ao3 fanfic#ao3 fanfic writer
1 note
·
View note
Text
Check out my ao3 profile if you like rizzles and longer fanfics
#lets revive the rizzles fandom#i write rizzles fanfics#regular updates and chapters are 3-5k words#jane rizzoli#maura isles#rizzles#jane and maura#rizzoli and isles#rizzoli & isles#rizzles fanfic#ao3#ao3 author#the jock and the snob on ao3#ao3 writer#ao3 endless summer vacation
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Current fics:
Rizzoli and Isles (Rizzles)
Still writing it:
Finished three part series:
Criminal Minds
Finished Elle Greenaway/OFC:
#jane rizzoli#maura isles#rizzles#jane and maura#rizzoli and isles#rizzoli & isles#ao3#rizzles fanfic#elle greenaway#elle greenaway fic#criminal minds fic#criminal minds#emily prentiss fic coming soon#the jock and the snob on ao3#the jock and the snob currently has 200k+ words#will get a lot longer#slow burn#enemies to friends to lovers#ao3 writer#ao3 fic
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Why is writing angst and sad stuff easier than writing the happy ever after stuff???
#ao3#ao3 things#ao3 fic#fanfic writing#fanfic writer things#jane rizzoli#maura isles#rizzles#jane and maura#rizzoli and isles#rizzoli & isles#rizzles fanfic#the jock and the snob on ao3
5 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
