felt-hats

In which BH has a crush

(again, these are seperate 100 word challenges)

Black Hat couldn’t seem to figure out what was going on with himself lately. His chest had been twisting and he constantly seemed to feel like barfing. Strangest of all, this always seemed to be the case when he was in close proximity  to Dr. Flug. He’d never quite felt anything like this before and it was driving him INSANE. Luckily, the doctor was a doctor. He could see him.

As usual, Flug jumped a little upon his entrance. “O-oh! There you are Sir!” Black Hat nodded slightly and sat down on the table in the center in the room obviously cleared for himself. Flug sped over to him, nearly tripping but miraculously saving himself before he fell completely over. “This will just take a moment.” Flug attached a few wires with flat, white, disked shaped things on the end to his head. Black Hat felt his chest twisting even harder at the closeness to touching his skin. He gulped.

genjis-girlfriencl  asked:

I'm like 90% sure someone has probably already come up with this but on a whim today I figured a mafia au in which TC is a mafia boss of which few have seen but many have heard of, Christine is a singer who doesn't.. want to cover for his crimes but does bc [insert reason here] and all the while she's trying to keep raoul out of the whole thing,,

Your icon is amazing btw and AHHH! I love it…I love it….I am not sure what era you meant for this AU but my mind went straight to 30s-40s film noir/pulpy crime novels…

*defeatedly adds “Frankenstein’s Mobster AU” to the list*

Tomorrow - Jughead Jones

Anonymous said:

can i request a jughead imagine with the prompt, “i think i’m in love with you, and i’m terrified.”

Originally posted by evenstoast


I’m sorry it’s so short, it’s more of a drabble than an imagine!

“C’mon, Y/N, you know I didn’t mean it like that,” Jughead said, but you were too busy looking around the diner, looking anywhere but at him. He had taken it too far, almost getting into a fight with Reggie, then just making a joke about it all. “It’s like you don’t care about your well being,” you said, finally looking back at him and seeing his greenish-blue eyes. He shut his laptop screen and lean forward, across the diner table. “Can we go outside and talk?” His voice was surprisingly calm, so you nodded and he packed up his belongings. When outside, Jughead turned, pressing you against the wall of Pop’s diner. “You’re right, I don’t care about myself, because I know that there’s a killer out there and I’m worried about you.” You stared up at him and you could see the sincerity in his eyes. The arm that had caged you against the wall, fell to his side. You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “Jug, I’m going to be fine but I need you to look out for yourself too.” He pulled his hand out of yours, rubbing his palms against his face. He turned his back to you and you could see his back heaving. “Jug-” you started, but your friend turned around and you stopped upon seeing the tears in his eyes. “Y/N, you don’t get it,” his voice was quiet when he spoke now, “I think I’m in love with you, and I’m terrified.”

His words left you speechless. All you could do was walk towards him a wrap your arms around him in a tight hug. You felt his arms wrap around you as well, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Despite the fact and you Jughead having been friends for many years, you had never seen such a blatant show of emotion like this. You were used to his dry humor that always made you smile, but sarcasm would have never been able to hide these feelings. You felt his hands at the small of your back, pushing you closer to him. At some point during the hug, it started to rain. Little droplets fell against your hair and Jughead’s hat. You felt his shoulders shake and you pulled back to see if he was crying; but it was a smile that graced his lips instead of a frown. “Why are you laughing?” You asked, smiling at him, but he just slumped his head on his shoulder. “This is just…” he moved his head, looking into your eyes, “I tell you about how I feel and then it started to rain.” You reached up, the back of your knuckles stroking his cheek. His hand reaches up to grab yours, pulling you a little closer. You eyes darted from his eyes to his lips and you blushed when you realized he was doing the same. “Are we really gonna kiss in the rain?” His voice was a whisper, but you smiled at his tone. “I think we are,” you replied with a grin. The tips of your noses brushed as your faces grew closer. You lips met his in one quick movement and it was a flurry of emotions. His hand found your waist and yours landed on the back of his neck. You felt the rain start to fall heavier as he deepened the kiss.

You finally pulled back for air, you left him panting. You studied his face with somewhat swollen lips and you giggled at the expression in his eyes. “That was…” you nodded, grabbing his hand and pulling him under a rain guard near the diner. “Cliche?” You asked, taking his soaking hat off his head and running your fingers through his hair. He gave you a grin before he started to lean down again, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

You stayed in the diner until the rain stopped and then Jughead started to walk you home. The walk was quiet for the most part, it wasn’t until you reached the edge of your driveway when someone spoke. “Y/N, I know that all of that,” Jughead raised his hands, “but if you don’t want to date I unders-” You cut off his rambling by pressing your lips to his once more. His hand instinctively reached for yours, holding it loosely. You backed away with a smile, “I think I love you too, Jughead.” The smile he gave you was breathtaking, but you had to go inside. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said, walking towards your house. His fingers were still tangled with yours, but as you pulled away, he let go on your hand. “Tomorrow.” He whispered to himself as he walked away. He would see you tomorrow.

The other day, I wondered how the world of Harry Potter would be different if all students were sorted every year, rather than only in their first. So I wrote this.


Little is changed from Harry Potter’s first year at Hogwarts. Still he sits under that hat, thinking, not Slytherin; still the Hat considers his potential before sending him to Gryffindor. Still he is joined in Gryffindor by Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, still the Slytherin he so feared to be in will hold Draco Malfoy. Little is different about the placement of the older students, for all the Sorting Ceremony is made longer, and the Hat’s song a little changed, with their participation. Fred and George Weasley, like their younger brother, are still in Gryffindor. Ambitious Percy Weasley may be in Slytherin by now, maybe not yet, but he is a Prefect regardless. Oliver Wood or someone like him will still be Harry’s first Quidditch Captain.

In Harry’s second year, he and Ron are in more trouble than ever for missing the Sorting Ceremony. Now the Hat must be got out again to Sort these two boys who have caused such a stir, to confirm what surprises no one: both will remain in Gryffindor this year. (This time, Harry is once again thinking his wishes to the Hat, but instead of not Slytherin, he is pleading, Gryffindor, Gryffindor – picturing the warm Gryffindor common room that is the first home he has ever known, the first place that has welcomed him rather than shut him away. The hat, once again, obeys his wishes.) Both boys are relieved to find their House much the same as they left it; Hermione Granger is in their midst again, joined by Ron’s shy little sister Ginny.

Neville Longbottom, who had been plagued throughout his first year in Gryffindor by doubt as to his right to be there, is with them again, too. They missed his silent drama at the Ceremony, too, as the boy sat under the Hat that could see into his mind and reflected on the end of term. He had remembered standing up to the three classmates he thought he could call his friends, only to be left behind – hexed, as he so often was, ridiculed. More proof that he did not belong in the brave House. But he remembered, too, Dumbledore’s voice at the end-of-year feast – praising him for doing what was hard. He remembered being awarded House points for this simple act, and with the meagre sum, winning Gryffindor the House Cup. That heady feeling of being, for just one moment, a celebrated hero – that was like nothing else. That was worth a year and more of self-doubt. So Neville now unpacked his bags in the Gryffindor dormitories again, and, like Harry, he felt for the first time that he was home.

Harry has grown complacent, all his friends staying with him from his first year to his second. He hears the warnings of the older students on his Quidditch team (some of whom go from one House’s team to the next from year to year), the reminders that he will need to make new friends soon, but he does not really believe them. He cannot imagine his world changing even more than it has.

This is why he feels as though his stomach has dropped out of his body, as though he has fallen into some bottomless pit, when things change in his third year. He is still in Gryffindor, yes, and still with Ron, thank goodness for that, but Hermione Granger is no longer of their House. Hermione, who spent the last term of her second year as a statue, whose research was the only part of her that got to be a part of the battle in the Chamber of Secrets, who scrambled and sweated when she was unpetrified to pass all her courses in the remaining days of term – despite the promises of the administration that classes missed by the basilisk’s victims would not be held against their grades. Hermione, who had been called an “insufferable know-it-all” so many times that it had almost stopped hurting, who had felt so frustrated with the cavalier attitude her fellow Gryffindors took to classwork. She was now a Ravenclaw, the blue insignia on her robes matching that of Ginny Weasley, who seemed to have shrunk in on herself after the events of last term. (Ginny, like Harry in his first year, sat under the Hat in her second year thinking not Slytherin, not Slytherin, but then she had paused, and thought, not Gryffindor, too, because Riddle had possessed her despite her red-and-gold robes, and because she did not feel brave.)

Ginny, Hermione, and Luna Lovegood (here is one girl the Hat cannot imagine placing anywhere but Ravenclaw, though it will surprise itself in years to come) soon find each other in the Ravenclaw common room, and form an odd, but tight, bond over the first few weeks of term. Hermione finds that it is nice to have close friends who are girls; she never had this in her two years in Gryffindor. She still finds time to talk to Harry, to help him with an essay in the library or to keep him company on restless Hogsmeade weekends or to walk with him to Hagrid’s hut. They are still friends, and good ones; no disparity of House can change the bond forged in fighting a mountain troll together, and all they have been through together since.

She explains this, at last, to Ron Weasley in the days before Christmas vacation, when the dark looks he has been sending her all term finally come to a head in a shouting match outside the Divination tower. Ron, too quick to view matters in black and white, had seen her Ravenclaw badge as a betrayal, a defection. Had imagined that this was her choice, rather than the honest assessment of the Hat. Had felt left behind, discarded, second-rate, dismissed like his brothers’ hand-me-down robes that he wore. With Harry to remind him not to be an ass, to remind Hermione that Ron was always like this, they made up soon enough. Hermione laughed and called Ron an idiot, but fondly; and he laughed back, and told her that the blue and silver only made her look more the nerd. The trio were reunited, even if they were in different houses.

And, after that fight at least, perhaps the difference of house was a blessing in disguise. Crookshanks could not worry at Ron’s rat when they lived in different common rooms. There was no fight between Ron and Hermione about their pets; when Scabbers went missing, there was no talk of foul play, only an agreement between the three friends that they would try to find him. The three were still present in the Shrieking Shack, two Gryffindor children and one Ravenclaw, to bear witness to the true identity of Scabbers, to bear witness to the reunion of the three living Marauders. They still saved Buckbeak; they still lost Pettigrew.

Keep reading

I’ll give it a go! @jandjsalmon

They sat in the soft pleather booth of Pops, tangled up in each other for what felt like hours. Careful touches and gentle kisses were the only thing keeping the two troubled teens grounded, The safety they felt in each other’s arms was all they had for now, but in the afterglow of a terrible night filled with insecurities and revelations, just being there was enough.

“It’s getting late.” Betty whispered, her voice hoarse from her crying and her movements sluggish, she felt defeated, embarrassed. She wanted to stay here in Jugheads arms for as long as possible but she knew her mother would be worried. “I have to get home.” She sighed softly, pulling away and dropping a slow kiss to his cheek, her lips lingering for longer than necessary. “I’ll see you at school on Monday.” She slid from the booth and began her walk to the door.

Betty was still hurt, sure they had talked it through, but having him tell her just how little he thought of their relationship, how simple he thought she was? It weighed on her heart. She just wanted to make him happy. She had been trying to make everyone happy for so long and she had been failing. She failed every single time.

Suddenly she felt her arm being tugged and her body being shoved into a solid object, said objects lips dropping down to her own.

Oh.

Jughead had a steady grip on her hips as he wildly attacked her lips, she could feel the passion he was trying to push through, he wanted her to know he cared, wanted her to know she mattered to him. This was his version of an apology. They boy with the vocabulary of a dictionary was reduced to a puddle of kisses in her presence. Betty slowly ran her hands up his back and finally into his wavy dark hair. As soon as her fingertips touched the smooth locks, she pulled back abruptly, eliciting a muffled groan from the boy.

“Juggie. I think you forgot something.” She whispered, the hint of a smile toying on her face.

He looked up at her with confused eyes and raised a brow.

“What did I forget?” He asked absently, eyes still lusty from their heated moment. Betty giggled and tapped her head, making her fingers into a crown. Jugheads eyes widened comically as he realized he had forgotten his beanie on the table at Pops. “I’ll be right back! Don’t move!” He shouted, tripping over his feet in pursuit of his prized possession.

Rolling her eyes, Betty watched through the window as he raced to the table quickly snatching the hat up and running back to her.

“Sorry..I..” he panted looking helplessly at his hat, he wanted to explain why it meant so much to him, wanted her to know that it wasn’t that he was uncomfortable with her, he just needed the hat, but he couldn’t form words, he couldn’t tell her. He felt the hat being taken out of his hands by a pair of tinier fingers, Betty wordlessly lifted the hat from his hands and gently placed it into his head, tugging until it fit right.

“I get it.” She whispered with a soft smile, quickly adjusting her ponytail and shrugging her shoulders.

He felt himself relax almost instantly, quickly taking her hand in his as they headed home. Jughead wrapped an arm around her as she shivered, the night air was cold and she was only wearing a sweater, Jughead quickly took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

Betty looked up at him and frowned
“Oh no Jughead I’m fine. You’ll freeze.” She tried to take the denim jacket off before he placed His hands on her shoulders, securing its place.

“As much as I hate to cover up that ridiculously silly sweater, you’re much smaller then me I’m fairly certain it’s you who will freeze. Speaking of sweaters. Where did you get that crown one from?” He smirked at her blushing cheeks

“I made it.” She said smiling shyly “I made it last night. I figured, you don’t really have a letterman jacket like the football players and this isn’t the 1950s and you don’t have a class ring for me to wear. I just wanted everyone to know I was your girl I guess. I mean atleast for your birthday. It is pretty silly isn’t it?” She looked down, playing with the hem of her sweater.

Jughead abruptly stopped, moving to stand in front of her he took her hands
“No.” he whispered, catching her eyes as she looked up “I was wrong. That’s not silly at all.” He dropped a quick kiss to her lips, his fingers tracing the crown on her chest “I like it. A lot. Crowns suit you.” He smirked, moving back to her side, he could see her house in the distance.

Betty blushed again before smiling cockily
“Well I am a princess after all am I not?” She raised a brow as he stood before her in her front porch.

“Sure thing Juliet.” He rolled his eyes affectionately, looking at her front door.

“You got that right mister.” She walked toward him wrapping her arms around his center as he buried his face in her neck, inhaling the sugary strawberry scent of her hair. This was his home, right here on this front porch wrapped up in Betty Coopers arms.
“Where are you staying tonight?” He heard her whisper into his chest.

“Figure I’ll sleep in Fred’s room tonight, it’ll be nice to have an actual bed for once, gotta keep an eye on Arch, kid can’t hold his alcohol.” Pulling away he dropped a gentle kiss to her forehead, tucking his fingers under her chin to catch her eyes.

“We’re okay aren’t we?” He asked his tone slightly scared.

Betty smiled softly and placed a lingering kiss on his lips

“We’re okay.” She smiled before squeezing his fingers and heading inside.

“We’re okay.” He mumbled to himself, his shoulders slumping with relief as he braced himself for the war zone that was bound to be Archie’s house.

miafuckingsucks  asked:

1, 14, 15 for the Drabble thing <3

1.The skirt is supposed to be this short.

JJ and Garcia had been the first to notice the new addition to your wardrobe when you entered the conference room that morning.

“Since when did you start wearing skirts to work?” JJ teased, taking the opportunity since it was just the three of you in the room at the moment.

“And ones that could be considered so scandalous?” Garcia joined in as she prepped the files for the rest of the team members.

“This skirt would only be considered scandalous back in ‘The Scarlet Letter’ times,” you laughed incredulously at your friend’s comments, “And besides, I thought it was cute and would mix up what I usually wear to work.”

“It is very cute,” Garcia confirmed, coming to where you stood and handing you a case file, “And very short.”

Throwing your head back and groaning, you chuckled softly, “The skirt it supposed to be this short!”

Tilting your head back down, you noticed that Spencer had come to enter the conference room, and when his eyes settled on the hot topic of your previous conversation, he swallowed harshly.

JJ and Garcia also noticed this and shared a knowing look between each other as Spencer took his usual seat right next to your usual seat.

“See something you like, Spencer?” Garcia whispered to the blushing man as she handed him a file while you took a seat next to him.

Rolling your eyes, you whispered a silent thank you to the universe when Hotch walked in and immediately began briefing the team.

At one point, Hotch turned his attention to Rossi and you felt Spencer’s hand come to rest on your knee.

“I do like your skirt,” his voice just loud enough for only you to hear.

“Thank you,” your own voice no louder.

“Do you think anyone would notice if we were a little late boarding the plane?” Spencer asked, trailing his hand ever so slightly up your thigh.

“Not at all.”

You prayed that no one noticed the smile you had to bite back or the hickey that would soon come to appear on your neck.


14. Take. It. Off.

“Please tell me that was the last box,” you huffed, taking a seat on the floor next to one of the many cardboard moving boxes placed sporadically around Spencer’s living room.

Nostalgia had struck Spencer after returning from a visit to Las Vegas to see his mother last week, prompting him to bring up the boxes of memories he kept stored in the basement of his apartment.

“There’s only one more,” Spencer assured, sliding a box labeled ‘photo albums’ out of the pathway you had created towards the door, “I’ll go get it and then we can start going through them.”

Humming in agreement, you scanned the boxes that were settled around you, wondering which one Spencer would want to open first when he returned.

Just to your right, the simple Sharpie label of ‘CHESS’ caught your attention the most. Imagining that it was most likely full of vintage chess boards that Spencer had collected over the years, you figured that was a good box to start with.

Standing up from your previous position and tearing back the tape that sealed it shut, you were pleasantly surprised to see a golden baseball hat residing at the top. Picking it up, a smile grew across your lips upon reading the black lettering of “Las Vegas Chess Champion 1989”. The thought of a little eight-year-old Spencer wearing the hat atop a mess of his untamed curls made you giggle before adorning the hat yourself.

As you began to carefully remove the chess boards that the hat had been on top of, you heard Spencer re-enter the apartment and close the door behind him.

“Babe, did you see a box mark—” Spencer stopped in the middle of his question upon seeing the familiar tone of yellow, “Where did you find that?”

“In this box with your chess boards,” your smile drooped, having expected him to be far more excited when seeing the relic.

“I thought I got rid of that,” Spencer swiftly set the box in his hands down and made a move towards you, “Please, take it off.”

“Why would you want to get rid of it?” you dodged his attempt to remove the hat from your head.

“Y/N, please,” Spencer ignored your question, the tone of his voice growing desperate, “Take. It. Off.

Before you had the chance to respond, Spencer was quick to close the space between you and wrap one arm around you while his free successfully snatched the hat from your head.

Squealing with laughter, you attempted to reach your arm just as high as Spencer’s to retrieve the hat back but settled back onto your feet when you realized your efforts were pointless.

“Alright, fine,” you feigned defeat, placing your forehead against his chest “But, Spence, why did you want to get rid of it in the first place?”

Lowering his extended arm to drop the hat on the sofa besides him, Spencer sighed, “The day after I won the chess tournament, I wore that hat to school, thinking that I was so cool,” his voice drifted off, “And well, we both know how uncool the rest of the high school already thought I was…”  

Your heart dropped at Spencer’s explanation for the embarrassment he had in regards to the baseball hat. Even if he had grown past the bullying he had experienced in school, it was obvious that some pain continued to linger.

Glancing down at the hat that was now by your leg, you smiled sadly before picking it up and placing it on Spencer’s head, right where it belonged.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I bet you looked just as cool then as you do right now.”

And for the first time ever while wearing that hat, Spencer felt proud.


15. Well, you’re coming home with me whether you like it or not.

There were a million other places you would have rather been then an overcrowded bar right now. Most nights, you would be partaking in shots with Prentiss or singing a horrible rendition of some Journey song with Garcia and Morgan; but between the silent treatment that Spencer was giving you and the creepy stare you were receiving from a man at the bar, you had had enough of the night.

Pushing your way through the hoard of people on the dance floor, you made your way over to the spot of the bar where Morgan and JJ were stood, both of them ceasing their conversation at your arrival.

“Spencer still refusing to talk to you?” JJ asked sympathetically, being able to see the dejection that still resided on your face from the previous argument that the two of you had.

“Not a single word,” you shook your head, glancing back to see that Spencer was still sitting at the booth you had all chosen when you arrived, his eyes trained on the drink in front of him.

“So I’m just gonna head out,” you motioned towards the exit of the bar, receiving understanding nods from both of the agents.

“You go home and relax,” Morgan stepped forward to give you a hug, “I’m going to try and talk some sense into that boyfriend of yours.”

Lightly laughing for the first time in hours, you bid them both a good night before making your way back through the crowd of people and out of the bars overwhelming atmosphere.

Taking a deep breath of the fresh night air and reaching for your car keys in your purse, the sound of the door slamming caught your attention.

“Hey, there,” the voice was unrecognizable, but when you turned around, you were met with the man who had been staring at you since you entered the bar.

“Hi?” your response came out more as a question than a statement.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you left without the guy you came with,” his breath reeked with vodka as he came to stand closer to you, “And I thought maybe you’d be into leaving with me instead.”

Taking a step back, you scoffed at the complete stranger, “I’m not, at all.”

Sudden anger flashed across the man’s glazed eyes, “Well, you’re coming home with me whether you like it or not.

Even if you were a trained FBI agent, the man’s threat made your heart race and your palms go clammy.  

“Take one more step near her and I will not hesitate to shoot you,” Spencer’s voice rang clear and authoritative through the tense air, taking both you and the man by surprise.

“You don’t even have a gun,” the drunk man snarled, unmoved from his position near you.

Moving the jacket of his suit to reveal that he was in fact still carrying, Spencer spit venom in his words, “Back away from her, now.”

No longer willing to continue harassing you or run the chance of getting shot, the man was quick to practically run past you, in the complete opposite direction of Spencer.

A shaky sigh of relief had barely left your mouth before Spencer had pulled you into his arms, his own body shaking with fear at the idea of what could’ve happened if he had not come to apologize to you.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his chest, “I thought you were mad at me, I didn’t think you would come after me.”

Shaking his head, Spencer tipped his finger under your chin and made you look at him, “I will always come after you, I can’t lose you.”

Pressing a kiss against your forehead, Spencer pulled you into him once more, not yet willing to let you go.

Ritual

“It was supposed to be a game,” Rosie says tearfully. “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry, Sherlock… I’m sorry, Aunty Molly…

I thought you liked pirates… ”

And she looks away from Hooper and back to the man who was supposed to be minding her. The man now curled up in a ball on 221b’s kitchen floor, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. His breath coming, harsh and shallow.

Though the little one doesn’t realise it, he’s giving every indication of having had a panic attack.

Rosie stares at her uncle in shocked silence: her plastic pirate cutlass hangs forgotten at her side, a felt tricorn hat hanging, half-forgotten, on an elastic string around her neck. The kitchen is a shambles where Sherlock lost his temper.

Even his experiments have been disturbed, his upset had been so great.

Molly exchanges a look with John and he nods, whispers to Rosie to come with him, that Aunty Molly and Uncle Sherlock need a minute alone together. Still muttering apologies the little one nods, throwing herself into her Daddy’s arms and burying her tear-streaked face in his chest.

She says she wants her dollies. 

Muttering soothingly to her, John carries her towards his end of the flat, rubbing her back and telling her everything will be alright. That Uncle Sherlock will be OK, that Aunty Molly will sort him out…

As soon as John’s through the door, Molly drops to the floor. Opens her arms to Sherlock.

After a brief, ashamed moment of hesitation he gives in. Crawls towards her. He hauls her into his lap, holding her close and tight. Burying his nose in her neck until his tears wet her blouse.

“I thought the nightmares were gone,” she says quietly and he shakes his head. Tries to calm his breathing.

“Has this been going on long?” she asks, and again he shakes his head. Again he tries to breathe deeply.

She can feel his heart pounding against her palm.

For a moment she thinks that will be the end of it, that Sherlock has closed himself off totally, but then-

“She’s six,” Sherlock murmurs. “She’s six, and she likes mysteries, and pirates, and she says her favourite is Redbeard.” He shakes his head. Squeezes his eyes shut again.

The pain in his expression is almost too much to bear.

“She’s no idea what could happen to her,” he murmurs, “no idea at all- And what if I can’t protect her either? What if I fail her the way I failed..?”

Victor Trevor’s name goes unsaid, but then it doesn’t need to be. Molly knows he’s been on Sherlock’s mind. The detective lets out another harsh, angry sob, pulls her closer. Kisses her insistently. She strokes her fingers through his curls and lets him get it all out. He needs this. He needs to get used to telling her, instead of bottling it up. It’s for the best, she knows that, and she can only hope that some day he’ll accept it too.

Later, he’ll be embarrassed.

Later, he’ll take her to bed and lay her beneath him. Kiss her. Take her.  He’ll be masterful and demanding, in search of distraction and deniability for his own vulnerability… Determined to take control of himself once again, and to make up for his supposed weakness right now with pleasure for her…

But that’s for later, not for now.

For now he merely worries. About her. About Rosie. About the savage East Wind and all it might yet take from him. Tomorrow he’ll be Sherlock Holmes again, but for today he’s Will and today he needs her.

He needs someone to cry with.

So Molly winds him in her arms and softly promises him that she wouldn’t have it any other way…

anonymous asked:

Hey! I had an idea, could you write something where Jughead isn't sleeping well (looks more tired than normal) and Betty notices so she takes him somewhere quiet like to her house or to the blue and gold office and he falls asleep in her lap while she's playing with his hair? Or something cute and fluffy like that - I love your fics so much they always brighten my day :)

That’s cute! I’ll give it a go, I mean we’ve all noticed how much more prominent Jugheads bags have been getting
***

She propped her chin up in her hand, leaning her elbow on the cool metal of the cafeteria table, she didn’t mean to stare, her mother had always told her it was rude but this was her kinda/ sorta boyfriend, she figured she had a pass. Jughead looked so tired, the dark purple bags under his eyes, the way he was almost always yawning, and now the way his eyes were drooping slowly, Betty couldn’t look away.
She knew what he was going through, she knew the way it kept him up at night, worrying about his father, worrying about his mother, his sister, sometimes even about herself, it made her heart hurt to see how all of this emotional baggage was eating away at the boy who had snuck his way into her heart.

Suddenly cloudy blue connected with her own piercing green and his eyes were looking directly into her prying ones, raising an eyebrow and smiling lazily. Jugheads lack of sleep was a fairly popular conversation between the pair, Betty was worried and she brought that up more than not.

“You need to sleep Jughead, just rest.” She would beg, as they lay together on his blowup mattress situated on Archie’s floor. He simply shook his head, the bed wasn’t comfortable and he claimed he felt on edge in Archie’s room, almost like he was invading on someone’s privacy, not to say he wasn’t grateful, of course he was, this just wasn’t… it wasn’t a great space for him.

Back to her current scenario, Betty raised a teasing eyebrow at his sleepy face and stuck her tongue out, making the beanie wearing boy chuckle and relax his shoulders, she loved that she could make him feel at ease, make him comfortable, that’s why the plan she had been cooking up all month was probably one of her best. She would bring it up to him after the final bell.

Lunch went by quickly and they all headed off to their final two classes, Jughead dropping a secret kiss to her forehead before strolling off. When the final bell rang, signaling the end of the day, Betty skipped up to Jughead in the hallway and took his hand in hers, looking up at him with excited eyes as he smiled down at her, gently resting a palm to her cheek

“What’s got you so excited Bets?” He asked with a snort as she tugged him down the hallway.

Betty stopped in front of the gym and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Pack a bag for two days and meet me in front of my house today, I should be done with cheerleading around 5? Meet me then?” She asked without really leaving much of an option as she practically sprinted into the gym, leaving him nodding and confused as he headed to Archie’s.

5 o clock came fast and jughead found himself, duffel bag swung over his shoulder, standing on Betty’s front porch while she walked up her sidewalk and leaped beside him, placing a finger up as he went to ask a question. Dramatically opening the door, she walked in before him, ushering him inside as he stared at her questioningly

“Welcome to your new home for the weekend, come on I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping!” She giggled at his confused expression as she pulled him up the stairs and into her bedroom
“I tell ya best beds in all of Riverdale” she tugged him down to her plush, soft mattress filled with warm blankets and pillows, he practically melted into it. He had always loved Betty’s bed, but with Alice around he was never not on edge.

“Bets…” he explained slowly “this is your bed, in your home.” He smiled at her with a roll of his eyes.

Betty shook her head “no this weekend, it’s our bed, and our home.” She explained back, leaning against her bed frame “mom went away for the weekend with Polly she won’t be back until late Monday night, therefore we have the whole place to ourselves! You need a good nights rest Jughead, you need an actual bed with an actual pillow, those living arrangements are killing you.” She said softly, grabbing his hand as he looked deep into her eyes “let me help you. Just this once, let me take care of you. Please” she whispered.

Jughead loved Betty Cooper, she was the best thing to ever happen to him and if he didn’t know it then, he most definitely knew it now. The way she cared for him, the way she saw things no one else did, it never failed to amaze him. Nodding slowly, not trusting his voice too overcome with emotion, he just let her wrap him up in her arms and fall into the soft mattress.
They stayed like that for a few minutes before he felt her remove his hat and run her fingers through his hair, he was out before he even had the chance to say her name.

On Monday morning, as the pair walked into school together, the whole school was in talks about how good Jughead jones looked. A great nights rest and a girlfriend who loved to cook for her boyfriend could do wonders for an emotionally damaged teen. And so when Archie saw Jughead climbing Fred Andrews ladder into Betty Coopers room atleast twice a week, he never said a word, grateful for the change in his best friend. It was the Betty Cooper effect, and you couldn’t buy that for all the money in the world.

Getting really good at a craft takes a lot of time and effort, but here’s the thing: getting decent at one can be a lot easier than you think! And you don’t have to be a master to enjoy things! Felt a wonky hat! Knit a trapezoidal scarf! Carve a duck! Make a drop spindle out of a potato!

I’ve spent a lot of time in communities that work extremely hard in pursuit of technical mastery and that is necessary and valuable, but it’s also valuable just to mess around with things because they seem like fun!

If there’s something you always wanted to be able to do but thought it was too hard, look up some tutorials. Some things really do require access to equipment and materials you can’t easily find, but there’s so many things that you can do at home!