Something a bit different, hope you’s like it. Enjoy!
The chime of Pops caught the attention of one booth in particular, a red headed boy, a blonde girl, a raven haired girl and a raven haired boy wearing an oddly designed crown beanie. The four of them looking towards the door with the diner being almost empty, curious to see who was popping in.
There stood a girl with brunette hair, sporting a flower crown which struck Jughead as a little strange since the summer weather had passed for this year but then who was he to judge. Staring intently at the girl as she gave Pops her order, he was dying to know who she was? Where did she come from? Why the hell is this girl in Riverdale?
“She must be new” Veronica mused breaking Jugheads intense stare on the unknown girl. Eyeing her up and down she didn’t particularly see her as competition in anyway. “Cute sense of fashion” She shrugged turning back to her group of friends.
“Maybe we should introduce ourselves?” Archie suggested staring over at the girl, her fingers mindlessly tapping on the counter as Pops got her order, completely unaware of the attention she had brought to herself.
“She might feel a little ambushed” Betty inputted. “She could be new after all” The blonde shrugged as she sipped her strawberry milkshake.
“I’m going over” Veronica announced, ignoring Betty’s protests. Straightening out her checkered pink dress, she made her way to the new mystery in town.
“Hi, Veronica Lodge” The raven haired girl introduce, startling the girl in front of her.
“Oh hi” The girl shyly smiled accepted Veronica’s outstretched hand.
“Y/N Y/L/N” Tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear.
“So are you visiting town or are you new here?” She pried, fixing her pearl necklace as she spoke.
“New” The mysterious girl nodded. “But it’s temporary” She explained, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the stares from Veronica’s friends.
“Well let me introduce you to the gang” She grinned taking Y/N by the arm.
“Guys this is Y/N Y/L/N she’s new here” Veronica introduced her as she took her seat back beside Archie.
“It’s nice to meet you” The blonde smiled at her making her feel more comfortable. “I’m Betty Cooper”.
“I’m Archie” The red head spoke taking Y/Ns attention away from the blonde with the lovely emerald eyes. “Nice to meet you both” The shy girl spoke timidly.
A nudge in his ribs from Betty made him groan out in pain, forcing his attention away from his laptop screen. “Jughead Jones the Third” The beanie wearing boy grumbled.
“The third?” She asked slightly amused. “Generation thing” He sighed putting his laptop away.
“I like your hat” She smiled at the brooding teenager, a blush colouring her cheeks.
“Thanks” A slight smile gracing his lips.
“I like your flower crown” He eyed the girl before averting his gaze back to the table.
His three friends sharing a look between them, never actually hearing Jughead compliment or willingly interact with someone he doesn’t know.
“That’s your order ready” Pops called placing three rather large bags onto the counter, the brunette turning to smile at the man calling a quick thank you before he disappeared.
“Big family?” Archie enquired eyeing the bags on the counter.
“Something like that” She nodded. “It was nice meeting you’s but I should really get going” Slightly waving at the group of friends as she collected her food.
“I’ll help!” Jughead called jumping over the back of the booth, his friends following his movements in shock and amusement. This girl ignited something inside of him, it was a foreign feeling to Jughead but a feeling that didn’t make him uncomfortable.
“That’s really not necessary” The girl protested already struggling to carry all three bags. Sighing in defeat as she struggled to find a suitable way of carrying them. “Thanks” She blushed, Jughead taking two of the bags into his large hands.
“Don’t mention it” He shrugged smiling at the girl who’s brown eyes had him captivated. His three friends watching as they both left Pops completely forgetting their existence.
“So where did you move from?” Jughead questioned as they walked away from the bright neon lights of Pops.
“Kind of all over” She spent most of her life in a different city or sometimes even a different country. “Have you lived here all of your life?” She asked returning the attention back on Jughead.
“Unfortunately” He laughed, liking the slight warmth that filled him hearing her laugh for the first time, it was full of heart, almost like a child’s, it sounded freeing.
“After all it is the town with pep” He tried to air quote, hearing her continuous laughter making him smile at the sound.
“So I’m guessing we’ll be seeing you at the glamorous Riverdale high tomorrow?” He asked continuing his joking around.
“I’m only here for a few weeks maybe months but I’ll be there” She smiled at the raven haired boy, turning left down a street that wasn’t familiar to Jughead, his heart slightly feeling deflated that a girl he’s finally interested in wouldn’t be staying for long.
The closer they got to Jugheads new interests destination he was shocked when they finally arrived at thorn hill.
“You’re related to Cheryl Blossom?!” Jughead almost shouted, feeling shocked that the beautiful brunette with the sparkling brown eyes and unusual flower crown is related to the family that everything they touch turns to dust.
“We’re cousins” She admitted, almost sounding like she was ashamed to admit it. “Thanks for your help” She mumbled taking the bags from Jugheads hands, who seemed to be in too much shock to actually move.
Walking through the gates of hell she knew that the possible group of friends she had made tonight wouldn’t be having anything to do with her by morning.
Turning around to find Jughead still at the entrance of the closed gates, shaking his head as he tries to wrap his mind around this new found information, unaware of the brown eyes staring at him, pinning for him.
Calm your nerves,
stop your arms and legs from flying in different directions,
cry alone in bathroom stalls and throw up in-between classes.
Smile, even when you don’t want to,
distance yourself from people who are too intrusive, too concerned.
Learn to live alone, love alone,
doomed to find solace in people who know,
but don’t care, will never really care.
Clamp down on a slightly damp business card
and sprint away from recovery, as fast as your food-deprived body
can carry you, bring only your suitcase
and leave everyone else screaming your name.
Pretend to be perfect.
Let the hurt seep in through your veins,
roll your sleeves up, careful to prevent the world from seeing
words written in permanent marker:
“I am more fond of memories than who I’ve become.”
Hide, conceal, lodge secrets in your rapidly beating heart.
But if you want to live,
Let the oxygen rush through your lungs,
and burst out of your chapped lips.
Laugh when you want to laugh,
Cry when you need to.
Love only the people who will always love you back.
pieces of advice I gave myself, pieces of advice you should NEVER follow // soph
“Is she worth it?” The commanding voice broke Jughead out of
his heat induced daze. He didn’t even flick his eyes away from the courtyard
before addressing the speaker.
“Whoever you’re staring at out there. Is she worth the
sentence when she reports you for being a peeping tom? In the olden days they
burnt your eyes out with a red hot poker – I can’t imagine anybody is worth that,” Veronica prattled as she hung her
coat and hat on the rack by the door. “I’m all for window shopping but never
with such extreme consequences.” Jughead’s lips lifted in a subtle smile at her
words. He’d make sure he settled his features back into their disapproving nonchalance
by the time she rounded the chair to face him.
“I’m not staring at anyone; I’m impartially observing the
nature of the unguarded home occupant,” Jughead retorted wryly, lifting his
heavy eyes to meet hers. She was wearing pale blue today, white belt cinching in
her already slender waist where her hands lay accusingly. Her lips were painted
a light red and her dark hair fell in their usual ringlets about her shoulders.
Jughead shook his head imperceptibly – he should have guessed that Veronica
Lodge didn’t sweat, even in over one hundred degree heat.
“That’s what they all say,” she replied, knowing full well that
they didn’t. “And before you know it you’ll be watching the world through bars
instead.” He rolled his eyes at her overdramatics and pursed lips, watching as
Miss Legs brushed out her waves in the reflection of a serving tray propped up
against her sink. Veronica rummaged through her handbag, pulling out a small
case and snapping it open to reveal a thermometer. She wedged it hastily between
Jughead’s slightly parted lips before he had a chance to return any sardonic
“I’ve told you before not to sleep in that chair, at least a
dozen times. You’ve already got this,” she paused, tapping a painted nail
against his cast, “I really don’t think, having known you, you’d appreciate a
back brace,” she said, arching a dark eyebrow. Jughead watched her breeze through
his apartment, bypassing the mess and finding whatever she wanted with little
fuss. Veronica shook out the clean bed sheet, spreading it over the temporarily
set up table shoved unceremoniously against the furthest wall from the window,
shielded partially by the chimney breast. “I knew a guy, once – he was a
patient of mine. Never saw him outside of his office, always hunched over that
desk of his, even scheduled our appointments there. Some kind of financial
advisor, I think. Couldn’t recall a time I saw him look into another person’s
eyes while talking to them. I knew from the moment I laid eyes on him that he
was hiding from something,” she recalled, shaking her head as she plumped a
pillow, tugging at the corners of the case.
“Do you have a point?” Jughead asked around the thermometer.
Veronica worked mechanically, pulling a multitude of bottles out of her
apparently bottomless bag.
“Would you like to know what happened to him?” she asked, striding
over to pinch the device from his mouth and check the reading. Jughead licked
his dry lips.
“This isn’t a story about the in-too-deep business man who
throws himself out the tenth story window, is it?” he enquired dryly. Veronica
huffed, something she seemed to do a lot in Jughead’s experience. He had thought that perhaps it was just him
that incited such a disgruntled reaction and took a little sick pleasure in the
“No. He’s still there,”
she revealed. Jughead looked at her with a furrowed brow, noting the way she
regarded him as if she had just imparted a great discovery. With a hand resting
on the back of his chair she rolled her eyes his continued staring. “I don’t want
to come back one day and find the dry bones of the once great Jughead Jones, by this window where I left him.” Jughead
scoffed as he turned back to the window in what he was aware was ironic defence.
Mr Caretaker had ventured downstairs, door thudding with a little too much
force before he knelt by his bed of roses. Jughead watched the way he stabbed
at the soil with his garden fork, prongs repeatedly piercing the dirt.
“You have a hormone deficiency.” Veronica’s statement
startled him. He turned back to find her staring between him and the thermometer.
“You can tell that from my temperature?” he questioned
disbelievingly. Veronica was good at her job, but not that good.
“Weeks spent staring at those sunbathing beauties and not one
of them has managed to raise it by a degree,” she commented flippantly as she
shook the stick to cool it down. Jughead began to shift in his seat, preparing
for the next part of their appointment.
“I told you I wasn’t staring at them. And even if I was they
hold little interest for me,” he added, a defensive note creeping into his
usually flat tone. Veronica grabbed him under the arm, hoisting him up expertly
before helping him hobble to the table. Shedding his shirt, Jughead lay across
“Are you lonely, Jughead?” she asked with a genuine curiosity
that made Jughead’s jaw clench. He’d long gotten over her unprofessional penchant
for calling him ‘Jughead’ rather than ‘Mr Jones’.
“Are you unfulfilled, Veronica?” he fired back, eyes still
hard and focused on the peeling corner of the wallpaper in front of him. She
slapped the cold massaging lotion on his back a shade harder than necessary,
making him wince.
It was a badly kept secret that Veronica Lodge did not need
to be an insurance company nurse. Barely concealed purls, perfectly manicured
fingers, and Jughead had been around enough designer clothes in the past few
months to know that what Veronica wore would not be described as cheap. And yet
here she was, hands pushing out the tight knots in his back, sore from lack of
movement and less than advisable sleeping positions. Her family money appeared
to be a desirable asset but it just wasn’t enough to get her through the
endless days. Jughead knew that ‘lacking’ feeling well.
“You thought anymore about her?” Veronica asked, steering the
conversation back to him.
“Betty Cooper,” Jughead sighed, resting his chin on the backs
of his laced fingers. Veronica laughed as she worked his back.
“Betty Cooper,” she repeated. Veronica knew well enough who
she was; if she had deigned to be a society girl then their circles wouldn’t be
too different. Saying that name in the rundown apartment of a photojournalist
on this side of town wouldn’t have even occurred to her, however, if he hadn’t already
let it slip himself a few weeks prior.
“She’s trouble,” Jughead remarked, cryptically.
“I don’t think those two things are compatible,” Veronica
quipped, thumbs pressing against the grooves in his spine and making him grunt.
“Blonde hair, pink lips… what’s not to like?”
“She’s not the girl for me. She’s too perfect,” he said,
hoping the sadness in his voice wasn’t as apparent to Veronica as it was to
“‘Too perfect’. What’s ‘too perfect’?”
“She’ll want to get married.”
“And what’s so wrong with that? I think a little married life
will do you good,” Jughead heard for the second time that morning, thoughts
drifting back to Mr Caretaker – he wondered if his roses were still living.
“I don’t think the two things are compatible,” he repeated
her words from earlier, knowing she would be giving him her signature eye roll
as he spoke. And again for the second time that day the unwelcome image of his
father invaded his mind, this time accompanied by the partially blocked view he
had of his mother leaving their trailer for the last time, garnered from behind
the half closed closet door he’d hidden in.
“Miss Cooper is a well-rounded, pleasant mannered, delightful
young woman,” Veronica listed as if she were reading from a brochure. “And she
gives a better view than anything out that damn window,” she added with her
“Betty Cooper belongs to society. Hell, she is society. I need someone who is
willing to go anywhere, do anything, to chase the story. And love doing it. I’ve
seen the shoes she wears and they are barely suitable for chasing down a cab,”
he mocked. He felt his chest tighten in betrayal as he spouted out words to
“Shoes are merely dressing. You know that underneath them we
all have the same feet, right?”
“In Betty’s case they don’t touch the ground.”
“Then she’ll have no issues with flying.”
Where are you, sweetheart?”
damn dog away from my flowerbeds!”
Jughead’s brow furrowed as they lapsed into silence, eyes
glancing at the carelessly slung copy of Bazaar
magazine without his permission. The world faded to black and white as Betty’s
image grinned back at him from the open pages – she’d been reading it last time
she came to visit; a puff piece done on herself by some tired journalist looking
to escape the monotony of the society pages, she’d informed him. Still, the
photographer had done a decent job of capturing her essence. Her green eyes shone
with something akin to mischief as they stared into his own. Oh, he was well
aware of the effects of that mischief…
“It just won’t work. There’s a rational way to approach the
situation-” Jughead began with a sigh.
“There is no rationality where love is concerned,” Veronica
cut in, dragging a rough towel over his skin. His stomach clenched.
“I just have a bad feeling,” Jughead confessed, not entirely
sure what he was addressing. All he knew was that there’d been a twisting in
the depths of his gut recently, an uncomfortable churning that he wasn’t sure
he knew how to identify. Veronica laughed, shrill and unsympathetic.
“That, my darling, is from sleeping
in this damn chair.”
“According to Pythagoreans, the cube is a symbol of both matter and man, the opening of the cube being a symbol of the unfoldment of man and the releasing of geometric mysteries within himself. To the Christian, Christ is the perfect man; therefore, he becomes the embodiment of the perfect measure of a man, the cube. In Freemasonry, the perfect ashlar or trued stone is the proper figure of the perfect man, for he is square, upright, and true, which are the moral qualities of a cube. The perfect cube represents the personality that has had all the uneveness, roughness, and inequality polished away by experience. Such a stone is ready to become a block in the Everlasting House not built by hands but eternal in the heavens."
Drawn close to heaven,
my wings burned mid-flight.
Puncture wounds bleeding,
quiet aches aching,
lodged in secret places
where the sun can’t reach;
screaming foul words
drowned in fear,
as the opposites of the world
collapse beneath my feet.
Broken mirrors still shine,
but they are broken all the same.
They show ancient worries
housed in a temple
carved from a weary face.
Dried, useless tears,
porous like toilet paper
shamed with the excretions of life.
I’ve licked this bottle
for all its worth;
the taste of alcohol has faded,
and my tongue is bleeding,
having passed over jagged edges
with nary a qualm.
This intoxicating sin–
this is the smell of failure;
Are these tears that enter
the sides of my mouth?
We were young,
far too young.
The smell of the earth was still fresh,
and the world seemed so small.
Powers divine had crafted you,
an existence beyond words:
Mystic eyes that caught moonlight
like the most beautiful pool of water
there ever was;
the crown of ebony
that cascaded from your face
gleamed tranquil in the night.
The laughter of faceless crowds
drowned by your voice–
Oh, do I ever remember
that siren voice in my soul;
the way it effaced my childish notions
with the fire of first love.
The rebellious phase was over;
no more shall I wage war
over lesser things.
Those days made me believe in God,
for only He could craft
such miracles as you.
But we were young.
We were far too young.
Naivete was not our lot,
but pain and toil
and heartbreak and parting.
Life is not so kind,
or the world so forgiving.
And as it turns out,
you were God’s first
and last miracle
in my eyes.
I like the sounds you make
Whether it be the 10pm moans of my name or the 4am static of your busy mind
Whether it be the stretched vocal chords of your rebel yell or the whispered secrets lodged in your scars
Whether it be the noise of your exhausted exhale or your hair brushing against my pillow
The tail end of your questions or the brutality of your answers
The audible silence of your eyes or the novels between your teeth
When you say ‘I love you’
No matter the sounds you make- I will always be an ear for them.
It’s not all a fairytale. Not even close. You fight, you have loads of arguments. Mostly it’s about one another’s safety. He yells that you needs to be more careful, lock up the apartment. Now that you’re dating Captain America, you’re a target too. You yell that you can take care of yourself, always have been able to. You inform him that he needs to be more careful. He is a super soldier, but he’s not indestructible. The worst one comes after SHIELD falls when he finally gets to you at a secret lodge that Fury placed you in before everything went to hell.
For a moment, you can hardly believe that Steve made it back to you. He’s standing in the doorway, bruised and bandaged, worse than you have ever seen him.
Tears envelop your vision when you wraps your arms around his shoulders, hugging him to yourself gently. Steve sighs as he returns the hug, pressing his face into your hair. Because, in all honesty, he wasn’t expecting to live through that and see you ever again.
You and Steve care too much about one another to be angry.
That is, until Steve tells you he’s going after Bucky. And you insist that you go with him. That’s when all hell breaks loose.
The Case Involving The Very Prattish Arthur Pendragonby Fletcher Merlin is a private detective who uses his magic to solve crimes. But lately his cases haven’t been very exciting. Until one day, he gets a visit from his old friend Morgana who has a very interesting case for him. Unfortunately, it involves his ex-husband Arthur Pendragon.
We Could Be Epicby sabriel75 Uther interferes with Arthur’s first love, but fate brings Merlin back to him. Only, the years have made Merlin cynical and Arthur prideful, not a good combination for rekindling their teenage romance.
Tomorrow’s Dustby i_claudia His mother does not know or does not choose to speak of it. The neighbors, for all their spying, their peeking behind closed shutters opened only the merest of cracks, see nothing. It is only Merlin himself who carries this secret, layered within, lodged as a knife in his breast.
This is not enoughby Trojie It is so very far from being a perfect world. They’re all just fighting to try and make it a bit better.
Tributesby TheAvalonian It is the 57th annual Hunger Games, and Merlin Emrys stands at the Reaping ceremony with Guinevere Smith at his side, unable to hear the roar of the crowd over the ringing in his own ears. Because Merlin is about to face his best friend and twenty-two strangers in a fight to the death, where there can only be one victor. In a twisted game where death seems the only certainty, Merlin will find himself tested in ways no one could have ever predicted - and may even find himself fighting for more than just his own life as he enters into an unlikely alliance with Arthur Pendragon, the Career tribute poised to win it all.
Come aroundby andiwould When Merlin finds himself rooming with Arthur on a high school field trip and the cold forces them to share a bed for warmth, the last thing he’s expecting is to end up hooking up with his prattish classmate.
A Twist of Fateby Loopstagirl The Round Table were notorious for getting the job done. But their latest target turns out to be a bit different from what they were expecting. Not to mention he seems to have a past with their leader.
Momentumby RurouniHime Three days is too short a time to fall in love.
Arcane Asylumby new_kate For the last twenty two years Uther Pendragon has been waging war on magic. Now his son Arthur has been framed for a magical crime and sent to the prison for magic users. Arthur is instantly targeted by the inmates, but mysterious top dog Merlin takes him under his wing. They form a bond, and Merlin decides to help Arthur clear his name.
Laws of Attractionby ChristyCorr Merlin Emrys had strong convictions on the subjects of love and marriage—namely, that they should be avoided at all costs.