Summary: Reader is a licensed private investigator for the family’s business upon graduating high school early. Having been sent to Riverdale to trail the high school music teacher Geraldine Grundy, Reader has to ensure her reason of being in Riverdale is secret especially with the sensitivity of the town. Hard to do when Jughead Jones calls her career the minute they converse.
Characters: Reader x unknown pairing, Jughead Jones Alice Cooper, Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews (mentioned), Geraldine Grundy (mentioned), Hal Cooper (mentioned), and Polly Cooper (mentioned).
Disclaimer: I do not own Riverdale or the characters.
Warnings: Swearing, rude!Betty Cooper, Grundy-Archie affair, and lying.
Tagging: At the bottom.
A/N: When Grundy explained why she changed her name…I called bullshit. That pervy cougar has more than an abusive ex and I know it. Especially with her cougar eyes looking at those teenagers before she fled.
It was summer when you were walking around town while hiding from everyone, you worked for your dad. You didn’t live in the town but you were an extremely young private investigator. At seventeen you had gotten your license after graduating high school a year early and joined the family business. Getting off topic here but your Dad had sent you to Riverdale for one of his customers.
You had your normal phone along with possibly sixty burner phones hidden under a loose floorboard in your motel room. They were critical in your line of business if you didn’t want to be tracked by the police.
You were hiding behind a unkempt building that seemed to be ignored by the town of Riverdale. You watched at the pastel mint green classic Volkswagen beetle slowly moved passed a construction sight. Inside of the person of interest with sunglasses on hiding her disgusting teenage boy preying eyes while seductively biting a straw.
prompt: elriel, slowburn + elain + postcognition, requested by @sncinder ! slightly au acowar. how au? who knows. keep reading to find out.
synopsis: elain, in the house of wind, slips into visions not of the future, but of the past.
She was not a dreamer.
As days passed into nights into days again, curled into herself in what they called the House of Wind, Elain watches. She listens; hears the pop and crack of plants growing and the strange double-drumbeat of hearts. She dozes, mostly. But no dreams.
“I had my ups and downs,but I always find the inner strength to pull myself up. I was served lemons, but I made lemonade.”
Chapter 8 - 13 & Epilogue
He bathes me until I forget their names and faces. I ask him to look me in the eye when I come home. Why do you deny yourself heaven? Why do you consider yourself undeserving? Why are you afraid of love? You think it’s not possible for someone like you.
“Hello, little puff,” I whispered, stepping softly into our daughter’s room. Of course, I could see perfectly well in the flashes of lightening in the window, but there were thousands of toys scattered across her dark carpet. It was a minefield.
My eyes drooped with sleep, but I followed the quiet whimpers until I got to her bed. There was a little lump underneath the My Little Pony comforter.
I tapped on it softly. It startled. “Papa?”
“Why, yes, it is,” I said conversationally, sitting down beside the lump. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” Natasha said, her voice muffled, shaky, and entirely unconvincing.
When we were children. We went to sleep in our father’s and mother’s bed. I got father’s sweaty side. You got mother’s fragrant blankets. We dreamed pale green spherical cloud dreams in wrought-iron beds and burnt our fumbling paws on the red-hot shade of the night light. We did not know. That this downy softness wouldn’t last. The rooms were always large and the big people were big and there was no sin. In the course of one day you managed millions of things and the sun took the lake down with it. These are facts, and the teddy-bear hospital was overcrowded. I stand behind these facts. Behind me a cello is playing. It feels lonely. There was a lot of chocolate and sharing, shopmobiles and tall spruce trees that father, when he was young, climbed all the way to the top of, because he was unable to fall, then.
Now I enter that forest and don’t give names to anything. Invisible, I walk on the pine needle carpet, shouting now and again to see if someone here would recognise me as their own.
so i started thinking about that picture of grantaire with the sword, where he got it and why he was carrying it, and then, idk, hurt/comfort canon era blowjobs (like you do)
happy new year, my friends! this is a “choose your own adventure” because you can suggest how it ends. i’ll entertain all requests for sexy scenes, and try to work in as many as i can.
In a mad running melee, Enjolras trips on the slippery cobblestone and goes sprawling. Desperate men try not to trample him, and a few succeed. More do not. They run as though pursued by demons.
The soldiers advance, and Enjolras can’t fight to his feet; he keeps getting knocked over. He is about to curl into a ball for shelter, the last refuge of the damned, when strong hands reach to pull him up.
Okay. Here goes. This is me, writing this thing. This chapter is short. Chapters will get longer and possibly more frequent. (This is a lie.) Also, when I say that I’ve “planned” this fic, I mean that I’ve written thirteen words or phrases in a very specific order, and made a playlist.
Wish me luck.
19.7 x 16.4 and Semi-Basements
Brittle veins run out of blood.
Bruises delicately shaped like death.
And the fragile recklessness of the first blooms of youth.
Notes: A super-early Christmas present to DtA readers who wanted another snippet of this. Yes, my project sucks like whoa, but that does have the advantage of putting me in this kind of mood. I guess spoilers for that part of Chapter 10. I have no idea, I have like six of these, for when one writes one’s id, one should really not think about it too hard.
In the Pit, there is silence, the first in all of Time. That Crowley is the only one brave enough (or perhaps stupid enough) to enter says a great deal (though what, he’s not sure, other than he’s very stupid or very brave).
The bleak landscape is transformed into devastation; the burned out twilight sky stained crimson like fresh blood and spreading thin rays over the newly formed labyrinth of mountains and crevasses, abysses torn through solid stone. Distantly, he can sense the depth of the rack and the business of corruption continues as usual, their screams undiminished but unheard; he’s not sure anything has ever been quite so unsettling as the realization that unnatural silence is artificially maintained and with so little effort.
Gone is where Alistair once sat in state, a gaudy potentate on the massive iron throne inlaid with human eyes and human bone, millennia of power pulsing around him; there’s now a Black Mountain of jagged stone and icy steel piercing the bloody sky. There’s no question of the completeness of the new ruler’s conquest, but the sickening, spongy squish of red stone beneath him, the faint sobbing cries at every step, tells of brutality and ruthlessness beyond any nightmare in Hell.
That does answer the question Crowley had no desire to ask regarding what happened to those purged; they now pave the Pit itself.
I tried to figure out a creative way for them to meet outside of the escort/client dynamic. I wanted to explore what they could bring to each other’s life. This is the result.
After losing Ben, Hannah needs to lay low for a while and figure out her life. Her father suggests that she visits a friend of their family in Broadchurch. Hardy is recovering from a heart surgery and, although he would never ask, he needs someone. What starts as a convenient arrangement turns into something more meaningful as they discover how much they have in common.
This story takes place less than a year after the finale of SDOACG and a few months after the events in Broadchurch S1.
“You could always go live with Hardy for a little while. Remember him?” Hannah’s father asks over coffee at her house.
The name brings back vague memories of summer vacations by the sea in Sandbrook and babysitting a girl half her age. Then later, dinners with her parents’ friends that lasted well into the night and a kitchen that reeked of beer the next morning. She’d last seen him about two years ago, she was too caught up in her own drama to remember what he was doing in London. That, and prostitutes usually try to avoid law officers.
“What about him?”
“Well, you say you need a break from London and, I know you don’t like to talk about it but with Ben out of your life, I worry about you, darling.”
“Okay, alright, alright,” he holds up his hands almost in surrender, “anyway, he’s divorced now and he moved to some seaside town, in Dorset, your mother says he’s renting a beach house there, you could visit. Breathe some fresh air, relax, go to the beach.”
“What’s the catch?”
“Well, he’s just had heart surgery last May and, you know him, he won’t ask for help but he’s all by himself…”
Now she remembers why he was in London the last time, an appointment with a cardiologist. She remembers his scraggly hair and sunken eyes, his sullenness. She’d almost given him her business card.
She argues with her father that she isn’t a nurse but he keeps saying how he’d be less worried if he knew she was with someone he could trust. In the end, the idea blossoms in her head, arrangements are made. Only when she settles in the train heading to Broadchurch on a Saturday does she remember that she used to be scared of him.
Please be sure to check out Winter in Panem for their Christmas Writing Challenge!
Warning: Rated M
I Am My Beloved’s And He Is Mine
“Damn it,” I swear, as the cold blob of snow slides down my neck. After the awful day I barely survived, plus finding out that I was going to be spending Christmas alone, I find myself blinking back tears. I slip into the door of the closest shop without noticing which one, and try to reach the snow that is now sliding down my back. I reach around and grab the bottom of my shirt and pull the tail away from me, until I hear something hit the floor. I can’t stop the shiver that runs down my spine, especially after seeing the golf-ball sized snowball on the floor.
I slowly look around, and somewhere between relief and horror, I realize that I’m standing in the doorway of my ex-boyfriend’s bakery and he is right over there watching me from behind the counter with that stupid eyebrow raised. You know, the same one that either makes me want to kiss him, or smack it off his face.
The car’s been making an ominous kind of noise for a hundred miles or so, but I’ve been ignoring it, hoping I’d make it to my destination before the old thing died.
But it seems the odds are never in Katniss Everdeen’s favour.
Clouds of black smoke belch from under the hood of my ancient Corolla as it comes to a lurching, shuddering halt on the side of a desolate road, three hundred miles from where I’m heading. Just the latest misfortune in a seemingly endless series. If it wasn’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.
Negan paced the hallway anxiously, shaking his head back and forth- unzipping his leather jacket only to zip it again to knead out the nervous twitching of his fingers. An inward fight. He knew that what he was about to do was the thing he wanted most in this world but it still confused him. Suffice to say, Negan wasn’t particularly the most touchy-feely guy in the world- or at least what was left of it… But then (Y/N) had burst into his life and gave him a purpose. For the first time he had a home. Since first seeing a corpse reanimate before his eyes, he had never known a sense of security or safety, leading The Saviours meant he had to put on a performance but then the curtain fell and the show was over. For three years, he hadn’t slept. Then there she was.
It had been a typical supply run back when he had first begun building The Saviours up to be the relentless tribe they were now. His men were sloppy in the beginning, a band of idiots who could barely fight their way out of a grocery bag but with a little work he was certain they would be up to scratch to live a world that now followed the rule of kill or be killed. Then Negan had met (Y/N) and it wasn’t just about that. Seeing the way she had held a G17 up to aim between his eyes, staring unwaveringly as she rared to pull the trigger had changed just about everything in Negan. This wasn’t just some girl before him, this was a Queen and he wanted to make her his. She was his one weakness from that moment on and he had vowed to never allow a single threat come close to her. Before, Negan had his ‘wives’. Multiple women all fawning over him, scrambling to steal just a night of passion from their pseudo-matrimonial counterparts. This one was different though and for her, Negan had given them all up in a heart beat. She was his only one. She was his life, a reason to be the leader he had become and not some mindless murderous monster most people found so easily, and saw him as. (Y/N) kept him sane even when everyone else around him was a fucking lunatic. Negan killed, now, only when there was a chance her life was in danger. Even if it was minute. He would do anything for her; no questions asked. Funny, he thought as he dragged his fingertips over his greying beard and pinched his eyelids tightly together, the world ends and I find the one… Imagine that shit. He had been way in over his head from the start. Trying to fight it hadn’t worked out. He had become a bumbling asshole and that could not happen, not when he was in control of fifty men who had often made questionable life choices. So he had pursued her and when she had put up the fight of turning him down time and time again, Negan’s affection had grown into tenderness and then love. He was in love with her. She was the only softness within him. They both knew it, his men did to. They also knew not to fuck with her, Dwight had made the mistake of attempting to turn her head from Negan and that shit was just unacceptable. (Y/N) was his girl and he was proud to show her off, now he wanted to take the next step.
It felt as though his heart slammed agonizingly into his chest at the sound of a soft yawn through the door in front of him that led to their shared quarters. She was awake, probably doing that cute thing she always did- wrinkling up her small button nose as she purred and hid beneath the covers for an extra snooze. He must have been out here for at least forty minutes in a bid to collect his thoughts and force his nervous anxiety to shut the fuck up. Negan shook his head once more. He could do this. Damn fuckin’ straight he could. Easing his hand over the doorknob, he pressed it open and stepped inside keeping his eyes to flit around in a weak attempt of acting unchanged. “Mornin’, baby girl.” Negan grinned quietly padding over to the bed to lean over to her, pressing a slow kiss to her lips as he settled beside her, brushing the fallen hair from her forehead. “I got somethin’ for you.” Even with (Y/N), Negan swore like a drunkard sailor but it had been thirty seconds and not a single profanity had fallen from his lips. He was a see-through bastard around her, and she knew this. Her eyes narrowed at him and he pressed his lips together, inwardly nibbling on his lower lip as he grazed his index finger along her cheek bone. “But you gotta wake up first, sleepy head.” She laughed, stubbornly jutting out her own bottom lip in a childish pout that never failed to kill him and finally pushed herself to sit upright in the bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, settling back against the rusted wrought iron of the bed. “Alright, I’m up… I knew something was on your mind. You’re acting… Different.” “No I’m not.” Negan’s shoulders slumped, full of childlike impish teasing, momentarily deflated. But he was mostly encouraged. She knew him better than he knew himself. At the start he hadn’t dealt well with the endless sense of vulnerability but now he couldn’t get enough of it. Tough guy on the outside but in this room with her, he could just be. “You’re out of your damn mind if you think that, darlin’.” Her lips parted in effort to answer but Negan immediately shut her down with a small smile, shuffling to her side. There wasn’t much he could do to make this moment special. After all, he wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who had planned a proposal for years. If it wasn’t for Eddy, his right hand man, he would be down on one knee muttering “Wanna get hitched?”. Now he thanked his mother for giving him her old wedding ring all those years ago, he could put it to use with his girl- and he thanked Eddy for being a teary-eyed motherfucker. He pulled a small spool of red thread- that he had ordered his men to find between training for the war on Alexandria, he didn’t care how long it took but those men knew not to keep him waiting- from the pocket of his jeans and he handed it over, raising an eyebrow as he watched on in secretive amusement as (Y/N) peered down at it thoughtfully. “Hm… Thank you?” She croaked uncertainly and Negan took it from her, puffing out his chest. This love-dovey shit always made him beyond uncomfortable. “I’ve always been real interested in folklore. Crazy fuckin’ huge beasts, monsters that’ll eat your balls, dudes fuckin’ around and findin’ themselves dancin’ with the Devil. But y'know what my favourite is? The red string of fate. Now I don’t know if you believe in that crap, bein’ tied to someone else… But now I do. Maybe soul mates or true loves are full of shit, but I know that we’re not, baby girl.” Negan took her hand in his and wound the end of the thread around her fourth finger in a gentle knot and lifted the spool backward in his hand, elongated the thread farther and farther between them, before slipping the ring onto the end, watching as it glided down the thread to settle at her finger. “I know it ain’t gonna be your dream weddin’, but I gave up all those other girls for you, baby, I’d do it again. A thousand times. You’re what I want. Ain’t nobody puts me in my place like you do. I fuckin’ love the bones of you, princess… So, will you marry me and make me an honest man for the first time in my life?” Negan exhaled deeply, in relief perhaps. He had recited the exact speech Eddy had written for him with ease, perhaps because it came from the heart. Damn, that was some sad-ass shit right there! He had previously thought asking her would be the worst, but it wasn’t. The worst part was staring into her widened doe eyes without her saying a god-damn word. (Y/N) sat upright, staring at the ring perched on her finger, the small ray of sunlight bursting through the window sent broken fractures of sparkle bounding for the walls, and then to Negan, waiting for him to burst out laughing with one of those shit-eating grins he had perfected after fucking with people for so long. It didn’t come though. He just looked at her like some puppy dog. This was new. After all of this time together he still found a way to stun her. She felt her heart falling weak in her chest and her cheeks flushed, she couldn’t breathe nor speak. He had been different all week. Strangely secretive. He wasn’t one to filter his thoughts and especially not to her. In fact, (Y/N) had been rather tentative- what if he was done with her? What if he didn’t want her anymore? Clearly this was not the case! “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you’re bein’ real cute and all but will you say something already?!” Negan groaned and she choked a little, her rounded eyes creasing happily in the corners as she slowly began to nod her head. “Yes…” “What?” Negan raised his eyebrows, lifting a hand to cup his ear playfully. Such a piece of work, she tried to force a frown but how could she? Negan… Her big, strong, sometimes terrifying man had just proposed to her. The romance, the thought and tenderness- it was all so out of character! But she liked the thought that she could make him act this way. No one else. Just her.
She didn’t have to think about her answer for another second.
“I said yes! Yes, I’ll marry you, idiot!” Gleefully, Negan grinned and immediately gathered up her waist in his arms, the muscles of his forearms bunching against the small of her back as he pulled her into his lap and passionately pressed his lips to hers, bringing a hand to cup her cheek as she wound her arms around his neck. Negan broke from the kiss and glanced down into her eyes sternly. “Don’t ever call me an idiot again.” “Oh, shut up,” She rolled her eyes throwing her back her head in laughter as she captured his lips with her own once more, manoeuvring to straddle his lap to take control of their loving embrace. “Yes, ma'am.” Just like that ring, (Y/N) had him wrapped around her finger and they both knew it. It was just one of the reasons he had asked her to be his wife. His real wife, not like the others before her. This was the happiest day of her life, but most of all, it was the happiest day of his.
(The gif at the beginning of this post doesn’t belong to me, I couldn’t find the source so if it’s yours and you want it taken down, please do message me!c: )