#probably ooc because angst but [shrugs] it's a drabble | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

trenchcas · 4 years

Text

verity

relationship: dean winchester and jack kline, tfw 2.0

genre: angst and fluff?

summary: basically dean and jack are making up after destiny’s child (i would say this happens around the truth). jack accidentally spills the tea about the empty deal. angst ensues, platonic and romantic.

other notes: i haven’t written fanfic in a hot minute so this is me trying to get back into practice! this is just a drabble, probably a little bit ooc. whatever. this was totally inspired by that one thing @flowersforcas said :) (also, gif made by me)

Jack’s sitting across the table from Dean, picking quietly at a chip in the wood. Dean glanced away from him towards the door, which hung ajar and led into an empty hallway. Dean sighed and turned back to Jack, who had stopped playing with the table.

“Hey, kid,” he says. Jack looked up, eyeing him warily. It had been a while since he had gotten his soul back and most days he sat in his room, talking to nobody but Castiel.

“Yeah?” replies Jack. Dean thrums his fingers on the table, trying to think of what to say next.

Sam had done it so much better than he had. The minute Jack had come back with Cas, it was like none of it had ever happened for his brother. He forgave him immediately, with only a few quick words exchanged between them.

Dean wanted to say it was okay and move on but it wasn’t. And he knew that Jack wasn’t Jack when he did what he did and he should be able to forgive him but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Because Dean understood; Sam had done terrible, terrible things while soulless and if he was able to forgive his brother, why couldn’t he forgive the kid? Dean put his hand over his face.

He killed Mom.

When his hands came down, Jack was still sitting there awkwardly, looking very out of place. “Dean?”

“Right,” says Dean. “Jack, I’ve got something to say to you.”

He could see Jack’s throat constricting, tightening at the collar bone. The hands that sat on the table were shaking, and Dean could see it because he had been in Jack’s position before. Multiple times.

“What is it?” asks Jack quietly.

I forgive you.

“What you did, Jack,” Dean starts, and he measured his words carefully because this could easily take a turn for the worse. “Isn’t something that I can just forget about.” He saw Jack nod, quick and small. “And I know that wasn’t you.”

Something flashes in the kid’s eyes.

“And I know how sorry you are,” he continues. “I know you’d do anything to fix it. But there are some things you can’t put in the past, Jack.”

“I understand.”

It’s so fast, so quiet that Dean barely hears it. “What?” he asks.

“I understand,” Jack repeats, more forcefully this time. “You did what you had to do and I can’t hold that against you.”

Dean frowns. “Why would you think that?”

Confusion edges its way into Jack’s face. “Isn’t that why you’re talking to me? To say that you’d never forgive me?”

Dean doesn’t know how to respond to that. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and tries to gather his thoughts again. “No. That’s not why.”

Jack tilts his head in a very Cas-like fashion.

Dean sighs and brings his clasped hands up to his chin. “I’m talking to you because... because I have some apologies to make myself.”

Jack opens his mouth to speak, but Dean brings a finger up to shush him. “What you did, yeah. It was bad. Terrible. But it wasn’t you.” Dean pauses, looking for the right words.

“What I did- well, that was me. And I don’t know why I did it. I don’t. I tried to kill you, Jack. I tried to kill you.”

Dean can feel his bottom lip trembling. Hot tears sting the back of his eyes, and he blinks them back because he doesn’t want the kid to see him like this. So he takes a shaky breath and presses forward.

“And there’s absolutely no excuse for that. None. And I am so, so sorry that it took me so long to say it.”

Jack looks like he’s about to cry. His eyes are swimming and his jaw is clenched tight. Wonderful.

“I’m so sorry, kid.”

There’s a long, uncomfortable pause. Dean searches Jack’s face, for some sign of a reaction, something. But Jack doesn’t say anything.

Instead, his face breaks out into the biggest, brightest smile Dean has ever seen.

Jack practically leaps out of his chair and pounces on Dean, wrapping his skinny arms around Dean’s shoulders. He chuckles and hugs Jack back, although only with one arm.

“This is great!” says Jack, practically bouncing. “I’m gonna go tell Sam and Cas.”

“Well, only if I get to come with,” Dean says, and lifts himself out of his seat. He follows a skipping Jack out the door.

...

Sam and Cas are sitting in the war room; the latter is going through a large book when Dean and Jack enter. Sam looks up at the commotion.

“What’s got you two so happy?” he asks, grinning slightly (most likely out of confusion).

“Dean and I are okay now!” says Jack, smiling like an idiot.

“Really?” says Sam. Cas closes his book and nods slowly. He doesn’t meet their eyes.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I mean, who can stay mad at this kid?”

Sam chuckles. “Well, that’s good to hear, I guess. Knew you two’d come around eventually.”

“Did you now?” asks Dean, raising an eyebrow. Sam shrugs.

“I’m glad we’re okay, Dean,” says Jack, and his words are rushed and breathy. “Because I wouldn’t want to kill God without us being a family again, but I don’t know how long that will be possible because of Cas’ deal with the Empty-”

The what.

Dean’s head whirls around to Castiel, whose back is turned. He still won’t meet anyone’s eyes.

“Cas,” says Sam, very slowly. “What deal?”

Cas stays silent.

“CAS!” shouts Dean, pushing Jack aside to get to the angel. “WHAT DEAL?”

Castiel turns around very slowly. His eyes are sad. He says nothing.

“What did you do?” asks Sam. Dean hears the clatter of his chair.

There’s still no response. Dean sighs. “Cas, buddy, what deal was Jack talking about?” Dean’s not even paying attention to the kid anymore because the most important thing is his angel, here, in front of him.

“I don’t regret my decision,” Cas says, after a long silence. “I made a deal with the Empty.”

“Yeah, we know,” says Sam, sounding very annoyed. “When did this happen?”

“When Jack died,” Castiel continues. He sits on the table, shoulders slumped. “When I- when I went to heaven to find him.”

Dean doesn’t know how to respond to that.

Because he would have done the exact same thing.

“Well, there must be some way to fix this,” Sam says, sounding close to tears. “I mean- we could- I could look in the library.”

“There won’t be anything in the library, Sam,” Cas replies. His voice is the most hopeless Dean has ever heard, which is crazy, because they could still fix this- no, they had to fix this. “It’s too late. I told you, I’m at peace with my choice.”

“Damn it, Cas!” Dean threw his hands in his hair and pulled, ignoring the sharp, stabbing pain that came with it. He felt tears stinging the back of his eyes again, hot and sharp. “We’ll fix this. We will.”

“Dean, don’t-”

“Cas, we have to fix this. You’re my- you’re our family,” says Dean, and his chest is heaving, he’s panting and he doesn’t know why. “We have to save you.”

The dark-haired angel lifts his head; his eyes meet Dean’s, and in them is immeasurable sadness. “You fought for the whole world.”

Dean swallows because he knows what’s coming next. Behind him, he hears Jack crying quietly.

“You don’t have to fight for me too.”

...

alright i kinda messed this up but it’s also available on my ao3 @idacarvalli so if you want to reread it sometime go check it out!

#spncreatorsdaily #castiel #dean winchester #fanfic #supernatural fic #sam winchester #jack kline #destiel maybe?#supernatural #spn #fanfiction

14 notes · View notes

imagination-going-100 · 6 years

Text

Imagine // Those Who Have Nothing

Request: Would it be possible to ask for a Wells/Reader drabble where Reader saves him? (how this happens is up to you)? Tiny bit of angst if Wells doesn't know about the attempt? Details are entirely up to you.

Pairings: Wells x F!Reader, Wells x Clarke

Warnings: Swearing, confused teenager who don’t know how to deal with feelings, mentions of violence, general OOCness, angst, I think that covers it?

Word Count: 3887

I'm probably making a sequel to this. Enjoy!

Your name: submit What is this? document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', function(){ walk(document.body, /\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, document.getElementById("inputTxt").value); }); function walk(node, v, p){ var child, next; switch (node.nodeType){ case 1: // Element case 9: // Document case 11: // Document fragment child = node.firstChild; while (child){ next = child.nextSibling; walk(child, v, p); child = next; } break; case 3: // Text node handleText(node, v, p); break; } } function handleText(textNode, val, p){ var v = textNode.nodeValue; v = v.replace(val, p); textNode.nodeValue = v; }

Fresh air and a storm of entirely new sounds drowned out every one of your coherent thoughts from a moment. The dropship’s door had opened and brought with it an explosion of new sensations. The smell, the sounds, the light breeze that drifted into the dropship, you struggled to commit it all to memory.

Octavia Blake, the girl they found hidden under the floor, was the first to exit. She stood on the door for a moment, simply taking it all in, before jumping down. Her feet hit the forest floor with a low thud. For a moment, a painstakingly long moment, you felt the anxiousness rise in you. What if it wasn’t safe? What if she and all the rest of you would be dead in mere seconds?

Octavia lifted her arms into the air. “We’re back, bitches!”

All fear disappeared as the other juveniles poured out of the dropship. Instead, all you could to was marvel at the sight. Soft greens covered every inch of your sight, no grey metal walls in sight.

You were on the ground. It was too much. Beneath you, your knees gave out. You stumbled a little, holding onto the doorframe of the dropship for support.

You were really on the ground.

“It’s so beautiful,” you whispered.

“It is, isn’t it?” Someone came up next to you. The voice was flat, and it was one you didn’t recognize. You looked over to see who the voice belonged to.

The Chancellor’s son, Wells Jaha, stood right next to you. Your brain couldn’t quite comprehend it. He had everything you didn’t. He was from Alpha station, you were from Factory. His friends were Alpha-born, yours were working class. His father was chancellor, his late mother a renowned chemist. Yours were, well, not.

And yet, here you both stood, the first people in over a century to set foot on the ground. Prisoners. Juveniles. Side by side. Wells had had everything, and suddenly he had nothing.

He clenched his jaw. With a steely expression he strode past you, out of the dropship, staring straight ahead.

No, he didn’t seem like someone who had just had his entire life turned upside down. Wells seemed to be in complete control.

You gripped the metal frame tighter, before straightening your back. This was the ground, and the Ark had left you to your own vices down here. Anything could be awaiting you out in the forest.

Following Wells’ example, you walked out of the dropship, staring straight ahead.

Though you tried your best, putting on a brave face wasn’t easy. Everything was so unusual here. Even the smallest thing would remind you how painfully out of your depth you were.

Clarke, as the others had called her, had left for Mount Weather a day ago. You had considered joining them, but in the end, you didn’t want to leave camp. Not that you could do much to stop it but leaving Bellamy in charge of everything seemed like a terrible idea. Mostly because his idea of being in charge was to not enforce any rules at all. If there was one thing your common sense told you, it was that letting a bunch of juvenile teenagers go wild without any repercussions whatsoever was, well, stupid.

To be frank, Bellamy’s attitude annoyed you. His hypocrisy was even worse. We do what we want, he said, but he still got to have the final word. You knew the other teens were excited to be here, but so excited they couldn’t tell that Bellamy was saying one thing, then doing the opposite? Things had gotten out of control. With no one else to lead, nothing got done, and at this rate, you’d all starve to death before any potential radiation got a chance to kill you. Something needed to be done, but what?

With clothes under one arm and a pair of shoes in his other hand, Wells limped up to the front of the dropship.

“Hey, where’d you get the clothes?” One of Bellamy’s henchmen stepped forward to confront him.

“I buried the two kids who died during the landing.” Wells’ voice was even, far less aggressive than you expected. The other guy wasn’t being particularly friendly. There was no doubt he had only stepped forward in an attempt to intimidate Wells.

“Smart. You know,” the lackey reached out to grab the shoes, “I’ll take it from here.”

With a grace you wouldn’t have expected from someone with a sprained ankle, Wells dodged and took a step back. “We share based on need. Just like back home.”

Your attention was pulled towards the dropship as Bellamy stepped out. “You still don’t get it, do you, Chancellor?” He was accompanied by a girl with no shirt. As the two of them kiss, you had to put an effort into rolling your eyes. Wells looked like he was fighting the same urge.

“This is home now,” Bellamy continued. His attitude was relaxed–which in and of itself was more intimidating than what his lackey had been going for–as he started walking towards Wells. “Your father’s rules don’t apply anymore.”

“Then what rules do apply?” You had had enough, finally stepping forward. “The ones you make up on the spot? The one that lets you say, ‘whatever the hell we want,’ but when Wells wants to share his things based on need, that’s suddenly not alright?”

Three pairs of eyes were now on you. Bellamy snorted, half a smile playing on his lips; he didn’t take you seriously at all. “And who, exactly, are you?”

“Someone who’s not buying into your bullcrap.”

His lackey took a step towards you. “Oh, this kitten has claws.”

But you refused to stand down. You walked right past him, making sure to crash your shoulder as hard as you could into him, before stopping in front of Bellamy, leaning as close into his personal space as you could. “You can wipe that shit-eating grin off of your face, because I swear to you, because that little power you think you have? It won’t last. You can’t run a country with fear without there eventually being some kind of reckoning.”

Bellamy wasn’t smiling anymore. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m saying that when people finally see through your hypocrisy and gather behind someone else, when all of your supporters have left you in the dust, then what will you have? A reputation as a bully? Anarchy does nothing but leave a power vacuum, and unless you intend to get your shit together and step up, I can guarantee that whoever else fills it won’t have patience for your idiocy.”

His jaw clenched, and he presented you with a forced smile. “Was that everything, kitten?”

“Y/N,” Wells’ hand was suddenly on your shoulder. It threw you off, just enough for the tension to break and for both you and Bellamy to take a couple of steps back. Neither of you said anything to each other, refusing to break eye contact.

“Wells is keeping the clothes.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

Bellamy turned and walked off, still shirtless. His lackey followed behind.

Wells removed his hand from your shoulder. It dawned on you, now that Bellamy had walked off. You turned around in order to face Wells. “You know my name?”

“I, uh, yes?” he seemed to hesitate. “Should I not?”

“No, no, that’s not it, I just wasn’t expecting you to.” The atmosphere turned kind of awkward.

“Anyways,” Wells changed the subject, “thank you for jumping in.”

You shrugged. “Things can’t go on like this. If the next week is going to be anything like these last twenty-four hours, I don’t know how we’ll make it.” You smile at him. “Plus, it was kind of satisfying to knock him off his high horse.”

Wells laughed. “Kind of?”

“Alright,” you jokingly threw your hands up in the air, “it felt very satisfying to knock him off his high horse.”

“I can only imagine,” he nodded towards the dropship. The two of you began walking inside. “Where are you from?”

“Factory,” you grabbed the curtain, holding it open so that Wells could duck inside. “And you’re–”

“Alpha.”

“Yeah, I know. Chancellor’s son and all.”

“It feels so strange.”

You stopped in front of the ladder. “What does?”

“To have everyone know stuff about me.” He looked away from you.

“What, not enjoying the celebrity lifestyle?”

He snorted. “No, it’s just… When people know things about you, they also think they know you, you know? Because my dad’s the Chancellor, everyone here has an idea of what I’m like. But how many of them do you think has actually spent more than three minutes with me.”

“Clarke?”

Wells went quiet. He looked over to you, taking a deep breath while doing so. “With her, it’s… complicated.”

“How so? Or do you want me to stop asking questions?”

“I think it’s a conversation I won’t mind saving for another day.” He took a hold of the ladder. “I’m not going to get up here, I think. You mind?”

“Of course.” You were already two steps up the ladder before freezing. “And Wells?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not saying I know you, but I like what I’ve seen so far.” You turned around to look at him. “You’re a good person.”

“I… thank you, Y/N,” his cheeks had darkened a little. As the silence settled around you, the atmosphere grew kind of… you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Awkward?

You cleared your throat. “I still need you to give me the clothes.”

“Oh, right.”

“No… No… Don’t! No! N—” she girl’s eyes opened, and she flinched, pulling herself away from your touch, fear marring her features.

“Hey, hey,” you kept your voice low, soothing, “it was just a nightmare, alright? It’s not real, you’re alright.”

“I know,” she croaked out. A single tear rolled down her cheek. Her hand quickly wiped it away. “I know. Clarke already talked to me. But…” her voice faded out into a sob that racked her entire body.

You didn’t say anything, instead just pulled her close. She couldn’t be much older than twelve, maybe thirteen. Sometimes, people didn’t need words, they just needed to let it out. Your hand stroked her neck, barely making contact, just a little something to make her feel grounded in reality.

Eventually her breathing evened out. You pulled back a little to give her some space. “What’s your name?”

Her voice was faint, tired. “Charlotte.”

“Hey, Charlotte, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.” Your eyes met, and you studied her face. “I’m going to be very blunt here. People deal with grief differently. Some want to be left alone, some want to talk about it, some want to distract themselves. I’m not a mind reader, and since I don’t know you, I’m just going to have to ask: What do you want me to do?”

She looked surprised. “I, uh, I’ve already talked about it, so maybe… distraction?”

“Alright, alright,” you thought for a second, “how about I tell you a story?”

A small smile broke out across her lips. She looked younger, then, when she got excited. “Really? What kind of story?”

“Are you too old for fairytales?”

“I mean,” she fidgeted with a small rock, “I’m not ten anymore, you know.”

“Right, right, of course, I can see that.” You leaned in towards her. “How about I tell you something that happened to me today?”

Charlotte perked up. “What?” She was whispering. It was amazing, in a way, to see how much younger she became when the pain was subsiding. It felt like a punch in the gut. She was just a child. You were all just children.

Spite welled up inside of you. And they had sent you down here to die. The Chancellor’s words echoed in your mind, one word in particular lingering. Frankly, you’re expendable.

“The guy I like blushed when I said I like him.” Was it rude to assume a twelve-year old would be really excited at the mention of romance? Perhaps it was, but as you watched Charlotte’s eyes widen, you knew you weren’t wrong.

“You confessed to him?” Charlotte blurted out. She got up to her knees and grabbed your arm, hard, with both hands.

You sputtered. “Ow!” Charlotte immediately removed her hands, as if she had been shocked. You held her gaze, and she seemed to hold her breath, before both of you broke out laughing.

“Well, if I wasn’t sure you weren’t ten anymore, now I am!” You went straight for her stomach. She half screamed, half laughed as you began tickling her. “You’re so strong, Charlotte!”

“Wait, nonono, that’s not fair!”

“Alright, alright,” you relented, “I’ll let you of with that.”

Charlotte’s cheeks were red, and her smile only grew wider, until she suddenly turned serious, sitting up straight. “But you didn’t finish the story.”

It was your turn to blush. “Well, I, uh, I didn’t exactly confess. It was more of a ‘I like you as a person’ and less of a ‘I want to be your girlfriend’ situation.”

“But you do ‘want to be his girlfriend’-like him?”

Did you? You hadn’t known him for very long–five days, to be exact–and you weren’t sure. “Maybe? I think I need to get to know him better first.”

A smug smile spread across Charlotte’s face. “You like him.”

You feigned indignation. “And when did you become such an expert?”

“I can tell. You like him.”

You shrug, exaggerating the motion. “I’ll take your word for it, then. Come,” you get up, “let’s get some breakfast.”

A never-ending stream of people suddenly started to fill the dropship. The air was filled with shouts: “The air is toxic!” “Close the windows, hurry!” “It burns!”

You were pushed towards the wall as the dropship became more and more crowded. You turned towards the person next to you. “What’s going on?” “Some sort of fog. It’s not breatha–” the girl broke down into a coughing fit.

“Are you alright?” She nodded. You started pushing your way through the crowd, panic surging within you; there was still people out there. The hunters, Clarke, Bellamy, Charlotte… Wells.

The dropship suddenly seemed fragile. You had no idea if it would keep this fog out, what destruction the fog was capable of wreaking. All around you, more and more voices joined the fray. No one seemed to stand still, shifting their weight, constantly moving. The ground seemed unsteady beneath your feet.

The tension was thick in the air, boiling just beneath the surface. Everyone in the room felt it. One small action would be enough to cause an explosion.

You couldn’t let things get out of control. Not at a time like this. The ladder was right in front of you, and you climbed up.

“Everyone!” your voice cut through the noise, loud and clear. You had expected the buzzing to continue, but everyone went quiet as soon as you raised your voice. They were afraid, you realized, as afraid as you.

God, this was a first. You were Factory-born, a nobody, and now everyone was looking to you.

Suddenly, Bellamy’s moodiness and Clarke’s harsh voice seemed to make more sense. All of these people looked expectantly on you, but they relied on people like Bellamy and Clarke. On people like Wells.

And now, on you as well. If it would ease the burden for the others, you’d help. Someone needed to do it. “I want ten volunteers to do a headcount. We need to know how many people are not in this dropship.”

Silence.

“No one?”

“I’ll do it,” the girl who had coughed stepped forward.

“Yeah, me too.” The two became three, then four, then a crowd.

“Thank you,” you breathed, straightening your back. “Okay. Most of us will stay down here, but anyone willing to go up and take care of the hurt kid and the radio, do that.”

Three hands shot up and you gave them a nod.

“Everyone, get in line!” the girl shouted, voice hoarse.

“Hey, you, what are you doing?” Murphy grabbed your arm. His brows were furrowed. “Bellamy left me in charge.”

You ripped your arm loose. “Then you should have taken charge.”

“If you think you can–”

“Murphy!” you interrupted him. “This has to wait until we’re not stuck in the dropship anymore. Or it will cause a panic.”

He looked taken back. You held his gaze, and something that resembled an understanding passed between you. He cleared his throat. “Right.”

“They’re just scared.” You swallowed thickly. “I’m just scared.”

He shrugged, scratching himself under his nose, gave you one last look, and walked away.

You felt silly, but the jealousy churned away in your stomach. Whatever the feud between Clarke and Wells had been, she had forgiven him. You hadn’t meant to spot them, but seeing Clarke hug him, seeing how he looked at her…

He loved her. He was in love with her.

You wanted to scream. How could you ever think he would look at someone like you, when Clarke, the golden girl, from Alpha station, beautiful, charismatic, intelligent, and just perfect in every way, was right there? “Fuck!”

“Ah!”

You turned towards where the scream had come from, suddenly on edge. “Who’s there?! Show yourse–Charlotte?”

She stepped out of the shadows, small, fidgeting with something.

You felt your shoulders sag with relief. “Charlotte, what are you doing here?”

“I, uh, I was just going to…” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I was going to make the nightmares stop.”

“Oh, Charlotte,” you took a step towards her, then froze as she stepped away. “What’s wrong?”

“I thought you were someone else.”

“Charlotte,” your voice was sterner, “what’s wrong?” Your gaze dropped to what she was fidgeting with. “Is… Is that a knife?”

A sob escaped her lips, her face looked as white as a sheet.

“Charlotte, tell me what’s going on.”

“I was…” she looked down on the knife, “I was going to slay my demons.” You didn’t follow, and it was clearly written on your face, because Charlotte elaborated as soon as she saw your expression. “Bellamy told me the nightmares would stop if I could slay my demons.”

Realization dawned on you. “You’ve never told me what your nightmares are about.”

“My parents,” she took a deep breath, “they were executed. I see it, over and over, in my dreams.”

“Oh, Charlotte.”

“I just want to make it go away.” Her voice cracked. “I thought, if I could make the Chancellor go away…”

You grabbed onto her before you could think and pulled her towards you, into an embrace. She was shaking like a leaf. “How would you do that, Charlotte?”

“I was… I was going to slay the demon.”

The demon here had to be the Chancellor. You slowly caressed her cheek while she cried. Slay the Chancellor… with a knife… how would she–

Oh.

“You were going to kill Wells?” You didn’t sound angry, only numb.

She kept her face pressed into your chest, still shaking, her voice barely above a hiss as she answered: “I’m sorry.”

You were appalled, and confused, and scared, and angry. But Charlotte was just a child, young enough to easily misunderstand a metaphor like that. How could you fault her for this?

She should take responsibility for this, one half of you whispered. She hasn’t done anything yet, the other half retorted. She meant to. You stopped her. But did you change her mind?

“Give me the knife.” The anger in your voice wasn’t hidden as well as you had hoped it would be. Charlotte did, slow, as to not accidentally hurt you. Murphy’s knife, you realized. How the hell had she gotten her hands on that? “I won’t tell on you, alright? But you have to promise me two things first.”

She nodded vigorously.

“One, no more making decision like this by yourself. If you have a problem, come talk to me, no matter how small or big. Do you understand?”

She nodded again.

“Second, you have to learn that demons can’t be killed or slayed, but you can chase them away. Become Wells’ friend.”

“What?”

“Wells is not a demon. His father is not a demon. The demons are small and invisible, and they make you think that other people are the demons instead of them, so you can’t make them leave.” You pulled away from Charlotte and looked her straight into the eyes. “You need to look at these people and learn the difference. When the demons realize you’re smarter than them, they’ll slowly leave you alone and you’ll heal.”

“I–”

“Talk to them. Talk to me. And when the others come down, talk to a doctor. Killing won’t help you, only hurt you, alright?”

“Alright.”

“Go back to the dropship now. Find Clarke or Bellamy if you don’t want to be alone. I’ll be right there.”

Charlotte seemed so small and tired. Her retreating back looked as if it might crumple any moment. And to think you had just been sulking about your crush.

It made you feel worse, to be honest.

You went further into the woods, until you found who Charlotte had originally been looking for. Wells turned to you and smiled from where he was sitting. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You smiled back. “May I sit?”

“Sure.”

A pause.

“Something good happened.”

“Oh?” You know what it was, but you feigned surprise anyway.

“Clarke and I, we’re not on bad terms anymore. She forgave me.”

“Wells! That’s great!” It was an awkward gesture, but you grabbed his arm anyways, tried to digest whatever butterflies were in your stomach.

He was blushing from just thinking about her, just from saying her name. God, you really didn’t stand a chance. The divide between you felt larger than it ever had, he seemed more unreachable than ever before. Even when you didn’t know him, he had felt closer to you than this.

Still, you forced a smile for his benefit. “I’m so happy for you, Wells.”

“Thanks, Y/N.”

Perhaps it made you a shitty person, but you didn’t want to listen to him praise Clarke anymore: “I’m so tired. I think I’ll head back to the dropship.”

“Wait, I really need to–”

“Talk to you later.” You got up and left, legs carrying you away from him as quickly as they could.

Fuck. Fuck it all. Fuck Wells. Fuck Clarke. Fuck Charlotte.

But mostly, fuck yourself. You were being petty, and you hated it. Why couldn’t you just be happy for him?

You had to stop feeling sorry for yourself.

The first day on the ground flashed before your eyes; you saw Wells, how he straightened his back and walked out of the dropship. The boy who had nothing, walking as if he could take on everything.

As bitter as it was, you followed his example and straightened your back.

You were the girl who had nothing. You were the girl who was really damn angry about that. You were the girl who would walk as if you had everything. And you were the girl who was going to take on the world and not stop for anything.

#The 100 #the 100 imagine #the 100 wells #the 100 wells jaha #wells jaha #the 100 wells imagine #wells imagine #wells jaha imagine #the 100 wells jaha imagine #imagine #the 100 imagines #ig100

10 notes · View notes

bitchezbebonkers · 7 years

Text

I’m putting a lot on the line here. Don’t get me wrong, you all know I am die hard Bughead!! Or I wouldn’t have invested the hours I have to the cause in the form of Vanilla Lips. But this is purely for my own fun and the fact I have started enjoying Jeronica as a ship as well. Don’t think I am “jumping ships” as I don’t want people to think that. Just a bit of fun on my behalf. Ignore this completely if you want to imagine me as just Vanilla Lips’s writer <3

Yes, this is a Jeronica Drabble.

Warnings! ANGST, ANGST, (I don’t know why I bother even mentioning angst because you guys should know by now I am %12782722 angst. JERONICA it’s a warning just because. Alcohol and mentions of marijuana. OOC!!!

I gulp down courage and I feel the weight of Southside on my shoulders. Deep down I feel a little sorry for myself as I drink at the bar. Cheryl hadn't even given me a single ounce of the sympathy I was searching for but then again, she never does.

ACDC plays loud through the bar but it was almost empty. Somewhere in between songs she mentioned Betty and I humoured her with gutless, empty words. I asked her if she knew Archie was going – Cheryl didn't but her eyes flickered down and I held back a sharp smile, I liked it when Cheryl didn't know things because apparently, she knew it all. They say no one likes a know it all. I can't say I liked Cheryl, but she was a little more palatable on the tongue these days.

Cheryl slams a glass down on the counter before rolling her eyes and putting a pink stained cloth to it, smudging sticky around. “We’re closing soon, Forsythe,” she says, dripping my name from her tongue. “The sun will come up soon and you'll still be sitting in here drinking women's drinks and smelling a hell of a lot like an ash tray. No insults intended but...” she tilts her head.

“But every insult is intended, I hear it, Red,” I say sipping my drink through a straw.

She eyes me before shrugging and shoving the cloth in her apron strings. “No, I just mean...” she trails off before nodding. “I mean, yeah – I tried to think of something nice to say but it's not working. You smell and you've been here all night. Don't you have somewhere else to be?”

I snigger and look at the clock. It's hitting one AM and I've been sat up here for hours now. I don't know at which point Joaquin had left but now he's probably knee deep in the cute guy with the blonde hair that Cheryl had been poaching. Joaquin settled the score and now Cheryl hates him more for it, he definitely had an appendage that she didn't that the blonde wanted a little more than swollen lips around his -

She clicks her red nails on the counter in front of my lady-drink. “Oi!”

“Hmmm?” I reply, flicking my dry eyes up to her. “What?”

“Don't you have somewhere to go?”

No, I didn't have anywhere to go. The trailer is colder than the ice that's sitting on top of it, stealing the grass around it. The bar was cheap, the drinks, cheaper. It was more comfortable in here even if Cheryl runs her tongue over red lips, making them slick and shiny making me shudder. “You know I don't, Red,” I grumble.

Cheryl flicks her long hair over her shoulder and checks out her brand-spanking-Fifty-dollar manicure before fingering the heavy ruby on her chest. “I knock off in thirty, then I'm taking you somewhere.”

I snigger. “Where?” I ask.

She sighs with frustration. “Home, Jughead. Somewhere where you can rest your head, wash the nicotine out of your hair.”

Speaking of nicotine, I take a cigarette out of the packet before placing it between my lips, I put the straw between my lips on the other side. “Can I get another one of these before we go?”

She slides the bottle of white rum across the counter and then reaches down to undo her apron. “Here, have the lot, I can't take you seriously when you're so pathetic anyways.”

“Gee thanks,” I add sarcastically. “You're so sweet.”

“Not as sweet as those lady-drinks that you down every night...”

I stir my drink with my finger and pour more white rum into it, “They're easy to down,” I say quietly. “Like my life down a drain.”

She rolls her eyes and I see red heels clicking on sticky floors. “Keep feeling sorry for yourself, Donnie Darko, I swear no one cares in this place.”

I look around, I was the only one left in this bar.

Then I hear the door slam against it's frame.

Veronica clicks through the bar with red-bottomed Louboutins on. She flicks her hair from side to side before turning to me with red rimmed eyes and mascara smudged in the left hand corner. Veronica Lodge never let down her guard for no one but tonight she's all armour free and the way she walks through Southside is like she's done it twenty times before. This place is cold, wet and damp but she's moving through like wildfire on dry, unsated lands. This place might be cold, wet and damp but it's a hell of a lot more comforting than the trailer is at the moment. Veronica clicks nails on the counter next to me, she becomes the Queen of fakes when she smiles at me with dark purple lips together and says with a sigh; “Evening, Jughead.”

I lift my short glass to her and go back to staring at the counter. “It's one AM, Veronica.”

“Well, I didn't know you were the Master of time...”

I snigger and go back to rubbing the rim of my glass with my forefinger. “I'm just handy with a watch.”

Veronica ignores my comment and turns to Cheryl at the bar. “A scotch on the rocks, baby,” she says, sliding a note across the bar.

Cheryl arches and eyebrow and gives Veronica a derisive look. “I'm all for the healthy drowning of your sorrows V, but we don't have scotch here.”

I try to ignore both the girls but both sets of eyes were flicking in my direction. I know why Veronica has clipped her way through the Serpents favourite. Archie had gone this morning, gone to find his new home and new, bright-eyed hope in the form of Football. And for some reason, Veronica didn't follow him like the lost puppy she always was to him, somehow thinking that rocking up here was the best choice of things to do. Ironically, I understand that. This was the next best thing to me too, to sit here and drink until past drunk, to listen to Cheryl break me in two just to make me feel something again. I get it. Sometimes you gotta give into your weakness to show that you're not so weak. Riverdale makes you pathetic, but alcohol makes you stronger. Stronger than God.

“What do you have then?” Veronica snaps, clicking her heels under the counter. “Give me something good.”

“I can't guarantee Manhattan’s finest, Veronica,” Cheryl says rolling her eyes. “They like it cheap and nasty around here – oh right, I guess you might fit in fine here...”

Veronica slams a soft hand on the counter. “Don't test me.”

“Just give the girl the next best thing,” I say grumbling.

Cheryl spins on her heels with effortless nonchalance and starts fingering bottles on the counter top. “We have Jim Beam or we have Rum, Captain Morgan's to be exact... I can put either on ice to make it a little more of what you wanted, how does that sound?”

Veronica tilts her head to look at me with an exasperated expression and she eyes the cigarette packet on the counter next to me. “Surprise me,” she says to Cheryl. “And gimme one of those,” she says to me. “I want to float away in a cloud of smoke.”

“Another disappointing disappointment,” I tell her, pushing the packet towards her. “These are cheap and nasty too. Archie always hated cigarettes...”

I push the boundaries. Veronica just runs her tongue over her teeth and flexes her fingers. I can feel the one-million-and-one snarky replies ticking through her mind, but she doesn't voice any. I had tested her waters, I was edging in and I know I shouldn't. I didn't have the right to bring up Archie. Especially not here, in the dungeon we were sitting in. The bright Son of Riverdale's name didn't fit right here.

“Just like me, apparently,” Veronica says stingingly. “Cheap, nasty...”

Her eyes darken and she takes the glass from Cheryl roughly. Cheryl doesn't like that but smooths a dirty, wet rag across the bench to disguise her spilling overflow. “Don't worry,” I mumble to Veronica. “No one's as cheap and nasty as I am.”

Veronica sniggers and takes another gulp of her drink, swigging it back. She closes her eyes and screws her nose up. “Too cheap and a little too nasty for Archie.”

I down the last of my drink and place the glass back on the counter, trying to shift what Ronnie just said out of my brain. They were High School Sweethearts, they had it all laid out for them. They had it all but nothing lasts forever, not when Riverdale pushed you right to the very edge. Archie was the epitome of Riverdale, Veronica was tied to his side and looked up at him every day with heart eyes and her arm linked in his.

But then the same could be said about Betty and I, but all is left is what could have been and her smell stale in my sheets. And the image of her riding me from on top.

“Too nasty?” I say, holding back a snigger. “If he can't get down with nasty then he's looking in the wrong place.” Cheryl takes my glass from in front of me and shakes it in the air. “Yes please, Cheryl,” I say.

“Hmmm,” she replies, lifting her hand from drink-sticky on the counter.

“Besides,” I hum. “Everyone knows you don't come cheap. You're high priced, Ronnie.”

Veronica smiles and nods. “I guess so, if he didn't know I could get down nasty, he didn't know me at all.”

We pause for a beat. Cheryl tops up my drink and I take a sip loudly before pulling out a cigarette and placing it between my lips. “You could know someone for years and not know them at all, Ronnie,” I say muffled by my smoke. “They only want to know the parts that they can relate to.”

I laugh quietly to myself. The parts they could relate to. People can't relate to Southside, can't relate to the dark. Can't relate to those cynical beings. Cynical was quickly enveloping the bar as Veronica and I sit here with ACDC still blaring.

She reaches for my packet, not even asking but pulling out a stick and putting it between her own lips. We both stand, we look at each other and then I jerk my head back to get her to follow me. She follows silently and we get outside, rain was falling loudly against the undercover area with the roof of tin and the moon still shining through it. “What are you drinking?” she asks me.

I bite my lip as I look in my glass. “Cheryl will kill me if I tell you what I'm drinking,” I say laughing humourlessly. “Ashamed of the fact she's even selling me this shit.”

“You have my attention now,” she says, trying to tip-toe to look in my glass.

“Malibu and pineapple.”

“A little tropical for this climate, don't you think?”

I nod. “I guess so.”

“It's funny,” she starts.

I get my zippo lighter out and light her smoke before mine. I might have had a few drinks tonight but I was still ever the gentleman, even through smoke haze and white rum. “What is?” I say exhaling loudly.

“We've just had a ten minute conversation yet you relate to this more than anyone else.”

I scoff and shake my head. “It's funny how much you get when you're drunk. They say drunk speaks a sober mind...”

She shrugs and flicks ash on her Louboutins. “Maybe,” she says quietly. “Or maybe you just get it because you're fucked up too.”

She didn't even understand the start of it. If I try hard enough, I can still count the amount of days it's been since Betty left. I can count the hours down from the last time I saw Archie. I can still feel the tingling remains of my smoke-heavy mind from the last blunt I hit. My mind processes, my body weakly keeps moving but I'm fucked up. My life is just a series of hours rolling by with no destination.

I laugh and close my eyes, letting the moon leak into me. “Oh yeah,” I say. “I'm more than fucked up.”

I'm so fucked up, I don't even feel anything any more.

“They say white rum is for pussies, you know?” she asks me.

I look at my Malibu and Pineapple juice. I don't even have an answer for that, maybe I'm just as trashy as my drink. “Call me a pussy, I dare you.”

“You're a pussy.”

“You're not very nice, has anyone ever told you that?”

Veronica pauses and looks at the red tip of her cigarette. “One or two million times.”

I obnoxiously sip my white rum through the straw and look at her. “At least you're honest,” I say, looking down at my Docs, not wanting to feel concern for Veronica but I've seen lost so many times, I know the tell tale signs. “Are you ok?”

She draws in deeply and looks at me, her brown eyes seem so much darker in this moonlight. “Back in Black,” she mumbles.

I hear ACDC pulsing through the bar and I snigger. “So it is,” I say. “Forget the hearse, 'cause I never die...”

“I got nine lives, cats eye,” she says louder.

“Wouldn't have picked you for an ACDC fan,” I laugh.

“There's a lot about me that you don't know.”

“I'm sure there is.”

She closes her eyes again, looking to the tin roof. “I'm ok, Jughead.”

“Something's telling me that you coming here to the bar is you saying you're not ok.”

“I just needed to be somewhere familiar.”

I roll my eyes and look to the door of the bar. “Here? Southside Bar is your familiar?”

“Not the bar,” she groans. “You.”

We were friends, but our friendship stemmed from Archie and Betty, not much else than that. She didn't fit right here in this scene. “Me?”

“We both come from opposite ends of the spectrum, Jughead,” she says dripping poison. She was getting irritated by me. “But we have a lot more in common than you think.”

“So you've been saying the past four years...” I say quietly.

“Be honest with me,” she presses. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes before looking at me. “Does it feel like we're the only two people left in Riverdale?”

She sounds like she's begging for an answer, any answer. Her eyes are still red and blood shot, I think she's cried a million tears over Archie. Archie was my best friend but we haven't lived the same life in so long. He hated the Serpents and in turn, I think he started hating little pieces of me. Bit by bit, nit-picking at me and it never eased up. She's searching me for answers, ones I couldn't give. Tears were forming in the corners as she drunk Jimmy on ice. I rub my forehead before putting my hand on her shoulder. “If we are, Veronica,” I say quietly. “Please promise me you won't turn to me for saving.”

Veronica sniffs dry air and clicks her heel on the cigarette butt. “Jug,” she replies slowly. “Even this feels a hell of a lot like saving.”

“It feels like shit banter between two people who don't know what to say,” I snigger.

She nods. “Yeah, I guess so. But it's good enough.”

Yeah, maybe it is. Maybe it's the next best thing.

After drowning.

And if right now I was drowning, then it felt like she was too.

She keeps stepping from foot to foot, revelling in ACDC and their anger-pulsed words. “Are you ok?” I ask again.

She shakes her head and rolls back her eyes, praying to the tin roof again. “Do you think you could hold me?”

My face falls blank but I can see it, in the way she's moving slowly to the music, in the way she looks to the covered sky. I chuck my own butt on the ground and step on it with Docs. Tears shimmer in the muted light. She's crying again. Crying for him.

I walk over slowly, I want to bury my hands in pockets but I don't. She's wearing purple faux fur in Southside’s favourite and it seems weird. But it would be weird if she didn't wear something that was all her. She drops her head onto my chest, my arms move without any direction but I wrap them around her shoulders and rest my chin on her hair. She shudders against me and I feel her nails cling onto the leather on my back. “You'll be ok, Ronnie.”

“Will I?” she asks me.

“Yeah,” I sigh. “This part doesn't last forever.”

She sniffs and I can feel her hot breath on my chest. “I'm sorry I never asked if you were ok... After Betty.”

“It's ok,” I say, swallowing down hard words in my throat. “We were always on borrowed time.”

She shudders again. “This feels like shit,” she murmurs. “I want to run away, just go!”

“You'll be ok,” I whisper again, rubbing her shoulders. “It doesn't last forever.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah I am.”

I'm as sure as a bullet to the brain.

Back in black I hit the sack I've been too long I'm glad to be back Yes, I'm let loose From the noose That's kept me hanging about I've been looking at the sky 'Cause it's gettin' me high Forget the hearse 'cause I never die I got nine lives Cat's eyes Abusin' every one of them and running wild

Annnnd, there’s a little Jeronica for you.

#jeronica #jughead x veronica #veronica x jughead #riverdale #riverdale fanfic #riverdale fanfiction #jeronica fanfic #jeronica fanfiction

45 notes · View notes