Fluorescent Adolescent~Jughead Jones

ten

The air was cool, his bare skin shinning in the moon light. People chanted around him holding balls of light, or was it fire? Whatever it was, it kept getting brighter and hotter. Poet looked down, stumbling backwards. Below him, what seemed like miles and miles down was a pool of water, lined with rocks, trees, and more chanters.

A hand rested upon his bare back, chilling his skin. Poet turned, jerking away from the touch. He stumbled, trying to keep his footing, not wanting to fall into the dark murky waters that lay below. 

"Poet Quinton Price." The voice was harsh. It cut like a thousands knives against his skin but did not pierce. It sounded like barking dogs, hungry for the taste of fresh blood.

"Poet Quinton Price," It repeated, "Your inanition has begun. Hold out your hand for the blood sacrifice." 

No, no, no! Poet yelled but nothing came out. Instead, as if it had a mind of it's own, his hand slowly extended his hand, palm up towards the dark mass from which the voice resonated.

A sharp blade, extended from the body, the hand tattooed so much barley any skin showed. 

It was familiar. He'd heard it before, but where?

The hand grabbed his arm holding it in a death grip, not letting go. Poet tugged and screamed, begging for the hand to release him. It didn't, instead lifting the knife high into the air, preparing to strike. The knife shimmered in the moonlight, it's curved metal chilling Poet to the bone. It taunted him with it's ethereal like glow. 

Before he could shout in protest, the knife cut through the air, slicing into his palm. Poet cried out in pain. Or he thought he did. He felt the scream rise in throat but nothing came out. The only sound around him the increasing sound of the chanters and the rushing of the waterfalls below him.

The black mass dropped the knife to the ground, their smirk cutting through the darkness. 

"Retrieve the cup. Prove you're worthy. Be one of us."

Poet's body turned, his head screaming for him not to, to no avail. He ran forwards, jumping off into the cold murky waters below. 

He couldn't breath. The water consumed him, trapping him in ever lasting darkness. He was stuck in the water, it growing cold by the second. He could feel the numbness slowly consume him body, its crawling up his legs, fighting around his limbs and torso. It reached his neck, pain shooting throughout his veins and muscles. 

He couldn't focus, the pain and numbness becoming too much. His eyes started to close, Poet yelling at himself not to. Little by little his vision blurred, the feeling consuming him, trapping him in the inevitable darkness.

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Poet sprung up, drenched in sweat. His heart beat rapidly in his chest as if trying to escape. He pulled his legs to his chest, burying his head in his eyes, trying to banish the painful memories. He hated those visions. That night was forever burned into his brain, him having no way to rid of it.

It was dark. Fuck, no no no. No more darkness, please no more. His breath caught in his throat, struggling to breathe. No no no no.

A foreign hand fell upon his stomach. He jerked in surprise, taking in a large gasp of air, unable to release it. The hand rubbed his bare stomach, scrunching it's fingers before relaxing. 

He looked to his left and let out the air. He was okay. He was safe. He wasn't alone.

Poet took a deep breath, counting to slow his pulse and relax. Once he was close to calm he moved back down, wrapping Jughead's arms around himself, burrowing his face into the boy's chest. Jughead softly grunted, squeezing Poet gently, a small smile forming on Poet's face. 

It quickly vanished as his hands rubbed against each other, his arms held tightly against his chest. His left hand's palm stricken with a thick, bumpy scare. An awful reminder of that night which, like his memories, would never fade. 

Poet shook his head, trying to ignore the burn of his thoughts, instead focusing on Jughead's breathing. The way the other boy slept with his mouth the tiniest bit open, his breathing coming out in a slow steady pace. His eyebrows furrowed in his sleep before relaxing. Poet couldn't help but wonder what he was dreaming about. 

But dreams were a discussion for another time. Preferably one where they were both drunk and outside under the stars(not like he had thought about it or anything.)

As Poet laid there, sleep unsurprisingly evading him, he couldn't help but feel an impending sense of doom. For what he wasn't sure. But it was coming. And soon.

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I'm really sorry if this chapter was shitty. The next chapter should be a lot better. I wanted to give you guys a little insight of how different the Ghoulie Initiation was then the Serpents. I have no idea if this is actually what happens for the Ghoulies but they do seem to be more demented and intense then the Serpents. Anyways, I hope you guys liked it! Read, comment, vote, follow, love you guys! ~underrated human

(P.S. Harry Styles is surprisingly good for background writing music. Love him♡)