#edit: if you’re here to check my tags ​pack it up kids I was ranting about brandon sanderson very tangentially.

[alectology-archive]

most annoying breed of author is actually someone who doesn’t respect a genre and sets out to subvert it.

[cooperjones2020]

What’s Past is Prologue, What to Come, pt. 4

Summary: He wanted to hit whoever made Betty cry. He wanted to hit Betty so she’d keep crying. Interrelated vignettes from Jughead Jones’s obsession with Betty Cooper. Dark!Jug, Creepy!Jug, Stalker!Jug, generally Sociopathic!Jug.

A/N: We’re ditching the Shakespeare. Instead, I leave you with this quote which is delightfully creepy out of context: “Since he longed to take possession of something deep inside them, he needed to slit them open” (Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, 215).

TW: implied child abuse (for this chapter specifically, check the other tags on ao3)

(parts one, two, and three)

ao3—>http://archiveofourown.org/works/11394858/chapters/26628525

By the time he stood across from her in the dusty classroom that housed five ancient PC monitors, two typewriters, and a microfiche reader, Jughead had given up fighting his obsession with Betty Cooper. He had given up fighting the way it hurt when she looked at Archie. He liked the hurt, liked the pain, liked the reminder he was alive.

When Betty and Archie seemed to be alright, after the disastrous night of the back to school dance, Jughead felt the embers in his stomach die down. But that ease of tensions came coupled with a new awareness of Betty. She seemed lighter to him. Not that she felt that way—he could still sometimes see her struggle with the ashes of her feelings, could see her face fall when she thought no one was looking. But the air around her seemed to be lighter, as if some of the threads that tied to her to Archie had been cut.

When he appeared in the doorway of the student newspaper office, he did so silently, so she didn’t notice him where she was bent over her work behind one of the ancient computer monitors. She wore a burgundy top today, new, one he hadn’t seen and that provided a marked contrast to her normal colour palette. He liked it. He liked the possibilities it represented.

“If print journalism is dead, what am I doing here?” he asked her, leaning against the doorway with one leg crossed over the other.

“The Blue and Gold isn’t dead, Juggie. It’s just dormant,” she replied, pressing her hands together in front of her heart, before running a finger along a dusty keyboard. “But waking up. You’re writing a novel, right? About Jason Blossom’s murder?”

“I am. Riverdale’s very own In Cold Blood.” He plucked a magnifying glass out of a pencil cup and held it up in front of him, looking at Betty through it.

“Which started out as a series of articles. I’m hoping you’ll come write for the Blue and Gold.” She looked so hopeful, so earnest and untouchable, he was a goner before he even walked in.

He tried anyway. “I just don’t think the school paper’s the right fit for my voice.”

“Juggie, Jason’s death changed Riverdale. People don’t wanna admit that, but it’s true. We all feel it. Nothing this bad was ever supposed to happen here, but it did. I wanna know why.” Every time she called him Juggie, his heart rate slowed down. It had been her nickname for him since they were kids and its effects were just as strong and just as addictive as morphine.

“Would I get complete freedom?” It was a feint, but he was interested in her answer.

“I-I’ll help and edit and suggest but it’s your story. It’s your voice.”

“Doesn’t sound like complete freedom but I’m in.”

“Okay, great. Um, in that case, I have your first assignment.” She did that thing with her hands again, like she was in an old episode of the Donna Reed Show and her body just couldn’t contain its joy. “There’s one person who was at the river on July 4th that no one’s talking about.”

“Dilton Doiley and his scouts.”

“Exactly.”

He brushed his thumb off his nose in gesture of camaraderie and conspiracy and turned to leave. He didn’t need complete freedom. He’d lost it long ago in any case. But, since the dance, and the night he and Archie had joined her and Veronica at Pop’s, he did need increasing access to Elizabeth Cooper.

We crave absolutes. They comfort us. But life is infinitely more complex than that. He was still attempting to untangle the threads that used to bind Betty to Archie when he discovered Archie and Grundy in the music classroom and it fucked everything up. It threw off his entire world axis in which Archie was deserving of Betty and he, Jughead, was not. Then, Betty found out about it. And with that, she threatened to slip back out of his control.

Closer access to Betty Cooper meant many things for Jughead Jones. It meant re-memorizing the smell of her hair and analyzing all the micro expressions that gave him insight into her moods. It meant resuming his game of guessing which underwear she was wearing that day, double points if he figured it out before he saw her bra strap.

It also meant seeing the places her enamel was wearing thin. After Dilton had left and they’d discussed the connotations of Archie being with Grundy at the river’s edge, Betty snapped a pencil in two with the force of the grip of her left hand. But she kept talking as if she hadn’t noticed.

He cut her off, “Betts, promise you’ll sleep on it before you go off the rails. We don’t know for sure what happened.”

She was staring at the cork board over his left shoulder. He could count the veins in the purplish skin beneath her eyes. He knew she wasn’t sleeping.

He slowly reached forward and unclenched her hand, removing the broken pencil pieces and brushing away the splinters that clung to her palm. She didn’t flinch, or even blink, when he touched her fresh half-moon cuts.

He wasn’t really sure how he wound up in a booth at Pop’s with Kevin and Veronica. He’d been typing away on his laptop, content as he was capable of being, when Betty walked in. Next thing he knew, he was ranting about the drive-in to a semi-captive audience. At least she’d bought him a burger again.

“The drive-in closing is just one more nail in the coffin that is Riverdale. No. Forget Riverdale. In the coffin of the American Dream. As the godfather of indie cinema, Quentin Tarantino, likes to say—”

“Please, God, no more Quentin Tarantino references,” Kevin cut him off.

“What? I’m pissed. And not just about losing my job. The Twilight Drive-In should mean something to us. People should be trying to save it.” The drive-in, the diner, the friendly neighborhood Hitchcock blonde to his right, all of the pieces of Riverdale that looked so great on paper. That, cliche as they were, kept him from sliding into the darkness that loomed.

Veronica interrupted his thoughts. “In this age of Netflix and VOD, do people really want to watch a movie in a car? I mean, who even goes there?”

“People who want to buy crack.” Trust the sheriff’s son to dismiss such an iconic emblem of working class Americana and Jughead right along with it.

“And cinephiles and car enthusiasts, right, Betts?” Betty knew what he was talking about, she knew what the drive-in meant to him.

“Totally.” But she wasn’t paying attention to him. He began tapping out a staccato rhythm with his foot.

“Anyway, it’s closing because the town owns it but didn’t invest in it. So when an anonymous buyer made Mayor McCoy an offer she couldn’t refuse—” Jughead stared out the window as he spoke.

“Anonymous buyer? What do they have to hide? No one cares.”

“I do. Also you guys should all come to closing night. I’m thinking American Graffiti. Or is that too obvious?” He directed it at the three of them, but he looked at Betty.

“I vote for anything starring Audrey Hepburn. Or Cate Blanchett.” Surprise, surprise.

“Or The Talented Mr. Ripley. Betty, your choices?”

“Everything okay, B?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just thinking. Um…Maybe Rebel Without a Cause?” Betty flicked her eyes at him and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling at her.

He turned his attention back to his dinner and contemplated the possibility that maybe one or two of the threads that used to connect Betty to Archie might now connect to him instead. He vaguely registered Veronica getting up and returning and the sound of the bell on the door jingling behind him.

“Now that’s an odd combo of people,” Kevin said.

Jughead and Betty both turned to look over their shoulders in one motion. It was Archie, Fred, and Grundy. Fuck. He glanced at Betty. Her mouth dropped open.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Betty, no. Don’t.” He made a half-hearted attempt to reach for her, his hand closing on empty air. He wanted to protect her, but what more could he do? She needed to snip the rest of the threads on her own. And truthfully? Archie needed a Betty Cooper-style kick in the ass.

Jughead grimaced at the two of them out of the window.

Again, Veronica’s voice intruded. “What’s happening out there? Do we know? Is it about me?”

Archie’s back was to him, but he could see the hurt and concern all over Betty’s beautiful face. “I have a strong inkling. And no. Also, I’d let it go.”

“Yes, but you’re you and I’m me. You do you, girl. I’ll be back.” He rolled his eyes at Veronica and settled lower in the booth.

“What was it like before she got here? I honestly cannot remember.”

Jughead didn’t respond. He sneered and ate the strawberry off Betty’s milkshake.

His final attempt to save the drive-in had been a bust. Mayor McCoy shot him down and even Fred wouldn’t help him. So, Rebel Without a Cause played to a full house. Of course. Nothing like nostalgia to pack them in.

Jughead watched from the projection room. She didn’t come. Whenever she came to the drive-in, she’d come up to the booth and drag him down to socialize for a while. Or she joined him up there with a blanket and some snacks.

He texted her, a little while after the movie started, but she didn’t respond.

She didn’t come.

The chill woke Jughead early the next morning. Indian summer had faded and no one had ever bothered to insulate the projection booth. He registered that he had a novel of a text from Betty sitting unread on his phone. He wasn’t ready to answer her yet.

He ate a stale pop tart and, from his seat next to the projector, he surveyed his dilapidated kingdom. A plastic bag blew across the empty lot. Discarded soda cans and spilled popcorn decorated the grass like some kind of fucked up Christmas tree.

When he could delay it no more, he stood to finish packing.

The Betty box had grown over the years. It took up more than half his backpack space, but he wouldn’t risk leaving it at the trailer. A drunk FP was an unpredictable FP.

Jughead watched the last reel finish winding then did a slow turn around the room that had been his only safe haven the past few months. He grabbed a shirt he’d missed packing, shoved it in his backpack, and, with an old photo of him and Jellybean in hand, closed the door.

He didn’t exactly need to add vandalism to his record, but seeing as Fred was the one tearing the drive-in down, he reckoned he was pretty safe. So he marked out “JUGHEAD JONES WUZ HERE” in black spray paint along with an outline of his crown on the side of the concession stand.

Then he tossed the can of spray paint away, to join the litter on the ground. When he turned to leave, FP was standing behind him. Jughead looked away so they wouldn’t make eye contact.

His father and the Serpents had been hanging around the drive-in for months, but he only sought him out when he hit the level of drunk of slurring his words and talking about reuniting their family. It was a little early, even for FP, but Jughead still didn’t want to talk to him.

When his father spoke though, his words were clear: “They’ll tear that booth down too. Raze the whole place, send it to the junkyard. And us with it.”

“Yeah. Or maybe they’ll save it. All the pieces. Store it in the town hall attic and rebuild it in a hundred years. Wonder who the hell we were.” The image made him smile. Then he remembered who he was talking to and cut his eyes away to frown at the ground.

“So where you gonna live now?”

“I’ll figure it out, Dad. I always do.” He just barely stopped himself from checking his dad with his bag as he walked past. That kind of aggression never worked out well for him with FP, and he didn’t need any more surprise injuries that needed explaining away to Betty.

[izzy-b-hands]

On mobile so I can't put a read more, but I'm going to try and tag well--I need to vent. ----------- So today has been the worst day dealing with my mom in awhile. Like we've been in an okay patch where she hasn't been giving so many mixed messages and orders, but that came roaring back today for some reason. It starts out crappy because we head to my tattoo appointment, but my artist was sick and had to reschedule (though please note I'm not mad at him in any way, I'm glad he was going home rather than suffering sick thru work, because I know how much that sucks no matter what your job is. It just made me sad that I wasn't getting tattooed today and those appointments are like spa days for me.) Before we left for the shop though, she was super pissy and generally making me not want her there at the appointment because I didn't want her bugging my artist or being fussy at having to wait for my appointment to be over (which she's done at past tattoo appointments that I did offer to go to alone by getting a cab or taking the bus.) Anyway, after the tattoo shop we decide to go run a quick shopping trip, and our interactions go down hill. We're both struggling financially right now, but I've been buying a lot for the both of us the past week. But she asks me to get this trip, so I say yes because it won't do any good to say no. Then we get there and she's grabbing extra stuff not on our list, half assedly asking if it's okay even when the thing is in the cart and we're eight aisles away already--like, I'm not gonna argue and say no at that point, cause she'd just get pissy. The store was busy too, so we were both starting to get upset in general. Now, I will note that my fragile emotional state today wasn't all due to her. The whole 'you're still stuck at a shitty job in ND and haven't totally gotten your writing off the ground' thing has been hitting hard for a couple weeks, but especially today. But I wasn't complaining or bugging her with it, I was just trying to ignore those feelings. At the end of it she's rude to the teen cashier, (she knows that behavior is something I don't tolerate), but we get to the car. I offer to buy lunch out from a place we both like because at that point I was more treating myself than her. Like, I'm on the verge of emotionally overwhelmed tears in the car from the day and stuff building up for weeks and she's just hopping cause she gets her fav food. I was literally crying (quietly though) as we left the parking lot and she keeps going on about what sandwich she's getting. At first I thought she didn't notice, but then she looks over and goes "Oh," and that's it. So she noticed, and normally would at least be like, "hey, you're crying, is everything okay?" Not at that moment. In the drive through I started crying more, because I honestly couldn't help it (that hasn't stopped either, I'm on like my tenth cry of the day right now) and then she finally showed concern. I couldn't tell her anything she had done to cause it (in the past that's earned me shouting and 'ungrateful brat' kind of comments that she swears later she didn't mean) but I did explain the wanting to move and earn my primary income from my art frustrations though, and she surprised me by being kind and supportive. I thought we were okay then and the day would be okay. Wrong. We eat, she decides to nap cause she was getting a headache, I decide to play GTA V for an hour or two. The cat wakes her up in about that time (I tried to get Nish to let my mom sleep, but she wanted both her humans awake and wouldn't take any food or toys I offered.) Mom's mood is wildly different then. She's angry. She complains about clothes being ready to hang in the washer (I didn't see or hear her put them in, or I would have taken care of them) and goes to do that. I follow, and try to fix things by taking the basket and offering to help. As soon as we get in to the room we hang the clothes in to dry, she's even angrier. First I'm taking the dry clothes down too slowly, then too quickly when I hang up wet ones in their place. Then I'm hanging the clothes wrong on the hanger. I tried for a bit to make it work, but she was ripping clothes out of my hand, tossing the laundry basket around, and pushing empty hangers to the floor in the same way an angry toddler would. So I get her the extra hangers from my room, hang up my dry clothes in my closet, and go back to my laptop in the living room, and turn it all off. That was the breaking point for me--I knew she'd be pissed at me next for playing a game (that's the usual cycle of these situations no matter what I'm doing--if I'm just sitting there doing nothing then I'm still doing something wrong) so I closed it down. Here comes the mixed messages. She asks when she goes back to the couch, suddenly really quietly, why I'm packing my stuff up. I tell her I have a headache and want to be in my room (partially true, though it isn't a bad enough headache that I'd go lie down) she acts sad, but let's me go and I leave trying to figure out her 360 emotional spin. Fast forward a few hours of me crying quietly in my room, panicking over how she might act for dinner and how even though my psychologist said to stand up for myself and call out her behavior and how she'd be totally pissed at me if I'd acted like she had all day I still can't bring myself to say anything because I'm afraid of my mom yelling when I do that. There's a quick, tense discussion on what to do for dinner a bit later, and dinner itself wasn't awful, just uncomfortable (in part because we had pizza and I had to eat all the pieces left, or she'd do her usual spiel about how I don't eat left overs fast enough so I shouldn't leave them, yet she can leave them because she's formally dieting and I'm not.) I try to go back to my room and she stops me. "Bye," she says in a voice equal parts sad and offended. Now, no matter what I'd done here would have been a problem. In past moments like this, there have been some where she guilted me to staying in the living room (but then acted nasty towards me if I fell asleep and didn't wake her up to help remind her to take out her contacts or get her to bed at a decent hour) and some where I've gone back to my room (and she'd pop in every couple of hours to ask if I still wasn't coming back out, glare at anything I might have on the floor, and sigh even when my room is clean--the issue I've found there is that it isn't clean in the way she'd clean it, so it pisses her off, no matter how much I try and clean 'her way' even when executive dysfunction makes it hard.) Tonight, I chose my room, which brings us to now. She already popped in once, as I was typing so I had to hide my iPad so she wouldn't see this post. I already know she'll have fallen asleep in the living room, so I can't fall asleep yet in case she doesn't wake up by ten or elevenish on her own to go into her bedroom. And I get her headache might be making her feel like shit, but here's the rub-- We've been having these moments and situations since I was four. I know everyone has days where they act shitty cause they don't feel well, but why does she expect me to just ignore her on those days when she never lets me have a day like that. If I acted how she did today, she'd have yelled and been angry with me (even tho she stresses now how we're just as much roommates as mom and kid since I'm an adult, so we should treat each other more like roommates.) I was the one who was gracious and asked my artist if he was okay to check out my healing before he left (which he happily did, and he said he was glad I let him check because it showed responsibility as a tattoo owner that he doesn't always see) while she whined that we shouldn't have to pay for the visit and embarrassed the hell out of me (they didn't charge because we didn't tattoo today, and none of the artists at the shop have ever said they'd charge for a literal 'roll up your sleeve for two minutes and let me look' thing, tho I think they probably could and should--I'm willing to hand over my money to people who care about me and the art on my body.) I was the one who kept us on track during shopping and got us home at a decent time, with lunch, even tho my anxiety was at an all time high and I was already an over emotional mess. And I was the one trying to find a way to make her happy, even after she'd made me cry a few times over. I just wonder how long I'm going to go thru this with her. My five year plan now is to save up to move to California, but it's killing me I can't go now. To be closer to other artists and collab and share my art with them (one book in the series I'm writing is nearly done with my editing, the second books first draft is written, and I started writing the third books first draft this week, and I didn't even plan on it becoming a series); to be away from my mom and my family's bullshit; to be in a state that will protect my orientation and gender identity (they can still fire u for that first one in ND)--it all feels so close yet so far away and days like today I just feel so tired of living the way I am, yet I don't have the money or options to change anything yet. This got way too long--if u read it all, thank u but also I'm sorry. U can tell it got too long cause I've given up typing as formally as I usually do. Anyway, I should take this moment to thank u all for still following me and reading my blog--writing and rants alike. It's a small comfort, but it makes me feel less alone. And on days like today, that's one of the few things I have. Here's to hoping for easier days with family, for me and any of u guys that might be struggling with similar issues right now. If any of u ever need to vent, my ear is ready to listen (and comfort if u want.)