#then tomorrow i'll write my last journal entry for one of my classes

[lingeringscars]

the goal (the dream, the hope, the plan) is to finish reading for all my classes tonight and write my final paper for methods and final exam for wcc this weekend wish me luck yell at me if u see me

[notexactlyrocketscience]

~ on social media and blogging ~

Basically the only thing I've done in my last 24 posts (yes, I counted) is vent about my first semester at UTSA. Often repetitively.

A little backstory: You wouldn't know it from looking at me, my room, or my closet (especially not my closet) but I like to put things into boxes, arrange them in the most efficient way possible. Even when my room or notes are messy, I know exactly where my red scarf is (at the bottom of my closet where it fell from the hanger the other day while I was hurrying for school), where my flier for tomorrow's event is (somewhere in the middle of the pile of papers on my desk where I put it last week) and which emails I need to re-check tonight (the weekly newsletter, the extra-credit intructions, and the mid-semester meeting notice).

I despise any and all class-notes that aren't done exactly the way I like them—which is using as little repetition and words as possible. Whenever I write, I Google, copy and paste em dashes and make sure there are no spaces on either side. For a 600 word limit, my work will more often than not have exactly 600 words because I don't want to waste any. I use Google Calender to stay on schedule. Planners intimidate me because there's no limit to what can be done with them, and although I want to start a bullet journal, I'm not going to until I find a uniform format that feels right to me.

I don't get to doing it everyday, but at least around once a week or two I get my room, closet and school stuff together again (my person is a lost cause). Delaying this process is something that stresses me out quite a bit ... and is something I do regularly. Especially since the year before last, I feel like I'm in a constant state of burnout (which doesn't make any sense because I'm completely responsibility-free right now compared to other kids my age) and I procrastinate towards everything. EVERYTHING.

So yes, I've technically been spiralling slow-mo (and have been bewildered at myself) for the last couple (going on three) years now ... But back to my point.

I used to write a lot of journal entries. Extremely detailed ones. I spent hours on them every day. I have entire years of my life documented minute-to-minute—I am not even kidding. Once I fell out of that habit (cough the last two years happened) I was never able to pick it back up again (trust me, I tried).

Remember how I like to put things into boxes? The same goes for my feelings. The worst I could ever feel isn't angry or sad or desperate. No, the worst I could ever feel is not knowing what I feel. That's the only feeling that really scares me, dries out my soul. Everything is a mess and can't be put into their places anymore: I'm distracted, unsettled. Behind my eyes is a rainstorm gone wrong, a broken window, a gale whistling in and whipping every piece of paper in my workshop out of place, no end in sight.

When Instagram came into the picture a few years ago, that was in many ways my first step from hiding to bravery. For the first time, I had this space to express myself that was totally under my control, and it was empty. Devoid of prior expectations. For the first time, I was stepping forward and being myself in public, and in that way finding myself too. I'd be lying if I said that I'd be the very same person that I am right now if this hadn't been part of my life.

It gives me peace to be able to neatly document moments of my life here. It's not as time-consuming and as big a commitment as journaling, and somehow the pictures I take randomly gives me motivation to write something they make me feel, which is huge, since at this point this is the only form of creative expression I still indulge in, and one of the only things that make me feel like I have control anymore.

Gasp. I know it's social media, so this might sound superficial and naive to some. Believe me, I constantly battle the same feelings, internalized. Do I do it for attention? For the mini serotonin rush every time those little heart notifications appear? For human connection that I'm missing? Maybe. It's hard to know.

What I do know is that it's empowering to be able to write all this and let it loose for the public to see, ignore, read, dismiss, judge, and then to still be able to hold onto my paranoid sanity. I'm still not as brave as I'd like to be. Sometimes a wave of instinct to delete half my posts will engulf me to near-suffocation. But every single one of my silly, weird, random too-much-information, and borderline innapropriate posts are still out there. Because every time I feel that way, I clench my jaw and tell myself it's temporary and I'll regret it if I act on it. And it's true. Every day I succeed is another day that I choose not to run and hide like I've done too many times in the past. It's one step forward into caring less and understanding other people care less, and just breathing freely without worrying. It's a step towards freedom, confidence.

... I'm this bad behind a screen just talking about everyday things that don't even matter, that only a handful of people will read (s/o if you do. Thank you—means a lot!)—imagine what I'm like in actual social contexts, at the centre of attention in a crowded room.

Well ... I'll let you guys know when I finally stop running and find out for myself. Till then, I guess y'all are just stuck with me, as I am, right now.

[end]

⠀

[juggieheadcoopers-blog]

I was wondering if you could write a fic (inspired by the Extra gum commercial) where for every momentous event that happened in their life (First meet, first kiss, etc), Jughead writes about his feelings about her and he compiles all his little notes until the end where he gives it to Betty before proposing to her Ps. if you could have it where Jughead includes his proposal note for Betty to read before he actually proposes to her, I'll probably die from the feels

Ah! Sorry this took so long, I loved the idea so much but I wasn’t sure how I wanted to execute it so I hope it does this amazing request justice!

A/N: I wasn’t sure of when they first met in canon, so I just made something up. Sorry if it’s totally wrong lol. Also, I referenced a fic I wrote about their first date so you can find that here. Hope you like it @jeemyjamz!!!

–

Betty stepped into Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe expecting to find Jughead waiting for her in the same booth they had been meeting at since they were kids. Instead, she found the entire restaurant decorated the way it had been on their first date nearly ten years ago, twinkle lights and candles illuminating the entire room in a beautiful white light that made everything glow.

“Juggie?” Betty called out to the empty restaurant, scanning the room from one end to the other for any sign of him and realizing that he was nowhere to be found. In fact, it looked as though there was no one working in the kitchen or behind the counter either. She was completely alone. And it was starting to make her nervous.

“Okay, don’t freak out, you’re fine,” Betty muttered to herself, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it into a booth next to her. But instead of landing in the booth, the long black coat missed the seat completely and landed into a heap on the floor. Frustrated, Betty bent down to retrieve it when she noticed markings on the tile that hadn’t been there the previous day. “What’s this?”

Betty leaned forward to find that a line of arrows were drawn in thick black marker all along the tiled floor. Curious, Betty followed their lead until she ended up standing in front of the same booth she had thought she would find Jughead when she first entered the restaurant. But instead of her boyfriend, she found a thick, leather-bound journal waiting for her on the table. Picking it up, she noticed the sticky note stuck to the cover and smiled to herself, reading the words slowly as she took in the familiar slant of Jughead’s handwriting.

“Betty Cooper, if you weren’t such as grade-A super sleuth, I wouldn’t have trusted you to find this - but luckily for me, you’re a much better detective than I ever was so I suspect you have found the journal and are reading this note right now. I guess I should tell you that I’m giving this to you because I’ve been writing in this book since I was ten-years-old and every single entry is a memory of our time together. I’ve marked the ones of the most interest and am hoping that you will read them and not think less of me. Once you’ve reached the last page and you have followed the directions, you will find me waiting for you. Have fun traveling down memory lane. See you on the other side.”

Taking a deep breath, Betty opened to the first marked page and began to read. 

The First Day of Kindergarten (Age 5)

This is the day I first met you. I saw your parents dropping you off in the classroom and remember thinking that you had the shiniest blonde hair I had ever seen. All I could think about the entire day - during nap time and recess and snack - was running up to you and pulling on that curly blonde ponytail of yours. So I did. And while most of the girls in our class would have cried or screamed or thrown blocks at my head, you simply turned around, smiled that sweet smile of yours, and said, “Hi. I’m Betty Cooper. If you want, you can sit with me on the carpet during circle time. I’ll even let you touch my ponytail. All you have to do is ask.” I couldn’t believe it. A five-year-old with better manners than most of the adults in my life. My mind couldn’t fully grasp it, and I knew, even if I didn’t fully understand it at the time, that my entire world was about to change. So once I learned how to write in complete sentences without fully botching the grammar - that’s when I started this journal for you. A journal of all the times you changed my life. A journal of how my world continues to change everyday because of you.

Betty flipped to the next page and immediately noticed that the handwriting had changed. These were the entries that he had written when he was a kid. And they were addressed to her.

The Day You Let Me Sit On Your Swing Set (Age 10)

I spent most of the day crying. My dad’s drinking again. He’s so angry at mom and Jellybean is scared and I just needed to get away from them. So I took Jellybean and we just kept walking until we found ourselves in front of your house. You saw us and without saying a word, you led us into your backyard. You got Jellybean a popsicle because you saw that she was sad, and then we just sat on your swing set thinking of silly names to call the birds landing in your yard until your mom came home. It made be feel a little better. That was really nice of you and I’ll never forget it.

The Day of the Middle School Dance (Age 13)

I hate participating in school sanctioned-activities. I would rather stick a dozen pins in my eyes and beat them down with a hammer than be seen in a ridiculous suit and tie, parading through the cheaply-decorated school gym like I’m oblivious to the way everyone is looking at me like I’m the scum of the Earth but talk to me anyway because I’m friends with Archie. But anyway, I saw you sitting on the curb outside of the school, looking down at your shoes like there was a piece of gum stuck on the bottom. (But there wasn’t, I remember checking when you lifted your feet off the ground so Reggie wouldn’t run over them with his skateboard). So I sat next to you and asked you why you were sad. You said you didn’t want to talk about it, but I could see you staring at Archie from across the parking lot and I knew you were sad he didn’t ask you to the dance. I knew how badly you wanted to go. So I asked you to come to the dance with me instead. To my surprise you said yes. And we had a good time. And I think that if you wanted me to ask you to another dance, I would do it. Because I think you look really pretty in a dress. (Well, I always think you look pretty). But seeing you in a dress was different somehow. It made my heart beat really fast. And I think I liked how that felt.

The Day of Our First Kiss (Age 16)

Something has changed between us. Something I could never put into words. Something that, if I even tried to say it out loud, I would never be able to explain it in a way that would do it justice. So I climbed into your bedroom to see if you were alright after visiting Polly and I wanted to make you feel like everything was going to be okay. I wanted you to know that things had changed and you could count on me to be there for you. So I kissed you. And it was like a weight being lifted off my chest and I could finally breathe again. It felt so natural. It felt like I was meant to kiss you like that everyday for the rest of forever. And who knows, maybe I will. Although, let’s face it - we both know I’m not lucky enough to deserve that - to deserve you. I never have been.

The Day I Told You I Loved You (Age 17)

Today was the best and worst day of my life. My father’s funeral felt like it lasted an entire lifetime. It was cold and wet and gave every indication that it was recreated from a scene straight out of a Poe novel. But you were right by my side the entire time and it made it (almost) bearable to be standing there watching him get lowered into the ground. You held me when I cried. You pulled me away when I let my anger get the better of me and punched my hand through the stained glass window of the church. And when you were wrapping the bandage around my wound I felt this voice screaming at me - you have to tell her. You have to tell her before it’s too late because too late might be tomorrow and life is just too short to waste any moments. So I told you. I told you and you smiled and you said it back. And I cried again because I didn’t think anyone could ever love me like that. But you do. And I know I don’t deserve it, but I will never take it for granted.

The Day You Left Riverdale (Age 19)

I should hate you. I should be glad you’re gone and hope you never step foot on this godforsaken town’s soil ever again. I should want to wish the worst for you and hope you never succeed in anything you do. But I’m not the person I would have been if I had never met you. You changed me. So I can’t hate you. I’m too in love with you to hate you. And it kills me to write this so bluntly, but there’s no other way to put it - This sucks. And it’s you’re fault.

The Day You Came Back (Age 23)

The moment you stepped into my office, I knew I had to be having one of those hallucinations one gets when they’re stuck in the desert for days without food or water. You couldn’t be real. You couldn’t be walking towards me with your hair pulled back and your face even more beautiful than I remembered. But there you were. You were you. And I was me. And I had so much to say. So much you needed to know. But instead, I took a step towards you, and you looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes and I realized that I couldn’t stand another second of not touching you. So I took your face in my hands and I kissed you and suddenly we didn’t need words. We just needed each other. And that was enough.

Betty wiped the tears from her eyes and turned to the next page. “Flip to the last page and close your eyes,” the words read, causing Betty’s head to swim with so many thoughts and emotions she couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

Doing as the journal instructed, she skipped to the very last page and shut her eyes before she could read what was written. She could hear faint footsteps coming towards her and her palms began to sweat as she clutched the journal with both hands.

“Open your eyes and look at the journal.” Jughead’s voice made her heart skip a beat as she slowly did as she was told and lifted the book to read the title of the last journal entry.

The Day I asked You To Marry Me (Age 25)

…To Be Continued

Betty’s heart stopped as she dropped the journal onto the floor and looked down to see the boy she had loved for so many years, kneeling before her with a velvet ring box in his hand.

“Bets, there are a thousand eloquent speeches I could have written to express how much you mean to me, but I don’t think we need the fancy words or heartfelt soliloquies anymore,” Jughead began, his hand shaking ever so slightly as he held the box out in front of him for her to see. “I think that all I need to say to you is this. I’ve been in love with you since the very first entry in that journal. I didn’t know what it meant at the time, but I think the fact that I felt the need to start it in the first place is proof enough. You’re my world, Betty Cooper, and I want to be able to fill a hundred more journals just like this one with every memory that we share together for the rest of time. Will you marry me?”

In that moment, every memory she had of Jughead flashed across her mind just like the pages in his journal. The boy who loved playing with her ponytail, the boy who needed a swing to swing on and a friend to watch birds with when he was feeling sad, the boy who could tell when she was sad and needed someone to go to the dance with, the boy who lit up her world like twinkle lights and decorative candles illuminating Pop’s. She had spent most of her life with this boy - this man - kneeling in front of her and she wanted to spend everyday that came next, right by his side.

Without a word, Betty took the journal from his hands and lunged for the pen on the counter, her hand shaking as she wrote furiously in the journal. Jughead’s throat closed up as he watched in anticipation, waiting for the girl he loved to answer the most important question he had ever asked in his entire life. Betty turned the journal so he could read it and he stood from his kneeling position to scoop her up into his arms, tossing the journal onto the floor so that it slid across the tile and revealed Betty’s words to the empty diner.

She said yes.