serpent juliet


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June 23rd, 2024

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Gender: Female
Age: 31
Sign: Aquarius
Country: United States

Signup Date:
July 12, 2018


06/10/2024 08:39 PM 

Reply for 𝘙𝘈𝘞 𝘊𝘏𝘈𝘖𝘚 .ᐟ

betty cooper
violent delights
with violent ends
As I watched him clumsily ascend the ladder, my heart raced with a mixture of fear and anticipation. Each sway of the ladder echoed the turmoil inside me. From my vanity, surrounded by pink and floral excess that felt more oppressive than comforting, his presence was both an intrusion and a solace. The room, a shrine to a version of Betty that everyone else celebrated, suddenly felt alien with him peering in.

His gaze was weighty, brimming with concern that seemed to pierce through the glass, reaching out to the part of me that's been concealed beneath layers of cheer and charm. The Betty that he perceived wasn't the girl with the high ponytail and the flawless smile but the one grappling with shadows that threatened to spill over into the daylight.

"Why now?" I pondered, pressing my fingertips against the cool glass, leaving a trace of my breath. The memory of this morning's breakfast loomed over me, where words were weapons and glances were shields. His sudden appearance was reckless, yet here he was, silently vowing not to let me face my battles alone.

My mother's sharp words echoed earlier, warning me of the dangers of vulnerability and letting someone see the cracks. But as I met his eyes through the window, those warnings crumbled. It was clear he saw beyond the facade, recognizing the grief that I wore like an ill-fitting garment.

The gentle tap on the glass snapped me out of my racing thoughts, the kind that only seemed to spiral deeper into darkness as I contemplated Polly's plight. As I turned to the window, a slight smile broke through the turmoil at the sight of him. It was him, always him, who managed to bring a sense of normalcy—or perhaps bearable chaos—to my life. "Hey there, Juliet," he greeted, a playful lightness in his voice that belied the gravity of everything we faced.

I moved quickly, almost too eagerly, to slide the window open, welcoming the escape from my own suffocating thoughts. "Nurse off duty?" he joked, stepping awkwardly onto the ledge, his attempt at ease almost endearing. I couldn’t help but smile back despite the ache in my chest when I thought of Polly, trapped and alone.

“Haven’t gone full Yellow Wallpaper on me yet, have you?” His words, though teasing, touched a nerve. The reference to descent into madness wasn’t too far off from how I felt these days, haunted by what I’d seen at the Sisters of Quiet Mercy.

“No, not yet,” I responded, my voice lighter than I felt. "But give it time; the walls in here are starting to close in." I stepped aside, giving him room to make his way fully into the room clumsily. His presence, as always, seemed to fill the space with a different energy, one that pushed back against the pressing gloom.

I paced back and forth, my thoughts racing as fast as my footsteps. "They're crazy," I muttered, the words like a broken record in my mind. My parents, Polly, this whole twisted situation—it was all spiraling out of control. The more I thought about Polly locked away, the more I felt the walls of sanity crumbling around me.

"No, but what if Polly is, too?" The question escaped my lips before I could rein it in. My shoulders hunched up to my ears, a physical manifestation of my anxiety. The memory of Polly's haunted eyes and the desperation in her voice flooded back, fueling my fears. "The way she was talking to me, the way she looked at me..." It was all too much.

"And now, all I can think is, 'maybe I'm crazy like they are.'" The words tasted bitter; the idea that I could inherit that same madness was terrifying. I continued to pace, feeling trapped in an endless loop of worry and dread. As I turned to face him, he met my stance, his hand comforting on my shoulder. "Hey!" His voice broke through my panic, a solid, grounding force in the chaos of my thoughts. I rolled my eyes, a reflex to push away the concern, but deep down, I was grateful for his presence.

"We're all crazy." His eyes locked onto mine, his resolve clear. The simplicity of his statement was strangely comforting. He hated to see me like this, and I hated feeling so powerless.

He sighed and chuckled lightly, trying to lift the mood. "We're not our parents, Betty." His words were a lifeline, a reminder of a truth I clung to desperately. "Thank God, or I'd be an alcoholic Southside Serpent, and you would be a lying sociopath. We're not our families." His attempt to lighten the atmosphere didn't go unnoticed, and despite everything, a small smile tugged at my lips.

I felt the tension in my body begin to ease as he spoke. It was true—we weren't destined to become our parents. We had the power to choose differently, to forge our own paths. As he continued to speak,

The moment stretched between us, thick with unsaid words and raw emotions. I watched him, my heart thumping irregularly as he struggled to find his words. His eyes darted between mine, a mix of hesitation and something deeper, something perhaps even he couldn't name.

"What?" I asked again, my curiosity piqued by his nervous energy. The slight arch of my brow was instinctual, accompanied by a slight smile that I hoped would ease his tension. It was a smile that had disarmed many, but now, it was a shield, protecting both my heart and his.

The way he looked at me, so intensely yet so vulnerably, charged the air around us. His gaze had a gravity that pulled at something deep within me—a longing for connection and understanding that went beyond the usual confines of teenage angst and family dramas.

"Also..." he started again, his voice trailing off as if catching on a snag of doubt. My smile faltered slightly, replaced by a breath of anticipation. What was he trying to say? What was he so afraid to express?

At that moment, I realized how much we indeed mirrored each other. Here he was, struggling to vocalize his thoughts and his fears, just as I often battled with my own. We were two sides of the same coin—wrestling with our identities, our histories, and the thin line between love and pain that our families had so carelessly drawn.

His hesitance made him all the more endearing, all the more real. It shattered any remnants of the illusion that we were different because of where we came from—the pristine facade of the Coopers versus the raw, unfiltered life of the Southside. We were both damaged in our ways, both trying to navigate a world that seemed set against us from the start.

Deep down in that space, I felt a profound sense that she knew what it was, filled with his nervous energy and my anxious heart. It didn't matter what he said next; the fact that he was here, that he was trying—that was enough to bridge any gap between us. His presence, his effort to connect despite the chaos that swirled around us, was a balm to the scars we both carried.

The warmth of his hands on my neck, the gentle pressure of his thumbs against my cheeks, pulled me into a reality I had only dared to dream of. As his lips met mine, a cascade of emotions flooded through me, each one more intense and terrifying than the last. His kiss was a revelation, soft yet insistent, and it awakened a longing I had suppressed for too long.

As we kissed, my hand found its way to his shoulder, a gesture of both support and need. My heart raced, echoing his, a tumultuous rhythm that seemed to say, this is right, this is where you belong. I had feared so many things at that moment—the rejection, the confusion, possibly the end of something precious. But as he drew me closer, my fears dissipated, replaced by a courage I didn't know I possessed.

Leaning into him, into the kiss, was like accepting a part of myself I had been afraid to acknowledge. It felt like a gentle yet profound awakening to something new, something inevitably beautiful. It was as if all the pieces of my tumultuous life were aligning, bringing me to this point of unexpected yet perfect clarity.

The thought flitted through my mind as we slowly, reluctantly, began to part—a lull in the storm of emotions that had engulfed us.

Our noses touched lightly as we pulled away, his hands still framing my face with a tenderness that made my heart swell. The room was silent except for our breathing, heavy with the weight of what had just happened. Then, as I opened my eyes to look at him, a sudden realization struck me—the car! I had forgotten the responsibility of waiting outside in all the chaos of our emotions and the turmoil of family dramas.

"The car!" I exclaimed, the words tumbling out in a rush. The shift from our intimate moment to the practical concern might have seemed abrupt, but it grounded us, tethering our newfound connection to the realities we still had to face. As I looked into his eyes, still close enough to feel his breath, I saw not just the boy from the wrong side of town but someone who had seen me at my most vulnerable and still stepped forward, someone who shared not just my fears, but now my hopes too.

The shift from our intimate moment to a sudden surge of urgency was jarring but not unexpected—not with everything on the line. As he looked at me with a mix of amusement and disbelief, I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for disrupting the rare peace we had found in each other's arms. His hand fell from my face as I moved away, caught up in the implications of what Polly had mentioned.

"No! Polly talked about a car Jason had stashed for them down Route 40 near some sign??" I tried to explain, my words tumbling out hastily as I paced towards the window, glancing outside as if I could see the solution waiting for us in the darkness. The reality of Jason's mysterious car could be a breakthrough, a piece of the puzzle that had eluded us, potentially vindicating Polly or plunging us deeper into the labyrinth of the town’s secrets.

"If we can find it, we can confirm Polly’s story." I turned back to him, my determination setting in. My investigative drive continuously surged to the forefront in times like this, overpowering even the most personal moments. I could see the realization settling in his eyes; he knew this was how it had to be, at least for now.

"One way or another," he echoed, his voice firm, yet there was a hint of something else—perhaps disappointment. I knew this wasn't what he wanted—to be pulled back into another mystery just when we'd found a moment's respite in each other's company.

I can’t say I wasn’t bothered that this took precedence over our moment, but this was Betty. That thought echoed in my mind, reminding me painfully of the balancing act I was constantly engaged in—between the person I wanted to be for him and the responsibilities that seemed to claim me time and again.

As I eyed him with an empowering and burdensome resolve, I understood the conflict within him. It was a reflection of my own. Here he was, standing in my room, a witness to the chaos that was my life, choosing to stay when it would have been easier to step back. His willingness to dive into the depths with me, to face whatever horrors or truths we might uncover together, only deepened the affection I felt for him, tangled as it was with the complexities of our lives.

“This is important,” I finally said, meeting his eyes. “Not just for Polly, but for all of us.” I reached out, touching his arm gently, a silent plea for understanding. “Thank you for being here, for being part of this, even when it’s messy.”

When I spoke his nickname, the urgency in my voice softened a stark contrast to the enthusiasm of our earlier conversation. "I need to know, Juggie." The word lingered between us, familiar yet weighted with a new significance. His nickname, a term of endearment that only I used, seemed to draw a line around us, enclosing us in our own little world amidst the chaos.

His eyes met mine, searching for affirmation. I could see the slight hesitation, the readiness to jump into whatever mess we were about to uncover, tempered by a concern for what it might do to us. The sweetness in my voice wasn't just for reassurance—it was a reminder of the bond we shared that went beyond Riverdale's mysteries and darkness.

As he stammered out his agreement, "Then let’s go," it was more than just a commitment to follow Polly's clue—it was a pledge to stick by each other, no matter what we found.

My heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and dread. The investigation was a path fraught with unknowns, but having him by my side made it bearable, even empowering. The way he said, "Let’s go," wasn’t just about setting out to find a car; it was about moving forward together, tackling whatever challenges lay ahead with a united front.

As we prepared to leave, I felt a surge of gratitude for his unwavering support. His presence was a constant in my life, a steady force amid the ever-changing tides. The nickname 'Juggie' was a small thing, but it symbolized so much more—it was about intimacy, trust, and a shared history that only we understood.

"I’m glad you’re here," I said quietly as we gathered our things, my hand brushing his arm lightly. "Really, I am." The smile he gave me then was all the reassurance I needed.
Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow


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