Can you write a fix where Betty and Jughead have gone their separate ways but Betty is jugheads emergency contact still and one day jughead gets into a horrible accident and Betty gets a called.
Walking out of the dark office she spent Most of her time in, Betty waved at Lucy, the older receptionist with the turquoise glasses and bright red lipstick.
“See you tomorrow Lucy.” She tugged her dark blue windbreaker tight around her shoulders as the white haired woman smiled
“See you tomorrow Dr.Cooper.”
Betty made her way through the sliding glass doors of the Paws and Pets Veterinarian clinic. She was an accomplished veterinarian and everyone in the town knew of her and loved her, she had saved countless hamsters from their untimely death and she could work magic on a Pomeranian with a cold. Her life was steady and exactly where she wanted it, she was due to open her own clinic in Riverdale, just a town over. While Pembrooke was beautiful, Riverdale would always be her home. So sure, she was content, happy even, but still.. something was missing.
The familiar rainforest ringtone snapped Betty out of her daze and she dug in her coat pocket in search of the offending cause of noise, the thick wool gloves she had on made answering the unknown number fairly difficult, with a triumphant “HA” she finally brought the phone to her ear.
“Hello?” The blonde asked confused, she rarely ever got phone calls from unknown numbers, they usually just called the clinic.
“Hello, is this Elizabeth Cooper?” The voice was serious and deep.
“Yes. That’s me , can I ask who’s calling?”
“This is Riverdale Emergency hospital, I’m calling in regards to Jughead Jones, you’re listed as his emergency contact. There’s been an accident, Im going to need..” Betty slammed the phone shut as she hopped in her car, speeding through every red light, that dared come in her way.
After an incredibly anxious fifteen minute ride, Betty slammed through the doors of the hospital, her eyes searching frantically for anyone who seemed to be working at the hospital.
“Hello?!” She called desperately. “Someone please! I need to see Jughead.. Jughead Jones.” She pushed though people, grabbing anyone. Suddenly she felt a warm hand smooth over her shoulder
“You can come with me ms.Cooper.” A middle aged male nurse, tugged her gently towards the waiting area and sat her down, handing her a cup of water and speaking quietly
“Mr.Jones’ doctor will be out very soon, for now, relax here.” He smiled again and walked the opposite way, leaving Betty with shaking hands and wandering thoughts.
Six years. It had been six years since she had heard from Jughead Jones. Six years since they had broken up and promised to keep in touch, but life got in the way, Betty’s schoolwork, Jughead new found popularity after he became a NewYork Times bestselling author. They just drifted apart. That didn’t mean she didn’t own every single copy of every single book he had written, notes scattered in the margins. But here she was, sitting in a hospital waiting for news on her first love, her heart racing in her chest, stomach in knots.
She whipped around at the voice and rushed over to the tall man In the doctors scrubs.
“Is he okay? What happened? Can i see him? If you let him die I will sue you for everything, my best friend is Veronica Lodge, best lawyer in all of NewYork.” She threatened, her eyes filling with tears.
“Ms.Cooper, Jughead is fine. He was in a minor motorcycle accident, the extent of his injuries is a broken arm. You can go in and see him.” He stepped aside with a knowing smile and right before Betty breezed past him, she turned around.
“His medical records, are they old? Do you maybe still have his emergency contact from high school?” She questioned, her voice the picture of faux steady and cool.
The doctor smiled softly
“Actually Mr.Jones just came in last month to update his records, he still signed you as his emergency contact.”
Betty stared for a moment longer, her eyes somewhere far away, somewhere colored with leather jackets and strawberry milkshakes, a hidden smile appearing on her face before she raced down the hall.
Slamming the door to his hospital room open, she smiled when she saw him attempting to wrap his flannel over the sling on his arm.
“I hope that’s not your writing hand.” She spoke softly, still causing him to jump and turn quickly, his eyes widening when he saw Betty standing in the doorway.
“Betty?” He asked confused, his eyes wide in awe and looking desperately handsome in his scruffy bearded glory, she was struck by how similar he looked to his father.
“the doctor called. I’m your emergency contact remember?” She smiled and took a seat on the bed beside him.
He groaned and smacked his good hand to his forehead
“This hardly constitutes an emergency, I’m so sorry Betty.” He blushed light pink and looked away.
“Hey.” She brought his attention back to her “ im happy they called me. I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you and I didn’t know.. I didn’t..” she trailed off, her fingers moving to dig into her palms, even after all these years she still hadn’t dropped the habit.
Jughead was quick to catch it, just like he always had been, enveloping both of her hands with his.
“I’m okay.” He whispered, eyes burning into hers.
“When they called me I was so scared.. I thought something really bad had happened.. I thought I had lost you and I never even had the Chance…” she trailed off
Jughead brought his fingers to her chin, tilting it up so her eyes met his again
“Had the chance to what?” He urged her to finish, her dark grassy green eyes met his ocean blue and after a second she mumbled something suspiciously similar to
And her lips were on his, his good arm gripping her waist, while her hands buried themselves in his hair. It was like two ships coming to dock. It was one of those lifetime original movie moments. Romeo and Juliet reunited and no one had to die.
When Jughead pulled away he panted, resting his forehead against Betty’s
“I come three times a year to make sure you’re still my emergency contact, I wouldn’t want anyone else but you by my side.” He whispered into the quiet air, his nose nuzzling hers as he breathed in her familiar scent. She was home to him, no matter how long it took he had always known he would come back home.
“Next time you want to see me, just call. You don’t have to get into a motorcycle accident every time. Your insurance will skyrocket.” She giggled and he grinned, pressing his lips to hers again
about shizuo killing izaya - i also couldn't see shizuo being okay if he did. like shizuo hasn't killed anyone yet despite putting someone into a coma before, and he honestly just wants to be left alone. i feel like more than anything shizuo would miss izaya. that his life wouldn't ever be the same. like shizuo is such a gentle soul - even when he can't control himself he wants to get better to where he can control himself.
yES YES DEFINITELY. Shizuo would no doubt hate himself (more than he already is cuz we all know he is scared of his strength and the idea of loosing control of it and hurting people close to him is like torture for him) but would he wish for Izaya back??
Yeah, I’d think he would. Despite Izaya giving Shizuo a hard time, a reason to kill him, a reason to hate him, Shizuo isn’t necessarily the type of person to actually KILL. We see him being angry, we see him loose control, but he hasn’t actually killed anyone out of hate. He hasn’t killed anyone period.
And Shizuo hating Izaya can be a quite far fetched idea now when we know that Shizuo is more than afraid to loose control of his strength. Shizuo longs for peace more than he hates Izaya. If Shizuo could just leave Izaya alone he would no doubt get his peace and quiet that he yearns for.
But he doesn’t back away from Izaya. No, Shizuo seeks him out. Shizuo hunts Izaya down, goes to Shinjuku to beat him up when he could’ve ignored him instead. He should’ve ignored Izaya instead.
When you hate someone wouldn’t you want to stay as far away from that person? You would, right? You wouldn’t seek up someone you hate just to tell them that you hate them, right?
Yea, idk, it can be argued that Shizuo actually hate Izaya, but personally I think Shizuo hates his strength a lot more than he does Izaya.
And if Shizuo managed to kill Izaya at the end of ketsu…I’m pretty sure Shizuo would break. Just knowing that he killed someone would make him unable to get that peace he so yearn for. He’d have lost the one person who truly wasn’t afraid of him and with him the ability to remain ‘human.’
Idk, I can talk about this for hours man, I’m so emotional rn someone hold me
Summary: Ethan finally comes across your letter after many years and begins his journey to find you.
Word Count: 2,181
Warnings: Vomiting, mentions of vomit
Author’s Note: I finally finished part 2! It ended a little differently than I had intended just because I was accumulating a large word count so quickly and I wanted to cut it short before I lost you guys… But, this means a part 3 will ensue! This is written from Ethan’s point of view, and it involves a couple flashbacks, so I hope you guys are able to follow along. Also, “Y/L/N” means “your last name.” Please let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy! Requests are open.
“Breaking news coming
out of Hollywood this morning… Ethan Dolan reportedly calls it quits in the
middle of filming his latest movie after having what sources are calling a
‘nervous breakdown.’ The former YouTube sensation-turned-A-list-actor was said
to have stormed off of set yesterday unprovoked and has not been seen or heard
from by family and friends since. There has been no word on how long production
on the movie has been stalled for, or if Dolan will be welcomed back to the
cast should he choose to return to the film. We’ll continue to report the
latest updates on this story as they come in.”
I shove my headphones into my ears and crank the volume up until
the shrill voice of the E! News
reporter disappears, disgusted that even in LAX, one of the world’s most famous
and populated airports, celebrity gossip matters more than world affairs. Pulling
the brim of my baseball cap down farther over my eyes, I shift in my seat and
pray that no one is paying enough attention to their surroundings to recognize
me. I’m sitting in the terminal completely alone and would like to keep it that
way— no security guards, no screaming fans mobbing me, no soccer moms
hesitantly walking up to me asking for a picture for their ‘daughter.’ Yeah, right. I know for a fact that some
of those moms go out on movie dates with their girlfriends on Friday nights just
to oodle over me and it’s absolutely disgusting. Don’t they have husbands
waiting for them back home?
I sigh and glance down at my jean pocket holding the piece
of paper that brought me to the airport in the first place. Is the E! News reporter incorrect in saying
that I stormed off of set of the movie I was contracted to film months ago? No,
actually, but she is incorrect in saying that it was ‘unprovoked.’ For the last
couple of years, my life has been a whirlwind of traveling, transitioning from
YouTube to making movies, red carpets, parties, drugs, alcohol, girls, it never
seemed to end. The life I have now is everything I could have ever wanted at
eighteen years old, but as I learned over time, it didn’t come without
sleepless nights and regret over losing the one person that unapologetically stood
by my side since we were kids. The more opportunities I was presented with, the
more fame I gained, the farther I pushed her away and for what reason, I don’t
remember now. But no matter how hard I tried to rid myself of her, she never
left me. She haunted my dreams and called out for me when I would least expect
it. I could hear her whispering to me in the wind and I would feel her body up against
mine in every bed I slept in. Time didn’t make it better; in fact, it was quite
the opposite. I most recently have been plagued with images of her choosing to
marry someone else, to carry someone else’s children, and in the middle of one
of those visions, I decided I had had enough. That’s when I found the letter,
and after spending hours reading it, re-reading it, kicking myself for putting
her through so much pain, and bawling at the realization of what I had become,
I dashed to the airport knowing exactly where I would find her.
A couple other people in the terminal begin to shift in
their seats and look at their tickets. I rip one headphone out of my ear just
in time to hear the airline employee call for the boarding of first class
passengers. Grabbing my backpack and ticket, I fly to the front of the line,
head down, hoping to create as little of a scene as possible.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Dolan,” the employee coos as she scans
my ticket and checks my I.D. all too slowly. “What business do you have flying
to Newark today?”
What business do I
have? What business does she have asking that question?
“I… um… I’m paying an overdue visit to an old friend,” I
mumble, trying to keep the irritation in my voice at bay.
“Ah, I see. Well, I hope you have a safe and comfortable
trip back home.” She flashes a toothy smile as I take off to find my seat in
the aircraft. With so much pep in her voice, I wonder how many glasses of wine
she drinks at night before being able to dull the aching emptiness in her
Wait, did she just say, ‘back home?’ How the hell would she
have known that I… Oh god, she’s a
closeted fan, too. Yep, E! News is
going to sink their teeth into that headline: “An AWOL Ethan Dolan was spotted by an LAX employee boarding a plane to
New Jersey, seemingly desperate to get back to his home state. What could he
possibly be trying to run away from in L.A.? Or, could he be running toward
I settle into the cushioned seat, my mind trying struggling
to remember the last time I flew on a commercial aircraft. I almost forgot how
to even book a ticket in the first place; having done it on a computer last,
trying to confirm one on my phone on the way here proved to be even more
difficult. My brain continues to search, scanning over memories in reverse
chronological order until it lands on the right one, forcing up a wave of
nostalgia and nausea, too:
“Y/N!” I shouted,
hunched over the Mac in the living room of our dingy apartment. “Come here! I
want to show you something!”
“What is it, babe?”
Her voice cascaded through the air and settled on my skin, giving me
goosebumps. God, how I loved her voice.
“I can’t tell you! You’ll
have to come see it.”
Her slippers dragged against
the carpet as she approached me from her bedroom. I stood up to block the
computer screen, not wanting to give the surprise away before I was ready.
“E, sweetheart, this
better be super important,” she scolded, entering the room. “I was in the
middle of my history mid-term paper and I had a groove going.”
I took in her beauty
as she leaned against the door frame, crossing one leg over the other. Her hair
was thrown into a ponytail at the top of her head, her reading glasses were
falling down her nose, and the skin on her lips was peeling, most likely
resulting from the way she constantly chewed on them when she was anxious or deep
in thought. She was wearing an old hand-me-down t-shirt that she acquired from
her older brother years ago, and because he was over a head taller than her,
she was swimming in the fabric. Her legs were bare, but the shirt was so long
on her body that she wasn’t revealing much. Her skin glowed in the light and
the amused smirk on her face made my head spin.
Wow, I thought to myself
in shock. This girl is all mine.
“E? Ethan? What was it
you wanted to show me?” Her voice shook me from my thoughts and I broke out in
a child-like grin.
“This paper is the
last final you have to submit, right?”
“And then you’re not
only done for the semester but done with your college career, right?”
“Yes, Ethan, we’ve
talked about this.”
“And your commencement
ceremony is tomorrow at noon?”
“Ethan, did you get
knocked over the head with something? We’ve been discussing my graduation for
“I know, I know we
have. But, what we haven’t talked about is the fact that the ceremony isn’t the
only place you—uh—I mean, we, have to be tomorrow.”
Y/N cocked her head to
the side and walked over to me. “Ethan… what is going on?”
I took a couple of
steps to the right to reveal the hotel reservations and flight confirmation
number displayed on the computer screen, barely able to contain my excitement. “We
have a 6:30 flight tomorrow from L.A. to Orlando. Happy
graduation-slash-early-birthday-present, babe. I’m taking you to Disney World.”
I smile at the memory of Y/N’s disbelief as it melted into
shock, the shock then morphing into elation. Disney World, while being one of
the most cliché vacations a couple could take together, had always been a top vacation
destination for her since she was a child. She was never able to visit when she
was young because her parents struggled financially, but I had the ability to
make one of her childhood dreams come true, something she never stopped
thanking me for. Had I known the flight to Orlando wasn’t just going to be the
last time I would fly on a commercial plane, but with Y/N in general, I would
have cherished the moment more. She was always my favorite person to travel
with. I would have gone anywhere in the world with her.
I begin to gag from vomit trying to force its way up my throat.
For some reason, my regret is always paired with puke, but refusing to let it
get the best of me, I fish in the front pocket of my backpack for my bottle of
pills I was first prescribed after telling my doctor about my visions of Y/N.
Opening the cap, I pour out four Ativan and wash them down with a bottle of
water I bought after clearing security. I close my eyes and lean back in my
seat, letting the medication run through my system and forcing the thought of
Y/N away from my mind.
I just need five hours in the air to think about absolutely nothing.
I just need five hours of darkness and silence in order to face what I have
“Ethan? Ethan Dolan in the flesh and blood?”
I look down at the concrete porch of Y/N’s childhood home, shamefully
unable to meet the gaze of her mother standing on the threshold of her front
“Hi, Mrs. Y/L/N. Yes, it’s me.”
“Ethan, what business do you have showing up at my door after
eight years of not speaking to my family?”
I pop my head up. Eight
years? It’s been eight years since
seeing Y/N last? I grab the letter out of my pocket and unfold it to see when
it was dated, something that I stupidly didn’t think to pay attention to when I
first found it.
Oh, my god… Y/N
dated the letter six years ago; she waited on me for two and a half years in
L.A. before moving back home, and it still took me another six years to find this thing. How despicable.
Disgusted with myself, I suddenly become dizzy and lean over
the porch railing to vomit into the grass below. Mrs. Y/L/N steps out onto the
porch and places her hand on my back, rubbing it gently until I stop dry
heaving long enough to catch my breath.
“You’re being kind to me, Mrs. Y/L/N, even after everything
I’ve done,” I observe.
“Holding anger and hatred for someone never does any good,
no matter how much they’ve hurt you, Ethan. I see you found Y/N’s note. I’m
assuming that’s why you’re here?”
I nod, gripping the piece of paper tighter. “Would you be
able to tell me where to find her?”
“I can, but you might not like the answer.”
I raise an eyebrow, another wave of nausea washing over me.
“She bought the house, Ethan. The brick house on the corner
of Oak Street, the one that–“
“The one that we talked about buying together since we were
fourteen,” I finish for her.
Mrs. Y/L/N shrugs her shoulders. “Once your channel took off
and she moved to L.A. with you, she started college out there and I thought
maybe that dream became more of a fleeting thought for her. I don’t think she
expected to ever come back to New Jersey; I certainly didn’t expect her to, at
least because I knew that she would follow you wherever you went and I knew that you wouldn’t
end up back here… You were destined for greater things than this town could
offer you. But I suppose Y/N never forgot about it, after all.”
I press my lips into a hard line, working to keep my tears
at bay. “You’re right, I don’t like that answer.”
“Well, then you should know one more thing.”
“She doesn’t live there alone, Ethan.”
Fishing the keys of my rental car out of my other pocket, I
glance sideways at Mrs. Y/L/N. “What do you mean?”
“I think it’s best that you find out for yourself, but be
prepared. What you find might hurt you.” Mrs. Y/L/N places a peck on my cheek. “It was nice to
finally see you again, Ethan.”
I close my eyes, desperately afraid that my visions of Y/N
weren’t just visions after all.
“Thanks. You too. I just hope Y/N feels the
I was driving home today as I passed by all the places we used to go together. It was in the midst of our bittersweet memories when I realized I took you to all my favorite places.
All my favorite places that I can never return to again.
This is me pouring out my love, not the kind you think of, the mushy gushy romanticized crap you want. No, this is raw, unadulterated affection for you and your soul.
For the purposes of this letter, I am going to disregard the fact that you are ignoring me and that we do not talk anymore. That is irrelevant. We have both argued, screamed, apologized, and cried to each other too many times to count. Even if we did still talk, I would be saying this to you, maybe in different words, but telling you all the same.
Since the very first day we became friends, you have been a constant in my life, a constant amidst the tumult and drama of high school. You listened to me and offered advice with your perspective that is so opposite mine. I love the way you live in the moment and risk the superficial things that I hold dear. Being your friend made me come to the profound realization that life is so much more than turning in homework on time and getting straight As. Because of you, if a friend needs me the night before a paper is due, I will be there for my friend (hopefully I wrote the paper ahead of time).
You were the glue that held my life together when I was on the brink of destruction. Everything in my world was falling apart, but you and your friendship remained. I took that for granted. You taught me the value of true friendship, even if it does not last. I hope that I meant something to you, that I somehow repaid in part what you had given to me in full.
To this day, I still look for you in the hallways and listen for your voice among the tenors in choir. Even when we see each other or talk, it is all superficial. We barely graze the surface of what once existed.
I hate superficiality.
After three years, how could we, how could I, throw it all away?
Losing your friendship has been a process more painful than any breakup. It feels as if someone has taken a part of me; there is a hole in my soul where you once were. As if the physical pain was not enough, the process of emotional detachment from you has been long and rocky. After weeks without thinking of you, a single song or a memory or a Bible verse makes me recall how much I care for you, still, after all this time.
You know more about me than any other person on this earth. And even though you leave me behind, you will carry pieces of me with you forever. Treasure them. I do not regret giving them to you, for I trust you will keep those pieces of me safe.
Life is too short to be silent about the ones we love. The other day, I was thinking about the people I will miss most in college, and as much as I love my friends, I will miss you the most. I already miss you. I suppose our separation is merely a preparation for what is to come.
This is not a cry for you to come back to me, nor an invitation for a pity party on my behalf. We both know that “us” would never have worked in our favor. I just wanted to let you know how much you mean to me, and how much pain I am enduring as you ignore my snapchats and avoid eye contact. But still, this is not me trying to guilt you or regain your attention.
This is me telling you that I love you. Not as a boyfriend or as a lover or even as a friend. I love you as a person. You are so extraordinarily special, and I am blessed to have spent so much time with you as my best friend. I wish it did not have to end.
I’d rather stay in darkness than risk finding the light just to have it taken away. I’d rather stay down than stand back up and get knocked over. I’d rather be alone than fall in love with no one to catch me.