#and my mom likes to remind me that my grandpa had a bald spot by age 30 (she wants me to stop taking T i will not be stopping)

[sdv-confessions]

To anyone who headcannons Harvey having grey hair and crow’s feet, may your pillow stays at a comfortable temperature on both sides, your socks are dry and cozy, your coffee is the perfect temperature, and nothing bothers you on a perfect day. ☺️

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[artsyhoodboy-blog]

story by me. art by friends.

“I need you here!” My mom shrieked over the phone. Her voice, infused with regret that clawed out of her mouth,“we should’ve started chemo 3 years ago.” She said, knowing I advocated for chemo the second grandpa was diagnosed with colon cancer. Now the pressure of tending to her schizophrenic cancer fighting dad was too much. I requested time off work and booked a 12 hour bus ride to Los Angeles.

I found myself revisiting my childhood, examining every aimless word that sprang from his mouth, trying to filter fact from schizophrenic ramblings. Every morning, I could count on the crackling rocks from under Grandpa’s shopping cart to create a vibrating disruption in my sleep that would jolt me awake. Igniting me out of bed, rushing to the front door to watch Grandpa’s morning ritual. Each morning, I’d hope for him to come back to reality just for a second, so I could introduce myself to him. He’d emerge from our backyard, his reflection bouncing off mom’s red jeep. He was tall and thin and wore baggy clothing usually with a cap. His bronze skin shined like newly minted armor and limbs flowed freely and gently like hanging fruit in breezing wind. He’d push his gray shopping cart out of our yard, spitting words into the air, his head dancing back and forth, as if orchestrated by a skilled puppeteer.

Grandpa’s mumbled words were my treasures. Some mornings, in our yard, he’d fall to his knees weeping his fallen comrades from an imaginary war; or he’d be in an enraged tirade shouting “God damn Gooks!” Into the sky, reliving his maybe imagined days of fighting in Nam.The most beautiful scene was when his glossy brown eyes would swell up and he’d become a fountain of joyful laughter with tears spewing down his face. He’d laugh and cry hysterically to himself, then like a wave, mumbling would invade his laughter as he became a fading silhouette, pushing his shopping cart towards downtown LA.

Long bus rides and sleeping pills were a soothing combination. I gulp two down and sink into my seat.

My heavy eyes struggled open, blurred vision met with a distorted intercom voice that let me know it was time to get off this bus.

I am met with my mom standing on the front porch, donning her signature silver reading glasses,light brown big curly afro, and small black notebook where she reminded herself what bible verses to read. She had just finished setting the dinner table.

Golden fried chicken radiated with smoke seeping from it. On the counter, sat a black pot with a steaming glass that covered red beans , rice and spinach.

“Come help me with ya Grandad.” Mom said, leading me to his room. Opening his door released a vile chemical weapon. A stench of stool and urine, overwhelmed my senses, causing me gag and breathe through my mouth. “Grab his shoulders.” She said, angling herself in between me and his bed. His body had deteriorated, he was so skinny even his scrubs fit him poorly, exposing his diaper and dark scaly sores that populated his body. We arch his body upward with fearful precision, as if one miscalculated motion would cause his frail body to crumble like a failed mummy excavation.

We place him on his wheelchair and bring him to the kitchen table. Soft clinks from silverware echoed in the silent kitchen as we ate, my mom feeding grandpa warm soup.

“Appointment is at 1 tomorrow, use my car” she said, chewing food.

“God damn you woman!” Grandpa’s deep voice shouted, leaving his body panting, exhausted by his outburst. She continued eating, unphased.

“When was the last time he was sane?” I ask, as my Grandpa chuckled in his chair.

She pushed her glasses closer to her eyes, in thought, “7 months?” She answered unsure.

“You remember anything he told you?” I ask.

“No,” she replied, before picking up her plate and leaving to her room to eat alone. I try to stop her, but her swelling eyes, let me know she wouldn’t be eating tonight. I move my seat closer to Grandpa.

“Grandpa,” my words no match for hypnotic illusions that sent his bald head swaying as he mumbled to himself, struggling with his soup.

I take his spoon and attempt to feed him.“Grandpa.” I said, finally getting his eyes to meet mine.

“What’s your name?” I ask, testing his sanity. His eyes become bulging red marbles, “ I ain’t got no damn name!” He shouted, his bouncing lips, slinging saliva in my face.

My frustration overwhelms me, I go to the living room to look at old family photos. There is only photo with all three of us. I look about 7, my mom was glowing, no sunken dark spots under her eyes, with my grandpa saluting in casual clothes. Whimpering from my mom’s room snatched my nostalgic joy.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” I could hear her repeating as she sobbed.

Faint groans from my Grandpa’s room separate me from the cozy living room couch. His body is drenched in sweat, quivering uncontrollably. I place him on his wheelchair, wheeling him outside to catch the chill breeze. I massage his stiff shoulders as we gaze at the night sky in unison.

“Grandpa.” My voice speaks as soft as possible, my final attempt to battle his schizophrenia.

His head turns to mine, “yes son?”

Frozen in a state of childlike awe, I ask him the first question that comes to mind.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Brown,” he replied causing my heart to flutter excited joy.

Your favorite animal?” I ask.

“A giraffe,” he replied.

Before I could ask anything else, mumbled whispers returned and he was gone again. Leaving us in our own mesmerized trances. My mom’s hand surprise my shoulder, “Thank you for coming,” she said. Grandpa saluted the sky as we wheeled him back into the house.

If my art moves you in anyway please consider donating.

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venmo @suashunn-grimes

[starrfait]

Dig: Chapter 7/?

Relationship: Bughead Summary: Betty Cooper attempts to put her life back together after moving out of Riverdale. Easier said than done.

Rating: M

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm, eventual smut Past Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 Read on AO3

Gladys had ended up boarding herself up in her bedroom for the rest of the night. Betty made true to her promise, and Jughead found himself back at his sister’s door. The music from earlier had been replaced with something much softer.

He rapped against the door gently, but received no response. Of course not. Betty turned to him, giving him a nod of reassurance.

“JB? I know I’m the last person you want to talk to right now, but please-”

“Go away!” A muffled voice answered. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

He pushed the hurt caused by her words to the back of his mind, staying resilient. “Yeah, I’ll go. But you’ve got to listen to me, JB. I never once did those things that she said. You say you don’t know me anymore, but I’m the same as I’ve always been.”

The music suddenly dissipated. Jughead let out a sigh. At least she was listening.

“I’m still the big brother that protected you from schoolyard bullies. The same big brother who shared ghost stories with you until we were too scared to sleep. The same big brother who carried you to the hospital when you twisted your ankle.” Without realizing it, he had been raising his voice. “So you can go on believing what Mom tells you, or we can work through this. Together. It’s your choice.”

Jughead let out a deep sigh, stepping away from the door. The house was silent, aside from the sound of the rain hitting them windows. Turning around, he wondered if he had been too harsh.

There was a tug on his sleeve. When he turned around, Betty was motioning at the now open door. Jellybean stood in the doorway, a pained expression on her face.

“I’m sorry, Juggie…” The young girl sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Maybe he had gone too far. Jughead pulled his sister into an embrace, rubbing her back gently. “Don’t be sorry, kiddo….none of this was your fault. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” How many opportunities to comfort his sister had he missed in all of these years? “I know it’ll take time, but just believe in me, alright?”

She looked up at him and nodded.

“Good! Now, why don’t you show me some of the albums you’ve been into recently?” He motioned back to her bedroom. When he turned around to Betty, he found an empty hallway before him. His stomach soured, expecting the worst.

“Give me a second, okay?” Jughead told his sister, fishing out his cellphone from his pocket. He dialed Betty’s number and put the phone to his ear. She picked up almost immediately.

“Betty, where are you?” His voice came out in a loud whisper, more harsh than he had intended.

“I’m sitting in the car, Jug.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s not a big deal!” Her voice sounded tired and hoarse. “I just know how much this means to you. So, I thought I’d give you some privacy. It’s not my place to interfere.”

Betty…was she still feeling guilty about what had happened between her and his mother? “Betty, you’re not interfering!”

He heard the girl laugh softly. The image sprung to his mind; the way her eyes crinkled, the way she bit her lip to stifle it.

“It’s alright, Jug. I’ll be down here when you’re ready. Take your time.” The phone hung up with a small beep. What was that all about? He put his phone back in his pocket with a sigh. It had been a tiring day for everyone, surely.

He continued into Jellybean’s room. The wall was covered from floor to ceiling in band posters. Pink Floyd, Nirvana, The Beatles…too many for him to name. A record player was tucked into the corner of the room, a string of lights hanging above painting it in golden hues.

“Isn’t it cool? Grandpa let me move it in here from the parlor.”

Jughead remembered back to the summer days when his grandfather would put on Frank Sinatra records while the family relaxed after dinner. Precious memories.

“It’s awesome, JB. I’m glad to see that you’ve found your passion so early.”

The girl laughed, idly shuffling through the her vinyl collection.

“Did you see grandma and grandpa yet?”

He felt a tug of guilt. There had been enough confrontation for one day. Who knows what his mother had told his grandparents about him.

“Actually, I wasn’t planning on it. I’m not sure I can face them after all that’s gone on today.” He scratched the back of his head. “Can you keep my visit a secret for now?”

“Jug…” Jellybean looking up from the records, her brow furrowed.

“I’ll come again soon. It’ll be a more positive experience, I promise.” He held out his pinky, begging her.

She hesitated for a moment before leaning forward and linking fingers. “Fine, I guess I owe you one.” The girl smirked. “Introduce me to your lady friend next time.”

The siblings stayed up for another hour or so, reminiscing. They laughed until their stomachs hurt. Jughead was sure to get her phone number. Turns out her grandmother had bought her one without Gladys’ permission, or knowledge. It was a relief to know he could contact her whenever he wanted.

Eventually, in the middle of one of Jughead’s long stories about weird customers he had encountered, Jellybean had dozed off on top of her covers. He laughed, shaking his head. It was like living with his father all over again.

He tucked her into her bed properly and turned off the lamp. Before leaving, he left a couple hundreds on her bedside table, along with a note.

Get Grandma to take you to the record store. Don’t tell Mom. Happy Birthday. -J

By the time he had made it back to the car, Betty was barely awake. She laid on her side in the backseat, snuggling into Hot Dog’s fur.

“How did it go?” She scooted over, making room for him.

“Things are better, that’s for sure. But Rome wasn’t built in a day.” He took a deep breath. “You didn’t have to leave, Betty. I wanted you to be there.”

The girl sat up, shaking her head.

“I’ve done enough damage for one day, don’t you think? I mean, she’s horrible, but she’s still your mother.”

Jughead remained silent. How was Betty able to keep so much faith in people she didn’t know? He felt her hand rubbing his leg gently.

“It was really touching, seeing you with your sister. I can tell how much you care about her. She’s lucky to have you.”

Her smile made his heart flutter, but there was a deep-seated sadness in her eyes. It was clear she was masking how exhausted she was. Jughead placed his hand over hers, giving it a squeeze.

“Why don’t you let me drive home? You should rest.”

Betty opened her mouth to say something, but gave up, nodding.

As soon as they had relocated to the front seat, Betty dozed off with her head against the window. Jughead laughed softly and turned on the engine. The windshield wipers squeaked as they swiped across the glass. He shivered at what he saw.

Gladys stood in her bedroom window, staring out through the rain. She was dressed in a ghostly white nightgown. Her expression was unreadable. Jughead reversed the car onto the street and made his way onto the highway, never once looking back.

Hours into the drive, Betty was still fast asleep beside him. She looked much more peaceful in her sleep. The trip had clearly taken a toll on her, and his heart hurt at the thought.

He couldn’t believe his eyes when he had seen Betty’s hands wrapped around his Gladys’ throat. He had never seen such fear in his mother’s eyes before.

However, the most shocking of all was the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to be upset by Betty’s actions. Not exactly.

Turning his hand, he spotted a circular burn scar. One of many that had been branded on his body since childhood. Luckily, they weren’t as visible as other scars, but they were painful reminders just the same.

If anything, the only negative feelings he harbored about the event was it’s effect on Betty. It was his fault that she had lost her temper. She was clearly still shaken up by her own actions. It was as if she had deflected her self-harm onto someone else in a momentary loss of control.

Was he hurting her unintentionally?

With a sigh, Jughead turned on the radio in an attempt to drown out his thoughts.

——-

Betty awoke to a soft bed in a dark room. Her own room. Her head was throbbing. Squinting, she grabbed for her phone to check the time. 9:16 PM. How many hours had she been out of it?

Rubbing her eyes, she opened her messages. There was only one, from Jughead.

“I returned the car. Thank you for everything.”

She managed a small smile. Ever the gentleman.

“No, thank YOU. I’m sorry about what happened. See you tomorrow?”

Hesitating for a second, she added a heart emoji at the end of the message. Phone in hand, it wasn’t long before she dozed off once more.

The next morning, Betty hurriedly prepared for class, pulling her hair into a tight ponytail. The events of the weekend lingered on her mind. Hopefully, getting back into her studies would take her mind off of it.

On her way out, she stopped by Jughead’s apartment. She gave the door a few loud knocks, to no avail. When she tried again, she heard the sound of Hot Dog barking and sniffing. The door never opened.

That’s strange, she thought. He usually didn’t start work until afternoon. She could usually hear the sound of some obscure film playing from within.

With a shrug, Betty continued on her way. She checked the time. There was a still a bit of time before class started.

When she arrived at the video store, she pressed her face to the glass, peeking inside. The only staff visible was a middle-age balding man with a seemingly permanent scowl.

Betty’s shoulders dropped, finally making her way to university. She opened her messages. The message she had sent last night was marked “Read”, but no reply had come.

“Jughead, are you okay? I wanted to talk with you.”

She sent the message and slipped her phone back into her bag with a sigh. Their relationship had progressed quickly over the course of the last few days. There was a trust and an understanding between them. Jughead had even called her his girlfriend to his mother.

Betty had had crushes in the past. One in particular had been so overpowering that she had wasted most of highschool pursuing it. When the boy, her longtime best friend, had let up and started to date her, she ended up realizing it wasn’t what she thought it would be. They broke up not long after.

With Jughead, it was different. Their connection was so natural, so effortless. Something about him made Betty want to fight to the ends of the earth to make him smile. She believed in her heart that he felt the same way.

He had seen the very worst part of her, there was no turning back. Had he really accepted it?

Betty put on the best smile she could as she walked into the school.

—- The sun was just setting when Betty started off on her way back home. Her heart dropped at the lack of messages on her phone. There was no hiding that something was wrong.

Despite her best efforts, Betty’s curiosity got the best of her. She began running as fast as her legs would allow her. Her book bag was heavy against her side, awkwardly hitting her hip as she ran.

Before she knew it, she was back at the video store’s window, now illuminated in neon. The store seemed empty at first, until she spotted a familiar beanie at the far corner of the store. The man from earlier stood in front of him.

Betty ducked down as to not be seen. Jughead’s head was lowered, his face not visible. The older man’s face was red, and he repeatedly pointed his finger at the boy. Jughead, eventually made eye contact with the man, his face void of emotions.

There was a brief moment of confusion before a wave of realization washed over her. Had it been the sudden vacation they had taken? Come to think of it, how many workers did the store even have?

Betty thought about bursting inside to confront the man before she felt an itch of hesitation. Jughead didn’t need her to fight his battles for him. At least, that’s what she told herself as she tore herself away from the window.

That night, she ended up sending him one more message:

“I know why you aren’t answering. You’re too nice to say it, but I fucked everything up. I don’t blame you. But please, Jug. Can you at least tell me that yourself?”

Her eyes stung as she hit ‘send’. There she went again, crying when she was the one at fault.

A message reading 'Jughead is typing’ popped up on the screen. Every few seconds it would disappear before reappearing again. Nearly two minutes later, her phone vibrated.

“I need some time, Betty. Don’t blame yourself. It’s for the best.”

Betty closed her eyes, feeling tears run down her cheeks. She left the message on “Read”, pulling her blanket close around her.