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francesderwent · 5 years

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I feel like you've probably answered this somewhere or, alternatively, are tired of the question but: how did you decide to study theology? I'm so glad you did and are because it feels like you were made to but how does one decide that? What's your phd in theology backstory?

I don’t think I’ve ever actually talked about it here! And I’m happy to!

Short answer? It wasnever something I planned, it was something that came at the end of a long seriesof “let’s just take one step forward and see what happens” kind of choices.

Long answer?

When I started applying for colleges at sixteen, I hadnever, in my life, had a single reasonable goal of what I wanted to be when Igrew up – the working plans went from princess to singer to actress, alwayswith the tacit understanding in the background that these were things that werenever going to actually happen, because princes were scarce, and I wasn’tcommitted enough to either of the other ideas to do the suffering-artist thingand chase them down. And so, I appliedto college as a theology major, because I figured religion was the one thing Iwas good at. I knew Church teaching backwardsand forwards, I’d read the whole Bible for school that one time, and when itcame to writing retreat talks or speaking the controversial truth in discussion,I could run circles around all thekids in the parish youth group. Ifigured I was going to be some kind of prodigy; I could accurately distinguishbetween the Immaculate Conception and the Virgin Birth, after all.

Needless to say, I was an unbearable person with very fewfriends.

My college applications came back, and the financial aid wasbest at the school I least wanted to attend. Feeling like a martyr, I decided to attend there. My first semester I was required to take anintro to philosophy class before I could start taking theology. I felt this was probably a waste of my time;I was ready to get my lower level theologies out of the way so I could go on tothe advanced stuff. But I signed up forthe philosophy which best fit my schedule and prepared to blow everyone away. (Did I mention I was unbearable?) That semester, the newbie philosophyprofessor whose class I’d signed up for was having all his freshmen readPlato’s Republic, cover to cover. And just like that, my life waschanged. For the first time I wasn’tmemorizing factoids about the truth, straight off the page of the Catechism orthe Summa. I found myself in the placewhere Truth opens up before you and you realize it’s always going to be biggerthan you, you’re always going to be inside of it, there’s always going to bedeeper to go. I read all my homework twoor three times. I spent ages on all mywriting assignments, fine-tuning my arguments, trying to find new angles. I raised my hand enough in class thatoccasionally the professor would have to say “Somebody other than Cate.” And,miracle of miracles, I was good at philosophy– not because I’d read more or because I had more orthodox parents than anyoneelse, but just immediately, mysteriously, like all of a sudden I’d discoveredwhat my mind was made for. I added asecond major within five months of being at school, and then was delighted todiscover that the theology department was alsofull of people who were thinking deeply about things. I loved all my classes, but I still likedphilosophy best.

When I was approaching graduation, I sat down with one of theprofessors and asked what he thought I should do next. I knew I didn’t want to work in a parishoffice, and I I didn’t feel ready to teach high schoolers; I thought I mightwant to go to grad school, but I didn’t even know where to begin. And he explained to me that most of thephilosophy programs in the country were focused on analytic philosophy orlogic, and very different from the philosophy I’d done at school. And the type of theology I’d been doing forthe last four years was apparently a veryniche school of theology – there was one grad program that had continuity withwhat I’d learned, but only one. “It’s avery metaphysics-heavy program,” he told me, placidly, as if he hadn’t justpulled off a really impressive con, “the best philosophical thinker alive is teachingthere. It’s the only place where youwouldn’t really have to choose.” And soI applied to grad schools: some theology, some philosophy, with the theologywith-a-metaphysical-focus that my professor had suggested as my first choice. Offers and rejections trickled back. I got a really generous offer from a safetyschool far down on my list, and I began to wonder if I was going to end up withmy last choice again. I needn’t haveworried; if I hadn’t been at my last choice for undergrad, I might never havefound out about my top choice for grad school. God had put me exactly where I needed to be four years earlier, and everythingfell into place for the next step. Imoved, I took out loans so I could pay rent, but it all worked out. I wasn’t even alone – two of my classmatesfrom the theology program were starting the Masters with me.

Looking back on it, I kind of squandered those twoyears. I had a lot, a lot of personal drama in that time, andI was in a long-distance relationship, newly rekindled with an old boyfriend(bad idea), and so I was back and forth between different states every otherweekend. And there was so much continuity with my prioreducation that I could kind of get away with it. Don’t get me wrong, I learned a lot – Ilearned to love Scripture and Christology, and moved away from my flatter, Inow realized, Kantian ethics to something more genuinely Christian. But I was leading a very compartmentalizedexistence; I kept theology and philosophy in one box, and then in every otherbox lived my life however I wanted. Ireceived the sacraments at almost the bare minimum. I was learning, but I wasn’t letting anythingI learned penetrate my heart for fear of what it would require of me.

But compartmentalizing is hard and unnatural, and eventuallyI had to face up to some things. Myboyfriend had just returned from a month-long musical tour of Ireland, and heand his fiddle player wanted to go back for three-to-six months of the nextyear, and he wanted me to come with them. This proposal was not accompanied by a corresponding proposal for thecommitment level of our relationship. When I brought this up, there was a big fight, and I finally realizedafter a year and a half of studying theology with a focus in marriage andfamily that he didn’t really believe in marriage. He would probably have married me eventually,in ten years or so, but it wouldn’t have meant anything to him, and thevalidity would have been questionable at best. I broke up with him a week after Thanksgiving.

I found myself facing a blank future – I’d spent the lasttwo years becoming very entrenched in my boyfriend’s world, assuming that I wasabout to become a permanent fixture there. And in the process I’d put strain on a lot of my college friendships, Iwas more distant from my family than I’d ever been, and I hadn’t made any friends in grad school. I barely even spoke to my roommates – theydidn’t find out about the breakup for weeks. I was isolated and lonely, with no goals and nothing to look forward to. And then, all the theology that I’d beenholding at arm’s length suddenly became intensely personal to me; I saw clearlyall that I’d been running from and all that I’d messed up. I cried a lot during class that semester.

Applications for the PhD program at my school were due thesecond week of January, or thereabouts. And with nothing else on my radar, I decided I would apply. The interview process was infamously intensive,and I figured if I made it through that then I could weigh my options from theother side. I begged for letters ofrecommendation, scrounged together a CV, and wrote my essays. About a month later, I had two straight daysof interviews, with everyone from the admissions director up through the DeanEmeritus. The program adviser for theMasters asked me why I wanted a PhD; I told him it would make it easier to gettenure track positions. “We’re allreally used to responding to interview questions in a utilitarian way,” he toldme, “how one thing will get us to somewhere else. But why do you want that thing?” I thought aboutit. “It’s important to me to be able tocontinue engaging with the truth on this level,” I said. “I want to end up in aplace where my peers care about these questions and can dialogue with me.” As soon as I said it out loud, I started toreally want it for the first time. That professor sent me on my way to the DeanEmeritus. We had a charming conversationabout homeschooling, and then he got down to business, told me I’d doneexcellent work there already, and asked me why I wanted a PhD. “I know I’m going to be thinking about thesequestions for the rest of my life,” I said. “And I want to do that in acommunity.” He nodded, and said, “That’swhat my reason was when I started a PhD, too.” Now more than a bit dazed, I headed over to my last interview with theprogram adviser for the PhD. He lookedover my application, told me, “There’s no possible reason you couldn’t dothis,” and then gave me twenty-five minutes of advice on how to go aboutit. My friends who’d applied with me haddescribed getting grilled – but I only felt encouraged. These people had confidence in me. I cried on the metro platform going homebecause I was so overwhelmed. I’dknocked, and the door had been opened wide. In a way, the PhD program was given to me, as a surprise, and then Ilearned to want it. By the time I got myofficial acceptance

So, for me the reasons for doing the PhD have always beencomplicated – it’s something I want for its own sake, just because I care aboutthe truth and am lucky enough to get to spend time with it, and also somethingI want for extrinsic reasons. Those havechanged over the years, somewhat – I would still like to be a professor, but Ialso wouldn’t mind going home to work for my bishop, and if I get married andhave kids that would be more than enough for me: I’ll write the occasional articleand maybe finish a book or two, and teach religion at the homeschool co-op, butmost importantly I’ll live the truth that I’ve received. That’s the beautiful thing about theology(and philosophy) – you can’t help butuse your degree. And behind and aroundboth of those reasons is the only real one: this is where I was led. There was never another choice that wouldn’thave felt like Jonah fleeing Ninevah. I’mstruggling, all the time, but I get indications every now and then that this isstill where I’m meant to be. I have noidea where the path I’m on is going to take me, but I can see how it got mehere, and I trust that God will continue to lead me.

#asks #me? including too much personal information in a tumblr post?#it's more likely than you think

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sicklylittlesnowflake · 7 years

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Riverdale request!!: something with Jughead having a bad Bad cold and sneezes all over betty while she takes care of him and she ends up getting Sick. Thank you!! Idk if you're taking requests so I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you!!

(Yo anon! Since my Jughead is aro/ace, or maybe gray aro, this is platonic Bughead!! :)) Hope that’s cool with you!! Anyway, thanks so much for the prompt, it was fun writing it! I absolutely love Jughead and Betty interactions and I think they work so well together!! Also anon ur not disturbing me, silly! I loved it!! I’m always up for your requests!)

Jughead sneezed harshly into his t-shirt for what was probably the hundredth time that morning. The process of sneezing over and over again was exhausting and he felt so drained from the repeated process.

Archie winced as he watched the boy weakly muster out his sneezes, despite how weak he clearly was his sneezes still came out with brute force, which clearly didn’t help his weakened state.

Jughead had been sick for about two days at this stage. He had given off the odd extra sneeze and cough here in there to begin with, then his voice became a little stuffy and Jughead initially blamed it on allergies, then went to bed. The next day he had a full blown cold, and had gone to school. Archie found him standing outside his history classroom when he had gone to the bathroom sneezing his lungs out, and then learned that he was kicked out of the test because of how much he was disrupting the class.

“I don’t want to leave him alone like this, dad,” Archie expressed to Fred who was standing a few feet away from him.

“Neither do I, Archie. Maybe we can postpone–”

Jughead shook his head violently, “No! Don’t! I know how much seeing your mom means to you, Arch–trust me, I would know–and it’s honestly just a bad cold. Nothing that can kill me.”

Archie did not look convinced whatsoever, “Still! You look dreadful, Jug.”

Jughead shot him a thumbs up, “Thanks dude.”

Fred raised an eyebrow, “Jughead, you know what he means. But still, it doesn’t feel right to be leaving you here..”

Jughead groaned loudly, “Guys, honestly, I’m fine.”

“What if you died?!”

Jughead grinned, “Then I’d be the first person to die of a cold! Wouldn’t that record look great on the mantle??”

Archie looked genuinely terrified.

Jughead rolled his eyes, “Oh my god, Archie. It’s a joke. I’ll be fine–if anything goes wrong, I’ll call the Coopers who are literally next door.”

Archie nodded, while obviously still anxious, “Okay, fine.”

Fred nodded as well and whipped his car keys out, “Okay, so we’ve left you more than enough money for the weekend, money for food, medicine and some snacks..but there is enough soup and other easy to heat up food, and enough medicine and Archie loaded you up on snacks. And I think you’re okay on refills. Uh, yeah, ring us if there’s anything wrong.”

Jughead shrugged and smiled, “Honestly, I’ll be fi–” he was cut off by an abrupt, loud sneeze he barely managed to turn to the side, and grinned sheepishly, “fine. I’ll be fine. Have a good weekend, you guys.”

Archie gave him a smile, but the congestion laced in his hoarse, baritone voice as opposed to his usual tenor got him super worried so he ran to him and gave him a huge hug, for good measure.

Jughead pretended to vomit, “Eugh, I’m going to get the Andrews disease.”

“Please don’t die, Jug,” Archie laughed and gave his hair a ruffle and followed his dad to the doorway.

“Yeah kid, look after yourself, okay?” Fred smiled as he left the house and unlocked the car.

Once they took off and were out of his sight, Jughead leaned back and slumped against the cough, pulling the fleece blanket tighter around his shivering frame. As he rummaged around, he accidentally hit the remote and switched the channel to a Transformers film, and instantly, his nose began to twitch and an extremely intense tickle began to brew in his nose.

Now that he was alone, he really didn’t care about how stupid his pre-sneeze expression was, and how ridiculous his twitchy nose looked, and how loud he was hitching. He also didn’t care about how explosive and loud his release was, the fit lasting for about 5 sneezes. He didn’t bother covering either. He made a face at the mist he saw forming before him and shrugged.

He glared at the shitty movie before him, “I’m fucking allergic to your bullshit, Michael Bay.”

Jughead hadn’t even realised he had been dozing off–he didn’t realise he could, the Big Lebowski was on–until the doorbell rung out. He jolted awake and sniffled, wondering who it could have been. He figured it was some advertiser dude or someone trying to get him to convert to some religion, and he really wasn’t up to that. Hopefully he would scare them away with how awful he looked.

Jughead padded over to the front door and opened, only to be surprised to see the bright and bubbly Betty Cooper, holding a pink bag that resembled a Children’s Nursing Kit.

“..Betty?” Jughead stammered, not even sure if what he was seeing was real or if this was some weird fever illusion.

“Jughead! You look worse than I thought,” She frowned as she took in his sickly appearance.

Jughead sniffled, wiping his nose quickly on the back of his hand, “Hm, didn’t think I could possibly downgrade even more, thought I was already at rock bottom in terms of the look department.”

Betty looked shocked, “Juggie! Don’t say that about yourself–”

Jughead laughed at her softly, “Betty–I don’t care about that sorta thing, it’s cool. Just a joke.”

“Anyway, how did you know I was–Archie,” Jughead growled, groaning loudly at the very thought of Ginger Judas himself.

“Well I’m glad he told me, Juggie! I wouldn’t want you all sick by yourself,” Betty exclaimed, taking in his features and pressing the back of her hand against his cheek, frowning.

Jughead rubbed at his nose, his eyes growing hazy as he turned away from Betty and sneezed harshly twice into the crook of his arm and turned back to see her worried eyes. “M'fine,” He said stuffily, not sounding very convincing.

Jughead stepped back to let her in and flopped back at the couch, resting his head on one of the pillows. Betty walked into the house and put her bag down.

“Archie called me like 10 minutes after I saw him and Mr Andrews leave the house panicking because he was so worried about you. He thinks you’re going to drown yourself in your own snot,” Betty explained, taking off her jacket.

Jughead raised his eyebrow at his friend’s antics, “..Well, I’m flattered.”

Betty shrugged as she pulled a container of homemade soup out of her bag, “He’s only worried about you, Jug. So am I, actually. But hey listen, I’m here to make it all better!”

Jughead gave her a small smile, “Your everlasting sunshine and youthful glow is seriously withering my dark and gloomy aesthetic, Betty but I–is that soup?! Did you make me soup?! Jesus, you didn’t have to!”

Betty tutted, “Don’t raise your voice! That’s not good for your throat. But I know you love my soup when you have a cold, with my secret formula and things! That’s why it took me a little bit to get here.”

Jughead chuckled lowly, “What’s the secret ingredient? Mr Krabs’ secret formula?”

Betty simply rolled her eyes as she made her way to the kitchen to retrieve a spoon, “I’ve got to text Archie that I’m here, he’s probably making Mr Andrews’ brain burst at this stage!”

Jughead could picture that perfectly–Archie spluttering and spitting out nonsense and gibberish at his dad, making Fred seriously reconsider his choices. Hopefully Betty would text him soon, for Fred’s own sanity, of course.

Betty came back with a spoon and gave Jughead the bowl with the spoon, throwing another blanket around him as she noticed his shivering, and how the bowl seemed to rattle when she placed them in his shaking hands.

“Are you warm enough?” She asked gently, for Jughead to nod in response.

Jughead dipped the spoon into the soup and placed it into his mouth, despite his congestion and impaired taste sense, he could taste the signature creamy, flavourful goodness of Betty’s soup.

He smiled at her, “Betts, you never cease to amaze me.”

Betty shrugged, opening up a packet of chips she had taken from the kitchen ,“It might just be because all you eat is fast food junk so this is a nice change for you.”

Jughead rolled his eyes and continued to eat his soup, and changed the channel as Ratatouille came on.

Betty raised an eyebrow, “I didn’t know that film noir, art house film loving Jughead Jones would be into Pixar.”

Jughead huffed, “They’re particularly good on sick days! I don’t want to spend my sick day trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind some Nicolas Winding Refn film.”

Jughead’s breath began to hitch and he turned his head to the side, away from Betty and raised an arm to his face. He pitched forward twice and caught two explosive, wet sneezes into his arm.

Betty jumped, “Jesus! That was..quite a sneeze.”

Jughead sniffled and laughed softly, “They’re the absolute worst and I hate them. I can’t for the life of me control them–it’s awful when you’re someone like me who doesn’t want attention. I try to stifle sometimes–but then I just can’t stop!”

Betty smiled fondly at him and reached over to ruffle his hair, only noticing that he was without the signature grey beanie. It was still a little odd to see him without it.

“They’re fine, Jughead. No one really pays attention half the time,” She reassured.

Jughead’s eyes grew distant once again and his breath hitched once again, inhaling sharply, but found that the sneeze just wouldn’t come out and he was left continuously gasping for breath and nose twitching like a rabbits. He let out a tiny groan before looking up at a window, and once the light hit his eyes the next two sneezes came out.

Betty looked oddly impressed, “You’re one of those sun people!”

Jughead laughed a little at her excitement and rolled his eyes, “Yes, I’m an alien from the Sun. I come in peace–I only wish to learn about the human’s odd, odd ways.”

Betty hissed playfully and whacked his arm, “Ugh! You know what I mean!”

Jughead laughed at her, “Yeah yeah, one of those sun people. My body hates me, we’ve all established.”

Betty munched on her chips and watched as Remy the rat began to roam Paris, “Uh, I know this is a little awkward but..are you okay?”

Jughead grinned, “My entire body is consumed by what appears to be a plague but otherwise, yes, I appear to be functioning and not on the brink of death.”

Betty sighed, “No, Jug. You know what I mean.”

Jughead laughed, “Oh, you mean that my best friend has gone off to see his mother who loves him with his father who is stable enough with said mother that they can be in the same room as each other?? And I can’t have that? Y'know because my mom hates me and my dad loves me but is still deadbeat and also in jail?”

Betty bit her lip, knowing that Jughead used humour as a coping mechanism and that it was probably the fever talking. Jughead was also known for his darker humour, but one thing she couldn’t ever know despite knowing him since childhood was wether things were affecting him or not.

“..Jughead, you know that none of these things are your fault?”

“Yeah, I know that. I genuinely do Betty.”

She still looked concerned.

Jughead sighed, “Betty, I’m doing better than I’ve been in a while. Yeah it sucks and sometimes it makes me really anxious and sad but today..everything’s fine. Well, I have an awful fucking cold but aside from that, I’m fine.”

“like meds help–like I was so against it to begin with because Fred is paying for it and I hate the fact he’s spending on me, but it helps, Betts,” Jughead said, a lot more genuine and slow.

Betty smiled at him, relieved and more relaxed, “I’m glad Jug. We’ve all been so worried about you these past few weeks..”

Jughead chuckled, “You and Archie, you mean?”

Betty shook her head, “No! Veronica and Kev too. Honestly Jug, your self esteem is almost as low as..as..Veronica’s height.”

Jughead burst into laughter, “Fuck! I wish I had recorded that! I’d kill to see her face if she knew you called her that.”

Betty flushed red, “You wouldn’t tell her, would you?!”

Jughead raised an eyebrow teasingly, “To blackmail you, maybe.”

Betty groaned loudly and smacked Jughead on the head playfully, ending up grabbing at a curl and twiddling it around her finger. She seemed a little impressed.

“I didn’t expect your hair to be so soft?” Betty commented.

“Makes up for my cold hard, stoic exterior,” Jughead replied.

Betty scoffed and chuckled lightly, “You are a massive softie at heart, Jughead Jones. Who went to Kevin’s little cousin’s birthday party and bought her a present because she had a crush on you?”

Jughead went slightly red, not wanting to admit how soft he genuinely was, “It was just..uh..Kevin pressured me.”

Betty laughed, knowing full well that was not the story. The gang had all gone to Kevin’s house, who was surprised by his little cousin and aunt being at his house. His little cousin clearly took a liking to Jughead and drew him a picture. Jughead’s heart burst but when confronted by his friends, he pretended he didn’t care.

Betty left it for now, and took the bowl from Jughead who had finished his soup and took it to the dishwasher. Once that was done with, they spent the remainder of the movie in a comfortable silence, with a few interruptions from Jughead’s coughing and sneezing, as well as a few funny comments here and there.

As the two moved on to Inside Out, Betty pulled out her bag to retrieve a bag of chamomile tea.

Jughead raised an eyebrow, “Since when have you become Nurse Joy?”

Betty laughed, “I figured we should do the thing when we were kids and we played sick and I always took care of you. In fairness, you were sickly then, so chances were you probably were actually sick.”

She left the room to make the tea in the kitchen and by the time Riley had acquired all of her emotions, she returned with the tea and the medicine Fred had left.

“Don’t dry swallow these, it’s why I made you the tea,” Betty warned, and passed him the two objects. Jughead obliged.

Jughead reached for the toilet roll to blow his nose when Betty slapped his hand.

“No way are you using that! That’s awful for your nose, here, I brought you the nice lotion ones,” Betty explained as she pulled out her pink bag and passed them over to Jughead.

Jughead raised an eyebrow, “Is that Mary Poppins’ bag? What else do you have in there?”

He then proceeded to pluck one out and blow his nose, wincing at the sound and chucked the tissue into the bin. He then took the tea back and continued to sip at it.

“Speaking of bad tissues, look at your nose, Jughead. It’s literally bright red and chapped! Here, I’ve got something that can help..” She pulled out some ointment out of magic bag.

Jughead looked impressed and also shocked, and hadn’t had time to react until Betty was standing before him and applying ointment onto his already tender, sensitive nostrils.

His nose reacted quickly, his nostrils beginning to twitch as a result of the rubbing. His nose tickled so bad but he couldn’t quite cover his nose because he was holding onto the rather large tea mug and couldn’t put it down anywhere without spilling it everywhere.

“B-Betty..please..I’m gonna..hhh..!! I really need to..hehh!!snn..” He hitched breathlessly, trying to scrunch up his nose and withhold his sneeze. His disobedient nostrils kept twitching with desperation, desperate to sneeze.

Betty laughed softly, “Jug! You look like a little bunny..”

“B..be..betty..p..p-please!! hhh..” Jughead pleaded but alas was too late, his body fully committing onto the sneeze, inhaling sharply, eyes shutting as he let out a loud, harsh sneeze that caused the tea to rattle and spill a little bit on his lap. The worst thing is that he knew that that sneeze certainly was not dry in any sense of the word.

“Fuck–Betty im so–” This time Betty did move to the side so he could aim his sneezes elsewhere and sneezed three more times, so harsh and powerful they completely drained him of energy. He was exhausted when he finished.

“Bless you!” Betty exclaimed, competely unfazed by the entire debacle.

“Betty, I’m so so sorry, that was so gross and horrible! I’m so sorry, you’re gonna get sick now, I’m really–”

“Oh my god Jug, stop. It’s fine, honestly. Honestly it was my fault, I didn’t move out of the way, but your pre-sneeze face is just so cute??”

Jughead gagged, “Eugh, how can any aspect of sneezing be cute? But now you’re going to get sick and–”

Betty shrugged, “I was destined to get sick the moment I stepped into this house. It’s fine, Jughead, really. I want to help you.”

Jughead sighed, “I just don’t like it when people are nice to me at their own expense, it makes me feel awful.”

Betty tutted, “Hey, c'mon Jug. You’d do this for me. You’re always such a giver, sometimes you have to be a taker! And stop with this I don’t deserve kindness bullshit, you deserve it just as much as any of us. Now shut your emo ass and let’s watch Inside Out, okay?”

Needless to say, Jughead was right. Betty had done Jughead a good at her own expense, and about three days later Betty had come down with what he had. Granted, her better immune system made the illness not quite as bad as he had it, but the illness was dreadful, so of course it was still miserable.

Jughead made his way up the stairs, still at complete disbelief on how he was even allowed onto the Cooper household. As a child he had never been able to step in, on very few occasions he was, but rarely. Alice didn’t want FP Jones’ son in her house. However, Hal was the only one home, so perhaps that would explain it.

He knocked gently before walking in to see Betty curled up in bed, blankets strewn about as she watched a rom com on her laptop. The room smelled of tea. She was pale and sick looking, but Jughead didn’t really care. He really wasn’t one for appearances anyway.

“Hey, I’m so sorry about this, this cold sucked,” Jughead expressed guiltily.

Betty looked up and when she saw it was him she smiled, “Really, Jughead. It’s not a problem. Actually..as awful and dreadful as this is..My Mom wanted to bring me to some lecture about Good Behaviour and Respect today, and I would actually die if I had to go. Now I have an excuse.”

Jughead scrunched up his nose, “..Yeah..I’m sure this cold isn’t as miserable as that.”

Betty laughed hoarsely and gestured towards her bed, “Here, sit over here. We can continue our Pixar Marathon. You were right, Pixar is great for sick days.”

Jughead grinned, “What are we watching?”

“All the Toy Story’s. Wait, what’s that,” She asked, pointing at Jughead’s hands.

Jughead turned a little red, “..Uh..it’s soup. I figured that it was only right since you got me soup. Um, it’s not that special or as nice as your soup. I-it’s Campbell’s, actually, but uh..”

“Its soup,” Betty chuckled and took the bowl from him and dug in. She coughed softly, and moved over a little to give Jughead some space.

“It’s not bad,” Betty commented.

Jughead shrugged, “You’re just saying that so I don’t tell Veronica you said she was short.”

Betty laughed, “But she is. She’s like a little cupcake, adorable, but tiny! She can try all she wants to be tall with killer heels, but there’s no escaping the fact she’s a tiny little fairy!”

As she finished her sentence, Jughead pressed ‘stop recording’ on his phone.

“Jug..oh my god, Jug! Delete that!” She squealed.

“No way, Josè!” Jughead laughed, as the two began to play fight and ended up a giggling pile of mess.

#jughead jones #betty cooper #archie andrews #fred andrews #riverdale #platonic bughead #sickfic #prompts #i loved this one so much omg

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