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nerianasims · 3 years

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Billboard #1s 1966

Under the cut.

Simon And Garfunkel – “The Sound Of Silence” -- January 1, 1966

This song is beautiful and thoughtful and I love it. People apparently talk about its naivete, but it's more a sermon than a political tract. And, above all, it is gorgeous and interesting music.

The Beatles – “We Can Work It Out” -- January 8, 1966

You'd have a better chance of working it out if you weren't blaming the whole fight on the other person, Paul. But that's so often the case. Thinking you're the only one trying, when the other person is trying just as hard, and you're talking past each other. I really like John's interlude, which also makes me think he's the one fighting with Paul. It happened plenty. This isn't a top tier Beatles song, but it's good.

Petula Clark – “My Love” -- February 5, 1966

Her love is greater than any other great thing in all of the entire universe, apparently. Sunshine? Oceans? Stars? Nothing compared to how great she is at love. Petula Clark could always sing, but by the time the chorus comes around the second time, she sounds sort of embarrassed. She doesn't hit the notes with her normal confidence. It is a thoroughly embarrassing song.

Lou Christie – “Lightnin’ Strikes” -- February 19, 1966

Well I'm creeped out. This belongs a few years back, if it had to exist at all. It starts with "You're old enough to know the makings of a man" -- just how young is she? Young enough not to smack him with a brick when he tells her he just can't help but cheat on her since that's what men do, but she needs to stick around waiting for him and not do the same. If she does, he promises he'll marry her... eventually. Plus falsetto. I hate this song.

Nancy Sinatra – “These Boots Were Made For Walkin'” -- February 26, 1966

And this song is a good answer to it. Lyrically, it's the pinnacle of what a country song can do. "You keep thinking that you'll never get burned/ Ha!/ I just found me a brand new box of matches/ And what he knows you ain't had time to learn." The narrator's cheating scumbag whom she's in the process of dumping is so low, she's not even bothering to get angry with him. She's got a new, far hotter guy anyway. Musically, the instruments are themselves a Greek chorus making fun of the guy and heralding the singer's triumph. Love love love it.

Staff Sgt. Barry Sadler – “The Ballad Of The Green Berets” -- March 5, 1966

More machismo, but of the lawful rather than chaotic variety this time. This must have made a lot of people very angry at the time, but it also must have felt triumphant to a lot of others. "Fearless men who jump and die" -- that's not good! It's The Old Lie! A man dies because apparently that's just what Green Berets do, and his last request is that his son be a Green Beret too. For what? The song doesn't even say what they're fighting for! There's a line about dying for those oppressed, the same bullshit we've been fed for so long, but absolutely no details. Because it's a death cult. Oh, and the song is musically terrible too. This is horrific.

The Righteous Brothers – “(You’re My) Soul And Inspiration” -- April 9, 1966

It's another heartbreak song from The Righteous Brothers. She wants to leave, but she's his "soul and inspiration." I would like it better if it weren't a heartbreak song. It doesn't have to be. The chorus would go perfectly well with a song about how happy they are together. Meh.

The Young Rascals – “Good Lovin'” -- April 30, 1966

He says his doctor has prescribed "good lovin'". He's got the fever, you've got the cure. This could easily be creepy. It's not, because it's so fun. It's a seduction song where the seducer is trying to make his target laugh, which is the right tactic if you're light about it. Fun, good song.

The Mamas And The Papas – “Monday, Monday” -- May 7, 1966

John Philips was one of the worst people in pop music, and that's saying something. The Mamas and the Papas were a good group musically, though. This song is about how Mondays typically suck, but the narrator is happy because this Monday morning, his girlfriend is still here. And then Monday evening, she's left. He doesn't sound too upset. I find this song repetitive and boring.

Percy Sledge – “When A Man Loves A Woman” -- May 28, 1966

I don't like this song. Sledge's version is obviously better than Michael Bolton's, but the problem is the lyrics. The song doesn't say so directly, but the implication is that a man should never fall in love with a woman because she'll bring him nothing but pain. Nope.

The Rolling Stones – “Paint It Black” -- June 11, 1966

The song is about depression, specifically the depression coming from the sudden death of one's romantic partner. Which makes it a love song, in a way. It's rock, and it goes hard, and it's more achingly sad than thousands of schmaltzy songs about the same thing. It makes me cry every time. Amazing, heartbreaking song.

The Beatles – “Paperback Writer” -- June 25, 1966

This became a #1? It's mean and petty. Someone who has made it as thoroughly as it is possible to make it should not be scoffing at the little people trying to claw their way up. Musically it even sounds kinda half-assed, for the Beatles. Very much a lesser Beatles song.

Frank Sinatra – “Strangers In The Night” -- July 2, 1966

He and some woman were strangers in the night, but fell in love at first sight and became lovers, and are still together. I love the song. Sinatra was getting older, and that comes through -- his voice doesn't have the modulation and delicacy it did when he was younger. At the same time, that age gives the song a lot of heft and truth. "And ever since that night/ We've been together/ Lovers at first sight/ In love forever/ It turned out so right."

Tommy James And The Shondells – “Hanky Panky” -- July 16, 1966

His girlfriend fucks. And he shouts this fact to us over and over and over and over and... okay, look. I understand being thrilled with your first relationship in which you get sex. A lot of sex. A looooot of sex. But it's generally much more interesting to the people doing it than the people being told about it. Dull.

The Troggs – “Wild Thing” -- July 30, 1966

I don't understand anyone who doesn't start dancing, even just in their chair, when this song comes on. It's a rocking love n'sex jam with an ocarina in it. There is nothing not to love.

The Lovin’ Spoonful – “Summer In The City” -- August 13, 1966

This song comes down to: It's hot in the city during the day, but cooler at night, plus you can pick up chicks at night. The lyrics are a big nothing, but the music is great. Somehow the song got associated with the various protest movements happening at the time. Is that gonna happen with W.A.P.?

Donovan – “Sunshine Superman” -- September 3, 1966

It just occurred to me that R.E.M. may have been inspired to write "Superman" by this song. It's the same basic premise, except that unlike R.E.M., Donovan doesn't realize he's being egotistical to the point of being scary by saying he will use every trick in the book to get this girl. Well okay, "Donovan" and "scary" are tough to put in the same sentence. The song is musically great. Think about the lyrics for a minute, and they're disturbing. I don't really know what to do with this.

The Supremes – “You Can’t Hurry Love” -- September 10, 1966

"Love don't come easy/ It's a game of give and take." Yep. And if you do try to hurry it, you're likely to end up with one of the jerks from the first few Supremes hits. Normally I would say to avoid getting advice from pop songs, but I'll make an exception for "You Can't Hurry Love." This is a welcome evolution, and an excellent song.

The Association – “Cherish” -- September 24, 1966

Glurge. Such glurge, I thought this was a 70s song before now. I actually cannot listen to the whole song. The music hurts me somehow. So I read the lyrics to see what they are, and blurgh. It's about how he can't figure out how to say he wants her and none of the other guys really care for her and that's it I'm done. Atrociously bad.

The Four Tops – “Reach Out I’ll Be There” -- October 15, 1966

A phenomenal song. You need a hand to hold. Yes, you. And The Four Tops will be there for you. Huge numbers of pop songs -- a plurality, at least -- are sung to "you." But this one feels like it really is. Levi Stubbs is going to be there for you. And this song has been there for me throughout my life.

? And The Mysterians – “96 Tears” -- October 29, 1966

So, this guy renamed himself ?. I would expect a song that involved someone named ? to be much odder. Maybe it was at the time, though the organ sounds mostly like Baby Elephant Walk (though not as good.) ? speak-sings that he's gonna get the person who dumped him back, and then he's going to dump them, and they'll cry 96 tears. That is odd, admittedly. Why 96? That doesn't sound like very many. One good cry would probably do it. The organ is the most interesting thing about the song, which is sadly not nearly weird enough for the band's name.

The Monkees – “Last Train To Clarksville” -- November 5, 1966

One of my friends was a huge Monkees fan when we were teenagers. She was born in 1977. The Monkees were on Nick at Nite (I think), so I did see a few episodes. She watched them religiously. She insisted their music was great, and I was like... really? Sadly, I was snobbish about it, and entirely because the show was so doofy. Their music really was pretty damn good. Though this song sounds like the younger brothers of The Beatles trying to copy them. Still, they did a pretty good job of it.

Johnny Rivers – “Poor Side Of Town” -- November 12, 1966

The narrator's girl left him to be with a rich guy. The rich guy discarded her, so now she's back on the poor side of town. The narrator rubs it into her face for a verse and a half, but then he says that to him she's "the greatest thing", and he doesn't blame her for trying. By the end of the song, he says he and the girl will be able to make it together. The lyrics are good. Unfortunately, the music and singing are dull. Someone should take these lyrics and make a much better song out of them.

The Supremes – “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” -- November 19, 1966

For once, Diana Ross gets to be appropriately angry at a jerk. By the end of the song, she's commanding him to get out of her life. I have been where she is in this song, and it ties you up in knots. It deserves more of a full opera than a high-energy dance song. But this song is still great.

The New Vaudeville Band – “Winchester Cathedral” -- December 3, 1966

This is a British music hall song. Whether you like it will depend on whether you like that very singular genre. I do, in small doses. If it had been a #1 hit at any time when I was listening to radio, I'd have hated it. I can only identify "Winchester Cathedral" out of the lyrics, and the rest don't matter anyway. The song is fun and annoying in equal measure, and hearing it once every five years or so sounds about right.

The Beach Boys – “Good Vibrations” -- December 10, 1966

This is my favorite Beach Boys song. Musically, it's astonishing. It's the song that persuaded me of the "Brian Wilson is a genius" stuff I kept hearing. It also has much better lyrics than most Beach Boys songs, as they are like the lyrics of a typical pop song. Except with a lot more "om bop bop" and the word "excitations." It sounds like it's going to have a slow, soft fade-out, and then the main chorus comes roaring back. One of the great pop songs.

The Monkees – “I’m A Believer” -- December 31, 1966

I think this is the best Monkees song. He didn't believe in love, then he "saw her face", now he's a believer. Has he even talked to her? Doubtful. That's okay, it's not meant to be anything but a cheery pop song. The beginning guitar does sound sort of like George Harrison, but the rest of the song is a bit more distant from the Beatles than "Last Train to Clarksville." They sound like a confident, real pop group, though they weren't allowed to play the instruments on it, which most of them were not happy about. They still ended up participating in a memorable song.

BEST OF 1966: This one is hard. I was tempted to make it a tie between about a half dozen songs. I think I have to give it to "Paint it Black" though. Maybe. Then again, "I'll Be There" is a heartlifting titan. And "You Can't Hurry Love" is timeless and something more people need to hear. And "Good Vibrations" is a musical triumph. Then there's "The Sound of Silence." And... discuss amongst yourselves. WORST OF 1966: No question. "Ballad of the Green Berets." Nothing in any year is worse.

#billboard number ones

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cosmicmadwoman · 7 years

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Adam and Eve Chapter Eight: Ghost of High School’s Past

Summary: The Jones men find out the truth about Scott, Betty looks in Cheryl’s closet.

Rated: M

Word Count: 4565

Note: This chapter doesn’t move the plot forward much, just a little treat for FP/Alice shippers. Next chapter will start to reveal some stuff!

Alice clenched her hands together and waited patiently for her daughters’ responses. Their wheels were turning, she may be a tough mother but she knows her kids; Betty balled her hands into fists and Polly lifted her head to the ceiling with her mouth agape when they thought intensely.

Before this very moment, she never admitted out loud that the son she gave birth to at age sixteen was not her high school sweethearts, but the tired, sad and lost boy from the Southside. He was that one piece of her that she couldn’t shake when she tried to desperately to leave behind where to grew up and migrate to the middle class of Riverdale. Hal was her ticket out, but FP, the dark haired boy that smelled like cigarettes and campfires, always reminded her of home.

When Betty brought home Jughead Jones, Alice couldn’t help but smile sadistically at the irony. Jones boys always had a way with the Cooper women, Alice thought.

The girls must have noticed her smirk, because Betty pressed, “Why are you smiling? Is this funny to you?”

Alice shook her head and looked at Betty’s green eyes, mirrors of her own, and now; her daughter knew just how alike they really were. She tried to keep eye contact with her, but the watering eyes of her daughter broke her heart. “No, it’s not funny. It’s a mistake I made as a teenager, cheating on you father. It’s something I’ve had to live with.”

“Does dad know?” Polly asked softly.

“No,” Alice answered quickly, “and I would like us to keep it that way. We are just putting the broken pieces of are family back together. It won’t make a difference now anyway. No need to drudge up the past.”

“Drudge up the past? Scott isn’t ‘a past.’ He’s a person. Speaking of which, FP is a person too. He deserves to know he has another son out there,” Betty said.

“You propose I visit him in jail?” Alice’s tone was mocking, but Betty nodded.

“And I have to tell Jughead,” Betty said determined, standing up and grabbing her coat from the hanger in the hallway connected to the sitting room. Alice stood up with her and followed her closely, her chunky heels clacking behind Betty like an axe murderer on a summer camp counselor.

“This is not your secret to tell, Elizabeth. Do not get Jughead involved,” Alice spoke firmly.

“Jughead has a brother. We share a brother. I’m telling him and there’s nothing you can say to stop me,” Betty challenged her mother, the two blond woman stepping closer to one another, the strong rigid jaws of their anger waiting to see who would crack first.

“If you leave this house, you’re not welcome back,” Alice whispered gruffly.

Betty’s eyes flickered with fear and disappointment, how could her mother abandon another one of her children? Like it was so easy? But Betty prided herself on doing the right thing and despite the old wise tale that your parents always knew what was right, Alice was full of hate and rage Betty would never understand.

“I’ll send you a forwarding address,” Betty pursed her lips in a tight line to suppress her quivering lip. “I’ll pack a bag and be out of your hair.”

Betty bounded upstairs and Polly, hearing everything, ran after her, calling her name with a throaty whine.

She gathered only the essentials, clothes for a few days, toothbrush, deodorant and makeup, all flinging them into her paisley patterned overnight bag. Polly crashed into the room and wrapped around her from behind, almost like she was tying Betty in a straightjacket in attempts to stop her.

“Don’t leave me,” Polly begged and Betty felt a warm tear soak through the shoulder of her pale colored sweater.

Betty turned to her sister and her shoulders, “I don’t want to, Polly. But Jughead deserves to know. FP deserves to know. Jellybean too. Mom will come to her senses, just like when you were living at the Blossom house. Don’t worry, Pol. I’ll be back for Christmas,” Betty gave her a shaky smile, only half believing her words.

Polly nodded, “You are right. I remember how I felt when Mom told me… tell him. I support you.”

The two hugged, it was a deep, soul penetrating hug of understanding and being a little too grown up for their age. Polly left and Betty went with her bag slung around her arm to sneak into Cheryl’s room. She didn’t know for how long she would be gone and she had one more thing to do. On her knees, Betty waded through hundreds of shoeboxes in what used to be Polly’s closet, until she reached a shiny red box labeled prétentieux. She didn’t know what she was expecting when she flipped open the lid, blood overflowing from the top maybe, but instead, there was nothing. Mysteries were always full of dead ends.

Betty flicked off the light and passed her mother in the hall, going through the door with her phone in her hand, already texting Jughead: are you at the trailer?

Yeah, how did things go with your brother? His response came quickly like he was waiting for updates.

I need to come see you. I’ll be over in 10. Betty put her phone back on her pocket, not wanting to have him ask and having to explain just what the hell was going on over text. He deserved better than that. He deserved better than all of this.

Polly walked to her mother who still stood at the door, frozen watching Betty walk down the sidewalk and out of view.

“I hoped you would have learned better than to kick your children to the curb when you can’t handle them anymore,” Polly said in her ear, the words ringing painful and Alice’s brain.

Alice didn’t turn, so Polly went up the stairs and slammed the door loudly enough, making sure it’s wooden bang rang throughout the house and into her mother’s pounding head. She didn’t flinch. Alice Cooper had spent her entire life running from the Southside and what it contained, the crushed dreams, the dreariness and depression; but all of those things consumed her no matter wherever she filed her taxes, Southside blood ran in her veins.

The Cooper matriarch didn’t tell anyone she was leaving the house, not that anyone would care. She alienated everything she worked for, two beautiful daughters and a husband with enough money to give her security. And yet, just like that night her and Hal asked her to go steady, she found herself running back to FP.

Sheriff Keller was surprised to see Alice inquiring about FP Jones and wanting to see him. Everything to write for the paper had already be written surrounding FP and his involvement in Jason Blossom’s murder. But Alice Cooper being Alice Cooper, she just have a charming, stepford smile and Keller is compelled to trust her.

FP was lying on his flat mattress and it looked like he was reading something. The paperback was curled in his hands and Alice tickled her knuckles against the bars to get his attention. His dark eyebrows quirked and he sat up in a manner that made Alice feel like he was trying to impress her with straight posture.

“Welcome to my home, Mrs. Cooper,” FP sweeped his hands in a grand gesture around the concrete cell and stood up to lean on the bars in front of her. She stepped back slightly a smooth her floral blazer. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Alice pulled the folding chair from the corner to sit in front of the bars and sat before him. “I want to play a memory game,” Alice began, “I’m going to say a date and you tell me what happened that day.”

“Is this an interrogation?” FP smirked from above her and grasped the bars. Alice noticed the muscles in his forearms straining and his calloused hands.

“I love games, FP. You of all people should remember that,” Alice said. FP stayed silent and shifted his weight to his left foot.“May 31st, 1994.”

The dark haired man snorted and shrugged, “I don’t know. 1994 is the year we graduated.”

“Correct. It’s the day we graduated,” Alice confirmed. “May 14th, 1992.”

“This is crazy, woman.”

“Hal’s senior prom, where you caught us two fighting and decided that was alright to mention to my child,” Alice answered for him.

“You’re here about that?”

There was a long pause and Alice swallowed a lump in her throat before she said, “February 29th, 1992.”

FP suddenly crouched down and looked her in the eye, level with her darkened gaze, “Why are you bringing that night up now?”

He remembered. She could tell my the boyish look in his eye bringing her back to that night.

–

Alice was just asked to be Hal Cooper’s girlfriend she should’ve been over the moon and around the stars, but instead she felt a hollowness. And maybe it was the fear of unfamiliarity, and maybe it was a grasp for a past she wanted to rid herself from, but she found herself at the Jones trailer at the other side of the park. And there she found FP Jones, opening the door to greet her in ripped jeans and no shirt.

“Wanna hit the playground?” Alice asked, leaning on the door frame. She could hear the faint arguing of his parents in their corner room in the background. He closed the door gently behind him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with that dink Cooper tonight? The whole park is talking about how one of us is going with a rich boy,” FP’s face showed disgust and Alice smirked at his display of possible jealousy.

“He dropped me off already,” Alice replied, her eyes trailing down his naked chest. Northside boys were hot too, but they’ll never have the rugged darkness and sexiness Southside boys had. “I’m his girlfriend now.”

FP shrugged, “Okay.”

“I think we should go drink at the playground like we used to,” Alice offered.

The kids in the trailer park hung out together a lot of the time, especially growing up as they were all so close in proximity and age. FP and Alice were never best friends or anything, but they spent enough time together where the request was only odd because it would just be the two of them.

“One last time before you move to the darkside?” FP chuckled at his joke, all of Riverdale believed the Southside was the dark side, not the North.

“Something like that.”

“Give me a sec.” FP slipped back into the trailer and she heard soft clanking; probably stealing from his parent’s liquor stash. They always had enough. He reemerged with a bottle of tequila, a shirt and a grin. He was still wearing his slippers when they started walking to the playground at the edge of the park.

It was nothing grand, there was a swing set, metal monkey bars and wooden tunnels that sat on top of a crumbling structure. The town never vowed to clean it up like the Northside playground when it was unsafe.

The teens climbed wordlessly up to the top of the monkey bars and sat with their feet dangling below them. It was cloudy that night with no stars hanging in the sky. FP untwisted the tequila cap and took a swig, noticeably trying to hide a wince. He passed it to Alice who did the same.

“Let’s play a game,” Alice offered, taking one more slug before passing it back between FP. She couldn’t help but think her lips touched where his just were.

FP scoffed, “What are we? Five?”

“Truth or dare.”

A deviant smirk crept up onto FP’s young, fresh face. “Oh. That kind of game. You have a boyfriend now, Ms. Alice, you shouldn’t be playing naughty games with boys from the trailer park.” FP liked the age-old sin of coveting your neighbor’s wife, especially when your neighbor was a middle class white yuppie and his girlfriend was hot and her hair was golden like a wheat field. He may have the money, but he was sure Alice and Hal never talked like this to one another.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Alice shrugged. “So, truth or dare FP Jones.”

FP looked thoughtful for a moment and replied, “Truth.”

Alice rolled her eyes. “Boring. Okay, tell me, how many girls have you had sex with?”

“Two,” FP answered slowly, gaging Alice’s reaction, and it was unimpressed and disbelieving. “Okay, fine, one. This girl Gladys. Her parents just moved to the park and she’s pretty and we got to kissing and talking and it happened. I’ve seen her around, but she doesn’t look at me.”

“So you’ve only had sex once,” Alice giggled. “Hal and I must have done it a million times by now.”

“Shut up. It’s your turn. Truth or dare?”

Alice leaned in closer to FP, smelling his summer scented soap mixed with cigarettes.

“Dare,” her voice was low and heavy with expectation.

What was this girl going for? She finally had her ticket out of this hellhole and she was slinking back into it with. Was she going to kiss him? What did she want him to say?

“Kiss me,” FP grumbled hotly.

Alice felt his breath on her he was so close. She held onto the bars behind her when she pushed her body forward to kiss him. It wasn’t a peck, but a lip crushing, eyes-squeezing-shut kind of kiss. FP still had the bottle in his hands but moved it to his lap so he could grab her face and keep her there just a little longer. Hal must have taken her to Pop’s for their date because she tasted like ketchup. They eventually broke apart and Alice wiped her mouth. Her eyes were dark and wild.

“Let’s get off of here. You’re going to have sex with me,” Alice said and climbed down.

“I’m going to what?” FP clutched the alcohol tighter; he needed more liquid courage to be as brave as her. But she gave him a look, hands on her hips, and he decided this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to be with someone as beautiful as her, and he wasn’t going to sit idle as life passed him by like his parents. He dropped the bottle down for her to catch and hopped off, “Yeah, I’m going to have sex with you.”

It was late February, technically March if it wasn’t a leap year, so the ground was cold but there was no snow. Fp peeled off his jacket, he was fucking cold already, but he laid it down on the patch of gravel under the monkey bars and Alice laid down on it immediately. FP pressed his body on top of her and she groaned, loving the feel the unfamiliar weight of a different man on her. He kissed her tenderly at first, slowly, wanting to feel every crevice of her mouth and lips and drink her in like fine wine, not cheap tequila; but Alice wanted none of that. She bucked her hips upward, earning a moan from FP, and wrapped her legs around him tightly.

She kissed him back aggressively, taking control of the rhythm. She brought her hands under his shirt and on his bare back, feeling the rigid muscles tense and relax as his body went through sensory overload. She pulled his shirt over his head and his body tightened with the cold air.

“Don’t worry, I’ll warm you up,” Alice snickered and flipped them over.

She undid the button of his jeans and slid them down, his boxers following. He hissed when his cock hit the cool air, but Alice bent and took him in her mouth swiftly. He automatically let out a throaty growl and she bobbed up and down, her warm mouth cradling him. He pushed back the hair falling in front of her face and made a ponytail with his fist so he could watch her. She took him expertly and he wondered why she was wasting her time on him. She gagged and pulled back.

“You’re so much bigger than Hal, but don’t tell anyone I said that, obviously,” Alice grinned and kissed his chest right near his heart. She got off up him and sheds her tights and rolls up her body conforming skirt.

“I’m going to touch you,” FP warned gently, asking permission but also wanting to be affirmative, and dipped a finger into her panties and was surprised by how wet she was. Her heat was pulling him and he inserted his middle finger inside of her, causing her hips to rise and meet his finger’s thrusts. He took his other handed and tweaked her nipples under her coat but through her thin shirt underneath. With him still inside, he circled his thumb around the nub he only read about in his dad’s Playboy magazines. He must have learned something important, because Alice was jelly underneath his touch and she growled out his name and flooded his finger with her cum.

“Shit, FP, you’re good with your fingers,” Alice sighed, “I’ve… that’s never happened to me before.”

The black haired teen smiled widely and rolled back on top of her, pinning her to the cool ground. They wiggled awkwardly back onto the jacket and Alice shimmied out of her panties. He took the head of his cock and ran it along her inner lips, teasing her until she grabbed ahold of his length and pushed it inside of her. They both groaned at the contact. FP started to move before giving her any time to adjust. His hips were wild and against hers; he was rough and unrefined and it made Alice’s toes tingle.

“Fuck, I’m not wearing a condom,” FP panicked and tried to stop his thrusts, but he was so close he could already feel the tightening in his balls.

“Just pull out,” Alice recommend breathlessly.

She had never not worn a condom with Hal before, but Mary Andrews said her and Fred did it all the time without condoms; she just had him pull out when he was going to cum. She hadn’t gotten pregnant yet. FP pulled out a second later and shot his liquid onto the ground beside them. He quickly put his shirt back on and pulled up his pants, feeling the cold once again. Alice put herself back together, too.

“Goodbye, Forsythe,” she smiled and left, not wanting him to walk her home. That goodbye was to her childhood and to the Southside that built her. She didn’t look back or wait to hear him say anything back.

–

The silence in the room was obvious because they were both reminiscing. FP was the first to speak, “Has Hal learned how to make you cum yet?”

“FP, this is serious. You didn’t wear a condom. And, well, fuck how do I even say this?” Alice stood up and bit the edge of her nail, staring at the ground.

“Just say it,” the man’s voice sounded small and scared.

“Hal and I argued because I was pregnant. I’m sure you overheard that. I gave him, the baby, up for adoption. Hal didn’t know the whole story, though, and neither did you. I was nervous about that night we had sex, because the time frame lined up, so I took a paternity test at the hospital just to make sure,” Alice explained, her chest tightening. She never thought this would be something she had to do.

FP shook his head and his face scrunched up just like Jughead’s when he was trying to hold tears in. “Say it out loud, Alice.”

“You have a son, with me, FP. We have a son,” Alice promised herself she wasn’t going to cry, she didn’t come all this way to cry, so her face went blank.

FP wasn’t afraid to cry though. His face was serious and tough, which juxtaposed the shiny tears staining his sun spotted cheeks.

“Jesus Christ, Alice. And you fucking kept this from me? I want to meet him. Bring him here,” FP demanded, his sadness quickly morphing into rage.

“I don’t know where he is. I told Betty and Polly and thanks to your other son, they found him. I caught them making plans to meet him,” Alice said.

“Jughead knows?” Sadness returned.

“No. But… Betty insisted on telling him,” Alice shrugged, “He’ll know any minute now.”

“Maybe it’s best he hears it from her,” there was a pause between the two old lovers. They never spoke of that night after it happened, and FP swore he dreamed it anyway. Alice spent less and less time at the trailer park and when they graduated she moved in with Hal right away. Gladys finally started talking to him again, admitting that she felt awkward after they had sex, but wanted to get to know him. They went in their separate directions, but now, he knew they’re paths were forever congealed. “I hate you for this.”

Alice blinked rapidly, “You should.”

Alice delicately refolded the chair and left, the only noise was FP gently sobbing into his mattress.

–

Jughead could tell Betty had been crying during the walk over because her cheeks were especially cold and icy when he kissed her cheek. He imagined it was about Scott, that he wanted nothing to do with his birth sisters, and left the blonde Cooper girls utterly heartbroken. But instead, she almost looked sad for him, giving him sympathetic glances as she sat down on the couch. She patted the seat next to her. Jughead took it suspiciously.

“I looked through Cheryl’s closet, the shoes are missing. We will have to take another angle,” Betty said flatly. He instantly knew this isn’t what she came for, but he played along briefly.

“Not necessarily. Those shoes missing may mean she threw them out because they had blood on them,” Jughead mused. “You should text her, maybe under the guise of wanting to borrow them, ask her where they are.”

Betty shrugged and just the act or raising her shoulder seemed difficult for her. “Worth a shot, I guess.”

She pulled out her phone and text her quickly and put it back in her jacket pocket. Silence set over the trailer. Betty wondered if this trailer where her mom and Jughead’s dad conceived Scott. She shuddered at the thought, and her boyfriend took notice. Her grabbed her hand and rubbed circles around the pulse point near her thumb.

“What did you really come here to talk about?” Jughead asked gently.

“Can I see the picture of Scott you found?” Betty inquired suddenly.

Jughead nodded and pulled the laptop from the coffee table to his lep and opened it. He tapped the keyboard swiftly, made a couple of mouse clicks, and her brother was right in front of her. Jughead angled the monitor so she could see better, and there he was. Scott had thick, black locks just like Jughead, a sharp jawline like him too. How could Jughead not see that they looked a little alike? This was so freaky. Even though Betty and Jughead weren’t related, they shared a half brother that was a mixture of both of them, much like how a child between them would look like.

“Does he look like… someone?” God, how was she supposed to say this?

“Um.. you?” He looked at her incredulous, his heart thumping. What was she getting at?

“No… you, Juggie,” Betty’s eyes watered with tears.

In the back of his mind, he knew what she could possibly be referring too, but he was still at a loss. His lip was quivering, he was about to cry, “What?”

“My mom kept this from all of us,” Betty spoke softly, “Her and FP had a one night stand in high school. Scott is your brother too.”

Jugehad’s face was twisted in horror, and he pushed the laptop on the floor and curled into Betty, his head in her lap. He started crying, sobbing even, and he clutched onto her hips so harshly purple bruises began to form there. Jughead was strong for her when she found out, and she had to be strong for him too.

“Why can’t we catch a fucking break?” Jughead cried.

“I don’t know. But we are going to be okay. And you can come with us to meet him,” Betty offered.

He nodded, his head rising and looking at her in the eyes as he continued to sniffle, “I do.” Jughead paused. “Betty, make love to me. Make this go away. I want to just me you for a few minutes. No parents, no siblings; just us.”

Jughead’s eyes were puffy but their blueness shined so brightly with tears rimming his eyes. She nodded, and undid his pants. She kissed him sweetly as she stroked him softly before he sat back, just enjoying for a moment. He wanted to get lost in the rhythm of her hand. She takes it upon herself to reach into her pants and pleasure herself and prepare for Jughead. She shimmies her pants off and slides down her panties. She was about to get on him when he shook his head.

“Let’s take all of our clothes off. I need to feel your skin,” he groaned, almost in pain.

He pulled of his shirt and Betty tugged off the rest of her garments. She sank down on him and and he gritted his teeth, so overwhelmed by the feeling of his bare cock burying inside of her. He wanted to forget everything and so he closed his eyes and held onto Betty’s hips, silently guiding her, not like she needed it. Betty rode him like never before, using each other’s bodies to get lost. Betty threw her head back and Jughead took the opportunity to plop a nipple in his mouth and bite roughly. Betty rode him until she came, and used every ounce of her energy to ride him until he did too. She collapsed into his embrace. Jughead smoothed her hair back on her sweaty forehead. He was still inside her several minutes later when she eventually got off of him and layed on the couch. He cuddled into her, her back against his bare chest. The couch had little room, but the two didn’t mind because it was just another excuse to be pressed together.

“Can I stay here, Juggie? My mom said I’m not welcome home because I wanted to tell you the truth. I just need a place to stay until this blows over,” Betty asked quietly.

Betty felt Jughead nod against her shoulder. “Anytime, Betty. You don’t even have to ask.”

When sleep stated to overcome them, Betty’s phone buzzed. It was from Cheryl. Funny you should ask, those shoes are missing. I was going to ask if you are Pol took them. The redhead ended the text with the purple devil emoji. The little symbol made her gut twist. She nudged Jughead to show him, and his head fell back.

“You’re right, it was a dead end,” Jughead sighed.

“Maybe not,” Betty mused, “who else has access to Cheryl’s closet? Before she moved in with us?”

“Penelope Blossom.”

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #bughead smut #falice smut #falice #alice cooper x fp jones #betty cooper x jughead jones #riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #multichap

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BLOG TOUR - Scheduled to Death

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF by Great Escapes Virtual Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

Scheduled to Death by Mary Feliz

The mystery kept me guessing through the entire book…I was blaming the wrong person for about 80% of the story! ~Book Babble

… fast paced and fun to read. ~Sleuth Cafe

Each character was written with such care and love that they really jump from the page and they, like the books, just keeping getting better. ~Classy Cheapskate

I had a difficult time deciding who was my favorite character in this book. Each is well rounded and has something special bout them. ~Laura’s Interests

This captivating and fast-paced whodunit tale has enough quirky characters, witty humor, drama, a growing list of suspects, intriguing twists and turns, and conspiracy theories that will keep you guessing. ~Jersey Girl Book Reviews

The plot is well developed, suspects are numerous, and I enjoyed using my detecting skills right along with Maggie. ~The Power of Words

Scheduled to Death (A Maggie McDonald Mystery) Cozy Mystery 2nd in Series Lyrical Underground (January 17, 2017) Paperback: 236 pages ISBN-13: 978-1601836663 Digital Ebook – ASIN: B01EQ2N1QM

Professional organizer Maggie McDonald has a knack for cleaning up other people’s messes. So when the fiancée of her latest client turns up dead, it’s up to her to sort through the untidy list of suspects and identify the real killer.

Maggie McDonald is hoping to raise the profile of her new Orchard View organizing business via her first high-profile client. Professor Lincoln Sinclair may be up for a Nobel Prize, but he’s hopeless when it comes to organizing anything other than his thoughts. For an academic, he’s also amassed more than his share of enemies. When Sinclair’s fiancée is found dead on the floor of his home laboratory—electrocuted in a puddle of water—Maggie takes on the added task of finding the woman’s murderer. To do so, she’ll have to outmaneuver the suspicious, obnoxious police investigator she’s nicknamed “Detective Awful” before a shadowy figure can check off the first item on their personal to-do list—Kill Maggie McDonald.

Author Interview

What initially got you interested in writing? I started my writing career in Corporate Communications writing about vacuum tubes and other industrial products — including my favorite project, which was writing about a giant piece of high-tech equipment that found its way to a jungle customer with the help of an elephant.

For someone who has always been constrained by reality, fiction is working without a net. A novel is like running a marathon. I’m not sure any writer can adequately explain the special kind of insanity that makes running a marathon across a tight rope seem like a good idea.

What genres do you write in?

I’m currently writing cozy mysteries, although I’ve also written two (unpublished) young adult historical novels that I hope to someday retool as romance. And then there’s this true crime story I’m itching to explore…like most writers, I have more ideas than I have time to pursue.

What drew you to writing these specific genres? I love cozy mysteries because they are essentially stories about good triumphing over evil. I love to read them because violence and gore give me nightmares and sex scenes make me blush. Cozy mysteries let me avoid the blood and guts and graphic romance, but still allow me to explore good, evil, and where they intersect. I find it interesting to consider why good people do bad things and why bad people do good things.

How did you break into the field? My story starts the same way it does for many writers…after 10-15 years of die-hard stubbornness, doubt, and too much chocolate, I “suddenly” woke up to the reality that one of the bazillions of people to whom I’d pitched my story was calling to say they loved my book and wanted to publish it. It was the third book I’d written. I’m still pinching myself.

What do you want readers to take away from reading your works? I hope that readers will fall in love with Maggie and her family, and be willing to hang in there with her when she makes mistakes on her journey to solve the crimes and save the day. Maggie’s intelligence and connections to her community help her follow the clues, but it’s the wrong turns she takes and her hopelessly bad luck that that move the plot along. I also hope they’ll come to know some of the complexities of life in Silicon Valley that aren’t covered in news broadcasts.

What do you find most rewarding about writing?

When someone writes a review that makes it clear they “get” Maggie, or when someone tells me they love a character and hope I’ll write more about them, it makes my day. What I love about reading is finding an author whose characters become so real to me that I miss when I finish the book. Whenever I hear that someone had an experience like that while reading one of my books, it definitely takes the sting out of long days, persistent typos, and nasty reviews.

What do you find most challenging about writing?

In order to stick with it long enough to have a book published, you have to love the process. And I do. But it’s not without some serious ups and downs. When I hit one of those lows, I turn to my writer friends to keep me balanced. Every one of the writers I know has received a text or email from me complaining that I’ll never resolve a plot problem that has me chasing down inconsistencies that make it feel as though I’m trying to put socks and sneakers on an octopus. Depending on the friend, they laugh and prescribe chocolate, wine, coffee, naps or a walk.

What advice would you give to people wanting to enter the field? If you don’t love it, don’t do it. Those who get published are those who stick with it…for years. Use those years to make friends with other writers, learn as much as you can, practice, and to make your writing the best it can be. Then make it better the next day. Those who don’t get published are those who give up. Also, don’t do it alone. Find teachers, friends, critiquers, editors, and beta readers who can help you strengthen your writing and support you on your journey. Don’t forget to give back–at every stage of the game. And have fun.

What type of books do you enjoy reading? I’m a promiscuous reader. I read everything from cereal boxes to epic novels and admire the story structure of song lyrics and television ads. My favorites, though, are those with complex characters I care deeply about. I’m a huge fan of Laurie King and Louise Penny.

Is there anything else besides writing you think people would find interesting about you?

I walk on the beach nearly every day and know the names of almost all the dogs but only a few of the people.

What are the best ways to connect with you, or find out more about your work?

My website is a good place to start: www.maryfeliz.com From there you can find links to my Facebook page, Twitter account, and how to email me or sign up for my newsletter. I love to hear from readers and answer my emails.

About The Author

Mary Feliz has lived in five states and two countries but calls Silicon Valley home. Traveling to other areas of the United States, she’s frequently reminded that what seems normal in the high-tech heartland can seem decidedly odd to the rest of the country. A big fan of irony, serendipity, diversity, and quirky intelligence tempered with gentle humor, Mary strives to bring these elements into her writing, although her characters tend to take these elements to a whole new level. She’s a member of Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, and National Association of Professional Organizers. Mary is a Smith College graduate with a degree in Sociology. She lives in Northern California with her husband, near the homes of their two adult offspring. Visit Mary online at MaryFeliz.com, or follow her on Twitter @MaryFelizAuthor.

Purchase Links Amazon B&N

You can win your own copy! Giveaway – On February 10, the author will be giving away five ebook editions of both books to randomly selected names on my newsletter list. Here is the link where your followers can sign up for the newsletter – http://www.maryfeliz.com/newsletter/

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BLOG TOUR – Scheduled to Death was originally published on the Wordpress version of The Pulp and Mystery Shelf

#shannon muir #pulp and mystery shelf

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