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sundayswiththeilluminati · 3 years

Note

I LOVE your meta on how essek was the perfect asset and want to ask the follow-up question in your tags: how do you think it went down? The agreement between Essek and the Assembly? And I think the fandom was convinced Essek would be disposed of after the peace talks — how do you see his future if there was no intervention by the Mighty Nein in 97?

ruvi-muffin asked:

What are your specific thoughts abt how ludinus recruited essek??👀👀 oh Person who knows a surprising amount of spy stuff 🙏🙏🙏👀👀👀

Anonymous asked:

PLEASE share your specific thoughts about how Essek was recruited, I'm so intrigued!

Anonymous asked:

Hello yes i am very interested in these very specific thoughts about how Essek got recruited? All these things about how actual intelligence works/uses their assets/how that ties to Essek and the M9 is really interesting :D

Thank you all so much for asking me the specific question I wanted someone to ask. I had to write and rewrite this post a half-dozen times because I kept going off on tangents about other Cold War spy stories so trust me there’s plenty more where this came from.

For reference, my original post on what made Essek an ideal recruitment target and why the M9 were the ideal counter to it.

First off, this is all based on real-world intelligence ops and is only as relevant to the campaign as Matt Mercer cares to make it. Having said that *slams notebook on table* BUCKLE UP, KIDDOS.

There are two ways Essek may have been recruited: he approached the Assembly or the Assembly approached him. I think the Assembly approached him. Not to be too hard on the guy, but Essek said it himself: he’s kind of a coward. I can’t see him mustering up the nerve to take that first step. Plus his espionage seems to have focused specifically on the beacons rather than dunamancy as a whole; that sounds like the Assembly to me. The beacons specifically offer the prospect of immortality and the Cerberus mages are arrogant enough to assume they can figure out dunamancy themselves if they have a beacon in hand. There’s no way the Assembly haven’t been trying to beg, borrow, or steal those beacons for centuries. Essek may not have even been their first try - just the first that worked.

Chronologically, Essek would have popped up on either the Assembly or the Augen Trust’s radar quite early as I assume they keep tabs on all powerful Dynasty mages. As they followed his career, the Assembly would have ID’d Essek as a perfect target for recruitment as a spy, and then further for ego-based recruitment. Recruitment for espionage is a slow process - even slower in a fantasy world where some races reasonably expect to live 500+ years. Many intelligence agencies will do a sort of light meet-and-greet just to start a file on various people who might years later be of interest. The Assembly would have cultivated Essek as an intelligence asset with the same degree of time and care - and using some of the same methods - that Trent used to turn the Blumenthal trio into assassins.

If they followed a modern playbook, they would have made contact with Essek anywhere from 2 to 10 years before the theft - nothing underhanded. A Cerberus mage approaches him at a negotiation or conference and strikes up a conversation. Then it’s increasing “chance” encounters to get Essek familiar with the handler, play the “we’re both mages, really we’re on the same side” angle to earn enough sympathy & trust to start talking regularly. Once the channel’s open, the handler and asset meet and/or talk routinely while the handler assesses the target’s motives, weaknesses, and the possibility that they’re a double agent.

Espionage proper then starts with small favors, acts Essek can rationalize as victimless or even helpful to the Dynasty. In this stage the handler is getting the asset comfortable with engaging in espionage. They reward the asset for what feels like minimal moral trespass. For Essek that would have been praising his research, encouraging avenues of investigation they knew the Dynasty had shut down. Having meetings with Ludinus plays right into the ego trip - the Head of the Assembly himself is taking the time to meet with him! The Assembly gets how important this work is! That keeps Essek isolated from Dynasty members who might convince him to take a step back and builds loyalty to the Assembly over the Dynasty.

Once an asset settles in, espionage becomes easier. Routines get established. Moral hurdles have been overcome. Now the asks get bigger and the rewards get sparser. The handler will suggest larger acts just to get the asset thinking about them, since the more they consider “just hypothetically” how to pull it off, the more likely it is they’ll do it. This is where the idea of stealing the beacons would get introduced (though of course it’s been the goal all along.) I’ll bet the Assembly hinted at all the study that could be done if they could just get to the beacons in person, constantly bemoaning the lack of access. By now Essek sees the Assembly as colleagues in arcane pursuits, kindred minds, unlike the boring, stuffy old mages of the Dynasty. Of course he could outwit the Dynasty’s security and get the beacons to the Assembly - he’s a prodigy, a genius, everyone says so. And it’s not like he was stealing all of them. The consecuted would be fine. Everyone would be fine.

None of this is intended to absolve Essek of personal responsibility. But it provides a context for his actions, and for why he might regret them so much even though he apparently did them willingly. Asset handlers are very, very good at drawing someone willing to commit minor transgressions into far greater crimes. Look at how Trent shaped Caleb, Astrid, and Eadwulf. He didn’t order them to execute their own parents on day one. He spent years coaxing, tempting, and coercing them into darker and darker crimes, letting them rationalize their own actions at each step, preying on the same vulnerabilities as Essek: isolation (separating the three from other students, telling them their work was secret), ambition (the promise of great arcane power, of shaping the Empire’s destiny), and ego (”we were going to keep the empire safe,” telling them they were gifted, they were chosen).

So how do IRL spies rationalize their actions? Those who spy for reasons of conscience or ideology have done the rationalizing ahead of time, but everyone else has to get there somehow. Some who spy for revenge tell themselves it’s what their superiors deserve, while others tell themselves everyone’s doing it. Some just need a lie to get started (most commonly about who they’re spying for), while others have to keep up the charade all along. Let’s look at a few cases similar to Essek’s that demonstrate just how slippery the slope can be.

Aldrich Ames, a long-term CIA officer slash double agent for the KGB, got suckered in by thinking he could control the situation and wasn’t really hurting anyone. Ames had chronic financial trouble related to excessive drinking & his wife’s lavish lifestyle and in 1985 came up with a plan: he would essentially con the KGB by selling them a minor amount of classified info that he deemed “virtually worthless.” In April he set up the exchange and the KGB paid him $50,000, enough to satisfy his immediate debts. But after actually doing it Ames said he felt he’d now crossed a line he couldn’t step back from, and continued to sell information to the Soviets. By the time he was caught he had, by his own admission, compromised “virtually all Soviet agents of the CIA.”

While some assets just need a lie to get started, others require a delicate dance of self-delusion. Col. George Trofimoff was an Army officer who ran the center where would-be Soviet defectors were assessed & questioned. Trofimoff, a Russian émigré at a young age, was chronically in debt. In 1969 he renewed his acquaintance with his stepbrother back in Russia, now a bishop in the Russian Orthodox Church, and began to pass secrets in return for money - but he and his stepbrother never framed the transactions as such. Trofimoff described their meetings as, “very informal. ... First, it was just a conversation between the two of us. He would ask my opinion on this and that--then, he would maybe ask me, 'Well, what does your unit think about it?' Or, 'What does the American government think about it?’” His compensation was similarly informal: “I said I needed money. ... And he says, 'I tell you what, I'll loan it to you.' So he gave me, I think, 5,000 marks and then, it wasn't enough, because I needed more. ... Then he says, 'Well, you know, I'll tell you what. You don't owe me any money. And if you need some more, I can give you some more. Don't worry about it. You're going to have to have a few things, this and that.' And this is how it started.” Trofimoff could pretend to himself that he wasn’t really spying - just having a chat with his stepbrother - and wasn’t really getting paid for it - just borrowing a little money.

This got longer than I intended it to be and there’s still plenty to talk about, so I’ll save the rest for a second post. Next time: what happens long-term to espionage assets? And what happens if an asset regrets their actions and/or attempts to cut off contact with their handlers?

(This accidentally turned into a series on Essek & IRL espionage: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4)

#Critical Role #Essek Thelyss #tradecraft #mostly Cold-War-related tradecraft TBH #hot boi got ROLLED by the Assembly though #sounds like he didn't even get paid!#I do wonder at stealing TWO beacons though #why two? what was wrong with one?#maybe Essek was just showing off at that point #it's been a long pandemic

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onceuponamirror · 7 years

Text

heart rise above

///// CHAPTER 10

summary: It wasn’t an experiment with freedom borne of some Americana fantasy; rather, a road trip of purely logistical intentions. The plan was simple. Drive from Boston to Chicago for his sister’s college graduation. That’s it.

Or, he drives a Ford Pickup Named Desire.

Mechanic!AU

fandom: riverdale ship: betty x jughead words: 50k chapters: 10/19

[read from the beginning] [read the latest]

I wonder about the love you can't find And I wonder about the loneliness that's mine

Veronica asks Betty to meet up at her apartment before the double date, even though they have plans to drive themselves separately. But Ronnie sounded very cryptic over the phone, so there’s no hesitation.

And, like the good Cooper girl she is, Betty arrives promptly at eight as requested. When she knocks, Veronica throws open her apartment door, still dressed in her work outfit of a pressed black pantsuit. “Ugh, would you believe I only just got home?”

Veronica sighs heavily as she unpins her pearl earrings and drops them in a bowl by the door, gesturing for Betty to follow her into the apartment. There seems to be something wearier around her shoulders than the usual post-work frustration, but Betty can’t get a good look at it, as she’s already crossing the room and reaching for the uncorked bottle of white wine on the dining table.

She pours Betty a light glass, and then takes a hearty sip of her own. “I am so ready to quit, B. Thank god I only have two more months.” Having spent the last two years listening to Veronica bemoan the life of an underling paralegal in a small town law firm, this is nothing Betty isn’t used to.

“I swear, I’m only one more night of overtime without pay from finding my inner Carrie,” Veronica says dryly. She gives Betty a quick once over. “Cute outfit, by the way. Just enough décolletage to make your mail-order love interest swoon.”

Betty smiles in relief, given she’d spent a solid hour throwing on every shirt she had before settling on the original choice: a cropped baby blue top with a wide scoop neck and a pair of high rise black jeans. She sips her wine and glances around; something seems different about the apartment. “Did you rearrange the furniture?”

Veronica takes another gulp of wine, glancing at Betty over the rim of her glass in the way that usually precursors a conversation about law school, Veronica’s upcoming move to Los Angeles, or her opinions on Betty living with her mother.

(Which she finds a little rich, considering Veronica’s own mother lives in the apartment upstairs.)

“I started selling some things,” Veronica admits hesitantly. “I figure if I get started now, I won’t be so overwhelmed come Judgment Day. Apparently, it also helps the realtor show people around and ‘envision this space as their own.’”

“Makes sense,” Betty says, trying to stamp out the queasy reminder that her best friend is moving nearly three thousand miles away.

Veronica sees right through it, as usual, and sighs as she leads them back into her bedroom. Betty plops down onto her canopy bed, as Veronica starts to sift through her closet absentmindedly. “Remind me again why you’re not coming with me?”

Betty rolls her eyes, because they’ve been down this road so many times she could map it from memory. “Because my family is here, and so is my business.”

“But your best friend in the entire world is moving to LA,” Veronica replies, batting her eyelashes with mock innocence. “And sorry, do you mean the business you own half of and share with your mom and sister, or the one where you’re an unpaid nanny and live-in housekeeper?”

She appreciates the way Ronnie is always defensive on her behalf, but sometimes, it feels a bit too pointed. This is one of those moments, but at Betty’s look, Veronica just sends her a pouted bottom lip and puts down her wine glass. “Please come with me.”

“Okay, I’ll come with you,” Betty says, with obvious sarcasm.

Veronica claps her hands together. “Yay! Alright, I’m thinking Echo Park for neighborhoods? It’s small, but supposedly it’s an ideal blend of useless artisanal products and effective bohème. Deeply gentrified, of course, which is a consideration—”

“V, I was kidding. You know I’m not moving to LA,” Betty reminds her, for the umpteenth time.

She huffs. “I just don’t understand why not,” she snaps, and Betty once again gets the impression that Veronica’s mood is more tightly wound than usual. “Do you know why I’m going to the city of angels, Betty? I could’ve gone anywhere for law school. Stayed in state—god knows it would’ve been cheaper—or at least found a nice little city on the Eastern seaboard. But people have been going west in search of meaning for hundreds of years, B. Isn’t that something we’re all looking for?”

Betty opens her mouth, but Veronica sees the cornered look on her face and spares her the misery. Her expression softens. “I’m sorry. You know the last thing I want to do is project. But…sometimes I just wonder. And worry. You hate Riverdale.”

“I don’t hate Riverdale,” Betty insists, which is true. “I…am sometimes frustrated by the way things turned out, but there a lot of people with a lot worse—”

“Yes, there are starving children all over the world, I know, I know,” Veronica interrupts. “Doesn’t mean your problems aren’t also valid, sweetie.”

“You know, I don’t see you having this lecture with Kevin, who is also staying in Riverdale,” Betty points out, but it’s a weak attempt, even for her.

“Kevin is an out gay man in a long term relationship who wants to be a politician, Betty,” she explains, even though they both know the reason. “He has to start on a local level, so his hometown is ideal. It’s tragic and ridiculously erroneous, but unfortunately where we’re still at in America 2017. And you and I both already knew that. So don’t even.”

Betty exhales, because Veronica has been broaching the topic of Betty moving with her a lot more often lately, in a way that she loves to play off as a joke, but tonight, something seems different. Betty has spent so much time convincing herself that she’ll manage without her best friend, that she’ll miss her so much but she’s happy for her—that she hasn’t stopped to think about how Ronnie will manage without her best friend too.

It’s one thing for Betty to say goodbye to Veronica knowing she’s off in pursuit of her dreams, and it must be another for Veronica to do the same, all the while knowing how secretly trapped Betty feels.

They need to get ready to go soon, so there isn’t much time for Betty to ruminate on this, but she knows it’s a thought that’ll keep her up over the course of the week.

“Is this why you asked me here today?” Betty asks softly, tucking her hair behind ears. (She’d decided to wear it down again today, having liked the reaction it got before.) She cracks a smile. “Another attempt at practicing your lawyer voice?”

Something moves across Veronica’s face, as if she might be about to say something. Instead, she quickly turns back to face her closet.

“Psh. As if I haven’t been arguing my way into everything my whole life. No, obviously I asked you here for fashion advice.” She twists back, holding a lacy black dress up against herself and giving it a little swish. “What do you think? Too much?”

“For the bowling alley? Yes,” Betty says emphatically. Veronica waves a dismissive hand and returns to her wardrobe; after a little bit of debate, they both agree on a mid-length polka dot skirt and a silky black tank top, to be worn tucked in.

Veronica appears pleased, but as she settles in front of her vanity and starts her make up, Betty catches a glimpse of Veronica’s reflection. There’s a spot of something waning, and it passes quickly, but not before Betty sees a thought moving faraway in her mind.

She and Veronica walk into the bowling alley arm-in-arm, but separate as they near their dates, who are waiting just beyond the entrance and outside the parallel arcade. Archie is saying something, one hand moving animatedly, but Jughead doesn’t seem to be paying attention. He bounces on his feet and stares at the ceiling in the way Betty has noticed usually does when he’s distracted by his thoughts.

Veronica passes Betty a sly look, because clearly she sees it too, and then strides forward, wiggling her fingers at the two of them. “Hello, boys,” she calls, with a voice like wind chimes. She and Archie greet each other with a comfortable kiss, while Betty slows her steps a few feet before reaching Jughead.

“Hi,” she says quietly. He gives her a long once over and her whole body warms under his gaze.

“Hey. You look really pretty, Betty,” he says, scratching his neck.

She looks down at her outfit, pleased that she’d trusted her instincts rather than allow Veronica to play Barbie; there had been a brief, last-minute struggle for control in which Veronica had tried to push her into a skirt that had been inappropriately short for an activity like bowling. But if this is the reaction a plain pair of high-waisted skinny jeans gets, Betty wonders how the skirt would’ve gone over.

“Oh. Thanks,” she breathes.

She gets a good look at him, and realizes he too looks a bit dressier than normal. Still clearly, purely Jughead, but smoothed around the edges; he’s wearing his typical outfit of black jeans and drooping suspenders, but rather than his usual aged t-shirt and enclave of plaid, he’s donned a dark navy button up of a fine caliber, open over a black undershirt.

And, she notices: again, no beanie.

He looks good.

“Nice shirt,” she adds, reaching forward and straightening his collar. His Adam’s apple bobs, tracing the movement.

She means it as a compliment, but he appears suddenly self-conscious. “Well, I need to do laundry, so it was either the ancient System of a Down t-shirt I accidentally brought or the one I got for my sister’s graduation. I know it’s kind of dressy for just bowling, but…not that this is just bowling—”

“Juggie.” His mouth promptly clamps shut and she smiles up at him. “I meant it looks nice.”

Betty glances around and realizes they’re alone. Veronica and Archie have slipped away, and she spots them across the alley, clearly giving them their space. She breathes a sigh of relief; Veronica had promised not to tease her about this double date, but Betty honestly hadn’t believed her until now.

She loves her best friend dearly, but Veronica can be so insufferable when she’s proven right and Betty would never have been able to have a good time if she was spending the whole evening fielding off smug smirks.

Now that it’s just her and Jughead, it seems like—well, just the two of them, joking under the hood of his truck or bantering over eggs. The simplest act of just being around him; this is the part that has always felt easy.

And yet, somewhere between waking up knowing it was because he was no longer holding her and the tense conversation about things very explicitly unsaid, something has definitely changed. What it is, Betty doesn’t know, but it hangs between them; headier, hushed, and curling slowly like a tendril of smoke against the light.

A shift that makes the world feel just slightly tilted beneath her feet, drawing her closer towards him as if gravity itself commands it.

With a start, Betty realizes her fingers have slid down slightly, moving from his collar to his chest.

It feels thrillingly new; beyond the spare pull on his arm or the bit of snuggling on the couch last night—which had honestly been a daze of post-panic haziness, so she’s not even sure it totally counts—she hasn’t experimented with any kind of physical closeness with him until now.

Normally, she’d have already been finding excuses to lay her hand on his shoulder, or sneak in little touches, but up until this afternoon, she’d been so confused by what he wanted. Jughead seems like a guy who deeply values personal space until he's comfortable, so she hadn’t wanted to overstep or make him feel awkward.

But she knows it’s mutual now. He called this a date. So she presses her fingers gently against the fabric of his shirt and gladly plays with fire.

“Hi,” she says again.

“Hi,” he returns, his voice very low. His eyes rake across her face; it’s an expression she’s only seen him wear from afar, furiously typing away in the back of a booth at Pop’s, like he’s concentrating on some kind of thematic riddle.

“We probably shouldn’t keep them waiting,” Betty says, but she hasn’t moved.

Jughead scoffs, and the moment seems to fizzle out, like a sparking rope of dynamite that never quite reaches its point. “Look, I just spent the last hour listening to the saga of Archie’s battle for creative integrity over a talking duck commercial, so he can fucking stand to wait a bit.”

“Quote the quack, ‘Nevermore,’” Betty giggles.

Jughead laughs outright. “Yikes, Cooper. Should I make a joke about why a duck is like a writing desk?”

“Edgar Allen oh-no,” she says, and Jughead sighs with aplomb.

“Jesus, that’s terrible, Betts. Terrible. This joke is over, I’m calling it,” he says. “Poor Poe. He’s probably rolling in his grave as we speak.”

“Pretty sure he was waiting his whole life to sulk from beyond the grave, so I think it’s fine.”

His lips are pursed against a grin. His eyes sweep over her once more, and at this angle, Betty is sure he’s got a decent view of her cleavage. “Did I mention you look really nice?”

“It’s just jeans and a top,” she says, reluctantly dropping her hand from his chest because she can’t stand here forever, half-groping him with what she’s sure is an absurdly dopey expression.

Jughead snorts playfully. “I’ll be happy to prove you wrong on that. In iambic pentameter, if you want. Or, do you like haikus?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Betty sighs, but feeling ridiculously pleased. She loops her hands around his arm and tugs him towards Archie and Veronica. “Come on, Shakespeare.”

Upon the reunion, the four of them settle into the line for bowling shoes and lane assignments. Archie and Veronica are so deeply wrapped around one another that Betty feels nervous with just her elbow crooked around Jughead’s arm in comparison, so she drops it. She misses the warmth right away and instantly regrets it.

Veronica appraises Jughead with a nod. “Lovely shirt, by the way,” she says approvingly. “Nice to see you can clean up a bit.”

“Want me to take off my glasses so you can realize I’ve been beautiful all along?” Jughead drawls acerbically, which Betty expects is just because he knows a compliment on his wardrobe is a big deal coming from Veronica and it clearly embarrasses him.

“But you don’t wear glasses,” Archie says, his brow wrinkling with confusion. Jughead huffs, half exasperated and half amused.

“I gotta be honest,” Betty says, lacing her fingers behind her back as Jughead glances back her way. “I was almost expecting you to wear a tuxedo t-shirt.”

“No, this is good,” Jughead says, without missing a beat. He waves a hand between them. “Let’s just get what you really think of me out on the open early on.”

“Dude, you definitely owned one of those in middle school,” Archie says, tucking Veronica under his arms and resting his chin on the top of her head. He grins goofily at them.

“Whatever, shut up,” Jughead replies, so quickly that it veers on defensive. “I can’t be held accountable for my adolescent bullshit. Anyway, I have it on good authority that you still own a keyboard tie.”

“Uh, yeah, because those are funny,” Archie replies, like this is obvious.

“Oh my god, Archiekins,” Veronica says, twisting to look up at Archie. She looks so personally offended that Betty almost laughs out loud. “I’m so going to pretend I didn’t just hear that.”

In response, Archie just nuzzles against her neck until her expression turns soft again, leaving Jughead and Betty to exchange unimpressed looks.

It’s finally their turn in line, and everyone gives out their shoe sizes to the teenager behind the counter. As he runs off to collect their bowling shoes, Archie leans up against the counter and surveys Jughead with an expression of pure impishness.

“Too bad we’re not in Boston,” he says. “Because Jughead owns about four pairs of shoes—and one of those pairs happen to be bowling shoes.”

Betty looks up at Jughead with surprise. “You own your own bowling shoes?”

Jughead shrugs indifferently, his hands in his pockets. “What? They were on sale.”

“I just didn’t peg you for such a diehard,” Betty says, failing miserably at hiding a smile.

“Are you kidding?” Jughead says, raising his eyebrows. “It covers all my bases. It’s 90% sitting down, every bowling alley in America sells hot dogs and nachos, and…it’s a game of patience. Balance. Momentum. A certain je ne sais quoi,” he says, pinching his finger and thumb together and speaking in a terrible French accent that Betty knows Veronica would like to correct. “And again, a strong case to be made for the nachos.”

Honestly, when he explains it like that, bowling does seem like arguably the most Jughead-approved activity in the book. The conversation turns to the costs, which Archie and Jughead offer to split, but Betty tries to insert her own credit card, while Veronica admits she has no qualms about being treated to a free evening when she's about to go off to an expensive law school. Jughead rolls his eyes good-naturedly and doesn’t seem to mind Betty’s attempts to help pay, but Archie insists it’s the least they can do after all she’s doing for the truck, so eventually she withdraws her bid.

Meanwhile, the pimply teenager returns from the back and presents them with their shoes and available bowling lane. Immediately, Veronica has procured a moist towelette from her purse and is already wiping down her pair. She uses it to pick them up and carries the shoes in front of her at arm’s length, her lip curled into something very sour.

Jughead watches the whole exchange with interest. “Veronica doesn’t like germs,” Betty supplies in a half-whisper, leaning in against Jughead. He bumps her shoulder playfully and glances up at Veronica with amusement.

“Please. Find me a sane human being who does,” Veronica says over her shoulder. “Honestly, I still can’t believe I agreed to go bowling, of all things. Curiously, what’s the process on reporting identity theft?”

“C’mon. You said yes because you like me, babe,” Archie smirks, his arm dangling around her as they head towards their lane.

Babe, Jughead mouths at Betty, his eyes widening mischievously. She tries not to snigger.

When they all sit down, Veronica’s eyes are elsewhere beyond the alley, and it’s not until they’ve all changed into their rented shoes that she finally seems to snap back into the moment. Betty files away the moment for later, as it’s the same the faraway look she’d noticed back at Veronica’s apartment.

And it’s one thing for her best friend of over a decade to zone out when it’s just them, but it’s very unlike Ronnie to not be socially present among others.

“So,” Betty says, once they’ve set up their lane computer with their initials and game order. She sinks into the seat next to Jughead and puts her hands on her knees. “Should we do teams, maybe? Girls vs. boys?”

“Oh, honey, I would never do that to you,” Veronica replies, with a commiserating sort of look. She holds up both hands, her glossy manicure gleaming at Betty. “This is a seventy-five dollar manicure. I’m strictly bowling granny-style tonight. No, let’s stick with our dates. I have no problem leaving Archiekins to his own devices, but I couldn’t do that to my best girl.”

“Aw man,” Archie whines, as if he can’t help it. Veronica swivels towards him with a look that screams you did not just, so he very hastily adds, “Jughead’s just really good. I wanted him on my team.”

Jughead stretches his arms across his chest in a show of mock machismo. He grunts a little dramatically and glances over at Betty. “I mean, yeah. I don’t wanna brag, but…I’m gonna wipe the floor with all of you.”

Betty raises an eyebrow and shifts in her seat, crossing her legs so that she faces him. “Really, now?”

His arm slips around the back of her seat as he too twists towards her. “Oh, yeah,” he says, his voice dropping almost conspiratorially. “Hold onto your hat, Cooper.”

“I’ll put it with your missing beanie.” She means it jokingly, but the mood instantly shifts. Frowning, Jughead’s fingers dart up to his hair, as if about to tug on the hat that isn’t there.

“Yeah. I’m trying something out,” Jughead mumbles, dropping his hands back into his lap.

“What’s that?”

“Adulthood, I think,” he sighs, briefly glancing off at nothing. “Jury’s still out.”

Betty pauses, wondering what he means. But if nothing, she’s noticed the way the hat skirts around a sensitive subject, and seems to be some sort of long-held security blanket, so she suspects it has at least something to do with that.

“I like you with the hat,” she says gently. “But I also like you without it.”

His head is bowed slightly, but his eyes flick up. Clouds move across his face and Betty can’t begin to interpret the shape of them.

“So, Betty’s up first,” Archie says, with an air of impatience. Betty realizes that she and Jughead have been leaning in towards one another and having a very private conversation. She knows it’s a bit rude for a double date, but it’s a hard balance to strike for what is also her and Jughead’s very first.

The affection and comfort between Archie and Veronica only serves as stark reminder that Betty is on borrowed time with Jughead; she feels sorely behind schedule on where she’d like to be, so she consciously decides she wants to enjoy this.

(And she can’t help it if every time he looks at her, she feels like she’s about to jump out of her skin.)

She wants to know what her hands would feel like moving across the planes of his chest. Wants to brush the pad of her thumb against his bottom lip and memorize each freckle on his jaw.

It’s that thought, however, that forces Betty to accept that she must distract herself, lest she actually jump him thirty minutes into their first date.

She stands and selects a predictably pink bowling ball. Finding her pose, she swings her arm back, and lets the ball roll. It tumbles along the lane and takes down a comfortable number of pins. She manages to get all but two on her second try, and when she turns around, Jughead is grinning at her.

“Not too shabby,” he says, as she returns to her spot next to him.

Archie is next, and he does better than Betty, ending up with a spare. He throws Jughead a competitive sort of leer while Veronica very begrudgingly rises for her turn. As promised, she hugs the ball against her chest and simply lets it drop onto the smooth lane with a loud bang. It moves agonizingly slowly, but in the end somehow earns a perfect split.

When Jughead gets up, he takes his sweet time. He selects a green ball, puts it back, tries again with a black one, then a blue one, his fingers running deliberately over the surfaces all the while. This process goes on to the point where Archie calls out, “Dude, we don’t have all year, just bowl already,” and Jughead finally finds his mark.

He lines up against the lane, brings the ball up to his nose and then swings it back, dropping into a lunge as he sends it barreling down. It’s a perfect strike.

Betty and Veronica clap as he turns back around, but he just waves them off. “No paparazzi, please,” he mutters, dropping down next to Betty. He flashes her a wide, toothy grin that straddles the line of cocky, which is all the ammunition she needs for her imagination to start up again. Or, at least, that’s as PG-13 as she’ll allow herself to admit now that she’s noticed there’s a family of four bowling in the lane next to them.

This is getting ridiculous.

The game continues in a similar succession, and true to his promise, Jughead easily earns the highest score. Archie snags second place, while Betty and Veronica vacillate between third and fourth. Veronica’s technique of more or less dropping the ball onto the lane and walking away tends to either work radically well or not at all, so in the end, Betty manages a narrow defeat.

The decide they should try a second game (read: Archie demands a rematch), but Jughead insists he won’t play until he’s refueled, so he and Archie head off to the fast food grill in the back of the alley in search of greasy salvation.

Once they’re out of earshot, Betty scoots over to Veronica’s side of the chairs, excited to analyze how she think their date is going. But Veronica is staring off into space again, her chin propped up on the back of her hand, and doesn’t seem to realize Betty is even there until she says her name.

“Sorry B, did you say something?” She asks, blinking slowly as if to clear her thoughts.

“Okay, what’s up with you?” Betty demands, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve been acting weird all night.”

Veronica appears mildly shocked to have been called out—but to her credit, doesn’t deny it, which is probably what Betty would’ve done. She sighs and folds her hands carefully in her lap. “Do you think things are moving too quickly between me and Archie?”

It’s the last thing Betty expected her to say, so she’s briefly stunned silent. She nibbles her lips over the words, but decides Ronnie will want the truth. “Well, you know this is kind of what you do, right? You always throw yourself so fully into whatever you’re doing, right away. But I don’t know, V. Only you can answer that. Why do you ask?”

“I think you might’ve been right,” Veronica says in a half-whisper. Her eyes are lingering on a young couple giggling a few lanes down. “About why you were hesitant about Jughead. I’m starting to wonder if dating two highwaymen was a bad idea.”

Feeling like the air has left her lungs and alone with the thought you’re telling me this now?, Betty stares at Veronica, completely at a loss for words. Realizing the implications of what she’s said, Veronica turns to face her.

“I’m sorry, I don’t say it to scare you. You know I like Jughead, and I can tell he’s, like, Baroque-levels of romantic over you. But…honestly, Betty, I’m a little freaked out by how fast things are moving. We’re just spending so much time together. I see him on my lunch breaks, and then we’re together every single night,” she admits, worrying a red lip delicately between her teeth.

A pause sits like a body between them.

“Well, what would you tell me, if I was in your place?” Betty asks. This is the advice she always falls back on when she doesn’t know what else to say, but it doesn’t really apply here, since Betty is more or less also in Veronica’s place.

Veronica’s laugh is tinkling and sad as she uses the tip of her finger to stave off a tear. “To throw yourself into sex, probably,” she says around a scoff. She meets Betty’s eyes and sighs again. “I just… I thought that we were just having fun.”

“Are you not anymore?” Betty asks softly. She wonders if she’d read the wrong energy between Archie and Veronica; if she’d somehow mistook affection for a compensation for discomfort.

“We are, we are,” Veronica insists. Her eyes fall out of focus again as she fingers a gold chain around her neck. “But I just haven’t felt this way since Cheryl.”

Betty’s eyebrows shoot up; this is something that Veronica would never say lightly. She was with Cheryl for over three years; they talked about things like marriage and all other things that serious relationships get into. “How—”

“It’s not the same feeling, obviously,” Veronica interrupts, almost defensively. “They’re so different. The situation is so different. Cheryl and I had years and years of mounting tension before we ever did anything about it. Archie…it feels like I know him so well already. But really, hair color is the only thing they have in common.”

That and an obvious streak of competitiveness, but it won’t do any good to bring that up, so Betty just waits for Veronica to continue.

“With Cheryl…I loved her so much—and I always will, of course—but she drove me so crazy. She projected all of her insecurities onto me, she was so manic-depressive half the time, and refused to get help while we were together,” Veronica sighs, sniffing loudly. “Not that I didn’t play my part in that too—I got to the point where I’d just pick fights with her rather than ever try to talk about our issues. In the end, I was so exhausted. We were two immiscible liquids.”

She meets Betty’s eye as she dabs at her own, almost desperately trying to preserve her perfect black cat-eye makeup. “Archie is nothing like that. What you see is what you get; there’s no double meaning, no passive-aggressive repartee. It’s so relaxing, and so easy to be around him.”

Betty wants to say that Veronica can’t know that, can’t know him well enough to be so sure, but then she thinks of Jughead. Has she not already privately compared his strengths against Trev, locked away in the pink bedroom with the old thoughts? Has she, even just tonight, not thought about how it easy most things feel between them?

“And the sex, oh my god,” Veronica groans, pressing on her temples and pulling Betty back into the moment. “With Archie, it really feels like it could’ve been the start of something. And that, B, that is the crux of my crisis. I knew when and why Cheryl and I had run our course. But Archie and I are just getting started, and we’ll never know what we could’ve been.”

Betty understands all too well what Veronica means.

“This is all so uncharacteristically depressing of me, Betty,” she looks over at her with watery eyes, “but how much longer until the truck is finished?”

Betty exhales shakily. “Not much,” she admits warily. Like Veronica, things are moving faster than she anticipated, especially once she got the compressor ahead of schedule.

Veronica reaches over and grasps Betty’s hands. “Slow it down?” She asks, half a demand and half a plea. “I need more time to feel like this romantic tragedy isn’t being puppeteered by the Bard himself.”

She almost considers it. Almost allows the thought in, entertaining visions of more time, longer days, less anxiety, less impatience—but he has been very adamant from the get go that he has to be in Chicago at the end of the month, and she can’t betray him like that.

“I couldn’t do that to Jughead, V,” Betty says softly. “He’s going to his sister’s gradation, and I could never take that from him. And you know you couldn’t do that to Archie, either. Forcing someone to stay will only make them resent you.”

Veronica nods, like she expected this, but something exasperated swims in her eyes. “Are we still talking about the boys, or about you?”

Point taken, Betty thinks.

“Do you regret it?” She asks, after a long moment. She hooks her arm around Veronica and draws her against her shoulder, in the way they always do for one another when one of them is upset. “Starting things up with Archie?”

“No,” Veronica sighs. “But yes, in the more imminent sense.”

With a loud inhale, she sits up and attempts to settle into her usual perfect posture. “Sweetie, if you’re asking me if I think you shouldn’t pursue things with Jughead any further, unfortunately, my answer is still the same. I’m deep in the throws of ambiguity right now, but I still maintain that life is better lived as an Elizabeth Taylor than a Judith Campbell.”

Betty doesn’t get much of a moment to consider this, as Veronica quickly murmurs, “Oh, here they come,” and becomes an utter visage of composure. Jughead and Archie return with trays of drinks and piles of food, including a hefty pile of nachos that Jughead announces he intends to put away by himself.

He presents Betty with her requested order of curly fries, and the rest of the evening is spent eating and bowling. After the second game, Veronica opts out entirely and busies herself with online window shopping, and by the end of the night, Betty has definitely gotten a few helpful pointers from Jughead.

“Pretty soon you’ll be giving me a run for my money,” he says, after she uses his technique to win a strike.

“Yeah, sure. I bet you use these moves on all the girls,” she teases. “What is this, a sports movie?”

Jughead scoffs. “What girls? Betty, you’re the first person I’ve asked out in years. Actually—” He pauses, clearly thinking. “Wait, nope, Ethel asked me out. Unless you count the time I asked Ginger Lopez to dance because I lost a bet to Archie, you’re the first official one.”

Her eyes widen with this information, because she thinks Jughead is way too good-looking for this to be true. But not every attractive person spends their entire life fielding off romance like Veronica or Cheryl, so maybe she shouldn’t assume. Some of this must show on her face, however, because a flush quickly appears at the tips of his ears.

“Not that—I mean, I’ve had—shit,” he mutters, scrunching up his face. She doesn’t understand what he’s stammering around at first, but then she realizes he’s talking about sex. “I’m just not much of a relationship guy, I mean.”

This sends a stone straight to the bottom of her stomach, even though, in reality, it should make her feel relieved. If he isn’t looking for a relationship, she’s really got nothing to be worried about, right? It’s better that he’s upfront with her about it, so they can mess around a little without any strings or expectations on Betty’s end.

This is good, she tells herself, even as it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

Later, when they’re finally bowled out, there’s a half-hearted attempt to muster enthusiasm for drinks, but Veronica and Archie exchange completely obvious eyes of yearning and announce they’re feeling too “tired.”

Betty and Jughead watch the other two practically race each other to Veronica’s car, and once the vintage Mercedes is out of sight, Betty turns to him. “Want a ride?”

Jughead licks his lips. “Oh, sure. I was just gonna call a Lyft, but…always looking a way to pinch a penny.”

The whole ride back to his motel, something like anticipation creeps very slowly up her neck. It’s unnervingly satisfying in a way that is absolutely torturous, and given the way Jughead’s knee is aggressively bouncing up and down, she thinks he feels it too.

When they pull into the parking lot, it’s completely empty. A blue road sign overhead begs for vacancy, there’s not a soul in sight, the wind rustles a tree, and it feels like they’re the only people left in town.

She cuts the engine and glances over. “I had a really fun time tonight, Juggie,” she says as she twists towards him, unprepared for the distracted, darkened look in his eye. He fidgets with a thought, and then he moves.

His hands cup her face in order to present her with just the tiniest amount of warning before he’s kissing her.

He pulls back quickly, just enough to say something. His eyes dance rapidly across her face. “I—” He starts, but it’s promptly muffled by Betty chasing after his lips, desperate for an excuse to exorcise the tension between them. With the gearshift on the wheel, the front seat is nothing but a continuous cushion that they can stretch out along, so she crawls back against him until he’s pressed into the passenger door.

She’s not sure what exactly she’d been expecting, but whatever it was, she would’ve been wrong.

Their mouths move open against each other with an almost frenzied type of haste, as everything that’s sat slowly boiling between them finally begins to whistle its warning. Every touch lights her on fire; even with the simplest way where he presses his thumbs into the dimples where her back dips lowest, Betty’s whole body finds a new way to warm.

Maybe it’s the fearful, watery confession from Veronica still haunting her thoughts, but Betty is suddenly overcome by a wanton impatience. She wants him, and she wants him now. Jughead’s hands move to her arms, and seem to be trying to slow her down, but she ignores it. Doesn’t he realize how much time they’ve already wasted?

In the back of her mind, she knows this might be too much, too fast, but her skin is flushed with gooseflesh and all she cares about is chasing the burn between her legs. So Betty wraps her arms around his neck, smothers the thought, and sings a silent hymn for the life of vintage cars.

She kisses him in the type of car made for a midnight rendezvous and love in the time of moonlight; she kisses him like the whisper of a willow tree rippling along the water, in the secluded kind of hideaway known only by lovers.

She kisses him with a ticking clock, like the very one that still sits on the dashboard of her car. The second hand has been clicking into place for over fifty years, and won’t stop now.

Time and momentum are funny things, she realizes dimly. If momentum is the mark left behind as proof of time, but time is just a human perception, what is truth, as that clock quietly ticks along? Is it counting down to something, or forever going in circles?

All she knows is the two must work in tandem, ever passing one another and never quite meeting, and both seem to be a measure of something that both poetry and science have been trying to put to pen for centuries.

Betty has wanted more time before.

She’s felt the imminence of change, from childhood into adulthood and from having a life into just living. She’s said goodbye to the job she loved and the new city that held nothing but possibilities. She’s held her dying father’s hand and sobbed into his hospital bed and learned far too much about appreciating what you have, when you have it.

Like the bowling ball curving down the lane with intentions to strike, momentum swings into collision between them, and she’s never wanted more time than what she has with Jughead.

She fists a hand into his hair as he sits up slightly against the car door in order to drop kisses onto her neck, shoulder, and anywhere in reach that isn’t her mouth. She throws her head back to give him better access, and enthusiastically murmurs, “I want you,” into the air.

“Betts,” he attempts to mumble against her skin, but she’s afraid to hear it, so she shifts forward and drags her teeth against his bottom lip.

“Betty,” he tries again, more urgently, when she finally breaks for air. But she’s not known for much more than apple pie, fixing cars, and an acute case of tunnel vision, so she carries straight on.

“Do you want me to come up?” She whispers, sliding her palm down his stomach as she peppers his jaw with kisses. He’s straining beneath her and she has only one thought: I can help with that—but, to her surprise, he catches her hand just before it can reach the edge of his pants.

She blinks up at him, sure she’s about to see rejection in his face. Instead, his eyes are practically black with want, but his expression is nothing short of tortured. “I don’t…have anything,” he says, with meaning. “I wasn’t expecting—I didn’t want to assume—”

She squints at him, and then understands. He doesn’t have condoms.

“I’m not on the pill,” she tries to say, but she’s breathing so heavily that it takes a moment. She hasn’t been on birth control since breaking up with Trev, for no real reason except what was probably some kind of unconscious defense mechanism against moments exactly like this one.

Their shoulders rise and fall with a long breath as they catch the disappointment in each other’s eye.

It gives her a moment to finally gets a good look at what she’s done to him; his neck has all the makings of a warzone, his once pristine, crisp shirt is shoved forcefully half off and the black tank top underneath has been pushed up, exposing the defined expanse of skin she’s only seen once before and thought much of since.

She can’t see herself, but assumes she looks about the same kind of ruined. Her hair feels tangled and wild down her back, and she at least knows her own shirt is ridden up to her ribs.

His head falls back against the fogged window with a palpable thump.

With a start, Betty remembers where they are, and immediately blushes madly—not that it’s anything redder than the flush she already had. Betty Cooper, as you live and breathe. She can’t believe she nearly tried to give him a handjob in parking lot of a motel.

An empty parking lot, save for themselves, but there’s no way to know someone hadn’t walked by and seen them aggressively making out in a car like horny teenagers. Betty groans with embarrassment and hides her head in the crook of his shoulder; he’s still hard beneath her, but he chuckles anyway.

He curls a lock of her hair around his finger as she shifts against him, and tucks herself into a position that is decidedly less compromising. Still spread out along the length of the car, he welcomes her new spot against him, as one leg dangles off the driver’s seat and the other is propped up around her. They’re still breathing heavily.

“This is probably for the best,” Jughead says after a long moment, which makes Betty still. He notices, and rushes to add, “I just mean…we should take things a little slower, right?”

She can feel him looking at her and so she resolutely keeps her head down. She picks at a loose thread on her jeans. “Why?”

“Why?” Jughead repeats, confused.

Betty still can’t make herself look at him. “Do you not want me?”

“I think you can still feel the evidence to the contrary,” Jughead mutters, his hand on her knee. “There’s nothing not to want.” Something in his tone is asking her to look at him, but she won’t be able to get through this if she does.

“Okay, then. Well, we don’t have a lot of time together,” she says slowly. She thinks of Veronica and her advice; bravely going after what she wants, even in the face of doom. She thinks of all the forgotten promises she swore to herself, fresh off her father's death, that she would enjoy the people in her life for whatever little time she had them. She thinks of the ill-fated lovers on the pages of Jughead’s mind, and the fact that he isn’t a relationship guy.

“We’re just getting this out of our systems, right? Just sex? So we don’t wonder ‘what if’ down the line? So why take it slow?”

Finally, she glances up, but has no idea what to make of his expression. It’s guarded and thoughtful and mutable all at once and reveals absolutely nothing. “Yeah,” he says at last. “We’ll keep it just physical.”

It’s what she asked for, what she’s decided as the safest inevitable route to hell, but it still digs like a knife to the gut. “Yep. We’re adults. Our eyes are open,” she says, in a strange voice she doesn’t recognize as her own.

She wants to ask—what would you say if things were different? What would you want from me?

If they’d met in a circumstance less looming, if they’d known each other longer, had more time together—would he still have so casually mentioned he’s not interested in relationships? Would she have changed that in him?

Probably not, she thinks. She’s never been enough to will fate into her bidding before, so it’s unlikely this would’ve been any different.

Jughead’s mouth opens and closes, as if he can’t wrap around what he’d like to say.

A moment earlier, and she might’ve pointed out that there’s still plenty they can do without the need for condoms, but she now recognizes her impatience as overcompensation for fear of losing him. The resulting embarrassment is all she needs to kill the mood.

“Do you still—” He starts, but Betty slides away, back towards the driver’s seat.

“I should get home,” she says, facing the wheel and pushing her hair back from her face.

Jughead doesn’t move, still strewn out; his foot jiggles nervously against her thigh. “Are we—”

“We’re good,” Betty says firmly, forcing herself to look at him. The makings of tears start to sting warningly at her eyes, so she blinks quickly in order to keep them at bay. She stretches forward and squeezes his hand. “We can go out tomorrow night, and…try this all again?”

His eyes sweep over her face, and then he relaxes, slumping against the door. “Okay,” he says, somewhat tentatively but smiling all the same. “And I’ll, uh, be more prepared next time.”

Right.

Even so, Betty thinks she won’t be.

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #betty x jughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #like is this how i should be tagging things i'm still unclear #anyway this one's a fucking doozy #like #can't even so

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