Immortals AU (aka the AU where Cheryl, Jughead and Veronica have known each other for over 500 years)
So a lovely anon submitted a tiny jeronica + cheryl oneshot inspired by my immortals AU, have a look!
these are two different scenes, taking centuries apart, and even though they aren’t very long (shockingly these scenes are taken from a WIP that has collected more dust than my bookshelves lmao), i enjoyed writing them. i like to think they highlight how utterly ridiculous jughead is.
Forsythe has an aptitude for writing, stringing words effortlessly together and painting a vivid picture, it sometimes comes easier to him than breathing. Once his talent was limited to the spoken word solely, but then one day the words inside his head hound him so viciously the only way to make them stop is by spilling them out on a piece of paper. Veronica is the first person to read his finished work, and when she is done she gazes at him in awe.
The first book he creates, under the name Forsythe Jones, is, to put it bluntly, a complete failure. But that doesn’t dishearten him and he continues writing. Since he can’t keep using his real name forever, he adopts different aliases, like Robert Burton (when he lived in England) or Jonathan Swift (when he lived in Ireland) but his most successful alias is by far Edgar Allan Poe. Suddenly he’s renowned and everybody wants to talk to him; he starts disguising himself, by dressing differently, doing his hair differently, and he even grows a mustache. This new innovation called photography is prevalent and he can’t risk having precise pictures where he looks like himself circulating about.
When Veronica visits him, she wrinkles her nose at his appearance. “This look doesn’t suit you, Forsythe,” she says.
“Don’t worry, once I kill Edgar I will abandon the disguise.”
She smiles at him and hooks a finger under his chin, leaning close. “Good,” she says and kisses him.
When they pull apart, she complains with a laugh about how his mustache tickles her.
Sometime during the hippie movement when he’s living in San Francisco, Forsythe changes his name to Jughead. Veronica and Cheryl stare at him incredulously when he tells them to address him by his new name while they are sitting on a chartreuse couch in his airy, sunny loft.
“Why?” they ask in unison with creased foreheads.
“Whenever I met someone new and told them my name was Forsythe, they usually commented on what a peculiar and old-fashioned name it was. So I thought it was time for something more modern.”
Cheryl shakes her head and waves a hand about. “You seriously need to stop hanging out with these people.”
“These people could teach you a thing or two about life, Cheryl,” he says in earnest. He’s not joking or being sarcastic or snarky. What the hell.
Cheryl scoffs at him and Veronica chuckles. “Okay, so, Jughead, where did you pick up this remarkable name?” Veronica tries not to burst out in laughter while she is saying it. The situation is ridiculous, but then again he always has had a penchant for the eccentric. The Edgar Allan Poe saga is a testament to that.
He beams at them. “I came up with it myself.”
Cheryl leans forward, hands splayed out on bent knees. “Be honest, are you drinking their blood? Is it so sweet and full of opioids it’s fogging your brain?”
“No,” he says emphatically. “You know I only drink from blood bags.”
Veronica gives Cheryl a nudge with her elbow. “If he’s happy, we shouldn’t mock him for it, right, Cheryl?”
“Right,” Cheryl says. “Though I really want to,“ she mutters under her breath.
“I heard that,” Jughead says, but he’s smiling.
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