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librosamarillos · 1 year

Text

passed down like folk songs

chapter 3: you're alive, so alive

Maegor Targaryen x OC

Also on Ao3

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Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, angst, mature themes, targaryen incest, violence, Maegor is a red flag himself, characters are ooc probably, MINORS DNI

Awkward teen crushes ammirite? Shoutout to pampers.com for providing me with so many names for Rowan's family!

The manor of house Evergreen was located up in the forest covered mountains in Starfall. Rowan recalled her fond memories, playing with her cousins amongst the trees, always cautious to not disturb the animals that inhabited the forest, of course. There were rumours that the forest was haunted, that one could go crazy if they walked alone at night, but she never believed them, even as a child. At night, it was pitch black, the only light coming from the moon and stars, so of course it was scary to navigate a forest, with wild animals living in it, no wonder people ‘heard voices’. Rowan knew, it was most unwise to walk alone at night within those trees, as mesmerising as they looked in daylight.

Lucas Evergreen, her beloved uncle, was a calm and kind man. He was married to Lady Maura and they had five children together, her cousins Finn, Erin, Max, Lewis and little Archie They had lived in the same manor as long as Rowan could recall. Her father’s job required him to travel from Starfall, to Oldtown, to King’s Landing, to Dragonstone, even up north, so it made sense for him to want his wife and daughter to not be alone.

The thought of her mother made her sad. She was only seven when she died, but it was not a quick death. Her illness took her away slowly, day by day, for six moons. No matter how many maesters came, their skills could only prolong the inevitable. No one had to tell her, or explain, Rowan could see that her mother was dying right in front of her eyes. Her father was in such grief, before her mother was even taken by the stranger. But her mother seemed at peace. She did not appear scared, or worried, just serene. She’d just smile at her when she’d climb into bed with her, refusing to sleep in her own chambers, for fear the stranger would take her away during the night.

And yet, in the sept when she prayed, that’s exactly what she’d ask the stranger to do. She knew her mother was in such pain and could barely eat, was it not cruel to keep her suffering when nothing could be done? So she’d pray to the stranger to take her mother away gently, while she was asleep, the way her mother would carry her back to her room when she’d fall asleep in the drawing room, with the faint sound of laughter in her ears. That dying would be easy, painless, that the stranger would take her into his arms like a warm embrace and lead her to the heavens in peace. But she could not help herself but pray for a miracle, for her health to take a turn for the better, and all could be as it was. She knew it was silly, impossible even. Some things cannot be helped, can they?

She looked up to her mother so much. Lady Edith was the smartest person she’d met, her father agreed. They had met at the citadel, her parents, at a young age, and according to her father, had fallen in love at first sight. Although, her mother did clarify, the love they had was one they built slowly over the years, not an instantaneous thing, even if that made a better story. She had plans to become a septa, but her father, Duncan Evergreen, had swept her off her feet, and those plans were ruined. She would always tell Rowan that her education was the most important tool they could give her as parents, that her intelligence would be her greatest weapon, but to never let that make her forget to be kind. It was their duty to use what we’ve been blessed with to build something that helps those in need, her father would say often. She hoped she’d one day be able to do just that.

Rowan recalled their weekly visits to the sept, how she treasured them with all her heart. Her favourite visits were when her father would be home as well, and they’d all go, along with her uncle, her aunt and cousins. She could recall the layout of the Starfall sept better than her own home. She remembered how she and Erin would leave the boys behind and run around, hiding behind the statues. She missed them all dearly.

The day she woke up and found her mother was taken by the stranger in the night, just as she had prayed he’d do, was the day when it all became blurry. She remembered screaming at her father to wake up, that mother was gone, how she wept and wept, clinging onto her, how wrong it felt for someone so warm could feel so cold to the touch. She remembered her father weeping with her, holding onto them both. At some point, her aunt and uncle came in, taking her in their arms, to console her, to take her away from her mother’s body. The week was a blur. She could barely recall anything from the funeral, she didn’t fully comprehend who was coming up to her to hug her and offer condolences, nothing felt real.

Everyone in the manor felt the sorrow. Lucas and Maura had grown so close to Edith, her absence was like a hole in all of them. All the adults seemed to worry about Rowan, she remembered their looks full of concern, and she didn’t blame them. She could barely get out of bed, her appetite was all but gone, she didn’t recall when she had last smiled, all good reasons to worry. Slowly, she pulled herself together, her cousins cheering her up, getting her through her grief. Her mother had two brothers that came to visit them, Liam and Sean, both septons in Oldtown. She remembered them when her parents took her to Oldtown once, and they were comforting presences that helped her greatly.

Before she knew it, a year had passed, and her father was called to Dragonstone to continue his duties. What surprised Rowan, was when he sat her down to tell her that the Queen wished for her to join as well. He thought some travelling and a change of scenery would do her some good. She didn’t see why not, although the idea of dragons terrified her to no end. Up until then, she had found the company of the maesters and the books to be her favourite, with all she was learning only igniting her to look for more. She grew to love Dragonstone. Not only did she enjoy the company of the Queen, she was pretty sure she had found her best friend in Maegor. And even though she would see him again, six moons seemed awfully long. She didn’t want to leave. But they found a way around that, writing letters as much as they could. Despite being surrounded by her family, she felt loneliness hit her when she’d read his letters.

“You’re not listening to me again, hey!” Erin’s voice rang.

“Sorry, sorry, my mind was away.” she admitted.

“Thinking about the fancy capital again?” her cousin teased.

“No, not at all, Dragonstone actually.”

“I still cannot get over that the Queen herself offered for you to fly on her dragon and you refused! If I were you I’d beg her to even let me touch it!” Erin huffed.

“I told you, dragons frighten me. Vhagar is huge!”

“Gods! You’re such a baby!”

“I already have Maegor teasing me about this, I don’t need a reminder from you!” she laughed.

The next time they had seen each other, Rowan could not believe just how much taller he grew. Almost three and ten, yet he was just as tall as his own father. And by the feeling of him hugging her as a greeting, he seemed just as strong. He laughed at her surprised face, teasing her for staying almost as short as she was before. She smiled, looking at his face, he still had a boyish look about him. She liked it.

After what had happened between him and his father, Maegor had thrown himself into training like his life depended on it. He wanted to prove himself, not just worthy, but better than his father, stronger, bigger. Rowan could tell he was doing this to distract himself from the pain his father caused, or perhaps as a way to let it out. She could see he was becoming ruthless, angrier, she could not blame him, but it did worry her. She’d be the only one pestering him to remember about his studies, that he cannot rely solely on his fighting skills.

“So, you think I’m skilled with the sword?” he asked, teasingly.

“I think you’re very gifted, yes. Now please focus, did you even read this?” she asked in annoyance, raising an eyebrow at her friend.

“But it sounds so much better when you read it to me. And you explain things so well.” he smiled, before getting hit with parchment.

“Please be serious!” she laughed.

“I’m being absolutely serious! And you respond with such treason? That’s not very kind of you, Lady Evergreen.” he laughed.

“Let’s just finish this chapter- Maegor, come on.” she sighed at her friend, who had just laid his head on top of his arms, his eyes on her.

“I’m listening, go on.” he smiled, but Rowan didn’t return it.

“Do you ever realise how lucky you are?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you know a lot of lords do not know how to read? They rely on their maesters for everything. Do you think that’s wise?” she frowned.

“No, it sounds stupid, to not know your own house’s affairs.” he huffed.

“Exactly. Now, is it wise for a Prince to not study his land’s history? To not understand the culture of the people he’s meant to be in charge of?” she asked.

Maegor only frowned, unwilling to admit defeat.

“You cannot rely only on the sword Maegor, you cannot separate strength and intelligence. Then you’ll have the fighting done by idiots and the thinking done by cowards.” she said.

“Does that make you a coward then?” he asked, brow raised.

“Yes, were you not the one calling me one before?” she gave a small smile.

“I didn't mean it like that, you know that right?” for a second he seemed worried.

“I’m not upset, it’s true. I’m afraid of a lot of things that I’m sure you wouldn’t even flinch at the idea of. But I’ll try to get over my fears, just as you’ll focus on your studies, right?” she urged, gently patting his shoulder.

“Fine, fine, you’re right.” he admitted, his face lighting up, a devious smirk on his lips. “So you’ll approach Vhagar then.” he stated.

“I see that wasn’t a question.” she pouted. “Fine, but don’t just throw me in there, I need time. Dragons are scary.” she frowned at Maegor’s chuckle. “Hey, if they weren’t scary, I don’t think they’d help your family conquer Westeros.”

“Alright, I’m only teasing you. But tomorrow I’ll ask mother to take us close to her, alright?”

“Well then, since that’s settled, can we go back to the last chapter please?”

Maegor could not contain his laughter at Rowan’s expression. She looked so tiny and scared in front of Vhagar, despite his mother urging her to go closer. Vhagar eyed her curiously, slowly moving her head toward her direction, making Rowan grab him by the arm, holding onto him for dear life. He wanted to laugh again, but he enjoyed the feeling more than he’d like to admit. Maybe he didn’t mind her being scared of dragons if it meant she’d hold his hand. Still, he led her closer to where his mother stood, whispering that it would all be okay.

“I couldn’t even walk when mother took me to fly with Vhagar, she won’t hurt you.” he tried to soothe her.

“Come, give me your hand.” his mother’s voice seemed to convince Rowan more.

The feeling was foreign to her, he could see her trying to steady her breaths, not wanting to make sudden movements. He smiled. He knew which dragon he would claim one day, perhaps she’d join him in the skies and cling onto him there too. His mother shot him an amused smile, and only then did he realise he was blushing.

He didn’t tease Rowan, preferring to ask her how she felt, more importantly, if she’d one day like to fly. She seemed hesitant, but perhaps out of kindness, she gave him a maybe. He’d take it, and one day hold her to her words. His mother seemed beyond amused at him. Maegor wanted to hide his face, but doing so would give his mother the satisfaction that she was right. Not that she needed it, she knew. She’d often tease him about how eager he was to read any letter she would send, she knew her son. She never said anything about it, not directly, which meant she didn’t mind, right?

Visenya came to dread returning to King’s Landing. After the loss of their sister, things between her and Aegon were even more distant than ever. But her Maegor had his nameday soon, and she’d be damned if the people didn’t celebrate him like they had Aenys. She organised a tourney in his name, something he grew to love. She was so proud of him. Visenya knew he’d be participating the second she told him, so she had prepared special gifts for him. She could see how he also dreaded coming back here, the calmness Rowan seemed to bring him washing off as soon as he saw his father and half-brother. Aenys, to everyone’s surprise, greeted Maegor with an embrace, telling him he was happy to see him again. Her son only nodded, clearly wishing to get everything over with.

He surely wished to rant about it to Rowan. Visenya let it happen, they were still children, people wouldn’t whisper about them just yet. She thought it was sweet, her son’s crush, she rarely got to see him blush like a little boy, since he was now taller than a lot of men she knew, she found it adorable. Besides being his friend, Rowan seemed to bring him joy, as she often passed them and heard them laugh so freely, so genuinely, in the way only children could. She grew to love the girl like her own, so she was glad her son’s first crush was with someone she knew she could trust with his heart.

A knock on her door startled her. Who in the world could it be at this late hour? Rowan wrapped herself in her robe and carefully opened the door, a relieved smile gracing her face when Maegor slipped inside quickly.

“You know you can’t be here, what happened?”

“Nothing happened, I just wanted to see you, that’s all.” he grinned.

“Can’t sleep because of the tourney?” she asked.

“Yes, but because I did have something to ask you.” he confessed.

“Oh? What is it?” she wondered.

“Will you make a favour?”

“A favour? I wasn’t planning on it, why?”

“What if I asked you for it?”

“You’d ask for my favour? For the tourney?”

“I would. If you’d be so kind as to make one.” he stated, with a slight blush.

“It’s not like you’d even need it, but if you wish, I’ll make you one in the morning, the prettiest one.” she smiled, a blush forming on her cheeks as well.

“Thank you.” he smiled. “But don’t give it to anyone else!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my Prince!” she laughed.

Maegor smiled once more, seeming to enjoy how much taller he was from her. She caught his eyes scanning the room before stopping on her desk, on the little box that was carefully wrapped, a devious grin on his lips.

“Is that for me?” he teased eagerly.

“Okay, goodnight Maegor, I’ll see you tomorrow!” she laughed, pushing him out of her chambers.

He laughed as well, letting her push him out, while they both knew he could stop her at any moment. But he let her. And she was left alone in her chambers with her face red and her heart racing. She’d have to run to the florist first thing. Would her father be upset if she gave Maegor her favour? She knew her father was getting a bit uncomfortable with them being close, now that they were getting older, and King’s Landing wasn’t the secluded and quiet Dragonstone, but surely it would be fine. As far as anyone was concerned, she’s one of many ladies he’d potentially ask the favour of, no? A huge smile spread on her face when she thought that she was the one he wanted the favour of.

“I have something for you.” his mother announced, first thing in the morning.

With that, three servants rushed inside, holding brand new armour, smooth, black, the Targaryen sigil on the chest, the helmet resembling a dragon. Maegor was stunned, looking from the armour to his mother, who smiled gently at him. Words failed him, but he gave her a hug, something he found they didn’t do much. She rubbed his shoulder and pulled back to look at him proudly.

“You’re almost a man grown, it is only fitting that you have proper armour. Happy nameday Maegor.” she said, placing a small kiss on his forehead. “Now get dressed, there’s something else I want to give you before the tourney.” with that she left, leaving the servants to dress him up.

He looked in the mirror and couldn’t help a smile. He felt like a proper man in armour, like the warrior he was born to be. He’d definitely be showing it off to Rowan after he wins the tourney later. He’d also show everyone watching who the worthy heir truly was.

His mother was waiting for him in her drawing room, a look of pride on her face.

“Look at you.” she said, cupping his face, giving his forehead another kiss. “How do you feel?” she asked.

“Ready.” he said, earning a small laugh.

“I wouldn’t expect anything but.” she turned to grab something, making Maegor’s eyes grow wide with surprise.

“Mother? Is that-”

“It is.” she said, holding Dark Sister in her hands. “This sword was with me during the entirety of the conquest, it’s the sword that brought me to victory and glory, and now, it belongs to you, my son.” she said, placing the sword in his hands.

“Mother, I do not know what to say, I- Thank you! I will make you proud.” he said.

“You’ve always made me proud Maegor, I do not doubt it for a second you’ll achieve even more victories than I have with it. It’s in your blood, after all.” she smiled.

He took one final look at himself in the mirror in his mother’s rooms, he truly looked like a warrior now. His mother laughed.

“She’ll think you’re very handsome, now come on. You cannot be late to your own tourney!”

The tourney was huge, so many people were here. Rowan and her father were seated next to the Queen, who smiled at her knowingly. She froze. Did Maegor tell her? Did she know? Visenya looked at her and at the favour on the cushion next to her, giving her a small nod. Rowan felt her face heat up. Her father gave her a questioning look, before meeting the Queen’s gaze. He smiled as well, wrapping an arm around his daughter, who wanted to completely disappear.

“We’re not laughing at you, my sweet, it’s just endearing.” he laughed, kissing her temple.

“I- it’s not like that, it’s just…” she trailed.

Was it like that?

She didn’t have much time to dwell in her thoughts, as the King stood up to make an announcement, making the crowd go silent. He and Aenys were regally dressed, covered in gold and rubies, and Visenya seemed to follow that as well.

“We are here today to celebrate the third and tenth nameday of my son, the Prince Maegor of House Targaryen.” his voice boomed, pausing for the loud cheer to die down. “I am also proud to announce that he will be participating in his first tourney.” another loud cheer from the crowds. “Let us begin!” he announced, happy at the response.

Rowan watched nervously, averting her eyes from the fighting. She was truly not one to enjoy such events, but she didn’t want to miss it either. Her father held her hand, knowing how she was, reassuring her that it was alright to look away, which she did occasionally. Until Maegor’s name was announced. Her eyes shot up, looking at him approaching on his horse, looking like a masterfully sculpted statue.

As he came closer, both she and Aenys got up, to offer their encouragement. Maegor seemed annoyed that his brother was there, but kept his eyes on her.

“Looking sharp brother! You’ve got this!” Aenys’ voice was pleasant, filled with joy.

Maegor gave him a small thank you, not used to this kind of affection from him.

“I was hoping to ask for your favour, Lady Evergreen.” he gave her a smile she could barely see beneath his helmet.

Rowan blushed, turning around to get the wreath she had so carefully constructed in the morning, seeing the amused smile on Visenya’s face and the look of confusion on Aegon’s. Still she made it back, placing the favour on the lance Maegor raised close to her.

“Good luck, my Prince.” she said shyly, earning another smile from him.

She went to sit back down, only to realise that Prince Aenys had been looking at her with an amused smile from next to Aegon. She tried not to die from embarrassment, but again, she did not have time to dwell on it, nor did anyone else.

Maegor fought with such rigour, such fire, that he was putting seasoned warriors to shame in minutes, making the crowd cheer so loud it made Rowan’s ears hurt. He fought like a wild beast, like he was born with the sword in his hand. She couldn’t take his eyes off of him. Before the end of the day, he was the undisputed victor. A boy of three and ten. Once the King announced him the winner, there was a smile on his face, one of pride, one that Rowan never saw addressed to Maegor, not until now.

The great feast that followed found Rowan socialising with other young girls her age. She recognised some familiar faces from the feasts she had attended around the Reach, including Lana Tyrell, who was a bit older than her, but proved to be pleasant company. Maegor was lost in a sea of newfound admirers, including his own brother, which seemed to both amuse and annoy him greatly. But Rowan could not save him from that, she wasn’t seated at the royal table, but she did cast him many amused smiles when their eyes met.

She let out a long sigh of relief when she finally reached her chambers, wanting nothing more than to jump in her bed. She was debating if she was too tired to request a bath, for fear she’d fall asleep in the tub, when a knock startled her.

“Come in.” she smiled, knowing immediately who it was.

Maegor made sure to close the door quietly, a small smile on his face.

“I thought you’d still be out celebrating.” she said.

“Aenys was beginning to get insufferable.” he answered.

“Oh come on, he’s trying to be close to you! He looked so proud today.” she protested.

“And you?” he asked. “Were you proud?”

“Very. You fought greatly Maegor, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you!” she smiled, before realising what she said, much to Maegor’s amusement. “I meant, because you were so good and- you know what I mean.”

“I see, I see.” he laughed. “You know, I still didn’t receive my gift. I’ve been waiting since yesterday, you know I’m not patient.” he grinned.

“Oh, I just didn’t get the chance to find you, I would give it to you tomorrow, but since you’re here,” she turned to give him the gift. “It’s not… I’m sure you could have something much fancier, but it made me think of you.” she blurted.

Maegor looked down at her with a soft smile, before unwrapping and opening the box, pausing to marvel at the ring inside. It was simple, gold, with an intricate design etched in and a small ruby in the center. He always scoffed at the intricate and bulky rings the men around court wore, insisting they would get in the way of his training, but this… this would work just fine. He met her nervous gaze again, his smile wider.

“I know you hate the big rings, so I thought you’d prefer this- But, but if you don’t it’s alright-”

“I love it.”

“In truth?”

“I shall wear it everyday.” he said, a little too softly.

He tried to put it on his ring finger, before noticing it was a little loose. Rowan let out a small chuckle, before reaching to take it off.

“It’s meant for your index finger, here.” she explained.

She gently held onto his hand, placing the ring on the correct finger, but not letting go right away. She felt the cuts and calluses on his hands, marvelling at how much bigger they were compared to hers. For a few silent moments, Maegor seemed to do the same, marvelling at her soft and gentle hands, wondering how they could be so delicate. Rowan was the first to step back, much to both of their dismay.

“I’m really happy you liked it.”

“I’m very grateful to you for giving it to me. I must also thank you, for your favour has helped me win today.” he grinned.

“Come on, as if you weren’t training since you could walk. You barely needed it.” she blushed.

“But I did.” he said plainly, walking closer to her.

“It was an honour, you know.”

“Hardly.” he laughed. “I should probably head back.” he said regrettably, to which Rowan nodded.

He was almost at the door when he felt her hand on his shoulder. He turned to see her contemplating face, to which he raised a brow. Praying to the gods for courage, Rowan stood on her tip toes and placed a small kiss on his cheek, leaving them both stunned and blushing. Neither dared to move, nor say a thing.

“I… I wish you a happy nameday, Maegor.” she managed to stutter out.

taglist:@heartstalked@stupidocupido@discowizard88

#maegor targaryen x oc #maegor targaryen #maegor the cruel #yes the chapter titles are all taylor swift propaganda go listen to her #no i dont know how tourneys work

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inniezinnie · 10 months

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Middle Aged and Retired Haikavehtham 👴💚💛👴

In which they reach the golden age of 60 and coexist. Because yes.

True to his character, Alhaitham will be the first to retire (right on the day of his 60th birthday of course, going out with golden grace). He'd then be spending his time at home reading more books and newspapers, taking care of plants, and feeding the neighborhood cats.

Kaveh retires at 64 years old from both being an architect and guest lecturer, deciding to finally take a break after seeing how Alhaitham enjoyed his. He has finally found peace with himself by then, and feels accomplished enough to "let go" (hurray!!!).

Also he settled all his debts by 40, if you're wondering. They're still living together though - with the biggest savings accounts each imaginable (of Sumeru). This is a secret, of course.

Now at the great ages of 64 and 62, they're always at home and have nothing to do.

Uh oh.

Sure, they do not bicker as much as they did before, and are living with each other with undisturbed peace, but it does get boring most of the time. They don't find each other boring, no. They're just bothered by not doing anything productive enough to stimulate their brains.

Things only get worse when they find out that Puspa Cafe has closed down!!! The manager has retired and no youngsters wanted to take over. NOOOOO.

Which is why one day, Kaveh proposes the wonderful idea--

"Hayi, why don't we purchase Puspa Cafe and run it as its owners?"

"Hm, that'd be.. interesting," said Alhaitham, taking it into consideration.

"We can also turn it into a book cafe!" Kaveh exclaimed, clapping his hands together with zeal. Despite his age, the wrinkles on his face has only made him more beautiful and endearing in Alhaitham's eyes. How they crease up sheer joy sends shockwaves through his heart. He'd never refuse his sweetest beloved. And how could he turn down the idea of books?

"I don't see a reason why we shouldn't, dearest."

And with that, there's a revived cafe in Sumeru, drawing in crowds of bookworms and caffeine nerds. Tea jammers hang out too, don't worry.

And not to mention -- Kaveh has thoughtfully incorporated the cafe's old design with a new, trendy style to pay tribute to the cafe they once frequented, and also to attract the youth (hype culture ammirite) simultaneously. Alhaitham contributes to the creation by naming it "Puspa Book Cafe" (good try, Alhaitham. Very... creative). They both also sell one of the best brews in town and sometimes create new recipes. It's no wonder why the crowd only grows.

The children love the hot cocoa.

The scholars love the coffee and academic advice.

The adults love a drink while they relax, escaping from the enslavement of their work-lives.

The elderly love the tea. (Mmhm)

As much as their interests remains in winding down and warm drinks, one thing they share in common is their interest in Alhaitham and Kaveh's relationship.

Here's how a generic conversation would go:

"Say, how long have you two been together?" Someone would ask, as curious ears perk up, feeding on the gossip (and baklavas).

"About 40 years or more!" Kaveh would reply gleefully.

"40 years? That's a strong marriage!" Someone would comment, pressing on the topic further.

"We're not married," they would both state in sync as a matter-of-factly.

"But we do have a relationship," Kaveh would add, in a vain attempt to lessen the doubtful stares.

It's true though, they're not married - don't be fooled by the rings.

According to them, being with each other is better than marriage - why do you need a contract if you have established mutual love and trust? That's what they both agreed on in their thirties after settling their differences. And also settling down, duh.

They announced their union over a family dinner with Tighnari, Cyno, Collei and Faranak one day, showing the rings they made each other.

"What a joyous union. How marry!" Cyno joked, only to be left with a deafening silence. "Get i-"

"So, when's the wedding?" Tighnari interjected, eyebrows raised.

"There's no wedding," they both said, words synchronised. There was another silence, but it was more comfortable and understanding.

Faranak, Kaveh's dear mother, was confused back then, but respected their decision. She passed on, never attending their wedding (which they'll never have), but knowing that her dearest son has found someone to spend his life with, just as she had once upon a time.

Now, back to the present, business is running great, and nearly everyone and their cats have heard of the revived cafe. And it finally occurs to them that they should commemorate their 30th union anniversary by giving out free food and beverages.

They have all the time and money, so why not?

That anniversary event will soon find its way to become an annual tradition.

Bonus: they also donate to charities and projects anonymously. They still argue on the message boards, but Alhaitham often leaves love poems. In return, Kaveh gifts him with all the affection he needs at home (they love cuddling). Do you think Kaveh would pick up knitting and Alhaitham will write a book?

#haikaveh

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bluespiritpaintedlady · 2 years

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Ao3/Tumblr Harmony?

So, when I started this Mitsuya Fanfic (Love Endures on Ao3) I wanted it to not just be words but be like a whole…thing, y’know? Like with pics and music and shit in there too. But as far as my limited knowledge of Ao3 goes (my knowledge is limited in most other capacities as well) you can’t embed pics and music and all that jazz in your works. Or at least I’ve never seen anything like that before. So, then I thought well what if I used Tumblr to post all that shit, like umm, an accompaniment or supplement or whatever word is right in this case. Anywho, so yeah I’m gonna try doin that and hopefully it’ll be alright to do that. Kinda sucks to make peeps go back and forth between the two to get the whole experience but hey it is what it is, ammirite? So I guess I’ll start with Ch. 1 and put up the songs I wanted to be there and then move on from there. Thanks to anyone who takes their time to read. And please if y’all know stuff and secrets about all this tumblr/ao3 shiz (and I know y’all know more than me cuz I know NOTHING 😆) let me know. I love you all! 💙💜💙

#mitsuya takashi #takashi mitsuya #toman #writers and poets #fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers hakkai

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sapphirecrook · 6 months

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[STORY] Call Me Fang - Chapter 1: Perish the thought

TUMBLR TEXT:

Might as well put some stuff on my blog, ammirite gamers?

Besides, my tumblr is my shame zone, and this stuff still has my head reeling.

Download (it looks nicer)

ORIGINAL:

I've been working on a retooling and restructuring of this. There's now two parallel things.

I should just draw some more. It beats the heck out of this planning.

I feel like I'm learning a lot, and it sucks and is tiring and more. Anyway, the core ideas have solidified. As in, I found the plot, the idea is set, what this IS is set in stone, and it's a story I think has at least some merit being told. However big or small that may be. At this point, however, finishing it is more of a 'prove it to myself' than something I want to do. If I seriously consider myself a writer, this is a thing that's gotta happen. What I want to do is something else. And will forever change. It is the way. To finish what you don't want, and learn, and refine, that's the ouch zone.

The parallel thing will be uploaded too. Because I like working on it.

-----

Regrets are a poor cleaning agent. But mistakes were made.

The last thing I remember is jumping in front of two bright headlights, on a miserable, cold, rainy evening. Further details elude me. Just me standing on the sidewalk, before I dart forwards, turn my head, and overbearing yellow beams blind me.

Then this lightness, a brightness, a tightness.

Such a stark difference from the obsidian towers with topaz pockmarks and endless clouds.

I have never been so acutely aware of my fleshy form before.

A searing wave crashing over, and I feel nothing.

I didn’t think myself capable of such reckless behavior. For all my flaws, throwing my life into the hands of fate has never been my style. My motivation must’ve been something fierce. If only I could remember.

No doubts over what must’ve happened.

Yet, despite the odds. I am alive.

I am sore all over, the sun is blasting me with heat, and the outfit I am wearing is both tighter than I’d like, and definitely a dark color. It’s soaking in those rays. Hell is a strange place, apparently, and opening my eyes only deepens the mysteries of hell.

I have a giant schnozz. My first question would be how one eats with this thing.

The second, if it is a standard feature.

The third, is if this belongs to someone else.

This is not my body.

Naturally, neither is the room. The place is well appointed. My leg, the only part still on the bed I seem to have fallen out of, confirms it is a comfortable bed. The blanket, half-wrapped around me, is light and nice. A giant TV is set into a closet, there’s paraphernalia and more. Mostly music posters, a string or two of polaroids, two guitars and more. I see make-up articles and the sense of repulsion, of not belonging, dawns on me.

I have invaded.

Did I, though?

With a grunt and a raise I position my head in an elevated position as to better survey the disaster zone the original inhabitant calls a room. There are clothes everywhere. I’m pretty sure that’s a half eaten sandwich, sans plate, on a wooden table. And at least two empty bowls.

It’s still better than my place.

The mirror is a good place to get a look at the meat puppet I am renting. It’s white? Maybe a very pale grayish blue? Feathers. Funky horn thing. Wings? Historically accurate pterodactyl?

Historically accurate PUNK pterodactyl, judging by the choice in clothing.

I match one of the ladies in the pictures.

Assuming they are ladies. I am unfamiliar with these species and their gender markers, or whatever similar designs exist here.

Some of my artisanal touch finally fades.

Exhausting my usual wordiness is a blessing. It is a time for thinking fast.

“Judging by the trees outside, wearing black is asking the sun for a scorching. Who am I to talk? I wore all black all summer! And what of you, oh, mirror maiden? Shan’t thou speaketh the name of thyself freely?” I poke the mirror, seeing the manicured claws. I examine them closer, which is when I hear sounds. An alarm is going off?

The alarm goes off at exactly 8 AM. The alarm being the soothing morning jingle of the 8 AM Pangea News. The humble tones of professional presenters make it clear nothing much has happened. The black and orange creature under the bedsheets lets off a short groan, and peeks out from under the sheets. The curtains kept out most of the sunlight, giving the place a spectral ambiance.

With a second groan, he’d get himself out of bed, adding a few solid stretches. Curtains were pulled aside, the sun let in. Since the room was on the south side, the sun never shone in directly, thus only allowing in the indirect light. It kept the place nice and cool, even in these hot summer months.

Actually, it’s winter, despite everyone calling it ‘Summer Break’.

And it’s hot all year round. Perks of the tropics.

The dark colored dinosaur hoisted himself into the laid out attire. Before being worn, it was folded onto top of his desk, jacket hung over the backrest of the desk chair. His hands would slide across the crest on his head and chin, to make the tiny adjustments to help his look come together. Without the ostentatious jacket, he’d definitely have a solid ‘business chic’ look. With the jacket, he looked far more casual, as a barrage of watermelon print tends to do to most articles of clothing.

Just how he liked it. Formal. But approachable. And icebreaker in the flesh.

“Looking good, triple president. It might be Fang’s senior year, but it’s my year to set new heights!” He winks at his reflection and does one final touch up on his crest. His hair was trimmed to the roots, only the faint discoloration remained. As such, his crest had to do all the heavy lifting to make his face pop. Together with his orange irises, there was this flow to it.

Even if he’s been told he looks like some cheap glow-in-the-dark toy in dark rooms.

Humming a quiet tune to himself, he hoisted up a large bag of various booklets, pens and other stationery. Each in vivid colors and flags, a melting pot of choice. The cotton bag had been meticulously packed to insure its contents remained wrinkle free during transport.

The tip of his shoe was briefly lifted to double check its polished sheen, before he considered himself truly ready. One final breath…

BZZZZ

His orange claws scooped up the phone on his desk, snug in its shimmering gold casing.

Nobody could dissuade him from the bold choice of color.

# Naomi

> Nm: “Ready to inspect your new office, Mr. President?”

> Ns: “Considering my other engagements, I’m more of a triple president.”

> Nm: “So you’re sticking to it?” > Nm: “I mean, I get why, but you are at a serious risk of spreading yourself thin.”

> Nm: “Class president”

> Nm: “Head of the debate team”

> Ns: “With Fang at most doing the band thing, I might as well do extracurriculars for two.”

> Nm: “President of the Student Life Association”

> Nm: “Member of the Young Leaders League.” > Nm: “And a writer for the school newspaper.” > Ns: “AND volunteer at Pangea Tomorrow.” > Nm: “My point is, maybe scale it back. You’re going to drown in senior year if you have that AND finals.”

> Ns: “Look at that, I’m not a senior this year. Works out perfectly.”

> Nm: “Say ‘hi’ to Fang for me!” > Nm: “So, are we meeting at school or will you pick me up?” > Ns: “I’ll pick you up.”

> Ns: “First, I gotta make sure Fang is alive and breathing. Wouldn’t want them blaming me for the hangover.”

> Ns: “And deliver your greetings to them.”

> Nm: “So responsible, Mr. Triple President.”

> Ns: “Tripresident.”

Fang had spent his morning in a straightforward way. On a whim, he decided to clean up the place, a whim guided by the thought that cleaning up can only be educational and emotionally encouraging. Take a mind off, recenter, focus. Do something useful. And cleaning is inoffensive, nobody can complain you cleaned up but a stickler.

Before that, he gazed off the balcony, and spent a few minutes pinching and poking himself to be certain this world was real. The view was nice: the morning sun, distant beaches, lovely buildings with a distinct ‘overgrown plantlife’ aesthetic. Just soak in a bit, suppress the rising nerves, and form a mental wellness plan.

Then, he’d begin cleaning up the room, if only so those knee high boots wouldn’t flatten something valuable.

Fang put his hands firmly on his sides. A few articles of clothes had been rounded up from the floor and folded up, the bed itself was tidied as well. Pillows in place, sheets pulled taut. The strings of polaroids were examined closely for clues. The room breathed an unnatural tidiness, and a second inspection left the deducing detective to conclusions.

“And this is the phone.” He mused, gazing upon the slab in their hands. Found it in the obvious place: on the bed itself, teetering near the edge. “About as modern as mine. Definitely nicer though. That pretty much goes for everything. Ironic I’d be the one feeling like a fossil.”

With a swift spin, he danced it around his fingers and turned it on. A bright stark moon on a pitch black background greeted him. Judgment: ‘A touch tacky.’

“Huh, of course, pattern lock. Uh…”

His thumb idled, and traced the 3x3 pattern with a circle. He thought about how he might approach this lock, and pick it too. With his face grimacing many directions, he decided a bit of an unusual solution. Made sense in his head.

He put his thumb in various starting positions and swept it around, trying to find a path of least resistance. He’d quickly draw the phone and let his thumb do the thinking.

Against the odds, the borrowed thumb complied, drawing the arcane sigil of unlocking with just a little bit of prompting. Once learned, it would be possible to master the specifics, as with any spell.

“Muscle memory? Hm.”

A brief smirk as he realized that saved him the awkwardness of learning to tie the laces of these big boots. That muscle memory should be easy to find, surely. As the homescreen welcomed him, he simply stared. A sudden, harsh realization paralyzed the thumb until the impatient device locked itself back up again. The sigil was redrawn, yet once more a paralysis kept him from actually doing anything meaningful. As if struck by a defensive ward.

Icons for various apps, nature and purpose unknown. But that uncertainty wasn’t the issue. Instead that deep, underlying worry of digging a bit too deep. Poking in heads not his own. A violation that cannot be taken back, and he had condemned in the past. On top of the fact he often referred to people as ‘cyborgs with how much a phone does for you nowadays.’

‘Okay, maybe do more… inventory? Hair might be dyed? Pictures imply red, but that’s just as much a dyeable color. Pale colors next to phantasmagoric dinos implies whatever their equivalent of ginger is. Choice of attire is fine by me. A little too fine. Very overlapping. In fact, I cannot help but wonder if I am myself, in another world. In terms of taste. If anything that makes the situation MORE awkward, doesn’t it? I’d hate to have to explain myself to myself.’

The silver haired witch gazed in the mirror, seeing only himself. “God, I am going to choke on these new vocal cords. What AM I supposed to sound like? Sharp? Gruff? And why does this body look more ass-kicking than me? The irony is getting me.”

Suddenly, the silver one perked up, and noted a sound coming down the hallway. Footsteps. Standing at the foot of the bed, thoughts began to race. Time slowed to a crawl. The phone slipped out from his fingers.

It fell like a snowflake, gentle as a leaf. There was a lot to consider.

‘Oh that can’t be good.’

‘Husband? Parents? Wait… wife?’

‘What day is it? Phone said sunny weather, didn’t check the…’

‘What voice to…’

His hand swooped down, catching the phone, which had only descended an inch. Eyes unable to remove their laser focus from the door. His heart pounded. Stiff as a board, unable to properly breathe without the tension on his ribs pushing against it.

The top did not help.

‘This is how I die, right? Shotgun blasted for home invasion? Body invasion? Does body invasion, like manslaughter, have a lessened penalty for lack of intent or willing participation? I doubt they’ll care about the nuances. Could they even tell? Will they even care? How shotgun resistant am I like this?’

Then he heard someone bop lightly against the door, followed by the metal ‘tink’ of a zipper. It sent paralyzing chills down his spine.

The irony that Fang - of all people - had the east facing room, catching the first rays of dawn, had never escaped anyone. It made sense, from a historical point of view. The master bedroom had used the extra space of the west protrusion to be lavish, giving the parents all the room they needed. And you’d want your firstborn near, so you use the closest bedroom, leaving Naser with the room at the end of the hall. Nobody could know Fang was a big fan of sleeping in for hours on end at that point. This also meant that the morning person walked right past the not-morning person every day. And that was a fact he fully exploited, for the tiny amusements it tended to bring.

Naser pushed up against the white door and thought for a moment to himself. He listened in, making sure Fang was alive and well, and not groaning over whatever got them in a slump last night. Only once he knew for sure what he was dealing with, did he push his way in.

From the dark hallway to the bright room, where the sun does shine. Instantly confronted by the absence of the usual mess. It almost broke his stride as he took his half-step inwards.

“Good morning on the last day before the first day of the last year.” To his surprise, Fang was frozen, looking him dead in the eyes. Like a bull beetle in the headlights. “Naomi says ‘hi,’ by the way. Uhm. Are you alright? Your room is clean and you look frozen… would the TV remote unpause the mind control chip?”

Naser’s statements lost cohesion as he tried to fill dead space. He wasn’t used to not getting immediately slammed for intruding like this, let alone stared down like a slab of meat. Seconds to minutes.

“Just doing… last day before the first day of the last year cleaning. Tidy room, tidy mind.” Fang finally unfroze, hands coming together. Folded arms, casual pose, facing him directly. Quite stand-offish. Creating an aura of impatience. Naser took it as good news, and put on a big smile. He let go of the door and leaned himself against the doorframe, not unlike an adult trying to connect with the kids. “Well isn’t that a lovely forward thinking mentality. See, my Triple Presidency is already affecting people with its leaderly aura.”

“I will surely be inspired to triple my efforts, oh lord commander president.”

“Technically I’m only really president tomorrow, once the summer vacation ends. Still have the keys, though!” He winked.

The response was terse and unamused: “Gotcha.”

“As I said, Naomi says ‘hi’ and all. More importantly, I’ll be out of the house. In case you didn’t hear me yesterday when you zombied your way to bed. School needs tending to.” “You’re… spending your last day of summer break at school? That’s some high level nerd stuff you’re up to, buddy.”

“Come on, Fang, a triple president sets a triple high!”

“Triple high sounds like huffing an overstuffed blunt.”

“Ahum.” He cleared his throat, and took a deep breath. “Seriously. It’s important work! Making sure everything is set to go for tomorrow’s big announcements, and the rush of juniors and forgetful seniors.”

“Is that why you’re carrying a giant duffle bag of money?” “Not money. Stationery! You’d be surprised how many people forget pens, papers and more. And before you even say it, no, Fang, we’re not replacing them with computers this year either.”

“At this rate you should just run the entire school.” They replied, eyes rolling. “Nerdzilla has the chops for it.” Fang regretted his posturing, as he was going what he considered ‘off script.’ However, being snarky, sassy and quipy was so deeply ingrained into his manners, all he could do was curse every time it happened.

“Har-har. You’re free to spend your last day thinking up cute nicknames. Just don’t burn the house down, and don’t eat the entire meal without me. And clear your throat, you sound so deep and groggy today.”

Fang rolled their eyes once more, just to get the rust off. Naser took his leave, snickering along the way. Then, his gentle voice called out from the hall.

“Oh, mom and dad called last night. Something about a big ‘hoopla,’ as dad calls it, requiring them to stay on Isla Nublar a bit longer than they expected.” “Really now?” Fang grinned, as that was a lucky break, if anything.

“You know how it goes. Expect it to take another month. So if you see Amal bringing groceries, say ‘hi’, but don’t give him the one I just gave from Naomi. Regifting is Tacky!”

Naser finally left Fang alone, closing the door on his way out. Fang took a deep breath, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and let off a low, frustrated grumble. With a sigh befitting the situation, he turned around, and thought.

“What a handful. Nice guy, though. I might have to glue my mouth shut if I don’t stop commenting on things. This was way easier when work and private life were separate.”

After some time of milling over the politeness of this brother figure, he turned himself over to the whims of his body. Hunger. Grabbing the guitars with him, as well as the phone. Along the way, learning the correct pronouns, and the name of this figure through one of the polaroids. And those of a few apparent friends. Things were coming together, sort of. He tried to be optimistic, though his mind refused to veer too far from wanting a quick and dirty solution.

His very presence felt like he was contaminating a timeline. Relaxing and calming as the atmosphere was.

Items in hand, he went down the stairs, and heard the car outside pull away. ‘Good,’ he thought as he explored the halls and saw a kitchen area ahead, ‘means I get to eat in peace.’

As he entered the kitchen, he thought about what to get. Simplest idea was to just throw bread together with some cheese and call it a meal. Provided such ingredients existed. Thus, time to crack the fridge. They did, but that very brief flash of uncertainty was the kind of low-risk anxiety he needed to establish perspective.

‘Giving it some thought.’

‘I might be allergic to lactose?’

‘Would they buy cheese if someone was allergic?’

‘I guess I’ll die then.’

Though there was a chance, and he had grumbled about it, he refused to change clothes. Even if he wasn’t completely sure he liked it. He had more pressing things to worry about, and the thought of looking through someone’s wardrobe to workshop a look was too much. No. Instruments, bags, phones and digging for personal dirt, that’s the way.

A cheesy bite was prepared, a stool at the counter was pulled away, and he looked over the place. Fancy. Large fridge, induction cooking, high end oven and microwave. Glass sliding doors to the finely cut grass yard with tastefully overgrown picket fence. The tiles on the floor were clean, the table tidy. It felt familiar, yet alien. Unlike his sandwich. The square, brown bread felt like it had come on this journey with him.

‘Shitty spy dies forgetting his cover story is allergic to cheese. More like, didn’t research his cover story until after insertion.’ He amused himself with a string of thoughts, each interrupting the last. His twitching fingers equally refused to stop, as if sitting still would make him visible to the looming monster of existential dread, and let it get a bead on him.

To silence the growing realizations, he shoved the cheese sandwich into his beak. Eating is a thing with a maw that long. He was already mulling over the wings and tail, and how they might cause trouble. Once more, he echoed the importance of baby steps. And enjoying good cheese.

Having survived the lactose lacerations, his attention turned to the phone. It was a veritable treasure trove of personal information. Most people are cyborgs nowadays, with phones like these, so it's pretty close to mind reading. And for the more respectful of privacy, it can be a treasure trove of worldly insights.

‘Come on. Just. TURN IT ON AND LOOK.’

His mind was willing, yet his body refused. His thumb just hovered over the screen, which turned off. Then he turned it on again, and hovered anew. The moon wallpaper taunted him, as did the line of notification icons begging someone to finally heed their calls.

Only by chowing down on another bite of cheese could his body be overpowered and overruled. With a swift swipe, the notifications were deployed. A lot of instant messages required attention, as did a few emails and… media playing apps of some description. An auto-playing playlist had halted due to ‘inactivity’. Also, the battery was running dry, he made a note to sort that out later.

“Okay. Just don’t… snoop too far. Just the recent stuff that matters. Names, faces, places. Let’s see. ‘Dinogang’ has very minimal stuff. Just appears to be “Stella” and “Sage” bemoaning the weather and home situations. Uh… “Ya ever hear about WORM DRAMA?” has nothing since… wow. A month. That’s probably most of whatever summer vacation that dork was about.”

‘Government sponsored fursona avatars. Only way to explain how everyone has cute pfps.’

He squinted.

‘What is this Reed guy on about? “I’m vanishing off the planet, my homeworld needs me”? Uh. This planet has connections to aliens? Dude, is anyone around to yell at Fang? Naser’s only talking about dinner and basic school stuff. That said, being boring is probably preferable. Easier to cheese.”

Then he noticed LJ. The most contact there, quite an extensive conversation even. A few musical files had been uploaded, some so recent the (still open) MIDI-mixing app had them loaded in upon activation.

Naturally, he is not above the obvious curiosity.

Tap.

The slab produced a rather interesting sound. With distinct vocals that sounded… familiar. He decided to assume this was him/them/it judging by the date and all.

‘This… sounds like me? Or her. Them? Whoever. There’s overlap. I guess I can sing now? I mean, I sing a lot anyway, I just sucked like a vacuum cleaner.’

# LJ

> L: “If you want this gig, you all will have to play something new.” > L: “Nothing from the other hundred auditions, OK?”

> L: “Just trying to help.”

> F: :ok::pray::music:

> L: “K”

> L: “Send me the song Monday morning.”

‘So. LJ. Who the hell are they? Some kind of friend? Insider? Sending all kinds of tracks. Last thing appears to be that demo. It’s not bad…’

Fang stared ahead. A half-finished sandwich remained. And somehow, his stomach just locked up. It was too late. The endless information barrage had begun to settle like snow, solidifying into a smothering blanket. A suffocating truth that turned his very existence into an objectively bad thing.

‘...And it will never be finished. Not as intended.’

The invading inhabitant tapped his fingers across the counter. Harsh, stark light replaced with ambient blues as the daylight shifted. Bread drying in the rays that remained. His mind bounced every which way, desperate to close the box now opened.

“Existential dread and young cheese. Quite a breakfast for a budding dimensional traveler. Quaaaantum… LEAP!” He tried to create levity, swinging the limp bread around, cheese flapping like a mute tongue. “Let’s just pretend, and set this out: this will fix itself in a few days. A gross transgression of reality shall not stand for long, and I am quite the mistake to begin with. Hear me, oh universe, I will mock thee until my support ticket be resolved.” When the universe was as silent as his sandwich, he grumbled. The bread felt drier than before, and the beak was uncomfortable to eat around. Couldn’t imagine himself dealing with this long term.

‘Or not.’ That sinking, heavy, glob-like feeling of anxiety and dread grew in his chest. Knowing how close he might be to some kind of brink, he swerved again.

“I have no fucking clue what to do today. Apparently, it’s just me and… Naser in this house.”

His brow went down as he looked around the place. ‘Nice house at least.’

Quiet settled in.

His mind stopped producing any thoughts. Instead, sensory information became crisp and clear. Looking at his hands, he saw them vividly, and sighed. What DID he hoped for? The phone seemed to twinkle in the corner of his eyes.

“So, look through weeks of untold teen drama?”

The white witch tapped his claws against the table.

“I dunno, dude, the house is empty. The fuck else is there to do.”

His eye glanced through the opening in the wall. The hallway that connected the living room and kitchen and most of the house was, well, connected through a large, almost hemicircular entrance. It gave the rooms a very open, lively feel, and the sun’s light would bathe both areas through most of the day.

And it let him see the absurdly large flatscreen in the living room.

‘TV.’

‘And a piano. Instruments aplenty.’

“Can I play the piani? Or the geetar? Can I sing? Can I dance?”

As he chuckled, his eye noticed a remote control in the corner of his eye. “So rich they have the remote in the kitchen? Does it reach?” A single press reveals that it does. And with the size of the giant slab, it’s quite legible too. It appeared to be the news. The news means nothing to him, as there is no context to build upon. “Rich. Or maybe the standard of living here is just that high. Welp. I got 24 hours in a day like everyone else, time to read old texts, strum some strings and learn how to cope with newfound existentialism anxiety. First time someone’s gotta deal with not being valid.”

All words. Endless words. Break the silence, kill the thoughts.

His wrist flicked the TV back off. The final bite of sandwich devoured, the phone stuffed in a pocket and instruments in hand, he lowered himself down onto the couch. The U-shaped couch occupied much of the living room, left besides the doorless main entrance archway. Pleather. Soft. Windows on the other side let in the evening sun, but not right now, as it was still morning. The piano likely bathed in the evening light, making it easy to read sheet music. A lovely thing; it’s no grand piano, but the polished wooden surface said it all. It was loved.

Above the sofa was an arrangement of family pictures on shelves. A few larger framed images depicted births, marriages, the big events that warrant high fidelity imagery. The smaller pictures had proud brothers collecting awards, dads and doctorates (or so he assumed) and smaller events like visiting a theme park, or a young Naser adamantly resisting entering a dangerous looking rollercoaster at Fang’s insistence. A family was captured, even if they died tomorrow, their love and life echoed from behind the glass.

All of it bombarded Fang with a sense of unease. Everything was watching. Everything was judging. Fang, the body, may only appear in a few pictures, it was enough to unsettle. A background noise that could only worsen from exposure.

Strangely enough, the idea of being truly invalid. The novelty of it seemed to stave off the realization he might have to die again to right the wrongs. A certain mischievous playfulness began to bubble up.

On the couch, guitar in hand, he plucked idly at the strings. Something familiar boiled under the surface, eager to reveal itself. Almost as if the spirit was, where the soul was not. Or just a lingering desire to finish up that demo. Best he could tell, it just needed a cleaner version, the rest were rougher with dropped notes.

Or something.

‘Surely even I, with limited talents, can fake it with this much supportive effort? Maybe even have time for my own machinations.’ Was how he felt about it. The odds are: the neurons are still there.’

He just had to focus on whatever that muscle memory was that opened the phone earlier. Channel that inner haze and flow it to his fingertips. Take a deep breath. Close his eyes. Feel that energy deep within. That natural tendency. Sending a waving river of energy, until his fingers were light as feathers, drifting on a breeze, and claws and tips plucked the strings.

#GVH #goodbye volcano high #callmefang

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doctorgerth · 3 years

Text

“Subtle, Yet Sexy”

Part One | Part Two

a/n: ayeee back at it with a part two! more like op men , ammirite? hope this turned out ok! I felt the pressure making this sequel. 😳

featuring: Marco, Shanks, Mihawk, Kid, & Killer

warnings: suggestive content

MARCO ―

when his glasses fall down the bridge of his nose and his eyes peek above the rims to stare at you (bonus: when he smiles and pushes them back up)

unbuttoning the top half of his shirt with one hand when he’s exasperated

when small patches of blue flames ignite and dance along his skin, or when he remains partially in Phoenix form

when he puts on (or takes off) his doctor’s coat

his large hands in latex gloves and the popping sound when he puts them on

the unmistakable challenging look in his eyes everytime you call him “Commander”, struggling to maintain his composure when around others

soft, plump lips fixating around a pen when he’s working, reading, or studying

═════════════════════

SHANKS ―

every single time he casually calls you by a pet name (doll, darling, sweetheart, etc.) with a cheeky smirk and ultimately the very rare instances he refers to you by your real name

his formidable aura that makes just about everyone want to bend the knee when graced by his presence

how he manages to pull off the bed hair, 5 o’clock shadow, and hungover look

when he scratches his stomach underneath his shirt, raising it just slightly to reveal a small tease of a toned abdomen and dark red happy trail

his swift skill of taking off his clothes (and yours) with one hand; really, his capability of doing all kinds of things one-handed

the newly formed wrinkles in the creases of his eyes, along with the hint of grey beginning to tint his hair and facial hair

how he can never seem to keep his hand(s) to himself when you’re around...

═════════════════════

MIHAWK ―

when he speaks Spanish

the hint of red wine that has lightly stained his lips overtime, permanently mingled with his breath even when sober

intense golden eyes that silently communicate for him, telling you exactly what he wants

his half-opened, white ruffled shirts and the way his cross necklace bounces against his exposed chest when he moves

when he sits cross-legged in his chair with a newspaper in his lap or with his interlocked fingers placed along his knee

the stretch of his neck when he’s shaving and how he carefully glides the blade along his supple skin

when he reaches behind to grab his large sword

═════════════════════

KID ―

when he emerges from his shop after a long day, hair fallen and disheveled, grease painted along the pale skin of his hands, forearms, and face, smelling like sweat and metal

when he relaxes by propping his boots on the table, leaning back in his chair, and stretching his arm(s) behind his head, consequently flexing his biceps

faint prints of his lipstick found on various objects: his pillow, a pencil, a whiskey glass, you

when he shrugs off his coat and rolls his shoulders to ease the tension of the weight from wearing it all day

his fidgety hands and deft fingers; how they can work with even the smallest gears and gadgets and need to constantly be toying with or holding something

when he’s in Captain mode, making you want nothing more than to obey his every order

when you catch him after he’s painted his nails with lips poked out, blowing air onto the fresh paint, and he winks at you

═════════════════════

KILLER ―

the strain of his t-shirt against bulging muscles, threatening to tear at the seams with each flex

the look of pure concentration on his face as he applies his lipstick, smacking his lips with a prominent pop! once finished, then licking his teeth to clean any stray marks

the stretch of his arms and shoulders as he pulls back his hair to tame it in a ponytail or messy bun; loose strands inevitably falling to frame his face

when he ties his apron around his waist, twirling utensils like drumsticks as he gets into cook mode

going off that, Killer also be unintentionally sexy as hell when he plays the drums

the removal of his helmet around trusted company, revealing glossy skin, damp hair, and smudged lipstick that he proceeds to smear even more so along your skin

his well-rounded knowledge and how he seems to know at least a little about everything

If you enjoyed this, please be sure to leave a like, comment, and/or reblog! 🌸

#doctorgerth #doc writes #headcanons #hcs #steamy #one piece x reader #marco x reader #shanks x reader #mihawk x reader #kid x reader #killer x reader #gn!reader

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wnnbdarklord · 3 years

Note

Didn't see anyone talking about the fact that when Loki was told about Frigga's death he waited until he was alone to show his grief, even putting up an ilusion to hide his wrecked state. But the moment Mobius tell him about Sylvie he just breaks instantly???? He tries to play as nothing but its just sooo bad, sweetie you're not fooling anyone.

But Anon! Don't you see she ~changed~ him? He just never felt this way before! I mean, same goes with Mobius getting zapped (too bad it's not permanent). Just immediate tears to signal how we're supposed to be feeling about that. Well, I cheered. Been wanting Mobius to drop dead since day one. Was kinda hoping the same for Sylvie once I realized where they were going with it and how she kept being positioned as the actual protagonist of the show.

Apparently needed standard disclaimer here: I don't give a shit who ships what, you do you. I myself have read and enjoyed many selfcest Loki fics, but marvel managed to ruin it for me in a way I can't even describe by framing it the way they did. I've seen people trying to frame it as "no, it was platonic love" or "it was about the self-acceptance", I don't buy either. disneymarvel was clear that Mobius is the mouthpiece we're supposed to listen to about our Loki opinions and Mobius pushed the romance and the narcissism, which Loki later seems to wholeheartedly accept. (Fuck them for that Sif scene, btw. SoooOoOOOooooo funny, ammirite?)

This show isn't deeper than a teaspoon. Every single thing I've seen people desperately theorizing about has been proven wrong time and time again, either in the narrative or interviews with the creators that state what the intended reading was. Don't get me wrong, if I ever bother to engage with the show in a fannish way, I'm going to ignore their intended reading until my dying day, but it proves my larger point that there's nothing there to theorize. What you see is what you get and what we got was Loki being a pathetic incompetent self involved "narcissist" who is apparently only able to love himself.

All of time and space ALL OF TIME AND SPACE and the only person the writers could think of for Loki to have a love story with is HIMSELF? Because only Loki can love Loki. Fuck you, show. No forgiveness, none. Assholes. Just say you hate the character and go. Sidenote: they keep emphasizing Sylvie isn't Loki too! So which is it, self-acceptance or Loki just falling for the first female character that doesn't try to slap him or kick him in the nuts every two seconds?

I mean, if the show pulls a psych! on me, I won't complain. Much. I'm, in fact, desperate for them to do that. But I'll still complain because it's shit writing.

Ah, look at me rant. Only a few more things I wanted to touch on in your ask.

You're totally right about Loki's behavior. If Loki were actually In Character in the show (he wouldn't fall in love with himself), he would have been able to mask his feelings for Sylvie. He wouldn't have cried instantly at Mobius' death. He breaks in IW while Thor was being tortured, but that was happening right in front of him and at the hands of his own past abuser. And even then he manages to last several moments until he breaks.

The bigger point being, he would've been able to AT LEAST lie to Mobius and would've MANAGED to manipulate him. But since this Loki is so OOC my brain is bleeding, he can't lie for shit and he can't manipulate for shit. Even telling the truth only had Mobius strengthen his existing suspicions rather than be the trigger that had him investigate more deeply.

In conclusion: Thanks, I hate it.

#loki series negativity #loki series spoilers #asked and answered #anon ask

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obsessivelollipoplalala · 3 years

Text

Submission

Hey there, long time no see!

I've been dipping in and out of Tumblr the last couple of weeks and have been keeping up with all your interesting discussions with anons (sorry, stalkerish I know, but I find it both insightful and entertaining.) I couldn't help but notice @just-a-poor-boy-queen posted about our good old friend on Instagram spouting her usual bullshit, only this time she apparently has proof that her claims are real from Lying Ass Jerkoff , sorry, Lesley Ann Jones' latest book. According to her, as you already know, she claims that Lesley denounces Jim and Freddie's relationship and Jim apparently confessed to her that he never loved Freddie, that he used him for fame, etc. etc.

Which is...very interesting. Because LAJ's biography, Bohemian Rhapsody, claims the exact opposite.

While I was out in town today, I visited my local bookstore and unintentionally stumbled across the book in the biography section. My first instinct was to ignore it - I know for a fact it's trash - but curiosity got the better of me and I ended up having a flip through.

First off, the amount of stuff she gets wrong is hilarious. Some of them were minute errors, others the average Queen fan could tell you is fake. I'm pretty sure she talked about Freddie taking Princess Diana out in drag and the party with the midgets carrying bowls of cocaine on their heads, which we know never happened. There was also a picture of Freddie and Mary (one where Freddie is leaning on Mary while she's smoking a cigarette,) that was captioned "the happy couple relaxing together," which made me laugh out loud because it was allegedly taken in 1975 when Freddie was dating David behind Mary's back. Relationship goals, ammirite?

And don't get me started on the Barbara stuff, I stg, LAJ seems low-key obsessed with her.

Anyway, I ended up skipping to the end where she talks about Jim; she does indeed claim that she stayed with him in Carlow (not sure what year,) and that she interviewed him while she was there. This is what she had to say:

On Jim's motivation for writing M&M: (Jones) "Jim Hutton later explained that it was anger, not money, that prompted him to write his memoir. He wanted the world to know the truth, and could see no other way."

(Jones) "There is no doubt that Jim, the bereft lover, embarked upon his selective 1994 biography with the intention of creating a tender tribute to an adored partner. This was blurred by a co-writer who dwelled more on sensational aspects of the relationship, as well as on intimate details of Freddie's final days."

(Jones) "Given Jim's Catholic background, and the fact that his mother was still alive when he published, it must have taken immense courage to write the book."

About the GL boys being erased by Jim Beach: (Jim) "I think Jim Beach was angry that my book ruined the myth of Freddie. All it did was return him to his original status of a human being. It told the truth. Beach wanted fans to believe that sweet Mary Austin was the love of Freddie's life, and what a great, tragic, romantic tale it all was."

(Jones) "Jim was consequently banished from the Queen camp." (She goes on to explain it's likely because everyone was grieving, but I don't buy it.)

(Jones) "Freddie's will raised countless questions, some of which would never be resolved." (I thought this was interesting, given that I've seen speculation that Freddie might have been influenced over what to put in his will before.)

On Dave Clark: (Jones) "The press reported that Dave Clark had said he was the only person in the bedroom when Freddie died. 'He was not the only person in the room,' Jim stated. 'But it was quoted all over the place.' The error must have been perturbed the sensitive and caring Clark, for on his birthday, Jim received a beautiful card from him. 'The inscription he wrote inside read "you were there.' " (Jim goes on to recount the exact same version of events written in Mercury & Me about Freddie's death. He speaks highly of Clark, saying he was brilliant when Freddie was ill and would sit with him for hours. Jim seems more angry at the press spreading lies than at Dave himself. I've seen people argue that Dave was the one spreading the rumours to the paper or he did nothing to refute them, but who knows, perhaps he was a victim of the tabloids too.)

Phoebe testifying to Jim's character: (Phoebe) "Those concerned have to live with themselves. Mary once said of Jim that he had 'a very vivid imagination.' I knew Jim a very long time, and never knew him to be anything other than totally honest. Jim's conscience, like mine, will always be clear." (Given how Phoebe now makes a point of saying that Jim "exaggerated" stuff in his book, I find this a tad hypocritical. Still, I appreciate him sticking up for Jim and saying that those who are trying to change Freddie's legacy will have to live with that on their conscience. Also, fuck you Mary, if you did say that about Jim.)

On Jim's love for Freddie: (Jones) "There are still times when I can be pottering around in the garden, and Freddie's facial expression when he died will come into my mind," he told me in Ireland, "I can blank out what happened consciously but not subconsciously. It is impossible to forget. I learned so much from him, not least a positive outlook. Freddie's attitude was always, 'But you can, don't you see? You can do it. Put your mind to it, you'll see what you can do' That was one of the loveliest things about him."

(Jones) "During the time I spent with Jim in picturesque County Carlow, there was no doubt that the love Jim claimed to have felt for Freddie was genuine. He was a warm and decent man who was content with his lot. He was eternally grateful, he told me, for having experienced the superstar lifestyle through Freddie."

(Jones) "Jim would never truly recover from the loss."

I took screenshots of all the quotes above, which I'm happy to submit if anyone is interested. I would love to have seen what else she said about Jim, but taking pictures of book pages in the middle of a shop isn't the best look, so I kept it brief.

So, overall, Lesley seems to have a very high opinion of Jim, and believed the love between he and Freddie was genuine. Which is quite surprising, given that she downplays all of Freddie's other relationships with men in favour of promoting his fictional "romance" with Miss Valentin. Of course, this could all be complete bullshit and she never met Jim at all, but if she is telling the truth for once in her life, then she's one of few biographers who was very much supportive of Jimercury.

As one of the anons correctly stated, we have two possible scenarios.

A) If crazy lady is telling the truth, and Jones does make all these negative claims about Jim in her new book, then she was either lying in Bohemian Rhapsody or she's lying now in her latest cash cow. In this scenario, she's a liar either way. But tell us something we don't know.

B) Crazy Lady is pretending to have read the book, or read it and was angry there was nothing bad about Jim, and is fabricating quotes to suit her anti-Jim agenda, knowing her thick-as-bricks followers will just take her word for it and not bother looking for evidence. This is the most likely scenario.

I know most people with a brain know not to trust the word of either of these women, but I thought it would be fun to dismantle some of Insta lady's claims regardless, in case there was anyone out there having doubts.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

-------------

Hi there! It's good to see you again.

This...is a lot to think about lol. Since LAJ is such a liar, it's hard to believe she really sat down with Jim, or that most of what she said was from primary sources. However, it is strange that she spoke so highly of Jim given...everything else she's ever said lol. The quotes above do fit with what other people have said about Jim and Garden Lodge as a whole, though. It's very strange because it's either she decided to be factual with this, or lie about getting these quotes but decide to stick up for Jim, anyway. Weird, weird, weird.

It's really hard to know who's lying in the new book, LAJ or the hater lady. They're both so unreliable. It does seem too convenient that what LAJ supposedly says lines up with the hater lady rhetoric, but idk. Apparently LAJ blocked the hater lady on twitter, too lmao. So maybe it's the hater lady who's lying? But I can believe LAJ suddenly changing her tune, too.

I don't know. Thank you for sharing this information. I have more questions than answers now lol but still

#submission #queen #long post

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devilsroost · 3 years

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Seems like Bendy and Kathlene have gone to wherever Dylan went. Have they met up again, or are they all in a separate limbo now?

I started a new job a couple of months ago. Covid times have been hard and I needed to take up something else to keep the wolves from the door. It's taken some time to settle in to the new job, and its been quite busy, even in the evening. So, what does this mean for this blog? Well, I'll not have to chase down so many commissions. I'll still do some here and there. but I'll be able to do art just for me. That means.... This! And Bacchus stuff, because I love him, for the last couple of years surviving off freelance comic work and background art, as well as commissions has been amazing, but when that started to slow because of covid weirdness I've had to go back to a job that provides more stability. I'll have art energy left to do personal projects. Before, I felt guilty if I wasn't drawing anything that would directly make me money, because I only had so much art energy left a day (and wrist health, ammirite?). This is not abandoned, even after all this time. It's just a little bit more settling in before I'm ready to come back and finish up my storyline. So, in answer to your snarky sounding passive aggressive comment about limbo: I do this blog for free. If you want me to draw something, pay me to do that. My commissions are open. If it isn't meant to be passive aggressive or snarky, it sure reads that way, but if not, here's some of my lore on this idea. Dylan being involved and a character isn't going to be erased even if he's disappeared into a forgotten limbo. Its a fate all toons dread, being forgotten and disappearing. Strangely it doesn't happen to background characters. Maybe it has something to do with the amount of love and imagination they got in the first place. They're simple characters, kind of npcs types that fill a role like 'coffee shop owner' and nothing else. This means they'll never really ascend above that role, but they're happy enough if it means one day they won't disappear. For main characters they have a greater sense of freedom and purpose, but, this comes with the risk of if their creator is gone and not enough people care about the character anymore they could fade into the great nothing. A lot of characters escape this fate by dimension hopping, escaping into other universes. Dylan and a lot of other characters have escaped to other universes, and some, have simply faded away...

#lore

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ilikedetectives · 3 years

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That anon have a lot of nerve calling those MF (which I also thought stood for mothereffers) a "feminist movement". Ain't nothing feminist about people trying to police how a woman should look, walk or even sound. Or trying to exclude transwomen. NOTHING. They are not feminists. They are bullies who hide behind people like anon who don't bother looking deeper.

I’d like to add: hiding behind DMs, maliciously curated messages, private Discord, and preemptive blocking, stealthy like an assassin ammirite??? Sebastian even came by dropping an anon ask but he forgot to change his speech pattern, what an honor I’m so flattered :wheezing: From what I see, the issue here is that these MFs (misogynistic feminists) and MFs (misogynistic founders, this is gonna get confusing lol) are abusing the “feminist movement” to say whatever tf they want as supreme leaders and members: when they get criticized, they cry wolf about “How can you criticize our movement? We’re very woke, look at the things we write/say! Look at all the good things others in the community we do!” You see what these MFs are doing? “feminist movement” is just these MFs’ excuse to enforce misogynistic views about how a woman should look, walk, and sound. If anyone criticizes their misogynistic statements, MFs just hide behind that feminist movement banner and charity. If Eivor and Kassandra (both are cis woman) are being shit on for their appearances by these MFs, I wonder what their views on transwomen are. Feel free to check my answered asks of all of them MF anons and see for yourself what ideology they reek of; those anons speak for themselves and their MF gang.

That is not to say the entire movement is bad, I know there are a lot more people inside and outside of AC Sisterhood who have genuinely good intentions and they are watching what’s going on. I also know a lot can’t say much due to fear of retaliation (surprise!), but I do hope that they sit back and think for themselves about what kinda community they want to foster if one constructive criticism means instant excommunication. Again, like my Vietnamese food analogy, con sâu làm rầu nồi canh; literal translation: “worm makes a pot of soup sad”; in other words, “small worm(s) ruin a good pot of soup”. I don’t want to say the pot of soup is terrible because it IS a good pot of soup, no doubt about it, there’s just a MF problem. This is why I separate them from the movement by giving them their own titles.

#misogynistic feminists #AC Sisterhood #anon #ask

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ariesbilly · 4 years

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JULIA’S FICS MASTERLIST

so it’s my wifes ( @fredheads ) birthday and im a flop who doesnt have her birthday fic ready (it’ll be done... before the end of the month. absolutely should not take that long but thats the only definite timeline i have lmao) SO to celebrate, i think you all should read her fics and leave nice comments because it’s what she deserves :)

MULTI CHAPTER (unfinished)

She's The One (fem!fredsythe)

Just Like Heaven (fredsythe, alice - fred escapes the Sisters au)

talk about a dream, try to make it real (fredsythe, gladys - college au)

quiet mercy (fredsythe - the OG fred & the sisters of quiet mercy fic)

Papa (fred and artie exploration)

wanna be your backdoor man (fredsythe - h*rny neighbor antics)

With a Girl Like You (fred and gladys friendship)

all our costliest treasures (baby fredsythe at christmas julia i would like to see more... its your birthday i should not be requesting things my apologies)

but your kids are gonna love it (archie and jughead - back to the future au i never saw that movie so i cant say for sure but they do time travel so that checks out to me)

Riverdale High's Last Annual Father-Daughter Winter Fling (fred takes veronica to the father/daughter dance because hiram is in jail =/ )

i say the phrases that keep it all going (different takes of fred fp archie and jughead dying in each others arms julia where is the fredsythe one... just asking)

MULTI CHAPTER (finished [according to ao3])

wouldn't it be good (ensemble - everyones paired up and has to raise an egg)

love is like a heat wave (fredsythe summertime antics)

burnt toffee (halice - working at an icecream shop, falling in love, v cute)

if only in my dreams (penelope lies about having a boyfriend)

let nothing you dismay (alice cooper fixing christmas)

there's a blue light in my best friend's room (hal and fred bonding hour)

The Trials of Cheerleading (or, "Throwing In The Megaphone") (the parentdale bible just read it and forget anything else anyone [ras] has ever told you)

fred andrews adopts a gang (bet you cant tell what this is about)

from the rich to the poor they are mostly unkind (i think this is a sweet pea centric fic?? julia really has something for everyone but dont expect her to do this again)

fp's adventures in domesticity (fp taking care of the andrews household while fred recovers from getting blasted in the chest)

Oblivion (all the times fred has experienced god)

west of memphis (jarchie post 107 thats all i can tell you idk)

ONE SHOT

Wherever you go i'll be with you (fp and archie - a timeline after freds death)

that's as close as i'll get to loving you (fremary - fred asks mary out)

i'm only good at being bad, bad (gladys hating her deadbeat husband <3)

and all the miles in between (fp and tom on the bus to basic training)

excerpts from the same party (freds interactions...at a party... the title is pretty self explanatory but who doesnt love a party fic ammirite ladiez)

don't you know these days you pay for everything (fred, fp, mary - i remember this being fp playing wingman to get fred and mary together cuz he likes mary better than hermione.... read more to find out if im right)

tying faith between our teeth (fredsythe - au where fp goes to college and doesnt ruin his life)

and they were roommates (fredsythe - another college au)

The Construction Tree (jarchie - idk what this is about i dont read kid fics im sorry... but julias a bomb ass writer so im sure the jarchies will love it anyway)

flowers grow through cement (fred gaining weight and feeling insecure)

night creatures call and the dead start to walk in their masquerade (HALLOWEEN FREDSYTHE BABYYYY!)

get me a prescription for that one perfect touch (fredsythe sick fic)

i don't know where else i can go (more hal and fred bonding hour)

everybody's got a hungry heart (fredsythe sexy time with food... that sounds weird.... listen either youre into it or youre not)

not so typical love song (fp and mary bonding hour)

all the redemption i can offer (fremary after the shooting... im pretty sure... listen i have a bad brain i cant remember things just read it)

Simply Irresistible (fred is a ho)

took the words (right out of my mouth) (four times fred and fp say ‘i love you’)

if you wanna get it done you gotta do it yourself (fp and mary loving fred... who is a ho)

people livin' in competition (more fp/fred/mary nonsense with fp gay pining what a good triangle i would have liked to seen it...)

buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight (mary works at youth crisis hotline and fred calls in)

that's what they say when we're together (halram post high school au)

a good old fashioned romance (hiram flaunting his wealth instead of displaying emotions)

you don't know what (you) got (fred has great friends even though hes a bit of a putz)

watch your weight (more fredsythe food shenanigans)

Valuable Lessons Learned On The Tilt-A-Whirl, or "Babe, You Ought To Quit This Scene Too" (alice hermione fred and fp go to the fair)

what once was (jughead and the andrews after freds shooting)

you must remember this (i have no recollection of what this is about but it sounds jughead centric)

takes guts to be gentle and kind (idk what this is either lmfao but i know julia saved moose and midge in it... idk midge but good for her [granted this also takes place after 202 so keep that in mind])

FP Jones and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad House Party (or, "Nothing Good Ever Happens At One Of These") (oh i remember this one.... mmmm. title tells you all really)

and so please help them with your youth ( ‘fred teaches archie to walk. archie returns the favor’)

andrews & son (more fred and archie post 201)

Blueberry Pie (fredsythe - my review of this fic is just me clutching my chest saying ‘oh god, oh fuck’)

never drill for oil on a city street (part 1 of mary working at a youth crisis hotline and fred calling in and i should put this above the other fic but like... you can figure out one and two on your own i believe in you)

The Perils of Faking Illness (or, “two times Fred Andrews faked sick to get out of class and one time he actually needed a hospital”) (read the title)

healing, in three parts (fred fp archie and jughead attempt a roadtrip)

all along the watchtower (#fredandrewsisriverdale)

guess that we were too much of the same kind (fred getting visitors in the hospital)

sometimes wonder what's beneath the mess you've become (fred and alice bonding hour)

nice day for a white wedding (fredsythe hospital times babyyyy!)

The Unexpected Perks of Feminist Activism (or, "Fingertip Rules") (fred gets fucked in a skirt by fp thats all you need to know)

Any Way You Want It (reggie x moose idk what it is but if you like them here you go)

fun, fun, fun (till her daddy takes the t-bird away) (beach antics! freds a menace but fp loves him anyway...)

hands over the ears of my heart (fred and hermione share a bed but platonically)

the apocalypse comes sooner than you think (fredsythemione antics)

small as a world and large as alone (a series of drabbles about archie jughead and fred post 104)

do a good turn daily (archie x reggie post 103)

seven minutes in heaven (archie and reggie picked for 7 minutes in heaven)

tell me every terrible thing you ever did (archie drops jughead off after the pep rally)

#READ HER WORK!#riverdale fanfiction #idk why im bothering tagging this i doubt its gonna show up anywhere thanks to tumblrs rules but whatever

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