#anyway time to listen to more mourning dove recordings

[existencebringsonlypain]

just found out I'm pitch-perfect but only for bird calls

[fletcherr]

hi ! i’m maren and i’m bad at intros ! and bios ! and things in general ! ... why am i here again ? uhm. anyway ! this is fletcher and uh ... he hates it here askdjfs like i can’t lie i’m so sorry but for the time being it’s ... lowkey the truth ? i’m writing this part of the post first so fingers crossed i manage to keep this short and to the point. if there’s no tldr it’s because this was supposed to be it. ( spoiler ; i failed. it’s so fucking long you literally do not have to read it i am so sorry. ) i’m super excited to be here and cannot wait to get to know you and your muses and be a part of this amazing group !!

THE APP !

˖ °╰ ⌜ [ MUSE TEN, ROBERT PATTINSON, 31, CIS MALE, HE/HIM ] hey, have you seen FLETCHER DUNCAN ? last time i saw them i think they were hanging around THE ROOFTOP. they can kind of be VEHEMENT but can also be pretty HAUGHTY. they’re often caught listening to SUPERSTAR SH*T - DOMINIC FIKE ! they also tend to remind me of cheap cigarettes put out in still half full glasses of rare bourbon, flipping off paparazzi, showing up to important meetings bleary-eyed and twenty minutes late, wearing sunglasses inside and black hoodies on the hottest day of summer, feeling uninspired for months then writing three albums worth of songs in two weeks ! let me know if you’ve seen them around, they’ve been working at the championship around FOUR MONTHS and they’re late for their shift !

THE BASICS !

full name: fletcher ralph duncan ( born fletcher ralph irvine )

nicknames: prefers fletcher, but is okay with fletch or duncan

date of birth: november 18th, 1989

gender: cis male

pronouns: he / him

height: 6′1

tattoos: some stupid ones without any deeper meaning to them on his arms and thighs, for sure

THE ( VERY ) IN - DEPTH ! tw for mentions of abuse of drugs and alcohol, terminal illness, hospitals, and death

after years of marriage, fletcher’s parents had him when they were both about to enter their forties, as one last, final attempt to find back to the love they’d had for each other when they started dating way back in high school. it didn’t work. his father left  when fletcher was four; leaving divorce papers on the kitchen table two weeks before christmas. him and his mother, winnie, moved from one of the suburbs to a smaller, more affordable apartment in brooklyn. they were never quite comfortable, money-wise, but they didn’t struggle either. two years after the move, his mother started seeing a guy she’d been introduced to through friends from work. fletcher adored richard from the first time they met, and as the years went by he came to consider him more of a dad than he ever did the one who left. that’s probably why he didn’t mourn when his father passed suddenly and unexpectedly the summer he turned ten. the following summer, winnie and richard married, and both her and fletcher completely rid themselves of the man who walked out on them when they both changed their last name from his to richard’s - duncan.

when richard moved in, he’d brought an electric guitar and a sparse record collection with him. these were fletcher’s first real introduction to music. he dove in head first. there’s no telling how many evenings they sat in the living room, records playing, or fletcher practicing on the guitar until he was caught up with his dad’s guitar skills. turns out, he was actually a bit of a natural. after he’d mastered his first instrument, he moved onto another. his mother - who’d been a classically trained, lifetimes ago - taught him to the best of her ability on a keyboard they got from a yard sale. he spent hours at a time in record stores. championship vinyl had always been richard’s favorite, and it wasn’t long until it was his favorite too. consuming music wasn’t enough, though. by the time he was in high school, fletcher was writing his own songs; creating his own music. of course - none of it was ever remotely up to par with the songs he kept discovering, but it didn’t matter. him and two kindred spirits he met at school formed a band, performing covers and the stuff he wrote. to afford actual gig gear - not that they ever booked many of those - fletcher applied for a part time job the only place he could think to; championship vinyl. though he'd been a regular for the better part of a decade by that time, he was still in disbelief and awe when he got the job.

fletcher thrived at championship. he took on all the shifts his schedule would allow him, and even skipped class to cover for anyone that asked. even when he was off the clock, he’d hang around. if he wasn’t flicking through new inventory or catching up with the whoever was at work, he’d be sitting on the rooftop with his guitar, a pen and a roll of receipt paper - scratching down song ideas and testing out new material. things were looking up; he was a creatively fulfilled high school senior with a job he loved, parents that supported- and loved him unconditionally, and he’d just been accepted into nyu. therefore, it rocked his world when his dad stopped by during one of his shifts, only to collapse while fletcher had his back turned to find a rare vinyl he’d set aside for him as a surprise. 

the diagnosis was a death sentence. months flew by in the blink of an eye, and he watched the only dad he’d ever truly known wither away before his eyes. weeks shy of a year to the date of the diagnosis, on the day richard duncan passed away, his son brought the old record player and the by now weathered records from the brooklyn apartment to the hospital room. he drew his last breath surrounded by the music and the family he loved.

not recently having gone through the same kind of world crumbling sorrow and the revelation about not wasting away and following your dreams that walks that’s bound to follow, his bandmates weren’t all that keen on the plan fletcher presented them with; movin to la and making it in music. really making it. with one of three members hellbent on leaving, the band broke up. they never could agree on a name, anyway. he turned in his resignation at championship, and jokingly promised james namsen to not come back until he’d won a grammy. winnie, though heartbroken to first lose the love of her life, and now having her son move away, had nothing but support and encouragement to offer when he announced he’d be dropping out of college to pursue music.

the first two years, nothing happened. he was living and working in downtown la; the apartment he shared with four roommates was just shy of being a shoebox, and the franchise record  store he eventually scored a job at lacked the soul and the hum of energy he was used to from championship back in new york. just as ambition and hope was wearing thin, things were starting to look up for him. he was meeting the right people in the right places, at the right times. after opening for a few up and coming acts, he was approached by a manager, who in turn introduced him to a few labels. though he was very aware he wasn’t a strong vocalist, he was confident in himself as a musician and a songwriter, and it seemed so was the internationally renowned label that ended up offering him a contract. his first single dropped not even a year later, soon followed by his debut album.

though his star was slowly rising, the album made only a miniscule splash. he toured it as an opening act and played a handful of shows on each coast. going back into the studio to work on the next album felt different. making the first one hadn’t felt authentic. not the process, nor the result. he’d been too agreeable; too eager to please and too eager to show he was worth everyone’s time and money. this time around, he was more assertive and demanded more control over the creative process. less co-writers were brought in, and he now had a say in which producers he worked with. his sophomore album released to generally positive reviews and ratings, but it seemed that would be it. then, almost over night, his shit was doing numbers. big numbers. 

sure - his label was running some promo for his sophomore album, but it seemed most people were catching wind of his stuff by word of mouth. people were actually buying his albums. both of them. when tickets to his second headline tour went on sale, they sold out in days. dates were added and venues were upgraded to answer the growing demand for tickets as more and more people found his music. he was playing famous venues now; legendary venues. festivals with hundreds of thousands of attendees. all over the country. all over the world. if he didn’t have a microphone or a guitar in his hand, he had a beer. or vodka. maybe whiskey. sometimes a joint, sometimes pills. he was at parties, then he was hosting parties. then he was at parties hosted in his honor. for the first time in his life, he had money. hard, real, fuck you money. he paid off the student loan he’d racked up during his one year stint at nyu, and the mortgage on the apartment he’d grown up in. he bought a house in beverly hills, and a two story apartment in brooklyn - both of which had shelves custom made for the gilded statuettes and trophies declaring him to be the best in a slew of categories. he’d done it. he was twenty-six and on top of the world. invincible. and then his mom's heart gave out.

for the three years that followed, his career suffered as he partied harder. friends he’d known for years disappeared, and were replaced with new faces that all blurred together. there were scandals, but they too were all a blur - leaked pictures and videos; shows he decided last minute he didn’t wanna do; shows he couldn’t do because he showed up too far gone to stand upright. people who got too close to him on one of the bad days, who’s faces he scarred forever. arrests, and settlements made outside of court. the label was getting antsy too, and when it passed the two year mark of the last time he’d set foot in the studio, his team - headed by the same manager that been with him through it all; that’d seen potential and believed in him all those years ago - pleaded with him to get help. begrudgingly, fletcher agreed. after a few months at rehab, he returned - clean, and determined to get back to work. the process was longwinded and intense, but the finished product was, in his eyes, solid gold. and - luckily? surprisingly? - the world at large agreed.

he toured the album with dates booked at relatively smaller venues this time around, but everywhere was packed full to the brim with people. throughout the time working on the album he’d been doing okay; staying sober and surrounding himself with good intentioned people. but being back on the road took a toll on him he hadn’t expected, and it didn’t take long for him to turn to alcohol when it was so easily accessible all around him, at all times. still, things were fine, and he was even relearning to appreciate the electric energy of performing live in front of an audience. to celebrate the last show of the us leg of the tour, the label threw an afterparty for the band, the team, the crew, and their friends. as people were starting to leaving the venue, fletcher sent some members of his band and a couple of their friends ahead with a key to his suite at a hotel nearby, while he thanked the label executives that’d been at the show. when he showed up, a glass was shoved into his hand, and as the party picked back up, someone got out the pills they’d kept at the bottom of their pocket all night. when offered, fletcher - on top of the world once more - accepted. 

someone snitched. and to the media, no less. when confronted by his team, he denied it. after being open about his struggle to overcome addiction, something like this would be damning for the reputation he’d rebuilt over the last two years. which is why he lied through his teeth. but then the videos from the suite appeared online, and his ruse was up. the rest of the tour was cancelled, and after completing a thirty day program, he was back in brooklyn.

it took some convincing, but he eventually went along with the ‘find back to your roots by returning to where it all started’ plan his team had cooked up. he also agreed to let someone else run his social media accounts for the time being. how his manager had gotten him a job at championship, fletcher didn’t know. he suspected a monthly bribe the size of his paycheck and then some was involved. but then again, he’d never known james namsen to be that kind of guy. for the first few weeks, he showed up for his shifts - sometimes on time, sometimes not - kept his head down, tried to engage with as few customers and co-workers as possible, then ditched as soon as he was off the clock. but there’d always been something special about the record store on the corner of bedford and sterling. soon enough, he began occasionally going up to the rooftop once his shift was over. approaching customers to offer his service before they approached him. show up early to catch up with whoever was working the shift before him. if he was having a particularly good day, he’d stop by to hang around even if he wasn’t on the schedule. he was well aware he wasn’t always easy to be around - years of living the high life and putting up walls having made him cynical, and standoffish, and discourteous. even if the boy he’d been when he walked out of there years ago was long gone, championship vinyl had stayed the same. and though fletcher’s yet to admit it, being back felt like being home. 

[vvirgils]

Chronicles of Straith #2-The Witch’s Dragon:Chapter 8

Chronicles of Straith #1-Fate’s Door///Chapter 7/Chapter 9//Masterpost

It was Roman’s second full day in Canea, and third day overall. They didn’t want this vacation to end, it was too perfect. Seeing Thomas, the feast, and Lilly’s stories about their mother all made Roman never want to leave. Were they not an actual king, Roman would stay for months.

Another morning of sleeping in, and Roman could appreciate being well-rested with less of the morning fog. Jessie woke them up, once again. Despite her youthful appearance, she was twenty years old and a full-time employee of the castle, as she explained when Roman expressed that they thought she was much younger.

She was a much more pleasant alarm clock than Roman’s annoying ticky thing in Straith. Roman’s morning improved even further when Jessie told them that the king wanted to spend some time with them. After meeting the king last night, Roman wasn’t too anxious, but they were incredibly curious.

“He said he wanted to show you some of your mother’s things,” Jessie said, leading a just-dressed Roman to where they were meeting the king. The clothes in Roman’s guest room fit them perfectly, and many of them were their mother’s. Apparently, Roman could take some home with them if they wanted, but for now, Roman was really digging this blouse. It was simplistic, a feminine style that fit them just the way they wanted it to.

“That should be fun,” Roman said, admiring the art in the corridors. How anyone could get used to this much beauty, they didn’t know. Their eyes lingered on the swan wallpaper that blinked and breathed. “Who did all the art here? It’s so pretty.”

“Lots of different artists, I believe. When the palace was built, they added lots of magic touches to provide jobs for struggling sorcerers. Specifically, the art sorcerers were becoming extremely undervalued, as increased paranoia over internal politics led to more people using magic to protect themselves instead of to add beauty to their lives,” Jessie answered, giving the wallpaper a passing glance. “That’s all the history of it, anyways. It’s not that interesting.”

“No, no. It’s really neat, I love history.” Roman wondered who had made the plant with a hundred different flower blossoms in front of them. “Do you know who made specific pieces?”

“There’s a record of them somewhere, I think,” Jessie said, stopping to knock on a door. “We’re at the king’s chambers, so have fun!”

The door opened before Roman, by none other than King Markus himself. He gave Roman a strong handshake, surprising his nephew.

“Roman, so good to see you! I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to talk to you earlier, but duty calls. How has your time in Canea been so far?” The king walked into what looked like a study room of some sort, and Roman automatically followed.

“It’s been wonderful so far, really,” Roman said, taking in the room. It wasn’t much to look at-a simple desk and a few bookshelves and cabinets, all in the same dark wood. Much different than Roman’s office back at home. They were almost scared to do work in there half the time, everything was so nice. “Jessie showed me around, and I got to meet Lilly. Dinner last night was great, too.”

“I’m glad you’re having a good time,” Mark replied, pacing around the room, clearly looking for something. “There’s some old things of your mother’s in here, it’s just been a while since I’ve been in this room. It’s a chest of some sorts.”

“Were you, um, close with my mother?” Roman asked, noting the change in the king’s tone when he mentioned Madeline. They looked around the room, wondering where a chest would be.

“Yes,” he responded, “She was my sister, and we fought sometimes, but at the end of the day we were in it together.”

There was an awkward pause of silence as Mark continued rooting through the room, and Roman watched. They weren’t sure what to say to that—it wasn’t like Roman had any siblings.

“Must be in the other room,” the king said, sighing and walking through another archway to a bedroom. “Sorry, I really do want to spend time with you and go through her things, but I only have a few minutes. I hope you understand, Roman.”

“It’s—it’s no problem. I have similar problems in Straith. The stress of being king can be difficult to bear,” Roman said, waving the apology away with their hand.

“Yes, I’m surprised you’ve managed to spend this much time away from your kingdom,” the king said, rooting around under the bed in a very undignified manner. “Ah! Found it.”

“I have, um, very capable advisors,” Roman said, remembering that they had essentially abdicated the throne with little to no warning. That thought quickly disappeared from their mind when Mark pulled the trunk out from under the bed. “What’s in it?”

“Lots of your mother’s old papers, diaries and letters. She kept a very thorough diary, and wrote to many of her college friends. So many pen pals— and many of them didn’t even know that she was the princess.” He struggled a little with picking up the trunk, heaving it in the direction of the office.

“Don’t you have servants who can assist with this?” Roman asked, surprised at how much Mark was struggling. “Here, I can give you a hand.” They held onto one side of the trunk.

“Thank you, Roman. I do have servants, but I wanted to speak with you in private. Besides, it’s good for me, with all the sitting I do all day,” Mark said, guiding Roman into the office. Together, the two kings set the chest down on the desk.

“Anything I should definitely look at?” Roman asked, already fiddling with the clasp of the chest.

“Oh, all of it’s interesting. Tell me what you find at dinner, it’s been a while since I looked through it all,” Mark said, helping Roman with the clasp. The lid of the chest flipped backwards, and Roman dove in immediately, grabbing a sheet of paper to read. “I wish I had more time to talk with you... We should have a real talk sometime. How long will you be staying?”

“Um, a week, I think,” Roman said, already skimming the letter. “Maybe we could tour the city together, or something.”

“I would love that. Now, I’ll send someone to get you for lunch,” Mark said, walking towards the door. “I hope the papers help you learn more about Madeline.” The door shut behind him before Roman could reply, leaving them all alone with a lot of reading to do.

The king seemed nice enough, but Roman really didn’t care about him when there was a whole treasure chest filled with their mother’s handwriting in front of them. Starting with the letter in their hand, Roman sat down in the chair and read. The chair appeared to be wooden, but Roman could swear it felt cushioned.

Just another touch of magic in Canea, they supposed. But Roman soon forgot about their chair as they read further in the papers. Madeline Elthren’s life unfolded before them, the world of an intelligent socialite living as part of the ruling class of Canea. She loved magic, and mourned the fact that she wasn’t a sorceress. In one letter to Lilly, she recalled playing “sorcerer” as a child. Roman found the paper hard to read as tears welled in their eyes at the thought of Madeline loving Virgil for her powers.

Past college, the letters changed their tone. They weren’t to friends anymore, but to important members of the court. Roman was confused when they saw the first letter addressed to someone within the Canean court, but the person wasn’t on vacation. The story unfolded from there, and Roman couldn’t believe how…callously she talked about Epos.

It wasn’t like Roman hadn’t said similar to their friends, but this was the man she eventually married. Yet there was another twist — letters about Epos’s corruption—and how marrying him could be the only way for Canea to infiltrate and neutralize the threat Epos presented.

Counselor Alexa

I understand that we should not interfere in affairs that are not our own, but the more news we receive about Epos’s reign and how it is harming the people of Straith, the more scared I become. He could cut off trade with Canea, and then where would we be? Their imports of coal are vital for our economy—he could cause a complete collapse—and as much as I absolutely hate him, marriage might be our best bet. It’ll forge an alliance, if nothing else.

But I cannot allow assassination to take place with my knowledge. As queen, I will have enough power to hold sway over their government to hopefully keep anything too terrible from happening. Once I produce an heir, I’ll be vital enough that no one will be able to dismiss me in court. I hate that it’s the only way I’ll gain respect in Straith, but we can’t change everything overnight.

I have sent a letter to Epos with an affirmative to his proposal. I hope we can work together on this, though we have different views.

Love and victory,

Madeline Elthren, Crown Princess of Canea

There were more letters than just the one, but this was the one that Roman gripped hard enough to wrinkle the paper. A loveless marriage. A refusal to assassinate. Respect, gained through an heir.

It wasn’t surprising. Roman had always wondered how someone would fall in love with their father, especially when their stepmother had only married Epos for his money. She’d disappeared after Roman took the crown, there for their coronation and gone the next. Roman supposed she was with her family, happily working on the family business of mining. They’d never thought to check, but her apathy towards Epos made the letters between Roman’s mother and the former king more shocking.

Dearest Madeline

It brings me so much joy to know that you will take my hand in the sacred bond of marriage. I don’t say these words to merely be courteous, but because I am happy to be marrying for love, not politics. You have listened to me when no one else would, and taken sympathy in the plights of a jaded king when many would scorn me for my status. Truly, there is no one like you. Your wit lights up a room, and I cannot wait to see it grace the halls of Straith’s castle.

Thank you for your kind words since the death of my father, and may they continue every day. I await your visit with much anticipation, and if there is anything you desire for the wedding, say the word and it is yours. I am so glad to have found an ally in my vision for Straith, and to have that ally at my side in court.

With all my love,

Epos Theularus

Roman didn’t realize how much their father had loved Madeline. And how little their mother loved Epos. Her words felt fake in the responding letter, the tone completely different from her other correspondence. The manipulation was obvious, every syllable a betrayal to the idea of a loving person that everyone at last night’s dinner had built.

Beloved Epos,

I am counting down the days, this is truly a dream come true! I believe we will be excellent rulers together, and companions in the most intimate of ways. To join you, not your country, but you, in marriage is the highest honor I could imagine. There is no visionary I would rather follow into a new world. Your intelligence and foresight is one that I admire, and it is a privilege to listen to your innermost thoughts.

I wish I could write more, but it is late and I fear someone will notice me grinning over a letter in the dead of night, loopy with love and giggling to herself. For the wedding, I wish nothing but to have you by my side.

All the love in the world,

Madeline Elthren Theularus

They read on, despite the sting of their mother’s lies. There were so many letters to and from the nobility of Canea, some describing how Madeline should seduce Epos in so much detail that Roman couldn’t read them all the way through. Even Markus was in on the secret, telling his sister to make her “intentions more obvious to the moronic monarch you married. Alliteration!” As much as Roman wanted to be mad at her on their father’s behalf, they couldn’t blame her. Even in youth, Epos was a downright terrible person, and he’d grown into an awful king who cared more about his fragile ego than the people he was supposed to be serving.

After years of being forced to conform to Epos’s idea of what a “son” should be, Roman knew that it must have taken guts for their mom to subject herself to his rule every second of her life, willingly. If you had asked Roman, at fourteen, if they wanted to live with Epos or literally anywhere else, they would have chosen anywhere else in a heartbeat.

During her pregnancy, she wrote about Roman. It was strange, the things she wanted for them. The way she talked about them as a hopeful future, someone she would bring up to be more like herself than Epos. It was sad, but Roman couldn’t stop reading. These were the only words she would ever write about them.

Lilly,

Epos keeps asking me if there’s any Canean sorcery that lets us know the gender before the baby is born, and I keep telling him there isn’t. Fortunately, he’s too stupid to know that there absolutely is (Straith’s library is a joke, honestly), and I don’t really care if it’s a boy or girl. Either way, I just want to raise a child that will rule Straith better than their father. Someone with a good heart, and enough patience to put up with their father because I could certainly use some.

Cravings are, well, interesting. I’m hoping I don’t get the urge for something magical, because every time I bring up sorcery, I get this look like I murdered everyone’s cat. I really don’t understand what about sorcery is as awful as cat genocide, but I’m almost afraid to ask. Perhaps my baby will somehow get this country to not have such a prejudice against magic. I’m pretty sure Epos would flip if he visited Canea, but he’s too self-obsessed to even think about it.

I hope all is well in Chanidy, and Mark isn’t too stressed over the training for monarchy. I remember being sixteen and terrified that I could literally kill people with a few words. He’s more anxious than I am, so make sure he’s ok.

Love and victory,

Madeline Elthren (technically Theularus, but not happy about it)

Well, at least Roman was able to bring sorcery to Straith. Their mother would be proud, certainly. Roman sat in that room, letting their emotions fill them to the brim, until Jessie brought them to dinner.