isabelle

1st year uni

[fizzyizzygracie]

Romeo and Juliet in ASOIAF

warnings: suicide, playing god?, reader dies (implied), tragedy

The air to the apothecary was rancid, thick with powder and smoke and many manners of sickening poison that stuck into your chest and festered. The smell was acrid and caused your nose to scrunch, the skin appearing to crack and split. A wooden window snaps open and a creature's hand, blackening and rotting, emerges, a smile, muddy and cruel, widens and the poison is delivered, a small unassuming vial of coppery slosh. The animal is paid its currency, a cruel giggle leaving its mouth as it retreated back into its hut, licking each stag.

Its greed dripped onto the rotting floors.

You did not notice as you turned on your heel and walked fast through Flea Bottom to the Keep. Your leather boots were now caked with mud as you stood over each dying and dead body. Where you used to purse your lips in your privilege, now you ignored them in your pursuit.

You had an appointment with the Stranger and your Love to keep.

Poison was your chosen method. For your Valarr always called you beautiful, he touched your skin with such reverence and kindness that you could not mar it in a way he would see once you met down below. To bring death upon oneself was great sin towards the Seven, to invite the Stranger was fiddling with the careful order of things. The Gods did not care what humanity did, they only cared when humanity questioned and to end the life they gave? That is the ultimate evil, the antithesis to the blind obedience they demand.

You did not care. The Gods held no influence over you. The influence that held your heart was true, it was kind, it was beautiful. It was the sun. It was your Valarr. And now he lay dead, he lay sick and dead while you breathed the air stolen from his lungs, just as you were stolen, banished, condemned to a fate worse than death.

So you chose death.

You chose to chase your sweet, sweet Valarr.

How romantic.

[fizzyizzygracie]

asoiaf romeo and juliet anyone?

valarr as juliet; a blackfyre!reader as romeo, the impetuous idiot; aerion is tybalt, the bloodthirsty cousin represented by an animal (tybalt:cat, aerion:dragon); bloodraven as friar lawrence, the advisor with the right idea but wrong method; baelor is lord capulet blinded by grief ("the earth hath swallowed all my other hopes but she")

"do with their death bury their parents strife"

(i also like that westeros and verona have the same amount of syllables so it doesn't ruin the iambic "in fair westeros where we lay our scene" )

valarr fakes his death to be with reader by pretending he has the summer sickness, reader finds out and sneaks into the castle, finds him dead and kills herself. he wakes up, finds her dead and kills himself

how tragic

[fizzyizzygracie]

Parents Evening with Simon Riley

summary: simon riley finds out even abstinence can't prevent from becoming a dad

warnings: parental bereavement, depression, mention of not sleeping/not eating, BULLYING

reader is a teenager, about 16

Simon Riley isn't a father. He never had the honour to sire any child, he barely even had the ability to charm a woman into his bed. After he joined the army, after his face was marred and after his trauma and hesitancies were brought forward, he'd been celibate. He'd never minded this, particularly. The more people you let in, the more leave. He was a pessimist, sure. You ask him what the leading cause of divorce was, he'd answer marriage. So he avoided human contact and he was content with that.

On top of that, any previous human sympathies had been cut off. That meant his brother as well. It was only through pure luck he head about his sister-in-law's death because of the birth of his niece. And despite himself, he'd watched the little girl from afar. His brother held the same trauma as him and now he had no-one to hold his hand? Poor girl.

You did not have an easy life. Born early, born small, born to cause her mother's death, born to a man sickened by grief and hardened by his own childhood. Truly, you had no chance. Somewhere in Ghost's cold cavity, he found it within himself to seek this girl out.

All he found was a sad little list:

You were a quiet girl, an echo of Simon at your age, the sadness behind your eyes was nothing less than permanent. You worked hard, perhaps too hard, you did well but you had no friends, barely spoke. Exemplary grades, polite to a fault, sweet but completely friendless.

Simon didn't meet you until your father died.

The funeral was a formal affair; a church sat deep in the Yorkshire Dales where the wind whipped and the fog settled over the heather. The eulogy was prewritten and impersonal, delivered by a priest with a long face and sour eyes.

Simon hated funerals. He only attended because Price had forced a day off for him and it felt hollow to deny himself the last goodbye to the cruel man who he had once shared his everyday with. He sat alone, no mask on his face for once. He did not get up, he did not deliver a speech, he did not even bring flowers.

It was only the little girl that seemed to notice him. He recognised you immediately. Her dress was respectful and black, her hair was down and curly, untouched by the foster parents behind her. She tilted her head and Simon and smiled.

He turned his head and checked she was not smiling at anyone else and when there was not, he waved back. She darted away from the two women meant to be supervising her grief after the coffin had been buried and the ceremony was over. She pulled at his sleeve and when her fingers brushed with his skin she pulled her hand back, rubbing it on the velvet panel over her chest.

He nodded solemnly. "Sorry 'bout ya dad, kid."

You didn't answer, instead stared up at him and blinked. Simon bristled under the stare and nodded again.

"Are you here to take me home with you?" You said, quietly.

Simon nearly choked. "What?"

You nodded and gestured behind you to the woman who had been holding your shoulder. You noticed Simon and walked over.

You held out your hand. "Mr Riley, is it? God, the family resemblance is strong, isn't it?" You laughed. "I'm Martha. Your niece's caseworker. We've been trying to contact you for a few weeks now. But she's been left in your care after the death of her father. The good news is, because it was in his will, there's not much that needs to be done! You just need to sign this form and you can take her home today."

Simon didn't know what was going on as he scrawled over a piece of paper. But by simply attending his brother's funeral, he had become a young girl's emergency contact, father figure and mentor.

Simon hated funerals.

Despite his impromptu step up, he soon became Dad. You never called him that, it was always 'Simon' to his face. But he was gentle with you, he helped train Riley, the German Shepherd, with you. He took you shopping and taught you how to defend herself against men triple your size. He built you a bookshelf, a desk and rearranged your room whenever you got bored of it. He had helped you wallpaper and paint her room with minimal complaint. He enrolled you into therapy with no shame. He taught her how to shoot a gun and survive the recoil. He could not teach you how to make friends but he became your best one.

In short, your father may have died when you were seven but it was that crash that meant you met your Dad.

You were quiet that first night. The fog swept up into a light drizzle and into heavy thunder. The first stop had been a supermarket for some pyjamas (there was a limit to the oversized fashion, Simon assumed). You rejected his bribery through sweets and instead crouched in the international aisle, knees parallel to your ears as you stared at the pot noodles.

Simon didn't even notice you weren't beside him until he heard your high pitched scream and he sprinted through the shop, calling your name. He found you, head still tilted towards the noodles but eyes scrunched shut as a woman crouched beside you. She looked up and her face paled at the sight of Simon: black suit, black balaclava, unit of a man.

"Sorry, ma'am. She's ma niece." When the woman smiled and seemed to batter her eyelashes, Simon panicked and blurted, "'Er dad's dead. Really dead, y'know?"

She turned even paler and scurried off.

He knelt down next to you and poked at your cheek with a fat finger.

You started and stared at him, snot dribbling onto your lip, cheeks wet, red and swollen. You sucked your bottom lip in and blinked with wide eyes.

"Y'want tha'?" he pointed and you nodded. "Alrigh'. Come on."

He clasped your hand in his; Goliath gently guiding David through Tesco.

He took you home and set you up in what would become your bedroom and was currently a disused spare room full of boxes, a treadmill and a lumpy single bed.

That first night seemed to set the benchmark for the rest of your life with your uncle: a man truly trying his best and delivering.

Surprisingly, you grew up to be a reasonably well-rounded teenager. Admittedly, you were maybe socially stunted, chronically lonely, on antidepressants but you were witty, incredibly intelligent, excelling at the academic side of school, kind, beautiful and the apple of Simon's eye.

Ridiculously clever, you landed yourself a scholarship at the country's leading grammar school, which luckily meant Simon now had a perfect place to keep you safe while he was on deployment for months on end—a school with security designed for Ladies and Princesses? That was perfect for Simon's little girl.

So, you wore the pinafore dresses, the minimal makeup, bent the rules to pierce your cartilage a few (many) times, you endured the dorms and hid in the bathrooms at lunch time. You never told Simon you hated it because you knew it would break his heart and how could he handle that?

You didn't tell him about the rumours or the cruel names only teenage girls could conjure or the instagram accounts and the messages. As far as Simon knew, you had depression, yeah, but you were okay. You had friends, even had a boyfriend, maybe, life was good.

Which was why you had been dreading parents evening for months. You had tried to avoid it, even going as far to stalk and email Laswell's wife to try and get him deployed the week of. When that had failed, you resorted to convincing Johnny to come and mediate to avoid a full blown tantrum.

The phone call had been decently long winded, whispered through the school's phone after hours. You stood outside Matron's office, praying she would not wake up and take pity on you while you stood in your pyjamas.

"Pretty please, Johnny, you need to be here."

"Y' pleased are pretty now, aye? See if they were uglae, Idda said nah," he scoffed.

"Oh, my God, shhh!" You hissed. "But please. You actually need to be here. I don't care if they think you're fucking gay."

Johnny laughed and you winced at the sound coming through the ancient plastic, eyes darting to the door where Matron's snores paused then continued. "Why are ya so bothered, lassie? You fail in' Latin or some shite? Come on, donnae be ridiculous. He gonn' be proud as punch no matter because you're fuckin' insane, Riley. Ya both are."

"That's what I'm saying! He's insane and he's not gonna like it! Just think, Soap! It's a school full of prissy teenage girls and prissy teachers and prissy parents. He's volatile when the tube goes through Chelsea, let alone this."

Eventually, he relented and decided he wanted to noah at your posh school and posh friends.

You did not correct that you had no friends.

The day came and you had already thrown up thrice that day, eventually resorting to dry heaving into the art block bathrooms. You met them at the gates, Johnny had worn his most casual civilian clothes, jeans and some faded t-shirt and obviously wrangled Simon into something less... Ghost. A cap, dark jeans and a hoodie. He had even forgone the mask for your benefit, though his hoodie was pulled up high on his face and his cap low.

You tried to smile when Johnny went to ruffle your hair and make a joke. Simon smiled slightly and nodded.

"Y'alright, kid? You look pale?"

"You sent me to boarding school in rural Scotland, we don't see the sun for months. Come on."

Both men exchanged looks. They knew you. They knew you were nervous, they didn't know why. They knew this would probably not go as smoothly as anticipated.

The first few subjects went perfectly, you had perfect grades, perfect attendance, perfect manners. Your teachers loved you. But Simon and Johnny were trained to watch their surroundings and read people for hostility and anger. That distaste leaked off these girls when they looked at you. It boiled Simon's blood.

When your form tutor, Mrs Grace, finally caught up to you and thwarted your attempts to hide from her, your stomach dropped and you felt nauseous once again.

Mrs Grace took you into an empty classroom, thirty oak desks, chalkboard, high windows and an old projector.

Johnny whistled and laughed. "S'like fuckin' Hogwar's, innae Lt?"

You stayed quiet, blinking rapidly as you stared at one of the desks where you sat down. Mrs Grace watched you while she perched herself on the teacher's desk. "My apologies we've never met, Mr Riley."

Johnny grinned and winked. "I ain' Mr Riley. MacTavish. M'love 'ere refuses t'put a ring on it, y'know how they are."

Mrs Grace smiled awkwardly and nodded. "Well, Mr MacTavish and Mr Riley. I apologise I've been unable to introduce myself. I'm your daughter's form tutor. That means I help her with her classes and.. and certain social difficulties that can come with boarding."

Simon blinked and scowled at you, watching you closely, carefully. He said your name gruffly and you did not look at him.

Mrs Grace continued. "You may be aware that Miss Riley has been struggling to adjust. Many students struggle, it is not unheard of. But it's becoming a concern."

The entire conversation was a humiliation ritual. You had never felt so horribly lit up in all of your life. Mrs Grace bluntly laid out the nightmare that had been your life since you started. The cruel names, the slut shaming, the virgin shaming, the drawings, the videos, the instagram posts, everything.

It eventually ended up with the consensus that not much could really be done (for these girls fathers likely ran the government) though Johnny made a snide comment about using some nicely borrowed explosives to become the twenty first century Guy Fawkes. Mrs Grace looked stricken. But you were now enrolled into therapy, your own dorm room and would be separated from the bullies at any opportunity.

Simon took you to a shitty 24 hour cafe in the centre of town for a hot chocolate as a treat. They sat opposite you with matching "intervention expressions". Both ordered black coffee while you scarfed down a cream bun.

"Y'moving schools," Simon said gruffly. "That place is a breeding ground for bullying and—"

"Lesbianism?" you cut in. "Come on. It's inevitable in any boarding school you send me to. Either I'll be sobbing because I'm being fingered or because someone's being mean to me."

Simon scowled at you. "Don't be crude to change the subject, little miss. We've discussed this."

You rolled your eyes and sighed. "This is why I didn't fucking tell you. Because you'd get all self righteous and send me to the hole you went to."

"My school was not a hole."

"You once told me that your toilets didn't have doors because you lot would be doing cocaine in first year," you deadpanned.

Simon huffed and shrugged slightly. "I never said it was a place of academic success."

"Or hygiene codes, apparently."

"I think we're gettin' away from thae point here," Johnny cut in. "Simon's right, Lassie. Y'cant stay there. You're miserable. That gorgeous—"

You gagged. "—ew, Soap."

"That aesthetically pleasing but intelligent woman said you were barely eating, barely sleeping. She said one of the girls tried to poison you."

"She put strawberries in my water. She was trying to improve the taste—"

"Y'allergic to strawberries."

You scoffed, cheeks burning. "It's not a common allergy, is it?"

Both men huffed and stared at you. They were back to their 'intervention expressions' and exchanging glances that were probably born of long operations that required almost psychic abilities between the team.

Eventually, you sighed. "I didn't tell you because I knew you'd get anal about it and worry."

"I'm s'possed to worry, lovie, tha's my job," Simon said, surprisingly soft.

"I thought that after a while, it would die down and I'd find someone who liked me," you whispered. "I just feel so... alone."

Simon let out and exhale of breath as tears rolled down your cheeks. You tucked your knees up onto the sofa and suddenly you were back in that supermarket, completely alone in the world, sobbing and praying that someone would find you until he poked at your cheek and reminded you.

Your dad Simon would always be in your corner.

"We'll sort this out, okay?"

simon being forced into a position of care and entrusted with someone who needs/deserves love and affection. then having to accept that talking and therapy is good, FORCED to seek that help himself otherwise he's a hypocrite

simon, my love :(

my favourite tragic character, i'm gonna have so much fun "torturing" this man with his hypothetical, not real niece. ahhh......

this is kinda bad. i didn't know how to end it and it was kinda rushed but wtv i don't care atp. i also think i contradict myself ab six times in like really bad ways: if you see this, please let me know

this is not proofread or even reread bc i cringe too much when i reread my stuff

MWAH, love ya, have a WONDERFUL day/night 😘

[fizzyizzygracie]

jealous denial

warnings: none? COD? written with a feminine reader in mind but i don't think im explicit in that so can be for anyone, i think

overview: gaz is head over heels with the reader of anyone's dreams (you ofc, you baddie) and no-one can be mature about it.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick and his high school sweetheart!reader. It was the perfect fairytale kind of love, born of late homeworks, essays, irritating tutors and boarding school.

It was Kyle who got you through secondary school and you who got him through it too. You were the best of friends who were lucky enough to fall in love, though, everyone would argue it was inevitable. Nominated "best couple" by the end of year 11, at seventeen, Kyle joined the army and you suddenly had to navigate the world without him.

Soon, secret takeaway orders, hiding from Matron and revising in the library become blue letters, film photos and weekends spent on the train to visit each other. It became late night calls and "I miss you"s, drawings and postcards and 'distance only makes the heart grow fonder', right?

It certainly was the kind of romance to write home about. Your mum loves him, your friends love him, he loves you, you love him. It's sweet but not saccharine, romantic but not cringey, comfortable but not boring.

So why didn't the guys believe him?

Kyle had never been more riled up than when he was defending your honour. A drunk guy in a bar he could handle but the ultimate loner Simon Riley denying your existence? Johnny MacTavish laughing at your drawings and John Price sighing? No. No. That was unbelievable, blasphemous, plain rude. Gaz was not taking that disrespect.

So, he doubled down.

He convinced you to send more postcards, more letters describing details of university, even attempting to get you to give him a copy of one of your essays (to which you had scoffed but politely declined), more drawings of stupid things and more loud phone calls.

He is not met by an apology nor an admission of, "Gaz, we're really sorry we doubted you, we do in fact believe you and we're really happy you're gonna get married and have kids and live long happy lives together"

Instead he receives the nickname "Lars" for a bit and the running joke: "Kyle's in love with a sex doll and writes it letters"

Honestly, the boys completely believed Gaz, (of course he had the perfect romance, the man's perfect), they were just inhumanly jealous that he had someone to go home to, someone to live for.

And it was hilarious to watch him get so riled up.

gaz deserves more love :(

why is no-one fuming 😤 about the gaz erasure, i'm so angry, my poor little love

also i love these two 🥰 and will not be halting in writing them when i should be locking in rn with a massive essay due in the morning (kill me now 😦)

this is really short and not proofread at all

have a wonderful day/night whatever!! mwah!

[fizzyizzygracie]

We'll see

Rafe Cameron x OC

warnings: i don't think there is any?? i'm not brave enough to delve into deep things so we're PG over here (for now)

The first time Rafe saw Margaret Partridge all grown up, he experienced whiplash.

She was lounging by the pool in some thinly strapped blue bikini when he rounded around the corner. Her head snapped up, her mane of natural, reddish curls bouncing with her. The few photos around the house of her was when she was dolled up for events, her hair pulled back or straightened and blown out with precision. With hundreds of curls preening under the water from the pool and frizzing up past her shoulders and settling behind her ears, he almost didn't recognise her.

The second difference was that her face was bare. For instance, Rafe had no idea the girl possessed so many freckles or that her skin held so many silvery scars—acne from her youth, perhaps. Rafe almost snickered at the thought; prepubescent hormones were no match for creams, lotions and drugs, he could imagine. She was also incredibly pale, her skin used to the overhead cloud of her English boarding school perhaps rather than the deep sun of the east coast.

On the contrary, Margaret recognised Rafe instantly and nearly curled up on herself. She blinked, eyes wide, blue and owlish as she waited for him to patronise her, or even worse, ignore her entirely.

"I thought you were at boarding school," he said plainly. His eyes briefly ran over her bikini and made note of that, yes, from the age of eleven to sixteen, girls did, in fact, change.

"They finish summer early for exams over there. Officially, I'm on study leave," she answered quietly.

"But you're sixteen. What exams?" was his dumb response.

She smiled softly and sat up, pushing at her sunglasses by the rim over her cheek. "Different education system, Rafe. We do exams at sixteen and eighteen."

He nodded and swallowed, squinting as he looked out at the garden. "When did you get back?"

"Yesterday. Managed to catch a boat before anyone refused to soldier," she laughed and tilted her head. "Are you looking for my brother?"

Rafe paused, forgetting completely about Adam. Then his brain caught up and he nodded, rubbing at his chin. "Yeah. Yeah. He was supposed to meet me out front and he didn't. So..."

"So you decided to let yourself in?" She was still smiling at him, a small quirk of her lips but a loud sparkle in her eyes. "I'd tell you to go up but he's in there with some girl. Hence why I'm outside."

Rafe practically shuddered. He scowled up at the house and huffed. "Asshole. We were supposed to— to hang out."

Margaret raised her eyebrows and pulled an expression that could only mean, 'really?' She exhaled and shrugged before moving back onto her stomach. "He should be down in a bit. They've been at it since Daddy left this morning, so."

He stared at her then with a quiet intensity. He nodded silently. Then he sat down on the sun-bed next to her.

"Are you back for good then?" He asked gently after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

"A few months. Then I go back for sixth form." Rafe stayed quiet and stared with his silent question. "Second set of qualifications," she supplied and he nodded even if she wasn't looking at him. "I thought you'd be at college but Adam said you didn't apply."

Rafe grimaced and laughed, his index finger rubbing between his brows. "Yeah. Wasn't— s'not really for me. I'm not an academic."

"You mean you're a nepo baby who's hoping your dad'll give you a job without a degree?" she said with a soft smile, sitting up again, her back arched.

He laughed and shook his head despite himself. "Don't make me sound like that. Nah, I'm gonna take a year off. See what's up, you know? Thinking about joining the military or somethin'."

"That's very physical. Can you handle it, Cameron? Can you handle the buzz cut?"

A bubble of loud laughter escaped fromhis throat and he shook his head. "I think I can handle a haircut, Miss Partridge."

Margaret's entire face scrunched up and she stared at him. "Are you actually thinking about it?"

Rafe suddenly turned shy and he fiddled with the ring on his finger. "Yeah, actually. I think the structure would kinda do me good, you know? Just, like, maybe don't say anything. My dad doesn't know."

"Are you gonna tell him?" She asked lowly, her eyes boring into his face from overtop of her glasses.

Rafe sighed and squinted off into the pool. "Honestly, I was thinking about just going. Leave a letter or some stupid shit." Margaret sat up and watched him silently, carefully looking at each of his tiny movements. He laughed uncomfortably. "Shit, Marg. Don't look at me like that. Looking in my soul and shit."

She smiled softly and shrugged. "Well, your soul happens to be a pretty sight, Rafe Cameron."

He coughed and stood up, wiping his hands on his shorts. He laughed under his breath and itched at his nose. He pointed at Margaret like he didn't know what to do with his hands. "It was– you're back and that's– that's good. It was nice to see you again. You look– you're good. You look good."

Margaret just laughed and shook her head, rolling back onto her tummy and waving lazily at him. "I'll see you around, Rafe."

The next time Rafe saw Margaret was at a party. She wasn't like she was in his horrible, evil dreams though. She wasn't not dolled up, hair slicked, makeup thick and her dress thinner. No, she wasn't wearing some kind of cotton pinstripe pants, a camisole with Snoopy embroidered onto her breast, her hair in two gatherings of curls in the form of french braids. She was not dancing and drunk on the table, instead forcing water down her brother's throat with her left hands and her keys in her right.

"Adam. Adam, come on. You need to drink some," she was saying, her eyebrows creasing prettily.

Rafe was leaning against the wall, nowhere near as drunk as Adam but perhaps a few drinks deep that his inhibitions were floaty and scarce.

She eventually got Adam into the backseat of her car, pushing him through the party and swearing at a few people who tried to stop them. Rafe trailed behind them as she did so.

"Do you want me to drop you home as well?" she asked as she turned to look at him. She gestured to the cigarette he was nursing, waving her hand towards herself.

He offered it out and she took it, holding it deep in her fingers and taking a long drag. "Adam said I could crash at yours tonight."

Margaret stared at him and frowned again. "You only live across the road."

"Rose and my dad are having a date night. Wanted the house empty." Her mouth rounded and she nodded while taking another inhale of smoke. She offered it back to him but he shook his head. "It was mainly for the aesthetic."

Margaret laughed loudly and her face softened. "You're so stupid." She shook her head and gestured for him to get in while she started the car and pulled out.

The radio was quiet and the windows open. Cold air blew over Rafe's face and he found it was strangely peaceful with Adam's soft snores and Margaret's soft humming to whatever jazz station she had on.

He remembered that about her. From when she spent more time on the island, he always remembered her being musical. A vague memory surfaced to the front of his head and he blurted it out. "Didn't you play in band?"

She turned and nodded, humming. "I still do. I play cello and the saxophone."

"I remember that," he said softly, as if he needed to affirm that he did once have that connection with her. "I went to one of your concerts so me and Adam could go to a baseball game."

"So I was a means to an end?" she grinned, her tongue poking out from between her teeth.

Rafe grinned and shrugged. "T'was a good show."

"Memorable," she said softly. Her eyes met with his before flicking back to the road.

Rafe had never really been struck by beauty. Most of the time, he was searching for it, desperately trying to find someone worthy for his affection, his attention, his lust. But he felt no stirring in his gut and only a kind of cathartic shame. How could he think a girl was unworthy of him when he was sharing a car with Margaret? Rafe suddenly felt shitty and made a redundant, drunken note to text all the girls he ghosted a sincere apology.

sorry, babe. i'm actually not as drop dead gorgeous as i thought i was. anyway, good luck or whatever, you still have no chance of a second date btw lol

"Yeah. Memorable. That's a good word."

She smiled, her eyes crinkled and his stomach swooped. Is this a crush? Did Rafe have a crush? God, who was he? How humiliating. This was mortifying. This was God Himself spiting him for every asshole thing he'd ever done. At least it was some feelings bullshit and not getting shot at. (Though he'd willingly put his name down for that.)

He was shaken out of his brief existential by Margaret smoothly reversing the car into her driveway. The car beeped and booped before she opened the door and flicked her brother's eyes to shake him awake. When that didn't work, she held his nose and he started before he was dragged upright.

"Woah, woah, woah. Maggie. No need for the aggression. I was getting there." He spoke with an irritating vocal fry and adopted an American accent in his inebriation. Despite his protests, she dragged him inside the ostentatious house.

The thing about Margaret's family was that if the Cameron's were rich, they were merely a drop in the sea of the Partridge's wealth. See, Margaret's family came from the generational wealth that had been around since before America was even considered to be a country. Her family had a crest for crying out loud, her parents were Lord and Lady and did business with Princes and Dukes. For Margaret, the Outerbanks was a summer home her father lived in to hide away from his wife and an escape from her varsity, private, boarding school. To her, the Cameron's were only playing at being rich.

She opened the door, (unlocked because who needed to lock one's door when everything was easily replaced by a tap of one's Amex?) and pushed Adam in. He was allowed to collapse onto the sofa, smoothly retrieving an old bowl and placing it beside him with some pain killers and water.

While Margaret tended to her brother, Rafe drifted into the kitchen where he found the lights on. Looking over his shoulder, he ventured in and found a laptop and about six books sprawled out on the counter. He closed the lid and was greeted by a set of stickers from various worldwide locations. He eventually surmised the mess belonged to Margaret and reopened the laptop, where he checked the Microsoft account and was proved right. The Word document was white and bright in the soft, pink light of the kitchen. The words were too clever for him after a few beers so he flicked through the books to the title pages and smiled to himself.

The doorway to the kitchen darkened, as did Margaret's cheeks when she caught Rafe. He looked up and smiled, shameless. "Are you doing a summer project?"

"It's a writing competition," she said quietly. "I get bored and restless and I work when I can't sleep. But I don't have any work to do right now. So I do these."

A smile crept onto his face and he laughed. His face was softer and his eyes more open than Margaret had ever seen them as he ran a hand over the papers.

"Do you want a drink?" she asked, already moving away to the fridge. "Not alcoholic, obviously. I don't want you passed out as well. I can deal with my brother being weird but you would be... I don't know."

"I'll have some water," Rafe said lowly, watching her.

The night was quiet and intimate as the two talked, and eventually it dissolved and light flooded through the kitchen doors. Margaret turned and blinked as the sun blinded her through the french doors. She laughed in disbelief. "Shit, I didn't realise it was like, morning."

His expression was soft as he turned to look at her. The sun pierced through the windows to lay a blanket over his tanned face and his blue eyes. Margaret's breath caught in her throat, she shamelessly let her eyes linger, locked with his. The moment was only broken by Adam retching in the living room. It happened to be Rafe who broke eye contact to turn around and watch his friend stumble into his kitchen.

He groaned and leaned against the counter, letting his cheek smash against the (genuine), cold marble. "Why did you let me drink so much?"

"I didn't let you do anything," Rafe said with a smile. "It was kinda difficult to get you to stop."

Margaret rubbed at her face as she sank back into the stool at the counter. "You rang me, Adam, to pick you up. You were literally about to get in the bath when I got there."

He groaned again, louder. "I'm never drinking ever again." He huffed and looked up, his eyes snapping between Rafe and Margaret. He pointed at Rafe before putting his head back down. "What're you doing here?"

Rafe laughed, the sound erupting from his throat without warning. "You said I could stay."

"Oh, yeah. For your– your dad's sex thing."

Both Margaret and Rafe cringed, faces scrunching up and identical groans sounding. Adam laughed and poked at Rafe's neck.

"C'mon, there was no need for that."

Adam lifted his head up and stared intently at Margaret. There seemed to be some kind of communication between the two that caused Margaret to huff and flick at his eye. Adam just laughed and Rafe frowned, the horrible feeling of being left out bubbling up in his stomach.

"I should probably head home now," he said quietly, suddenly realising that he did not belong in this big house, bigger than any he'd seen and yet still, somehow, full.

Adam walked him out, squinting at the sun as the door opened and offering a mumble in respond to Rafe clapping him on the back. He turned and saw Margaret leaning against the counter, she smiled and he nodded.

Rafe didn't see Margaret much for another few weeks after that but he thinks of her every time he looks up how to join the army—it's quite a simple process, he just needed to convince himself to achieve the 'Step One' the engine supplied for him. He saw Adam frequently though, which his father was happy about. But it wasn't about that, Adam was a good guy. He had his head on straight and he was actually decent despite the money his father so loved. The whole family was lovely, really. Mr and Mrs Partridge always welcomed him in and plied him with food, advice and even the throwaway comment that his "face shape couldn't handle his curtains." He had thought of Margaret in that moment and smiled, considering the buzz cut and whether he could "handle" it.

The funny thing was, even without seeing Margaret once in the last two weeks, he gathered a lot about her. The main fact was that she couldn't be anything less than lonely. Her parents always worried about her, always going on about how she kept to herself too much, she was too shy, she needed to branch out, Adam should take her to a party or something.

When Rafe asked why Adam never did what his parents asked, he had said, "Maggie isn't lonely for lack of trying. People just.. people just screw her over, you know? She's shy and she's kind and she's quiet. They don't know what to do with that, so they're horrible. I mean, obviously, I hope she finds her people one day and she deserves to but I'm not about to take her to a party where some guy is gonna try and stick his tongue down her throat and make her cry."

Rafe had nodded and shrugged. "Sarah's the complete opposite. She's a social butterfly, never needed my help with anything."

Adam hummed. "Maggie's a lot once you know her. Like a lot in a good way. But in the way that she is probably sat in my bedroom right now waiting for me so she can go on about some random shit she found in a research paper or something. Like it's cool, it's just.."

"She needs her own friends?"

"Yeah! Yeah! Like I love her and everytime she'd ring me from school, I was sat and ready to listen. Just bums me out that I'm her best friend." He had shrugged and moved on but it had stuck with Rafe.

In England, there was a certain ritual that came with hot weather and a long weekend. In Carolina summer, most weekends were hot and most were long if you were wealthy. So that ritual followed itself with the Partridges to their summer home and involved a barbecue, the masculine need to take his shirt off and a copious amount of alcohol. Their wealth made the replica slightly more classy than the common event, shirts perhaps kept on, a vegan option on the grill and a paid member of staff to man it, bougie cocktails rather than bad beer.

It was the first happy family gathering Rafe had attended for a long while and when he was invited by Adam, he hadn't quite believed he had achieved such status in their friendship.

("You actually want me there? Who else is going?" He had asked.

Adam had been stuffing his face with pizza at the time. "Like my mum, dad, Maggie. You know. Family."

"I'm not family," Rafe had pointed out.

"So?" Was Adam's only response, along with a throwaway shrug.)

That was how Rafe ended up sat rigid on the patio furniture with a drink between his fingers, wearing some of Adam's long jean shorts, a belt and some graphic t-shirt with a stupid cartoon on the back. There was music playing softly in the background, which Margaret was now arguing with her dad about.

"You've put on the shittiest—" A finger was pointed her way and she went red. "You can't just search 'jazz' and put on the first playlist you see. You have to—"

Adam had groaned and pinched at her arm. "Can't we just leave it on? Or put on some real music?"

Mrs Partridge, Andie, shook her head and walked away in exasperation, removing herself from the situation before her daughter got heated and unladylike.

Margaret had whipped around and glared at him. "Proper music? What like how you like to tell girls you listen to Fleetwood Mac 'genuinely'. Or when you didn't realise Daisy Jones wasn't even—"

"Woah, woah, buttercup," Mr Partridge, Mark, said smoothly, holding out a placating hand.

The continued on like that: with soft banter and careful considerations. Rafe learned to play backgammon, taught by Margaret in her soft voice. She was patient with him, but still giggled and called him an idiot when he blatantly broke the rules.

"Like that?" he would ask, deciding to just take all of her counters off the board.

She would shake her head and cover her mouth. "No, you idiot. You can't do that."

He would smile and break the rules again just to watch her insult him with that pretty smile on her face. It was that night, that gentrified version of a tradition that cemented to Rafe he was in fact human and could feel something other than lust or rage. He found that in the Partridges, in Adam's stupid jibes, Mark's laid back attitude about drinking, Andie's worry about his eating or his hair. He found that in Margaret's pretty face and the way she blushed when he tilted his head while she spoke.

Rafe wasn't too sure how it happened that Adam's head ended up in his lap as they passed a cigarette back and forth. Originally, it had been Margaret's but she had fallen asleep to the soft sounds of the fire crackling and the pool sloshing, so Adam had stolen it for him and Rafe.

"You like her, don't you?"

Rafe looked down at his best friend's face, illuminated by the glowing cigarette and the dying flame beside him. Despite the harsh shadows, there was no anger on Adam's face. Rafe nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I do."

Adam nodded and swallowed. "Don't break her heart. I don't think she'd survive that."

Rafe shook his head. "Nah. I don't think I'm gonna do anything about it," he whispered.

"You should," Adam whispered back, reaching up to poke Rafe's nose, earning a snort. "She deserves some love."

"You think I can do that?"

"I think you care enough to try."

Rafe shrugged and stared at the fire. "We'll see."

this is kind of really shit but i'm like doing this thing where i have confidence in myself or whatever. so, this is what came out of that. please like it. i guess it's a kind of prologue to something that's been rattling around my head?? 🤷‍♀️ i also don't know what to like call this, i am uneducated how the drabble/drizzle/blurb/bib stuff works so if anyone wants to help a girl out, please do

also i have NO IDEA how the american education or military system or anything works so suspend your belief 🙏 : its not real, please don't eat me

this also takes place prior to the show but like the show doesn't happen bc with mt plan, it would make NO SENSE 😋 (and i never watched past like s2 bc bitch PLEASE, the ship was difficult to believe and you want me to continue with this nonsense??)

i also have loads of these little ideas for loads of fandoms and characters. platonic and not platonic, if you're interested, PLEASE let me know

(i'll probably post it anyway unwarranted bc idgas 😧)

ANYWAY, if you read this and liked it, i love you (ill have your babies) and love and luck and life

MWAH (FAT kisses)

(you can tell this is my first post bc i thought you just typed the tags at the bottom and it was just that. lol. then i tried to post it. whoopsies)

[incorrect-gotverse]

Keeping Up With The Targaryens: Episode 1 (The Family Arrives At Ashford)

House Targaryen makes its way to an otherwise unremarkable region, and the boys have some thoughts on the matter.

[ghostlybfgf]

this should not be as funny as it is oh my god no the last one 😭

I LOVE THIS

[bullseyegoon]

it’s been a week and i already feel like a heartbroken young widow

[anxietyproblem]

[neskaaa]

when you sad but also still have to serve cunt

[nightcrews]

Maekar calling his dad to explain what happened at the 13 year old girl's birthday party he made them go to

[hammersanvil]

Y'all are serving cunt?? Baelor fucking died and you're serving cunt in matching outfits??