#penni beezley jones

[kekeartzworld]

Miss Thavel’s Adopted Deer Children

I can never ever think of a ship for Miss Thavel since I ship Ciroomie, DemiSasha, and Gracemily leaving Miss Thavel all on her own

BUT

I did make a fankid for Miss Circle and Miss Bloomie and since I didn’t want Miss Thavel to feel left out, I’ve designed these 4 deer characters that she took into her care

Vesper Jones, the chill tomboyish partygoer who works at an arcade

She’s also the oldest

Eli Jones, transmasc softie who dreams of being a famous musician

He’s the middle child

Josie Jones, the reckless rebel

She’s the second youngest

FINALLY

We have Penni Beezley (PB) Jones, the youngest out of the siblings and Josie’s twin sister

I’m also giving you the blank version of the ref sheet template I used cuz I’m nice

THE TEMPLATE IS NOT MINE!!! Template belongs to merisaphire

Transparent versions below

That’s all!

GOOD BYE!!!

[soyforramen]

Blame @sullypants for this one since weird dreams are a common theme lately:

“Hey, Jug.”

Shaken by some unknown force, Jughead groaned and nestled further into his arms.  

“C’mon, wake up,” Archie said, his voice coming from a universe away.  

Sleep was a dense fog that settled in behind Jughead’s eyelids and he couldn’t muster the energy to push it away.  He’d fallen asleep in school again, that much he could discern from the hard table beneath him.  But at least the desk was a lot more comfortable than the janitor’s closet had been.

“Dude, let’s go,” Reggie said.  

With a hard tug, Jughead was snapped awake.  With a wide yawn he stretched out, his back giving a satisfyingly loud crack.

“What’s up?”

“School’s over, Rip Van Jones,” Reggie said.  With a roll of his eyes, he ran a hand through his already slicked back hair.  “The girls are waiting for us at Pop’s.  Apparently we have to have a set list for Sunday and they wanted to go over it after school.  Or at least we were supposed to before this knucklehead got us detention from Grundy again.”

Jughead blinked, convinced he’d heard Reggie wrong.  Grundy was dead, murdered by the Black Hood.  Even if she had come back to life, what was she doing around high schoolers?

“How was I supposed to know she meant a rhyme scheme from Donna Sweet and not Saweetie,” Archie muttered.  “Besides, if we leave right now we still might make it before they ditch us.”

Wait, sweater vest.  Why was Archie wearing a sweater vest?  And was was Reggie acting so cordial?  

Certain that this was another weird dream, Jughead reached for his Serpent’s jacket and found that the back of his chair was empty.  Serpent’s jacket?  

“I still think that we should ditch Jingle Jangle,” Reggie said as he headed out the door.

“What?  It’s my best work,” Archie said as he followed him out.  

With another yawn, Jughead picked up his books and followed them out into the cool autumn air.  With a start, he realized that it was just a dream, a really weird dream to be exact.  There was no biker gang that gave out jackets to kids like candy.  He and Archie and Reggie had always been a strange sort of friends; and Grundy was never anything more than a septuagenarian determined to drive herself into an early grade by teaching high brow literature to idiot high schoolers.

On the way to Pop’s, Jughead ignored Archie and Reggie’s argument over some girl the next town over and worked to piece together the dream.  It had all been so real that it wasn’t a wonder he’d been confused.  Everything in Riverdale had been the same as it was now, except it was all off just enough to cast a dark shadow across their sleepy little town.  

Hiram Lodge, a well known philanthropist and entrepreneur who tolerated his daughter’s friends was not a corrupt Wall-Street con-man looking to rule the world.  The Coopers, an All American family, was not rife with dark secrets that would eventually tear them apart.  The Blossom’s, while certainly devious and conniving in their own ways, were not ripped from the pages of a gothic horror novel.

And the Jones…

Jughead shuddered at the thought.  Sure, they weren’t the perfect family.  But they loved each other, took care of each other, and were as normal as they could be.  That image of his family brought up a wave of guilt about how his subconscious had portrayed his parents.

(He couldn’t help but grin, however, at the idea that baby Jellybean could not only hold her own, but was a fan of Led Zeppelin.  It was a nice touch.  Maybe he’d roundup his mother’s old records tonight and he’d teach her to appreciate the finer things in life.)

But it wasn’t until they’d walked into Pop’s to find the girls seated at their regular booth that the realization that this Betty - sweet, caring, lovely Betty - wasn’t his that he felt a pang of longing for his dream world.  Despite how horrific that dream had been, Betty was the golden lining in that dark world, a comfort meant only for him.

The feeling passed quickly when Betty’s eyes locked on Archie.  Jughead couldn’t help but wonder, though, what if things had been different?

For the rest of the afternoon, the members of The Archie’s debated and argued over the set list, while Jughead did what he did best.  While Archie was arguing for the merits of Sugar, Sugar, Jughead polished off three baskets of fries and a milkshake.  When Veronica demanded to sing Bang-Shang-A-Lang solo, Jughead ate two and a half cheeseburgers and drank half a pot of coffee.  As Reggie was arguing for… well, whatever it was he wanted, Jughead nursed a chocolate milkshake and a basket of fries (extra chili cheese, heavy on the onions and cheese, add bacon).

Occasionally he inserted his own opinion - no he would not let Reggie ruin another drum set just so he could show off to Ginger Lopez, nor was it feasible for Veronica to burst out, and ruin, his kick drum at the start of the show.  But even as he played at normalcy, his mind kept coming back to that dream.  Detention with Grundy could never be long enough to contain an entirely parallel universe, and yet it was the most realistic dream he’d ever had.

“Earth to Juggie,” Betty said as she waved her hand in front of his face.  He blinked, his gaze centering on her, and she giggled.   “Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

He glanced around and found that despite his attempts to stay present, he and Betty were the only two left.

“Veronica roped Archie into installing shelves for her,” Betty explained with an over exaggerated pout.  She then pointed over to where Reggie was chatting a short, dark haired teen.  “And Midge came in without Moose, so you know Reggie’s not going to miss that opportunity.”

Midge.

The world around Jughead spun and he felt lightheaded when he stood.  He walked over to where the pair stood at the counter, and when Midge turned to him Jughead wrapped her in a tight hug, tears threatening to pour from his eyes.

“You alright there, needle nose?” Reggie asked, his eyes filled with concern.  

Apparently Jughead hadn’t been able to play as normal as he’d thought.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said, loosening his hold.  He stared at Midge, still trying to comprehend why he felt so relieved that it was all just a dream. “I’m just… happy to see you is all.”

“I’m always happy to see you, Jughead,” Midge said.  She placed the back of her hand across his forehead, the corners of her lips pinched.  “But maybe you should let Betty take you home?”

Jughead nodded as the surreal threatened to overwhelm him.  When he turned, he found Betty behind him, her arms full of their schoolbooks.  She set a hand on his arm and gave an encouraging, if worried, smile.  It was easy enough to let her lead him out of the diner.  That way he could remind himself that the world where Midge had been slaughtered wasn’t real.

“Penny for your thoughts?  Or maybe I should offer a nickel?” Betty asked.  When he didn’t respond, she bumped her hip into his.

The contact, friendly, playing, concerned, burned his side.  It brought up just how touchy they were in his dream world, along with false memories of things he’d never paid any attention to before (especially not about her).  He shivered and quickened his step.  Betty, ever the Teflon personality, matched his stride and slipped her arm through his.  

“Just a strange dream,” he muttered, far too distracted by how much heat she gave out to come up with a good lie.

“Sounds like a pretty intense dream if you’re still thinking about it this much.”

And with that simple statement, the entire thing tumbled out of him.  Nothing was left out, though Jughead did edit some of the more intimate moments they’d spent together in his dream.  He was so wrapped up in making sure to include all the details - the corruption, the ever-burning ember of hope, the rocket - that he almost missed the fact that Betty had guided them through the town square three times as he divulged the dirty laundry about the underground boxing rings and Maple Club.

By the time they’d reached his house it was twilight and he was telling her about the prep school murders and fake FBI stings.  His mother (his real mother, thankfully, and not the drug running mom that had run out on him) brought them out dinner just as he got to his own faked death.  

And for the first time in his life, Jughead’s entire focus wasn’t on getting seconds (and thirds).

When he was finally done with his tale, Betty let out a long whistle.  She pushed around the remaining bits of pie on her plate, lost in thought.  Now that his head was empty of that bizarre dream, Jughead’s appetite came back with a vengeance. He leaned over and snatched the rest of her pie crust and popped it into his mouth.

“Well?” he prompted, curious to get her take on his dream.  

“Do you think the fish Ms. Beezley served today was off?”

He rolled his eyes and grinned at her ability to lighten the mood.   Jughead leaned back and set his elbows against the porch step behind him to look up at the sky.  Betty set her plate down and sat down next to him, primly smoothing out her skirt before she spoke.

“Do you really think we …” she paused.  “My mother?  And your dad?”

Jughead groaned and ran a hand down his face.  “I’d hate to think what Freud would say.”

“Well, he’d definitely agree it wasn’t a pipe,” she snickered.  “Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something?”

“Convince Archie that Jingle-Jangle is a terrible song to play to middle schoolers?”

She shrugged.  “Maybe.  Maybe not.”

As the world turned around them, they sat in companionable silence.  As curious as Jughead was to know what Betty really thought, it was these quiet moments with her that he felt truly at peace.  Perhaps that’s what the dream had signified.  With all the clamor and turmoil over senior year and applying for colleges, maybe his brain was trying to tell him to slow down and enjoy these little moments more.

Or maybe it was just a sign he shouldn’t shotgun a whole liter of soda before Grundy’s lecture on Dashiell Hammet.

“Walk me home?” Betty asked suddenly.

Without waiting for an answer, she hopped up and pulled Jughead to his feet, the same as they’d done a million times before.  Only this time Betty tugged a little too hard and Jughead stumbled into her.  He was about to apologize when he noticed the twinkle of mischief in her eyes.  To hide his smile, he bent over and tucked his shoulder into her stomach.  Betty shrieked as he lifted her up over her shoulder, precariously balancing the two of them as he picked up her books.

“Put me down Jones,” she said through her laughter, “or I’m telling Ethyl that you’d love to play D&D with her.”

“Dirty pool, Cooper,” he shot back as he casually sauntered down the block to her house.  He ignored the faint whisper of the peaches and cream lotion she used on her skin and the breathless lilt of her voice.  Because no matter how right it felt in the dream, they were only friends here. “And it’s G&G, remember?”

Once back on solid ground, Betty slipped her arm through his and they strolled along under the streetlights.  Just another night in the neighborhood without a care in the world.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad,” she said almost absentmindedly.  When she didn’t elaborate, Jughead’s heart gave a heavy, painful thump.  “I could always use more help with the B&G.”

He snorted and reached up to scratch his forehead to ignore the sudden disappointment.  “Toni does have some strong opinions about the gym’s new paint job.”

Betty stuck her tongue out at him, her face scrunched.  Jughead almost tripped trying not to kiss the tip of her nose.

His mood darkened when they reached her house.  Archie was on the front porch, napping, and the small seed of possibility withered into dust.  But instead of running towards Archie, Betty paused next to him.  Her teeth worked across her lip and she stared, unfocused at him.  Her hand on Jughead’s arm tightened and she shifted almost imperceptibly towards him.

With a small nod, Betty stood up on her toes and kissed Jughead on the cheek.  He flushed as the sun exploded in his chest.  

“Meet me at Pop’s tomorrow after school.  There’s a new French movie at the Bijou, and I’d hate it if Veronica saw it before me.”

He knew the smile on his face was just as goofy as the one’s he made fun of Archie for, but Jughead couldn’t help but wonder at this strange new turn.  For once, he was excited to spend time alone with a girl.  (He was always excited to spend time with Betty Cooper, but this time she wasn’t just Betty.)

His smile lasted all the way home and continued until he settled into bed.  Just as he was falling asleep, his phone rang with a text from Betty.

‘Some of your dream sounded nice enough to try out in real life, don’t you think?’

To say that Jughead had trouble falling asleep for the first time was an understatement.