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hawks-supremacy · 3 years

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Fairytale Soulmates

summary: you gave up on the idea of soulmate's being real when your parents split up, but the cherry blossom on your wrist says otherwise.

pairings: ushijima x reader

warnings: fighting, yelling, hints at abuse, a little angst, mostly fluff

word count: 2k

a/n: i'm thinking about doing a soulmate series, i just love the idea of soulmates. i also like reading soulmate au's.

You never enjoyed the idea of soulmates, to you it was a fairytale you heard the other kids tell during lunch break. Hearing them retell the stories their parents told about how everyone has a person that was made for them. How people were originally created with four arms and legs and two heads and faces, but fearing their power Zeus split them in half. Now people spend their whole lives looking for their other half. The person that finishes the other half of your soulmate mark. You didn’t believe the stories. Even as your half of a cherry blossom stares up at you from your wrist, you couldn’t bring yourself to believe in soulmates, and why should you?

Why should you believe in soulmates when your parents were miserable together. Constantly fighting and yelling, often ending the night in tears. If soulmates were real then why were you the result of two people who didn't love each other unconditionally like soulmates were supposed to. Why were your parents so unhappy just because they weren’t soulmates? If you couldn’t find your soulmate were you destined to be unhappy? All of your questions went unanswered as your parents avoided the topic.

You weren’t always like this, and neither were your parents. You used to be happy, a complete family who never fought and loved each other despite the flaws. Sure you noticed how your father had half a sun and your mother had half of a water lily, but they didn’t seem to care and you didn’t ask. They always laughed at each other's terrible jokes and cared for one another. You used to enjoy the stories of soulmates, listening as kids tell the stories of how their parents met. The stories of soulmates searching the other side of the world to find their other half.

Then one day your parents started fighting and the illusion of happiness ended. You weren’t sure what happened, but one day you came home from school and they were yelling. Maybe they’ve always yelled and screamed until their faces turned blue and they faked being happy for your sake. All it took was one day for all you believed in to fall apart.

You came home early from school on a half day, you were excited to go home and spend all day with your parents. You didn’t stay excited for long, walking through the doors you heard screaming coming from the kitchen along with glass shattering. Hesitantly you made your way to the entrance and poked your head around the corner to see what was happening. Seeing you home your mom wiped the tears from her eyes and greeted you as your dad walked past you and to their shared bedroom.

After that it seemed like the veil fell, the thin sheet protecting you from the real relationship your parents held disappeared. They stopped pretending to be happy, no longer laughing at dumb jokes instead rolling their eyes. You stopped eating dinner as a family, your dad eating before he comes home and walking straight to his home office. They tried not to fight in front of you, waiting until you go to bed to start their dispute, but they were never quiet. They kept you up at night with the shouting that reached your bedroom door, knocking like a reminder your family is no longer really together.

You sat at the top of the stairs listening as your dad left your mom because he found his soulmate. Listening to the rolling of his suitcase across the wooden floor as he walked out the door. Listening as your mom broke down sobbing as the door slammed shut. Listening to his car driving off as silent tears rolled down your face choking back sobs that you couldn’t let out. You never brought it up to your mom, a silent agreement the next day as you both had puffy faces from crying the previous night.

Now you were starting your first year at Shiratorizawa and your best friend Tendō refused to let you be pessimistic. He dragged you to the gym to sign up for the volleyball team manager. His logic being you can’t be pessimistic if he doesn’t let you, and if you’re constantly around Tendō it's the less time you can be a “debbie downer” in his words.

Tendō and you became friends in middle school when you ran into each other turning the corner. He quickly befriended you after learning about your pessimistic view on life claiming he was gonna turn it around so you’d be happy again. You rolled your eyes at his explanation for wanting to be your friend but let him anyway. Since then you’ve been inseparable, always with one another. Tendō was the best thing that could’ve happened to you.

So here you were meeting the volleyball team as Tendō all but skipped to the gym for the first practice. “This is gonna be so fun Y/n, we’ll get to hang out all the time. Now you’ll have no opportunity to go back to your dorm room and think about how much life sucks. Which it doesn’t by the way.” He said as you went to say something about him finally agreeing about your life sucking. “I know you’ve had some hard times but believe me, it’s not always gonna be that way. You’ll meet your soulmate and learn that happiness does exist for you.”

You shook your head at his blind optimism, you knew he wasn’t always like this. That he had his dark moments too and you were right there to pull him out of his dark space like he was you. “‘Tori, we both know I’m better now. I’m not 100% all the time but that’s fine. I appreciate you doing this though.”

He nodded, slowing his pace down so you could catch up to him. “I know you are, but you’re still on the fence about soulmates and I’m determined to help you find yours so you know they’re out there.” You sighed as you walked into the gym having been through this conversation hundreds of times with Tendō before. He’d keep having this conversation with you until you realize it yourself. Just because your parents didn’t work out doesn’t mean that soulmates aren’t worth it.

Tendō soon realized after that maybe you were right. Maybe your soulmate wasn’t worth it, maybe you would be better off just living with Tendō forever like you discussed in middle school. Maybe you were right because Tendō soon found out that your soulmate was Ushijima Wakatoshi. Tendō wasn’t sure if you noticed that Ushijima held the other half to your soulmate mark or not. If you had, you didn’t say anything.

Tendō spent the better half of middle school trying to convince you that your soulmate would be the best thing that happened to you. Then he spent the better half of first and second year listening to Ushijima say he didn’t believe in soulmates either, that his home situation was much like yours. His parents weren’t soulmates and ended up getting a divorce leaving him with his mom. He realized the universe was playing a cruel joke on the both of you. Making you both believe that the other doesn’t exist and if you do it’s some kind of fluke.

It was the start of your third year and you were moving back into the dorms after having a break for the summer. “‘Tori, why are you insisting I hang out with Ushijima so badly? He’s been your roommate for two years now and suddenly you want me to hang out with him? It doesn’t make sense.” Tendō had been trying to convince you to hang out with Ushijima because he couldn’t take not telling you anymore. It was eating him alive that your soulmate was right there and nothing was happening. It was your last year before you possibly never saw Ushijima again and Tendō would never be able to live with himself if he didn’t tell you. “I wanted to tell you, believe me I did.”

“Satori, what did you do?” You said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Ushiwaka is your soulmate. I was going to tell you but it turns out you have the same outlook on soulmates. So I thought maybe it was best if you guys never met, but I’d feel bad if I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry I just didn’t want you to get hurt.” Tendō said, speaking fast and pacing back and forth.

You sat on your bed rubbing your temples. “Are you mad at me?” Tendō asked quietly. You sighed and looked up, resting your elbows on your knees, “No ‘Tori, I Could never be mad at you. I wish you told me sooner, but I’m not mad at you. I’ll hang out with Ushijima but there’s no guarantee that it’ll work out, especially not if you say he has the same outlook as me.” You talked for a few more minutes before Tendō led you to his shared dorm with Ushijima.

Tendō walked in, “Ushiwaka! I have a gift for you!” He said before gesturing widely towards the door as you walked in. “My surprise is Y/n?” Ushijima said, confused. “Yes! Y/n here is your soulmate! Your other half! Now talk!” Tendō said excitedly before walking out and shutting the door behind him, leaving you two alone.

You glanced down at Ushijima’s wrist and saw the matching half to your cherry blossom match. You showed him yours as you sat down on the chair by his and Tendō’s shared desk, “‘Tori tells me that you have the same views as me when it comes to the whole soulmate situation. Don’t particularly believe in them, but ‘Tori’s been trying to convince me otherwise for about four years. I guess I don’t really know where you stand with all of this.” By the time you were done speaking you noticed that his eyes never once stopped looking at you.

“My parents divorced, yes, but they weren’t soulmates. Perhaps it’ll be different with us since we’re actually soulmates.” He said moving closer towards you. “You want to try the soulmate thing? You’re sure?” You asked sheepishly. You spent nearly your whole life swearing up and down that you didn’t believe in soulmates and now that you’ve found yours, you don’t know if you still believe that. “Yes I want to try, but I do get busy with volleyball so I might not have much time for us.” He said and you nodded. You knew that, you’ve been friends with Tendō long enough to know volleyball takes up a lot of time. You’ve also been the volleyball’s team manager long enough to know how passionate Ushijima is about volleyball. You knew you couldn’t ask him to put you first.

“And that’s how I single handedly got Ushiwaka and Y/n together. So you can thank me for this lovely wedding we’re all attending.” Tendō said after telling the story of how you and Toshi met. You rolled your eyes and you jokingly mouthed ‘thank you’ to Tendō. You turned to your now husband who had his hand on your knee while he was laughing at Tendō’s story and smiled. He turned his head and smiled back before giving you a peck on the lips, “I’m glad I met you Y/n.” He said lovingly. “Me too Toshi, me too.”

#ushijima headcanons #ushijima wakatoshi #hq ushijima #ushijima scenarios #ushijima imagine #ushijima hcs #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #soulmate au #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader

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ghostofbambifanfiction · 3 years

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Part 1 of ?????

Started writing this fic a while ago and then lost faith in it. Should I continue? Feel bad for not posting much lately so I thought I'd share this. Read on and weigh in.

COME OUT TONIGHT

You don't have to fucking shout?

Said the pot to the kettle?

Oh you grandmother The caps were an accidental by-product of voice-to-text Blame Siri if you're going to blame anyone

You have a Samsung Galaxy S20.

HAD. It got smashed. Worst luck. Listen, come out with me tonight.

Urghhhhhhhhhhhhhh I'm tired!

https://www.boots.com/wellness/vitaminsandsupplements/vitamins-supplements-shop-by-ingredient/echinacea

Hah (indifferent)

Just come out with me! Isaac has to go see some godawful student performance of the Antigone in wherever the fuck Chichester is and it's Sirius's flatmate's birthday party so I have to go and I don't know any of his weird mates

You don't HAVE to go.

Have to/want to Semantics

I'm not in a birthday party mood. I'm having a stressful week. My arse has been tense since Tuesday.

I will wade into the deep and massage your arse if I have to, just come It's a swank pad in Belgravia! I bet they'll have all sorts of expensive nibbles!

I read that as expensive nipples.

Those too!

Partying it up with the children of wealthy Tories. Sounds super fun.

Just come out with me, for fuck I'll pick you up at 7 and we can steal their silverware if it's boring as the grave

URGH I'll go but I'm NOT dressing up!

You don't have to dress up!

FINE!

take the drawings down please i'm begging you i'm actually begging you

Nah mate

siriusssssssss pleeeeeease

Nah

PLEASE

Nah

PLEASE ffs it's MY birthday!!!! there are going to be PEOPLE there! standing around! AT EYE LEVEL

I don't see what the problem is.

EVERYONE will see what the problem is! they literally will not be able to IGNORE what the problem is!

Sounds like a recipe for lively discussion to me tbh

that is NOT what i want people talking about at my birthday!

If I take them down, I'll have to take all the nails out and that'll leave nail marks all over the walls. It would be unsightly.

MORE UNSIGHTLY THAN YOUR DICK, SIRIUS?

My dick is bewitching.

DIE

She walks in expecting to find herself the infiltrator of a Made in Chelsea/Royal Ascot/Henley Regatta netherworld, filled with a gaggle of giggling, SW-postcode socialites wielding suspiciously powder-edged Harrods Amex cards in the place of horses and boats, but that's not what actually greets her on the other side of the lacquered front door.

What greets her is really quite ordinary.

Aside from the naked drawings of Kingsley's mate, which aren't.

Otherwise, the whole affair is pretty relaxed. People her age are clustered in their small groups, swigging beers. There's a table of oven-heated party foods, salty snacks and rapidly depleting ramekins of guac. She spies more band shirts than there are dress shirts. There's a round of Fortnite in full swing on the TV.

It's all just...startlingly normal. A normal birthday party.

And that's sort of embarrassing, really.

Where are all the visible Tory toffs, she wonders? Where is the braying laughter? The Eton alumni reunion? The glimpse of hunting-happy tweed and shotgun barrels as a coat cupboard door swings shut? Where's the indelible air of sneering superiority, of "we're richer and more privileged and better than you, so fuck the NHS and death to foxes!" that she'd been expecting? There's a fucking Henry Hoover in the corner of the hall, for Christ's sake. Lily came here to smile through her teeth at them all, to listen to the champagne problems privilege that bubbled from their lips and tell herself that she was the one who knew better, who thought better. Her plain white tee and skinny jeans and scuff-toed, high-top trainers were supposed to be a statement, a subtle setting-apart, but she's not even the most underdressed person in the room.

She pre-judged a house full of people. What's that about?

There's a lesson to be found in this. Perhaps.

James covered all of the dicks in Paw Patrol stickers that he bought from the newsagent on his way home from his mum's, but Sirius peeled them all off while he was taking a soothing lavender bath, so what's the bloody point in birthdays anyway?

It's early in the evening, and he's wedged—against his will—between the dining room bar and Shane Ruttle, who has just pointed at one of the many lamentable dicks and asked, "Is this one of yours?" which James kind of wants to thump him for. It's bad enough that he looks like a madman who stuffed his house with naked drawings of his brother, now people are actually assuming that he drew the damn things, even though most of the compositions are appallingly far beneath his skill level. He's a professional illustrator, for the love of god, and Shane is really standing before him like the posturing prick he is, asking him if he's the one who drew Sirius with one arm disproportionately longer than the other.

He knows that he should cheer up.

It is his birthday. There is cake.

Good cake, too, not the kind that gets buried in too-thick fondant that he has to pick off before he can eat what's underneath.

The problem is, there's also a party, and his friends are his friends, Peter and Sirius included, and Peter and Sirius can both get drunk much faster than James can. When Peter and Sirius get drunk, serious injuries tend to follow, Remus tends to fuck off in a flash and James tends to be the one who calls for an ambulance or mothers them back to health—physical, mental or otherwise. He has just turned twenty-six, and these repeated, drunkenly dramatic medical emergency scenes are starting to wear a little thin.

Can't a man get comfortably drunk and have a laugh at his own birthday party?

No, he can't, because Peter's already halfway to trashed, wobbling unsteadily towards the French doors that lead to the terrace, wearing that look on his face that says I'm definitely going to vomit or maybe even shit myself like I did on that one night we all spent in Munich with the Belgian handball team and the creepy tour guide who couldn't keep his sleazy hands to himself. For the sake of sparing the lawn such a punishment, James hastily removes himself from Shane, grabs Peter by the collar, shoves him in the direction of the downstairs loo and retreats to the safety of the living room, where there are, at least, no naked drawings of Sirius gracing the walls.

Most of the people in here are transfixed by Saffy Stephens, who is down to the last three in her Fortnite game and cursing like a sailor, but there are a small pile of birthday cards on the end table where James and Sirius normally keep their keys. He perches on the sofa arm, sets his half-drunk beer bottle on the carpet, pushes his dark, disheveled hair away from his forehead and begins leafing through them. It's a necessity when one lives with Sirius, who thinks nothing of swiping gift cards when the mood strikes him and he's had enough to drink.

They're mostly from his female friends, and all pretty standard, until he reaches the middle of the pile and finds a card bearing a picture of a moustached tabby and the caption: Have a Purr-fect Birthday!

The inscription inside is written in a lovely, swirling hand.

To Jasper/Jack/Jason/maybe Ja Rule?/J-something idk

(see above: everything I've learned about you from the friend* I came here with, verbatim)

(*who can't remember your name)

Happy Birthday! Thank you for (not) specifically inviting me, a stranger, to your party to celebrate this momentous event in your life. Please enjoy this festive card/social nicety/convention from me to you. My friend brought rum which you may prefer.

I'll be around. Not that you'll know.

James lowers the card and twists on the sofa arm at once, eyes darting around the room in search of its author, as if they might be laying in wait to watch him read it and see how he reacts. Nobody appears to have ducked behind the couch, however, so the situation merits further scrutiny.

Obviously, he needs to meet this person.

A mystery! At his birthday party!

He perks right up after that.

She's coming out of the downstairs loo when a short, blonde man in a garish Hawaiian shirt barrels past her and pukes all over the chequerboard tiled floor, narrowly missing her jeans.

"Oh no," he moans into his wet hands. "Oh no—"

"There there, mate," says Lily consolingly, never one to judge somebody for getting drunk early at a party. She pats him on the back before squeezing past him and rejoining Kingsley, who is standing in one of this meandering Georgian house's many hallways, chatting to a bloke in a houndstooth sweater vest and holding two glasses of something very, very sparkly that she must try at once.

"It's like...it's like everything and nothing at the same time," Houndstooth Bloke is saying when Lily draws close, gesturing to a huge canvas painting of a rain-soaked fairground at night.

"Is it?" Kingsley asks.

"Mmm. Very." Houndstooth shakes his shoulders like he's slipping out of a robe. "Meant to be esoteric, I suppose."

That sounds suspiciously like pretentious bullshit to Lily, who doesn't find the concept of a merry looking fairground all that difficult to absorb. Kingsley knows more about the art world than she does, but he must agree with her assessment because he grunts and shoves her glass into her hand when she stops beside him, and more roughly than she deserves, as if she's the one who landed him in this mess of a conversation to begin with.

Trust him to find himself stuck with the only dick (not etched by a 4B Steadtler graphite pencil) in the building, and trust her to be stuck with the person who got himself stuck with King.

"What are we talking about?" she asks brightly, just to fuck with him.

"Drink your champagne, there's a good little hen," King mutters, his teeth clenched together, hallway lights bouncing off the smoothly waxed dome of his bald head.

"We've been discussing this piece." Houndstooth nods to the painting, but his limpid eyes narrow on Lily's face. "Christ, you're very redheaded, aren't you?"

It's decided. She'll wait 'til Houndstooth is drunk and trip him up with Henry Hoover's hose.

"Ergo soulless, yes," she agrees.

"And you...enjoy that?" he asks, as if being redheaded is her profession.

"Very much, thanks."

"Hmmp. Well. I came here with Saffron," he announces, pronouncing it Sef-ron. As if Lily is supposed to know who that is. "Platonically, of course. Actually, we're some sort of cousins, I think. What do you think the artist is trying to convey?"

He's very pointedly asking her, so Lily blinks at the painting, her eyes on the outstretched arm of a child on the carousel.

"I like the pretty colours," she decides aloud.

"Right," says Houndstooth, "but that's not—"

"And the lights, too. The lights are really pretty."

"But—"

"I love funfairs, actually," she brightly continues, finding a strange satisfaction in playing dumb in front of Houndstooth and his overbleached fade. Although she does really like the colours. "Haven't been to one in years!"

"Yes, good, whatever, but what is the artist trying to convey?"

"What artist?" comes a voice from behind them.

Lily glances over her shoulder and finds herself looking up at the man whose penis she's spent the past thirty minutes avoiding eye contact with, though he is taller, better proportioned and infinitely more beautiful than any of those crudely drawn depictions could possibly convey. He is also beplumed and bejewelled like a pirate, wearing a sumptuous velvet jacket over a loose white shirt, numerous rings on his fingers and an assortment of silver chains around his slender neck, while his grey eyes and elegantly high-set cheekbones are framed by a tumble of black hair that genuinely looks like silk.

The man is so beautiful, in fact, that Lily immediately wonders why he's been taking sketches home from the life drawing class that he and Kingsley pose for—hence their acquaintance and Lily's presence at this party—when nothing she's seen tonight has done him any justice.

Most happily, his penis is tucked safely out of sight.

"Alright, Sirius?" says King.

"Alright, Marvel?" Sirius claps a hand to the taller man's massive shoulder. Kingley's muscles bulge in a way that cannot be hidden by modern habiliments. "What are we talking about?"

"Not much." Houndstooth looks put out by the arrival of yet another person. "We were just mesmerised by this piece."

Lily refrains from gesturing to the painting with both hands and a "ta-dah!" choosing instead to sip her champagne.

It's very good champagne. Mmm. Yes.

"Oh, yeah, it's really something," Sirius agrees. He brushes past Kingsley and runs a finger over the illegible squiggle of a signature on the canvas. His nails are beautifully manicured. "Local guy, young up-and-comer. I assume you've heard of Algernon?" he asks Houndstooth, fixing him with a steely-eyed stare.

"Er, yes." Houndstooth's gaze slides from Sirius to the painting. "I know him."

Sirius's eyebrows lift. "Know him personally?"

"Well—"

"That's so weird, I heard he never speaks to people."

Houndstooth chews on the inside of his cheek, weighing up the challenge. "How…funny."

"Funny?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just, I know I've spoken to him before, and since you've bought his painting I assumed that you'd have—"

"That is funny, actually," Sirius interrupts, "because the artist is my brother, and Algernon is the name of his cat."

Kingsley has been tugging on his earring and almost rips it out of his ear as his body convulses, champagne spraying from his nostrils, while an alarming red flush sweeps across Houndstooth's face and he begins to sputter on his own self-importance. Sirius has clearly decided that he's done with all of that noise, however, because he turns back to Lily instead, looking her up and down with great and sudden interest.

"Who's this then?" he asks Kingsley, cocking his head to one side. "James's present?"

The champagne glass swings down and Lily fixes him with a deadpan stare. "Excuse me?"

Sirius slants a grin at Kingsley, a quick flash of teeth. "This one's queenly, isn't she?"

Kingsley wipes his nose with the back of his hand and laughs again. "Hardly."

"This is Primark, mate," Lily retorts, tugging on her t-shirt.

"Queenliness is a state of mind," says Sirius, "not a state of wardrobe."

"You had me marked down as a prostitute not ten seconds ago."

"Oh, that. I was only joking," he sighs, and grips her arm at the elbow, his long fingers cool against her skin. "But still, you're far too attractive to stand here talking to this clown. Come with me and I'll find you someone better."

James's friends are useless.

And drunk. Useless and drunk—or sort of drunk, in Saffy's case. Remus is certainly already pissed, but Remus is on meds so often that he drinks but once in a blue moon. One cocktail is usually enough to set him off, and he's been hard at the gin since he turned up with Peter at six.

"I don't know anyone with those initials," Saffy declares, once she has read, examined and even sniffed the birthday card for clues. "Except for Lisa Edelstein."

"Who's Lisa Edelstein?"

"Cuddy from House," says Remus, lowering the negroni from which he has been drinking deeply.

James pulls a face. "What the fuck is a Cuddy?"

"Oh, actually, it could mean le?" Remus suggests.

"Yes!" Saffy points at him like he might be onto something. "Like the French word for the?"

"Exactly, like—"

"It doesn't mean that!" James interrupts, unwilling to allow such profanity in his home. "That doesn't make sense, why would somebody sign their name as the?"

"Now you're asking me to explain how French people think?" says Saffy derisively, adjusting her bra strap beneath that burnt orange waistcoat she loves, the one that makes her look like she's directing a pornographic movie in the 70s when she pairs it with her tortoiseshell-framed aviators. It clashes wildly with her electric blue buzz-cut. "Am nooooo drunk enough for that."

"They could be one of those one word moniker pop stars, I suppose," Remus pipes up, smiling slyly. "You know, like Madonna?"

They think James doesn't realise that they're taking the piss out of him, but neither of them are sober enough to attempt their gambit with any kind of subtlety or grace.

"You know that's actually her real Christian name?" says Saffy.

Remus turns towards her with interest. "What, Madonna?"

"Yeah!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!" Saffy repeats. "I thought it couldn't possibly be her real name because, I mean, Madonna, yeah? But then I looked it up and apparently that's the name her mummy gave her, just goes to show—"

"I'm sorry," James interrupts, "but is Madonna relevant to this conversation?"

"Yes, always," says Saffy.

"She's an international pop megastar," Remus seconds.

James stares at his friend incredulously. "Drinking really chips away at your wit, y'know?"

"Does it?" Remus grins lazily and jiggles his cocktail in the air. "Oh, well, I'm negronly joking."

Saffy does a spit-take without the spit and clings helplessly to Remus's shoulder as she laughs, knees buckling, bangles tinkling, but James fights his own urge to start snickering.

"It's not that funny," he lies, and Remus eyes him with an alarmingly teacher-like shrewdness, despite the tellingly intoxicated flush that has crept into his thin, freckled face.

James's love of puns is tragically well known.

"You didn't get it." Remus points at his drink. His speech is starting to slur. "This is a negroni, what I said was—"

"Yeah, I got that part, I just—"

"Jesus fuck, look at her!" Saffy suddenly hisses, staggering sideways into Remus and sending him into the wall in a flurry of giggles—Remus giggling?—her voice hushed and urgent. "Who the hell is that?!"

James does look, following the direction of Saffy's gaze. Sirius has just entered the living room, casually clutching the elbow of a……

……goddess.

An actual. Like. Goddess.

A goddess. In James's house. In his living room. In the place where he eats his chocolate boulder cereal and rewatches Scrubs (even season 9, which is hilarious, and very unfairly disparaged by Joe Public) on Saturday mornings.

She's a goddess. A real one, and cleverly disguised as a mortal, sure, with her slouchy white t-shirt and her big hoop earrings and her light blue jeans that are torn at the knees, wearing her shoulder-length red hair half up, half down and slightly messy, but that doesn't hide what she is.

"Oh my god," he murmurs. His heart is pounding all of a sudden, which is so...utterly bloody stupid, but Saffy's right, bloody look at her, Jesus fuck.

"Surely she can't be with Sirius?" Saffy murmurs back.

"No, she—" He watches Sirius lean down to mutter something in the redhead's ear. A ghost of a laugh flits across her beautiful face. "She's not his—he isn't—"

"D'you think—"

"No, I—"

"Good," says Saffy firmly. She lets go of Remus and rises, lengthening her spine. It is a battle stance of some sort, presumably. "Because I saw her first."

"No!" James cries, wounded, and the redhead shoots him a curious look with a pair of eyes that are startlingly emerald green, even from all the bloody way over here. He spins to face Saffy and lowers his voice, face burning. "It's my house!"

"What are you arguing here, ownership rights?"

"No but it—it's my birthday!" James retorts, jabbing at his own chest. "And, actually, and—"

"It's in the bloody post!"

"—you didn't get me a present!" he finishes in triumph, not that he knows what he's arguing for, because the likelihood is that his tongue will glue itself to the roof of his mouth if he even dares to look in her direction one more time. "Plus I set you up with Vanya Petrich, with whom, as I recall, you enjoyed four years—"

"Stop throwing that in my face!"

"—four blissful years—"

"Is it my fault that you've never fancied any girl I've set you up with?!"

"—promised me an Easter ham for setting you up with her and I never got it—"

"So now you'll trade a woman for a ham?" Saffy accuses, though her face is too lit up, her brown eyes too crinkled at the corners—she's having fun with this and she isn't going to fool him and she knows it. "That's so low, even—"

"Don't start with that," James scathingly cuts in. "You offered me Sean Connery's autograph for Bonnie Grogan's number—"

"Which you never gave me!"

"Because you forged the bloody signature!"

"And now she's bloody married!"

"Yeah, well, Isabella wouldn't give me a counterfeit present, would she?" he retorts, and Saffy lets her shoulders drop, smirking. "This is pointless, Saf, we can't—"

"She's just left with Sirius," Remus informs them, and burps.

#Jily #Part 1 #Of 3?#Honestly I just wanted to give you guys a treat

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ohplagg · 3 years

Text

The Yato-gami I know

Also read at AO3

Summary:

“My name is Sakura,” she decides to try a much simpler approach “what’s yours?”

The man with his right hand still holding half of his face and with a skeptical look writes on the dirt.

夜卜

Ya…to?

AU where Tenjin never fired Tamanone.

NOTE: Adachitoka never bothered to come up with Tamanone's Tenjin given name so I'm following their example by also avoiding the issue and using Sakura instead

I want to once again give a big 'thank you' to @noragamibigbang for organizing this.

And an even bigger 'thank you' to my lovely partner (@mochakat) who came up with the idea and who also created a beautiful artwork that goes along with this!

It was a day like every other day; nothing new, nothing exiting, nothing special. Just everything really quiet and peaceful and boring.

Sakura, a beautiful young lady with long dark hair dressed in a miko, was starting to despise every second of it. Well not every second of it. Sakura couldn’t really complain much about her days being too peaceful, it definitely was an improvement from those days where her master had his rage moments and fired anyone who even dared to just breathe the wrong way in his presents.

She was lucky that Tsuyu was there that day to talk to master Tenjin out of the idea of firing her, she will forever owe her live to Tsuyu. Who knows what would have happened if she had been fired that day who knows how long ago? ...Was it a 1000 years ago? It’s been so long that Sakura had lost the track of time.

But peaceful days doesn’t mean they should also be boring and lately life had become extremely mundane. Ever since she was forbidden from working in the prayer altar she’s been sweeping fallen leaves from stone stairs that lead up to the tori, far enough that she can’t eavesdrop on the human prayers any more. According to Tenjin-sama “it’s his job to listen to the prayers, not hers” but Sakura knows there’s more to the reason even if he doesn’t say it.

“-hope Tenjin-sama grants that old lady’s prayer.” Sakura’s attention is caught by the gossiping some shrine maidens are having about some human prayer. Oh, how she misses listening to human prayers; learning about the near shore problems and how humans found solutions to their problems, the emotions they felt for one another, the human nature can be beautiful sometimes.

Sakura stops her sweeping as she listens carefully to the gossiping whispers “Yeah. Ever since that Yaboku god murdered that old lady’s son and his wife she comes here daily asking Tenjin-sama to bless her granddaughter academically since scholarships are the only way that child will have a way to pay her studies.”

How unfortunate, Sakura thinks to herself as she resumes her chore of sweeping leaves. If only that Yaboku god would cease to exist, the world would become a much happier place.

After an excruciating long and boring day Sakura is taking the last basket of fallen leaves to the trees and bushes at the back of the shrine for disposal. As she dumps it all in the pile of leaves she notice what looks like a head of dark hair among all the orange, gold and yellow autumn leaves.

A bear. Her heart drops and she’s suddenly hit with her fight and flight response. She knows in theory she shouldn’t be scared by things like this but survival instincts wait for no one when a bear is right there.

Without even a second thought she throws the hardest punch she can manage to where she’s guessing the nose would be.

“Ahrg!” someone replies to Sakura’s punch. Maybe she should have given it a second thought.

Sakura frantically apologizes as she tries to check the nose of the poor victim she just attacked. As she does so she notice that the person in front of her was a young looking man dressed in a yukata.

“Here, let me see.” She insists as she pushes the poor individual’s forehead back and tries to move his hands out of the way, but the man rejects her aid between whimpers and grunts as he tilts his head forward and hold the right side of his face with one hand

An awkward silence falls among the two as the young man attends to his bleeding nose, spitting blood from what seems to be a busted lip and probably a lost tooth all the while Sakura just stands there.

“That was a really hard hit, uh? I’m so sorry. I never do things like this, I don’t know what came over me. I really thought you were a bear, which is ridiculous because why would you be a bear? Bears are too busy right now seeking their shelter for winter, they wouldn’t be under a pile of leaves in the back of a shrine, of course not! But why were you under a pile of leaves in the back of the shrine? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just that it’s unusual- surprising! I meant surprising. Unusual sounds like it’s something bad- which is not! Totally not.” Sakura rants on in her best effort to strike a friendly conversation with the stranger. She sighs and stops her words as she notice that the young man isn’t appreciative of her effort.

“My name is Sakura,” she decides to try a much simpler approach “what’s yours?”

The man with his right hand still holding half of his face and with a skeptical look writes on the dirt.

夜卜

Ya…to?

Ever since the ‘I can’t believe it’s not a bear!’ incident Sakura had encountered Yato in several other occasions. Once he was hiding at the top of a tree, other times she found him sleeping in the garden shed and each and every time she tried her luck to befriend him.

He had made it clear several times to leave him alone, that he didn’t want anything to do with her or anyone for that matter, but she was bored out of her mind most of the time and he kept coming back so might as well enjoy the company right?

As the weeks passed by, Sakura found out that Yato was a shy curious individual that just hid behind a mean attitude. The first time she noticed this was when she was talking about her first days as Tenjin-sama’s shinki. As she was talking about it she could tell that she had Yato’s full attention even though he acted as he didn’t care.

Because of this she started to talk about anything and everything in an effort to bait him into participating in the conversation. Some topics were a dead ends but there were a few that she could tell had Yato curious to know more.

“But why flowers? Can’t they just say things straight as it is?” This wasn’t the first time that Yato had asked something that to many could be considered obvious.

“Sometimes words and actions aren’t enough to express one’s emotions and feelings. Flowers have different meanings that can help us express what we wouldn’t be able to with just words or actions.” Sakura explained.

“For example,” Sakura continued with her explination, “the emotion of love. You can tell someone you love them but there’s a big difference between the love you feel for a friend, the love you feel for a family member and the love you feel for your lover. Flowers help communicate what type of love you want to say.”

By now Yato had warmed up enough to the point that he was constantly asking questions about anything that she was talking about in the moment.

He asked her about human prayers, about dreams and wishes, about human festivals and ceremonies, about sports and game. He asked about the different types of human relationships, about human entertainment. If humans were involved, you could bet Yato would make a question. He kind of reminded her of a little kid that was just discovering the world for the first time.

“

“Okay, but what about-“ the conversation in the garden shed was interrupted by the sound of a firetruck siren.

“That’s the 3rd one this week.” Sakura sighs. “My master says that some gods have been causing suffering to humans to amuse themselves since the amount of dedicated believers have dropped and with it the amount of things for them to do, that’s why there has been an increase in tragedies in the last couple of years.” She explained.

“That’s awful.” Yato pointed out.

“I know! How heartless can one be to call the killing of humans a game? Those gods are horrible monsters. The world would be better without them.” Sakura expressed her frustration.

“Sorry,” Sakura apologized after a sour and tense pause, “I just-”

“It’s ok, you don’t have to explain” Yato suddenly interrupts as his voice crack in the process. “I feel the same way.”

“Anything interesting happened today, Mizuchi?” a young looking man with almond colored hair dressed in a dark Yukata asked as he cooked some miso soup.

“Nothing much, Father.” A little girl with short dark hair dressed in a white kimono sat by the table, waiting for said miso soup. “Bishamonten-sama has lost 2 more shinki to god’s greatest secret, Takemikazuchi-sama is still trying to get a blessed hafuri, and Ebisu-sama might reincarnate soon again.”

“What about our Yaboku dear?” the man asked over his shoulder.

“He’s been going to Tenjin-sama’s shrine quiet a lot lately. I think I’ve seen him talking to a shrine maiden a few times. She goes by the name of Sakura.”

“Is he now?” Father halts everything that he’s doing for a brief second.

Father has been aware for the longest time that his son spends his time in different shrines whenever he has free time. Even though Yaboku thinks his father doesn’t know, he knows but simply decides to turn a blind eye to it as long as his Yaboku stays obedient to him.

But it is quiet surprising that Yaboku has spent most of his time in Tenjin’s shrine, even more so now that its winter time. He usually spends winter time at Binbougami’s shrine.

“Mizuchi dear, could you tell Yaboku to come visit me next time you see him? I have something I need him to take care of.”

Yato visits Sakura. Sakura is busy setting up some extra lanterns and some other decorations in the stone stairway. Sakura explains that New Year’s is coming and along with it a lot of humans visit the shrine as well.

“Where are you going to be during all of this?” Yato asked sternly, something felt out of place for the child-like curious Yato that Sakura knew.

“Probably near Tenjin-sama, why?” Sakura wondered

“No reason.” Yato’s response was sharp in the tongue. “I have some business I have to attend to in Kyoto so I won’t be seeing you until after New Year’s, okay?” He asked but it felt like it didn’t matter what Sakura answered in returned.

Both Sakura and Yato briefly said their farewells and just like that Yato left. Sakura made a mental note to ask Yato once he returns and seems less on edge to ask him what happened that made him act so out of character.

It finally was New Year’s Eve. Everyone’s visiting the shrine. Families with their children and elderly. Some couples; young love, old love, friend groups, you name it. Sakura was loving every second. She loved being close by humans, there’s something about their joy that just feels amazing.

Sakura had been sent to the entrance on her master’s orders. And just when people were starting to pray. But she can’t complain much, at least now she is surrounded by humans and enjoying the happy chattering they have amongst themselves instead of being stuck next to her master hearing the same jokes he makes every year.

As she walked there was a sudden screams interrupts any and all gleeful chat. Everyone starts walking towards where the scream came from. On the road, just before entering the shrine perimeters. A man had fainted and looked like he had a seizure and judging by the reaction of his wife, it looked like she had just seen a ghost.

People gathered around the married couple trying to wonder what just had taken place, all the while some other called the emergency line.

As all of this was unfolding Sakura knew she had to rush to her master and tell him the incident that had just taken place, but as she was turning back she caught a glimpse of a familiar black hair head and a dark yukata.

Yato?

That didn’t make sense, he said he wouldn’t be in the city by this time around. Her curiosity got the best of her and she started following the man that had an extreme resemblance to the Yato-gami she knew.

“Stop!” Sakura yells as she’s lead to the back side of the shrine, where she met Yato the first time. She notice that she’s out of ear’s range of anyone so she decides to finally test out her theory.

“Yato, wait!” the male figure pauses. Frozen in place but with his back still facing her. “It’s you, isn’t it?” Sakura didn’t need an answer. The hesitation in that man’s actions told her enough.

Yato slowly turned around, looking like a kid full of guilt. Sakura noticed he was holding a katana-like weapon but this one looked odd, like it was made of water.

“I don’t understand. Why are you here? You said you wouldn’t be here!” She questioned him to no avail. Yato remained quiet, eyes glued to the floor unable to face her. “Why… why are you acting this way? And why do you have a weapon? Did you have something to do with that man?”

Sakura was furious and frustrated and upset. It didn’t help that Yato still wasn’t looking at her but rather was very focused on the dead and muddy grass under his sandals.

Sakura noticed Yato say something under his breath and as soon as he does his katana-like weapon transforms into a beautiful young girl with short dark hair.

‘He has a shinki’ Sakura realizes.

“Hello! So you are the famous Sakura!” the little girl gleefully greets Sakura, “I’m Hiiro! I’m sure Yaboku has told you all about me.”

“Ya…boku?” Sakura whispers in disbelief towards Yato as he looks like a deer in headlights, still unable to look at her. To say Sakura was confused was an understatement. With just one sentence she had more questions than what she could actually think of. “Yato. Who is this?” unable to put her thoughts into words, Sakura decided to focus on the first thing that confused her.

Yato tries to find his voice, tries to answer Sakura but the knot in his throat is too big that any time he opens his mouth to say something, anything, nothing comes out.

“Come on Yaboku, you didn’t tell her who I was? Some brother you are.” The girl that answers instead. “I’m Hiiro. I’m Yaboku’s shinki and sister!”

“Why does she keep calling you Yaboku?” Sakura carefully questions Yato, as if she’s walking on eggshells that could turn into glass shards any second. Sakura noticed that Yato looked beyond scared.

“He didn’t tell you? His name is Yaboku.” Hiiro once again answers in Yato’s stead. She turns to look at Yato, “don’t tell me you didn’t tell her.” Yato looks like he wants to run away even though he is frozen in place.

“You’re the yaboku?” Sakura seeks confirmation from the man himself even though she doesn’t need to hear anything else. “All this time I thought that- that you- and I thought that we-“ a rush of fury clouds Sakura’s thoughts leaving her speechless.

“I- I can explain!” Yato stumbles with his words, desperately trying to gain his voice back.

“So you used me to choose your victims? Did I lead you to your victims?” Sakura questions in disbelief.

“No!” Yato frantically tries to get a word in “Let me explain, I-“

“And you even lied to me about who you were! You deceived me!” by this time Sakura was yelling at the top of her lunges

“Yes- I mean no! Sakura you got to listen to me-“

“Don’t. Keep my name out of your filthy mouth. I can’t believe I ever considered you a friend.” Sakura emotionlessly says as she wraps her arms around herself and leaves.

Yato reaches a hand out towards the leaving figure of Sakura trying to call out to her but gives up shortly after seeing as there is nothing he could say to make her stay.

“Yaboku. You’ve been like this for months now. Its time you snap out of it.” Hiiro pushes Yato’s shoulder as he’s laying on his side looking out to the garden.

Hiiro would be lying if she said she wasn’t surprised at Yaboku’s unusual behavior. They had gone out several times now on Father’s command but whenever they did Yaboku looked so miserable that she actually felt bad for him.

“How about we go to play? That always cheered you up!” Still no answer from his brother. “Sigh. What can I do to cheer you up? Would me calling you Yato like that Sakura girl did do any good?”

Hiiro noticed that as soon as she suggested the idea Yaboku’s face had a hit of emotion for the first time since that night.

“I’ll call you that if you want me to but you have to tell me, otherwise I won’t know. Hiiro tried once again to get Yaboku to say something.

It was close, she could feel it. Yaboku looked like he really wanted to say something but just like it had happened so many times now he got caught up in so much hesitation that he gave up in whatever idea he was about to share.

But this time she almost had it and she wouldn’t let it slip away. “Look, it’s obvious you miss this Sakura girl and I could tell that she genuinely cared about you so she probably misses you too so why don’t you go talk to her?”

Hiiro was right, all that time spent with Sakura was something both of them enjoyed and if he was missing her this much it was very possible that she was missing him back. But did he had any right to go back to her? After he lied to her so much? Yato didn’t deserved her forgiveness, didn’t deserve her time or her kindness.

But she deserves an explanation and an apology. Yato thought to himself.

And with that he got up and left.

It was a day near the end of spring. Sakura couldn’t really tell what day it was, every day had felt the same since that night. The only thing that made the day different from other days is that now she was sweeping the Sakura blossoms instead of shoveling snow.

At first Sakura was furious. She felt angry and betrayed. After a few weeks she felt just upset and used. After that she simply felt sad and lonely. With all the time Sakura had to think she understood that she was in no position to judge a god and she also understood that it was unfair of her to cut all communication with Yaboku-gami as if they had never known each other ever. She wished she could talk to him.

As Sakura is taking the last basket of fallen sakura blossoms to the trees and bushes at the back of the shrine for disposal she sees Yato standing by the same place she first met him. That time she confused him for a bear.

“What are you doing here?” Sakura kept her voice firm and emotionless even though she felt otherwise.

“I just came here to apologize for everything I’ve put you through” Yato starts as he hands Sakura some purple hyacinths.

Sakura takes them with a shocked and hesitant but pleased expression.

“I asked the flower shop lady and she said that purple hyacinths mean deep sorrow and regret. That if I wanted to make it clear how sorry I was these were the ones to give.” Yato explains and then continues, “I’m sorry for lying to you. For not being honest about everything. For being a coward. But most importantly for being Yaboku.”

It’s not every day that someone apologizes for their existence so Sakura waited for Yato to explain further before she said anything in return.

“I know I’m the worst of the worst. I kill innocents and I don’t show regret. I destroy and taint all the beautiful things in the world for my own selfish reasons. But I promise you that the me you knew, the Yato you knew, wasn’t an act.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, Yaboku. But please forgive Yato, he is a little stupid and naïve and new to all this being a good god thing but I promise that he means well and he’s trying his best.”

Sakura takes a moment to consider his words. “So what Im understanding is that you want to be the Yato-gami I know?”

Yato only nods.

“Then I suppose I’ll accept Yato’s apology” Sakura pauses as Yato’s face lights up, “but only if he promise me that he’ll give it his all to become the Yato I know he can be.”

“With your guidance I think I can do that”

#it was really fun and relaxing thinking about this what if #sakura noragami #nora noragami #noragami fanfiction #noragami #yato #yato noragami

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emeraldrosequartz · 3 years

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EmeraldRoseQuartz’s Masterlist

(special thanks to @latent-thoughts for the incredibly fun and TOTALLY ME banner!)

**All works are NSFW, 18+, explicit, and Loki x OC unless otherwise stated. Works are tagged on AO3 for trigger warnings, non-con/dub-con, and other potentially objectionable material. Please consume your content with discretion. Enjoy!

Loki Chaptered Fanfics

In One Moment [complete, 26 chapters, 86,098 words] Everything in Astrid's life is going to plan...until a mysterious stranger takes an interest in her - and her work - at Dr. Schäfer's gala in Stuttgart. Suddenly, her life is turned upside-down, and she has to choose: continue to be the person she's always been, or help a megalomaniacal alien prince take over the world.

Midnight On The Moon [complete, 12 chapters, 43,817 words] RP-format fic with @talklokitome Frigga is ill, and the only cure lies on a distant moon. Loki, Thor, and a party of soldiers are about to leave...when an unexpected addition arrives with orders to join them. Runa is qualified, strong-willed, and exactly the person they need for this mission. But can Loki overcome his fear for Frigga’s fate and accept help from her to complete their quest?

A Maserati and Some Mistletoe [complete, 6 chapters, 14,513 words] RP-format fic with @mooncat163 Rated T Secret Santa...Loki wasn’t sure what all the tradition detailed, but he had no interest in it. However, one of the newest team members was determined that everyone would have a good time, including him. Tori, with her bright teal hair and even brighter eyes, managed to gain his acquiescence, and now he has found himself obligated to purchase a gift for a Midgardian, of all people.

Laufeyson [complete, 3 chapters, 7,560 words] Rated G What really happened in Jotunheim, and how our favorite trickster god actually came to be in the care of Odin and Frigga. A prequel of sorts to the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

I Will Always Test You [complete, 50 chapters, 178,496 words] RP-format fic with @latent-thoughts Loki and Iona Trygvedottir have never gotten along. She is a headstrong lady-in-waiting to Queen Frigga, and Loki is... well, Loki. The simmering animosity between them begins to boil when Frigga chooses her to make regular visits to Loki in the dungeons, bringing him luxury foods and items of interest. She takes the opportunity to give him a piece of her mind. Meanwhile, he's set on paying her back for all the insults and slights she insisted on lobbing at him while he was locked up - in the most vindictive way possible.

The Pursuit of a Simple life [complete, 53 chapters, 191970 words] RP-format fic with @latent-thoughts Three years after returning to Earth with the other Asgardians following Ragnarok, Loki finds himself working for SHIELD, truly just trying to fight the boredom. While on an undercover mission, he unexpectedly begins to fall for his co-worker Gemma, and she seems to feel the same way…about Dave, his alter ego while in disguise. Can Loki continue a relationship with her while keeping his true identity a secret? How many lies can the 'God of lies' spin to keep his pursuit of a simple life?

In The Dark [complete, 6 chapters, 18,417 words] RP-format fic with @latent-thoughts Loki x Reader In the dark, our inhibitions are lost. In the dark, he comes to you and does unspeakable things to your body. You can't see him, but he sees you. You have no control here, no choice... you didn't ask for this... so why does it excite you so? [WARNING: This work contains NSFW explicit and taboo sexual themes like noncon/dubcon, choking, bondage, sensory deprivation, double penetration, etc. It is strictly 18+. Reader discretion is advised. Consume your media wisely.]

The Apsara’s Curse [in progress] RP-format fic with @latent-thoughts Loki x IndianOC Loki meets a mysterious woman in the forests of Asgard. She's a trespasser, and he feels a strange pull towards her. Their interaction unveils her dangerous powers, leaving him stunned, curious and wanting more. Will he be able to uncover the truth about her nature, or will he burn his hands in the flames of an ancient curse?

The Himalayan Refuge [in progess] RP-format fic with @latent-thoughts Loki x IndianOC When Loki poofed with the Tesseract after the attack of New York, he desired to go to a safe place, somewhere he could recover and plan his next move. The Tesseract took him to Palampur, India–a sleepy town in the lap of the Himalayas. There, he indeed got the refuge he needed in a British era cottage, but his entanglement with its caretaker caused his plans to change…

Exposed and Entangled [in progress] RP-format fic with @talklokitome Callista Dupont is a rising star in the New York modeling scene, in particular with boudoir photography. Her best work is with the eccentric and reclusive photographer Loki Laufeyson...but perhaps their feelings for each other have finally extended beyond their working relationship. (This story takes place with alternate-timeline Loki, after he escapes with the Tesseract post-Avengers)

Loki One-Shots

Watch Your Back RP-format fic with @latent-thoughts The Statesman is in trouble. Someone is sabotaging it and killing people aboard. Loki is running on limited time to save it before the saboteurs kill off everyone. With the help of another survivor, he tries to repair the ship and get it to run. But the killers are close by, and anything could happen...

Heat RP-format tic with @latent-thoughts Loki is on Jotunheim, exploring his native culture, when an innocent gift from a friend sparks a reaction and sends him into his first spring heat.

The Kiss of Spring RP-format fic with @latent-thoughts Supplement to “I Will Always Test You” Rated G Little Loki tries to woo and kiss little Iona, but his intentions are not so straight forward.

Midwinter Mischief Loki and Thor attend a solstice party with all the mythical creatures of Earth. But when a mysterious guest approaches Loki, things take a turn for the weird...and deviant.

The Shirt “Hot Potato”-format fic with @latent-thoughts, @shiningloki, & @talklokitome Loki x Reader You wake up to find something on your bed...a reminder of the previous night - and the inspiration for an unforgettable morning. A Midnight Visitor “Hot Potato”-format fic with @latent-thoughts, @shiningloki, @talklokitome, @imnotrevealingmyname, & @mooncat163 Loki x Reader On a quiet winter night in Jotunheim, you awaken suddenly to see you have a midnight visitor, watching you while you sleep...

The Rescue “Hot Potato”-format fic with @latent-thoughts, @shiningloki, @talklokitome, @imnotrevealingmyname, @mooncat163 @toozmanykids Loki x Reader You’ve been captured by magic harvesting smugglers en route to train with the Master Sorcerer Loki himself. And he’s going to do whatever it takes to get you back...

Other Character One-Shots

Boxed Wine Featuring Thomas & Lauren Pine from @caffiend-queen‘s “The Reluctant Bride” (“Jaguar Villains” universe), and Baba Yaga from @nildespirandum “Physics is Like Sex” series. There's a new kind of agent on the blanc - and she won't take gnocchi for an answer. Introducing the world's foremost epicurean crusader with a taste for danger.

Your End of the Bargain Featuring DarkSteve, DarkBucky, and Marina from @caffiend-queen‘s Welcome to the Jungle, and Baba Yaga from @nildespirandum‘s “Physics is Like Sex” series. Your favorite gourmet-food-inspired secret agent/witch-in-training is at it again! A quick errand turns out to be quite a bit more complicated than Rose thought...

Anything For Love For @toozmanykids Seven Scary Sentences challenge on Tumblr. Sleeping with a married man has its complications.

A Friend Like Me Rated T Agrabah isn't all palaces and genies. Where Aladdin grew up, life is hard. And he has to stay one jump ahead.

On Hiatus

Bugsy’s Lucky Day RP-format fic with @latent-thoughts Loki lands on Sakaar and immediately finds himself in the clutches of the Grandmaster’s kind of - sort of adopted daughter - Bugsy. She’s a chimera of different creatures (with a petite body, diaphanous wings, enormous eyes, and certain other peculiarities). And she’s also a mad scientist to boot, bent on experimenting on Loki in many crazy (and sexual) ways.

A Series of Mistakes, In Hindsight Part 1 of Loki and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day "What If" Loki had ended up in the battle arena on Sakaar?

Kingdom of Midgard Sequel to “In One Moment” CURRENTLY BEING REWORKED. Astrid has chosen her path, and Loki finally has a kingdom to call his own - Midgard, formerly known as Earth. But now that he has it, what will he have to do to keep it? And how will it affect those who helped him get there?

#loki #loki fanfiction #loki x ofc #loki x oc #loki x reader #rp fics #loki chaptered fics #loki one shots

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vypcr · 2 years

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𝐋𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭

A compilation of lyrics from my playlists that are a Tory Vibe™ Also includes lyrics that fit various dynamics with other muses / characters.

This post is SUPER long whoops :)

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐕𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐬

❝ I am what I am and I'm good at it // And you don't like me, well that isn't fucking relevant ❞ - Smile, Wolf Alice

❝ Don't call me mad // There's a difference, I'm angry // And your choice to call me cute has offended me // I have power, there are people who depend on me // And even you have time you wish to spend on me // And now you all think I'm unhinged // But wind her up and this honeybee stings ❞ - Smile, Wolf Alice

❝ Rage is a quiet thing // You think that you've tamed it // But it's just lying in wait // Oh, rage // Is it in my veins? // Feel it in my face when, when I least expect it ❞ - Simmer, Hayley Williams

❝ Think I need a new body 'cause I bodied all these demons // But it took its toll and I just wanna smile while I'm screaming // I still got rage inside ❞ - Rage, Dirty Heads

❝ I disagree, everything you believe is a tragedy // I disagree with the way you keep preaching insanity // I disagree with all of the reasons you're mad at me // I disagree, everything in your life is a tragedy // Down, let it all burn down // Burn it to the ground // We'll be safe and sound // When it all burns down ❞ - I Disagree, Poppy

❝ My head and my heart hate each other // Can you keep a secret? Keep it undercover // Every day I wake up, it's a struggle, yeah // Love me when I'm under your spell // Hate me when I'm giving you hell // Judge me 'til you're blue like you love to do // You taught me how to hate myself, yuck ❞ - So Mean, Poppy

❝ She couldn't ever feel a thing // She couldn't hear herself think // Now she hates everything // How did she get here? // How did she get so mean? ❞ - So Mean, Poppy

❝ I'm getting to know her // And all of her anger // Picked herself up // Put her back together ❞ - Her, Poppy

❝ You don't know my mind, you don't know my kind // Dark necessities are part of my design // Tell the world that I'm falling from the sky and // Dark necessities are part of my design ❞ - Dark Necessities, Red Hot Chili Peppers

❝ You say // Come over baby // I think you're pretty // I'm okay // I'm not your baby // If you think I'm pretty // You should see me in a crown // I'm gonna run this nothing town // Watch me make 'em bow // One by one by one ❞ - You Should See Me in a Crown, Billie Eilish

❝ Take this pink ribbon off my eyes // I'm exposed, and it's no big surprise // Don't you think I know exactly where I stand? // This world is forcing me to hold your hand // 'Cause I'm just a girl, oh, little old me // Well, don't let me out of your sight ❞ - Just a Girl, No Doubt

❝ All the friends that said they were with you // Seem to disappear // Even the most focused of feelings // Now is not so clear // How can you just stand beside me // In my hour of need? // Well, the second cut is deeper // So you better let it... // Take my heart or take my hand // And keep your conscience clean // Well, I got a feeling it’s a burning desire // And I don't know what it means // So listen, are you looking in hell for heaven's key? ❞ - Heaven’s Key, Band of Skulls

❝ All that I want // Is to wake up fine // Tell me that I'm alright // That I ain't gonna die ❞ - Hard Times, Paramore

❝ And if I go out tonight, dress up my fears // You think I'll look alright with these mascara tears? // See I'm gonna draw my lipstick wider than my mouth // And if the lights are low they'll never see me frown // If I smile with my teeth // Bet you believe me // If I smile with my teeth // I think I’ll believe me // Oh please don't ask me how I've been // Don't make me play pretend // Oh no, oh what's the use? // Oh please, I bet everybody here is fake happy too ❞ - Fake Happy, Paramore

❝ Can't stay at home, can't stay at school // Old folks say, "You poor little fool" // Down the streets // I'm the girl next door // I'm the fox you've been waiting for ❞ - Cherry Bomb, The Runaways

❝ Are you deranged like me? Are you strange like me? // Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me? // Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me? // Pointing fingers 'cause you'll never take the blame like me? ❞ - Gasoline, Halsey

❝ I'm a little spider spinning on a thread // I want to be immortal, different from the rest // Body like Athena, Arachne for my legs // I'm the type of monster you dream about in bed // Little warriors // Be careful who you trust // It's lurking in the dark // Arachnophobia, oh ❞ - Athena, Nova Twins

❝ You think I'm cute // But I could fuck you up // Yeah I got other plans // Oh say my name now // Don't make me wait now // You knew you weren't ready for a girl like me // My honey’s only sweet if you can take the sting ❞ - Honey, Luna Aura

𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐲 & 𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐲

❝ I've been hating myself // You're the only one who sees me for somebody else // When I'm hanging by a thread, a thread, a thread // I'll remember what you said, you said, you said // 'Cause it's all I've got ❞ - Hanging by a Thread, Des Rocs

❝ As long as I am loving you, you'll never be alone // As long as you keep wanting me around // But this is one trip you’re gonna have to take alone // When you come back, you'll find me here where I belong // As long as you are loving me, I know I'm not alone // Even if you’re nowherе to be found // Sometimes lifе takes you back to places you run from // I'll be right here if ever you come home ❞ - Find Me Here, Hayley Williams

❝ Lover, I feel your sorrow pouring out of your skin // And I don't wanna be alone // If I am tonight, I'll always be // So take from me what you want, what you need // Take from me whatever you want, whatever you need // But lover, please stay with me ❞ - Lover Please Stay, Nothing but Thieves

❝ Like a river flows // Surely to the sea // Darling, so it goes // Some things are meant to be // So take my hand // Take my whole life, too // For I can't help falling in love with you ❞ - Can’t Help Falling in Love, Kina Grannis (or Elvis but I’m biased for Kina’s version)

❝ And your heart will stay forever // When your last remains are few // In the dark, we dance together // And I'd like to be waiting with you // And the nights, they last forever // And days are always making you blue // In the dark, we laugh together // 'Cause the misery's funny to you // Oh, baby, you’re a haunted house ❞ - Baby You’re a Haunted House, Gerard Way

❝ Kissing in the acid rain // Heaven on her tongue again // The cutest couple in the halls of Hell ❞ - Cyanide, Creeper

❝ If I ever were to lose you // I'd surely lose myself // Everything I have found dear // I've not found by myself // Try and sometimes you'll succeed // To make this man of me // All my stolen missing parts // I've no need for anymore ❞ - Future Days, Pearl Jam

❝ When hurricanes and cyclones raged // When winds turned dirt to dust // When floods they came or tides they raised // Ever closer became us // All the promises at sundown // I've meant them like the rest // All the demons used to come round // I'm grateful now they've left // So persistent in my ways // Hey Angel I am here to stay // No resistance, no alarms // Please, this is just too good to be gone ❞ - Future Days, Pearl Jam

❝ I tried to find love // In someone else too many times // But I hope you know I mean it // When I tell you you're the one that was on my mind, oh // In your eyes // I see there's something burning inside you // Oh, inside you // In your eyes // I know it hurts to smile, but you try to // Oh, you try to // You always try to hide the pain // You always know just what to say // I always look the other way // I'm blind, I'm blind ❞ - In Your Eyes, The Weeknd

❝ So much more than sense it // We can make all this hurt and pain disappear // If you listen just in my heart // You feel what I meant from the start // If you love me, come closer and hear my heart // How about we write a brand new story? // I'll bring my part, baby don't you worry // I couldn't stand it, if I lost you again // If you let me I'll hold you forever ❞ - Hear My Heart, Midnight Mantics

❝ And I've always lived like this // Keeping a comfortable distance. // And up until now I have sworn to myself // That I'm content with loneliness // Because none of it was ever worth the risk // Well you are the only exception. // I've got a tight grip on reality, // But I can't let go of what's in front of me here. // I know you're leaving in the morning when you wake up. // Leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream. // Oh, you are the only exception. ❞ - The Only Exception, Paramore

❝ But my sleepless nights are better // With you than nights could ever be alone // I was good at feeling nothing, now I'm hopeless // What a drag to love you like I do // I've been loved before, but right now, in this moment // I feel more and more like I was made for you // I'm sitting in my brother's room // Haven't slept in a week // Or two // I think I might have fallen in love // What am I to do? ❞ - Halley’s Comet, Billie Eilish

𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐲 & 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐥

❝ He's found the answer that we lost // We're all weeping now, weeping because // There ain't nothing we can do to protect you ❞ - O Children, Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds

❝ He said, I'm gonna buy a gun and start a war // If you can tell me something worth fighting for // Oh, and I'm gonna buy this place, is what I said // Blame it upon a rush of blood to the head // Honey, all the movements you're starting to make // See me crumble and fall on my face // And I know the mistakes that I made // See it all disappear without trace ❞ - A Rush of Blood to the Head, Coldplay

❝ So cold I know you can’t believe it // Sometimes you gotta face the feelin’ // When you don’t care if you get up again // There’s a thousand things I will not understand // How you're dealin’ with the hell I put you through // If I had my way I would be right there next to you // Certain things in life you cannot change // Certain things // I hope you know I care ❞ - Yamaha, Delta Spirit

❝ I’ve been alone too many nights // Too proud to tell you when you’re right // A little patience would’ve helped me then // Locked like a brake has been the common standard // All the angels above the earth I beg // Send this message right into her head // Certain things in life I cannot take // When I’m away // I hope you know I care ❞ - Yamaha, Delta Spirit

❝ I was once like you are now // And I know that it's not easy // To be calm // When you've found something going on // But take your time, think a lot // Why, think of everything you've got // For you will still be here tomorrow // But your dreams may not ❞ - Father and Son, Cat Stevens

❝ How can I try to explain? // When I do, he turns away again // It's always been the same // Same old story // From the moment I could talk // I was ordered to listen // Now there's a way // And I know that I have to go away // I know, I have to go ❞ - Father and Son, Cat Stevens

❝ All the times that I've cried (Stay, stay, stay) // Keeping all the things I knew inside // It's hard // But it's harder to ignore it (Why must you go) // If they were right, I'd agree (And make this decision) // But it's them they know, not me (Alone) // Now there's a way // And I know that I have to go away // I know, I have to go ❞ - Father and Son, Cat Stevens

❝ I'm going away for a while // But I'll be back // Don't try and follow me // 'Cause I'll return as soon as possible // See, I'm trying to find my place // But it might not be here // where I feel safe // We all learn to make mistakes // And run from them, from them // With no direction // We'll run from them, from them // With no conviction ❞ - Misguided Ghosts, Paramore

𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐲 & 𝐇𝐚𝐰𝐤

❝ Hello again // Friend of a friend, I knew you when // Our common goal was waiting for the world to end // Now that the truth is just a rule that you can bend // You crack the whip, shape-shift and trick, the past again ❞ - Black Sheep, Metric

❝ I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation // I've never been afraid of any deviation // And I don't really care if you think I'm strange // I ain't gonna change // And I'm never gonna care 'bout my bad reputation ❞ - Bad Reputation, Joan Jett & the Blackhearts

❝ And I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation // The world's in trouble, there's no communication // And everyone can say what they wanna say // It never gets better, anyway // So why should I care about a bad reputation, anyway? ❞ - Bad Reputation, Joan Jett & the Blackhearts

❝ What's wrong with you? You don't know the truth // Do you get the feeling someone's after you? // It's a tragedy, you will never see // Everyone around you is a casualty // CHAOS CHAOS CHAOS CHAOS ❞ - Khaos x4, Poppy

❝ Poison the children // No peace of mind // Poison the family // Make the children cry // Poison the fountain // Empty your mind // Follow the leader // The leader is blind ❞ - Fill the Crown, Poppy

❝ Hands behind my back // I'm under attack // I will not react, I won't give you that // I'm up to my neck // Lost all self-respect // I don't want revenge // Just want it to end ❞ - Say Cheese, Poppy

❝ My brain is poisonous // My body is a mess // My heart is hazardous // Who could I be instead? // I tell everyone that I'm okay // But I'm ashamed // I'm afraid // And it all eats at me ❞ - EAT, Poppy

❝ When you crossed me // Didn't know what you had done // A chain reaction happened // And it's too late to run // You look at me, I look at you // And you know what I'm gonna do // When I see red, I go // And the serotonin will flow // And there's no bandage to lessen the damage ❞ - Lessen the Damage, Poppy

❝ Been through the wringer a couple times // I came out calloused and cruel // And both my friends know this very well // Because they went through it too // The three of us were initiates // We had to learn how to deal // And when we spotted a second chance // We had to learn how to steal // Hollowed out and filled up with hate // All we want is you to give us a break ❞ - Fast in My Car, Paramore

❝ No one's the same as they used to be // Much as we try to pretend // No one's as innocent as could be // We all fall short, we all sin // But now we aren't looking backward // We won't try raising the dead // We only see what's in front of us // We only see straight ahead ❞ - Fast in My Car, Paramore

❝ Let 'em have their time // Sit back and let 'em shine // Let 'em rise and rise // Cause one day they're gonna fall // Let 'em soak in the sun // Sit back and let 'em have their fun // Let 'em spill their guts // Cause one day they're gonna slip on 'em // Let 'em play their songs // Let 'em say what's right and wrong // Let 'em do their thing // Cause they'll never be you and me // We got our own style // We got a way of livin' life // If they can't get down // Well we don't need them around // Well I could be angry // But you're not worth the fight // And besides I'm moving on // I've counted to ten // And I'm feeling alright // And besides I'm moving on ❞ - Moving On, Paramore

❝ We are not brave, we are not wise // We stand at the end of the longest lines // But we stand here all together // We have been damned, we have survived // We came back to homes we don't recognize // But we return here all together ❞ - Zero Visibility, Rise Against

❝ Since I was born they couldn't hold me down // Another misfit kid, another burned out town // I never played by the rules and I never really cared // My nasty reputation takes me everywhere // When I look and see it's not only me // So many others have stood where I stand // We are the young // So raise your hands // They call us problem child, we spend our lives on trial // We walk an endless mile, we are the youth gone wild // We stand and we won't fall, we're one and one for all // The writing's on the wall // We are the youth gone wild ❞ - Youth Gone Wild, Skid Row

𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐲 & 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥

❝ I want you to stop insisting that I'm not // A lost cause // 'Cause I've been through a lot // Really all I've got // Is just to stay pissed off // If it's all right by you ❞ - Rose-Colored Boy, Paramore

❝ Just let me cry a little bit longer // I ain't gonna smile if I don't want to // Hey, man, we all can't be like you // I wish we were all rose-colored too // My rose-colored boy ❞ - Rose-Colored Boy, Paramore

❝ Leave me here a little bit longer // I think I wanna stay in the car // I don't want anybody seeing me cry now // You say, "We gotta look on the bright side" // I say, "Well, maybe if you wanna go blind" // You say my eyes are getting too dark now // But boy, you ain't ever seen my mind ❞ - Rose-Colored Boy, Paramore

❝ If you run away now // Will you come back around? // And if you ran away, // I'd still wave goodbye // Watching you shine bright. // No I think we're taking this too far // Don't you know that it's not this hard? // Well it's not this hard // But if you take what's yours and I take mine // Must we go there? // Please not this time. No, not this time. ❞ - Brighter, Paramore

❝ I never wanted to say this // You never wanted to stay // I put my faith in you, so much faith // And then you just threw it away // You threw it away ❞ - For a Pessimist I’m Pretty Optimistic, Paramore

❝ I can't call you a stranger // But I can't call you // I know you think that I erased you // You may hate me, but I can't hate you ❞ - Tell Me How, Paramore

❝ "I'd die for you" that's easy to say // We have a list of people that we would take // A bullet for them, a bullet for you // A bullet for everybody in this room // But I don't seem to see many bullets coming through // See many bullets coming through // Metaphorically, I'm the man // But literally, I don't know what I'd do ❞ - Ride, Twenty One Pilots

❝ My seat's been taken by some sunglasses asking 'bout a scar // And I know I gave it to you months ago // I know you're trying to forget it // But between the drinks and subtle things // The holes in my apologies // You know, I'm trying hard to take it back // So if by the time the bar closes // And you feel like falling down // I'll carry you home ❞ - We are Young, fun.

❝ You're never gonna get it // I'm a hazard to myself // I'll break it to you easy // This is hell, this is hell // You're looking and whispering // You think I'm someone else // This is hell, yes. // Literal hell. ❞ - We Don’t Have to Dance, Andy Black

❝ Summer has come and passed // The innocent can never last // Wake me up when September ends // Ring out the bells again // Like we did when spring began // Wake me up when September ends ❞ - Wake Me Up When September Ends, Green Day

𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐲 & 𝐒𝐚𝐦

❝ Stop, what the hell are you talking about? // Get my pretty name outta your mouth // We are not the same with or without // Don't talk 'bout me like how you might know how I feel // Top of the world, but your world isn't real // Your world's an ideal ❞ - Therefore I Am, Billie Eilish

❝ I'm so insecure, I think // That I'll die before I drink // And I'm so caught up in the news // Of who likes me and who hates you // And I'm so tired that I might // Quit my job, start a new life // And they'd all be so disappointed // 'Cause who am I if not exploited? // And I'm so sick of seventeen // Where's my fucking teenage dream? // If someone tells me one more time // "Enjoy your youth," I'm gonna cry ❞ - Brutal, Olivia Rodrigo

❝ All I did was try my best // This the kinda thanks I get? // Unrelentlessly upset // They say these are the golden years // But I wish I could disappear // Ego crush is so severe // God, it's brutal out here ❞ - Brutal, Olivia Rodrigo

❝ Stop, drop // And drag me into place // And lock the fire escapes // I'll break your pretty face // Oh, you clever little things // The sycophantic teens // What a precious basket case // You get everything you want // And money always talks ❞ - Choke, I Don’t Know How But They Found Me

❝ This isn't a fight to be won // Go on and give up the gun // If this is a test, with all due respect // You're not gonna fool no one // I'm everything she never was // Now everyone's out for my blood // Stop, you're making a scene // You're coming at me with blood in your teeth // You shouldn't be anything like me ❞ - Anything Like Me, Poppy

❝ If I'm a bad person, you don't like me // Well, I guess I'll make my own way // It's a circle, a mean cycle // I can't excite you anymore // Where's your gavel? Your jury? // What's my offense this time? // You're not a judge but if you're gonna judge me // Well, sentence me to another life ❞ - Ignorance, Paramore

❝ You don't have to believe me // But the way I, way I see it // Next time you point a finger // I might have to bend it back // Or break it, break it off // Next time you point a finger // I'll point you to the mirror ❞ - Ignorance, Paramore

❝ I'm not angry anymore, // Well, sometimes I am. // I don't think badly of you, // Well, sometimes I do. // It depends on the day, // The extent of all my worthless rage, // I'm not angry anymore. // I'm not bitter anymore // I'm syrupy sweet. // I rot your teeth down to their core // If I'm really happy. // Depends on the day // If I wake up in a giddy haze // Well, I'm not angry // I'm not totally angry // I'm not all that angry anymore. ❞ - I'm Not Angry Anymore, Paramore

❝ You hurt me bad this time, no coming back // And I cried till I couldn't cry, another heart attack // If I lay on the floor, maybe I'll wake up // And I don't pick up when you call // 'Cause your voice is a gun // Every word is a bullet hole // Shot a hole in the sun // If I never look up maybe I'll never notice // And you, you want forgiveness // But I, I just can't do it yet ❞ - Forgiveness, Paramore

𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐲 & 𝐍𝐚𝐭

❝ If I had seen my reflection // As something more precious // He would've never // Mmm, and if my child needed protection // From a fucker like that man // I'd sooner gut him // 'Cause nothing cuts like a mother ❞ - Simmer, Hayley Williams

❝ I remember tears streaming down your face // When I said I'll never let you go // When all those shadows almost killed your light // I remember you said, "Don't leave me here alone" // But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight ❞ - Safe & Sound, Taylor Swift & The Civil Wars

❝ Don't you dare look out your window // Darling, everything's on fire // The war outside our door keeps raging on // Hold on to this lullaby // Even when the music's gone ❞ - Safe & Sound, Taylor Swift & The Civil Wars

❝ Just close your eyes // The sun is going down // You'll be alright // No one can hurt you now // Come morning light // You and I'll be safe and sound ❞ - Safe & Sound, Taylor Swift & The Civil Wars

❝ Mother, make me // Make me a big tall tree // So I can shed my leaves and let it blow through me // Mother, make me // Make me a big grey cloud // So I can rain on you things I can't say out loud ❞ - Mother, Florence + The Machine

❝ Mother, make me // Make me a bird of prey // So I can rise above this, let it fall away // Mother, make me // Make me a song so sweet // Heaven trembles, falling at my feet ❞ - Mother, Florence + The Machine

❝ Well, I've been afraid of changin' // 'Cause I've built my life around you // But time makes you bolder // Even children get older // And I'm getting older too ❞ - Landslide, Dixie Chicks

❝ Mama, life had just begun // But now I've gone and thrown it all away // Mama, ooh, didn't mean to make you cry // If I'm not back again this time tomorrow // Carry on, carry on // As if nothing really matters ❞ - Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen

#long post tw #[about]#I have subsections for daniel robby sam miguel hawk and nat thus far and I'll do more down the line #this is one of those posts that I'll add to gradually #as if there isn't a ton of stuff here already lol #I just listened to a lot of music tonight and I can take no more song hunting atm

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darcyolsson · 3 years

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ok i know we JUST learned about the tv adaption, but what are your thoughts ! what do you think it'll look like in your ideal world? what do you think it'll come out like irl? part of me can't help but think that, for all heartstopper is v heartwarming and sweet, netflix would try to make it a really gritty teen drama woth dark academia vibes or smth 😭

because alice is writing it, i’m pretty confident it wont be a riverdale-esque dark story!! she’s been so super careful to keep heartstopper upbeat, i don’t think she has it in her to make the show all dark and gritty, lol. i have honestly never had this much faith in an adaptation in my life!!

i definitely think it will turn out be something similar to skam, in terms of production. if you go to the heartstopper tv instagram account you can see it’s following a bunch of social media accounts with names of the characters, so i’m guessing we’ll get some sort of actual posts made by the characters (although i don’t really see how a netflix show, which are usually released by the season rather than the episode, could be as immersive as skam was)

i definitely think the story will change, though! all adaptations change pacing/story elements because a well-written novel isn’t a well-written show. i think it’ll be long episodes (40 mins-1 hr) and i think the pacing will be slightly different- elle, tara and darcy will probably be introduced far earlier in the story than they are now, otherwise i don’t really see how they would end up being major characters in an 8-episode arc. i’m guessing it’ll be mostly based on chapter 1, 2 and 3. (aka first kiss and maybe some coming out, but no paris and no mental health stuff just yet)

i don’t really have an ideal vision for it! i almost always like adaptations because they’re a different take on a story i already love. the only thing i could ever wish for is that we get to see tori even if it’s just for a second. i also hope to see plenty of dogs. also the flashmob scene

HOWEVER, i had a dream about the adaptation tonight, so i guess that’s how my subconcious envisioned it: it was an animated show where everyone looked completely different EXCEPT for elle. nick had long hair i think? also, tori and aled weren’t there, but becky from solitaire was a major character. i have no idea what any of that means.

tl;dr i think it’s gonna be upbeat because i would trust alice oseman with my life & i can’t wait for the emotional support webcomic that dragged me through high school to be turned into an emotional support tv show that will drag some other kid through high school

#hstv #anonymous #answered asks #also i didnt know for sure abt the show last night #alice just said she had an announcement #and i'd had it figured out for a while #no leaks just my brain!

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lovelylogans · 3 years

Text

honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror)

see other chapters, notes, and warnings here!

chapter one: qualia

qualia: in philosophy and certain models of psychology, qualia are defined as individual instances of subjective, conscious experience. philosopher and cognitive scientist daniel dennett once suggested that qualia was "an unfamiliar term for something that could not be more familiar to each of us: the ways things seem to us.”

JANUS

Janus almost always develops a headache when he has to deal with the latest idiot intern at the firm, but this headache is beyond the pale. Then again, so is this intern. He has never met a uni student that is more destined to become an obnoxiously vocal Tory. It’s like someone granted a novel about Etonian history his wish to become a real boy.

“Out,” he bellows at the intern who has been attempting to stick himself to Janus's side, unable to pick up on the fact that his repeated mentions of his father, you know, the chancellor of the high court, is doing the opposite of impressing everyone around him.

This intern—Janus is going to make it a point to never remember his name now—has probably never been yelled at in his life. He gives Janus a very offended look, sniffs, and retreats from Janus's office, likely to bother whatever barrister he hasn’t yet told about the blatant nepotism that has gotten him into their office.

Janus puts his elbows on the table and pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing slowly in and out. Though the intern has certainly exacerbated the headache at hand, he’s had the headache since he inexplicably woke up at four in the morning.

He’s taken paracetamol, he’s tried hydrating, and drinking caffeine, and rubbing his temples, and even wearing the blue light glasses Key swears by, but there’s been no luck. His head’s throbbing just as badly now as it did when he woke up from a dream about a strange American wearing a pale brown cardigan and a pink tie.

The man had gone pale and sweaty as if he was ill, leaning back against air, clutching at nothing, like he’d hoped to find someone’s hand to hold, but despite the pain he seemed to be in, he’d stared straight at Janus, beaming and wide-eyed.

“I see them,” the man had whispered. He’d opened his free arm as if to offer a hug. “Oh, they’re beautiful. You’re beautiful, my dear. My darling.”

You’re beautiful, my dear, my darling…

Janus rubs at his forehead. If he’d been so beautiful and dear and darling, he would have appreciated being left without this migraine as the price of the compliment.

“You,” he barks at the nearest intern walking by his office—a mousy little thing, a girl who’s swimming in a cardigan that makes his eyes throb with a familiarity he can’t recognize—“I’ll let you assist on this case if you get me a tea with two sugars, right now.”

She perks up. “Really?”

“Right now,” he thunders, and the girl practically squeaks before she heads for the building’s refectory with its in-house café.

Janus tries his hardest not to smile to himself, really he does, but the best part of intern season is scaring the interns. What is he supposed to do, not revel in their suffering?

He’s about to reach for his smartphone resting on his desk when he feels a buzz against his sternum.

He pauses, glances toward the door, before he swivels around his desk chair and opens a lower cabinet as if he’s searching for a file; instead, he reaches into his innermost breast pocket to pull out his other phone. This one is a good deal cheaper than the one resting on the table; that is by design.

He glances at the window to double-check the reflections, that no one is watching him—they aren’t—before he unlocks the phone and looks at the message.

K: jazza, you found anything yet?

Janus scowls at the phone. Honestly.

J: Do you want to get arrested, Key? Because rushing this job is how you get arrested.

K: aint that the reason ur a big fancy barrister in the first place

J: Do they want to put up the rush fee?

He turns back to his desk and manages to get some actual, legal, non-shady work done before the phone buzzes.

K: no.

If pixels could look sullen, these ones do.

J: Then tell them to put up or shut up.

A pause.

J: And don’t text me for inane little updates during actual people’s work hours again. You are specifically only to contact me during these hours for emergencies.

He shuts off the phone and tucks it into his breast pocket again before Key can respond. The nerve of some people. He’ll do the work, fine, but people needed to realize they’d get what they paid for. For the information that Key’s clientele wants him to retrieve, they’ll have to put up quite a bit more cash for him to move at anything beyond a snail’s pace.

A knock at the door. Janus gives the girl his most imperious look.

“Here you are, sir,” she says, handing over one insulated to-go mug, keeping another one in her hands.

“Yes, fine, fine,” he says, taking it. “What’s your name again?”

“Emma, sir.”

“Emma,” he repeats. He takes a sip of the tea.

Or, he expects to take a sip of tea. What he gets is a mouthful of coffee.

Very good coffee, very high-quality coffee, but coffee, and lukewarm at that. He pulls a face instinctively.

“What did you get me?”

Emma immediately looks petrified. “Tea with two sugars, sir?”

Janus frowns at her, then examines the side, where the tea option is ticked off. If they’ve managed to mess up the order, at least they’d given him the good-quality stuff, even if it did taste like it had been sitting on a desk for an hour. He takes another cautious sip.

Tea. Sweetened, hot tea, fresh from the café.

He’s never had a headache this bad before. So maybe he doesn’t know that headaches this bad can mess with his sense of smell. And temperature. Now that he thinks of it, he is feeling really quite hot, even though the building’s air conditioning is blasting.

“...Very good,” he says slowly, and then proceeds to nudge a perilously tall stack of manila files toward her. “Read the top one so you can get reacquainted with the case.”

Emma takes the file immediately, and, just for a moment, just for barely a flash, Janus could swear he’d seen someone walking in the hall in their pajamas and bunny slippers in the reflection of his office windows.

He looks at it more directly.

No. It’s just Emma’s reflection and his. Janus's office, furnished in dark woods and leather desk chairs, his fine suit, the damningly recognizable birthmark and scar splashed across his face.

Janus frowns at himself in the window, turns away, and reaches for his own manila file.

VIRGIL

Getting off the plane from America to South Africa is always an experiment in temperature adjustment.

He takes off his hoodie in between the shuffle of getting off the plane to going to the baggage claim, tying it around his waist, leaving him just in a purple t-shirt and his ripped jeans.

It doesn’t help that he’s got a headache that’s absolutely killing him.

By the time he gets there, his baggage is already waiting at the side of a woman with her hair wrapped in a scarf, her glasses resting low on her nose; they look new, and it makes Virgil’s chest hurt—what else has he missed since he’s been across the world?

Virgil’s mother, Andisiwe, beams at him. “Virgil!”

“I’ve missed you, Mama,” he says in Xhosa because ever since he was a child jetting back and forth for school breaks she’s been worried about him losing his mother tongue.

She laughs, hugging him tight and warm, and he wraps his arms around her in kind, closing his eyes tight. This is the longest he’s been from her since he was born. She’d been in America to teach for a year and a half at Johns Hopkins when she’d met his father, and then Virgil happened.

He couldn’t have gone back to South Africa with her, a black woman with a mixed-race child, not during apartheid. His white father had had to bring him home to his white wife, and white children, and initiate what would eventually become a long, messy divorce.

But he doesn’t like to think about that, and he won’t, not today, not when he’s finally back here. He’s missed her, and Pretoria, and his jacarandas, and his grandmother’s recipe for coconut pitha, and umngqusho, and proper, African coffee more than he can say.

All he’d drunk in the States was tea because he didn’t want to be reminded of home; he can taste it lingering in the back of his throat, even now.

“Or should I say, Doctor Virgil Wright-Nkosi,” she says, beaming at him wide, and Virgil ducks his head, grinning even through how awkward he feels.

“I’m a doctor of botany, it’s not the same as you,” or Dad, he tacks on in his mind, taking his suitcase and gesturing her ahead of him; she trades him with a to-go cup of coffee, which he sips eagerly. It’s such a perfect taste of home that he doesn’t even care that it’s lukewarm.

“Quite right,” she says, leading their way through the airport. “Ph.D. is different from an M.D., I’m thrilled my employer has taught you so excellently in your undergrad—”

Virgil laughs, again, but his foot slips on the smooth airport tile, and he looks down instinctively, and his breath catches in his throat, laughter dying in his mouth, freezing where he stands, because if he takes one more step he is going to die he is going to die he is going to fucking die—

There’s this tight feeling across his chest like a band and suddenly he’s not looking down at clean airport tile but he’s looking down at a yawning expanse of air between himself and the ground at least three stories up and he’s standing on a thin metal bar and if he keeps moving he’s going to fall he’s going to die

“Virgil?”

Virgil looks toward his mother, breath seized in his throat, and—

And he’s at the airport again. Bustling crowds, pinging PA system, his mother, a hand reaching toward him in concern.

“Virgil, are you all right?”

Virgil swallows once, twice, squeezes his eyes shut, and shakes his head to clear it; he opens them again.

Airport. His mom. The crowd. And, just a flash, weaving in and out of the people, there’s a big man with tattoos, and he’s wearing bunny slippers. It’s strange enough that it manages to shake him out of it better than any physical gesture could.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice sounds strained to his own ears. “Yeah. Um—jet lag, I think.”

Andisiwe surveys him, before she nods, once, decisively.

“Finish that coffee,” she says. “You know how much worse it’ll get if you let yourself fall asleep now.”

Virgil takes a long pull from his cup—bitter, dark, African coffee. Home. He’s home.

Jet lag, he tells himself. Jet lag, and that weird dream you had on the plane. That’s all this is.

REMUS

“The fucking rat bastard bitch-ass sorry shit-stain of a cunt,” Remus pants to himself, as quietly as he can when he’s heaving for breath and sprinting along the forest floor. Remus wasn’t particularly athletic in the first place—one doesn’t really become a horror author if they’re a star athlete, do they?—but when one is running for their life, things like “stitches in my side” and “is that blood I taste in the back of my mouth” kind of take a back seat to things like, you know, continued survival.

Remus nearly trips over a vine, which he verbally abuses for a few hundred more feet, (“fucking useless pieces of shit fucking—”) before he manages to slip and stumble into the shelter of something like a cave. He checks it—as much as he likes wildlife mauling other people, in theory, it kind of goes against this whole survival thing if he wanders into a cave only to get his throat ripped out by a bobcat.

As he casts back the hood of his jacket and mops his brow of sweat, looking back and forth to ensure he hasn’t been tracked, and his heart rate returns to something like normal, turns his mind back to Miguel fucking Contreras.

That fucking bastard was lucky he was dead, and even so, Remus might go back and dig up his freshly-turned grave with nothing but his own two fucking hands and he’d gladly break a hundred of his fingers and turn his knuckles into right-angled wrongness just to reach in there and grab his rotting corpse and wring his neck to kill him again.

He didn’t even kill him the first time, that’s the unbearable thing! He’d wanted to kill him and someone swooped in and did it before Remus ever could!

Remus spits on the ground, furious, and even more furious that everything with him is so vital he can’t risk destroying any of it in a rage—his clothes, his last couple testosterone pills, a burner phone he’d stolen off someone who reminded him of his own wretched abuela a couple cities back and kept shut off ever since. She’d been yelling at some homeless kids trying to get some pesos for a goddamn meal, though, so Remus felt as if he’d performed a public service by making her day worse.

He’d managed to snatch her purse and empty it out, too. The kids got a meal, Remus got a meal, everyone won.

Remus chances a peek around the forest once again, just to ensure he hasn’t been tailed, and—

He shrinks back into the cave at the sight of a large man jogging by. He’s very big, very tall, very tattooed, and very confused, by the looks of it. Like he’s sleep-walked miles into the forest and now doesn’t know his way back.

The man pivots on his foot, walks out of Remus's view behind a tree, and doesn’t resume walking again.

Remus's eyes narrow. He tenses his muscles, ready to start sprinting again, but that man had looked rather big and strong, and therefore much more decisively athletic than Remus.

But minutes pass, and the man doesn’t emerge again.

Remus creeps out, just enough to see past the tree, and—

No. The man is gone.

Anyone else might think that they were losing it. Anyone else might think that they were going crazy.

Remis is fully aware that he’s crazy, though, so he shrugs and returns his attention to sorting through his bag, except—

His fingers run through the money he has, and they aren’t pesos anymore. Remus frowns at the sight of the money, holding it up to the meager light to see it.

There definitely isn’t an old white lady on pesos usually.

“The fuck?”

“Erm.”

Remus whips his head around, very suddenly aware that he isn’t in a cave anymore.

He’s in an apartment. A swanky apartment. The air conditioning is blasting—Remus hasn’t been in air-conditioned surroundings for so long, and he nearly melts under the feel of it, cooling the sweat coating his face, running down his back.

A white man lowers his glasses down his nose and frowns at Remus. The way his mouth moves twists up the scar on the side of the face. He’s holding up a handful of pesos.

“Well, first of all, I really need to send a note so they improve security around this place,” the man says in an undertone. Then, “second of all, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to need those pounds to pay for my takeaway.”

Remus stares.

“I’ve ordered Indian food to my office,” he continues, “and I’d think that they’d prefer the national currency in exchange for my food. I’ve been craving samosas something awful.”

Samosas do sound good. Any food sounds good, Remus thinks, as his stomach growls with envy.

Remus slowly extends his handful of the old white lady money. The white man places the pesos into Remus's hand, taking his money back at the same time.

“Much obliged,” the white man says and disappears.

Remus blinks down at his handful of pesos, then looks around. No more air conditioning, or swanky office, or promise of takeout.

He shakes his head.

“If I hadn’t lost it before,” he mutters aloud and goes back to counting his money.

Well. It’s not like Remus's brain is any great loss.

LOGAN

Logan gives a cursory peek through the telescope and grumbles, pulling back and rubbing his forehead. Fantastic. On top of this untimely migraine, his equipment has decided to throw a tantrum, too.

He’s known technology can be fiddly even in the best of conditions. He’s known that cold can adversely affect equipment. And yet, for some reason, it is still constantly frustrating when it does happen. Which in turn is frustrating; he should expect cold conditions to interfere with any equipment that he uses for his space research. He’s in Antarctica.

Logan makes effort to simply narrow his eyes at the telescope before him, fiddling with the lens. He has half a mind to ask it there, will you behave now? but considering it is simply scientific equipment, it will not answer. Therefore, there is no reason to speak.

Logan rubs his forehead again, and, for the brief moment before his hand obscures his eyes, he sees a flash of something.

Logan squints, lowering his hand. But no, he decides; he just sees snow, rock, the local wildlife.

But for a moment he could have sworn, while he was looking out at the sea, that he’d seen a large, tattooed man looking out at the sea, too.

No, he decides. It couldn’t have possibly been; this headache, coupled with the general brightness of the world right now, is making him see things.

There is no way he’d just seen, in the midst of an Antarctic island, a large, tattooed man in pajamas and bunny slippers.

ROMAN

Fuck if it’s not early, but fuck if he’s not having a blast.

“Do we wanna run it one more time?!” Roman hollers down from the catwalks.

“I should’ve known better than to give you a fly scene,” María says ruefully. Roman blows down kisses from where he’s strapped in, harness tight across his chest, the camera crew looking dutifully to María to see what the verdict is.

A long pause. She sighs and waves a hand. “Set up for the close-up landing!”

Roman whoops to himself, shifting on his own two feet. He never gets to do stunts, much less stunts like this. All his movies are machismo, punching people and firing guns, and sure, this one is full of all that, but at least this time he gets to spend a day flying around on wires like he’s a superhero.

Which is ironic, considering he’d started his career in movies as a stuntman. But now his pretty face is too high-market-value to risk it doing the thing he’s been trained to do.

But whatever! Today he gets to fly around! Today he gets to throw himself into saying his lines! Today he gets to throw himself into his script and his acting and his costars!

Today he gets to spend it on set and not lying in bed taken down by this godawful migraine and scrolling through his phone with his heart in his throat to see if there are any developments in the news!

Today he gets to tell Sasha all about the day he’s had in his usual bright and happy voice! It’s a great day!

Roman shuffles on his feet, waiting for the “action!” to be called when he hears the tell-tale rumbling shriek of a plane flying overhead, and Roman bites back a sigh; that’s going to delay the shoot of the scene for sure while they wait on that, so Roman slumps, looking for something to occupy either his hands or his brain with, but then—

“Quiet on set!” María barks.

“We aren’t going to hold for the plane?” Roman asks, confused.

“What plane?” María says.

“I thought—” Roman says, and frowns; from where he is in the catwalks, he can’t exactly look up and see the sky, but even then the angle of sound seems wrong; it’s like he’s walking past an airfield, planes taking off and landing all at once.

“Never mind,” Roman calls down weakly. “Thought I heard something, must have been tech stuff.”

María looks up at him, eyes narrowed briefly before she shrugs, and repeats, “Quiet on set!”

Roman shakes out his shoulders, intent on getting into the mind of Pablo Márquez, and out of his own.

⁂

Roman’s got an icepack under his shoulder and on his forehead, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Okay, so, maybe he got a bit too into it today. Whatever. It’s not his fault he’s stuck with a killer migraine, and it’s definitely not his fault that the person who fastened his harness clearly didn’t know what he was talking about; you’d think that now he was the big star, people would be more cautious with him than they were when he was a stuntman, but what does Roman know? He’s just the pretty face.

But whatever. He’s got a breather for a while as his costar shoots a few scenes with her supposed father (a twist of the movie is that her father is not, in fact, her father) and so he’s taking the time to sit and relax.

He’s going to relax.

Really.

...oh, who is he kidding. Roman immediately rolls to grab his phone from where he’d set it on the minuscule table in his trailer, and loads the page to El Universal.

He’s got the search down to a science, really. He starts with the wider, more professional news sources—ergo El Universal—and then gradually meanders his way down, through the magazines, then the tabloids, then the blogs dedicated to the writings of R.J. Duke.

When he’s really desperate, he checks Twitter.

He turns out to be really desperate every day, though.

He isn’t really sure how not to be desperate when one’s brother is on the run for committing murder.

He definitely isn’t sure how not to be desperate when one’s brother is only revealed to not be his brother under a thin guise that someone might find out any minute.

He absolutely isn’t sure how not to be desperate when any day now, someone will crack it, and they’ll raid his apartment to see if Roman was hiding him (Roman would absolutely hide him if Remus would just come to him) and ask him questions, and how is Roman supposed to respond when they ask him if Remus would be capable of murder, no? Fucking obviously Remus would be capable of murder.

And the thing is, he is desperate. He’s desperate to get news of how Remus is doing, where on earth Remus is, if he’s okay.

And then he wonders what kind of person he is, to be so willing to set aside that his brother might have killed someone. He’d like to think that he’d do the right thing and turn Remus in, but he is also sure that he absolutely wouldn’t.

But the question is, does Remus know that? Does Remus know that Roman would throw everything, everything—his fame, his fancy apartment, his money—just to be sure that Remus was safe, that Remus was with him?

They’d been so entrenched in their petty disagreements over the years that Roman isn’t sure that Remus does.

The thought that his brother might not know Roman loves him is a thousand times more painful than this headache will be.

Remus is his brother. His twin brother, the only person in the world who understands Roman; for all their differences, for all their disagreements, he and Remus have always understood each other. They’ve always been on a wavelength no one else has, in sync and in step with each other. They’d even been born at exactly the same time, by virtue of their mother’s c-section.

How is Roman meant to just set that aside?!

So he lies on the couch in his trailer, scrolling obsessively through a Twitter search of his brother’s pen name and his legal name and his actual name, eyebrows drawn together further and further.

He’s so lost in chasing down clues, he doesn’t even notice the large, pajama-clad man appearing in his trailer and disappearing again, between five blinks of the eye.

PATTON

The view in front of Patton is crystalline and beautiful, dark gray rock and snow a blindingly clear shade of white and the ocean, constantly shifting between deep, lovely blue and bottle-green depths; ice, and rock, and the sun glinting off the sea and the snow, so bright that it almost hurts to look at it.

It’s so lovely that Patton would gladly spend all day looking at it, if not for the deep chill working its way into his bones as if he’s been here for months instead of minutes. Which is kind of confusing, but he doesn’t think his flannel pajamas and bunny slippers probably don’t make the cut of approved winter gear, so that might be it.

And also the part where Patton went to bed in his apartment in Auckland because of his blindingly bad migraine, and he has woken up in some wintry wasteland. That part’s kind of confusing him, too.

There’s a particularly sharp gust of wind, and Patton squints, turning his face away and lifting his hand. The breeze lessens, and Patton lowers his hand.

He’s in an office.

A nice office, the kind with hardwood floors that would click under his feet if he weren’t wearing slippers and the big, floor-to-ceiling windows that speaks of a recent, expensive renovation, a door ajar. He walks forward to peek into it—

—and finds himself looking inside of a cramped little trailer, a man flung out dramatically on the couch, one arm over his forehead, not able to cover the anguish on his face, and the other scrolling through his phone.

He takes a step forward, and just like before, without any sense of transition, just one blink and he’s not in a trailer anymore, he’s outside, standing at the foot of a mountain stretching for forever above him, moving quickly on his feet, jogging alongside a hooded man sprinting down a barely-worn path—

He takes a step forward, and his foot lands on the carpet.

“Goodness,” a man says, with a familiar, amused tone. “You’ve been walking quite far, haven’t you?”

Patton looks up to see a man—the parent he’d thought he’d seen yesterday. He’s in the same cardigan and dress shirt, looking rather rumpled, but his tie has, at least, been loosened from around his throat. The lights are off, the only light filtering weakly through the windows. The man is lying down in his bed, looking pale and sickly.

The room would look quite depressing if not for the laptop blaring a cartoon—an American one Patton doesn’t know—and various assorted cartoon art and sculptures as clutter around the room. His duvet has a subtle pattern that Patton, after tilting his head, looks a bit like gemstones.

“...I think so,” Patton says cautiously. “But it doesn’t feel like it.”

“No, it never does,” the man says, smiling. “Even when you’ve walked halfway ‘round the world.”

For lack of anything to say—other than who are you, what’s happening to me, what on earth is going on—Patton keeps quiet.

“I like your tattoos,” the man continues.

“Oh, thank you,” Patton says, twisting his arms so that the cardiganed man can see them, swelling with pride. They are a big part of his culture, his history, himself, after all. “They’re tā moko.”

“Tā moko,” the man repeats as if committing it to memory.

“I’m Māori,” Patton adds because he can place the accent now—American. And, well, nothing against Americans, it’s just that he isn’t sure how much the average American knows about the indigenous populations of other continents.

“Indigenous to,” the man says, and his eyes narrow for a moment. “New Zealand, right?”

Patton nods to the man, before he says, “Where am I?”

“Oh, excuse my manners, please sit down,” the man says, gesturing to an empty spot on his comfy-looking bed. Patton sits. It is comfy.

“I’m just so excited, you see, I’ve spent most of the past day recovering, so you’re the first one I’ve met. I’d expect you to be recovering, too, this is either a fortunately-timed fluke or you seem to be getting the hang of this very fast. Doesn’t your head hurt?”

“Terribly,” Patton admits, then, “First of who?”

Before the man can answer his question, his brain flashes with images from today—an airport, dark catwalks, a yawning cliff face, that fancy-schmancy office.

“Well,” the man says. “I’m Dr. Emile Picani.”

For whatever reason, it feels like he should have known that name already; his name slips into Patton’s mind like a key turning a long-forgotten lock.

“And,” the man continues, “you’re technically wherever your body is now.”

“Auckland.”

“Auckland,” he repeats. “Patton the Māori from Auckland. Oh, how wonderful, I don’t think I know any of our kind anywhere near Australia or New Zealand yet.”

“Our,” Patton says, and his brow wrinkles. “Our kind?”

“Patton, my darling,” Emile says warmly, leaning forward to put a hand on Patton’s. “Have you been walking around in other places? Feeling things that aren’t there, seeing people that aren’t there?”

“Yes,” Patton says.

“Those would be your cluster,” Emile says, and the word buries itself deep in Patton’s heart with an aggressively radiating kind of warmth, instantaneously fond, like he’s loved them all along but just now realized it. My cluster. It may as well be my family, that’s how much love he feels.

“Your body is in Auckland, still, but right now, your mind? You’re visiting me in Florida.”

Patton can’t help but smile a little. “I’ve never been outside of New Zealand before.”

Emile smiles back at him, warm and comforting, and it feels just as familiar as looking at the face of his father.

“Patton, dear, you are no longer just you.”

REMY

Remy turns from where he’s making a mug of green tea to see that he’s in Emile’s room.

“Babe,” Remy says, reflexive, before he sees the look on Emile’s face; and he understands immediately.

“Fuck, are they still here?”

Emile, still smiling, shakes his head just a touch regretfully. “You just missed him.”

That piques Remy’s attention. “Him? You’ve got a son?”

“He’s not technically my son,” Emile says bashfully; they swap, effortless after so long, and Emile takes a sip of Remy’s green tea using Remy’s hands, Remy’s ] mouth. Remy takes that time to use Emile’s body to settle more comfortably in the bed, and he places a cool, wet washcloth across Emile’s forehead.

They swap back without losing a beat; this rhythm between them has existed for a decade, Emile’s psychic birth isn’t about to trip them up. Sure, it looks different to him than it does to Emile; right now, to Remy, it’s like Emile’s curled up in his Nicean apartment, just at home in France as he is in Florida. To Emile, he knows, it’s like Remy’s appeared in his bedroom, oddly dressed for the Florida spring.

“Your psychic son, then,” Remy teases, then it clicks. “Wait, you’ve seen one of them already? How long did it take one of us to see Harley after the activation—?”

Emile waves a hand in a so-so type gesture. “Linny saw Dalisay and she kind of served as a mentor for her, didn’t she? That was the closest to a non-cluster visit that we got.”

“And that was after three days or so,” Remy muses. “Hm.”

“Yeah,” Emile agrees. “I dunno if it’s a fluke or if Patton’s just really well-adapted for this life.”

“Patton,” Remy repeats.

Honestly, he isn’t really sure how to handle this; the closest he could get to preparing for his boyfriend’s psychic birth is googling things about being a stepdad, and that’s not even slightly close to what’s actually happening. Bonding with the stepkids can only really happen if Emile’s lucked into a cluster with a Frenchman, Frenchwoman, Frenchperson, whichever.

Emile quirks a brow at him, knowing what he’s about to ask. “New Zealander.”

“Fuck,” Remy says. “No in-cluster education for Patton, then. Do we know anyone there, baby?”

“I’d have to check with the Archipelago, and, well,” Emile says, gesturing vaguely to himself; he’s laid out in bed, and, with the washcloth on his forehead, he really does look quite ill. Out-of-cluster visiting might be too much of a strain right now.

Remy frowns, taking the washcloth in hand and gently dabbing Emile’s forehead.

“Tell me about him?”

Emile beams.

“Oh, Remy, he’s wonderful. Simply fantastic! He’s Māori—indigenous population—and he’s got all these interesting tattoos. I’ve been researching, look,” Emile says, tilting his phone so that Remy can see.

Remy takes it. He sees swirling designs, up and down arms and legs, neatly segmented lines filled with various patterns, a few portraits of tattooed faces.

“—the tattoos themselves have a really interesting history, but I have a lot of reading to do when it comes to the Māori population itself. I've already tried to put a few books on hold at the university library.”

“What’s he like?”

“Big, tall,” Emile says, gesturing vaguely with a hand where the top of Patton’s head would compare with his own. “It’s late there, or early, I think, he was still in pajamas. Bunny slippers.”

Remy smiles at that, knowing for a fact that Emile’s wearing his knee-high muppet socks. “Takes after you, then.”

“Maybe,” Emile admits, then, “oh, all right, probably. We have a lot in common, at least, even if we don’t have any solid evidence on if cluster parents influence the traits of their cluster.”

“Influence, schminfluence,” Remy says.

“But he seems very nice, very polite. Wasn’t too shaken by appearing in America.”

Emile’s brow creases.

“I think he needs a cluster,” Emile says, very quiet. “I think he needs them badly.”

Remy isn’t sure what to say to that, so he puts a hand on Emile’s cheek, attempting to check his temperature.

“Harley should have given us the equivalent of psychic sex-ed,” Remy mutters irritably. Emile’s skin, always soft, is warmer than Remy would like.

Emile yawns. “Not gonna disagree with you there.”

Remy tugs up Emile’s blankets to tuck him in. Emile smiles up at him, a little bashful, a lot sleepy.

“Cuddles?” Emile mumbles, holding out his arms, entreating.

And, well. What is Remy gonna do, not cuddle his incredibly adorable boyfriend recovering from psychic birth?

#my fic #my fanfic

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spurgie-cousin · 3 years

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WHW Royals Edition 👑 Part 1: Anne, Queen of Great Britain

Born: February 6th, 1665 at St James's Palace, Westminster, Middlesex, England Died: August 1st, 1714 (age 49) at Kensington Palace, Middlesex Reign: March 8th, 1702 - August 1st, 1714

I thought I’d give you guys a little intro to Anne, Queen of Great Britain as a start for my series on weirdo royals. I got big into her after seeing the Yorgos Lanthimos film The Favourite (can’t recommend enough) and that resulted in endless hours of internet wormholes about her bizarre and interesting life. I’ve read about a lot of fucked up royals in my life (truly there’s many) but it was only when I was reading about Anne that I kind of had an ‘a-ha’ moment about how really drastically the monarchial system can fuck a person up.

Queen Anne fits this bill for me for a lot of reason; she was a surprise Queen who was woefully underprepared for ruling, which led to people pushing their political agendas on her under the guise of genuine affection. It’s hard to know if the relationships that define her legacy and life in popular culture were genuine, or if they would’ve existed at all had she not been a royal. Her legacy is muddied by the traditional, patriarchal writers of history of course and it sometimes is hard to get a clear picture of who she really was, but here are a few tidbits about her life and rule:

Anne’s signature

1. Queen Anne was born Anne Stuart, daughter of James II and Anne Hyde and raised in the traditional way for aristocratic girls, with an education that emphasized on arts, language, and music. This eventually proved to suck dick for her big time later on in life when she became queen. Traditionally, girls were purposefully taught nothing useful about politics or history because it was assumed they would never rule (cough) and this left Anne very much lacking in the political discourse department as a monarch; all of her future speeches and even remarks made around political figures would have to be scripted by advisors. If she found herself off script and not knowing what to say, it’s said that she’d sometimes “move only her lips and make as if she said something when in truth no words were uttered.”

2. 8 year old Anne first met friend Sarah Jennings (Churchill) when she was a lady in waiting at just 5 years old. As you’ll see later on, Sarah goes on to be one of the (if not the most) influential person in the Queen’s life, becoming a trusted friend and political advisor.

3. Anne was what we would probably refer to today as a ‘hot mess express’. The poor gal had a myriad of health issues, both mentally and physically, all of which only got worse as she aged. She suffered from gout and an undefined auto-immune disorder (we think) as well as a bizarre eye-watering disorder and poor vision. It’s also pretty evident that she didn’t have the best relationship with alcohol or food and most likely developed a binge eating disorder later in her life (she was very large at the time of her death and there are a few accounts of her eating to the point of puking in front of other people).

4. Besides her relationships with Sarah and Abigail Masham, Queen Anne is also known mostly known for the tragic loss of her 17 pregnancies. Of all her births she had only 5 live babies, only one of which survived beyond infancy. Her son William was also afflicted with various illnesses all of his life and died at the age of 11.

Prince William, Anne’s longest surviving child

5. Anne became queen by accident, after her Catholic father was ousted as king by her protestant brother in-law. He and her sister ruled for a short time before dying of pneumonia and smallpox respectively with no heir in place, so Anne, who supported the protestant reformation, was crowned Queen.

6. Over the years Anne and Sarah Churchill became extremely close friends, and most accounts agree that Sarah had an incredible amount of influence over Anne’s political decisions. Sarah is said to have had a more natural affinity for politics, and to have had a completely opposite disposition than Anne. Some think that Sarah may have maintained the relationship only to keep her political control.

7. A lot of people that believe that Anne and Sarah were so close because they were lovers. The pair at one time wrote each other 4 letters a day, that included things like “I had rather live in a cottage with you than reign empress of the world without you,” “Oh come to me as soon as you can that I may cleave myself to you,” one of Queen Anne’s “I can’t go to bed without seeing you… If you knew in what condition you have made me, I am sure you would pity.” I don’t think I necessarily share that opinion, for reasons you’ll see below.

8. Sarah was the only person under Anne that was allowed to speak to her without using a title. The two often used their nicknames for each other: Mrs. Morley (Anne) and Mrs. Freeman (Sarah).

Sarah Churchill, 1702

9. A lot of scholars disagree with the notion that Anne had any gay affairs with anyone, including Sarah, for a few reasons; first because, at the time, it was just apparently normal to act hella gay with your friends, particularly for royals, so excessive touching or writing wouldn’t have raised any alarms. Most historians attribute this to the extreme separation of the sexes, particularly in upper class households. Most people spent 90% of their time exclusively with people of their own gender, so it was a means to have your emotional needs met within the confines of your station. If an aristocrat started ‘friend flirting’ with you, it was also seen as rude to not reciprocate.

10. A few other reasons Anne was probably not lesbian: she had a pretty good relationship with her husband (Prince George of Denmark), and the 17 pregnancies thing suggests that they weren’t having any problems in the bedroom department. Also, when Anne later became close friends with Sarah’s cousin Abigail, Sarah became jealous and began to spread rumors that the two were gay lovers (more on that below). This rumor probably stuck and carried over into other areas of her life. Or maybe Anne was bi and both things were true, who knows.

Anne circa 1685. All physical descriptions of Anne, especially in her later years, don’t describe her in the most glowing terms, which is insane to think about when I see portraits like this.

11. Anne began to grow distant from Sarah after her husband’s death in 1708, which all sources agree flung the queen into a huge depression. She was said to have sat by and kissed his dead body long after his death. Sarah took a tough love approach to try and snap the queen out of it, which backfired. This was when Anne began to get close to Abigail Masham, which infuriated Sarah.

12. Sarah was so mad at Anne for this that she literally wrote a song about her and Abigail being gay together, printed it out on a pamphlet, and passed it around court Mean Girls-style. The pamphlet read: “When as Queen Anne of great renown / Great Britain’s sceptre swayed / Beside the Church she dearly loved / A dirty chambermaid O Abigail that was her name / She starched and stitched full well / But how she pierced this royal heart / No mortal man can tell However for sweet service done / And causes of great weight / Her royal mistress made her, Oh! / A minister of state Her secretary she was not / Because she could not write / But had the conduct and the care / Of some dark deeds at night.”

13. Besides Sarah, a lot of people took Anne’s relative political ignorance as an invitation to push their own political agendas. It didn’t help that her reign coincided with a rapid development of a 2 party parliamentary system, as the gap between the protestant Whigs and the Catholic Tories began to widen.

14. One of Anne’s crowning political achievements was the 1707 Act of Union uniting England and Scotland under the banner of Great Britain (she had good ideas sometimes, although it’s hard to tell if they came from her or her many influential advisors). Consequently, she was the first ruler to ever rule over united Great Britain.

15. After a series of pretty horrible strokes, poor Anne died at the age of 49 in August of 1714 with no heirs and without reconciling with Sarah Churchill. To her credit, it’s said that despite her failing health she continued to attend cabinet meetings as often as possible until her death. She is buried beside her husband and children in the Henry VII Chapel on the South Aisle of Westminster Abbey.

#weird history wednesday

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achlysembodied · 2 years

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The worst part of this has been keeping it a surprise. She hadn’t even told Brandon until that morning while she was getting him ready for school, lest he text Robby and spill the beans. Even she had been tempted to tell him about it the few times they had texted in the past few months. It had been about two years since she had seen him in person, her position with the ballet company keeping her busy with jobs all over the world. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t love it, but there were things Tory missed. A regular high school was a close third on that list, having actual normal teenagers to be around and not compete with.

She stops by the office to pick up her schedule and talks the woman working the desk in the main office to tell her where Robby’s locker is. The dancer makes her way through the school, finding the locker easy enough and leaning against it, her phone pulling free from the pocket of her green dress. She tries to act casual as she waits, trying to pretend butterflies weren’t dancing around in her stomach like Mother Ginger’s children. If he chose to skip today she was going to hunt him down and beat him over the head with her toe shoe.

His voice carries down the hall before she can actually see him. Tory picks her head up, dark eyes scanning the students for the face she’s looking for. Whoever he’s talking to she can’t see just yet. But she almost chokes when she does actually get a glimpse of him. Robby Keene had gone from adorable to drop dead gorgeous and it was unfair in so many ways. She smooths out her dress and glances down at her phone, trying to act casual as she waits for him to spot her at his locker.

@paintaught gets a cute dancer!tory fluff starter

#come hell or high water i won't be giving up || paintaught: robby keene #verse: who would i be if i was someone else || dancer verse

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noramelll · 4 years

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The Fault (And the Favour)

This is a fan story for @chronicintrovert ‘s book called Solitaire! I’ve read it so many times and practically studied this book while writing this. Anyway I thought it would be really interesting if there was a nick and charlie POV for the last few chapters of solitaire because i always LOVED to entertain that thought but after talking it over with a couple other heartstopper fans i just had to put that shit on paper. anyway, this will have MAJOR spoilers for Solitaire, also a trigger warning here for Suicide and eating disorder mentions! Stay safe and i hope you enjoy :)))

NICK

It’s quarter past six in the morning when I get a phone call. The ringtone is loud, piercing through the peaceful silence of my room, and I’m jolted awake by the sound.

When I pick up my phone and realise it’s charlie calling me, I get a flush of relief and anxiety in my chest at once. For one, it isn’t Tori who’s calling me. The last time she called me was when Charlie was sent into the mental hospital. Something about Tori’s anxious tone always gave me an unpleasant shiver down my spine. So when it isn’t Tori who’s calling, my shoulders relax and I release a breath of air.

But then again, Charlie’s calling me at 6 am. That either means something’s on his mind and he hasn’t got any sleep, or he woke up ridiculously early for some bizarre reason.

I answer his call. “Charlie? It’s 6:15, what-”

“Nick.”

It’s Charlie. That’s his voice, that’s him. But it’s the ‘him’ I’m way too familiar with. Panicked, distressed, on the verge of tears. I’ve seen this side of him too much for my liking: while he recovered from his eating disorder, while we ate dinner together, while he told me about the things he thinks about.

I’m here for him. I always will be.

But god does it scare the shit out of me whenever he speaks with a tremor in his voice like that.

“Char? Char, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer. On the other end, I can already picture what he’s doing- putting a hand up to his face, rubbing his eyes aggressively, biting his fingernails anxiously, his eyebrows crinkled as he tries to figure out what to say.

But this time he knows. I can tell he knows what he wants to say. It’s on the tip of his tongue.

“Charlie, seriously, what’s going on?”

“It’s Tori.”

A chill goes down my spine. Not only do I notice the pure fear in his voice, but I pick up the sound of rustling in the background and doors opening and closing. “It’s Tori, Nick. She- She took off an hour ago, Becky just called me.”

“What?” I sit up in my bed, my feet are dangling over the edge and I’m prepared to pull on my shoes as soon as possible. “Where is she going?”

“To-To school.” His voice is shaking tremendously now. I can almost feel his hands trembling as his footsteps echo through my phone.

“To school… why is she going to school, the bloody sun hasn’t even come up yet-”

Charlie’s voice becomes more frantic, he’s panicking harder and the desperation in his voice makes it hard to listen to him. “Nick, she’s going to school because of Solitaire. Their- Their final operation is today. She’s going to try and stop it.”

It’s like something clicks in my head. Tori, Charlie’s sarcastic, monotone older sister, who once couldn’t care about anything other than her brother, Tumblr and watching movies, was slowly being driven mad by solitaire and their ‘operations’. The solitaire meetup party. The happenings at The Clay music festival that was hacked by solitaire. Then at Dinner on Monday, it was as if she had completely changed. Talking in sentences that made us extremely concerned. “Solitaire is going on, yet no one cares.” “It’s all fake. Everyone is faking. Why does no one care about anything?”

Holy shit.

“Is she fucking insane? What the hell is she trying to do, get herself killed?”

“I don’t know, Nick, she’s alone and she’s going to do something bad and I can’t sit here and fucking wait until I’ve found out that my sister is dead, I-I have to do something, fuck-”

My shoes are already slipped onto my feet and I’ve grabbed my keys. “I’ll be there in 5 minutes.”

CHARLIE

I’m on the front porch before Nick lets me know that he’s coming soon. I didn’t change out of my Pj’s and it doesn’t matter. My sister ran off to try and stop this insanity of a ‘prank’- if it can even be called that- and seeing how their last operation left, it’ll be lucky if she makes it out of there in one piece.

It’s my fucking fault. I’m sure of it this time. I do this a lot: pinpoint the blame on me, feel guilty, cry. It’s a routine that I try to get out of, but right now that doesn’t matter either because I’m completely sure that if I hadn't said something or listened to Tori she wouldn’t be off in the dark trying to stop a bunch of lunatics trying to accomplish god knows what.

I remember one night, when Tori was visiting me in hospital, she mentioned to me about how she noticed that I had gotten worse over time and that she didn’t say anything because she thought she was just imagining it. So she stayed out of my way. She admitted that she’ll always regret that.

That’s how I feel now, and it’s horrible and I feel fucking helpless and just as soon as I get that twisting feeling in my stomach I see Nick’s car pull up to the curb and before I realise it I’m already in his car, and my arms are around his shoulders and I’m trying to breathe but it’s so hard and I can’t do anything-

“Char, breathe. Deep breaths. Look at me.”

Nick’s hand is on my cheek but I don’t even feel it because I’m trying to remember why I’m so fucking anxious in the first place, I forget where I am and I forget who I am. I can’t feel my hands.

It’s my fault. It’s my fucking fault.

“Charlie, I’m right here, look at me.” He’s tilting my head up, and nick is looking at me. He’s filled with so much concern, but this calm tone helps me think again. I’m breathing. Nick’s hand is wet. I think I’ve been crying.

“Hey, you’re alright. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay-”

“But Tori- fucking hell, she’s going after them, and it’s all my fault-”

“Hey, hey, don’t say that. None of this was your fault.” Nick has taken my other hand from his shoulders and into his, squeezing hard. The feeling in my hand returns. “Don’t blame yourself, okay?”

I try to believe him. I’m really trying, and for a while I do, and I buckle into my seat, his hand not leaving mine. He strokes my hand with his thumb while we whirl past the houses covered in the pitch black. It’s so quiet. I wonder what the world would be like if it was always like this

The silence is painful, it’s heavy and tense. I’m still bouncing my leg up and down, so I curl up into the car seat instead.

I can feel nick peering a glace at me every two seconds, without realising it’s making me slightly more anxious so I turn on my phone instead, to see if there are any updates on solitaire’s blog: any clue as to what the hell they’re planning.

And when we’re about a minute away from Higgs School, I see a Facebook post from Lucas Ryan.

‘Solitaire is burning down Higgs’

I’m staring at it. I’ve recoiled my hand away from Nick, touching the screen with shaky fingers. I’m rereading it. I’m trying to make sense of it. Holy shit. There can’t be any way.

“Oh my fucking god.”

My head snaps up to the school across the road from mine, burning down in a fiery blaze of glory, lighting up the whole neighbourhood with an orange glaze.

I’m already out of the car. Nick is out of the car. We’re both running onto the oval, snow crunching under our feet. I didn’t wear any shoes, but that isn’t important, because my sister could be in a fucking burning building. I don’t feel the cold as I’m running across the oval.

Nick isn’t too far behind me, at one point he’s taken my hand again as we rush towards two dark figures on the oval.

When we get closer I realise it’s Lucas and Becky, and they spot me. they’re rushing over to me and rambling loudly about how they’re sorry and that Tori didn’t come out with them and that they got separated but I stop listening after that because my vision has become kind of hazy, and I’m trying to grapple the fact that Tori is still in there.

Victoria is still in there.

My feet are itching to move. Off of the freezing snow and into the flames. But Nick notices how my eyes keep darting over to the door because his grip on my hand has become intensely tight.

“Don’t even think about it. We can’t do anything, Charlie.”

So I don’t do anything. I stand there as the flames engulf the burning building, I’m losing feeling in my hands and feet again. I have to move. I have to get in there, I have to save my sister.

Then Nick gasps and Becky shrieks and I follow their gaze towards the concrete roof of the art conservatory.

Among the blazing orange and yellow fire, a small figure stands on the roof of the building.

It’s Tori, and her hair is flowing through the cold wind and she’s looking down to the ground below her.

And she’s nearing the edge of the roof.

Without realising I’m dragging nick along with me as I run at full speed toward the roof. My heart starts racing even faster to the speed of fucking lighting when she moves her feet over the edge and by that point I’m already screaming out to her.

“DON’T!”

I’m waving my arms at her frantically. I’m running as fast as I can to the roof. She’s staring down at nick and I. I’m shouting and screaming up to her, to please, don't do it, and I'm so sorry for not listening to you. You felt the same way when I did the same as you and I’m sorry for not being there for you, you were always there for me and I owe so much back to you.

Then there’s another person who appears out of nowhere above her. Tori snaps from her gaze down below to look up, and I can’t make out who she’s talking to. The person is holding a hand down to Tori, and I’m praying to god that she just takes this person’s hand and step away from the ledge before my beating heart bursts out of my chest.

Suddenly Nick is standing in front of me and hoisting me onto his back. He’s clutching my legs as I try and scream louder, harder for Tori to hear me. She shines her torch up at the hand, and I catch a glimpse of Michael Holden. Any bad feelings I once had towards Michael melts away while I silently beg and beg that she just takes his hand anyway.

Micheal jumps down onto the roof and stands next to her. They’re standing completely still. they must be lost in a desperate conversation, with the sound of crackling wood. People must have gathered around near us, because now there are many yells of joy and despair around me. But I can’t tear my eyes away because I’m watching intently, so closely, watching just to see if Tori’s feet move away from the edge. Please just step away.

And then Michael Holden and Victoria kiss. In the middle of a raging school fire at the brink of dawn.

But I’m taking that as a win because her feet move away from the edge when Michael pulls her into a hug.

“Thank fuck.” I hear nick from below me. The crowd around us bursts into a cheer. But I’m not joining them, and neither has Becky (who is now on Lucas’ shoulders) because we’re still waving up at Tori, yelling her name. My arms are so sore and I realise now that I’m not wearing a long-sleeved top but that also doesn’t matter right now, because my sister is up there and shes now looking down at me, and she’s safe, and I’m smiling so hard while sobbing, because she’s safe.

After the fire brigade arrives and rescues Tori and Michael off of the concrete roof, and as soon as she gets down to the oval I climb down off of Nick’s back and rush towards Tori. She’s looking at me in a way I’ve never seen before. I’ve never seen her like this before. But that’s okay, because she’s alive, and she’s here, and I’m now holding her so tight I’m worried that she’ll break.

“Fuck, Tori- never do that again, that was- holy shit-” I’m trying to string together a coherent sentence to tell her I was so scared, I’m so sorry, I can’t lose you, I’m sorry that I didn’t do anything. I’m sobbing extremely hard, to the point of embarrassment, but Tori’s crying too, and there’s this odd feeling of comfort I get while holding my sister who just nearly committed suicide on a burning building.

She looks up at me, and my heart slowly starts to slow down as she smiles up at me. A genuine smile? I can’t tell. But I smile back anyway, a smile that I hope tells her everything that I can’t put into words, and I pull her into another hug and release a shaky breath.

Tori understands anyway.

It’ll take a while for me to understand her, but she took that risk for me before.

I’ll return the favour.

#solitaire #nickandcharlie #heartstopper #torispring #charliespring #nicknelson #nick nelson #charlie spring #tori spring #osemanverse #alice oseman

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 3 years

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Day 10: “How’s the weather down there, babe?”

Masterlist

Three things: 1, this is set in the Empires on the Horizon universe, however you do not need to read or be caught up with that fic to understand what’s going on here. 2, i got so excited writing this i forgot all about the prompt and then had to go back and figure it out. 3, this is so horrifically sweet please be aware you might need to go to the dentist for cavities after this. I lied there’s four things; if you want full vibes while reading this listen to “Winter” by Tori Amos (chosen by my darling child, @little-league-coach-mako)

non-canon complaint, Empires on the Horizon AU

Annabeth Chase had been wanting to go to the lake cabins for over a year but between her and her boyfriend’s busy schedules and the continuously unfolding happenings of their friends’ lives it seemed almost impossible. But finally, three weeks till the end of December her and Leo are packing up their car and grabbing snacks for the break to the cabins.

It will be a well deserved, much-needed rest.

“You ready, my love?”

She looks around their room, as meticulous and pristine as they made it each morning. The white sheets tucked tightly into the bed, and the maroon throw angled over one corner so that the two sides hanging over the bed were exact in length. Their blinds had been drawn shut, but winter sunlight still leaked through their large windows, causing the white-oak floors to soften into magnolia.

“I’m ready,” She turns around with a gentle smile on her face, hands reaching for him.

He pulls her in for a hug, surrounding her with the warmth that always seems to radiate from him, no matter the temperature. His curls tickle her cheeks and she can smell the cinnamon and wood that seemed to be his cologne.

“You okay?” There is concern lacing his voice like wax; it makes her choke on emotions she didn’t even know she was holding down.

“I love you.”

Leo pulls back, worry in those beautiful brown eyes, “I love you.” He strokes her back gently, “Do you want to stay home?”

“No!” She bursts, “Gods no. I’m just tired and i can’t wait to walk into our little bubble and never leave.”

He simply hugs her tighter and she feels every wonderful feeling soar between their bodies.

Soon enough they’re in the car and on their way, with nothing but open roads and bare trees in their vision. The road trip is short, three hours at most, and Annabeth is content to listen to her boyfriend’s soft jazz and stare out the window, bundled in blankets and pillows, and snacks. Leo keeps a hand on her thigh for most of the drive, a comfortable weight and a reassurance that he is here, that he isn’t leaving. By the time they get there it is raining hard, battering the roof of the car like drums. It soothes her soul.

They rush into the cabin in a blur of bags and slicking mud, laughing as the onslaught drenches them. Their curls become coiled and springy, losing all the effort they had put in before leaving. But they’re inside and it is warm and the clouds opening above them are a comfort that carries their feet to safety.

“I love it here.” Annabeth sighs, looking around. There’s a small table in one corner, and a large fireplace running through the middle of the space, separating the dining room from the lounge. The couch looks inviting, stacked with copious pillows and the fluffiest blanket she has ever seen. The kitchen is... quaint. All the necessary appliances are there but it doesn’t make the area look any less like an 18th century cottage.

Her boyfriend steps out of the room, where he had gone to put their bags away, and wraps his arms around her waist as they take in their home for the week. It is dark outside but the moon is high, casting a white glow between the clouds that gives the whole world a haunted look. The lake is pitch black but she knows when they wake up tomorrow it will be a glistening blue, sparkling against the weak sunlight.

“Want to have a bath?” Leo nuzzles her neck, “Get warm?”

“Yes,” She breathes, “And then can we make hot chocolate and snuggle up by the fire?”

His laughter is bright and lovely as he spins her around so they’re chest to chest. “We can do whatever you want, my love.”

“Let’s go then!’ She tugs on his hand, racing to the bathroom. “I’ve got a new book i want to start.”

“Of course you do,” He scrunches his nose teasingly, “You nerd.”

“Hey, i’m not the one pursuing yet another degree.’ She gives him a pointed look. “I mean i love studying but a PhD and a masters later?” Her face pulls with exasperation, “Even that’s too much for me.”

He scoffs, slapping her butt as she bends down to turn the tap on, “I have to study if i want a degree in architecture.”

“You know i wanted to be an architect when i was little.” She mutters distractedly, swirling her hand in the water as it heats up.

“You did?” She can hear the surprise in his voice. “What stopped you?”

She smirks over her shoulder, “All the cute girls liked engineers better.”

“Yes that certainly seemed to be the case.” His eyes spark with joy as laughter bubbles out of him. It fills all the cracks inside her, like gold.

She strips and lowers herself into the steaming water, while her boyfriend gets ready to join her. And then, with a content sigh he gets in behind her, supple fingers already reaching to massage the knots that seem to tie themselves at her shoulders. With a groan she leans into him, letting the magic of the moment wash over her. It’s not surprising then, when she falls asleep.

She is woken up by the loss of heat at her back. Grogginess clouding her mind, she cracks an eye open and sees Leo standing over her, a towel around his waist.

“Can you help me, my love?” He grips underneath her arms. “I need you to push up so we can get you out of the bath and I can dry you off. Can you do that?”

Sleep is pulling at the exhausted strings of her body and it is a fight to hear what he says. But something pierces the hazy veil and she nods, digging her heels into the porcelain tub.

In one swift motion she is pulled out and stumbling into a warm body. A towel, coarse with freshness, rubs across her body; she doesn’t register much of the situation, swaying on her feet as her boyfriend dries her legs. A chilly breeze wraps around her bare arms, and she feels goosebumps rise on her skin. Oh dear, what if Leo is also cold? She should check on him. She blinks, blinks again, and realises he’s on the floor, rubbing her calves in a gentle motion.

“How’s the weather down their babe?” She mumbles, looking at him, or the blurry image of him, before her.

“Warm, love,” He smirks up at her, “View is great too.”

“Of course it is,” Her murmur is all sleep-deprived and unintelligible. She feels him press a kiss to her knee. “I'm tired,”

“I know angel.” His voice is so soft. Like marshmallows and clouds and sweetness. “Here’s a t-shirt.” He holds one of her hands as he guides it through the correct holes, and then her head, and her other hand. She moans contentedly.

Through her fluttering eyelids she sees a little smirk pulling at his lovely, candlelit face. “It smells good.”

“The shirt?” He kneels before her and lifts a foot to put on her favourite pair of fluffy socks. “What does it smell like?”

There’s nothing but pretty darkness, and molten brown eyes as she collapses into his arms. “Smells like you.”

Lifting her up so her head is against his chest, and an arm is tucked underneath her knees, he whispers. “Let’s go to bed, my love.”

Moments later she is gently put down in what can only be described as paradise. She sinks into the duvets burying her nose in the fresh sheets which smell like forests and rose-petals. Leo crawls in next to her, and after a bit of maneuvering she slings her arm around his waist and finds the spot between his neck and shoulders where her head fits perfectly.

He kisses her head of curls, “Goodnight angel.”

It is the last thing she remembers before she succumbs to her exhaustion.

Annabeth wakes up to sunshine on her skin, and her nose nuzzling her boyfriend’s back. The room is quiet, save for Leo’s steady breathing, and she takes the time to observe their slice of Elysium.

A small writing desk sits in the corner, a stack of yellowed papers and a fake quill on top of it. The bed is situated in the center of the space with dark wood canopies framing it. And the huge window that sits to their right looks out to the lake which, as she had suspected, is bright blue. There is a small boat house tucked in the reeds that border the water and she knows before the end of the week they’ll have used the canoes housed there, and probably dropped the oars in the water about six times before they get the hang of it.

In the other corner of the room is the entrance to their bathroom; as she looks to it she realises with a startle that she needs to pee. Very badly. Trying not to make too much of a disturbance she slides out and races to the bathroom. When she comes back Leo is awake, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and sitting up, against their mountain of pillows.

“Hello love,” She smiles, tucking herself into his side, ‘How did you sleep?”

“Like the dead.” He grins, all white teeth and mischief.

“Me too.” She traces her finger along the smooth plains of his stomach. “I really was tired.”

He giggles, “I know. You couldn’t even keep yourself upright while I tried to towel you dry.”

She pokes him, “At least i didn’t fall back into the tub.”

“I would have left you there.”

Her gasp of disbelief sets them both laughing and when she reaches up to brush a kiss to his lips, she swallows his happiness like it’s her favourite drug.

“Shall we make breakfast and go for a boat ride?”

“First one to lose the oar has to plan the holiday party this year?” She smirks, holding out her hand to sign the deal.

Her boyfriend takes her hand in his, and pulls her closer so they’re barely a breath apart. “You’re on Chase.”

And when they come back from the lake hours later, Annabeth is the one to plan the holiday party because her boyfriend, no her fiancé, had surprised her with a ring. That’s really an honourable reason to lose an oar. Or both.

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Tags:

@nishlicious-01

@spoopylucy

@leydiangelo

#leobeth #12 days of fanfics #pjjg series #pjjg fanfic #annabeth chase #leo valdez #empires on the horizon

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whump-tr0pes · 4 years

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Honor Bound 4 - 2

Honor Bound 4 - 2 (Sleep deprivation), requested by anon

This is a series. Start here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, and Honor Bound 3.

AO3

Cw: thoughts of death, surgery mention/brief description, noncon mention, narcotics, vaguest mention of dissoci@tion, emesis mention, broken bones, death mention (but it’s Colleen Stormbeck so yaaaay), blood, panic attack mention, needles

Sam’s head lolled on Finn’s shoulder. They weren’t asleep, not even close, but exhaustion dragged at their body, ate away into their bones until they felt like they would shatter with a single touch. They were miles from sleep. The agony pounding through their arm every single moment made sure of that.

Finn was dozing against the seat, their head tilted back. Their mouth was open and they snored softly, little noises with each breath that wouldn’t have bothered Sam at all on any other day. Right now, every sound was a blow to Sam’s skull.

They hadn’t slept properly in weeks. Almost a month. Almost a month of lying on a cold cement floor in chains with lights that never turned off. Almost a month of starting awake with nightmares of Colleen holding her knife to Isaac’s throat, to Vera’s, to Gavin’s. Almost a month of crying themself to sleep as Isaac whimpered softly beside them, or Tori sobbed in the next cell. They hadn’t slept at all, the last night they’d been in Colleen’s captivity. When Isaac didn’t come back from Gavin’s room, Sam was terrified to their soul. She’s been torturing him all night. She’s killed him. She’s made Gavin kill him. They’ve hurt him so badly he needed a doctor, one who can do surgery and set bones and sew up his insides. When Isaac returned, Sam had wailed with relief. They’d cried harder when Isaac told them he had a plan to get them out.

They wouldn’t have slept that night anyway. They’d heard what Leo said about them when he was threatening Finn. They understood what Leo meant. They understood Leo wanted them in the worst possible way, wanted to hold them down as they screamed and fuck them. Leo wanted that the whole time. And Gavin stopped it. Gavin stopped it, even back when he was so twisted. That’s what Gavin saved them from, even then.

Vera drove over another bump, and a scream tore from Sam against their will. They didn’t mean to. They knew it was making it harder for everyone to sleep. They pressed their lips together and whimpered. Isaac stirred in the front seat and turned to look back at them.

Sam hated themself for making the sound. The pain that twisted in Isaac’s eyes, the guilt, was more than Sam could bear in that second. They couldn’t take the burn of Isaac’s gaze as Sam read what he was thinking, as clearly as if he was saying it out loud: this is my fault. I should have taken the bullet. I should have been the one to bleed out, be cut open, scream. Sam had always been able to see it. They just never realized how deep that pain really went.

Another bump. Agony lanced through Sam, through their arm, their back, their chest… everything. They clenched their teeth against the scream that forced its way up out of their chest. They fell back against the seat, cradling the arm that was tied against their chest. Something was wrong in their arm, they could feel it. Something in their hand. They just didn’t want to think it. Didn’t want to know.

The road to the farmhouse was bumpy, and it was excruciating. The directions had been right: up to Burmingham, take a right, a fork, a lake. They couldn’t see in the dark, but Sam thought they might be halfway around it by now. They prayed. They desperately waited for the next pill that would dull the pain. Make it simply unbearable, instead of something that would crush them alive. Sweat soaked into their clothes. Made them shiver. They could feel the sweat and blood on their skin. The pain rose, like a spike was being driven through their arm. They moaned and pressed themself against Finn.

Finn’s head shot up and their hands flew out towards Sam. Finn scrubbed drool from the corner of their mouth and blinked slowly. “W’s happ’nin?” they slurred.

Sam shook their head and squeezed their eyes shut, sending a cascade of tears down their cheeks. “S-sorry,” they whispered.

“No, no… it’s okay.” Finn checked their watch. “It’s… fuck, it’s four. Jesus.” They rubbed their eyes. “Wh-when was your last pill? Ten?”

“I th-think so,” Sam whimpered. Please, Finn, please take the pain away.

“Hm.” Finn fumbled at their pockets and pulled out the bottle of pills. It was halfway gone already. They poured out one into their hand and passed it to Sam. Finn reached for a mostly-empty bottle of water.

“Finn, please,” Sam whispered. “Please, can I have… just one more, please…”

Finn’s hands shook. “I c-can’t,” they said desperately. “Sam, the… the Tylenol…”

“I don’t care,” Sam said, a little louder. “Please, Finn, I don’t care. It hurts.” They bit down hard on their lip.

“Sam, I…” There was a rustle of fabric as Finn slumped against the seat. “I can’t.”

Sam shuddered as the car went over another bump. They looked up and saw everyone in the car turned back, looking at them, pain tightening all of their faces. All except Tori. Sam looked down. Their cheeks flushed with shame.

“M-maybe I can find you something else,” Finn said weakly. “Something without Tylenol. Maybe I can do that.”

Sam’s head dropped back against the seat. Bitter rage curled around their chest, dug claws into their heart. The pain stole every thought from their head, every plea, every moment of sanity. They were sick with pain. They dropped the pill into their mouth and washed it down with the water Finn held out to them. They held very still, waiting for the pill to make it all the way down. They prayed they wouldn’t vomit it up. They closed their eyes and leaned their head against the window. The glass was cool on their cheek. They drifted in the pain.

The car rolled to a stop. Sam sat up, then cried out as it jostled their arm. They whimpered as the cry grated their cracked and aching ribs. For a moment, they nearly went out of their mind with the inescapable agony. It froze their chest. They felt a chill down their neck, and their head swam. They fell against the seat, stunned. The light in the car turned on as someone opened the door. A black spot appeared in Sam’s vision.

Someone gently touched their shoulder. “Sam?”

Sam tried to turn their head, but they could see nothing. Were their eyes open, or shut? There was a buzzing in their ears, so loud they momentarily couldn’t hear anything else. The world spun and they fell sideways. Directly into someone’s arms.

Sam was pulled from the backseat. They screamed raggedly against the hands that tugged at them. They fell roughly out of the car, still half-supported by the arms that wound around them. They stumbled over the uneven ground as they were dragged towards the house.

“I-it’s okay, Sam,” someone murmured into their hair. Finn.

“We’ve got you, honey,” someone else said softly from their other side. Vera. Sam whimpered and slumped in their arms. They stopped, and Sam nearly disappeared into the blackness then. Three dull thuds echoed through their brain. They couldn’t lift their head. They could barely keep their eyes open.

“Wh… wha…” Their lips were numb. Their arm was on fire.

“We’re at Gray’s house,” Vera said at their side, with something like a whimper in her voice.

Sam sagged against their hold and let out a broken sob. Maybe I can sleep. Maybe I can rest. Their arm flared with pain and they quivered, leaning their head against Finn. I’ll never sleep with my arm hurting like this. Their eyes burned, but no tears came. They were out of tears to cry. It felt like they’d been crying for days. Maybe they had been. They weren’t sure where they were, or what day it was. They weren’t sure how they were still standing.

Someone knocked on the door again, three louder thuds that pounded in Sam’s head. They flinched and staggered back. Finn’s arm tightened around their waist, and they didn’t fall.

“What if they’re not home?”

“What if it’s not really their house? Maybe we followed the directions wrong…”

“We weren’t wrong. Those directions were exactly right. Maybe they—”

Sam’s head spun. They couldn’t tell who was talking. There was a rustle behind the door and everyone fell silent at once. There was the scrape of the turning bolt of a lock, and the door swung open. Sam opened their eyes. Light streaming out from inside the house made them blink. They wobbled on knees that threatened to give out.

There was a gasp. “What… what happened…?”

Gray.

Sam collapsed forward with a thin wail, nearly pulling out of Finn’s grasp. They stumbled forward, searching for Gray, willing their eyes to focus until they could see them. They fell hard against someone and the air was forced from their lungs in a startled cry. They felt warm arms around them. They pressed their face into someone’s shirt and unraveled in their embrace.

“Sam,” Gray murmured, their chest rumbling against Sam’s ear. “Sam, you’re… Isaac… Vera… what happened?” Sam nearly fell and Gray moved with them, guiding them into the house. They saw warm wood floors and painted white walls and deep purple curtains all mixed in with copper and dark furniture. Then everything was a swirling mess.

“We… C-Colleen Stormbeck,” Isaac rasped. “We… she took us. And we—”

“She… what?” Gray cried, their voice thick with distress. They eased Sam down onto a couch and let them lay flat. The room stopped spinning, just a little bit. Gray sat down at their head.

“She, um, took us,” Isaac said miserably. “K-kept us. She… um…” Sam’s eyes were able to focus and they saw Isaac standing over them, one hand reaching hesitantly towards them, tears rolling down his cheeks. “…she tortured us. But we… we got out. We k-killed her. She’s… she’s dead.”

Gray’s fingers moved gently through Sam’s hair. Sam grimaced at how it stuck to their scalp. “Colleen Stormbeck… is dead?”

“Yes,” Isaac said. He bit his lip and turned to Vera.

“I put a bullet in her head,” Vera said harshly. “And in Leo, too. And in half her guards.” Vera’s arm tightened around Tori’s shoulders as Vera guided her onto the couch beside Sam. “I killed Colleen.”

“But…” Gray looked down at Sam. Their gaze moved over Sam quickly, taking in the sling, the bandages, the blood still staining their skin. They sucked in a breath through their teeth and turned to Finn. “What—”

“They were shot,” Finn said tightly. Gray gasped and turned back to face Sam. “They were sh-shot in the, in the arm. I we-went in and, um, I, uh, fixed it.”

For a moment, there was no sound in the room but Sam’s ragged breathing.

“You… fixed… it?” Gray’s voice cracked.

“Um…” Finn hung their head. “Y-yeah, I, um, I did.”

“…how?”

“Um…” Finn flushed red and looked at the floor. “I… um… I know I’m not a surgeon, but I didn’t see any other option, since Beringer was almost two hundred miles away and there wasn’t anyone we could trust and we were still in Fort Meyers, and they were, were, um, b-bleeding out so we, uh, went to Tori’s friend’s house and he, Topher, he’s a vet tech so he ha-had the stuff I needed so I, um, went in and… I, um, I sewed up the ar, ar, artery and I sutured the muscles and I, uh… stopped the bleeding and I know that was dangerous and I know I could’ve m-messed it up, but Gray there was so much blood and I didn’t know what else to do and—”

Gray got to their feet and drew Finn into a crushing hug. Finn sobbed and their head dropped onto Gray’s shoulder.

“I am so proud of you,” Gray whispered. “Proud of all of you.” They released Finn and looked around at them all. Their eyes fell on Tori and stayed.

Sam shuddered and whimpered as the pain flared. Why won’t that pill start working? Please… please… Everyone’s eyes turned at once towards Sam.

“Oh, god,” Gray breathed. “You all must be… you must be exhausted. How long have you been—”

“Since yesterday afternoon,” Isaac said heavily. He swayed on his feet.

“Jesus.” Gray looked around at all of them. “I should have enough rooms for all of you. Sam, I can—”

“Please don’t move me,” Sam sobbed. “Please. I want to be here. Please… please just… let me sleep here.” The couch was quite possibly the softest thing Sam had ever lain on. They thought they maybe might possibly be able to fall asleep right this second… if only their arm would stop feeling like it was being stabbed, over and over and over.

“Gray, do you…” Finn whimpered desperately. “I only have Vicodin, and I can’t double up doses. Do you…?”

“I have morphine,” Gray said softly.

Sam’s heart lifted for a moment at the thought of relief. Their chest ached.

“You have… what?”

Gray pressed their lips into a line, their eyes swimming with tears. “I thought… I worried… that when you came back… you would be in, um… rough shape,” Gray said softly. “So while you were gone, I got some things. Some medical supplies, fluids, and painkillers, and some, ah, Ativan for panic attacks…”

Finn rushed forward and nearly tackled Gray into a hug. “Thank you,” Finn whispered.

Gray rubbed circles into Finn’s back, then pulled away. Gray disappeared behind the couch. The room wavered around Sam’s head.

Isaac knelt beside Sam on the couch and took their hand. Finn stood by, nervously wringing their hands. Ellis was stuck to their side like glue. Vera had her arms around Tori. Sam could see the cracks in Vera’s iron mask, the strength she carried like a shield starting to fall. They were safe now. They were with Gray. Vera could afford to fall apart now and as she looked at Tori, Sam realized she was crumbling hard.

“Th-thank you, everyone,” Sam groaned softly. “For, um… you got m-me up here, and I… Finn…” Sam swallowed, the pain latching onto them and threatening to pull them down again. Sam’s eyes rolled back as they tried to find Finn. They felt a hand in their hair and peeled their eyes open to see Finn looking down at them, smiling brokenly with tears in their eyes. “You…”

“I’m s-sorry I couldn’t help with the pain, Sam,” Finn said. The tears spilled over and they swiped them away.

“You—” Sam croaked. They swallowed drily. “You… s-saved me.”

Gray reappeared holding a few things: a bag of fluids, a pile of IV supplies… and an orange bottle that rattled in their hands. Finn snatched the bottle up and checked the dose. They poured one pill out and looked around. “Gray, could I get some water for…?”

“Of course.” Gray set the supplies on the table and went to the kitchen. Finn knelt at Sam’s side and tore open the packets of IV supplies.

“I want to get you more fluids,” Finn said softly. “Morphine’s got vasodilator properties and I wouldn’t want it to—”

“Sounds good,” Sam whimpered as Gray reappeared with the water. They sat beside Sam and held the cup to their lips. Sam took a sip and took the pill Finn gave them. As soon as it was down, they fell back against the cushions, and the jolt dragged a cry from them. Sweat beaded on their forehead.

Finn had the tourniquet on, the needle in, and the extension set attached before Sam could even blink. Their head swam again as they swirled downwards, circling a drain that would pull them under into blackness again. They moaned as they watched Finn hang a bag of fluids from the tall lamp that stood beside the couch. The world darkened, the sounds muted, the pain fading. Sam knew it wasn’t from the pill yet. They walked willingly towards the oblivion.

From above them, they heard words that passed sluggishly through their mind.

“I want to stay with them. Make sure the morphine doesn’t—”

“No, Finn. Go sleep. You look half-dead. I’ll stay up with them. It’s alright. It’s pretty close to when I get up, anyway.”

“I want… Do you think we should get them to bed? They’ve been… we haven’t been able to sleep with the lights off in weeks. Maybe we could—”

“I’ll turn the lights off, and just use a reading light to read my book. They can be in the dark. If they wake up when the sun comes up and they feel up to it, we can get them to bed then. For now I just want to get a few hours of sleep in them. The pain won’t get better if they don’t sleep and start to heal.”

“O— Okay. I guess we…”

“…worry about anything. I’ll make sure you…”

“…no, I’m… I’m not hurt…”

“…don’t care about me, I just want to make sure they…”

“…to sleep, Isaac. They’ll be here when you…”

“…want them to know that I love them. And I’m sorry.”

Sam stirred, and the world lurched around them. Their head fell back against the cushions. “Love you, too, Isaac,” they whispered. The darkness claimed them.

Continued here

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