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tennessoui · 3 years

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when is anakin going to get his revenge and kiss divorced obi-wan back

yes hello this got out of hand and the best moment would be in the hypothetical part two but here is a KUWSK directly post kiss from Anakin's pov. For context, this snippet and this snippet probablllyyyy should be read?

(2.8k, ffs @ kit)

“He was thinking about Satine,” Anakin tells himself after he drops the kids off at school and starts making the drive back home. His hands are tight on the wheel. He’s been trying to think about something else--anything else ever since it happened, but his mind refuses to let go of that moment.

He’s replayed it so many times in the last hour and a half that it doesn’t even feel like an actual memory anymore, just a combination of sensations.

The chill of the almost winter morning that made the hair on his arms stick up. The tacky feeling in his mouth because he had slept a bit later than he had wanted to and didn’t have time to brush his teeth if he wanted to make breakfast before the kids and Obi-Wan left.

The woodsy-spiced smell of Obi-Wan’s cologne, stronger than normal. They’d been standing closer together than normal too, but it had been so early and Obi-Wan’s mind had obviously been miles away.

Anakin had been saying something stupid, something that didn’t mean anything, and Obi-Wan had replied and then Obi-Wan had leaned in and kissed him, full on the mouth. His beard had felt so soft against Anakin’s skin, his lips even softer, if a bit chapped.

Had they been chapped? Now Anakin can’t remember, he’s turned this memory over in his head so often. It had been for less than a handful of seconds. A quick brush of lips, a taste of a life Anakin has dreamt about for well over a year now. And Obi-Wan had just turned and left, as if he hadn’t done anything extraordinary. As if he hadn’t just kissed Anakin on the porch for everyone to see.

Obi-Wan would never be that cruel on purpose. Perhaps to that one profesor who always tries to refute Obi-Wan’s papers, but not to Anakin.

Which means Obi-Wan hadn’t been thinking. He had been perhaps caught up in the domesticity of it all, of having someone wish him luck and see him off. And maybe Anakin has been doing something like that for the last two years, but there’s a person who did that for Obi-Wan for much longer. A person they ran into at the park just two days ago.

“He was thinking about Satine,” Anakin tells himself as he gets out of the car and unlocks the house. He tries desperately to keep the despair and jealousy out of his voice, but at least no one’s around. It’s not that he hates the woman or anything. Really, he doesn’t. He doesn’t understand her, but that’s a given.

He’d never have Obi-Wan’s heart and soul and throw it away. He’d never get tired of fighting with Obi-Wan if he was fighting to stay with the man. He’d never be able to run into him at a park and then just leave again as if seeing him stirred up nothing inside of him.

Seeing Obi-Wan always stirs things up inside of Anakin. It makes no sense that Satine, who had had Obi-Wan’s love--knew all those things about the man that Anakin did not and could not know as just his housemate--had just been satisfied with saying hello and then just as quickly goodbye.

The same cold sinking feeling that Anakin’s been trying to shake off for the last two and a half days returns, and he has to lean against the countertop in the kitchen for a second to ground himself.

They’re going to get back together. They will.

At the park, they had seemed so in their own world, as if everything else had disappeared except for them. Anakin had had to send Luke over, couldn’t stand watching that reconnection happen without at least trying to remind Obi-Wan that he has a family now, that he’s not alone anymore, that there are people who love him.

Obi-Wan had glared at him for his meddling, which hadn’t admittedly done wonders to his confidence. And when Obi-Wan had deposited Luke--Luke--on the ground to chase after Satine, when he had hugged her, Anakin knew for sure.

They were going to lose him.

Anakin had had his set of chances and had taken none of them, and now Obi-Wan’s going to re-fall in love with his ex-wife and Anakin’s going to have to be the supportive best friend who has to figure out how to tell his children that due to unforeseen and tragic circumstances, their Obi is probably going to elope to Paris and maybe send a postcard once or twice a year addressed solely to the children and Anakin will grow old and die alone and the name Obi-Wan Kenobi will be banned from his small, shadowy apartment, and all Anakin will have is a few memories of the two most important and heart wrenching kisses he’s ever been a part of in his entire life.

“He was thinking about Satine,” he tells himself. “He kissed me but it wasn’t about me. It hasn’t ever been about me.”

There’s no denying that Obi-Wan loves Anakin’s children and also no denying that his children love Obi-Wan. Anakin thinks he wouldn’t love Obi-Wan half as much if he hadn’t absolutely been charmed by the kids and vice versa. But he had been. They had been. Those few weeks when Anakin had thought about leaving a year ago had been absolutely awful because he knew he would be breaking his twins’ hearts, not just his. He’d be hurting Obi-Wan too, he had known that.

But he had had to try. Because he knew that if he didn’t try to leave then he’d have to be dragged kicking and screaming out of Obi-Wan’s life when it came time for the man to grow tired of his presence.

It had been a last ditch attempt at saving his dignity. And it hadn’t taken much argument from everyone else to get him to abandon the idea completely.

Now he can’t help but to think he should have put his foot down, gotten some distance. Because now he’s entrenched in Obi-Wan’s world, the same way Obi-Wan is entrenched in his and the twins’ world. Leaving now will feel like ripping himself in two. He’ll probably wake up in the middle of the night five years from now and wonder about the academic response to Obi-Wan’s most recent publication.

He’ll probably have read it. He’ll probably still be fielding questions from his kids’ friends’ parents about whatever happened to that handsome man that used to come in to help during Show-And-Tell Day? Do you remember who I’m talking about, Anakin?

If he had left then, the idea of leaving now wouldn’t hurt so much. But there’s a ticking clock in his head.

Obi-Wan kissed him.

But he was thinking about Satine.

He calls Padme, because that’s sort of what he does when he doesn’t know what to do. She’s never turned him away--with the rejected marriage proposal being the one glaring exception, of course.

Thankfully, she doesn’t start now, though she does sound a little stressed when she picks up.

“Hey,” he says trying to sound normal and as if he isn’t a few minutes alone with his thoughts away from crying like a baby.

“Ani?”

“Are you--are you busy? Something sort of happened.”

“My flight is boarding,” Padme admits, but there’s a rustle on the other end of the line like she’s just sat down. “But it’s not like I’m not assigned a seat. They won’t leave without me. What happened?”

Anakin smiles in spite of himself. She’s really just such an angel of a person.

“Are the children alright?” she asks, sounding worried the longer it takes for Anakin to respond. “Ani?”

“No, yeah, the children are fine. I dropped them off at school this morning. But. Um.” He takes a deep breath. “Obi-Wankissedme.”

“I’m sorry?” Padme asks.

“Obi-Wan kissed me.”

The other end of the line is silent. “And we’re calling this a problem now?” she asks faintly. “Is he a bad kisser?”

“He’s a great kisser,” Anakin defends, shifting awkwardly on his feet, catching sight of the fridge door and quickly turning away.

“Then I don’t…?” Padme trails off uncertainly. Anakin can understand this confusion. Padme has only had to hear about how much Anakin wants Obi-Wan to kiss him for about two years now.

“I don’t think he realized he did it,” Anakin confesses. “He just did it as he was leaving. Because I said goodbye. It--I don’t think he realized who he was kissing.”

Now Padme sounds a distinct mix of skeptical and sympathetic, a tone Anakin’s only ever heard her use with him. “What makes you say that?”

“Because--because we went to the park the other day and he ran into his ex-wife and they were together for, for years so--so obviously he just--he wasn’t--it wasn’t me he was kissing. He was thinking about Satine.”

The words sound dull and practiced and lifeless.

“Oh, Anakin,” Padme says.

“And they’re probably gonna get back together, and we’re going to have to leave, and he’ll never know that I--” Anakin cuts himself off and thunks his head on the countertop with a groan.

Padme hums disbelievingly. “Anakin, I know you’ve never believed me when I say this, but that man is gone over you. And I think if he kissed you long enough for you to tell me for certain that he’s a good kisser, then he definitely knew he was kissing you.”

Anakin bites his lip and debates the pros and cons of being completely truthful. But he had called Padme for help, and she can’t provide the best advice if she doesn’t know the full story.

“That’s not the first time he’s kissed me,” Anakin finally admits, rubbing bashfully at the back of his neck.

“What?” Padme exclaims, probably much louder than appropriate for a public space. “Anakin Skywalker, explain yourself right now.”

He exhales forcefully. “Last New Year’s Eve party.”

“That was almost a year ago! And nothing else ever happened between you two? What? We always thought that once the first kiss was out of the way we’d need to beat you both with sticks to keep you off each other.”

“Well--wait, who’s we?”

Padme tsks. “Myself and Obi-Wan’s coworker.”

“You’ve been gossiping about me?” Anakin asks, torn between being flabbergasted and offended.

“That’s not important right now,” Padme says airily. “What’s important here is the fact that you apparently kissed Obi-Wan Kenobi and never told me?”

“He doesn’t remember, okay?” Anakin snaps. “He. We’d been drinking. A lot. It was after everyone left. And. I was in the kitchen and he was in the kitchen and he--”

--had pinned him to the front of the fridge and just looked at Anakin for a few seconds like he was the most precious, important thing in the entire world, and Anakin had opened his mouth to say something and Obi-Wan had--

“--kissed me,” Anakin says out loud. “And then he--”

He had pressed impossibly closer to Anakin, one hand wrapped around his hip, caressing the thin skin there while his other hand ghosted down Anakin’s hair and back as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch, as his tongue mapped out Anakin’s mouth for what could have been seconds or minutes, and Anakin could have stayed there forever, but his own hands had grabbed too tightly onto Obi-Wan’s shoulders, must have jerked him forward too roughly, because he had been pushed away and--

“--threw up in the kitchen sink,” he finishes.

There’s dead silence on the other end of the line before Padme bursts out laughing. “Okay, okay,” she says once she’s calmed down. “But how do you know for sure he forgot about that? Sounds like something he might just never want to talk about if it ended up with him vomiting in the kitchen.”

“I just know,” Anakin promises. And he does. Obi-Wan had no idea about that kiss. It was a secret Anakin thought about too often, but one he had kept to himself for nearly a year, too afraid to reveal it to Obi-Wan only for the man to say he hadn’t meant to, it hadn’t meant anything, he’d been much too drunk.

Even the idea of Obi-Wan apologizing for one of the hottest kisses Anakin’s ever experienced in his life has been enough to keep Anakin silent on the matter.

But now he’s been kissed again, this time by a sober Obi-Wan, and it still--it still doesn’t mean anything.

“It didn’t mean anything to him then, or he would have remembered,” Anakin tells Padme. “And this one doesn’t mean anything either. The timing is just...it can’t be a coincidence, Padme. He’s never once thought about kissing me, about...about coming home to me like that, and now, a few days after he runs into his ex-wife he’s suddenly planting one on me as he walks out the door? I know--I know you think he...he might...he might have liked me, or...or wanted me, but. There’s no way I can hold a candle to a decades long marriage. I just. I can’t compete with that. He doesn’t want me to.”

Padme’s Anakin is cut off on her end by what sounds like a flight attendant. “Yes, I’m coming,” Padme tells the person, and there’s shuffling and then the distinct sound of the harsh beep of the ticket scanner, before Padme’s heels are clicking on the flight tunnel. “Do not rush me,” Padme tells someone. “What are you going to do, close this thing while I’m in it?”

Anakin has to hide his only sort of watery smile in his hand as he listens quietly on his end.

“Anakin?” Padme asks, and she must be on the plane because there’s a buzz of other people’s noises around her. “Anakin, I know you won’t believe me, and maybe--maybe you’re right and they’ll get back together, maybe you’re going to lose him.” Anakin’s heart hurts quite painfully at these words. “But do you remember what you did the first time you proposed to me and I said no?”

Great, yeah. Just bring up all his biggest failures in love. Sure, why start with Padme? When Anakin had been five he had tried to kiss a boy and been shoved into the mud for his efforts. That’s a fine place to begin, really. Just drag up all the old hurts. He sighs. “I went and got you a bigger ring.”

“And do you remember what you did when I told you that I couldn’t raise the children, but my parents wanted to?”

“I threatened to take them to court if they didn’t let me have them,” Anakin says. It hadn’t been his proudest moment, of course, but Padme’s parents had never really liked him. They still don’t.

Someone’s trying to talk to Padme on the other end of the line. “Yes, fine,” she snaps. “Anakin. Anakin, what I’m trying to say is I’ve never seen you give up on anything without at least trying to fight for it. And I don’t know why this should be different. You won’t be able to live with yourself if you have to watch him get back together with his ex-wife and know you never even tried to tell him he had other options.”

Anakin opens and closes his mouth, speechless. “Then what--”

“So go,” Padme cuts him off. “Go tell him he has other options! For fuck’s sake, yes, alright I’m getting off the phone. Anakin, when I land I expect to have a very detailed account of events waiting for me on my email. Goodbye.”

She hangs up. Anakin stares at the phone in his hand for a handful of seconds, thinking over what she’s said. What she’s implied.

She’s right, of course. Anakin never gives in this easily. He doesn’t fully understand why he’s so ready to capitulate now. Maybe he knows full-well he can’t compete with whatever Obi-Wan had with his ex-wife. They have history. They grew up together, became adults together. Anakin’s just this weird twenty-eight year old man with a pair of kids too old for his age who crashed at Obi-Wan’s house during the lowest moment of his life. Of maybe both of their lives.

Love can’t bloom from that. Not really. Not...not the sort of love that turns into a lifelong marriage.

But. Padme’s right. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he doesn’t try. If he doesn’t know for sure.

So either he could putter around the house all day waiting for Obi-Wan to text or call or come home, talking himself into and out of confessing every emotion he’s harbored for the man for the past two years, or….or he could drive to his campus and confront him in his office, put himself on the execution block and hand Obi-Wan the axe. At least it would be a quick death.

He glances at the digital clock on the oven. 9:38. The idea of waiting ten hours for a resolution makes his skin crawl.

And besides.

Obi-Wan hadn’t packed a lunch.

#this is unread through #because i have housework i have put off in order to type this #i think we all know where this is going though #anakins gonna Do Something Ill-Advised #asks #KUWSK #poor anakin :'(#i imagine obi-wan was probably very pensive for the rest of the day after the park #and anakins just panicking and thinking that he's thinking about his ex wife #and obi-wan kind of is but he's mostly thinking about his new family #and he's thinking a lot about anakin #if only they c o m m u n i c a t e d

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vintagedolan · 4 years

Text

mixtape | track ten

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

Indiana’s mental health class was in her first semester in the pre-med program. Abnormal Psychology, PSY 249, in a stuffy room in a building on the far side of campus. She’d hated it. College was supposed to be challenging, her program was supposed to be the most rigorous, and yet the class was a breeze. They went through condition after condition - depression, PTSD, anxiety, schizophrenia. The inner workings of the brain, the chemical imbalances, the medications that would help people come back to themselves. She passed the class with a 101%, stowed the knowledge in a seperate folder in her brain for safe keeping, and moved on at the end of the course. But she kept one piece of paper out, one piece of knowledge that didn’t make sense.

Voluntary Emotional Detachment. It was a relatively new idea in the world of psychology, seeing that many of its characteristics could fall under depression. That wasn’t what confused Indy. No, that came when her professor lectured on the voluntary portion.

“Emotional Detachment is a useful tool sometimes, when it’s used purposefully. For example, if you have a toxic family member in your life, you may voluntarily emotionally detach yourself from them. It’s a defense mechanism, especially during times of trauma. You’ll find yourself numb, unable to feel even if you wanted to. It happens with loss sometimes as well, where you can’t feel the gravity of what you’re losing. Your mind knows what it can withstand, and sometimes, it pulls back. It shields you from the cruel world we live in. It protects.”

Indy had scoffed in her seat, so loud that her professor looked at her and frowned, which was enough to have her blushing red and keeping her head down as she scribbled notes for the rest of the class.

It was the one time she’d ever been reprimanded by an academic authority. Professor Upton pulled her aside before she could escape out of the lecture hall doors.

“Ms. Cross. You seem like a bright girl, but I don’t appreciate the disrespect.”

“I’m very sorry professor, it won’t happen again.” Indiana had practically stumbled over the words to get them out, her palms sweaty on her backpack strap as she held it on her shoulder.

Indy had a million explanations, but she knew that her professor didn’t care to hear them. And they were lies anyway. The true reason she’d scoffed was something she didn’t want to share.

It was because her professor had made it seem so easy, to just turn it off. Emotionally pull the plug, to sever your ties to someone.

She’d scoffed because if her brain had the capability, and it hadn’t moved to protect her when her mother died, shielded her from the aftermath of unimaginable pain that she’d endured, she wasn’t so sure that she was at all intelligent after all.

But she understood why now.

It was because her mother dying had made sense.

Not in the grand scheme of things. Not in a karma driven universe - there was no justifying losing a light as bright as Nicole Cross in a world that had checks and balances, a world that cared.

But physically, it had made sense.

Nicole’s cancer started in her pancreas. Stage III when they found it. 13.3% survival rate. And it spread like wildfire. Indiana threw herself into her books, looked for anything, some medical breakthrough that someone had missed. She looked into drug trials, she looked into synthetic pancreas research. All the while, her mother’s cancer took over cell by cell, multiplied and multiplied the way cells are built to. And when it reached her brain, it took over her brainstem.

When it got to that point, Indiana heard the four words that she would never forget.

“She’s done. We’re done.”

They had echoed out, bouncing off the bleached linoleum, making a cold room even colder. Her father’s voice had never sounded so unfamiliar, and she was glad that her mother was sedated when she broke down. There was no detachment, only raw, searing pain unlike anything she had ever experienced. She sunk to the floor, ragged sobs finally breaking free when she realized what she’d known was coming was finally happening.

The fight was over. It was time to let go.

Charlie hadn’t cried. No, Charlie stood still as stone in the corner of the room, eyes unblinking as she stared at the shell of her mother in her hospital bed and willed it to be a dream, a nightmare that she would finally wake up from.

And then, she remembered where she was. She remembered who she was. And she picked her little sister up off the floor and held her in her arms, like she always had when Indiana was hurting.

Without the vital cues from that little piece of Nicole’s brain telling them to, her heart stopped beating and her lungs stopped asking for air, and she died.

And it made sense.

This didn’t make sense. His words made no sense.

There was no one to hold Indiana Cross now, and she had a new set of four words that would haunt her.

“I can’t do this.”

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

Six days. Grayson’s thoughts ate him alive for six whole days. He lived through the odd limbo that the world seemed to find itself in on the days between Christmas and New Years. A pause in the spin on the axis, a time to reflect on everything the year had brought, and what the next one had to offer.

Even in his daze, Grayson could only remember one other December he’d tried to hold onto so hard.

His father’s face was at the forefront of his mind, but not the images that he wanted to see. All he saw was a look of disappointment in his eyes with each hour that Grayson’s lips stayed pressed together while Indiana rested, oblivious in his arms. He towed the selfish line of wanting to enjoy the last days he had with her while his guilt threatened to drown him with every breath he dared to take. He hid it well, as he always did when he really needed to. They had their date nights, with movies and postmates since he still didn’t want her out in public with him. They stayed in the tiny house again to enjoy nature, snuck into Jet’s a few times. He smiled when he was supposed to, went through the motions that were expected of him. It had worked for him before, for videos, for time with friends when all he wanted to do was sit in his room and speak to no one. The only person he could never fool was Ethan, who kept his distance, but stayed close enough to keep his eyes on him. He thought he had everyone but his twin fooled.

But Indiana noticed. Indiana always noticed.

Nicole had called it the curse of intelligence when she was younger.

“Sometimes,” she’d said. “When you know too much about how the world works, how people work, you see things you aren’t supposed to. You understand things you aren’t supposed to.”

Indiana was 12 at the time, sitting on the other side of the kitchen table.

“What do you mean mom? How can you know too much?”

“You’ll know one day. You’ll see.”

The way she’d said it made Indy sit her fork down, her stomach suddenly tight.

And now she’d seen.

On New Years Eve, Indiana Cross leaned in to kiss her boyfriend as the clock struck midnight, on her couch in her apartment, with her picture frames on the shelf over their heads and the sound of fireworks outside her window.

Grayson didn’t lean in.

He leaned back, and he spoke.

“I can’t do this.”

Indiana took a breath. In. Out. Filled her lungs and emptied them again.

She’d noticed. But she hadn’t let herself believe it. She’d pushed every little nuance she’d seen, every time that Grayson’s eyes didn’t catch the smile he tried to put on his face the last few days- she’d pushed it to the back of her mind and justified it. He was just worried about leaving, he was just stressed about Bekah like she was, he was just tired. She’d seen every sign and she’d justified it.

She swallowed air, her throat painfully dry.

“What?”

“I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”

Indiana did what she always did, what she’d always done her entire life when anything didn’t make sense, when anything went slightly off track.

She tried to understand why.

She racked her brain for everything that she’d done, every syllable she’d spoken, and every movement she’d made since that first day at Frazier outside, with him in his green pants on the bench, and her with two Jet’s coffee’s in her hands.

Her fingers were cold as she pressed her hands together. There was a finality in his tone that had her chest tight, her ribs pressed together, muscles pushing on bones and squeezing everything until she felt like she was going to suffocate. She opened her mouth.

“Oh.”

Grayson had his head in his hands, leaned over his knees on the couch. He shook in an unfamiliar way, like he was choking, and it took Indy a moment to realize that he was crying.

She felt like she was in a dream, watching what was happening to her from the outside. It was like slow motion as she watched the girl on the couch curl in on herself, her walls reconstructing at ten times speed - he’d been so gentle with each brick that she didn’t even realize they’d been taken down. He spoke after a moment of heavy silence.

“I love you, but we can’t. I can’t do this to you.”

Her brain refused to process it, refused to even try to dissect it, and she spoke the only word she seemed to be able to find.

“Oh.”

“Indy I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I should have said something sooner, I wanted to, I’m an asshole for waiting this long.”

She swallowed and wrung her hands together.

“When is your flight?”

His tears streamed faster somehow as he blinked.

“Tomorrow afternoon. We have meetings on the 2nd.”

In. Out.

“What time?”

Grayson looked up. Indiana was sitting straight up, head up high. The only thing moving were her hands, which she kept squeezing together over and over. It scared him, to see his once bubbly girl so still while his tears continued to fall. He couldn’t read her.

“I’m not sure, I’d have to check. Dee, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

She smiled her hospital smile, the one she used when she got bad news, and it was somehow worse than if she’d yelled at him.

“Indy.”

“It’s okay. C’mere, it’s okay.”

She opened up her arms for him, and she didn’t even seem to notice that they were shaking ever so slightly.

Grayson’s eyes were too blurry to see the quiver. He was fighting himself again, wagering whether sinking into her arms would only cause more damage in the long run. But he knew how it felt to be there, and he wagered that it would be worth whatever hellish guilt it was sure to bring later. So he leaned in, and just a single touch from her had him sobbing again. He pressed his face into her shoulder with so much force that she fell backwards a bit, and suddenly they were intertwined with him above her on the couch.

His pain was physical. She could feel it, in the way his body shook and paused when he tried to suck in a breath that his lungs desperately needed, the wet hot air soaking through her shirt with every exhale he choked out. His tears were warm, the salt already stiffening the fabric that soaked them up. Her hands found his back, and she lifted a finger to his skin before she paused.

She didn’t know what to write anymore.

Instead, she moved her hand to his hair, scratching at his scalp, holding him steady. He was heavy against her and she closed her eyes, felt him there with her, took in the weight of him.

“Shhhh. It’s okay.” We’re okay. “You’re okay.”

Her words only made Grayson cry harder when he realized what she was doing. He came back to himself for a moment when he realized that all the shaking wasn’t him. He could feel the way she held onto him and shook, so subtle that he could tell she was fighting it. His stomach churned at the thought of how bad her pain must be if it was causing a reaction in her body, and he moved to push himself up.

“Indy.”

She clung to him, panic breaking through the protective numbness that had taken hold so quickly. If it was the last time she was going to get to hold him, she’d hoped it would have lasted just a bit longer.

But she took a deep breath and she let him go, forced her arms to release him.

It hurt worse to see his face again, see the pain in his puffy eyes. She reached back out for him, swiped her thumb across his cheek to catch a tear. Her fingers got distracted in the feeling of his scruff, and she scratched over it for a moment, indulging herself, willing herself to remember the way it felt on her fingertips.

“It’s okay.” It was a reflex to her, and she couldn’t stop herself from saying it.

“It’s not though. Indy, it’s not okay. I’m hurting you.”

She didn’t have a response to that. Her eyes fell to her lap, picking at her fingernails.

“I’ll be okay.” It was a lie, but she would have said anything to bring some of the light back to his eyes. Her pain she could manage, but his was her breaking point.

“Please don’t do that. Please don’t pretend on this.” He brought in a shaky breath, blowing it out quickly.

In. Out.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to scream. I want you to be pissed at me, I want you to be mad that I waited this long to tell you! You haven’t even asked why,” he cried. Indy wondered for a moment why it always hurt more to see boys cry. It seemed to be more painful for them somehow - heavier.

“I think I know why.”

He sat up a bit more at her words. Waiting.

“It was a chance thing, you being here. Us meeting. Your life is entirely different than mine, and you have your people in LA. There’s… I mean there’s plenty of girls there who don’t have the stuff I have. Class, work -” Her voice cracked at the end, Grayson’s outline blurring just a bit as she looked up.

“No. No no no, hey,” he stopped her, hands hovering over her for a moment before he gave in and rested them on her arms, holding her without fully pulling her in. “It’s not that. I promise you, it has nothing to do with anyone else. I want you, I don’t want anyone else. But I know you, and your dreams are here, and I’m not gonna take that away from you.”

Indiana’s confusion only grew. She’d only heard one thing he’d said.

“You want me?” Her voice sounded pitiful, even to own ears.

“Of course I do.” He spoke it like it was the only possible truth, and a flicker of hope rose in her gut, fighting it’s way up. “Indy of course I do.”

“Then… why?”

“Remember when we went to LA?”

His words brought back a flood of memories. The two of them kissing in the ocean, the secret beach, sleeping in his bed with his green wall, piggyback rides around the house, the late night Cudi drives.

“Yeah.”

“You remember how much you hated it there? How bad you wanted to come back home? And what did I promise you?”

Indy couldn’t find her voice. Her brain was otherwise occupied, watching her memories being drug through dark ink, staining them.

“I promised you I would never ask you to leave New York.” He finished it for her. “And I meant it. But I can’t stay here Indiana, no matter how bad I want to.”

“Your life is in LA.” She repeated her words from earlier, monotone and unattached. Her heart fought with her, begged her to tell him everything. Tell him that she was going to start working at Jets and start therapy so she could fly out to see him. Tell him that she was halfway through her UCLA application essay that she’d been working on on nights he fell asleep before her. Tell him that she’d drop everything and follow him anywhere.

“You’re the most giving person I’ve ever met. You give so much to everyone but yourself. But I’m not letting you give up your life for anyone, especially not me.”

She wanted to be mad that he assumed that she would. But there was an understanding, a sadness in his eyes that reminded her that he knew her better than she had ever realized.

“We could make it work.”

He looked like he wanted to believe her.

“You deserve someone who is here for you.”

“You’re here for me.” Her mouth was starting to outrun her mind, a dangerous game that she usually couldn’t stop once it had begun.

“You deserve someone who is here to celebrate your accomplishments every day, not someone in a different time zone on the other side of the country.”

“We could make it work.” It was more of a plea that time, and she saw it register across his face, the pain it caused him.

“Indy.”

“People do long distance all the time, we could do it.”

“We aren’t long distance people,” he said, but Indy’s mind was already running.

“We could set up a facetime schedule, and you wouldn’t have to visit that much, I’ll be busy with school anyways. And if we hate it, then we can stop. We just have to try, we’re never gonna know unless we try it.”

Grayson was silent for a minute, which was enough of an answer. He’d known this was coming. Ethan had warned him that it would happen, that Indiana would try to reason her way through it. He’d told his brother that he had to be confident in his choice or he’d get swayed off course.

Grayson wasn’t sure he’d even be confident in his choice to remove himself from the best person he’d ever known. But knowing that in the long run it would be better for her was the only thing that let him cling to the last bit of resolve he had.

“Indy.”

Her lip quivered, and he felt his heart crack.

“Please,” she said.

“C’mere. Just c’mere.”

It wasn’t a surrender, but an offering of comfort. Indy knew it would hurt her later, but she didn’t have the willpower to resist it. She crawled into his lap, and the last of the numbness that had started faded away. In his familiar arms, she lost her last semblance of control.

She crumpled into his shoulder, broken sobs shaking her frame as she clung to him, let him hold her as she wrapped herself around him, as if it would somehow make him stay.

He rocked her as she sobbed, accidentally pressing a kiss to her shoulder before he realized what he was doing. It was torture in the rawest form, worse than he could have expected to be the cause of her pain.

“I’m so sorry Indy, I’m so sorry,” he whispered to her over and over, hoping she believed him. She pressed her face against his neck to keep her eyes closed, pretending for a moment that everything was fine.

“I love you.”

The tears returned to his eyes, and in a moment of weakness he turned and pressed a kiss to her hair, her temple. His lips had missed her.

“I love you too Indiana Cross.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Her finger traced against his back. F-O-R-E-V-E-R. She wished she could erase it somehow when his breath caught in his throat again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and he shook his head.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” His voice was muffled by her skin, seeing that he was unwilling to lean back from her.

“I know this is hurting you too,” she said, and was met with the feeling of more of his tears on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“The only thing you did was make me love you too much. Don’t be sorry for that.”

The way her heart squeezed wasn’t natural, and though she knew the phenomenon wasn’t as everyone said, she was sure it skipped a beat in her chest. She squeezed him tighter to her, like she had so many times. She synced her breathing to his, laid her head on his shoulder, committed the sound of his heartbeat to memory.

Their tears dried out over the next hour, the numbness of acceptance starting to blanket over them. Neither of them dared to move a muscle, Grayson especially. All he did was rub his hand over her back, up and down the same as he had been since she climbed into his lap. They both knew that moving would mean having to figure out what to do next.

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. Indy wasn’t sure, and she was scared to look at a clock, to see her fleeting time left with him wasting away.

“Did you pack your bag already?” Her voice was too loud even though it was barely above a whisper, pulling them back into the reality they wanted to avoid.

“Yeah. It’s at home.”

Indy could see it in her head, his Jersey room, quiet and waiting for him with his orange duffle on the bed. But her stomach filled with a wave of nausea as she realized what it meant.

“So you have to go home.”

Grayson’s hand paused on her back. She was holding her breath.

“I… I didn’t know if you would want me to stay.” It was the first time he could remember not knowing what to say to her.

Her arms tightened around him, her breathing getting a little bit more ragged. He ran his hands over her back quickly, desperate to soothe her.

“Shh, shh hey, I’m staying. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yet.” She whispered, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he flinched. “Sorry, that was harsh.”

“Not undeserved,” he said, turning and resting his cheek against her shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have. So whatever you need, I’ll give it to you.”

Indy sat up. Her eyes had settled a bit, her tears washing the jellyfish blue into a shade of navy that Grayson didn’t recognize. It made his breath catch in his chest.

“Whatever I need?”

“Whatever you need.”

She looked at him, and her head tilted to the side just slightly. A small smile tried to make its way to her face, but her lips quivered.

“Could you kiss me?”

He paused, watching her fight off her tears with a deep breath.

“Is that what you need?”

“Just… just one. I didn’t know, you know. That the last one was gonna be the last one. And we’re here, and I just thought, that maybe - ”

He kissed her. For the first time, he was hesitant. He kept his hands to his sides, not wanting to push anything too far, not wanting to make anything worse somehow. Indy barely reacted either, too nervous to do something wrong.

They pulled back from each other, breathing shallow, nerves taking over as they tried to figure out what to do.

“Thank you,” Indiana said.

Grayson swallowed hard, watched her eyes as they flickered between his own.

And then they were kissing. Really kissing, chasing the taste of each other like air at the end of a sprint. His hands went to her face, holding her to him as her hands went to his torso, bunched up his shirt and tried to pull him into her, closer somehow despite the fact that they were already touching everywhere that they could be. The desperation was palpable, in the way their hands roamed and fell back into their familiar patterns. Indy sucked in the first real breath she’d taken in since the clock had struck midnight, breathed him in as best she could, trying to lose herself in him like she always had. But her mind wouldn’t shut off, reminding her that it could really be the last time she had him like this.

He felt her tears, first on his thumb that was holding her cheek, and then against his own skin. It took all his willpower to pull back from her lips. She let him, her breathing shaky as she tucked her face back down into his neck.

He picked her up effortlessly, standing up from the couch and moving them to her room. The Cudi vinyls seemed to mock him, especially when he laid down and stared up at them on their small shelves. Indy didn’t move an inch, staying wrapped around him, laying on top of him when he rested back against the pillows.

Time moved quickly, and Indy still avoided the clocks, scared to see what had already passed.

Grayson wanted to hear her voice. Wanted her to talk to him, wanted to commit every single thing she said to memory, but he wouldn’t ask. She had given him enough.

He closed his eyes, focused on the feeling of her fingers over his shirt, tried to make out what shapes she was drawing like he always did. He felt her hands travel up higher, up his neck to his skin, scratching over his beard.

Her fingertips were gentle as they moved up, over his lips, around his cheek to his eyelids, down over his nose, then to the other side of his face. She traced the pattern a few times, and Grayson waited until she was on his nose to speak.

“What’re you drawing?”

“You,” she said. “Memorizing.”

He didn’t know how he still had more tears to make, but they started to fall anyways, down the side of his face over his temples.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say.

“I know. I wish you could stay just a little bit longer.”

“Me too.”

He traced a heart on the back of her arm.

“I love you too.”

The truth of it was, she didn’t know how to not love him, and that was the scary part of it all. She couldn’t imagine a world where she didn’t love him with everything she had in her.

She didn’t know who she was without it anymore.

“If you ever change your mind, I’ll be here you know,” she said. He took in a deep breath, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“I’m not gonna do that.”

Her heart sank.

“That’s not fair,” he said. “I can’t ask you to do that, to wait for me. I’m not going to string you along, that’s cruel. Once I’m back in LA, I want you to move on.”

Indy shook her head against him, burying her face in his chest.

“No.”

“Indy.”

“No.” Her brain refused to process it, to imagine a single scenario where she felt anything good without Grayson by her side. She knew it wasn’t healthy, and she vowed to never tell anyone but in that moment, she reserved herself to be miserable every minute that she wasn’t with him.

“I know it’s not gonna be easy, but you deserve to be happy. And I’m sorry that I’m gonna make that harder, but you’ll find somebody who can love you better than I do.”

“Does that mean you’re going to just move on when you get back to LA? Just forget about me?” There was a spite in her voice that she didn’t like hearing in her own voice. But Grayson didn’t flinch. It was almost reliving to him. He was getting what he deserved, what he’d earned for breaking her heart.

Her anger meant she cared.

“Indiana I’m never going to forget you. If you think I could, I was an even worse boyfriend than I thought.”

“No, don’t do that.” She pushed off his chest and sat up. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to make me think that the last three months were bad. That’s the last thing I have to hold onto. Those were the best months of my life, you don’t get to take that.”

Grayson didn’t have an answer.

“Okay.”

“You made this decision for the both of us, I don’t get a say in it. So I’ll hold onto it as long as I fucking want to. You don’t get to tell me I have to move on.”

“Okay.”

“Okay then,” Indy said, reaching up to wipe a tear away. She sucked in a breath and pushed it out through shaky lips, trying to hold herself together.

“Sorry.”

Grayson shook his head. “Indiana you can be mad at me. You should be mad at me.”

“I am mad at you.”

She knew it wasn’t in the way that he meant. Because she wasn’t mad that he’d broken up with her. Because deep down, under all the pain and all the love and all the worry, she knew he was doing it for her. He was doing what she would never have the guts to do, even if it was the right thing.

No, she was mad at him for infiltrating every single part of her. Every thought, every muscle, every cell of her body contained him. Every hope she had for her future was molded around him. He was there in everything. His curls were in the dreams she had about her future children. His smile in the back of her mind every time she closed her eyes. His eyes, bright and green, always there.

“Do you want me to leave?” There was no malice in his tone, only genuine concern.

She pondered it for a moment. Thought about what it would look like, for him to actually walk out the door and never come back through it.

“No.”

“Okay. Then I’ll stay.”

“I can drive you to the airport. So Ethan doesn’t have to come into the city.”

“Okay. I’ll tell him.”

“Okay.”

They stared at each other for a moment, staying very still, waiting for one of them to make a decision.

“We should probably sleep.” Grayson checked his watch. “It’s 4am.”

“Okay.”

Another pause. Another moment of uncertainty that they’d never had to navigate.

“Do you want me to take the couch?”

She shook her head, and with a sigh, she gave in. Grayson could finally breathe again when she settled against him, pushing her hand up under his shirt, running her fingers over his ribs. He wrapped her up in his arms tightly, focused on the feeling of the weight of her on him.

And he closed his eyes.

His alarm went off at 9:45. As soon as it sounded, Indy turned her face into his chest, a new wave of tears coming forward as the realization hit her

It was time to let go.

He just held her and kissed her head for as long as he could. She didn’t know if she’d slept. If she had, it was only for a few moments. She’d kept waking up, reminding herself that he was still there.

They barely spoke. No one ate breakfast. He hadn’t brought a change of clothes, and parts of his shirt were stiff from the saltwater of both their tears. It took all the strength he had to keep it together when he closed the apartment door behind him for the last time.

She took his hand in the elevator, and his tears fell, making his cheeks even colder when they walked outside. It felt odd, for him to climb into the passenger seat with her in the driver’s as they continued down the road. His mind was flooded with memories, with doubts. He couldn’t stop picturing the smile that would spread across her face if he told her that he’d changed his mind, that they could try.

He fought it, kept his mouth shut, reminded himself that this was his decision and he had to deal with the repercussion of it.

Indy was quiet too, evidence of her earlier decision to not hurt him anymore than she already had. She didn’t want to make it any harder on either of them. No matter what, she still loved him, and she didn’t like to see him hurting. She kept herself superficially distracted, focused on the colors of the cars that passed, and the number of the exits on the highway.

The airport had never come quicker.

Grayson’s chest tightened when they pulled off. He couldn’t ignore it anymore, couldn’t push it down and stay strong like his dad had always told him to. An image of him hugging her goodbye over her console came to his mind, and he panicked.

“Would you want to come in? Like park and come in? I know you hate airports, and you can say no. But… I’d like to give you one last good hug before I go.”

She merged into the lane that led to the parking as her tears began to fall. He ran his thumb over her hand until they got out. They found each other again behind the car, Indy linking her arm around his and holding on as tight as she could as they walked. She was ten times more anxious than the last time she had walked into an airport, her usual pertifying fear of Grayson being on a plane the least painful part.

It was hard to keep her sobs quiet but she bit them back as best she could. Grayson heard them, shifted so he had his arms wrapped around her as they walked. Her eyes were blurry with tears but she noticed the bright yellow and orange bags before she spotted Ethan. He gave her a sad smile that she did her best to return. From the look of pity in his eyes, it was even worse than she thought.

Her vision was obscured by Grayson, who moved in front of her. She clung to the front of his jacket with both hands, unable to look him in the eyes. She didn’t know if she could handle it.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, tears so full that they dripped off her chin and onto her shirt.

“I’m so sorry.” His own eyes burned as he watched her. But her next words caused the worst pain he’d felt in a long time.

“Can we have a redo?” As her voice shook, his last barrier fell, and he was sobbing - the kind you try to choke back and keep quiet as he crushed her against him, burying his face in her hair.

“Not this time baby. Not this time.”

They weren’t sure how they could cry harder, but they did. He swayed as he held her, tight and warm. Ethan wiped his own tears away with his jacket sleeve as he checked the boarding time on the tickets.

“I love you. So much,” she said.

“I love you too. I’m so sorry. If you ever need me... “ he trailed off, unsure if his offer would only hurt them both more down the road. She understood what he meant, and she took a deep breath. In. Out.

“Right now, I need you to turn around, and I need you to walk away, or I’m never going to be able to let you go.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t move. She finally looked up at him and held herself together, determined to look at his face in person for the last time without the distortion of tears.

“Take care of yourself, okay? Be safe. Be happy. I’m always gonna love you.” Her voice was as steady as she could make it, and that somehow hurt him worse.

“Forever,” he whispered, and then he was kissing her. He wrapped her up in his arms as tightly as he could, held her to him until he forced himself away, only keeping a hold of her hand.

Ethan, always in tune with his brother, seemed to recognize his cue.

Indy nodded and squeezed his hand one more time, and then she let him go, their fingers tracing over one anothers until they fell away, the distance too much.

A numbness spread over her body as soon as he let her go, and she watched from her spot as he disappeared down the hallway and into the security line.

She didn’t remember getting back to her car. But somehow, she managed to crawl inside and lock the doors before she crumpled forward onto her steering wheel.

#mixtape #this one is a doozy #love you guys #can't believe it's already track ten #wild wild wild #grayson dolan #grayson dolan fanfiction

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andromeda612 · 4 years

Text

Continuation...

Read part 1 here

"I-I I'm tired of this liying disease!" And the farewalls are there again.

And then her classmates look confused.

"What are you talking about?" Mylene is looking aware but less hostile than a few seconds before.

"Is a very rare condition, it makes me lie against my will, and well when in my old school my classmates found about it they started to bullying me, they were to cruel, and I was just to scared when I first come to Dupond, because I didn't want to live that hell again, so I never said anything, I know it was unfair but it was horrible and I'm still in theraphy fot that, and then Marinette discovered that I was lying and was so hostile about it and I just panicked, and it get worse when I'm under stress, and then this guy just call me out and I panicked again and just started to threw off all that ridiculous nosense and and I'm so sorry" again the liar is crying full force, the we-know-the-truth squad have to admit it, Lila is a very good actress.

Now, some of the class starts to soften, the girls the most, some still look confused but the anger is gone.

"Do you really can't help it?" Rose, sweet Rose asks looking more sympathetic

"I can't and I'm so sorry, this stupid disease had put me in too much trouble before, I just wanted to feel safe and make friends"

Rose, Mylene,Sabrina, Kim and Alya seems to buy it, the rest still look a little unsure

"You can talk to Principal Damocles, he knows about my condition, after all it was my illnes what got Marinette expelled, I'm so sorry Marinette I hope some day you can forgive me"

And with that the rest look convinced, and start to comfort her. She wins... oh boy! How WRONG she is!

Alix, Nathaniel, Marinette and Adrien look defeated, the liar gets away with no consequences again, but Marc just look unimpresed and a little bored, the game isn't over, time to his next move and Alya just give him the perfect push.

"Don't worry girl, Marinette hates liars but she didn't know that is not your fault, of course she forgives you, and she and Marc also apologize to you for making you scare, right guys?"

"I-I" Marinette doesn't know what to say, she doesn't want to apologize for something she didn't do, but she would look like the bad guy, her friends who know the truth give her worried looks, but then Marc makes his play.

"Marinette has no reason to forgive her or apologize, nor do I" his tone is calm and his demeanor is firm. His boyfriend, best friends and Adrien are surprised, Marc has some trick under the sleeve apparently.

"What? Did you not heard her? Is not her fault! Come on!" Marinette just pray that Alya would be spare of Marc's anger.

"There is not such a thing like a lying disease"

"But you heard her, is a rare condition and Principal Damocles knows about it, now you are being rude, Marc you are not like this!" Marc's patience is getting thiner and his face is showing it, he normally has a saint's patience but being in Mendeleiev's class makes you to develop a no-nosense character, and Marc is getting tired of this circus, our dear squad are at the edge knowing what a done Marc is capable of. Well most of them, Adrien honestly is getting scared, who would think that the little sunshine could be this intimidating?

"Yeah, I'm still wonder how is that Damocles bought that bullshit" every body froze, Marc never swore, even Chloe looks impresed. Marc is still speaking.

"I thought that you would try that, but honestly I wasn't expecting that you actually would use it, you are desperated, don't you?" And now he is using the silver tongue, his favorite three persons already have seen him like this, in the few ocasions that he gets this mad (insert anecdote about Marc beating the shit out of some random asshole that dared to upset Alix, you would read that once I post this on Ao3 and we get to that chapter)

The rest of the class? well, their jaws almost touch the floor, Marc, sweet and polite Marc just swore and now is being condescending?

"Wow, dude! Calm down, now you-" Nino tried to play moderator, but a single glare of a pissed off and so done Marc was enough to shut him up. The rest also winced for the glare, Was Marc always this scary? And Adrien now fears for his best bro's fate, lucky for him Lila is Marc's only target.

"Now let's get things straight, shall we? There is not a condition that makes you lie against your will, my proof? There is not a single study, academic paper, investigation or even a notice about it. And no, saying that you are the only case in the world is not excuse, quite the contrary actually, being the only case the scientific comunity would be doing lots of research about you, and you could always ask to remain anonymous, so that is not excuse either.

The only condition that involves lies is the pathological lying, but that would mean that you are aware of your lies, I'm sure Markov can confirm this with a quick research, Markov? Could you please?"

"On it!"

"Now, even if this illnes was real, that still doesn't explain the sheet answers or the necklace, or the fact that you were unharmed but somehow lying at the end of the stairs when Mari was expelled, it also doesn't explain why you were willingly let Marinette been seen as a bully just a moment before, or you were going to say that was all a big misunderstandig? Were you?" His voice is firm but calm, and his face remains stoic, Adrien can't help but think that Nathalie would be proud.

Now Lila is stunned too, this wretched boy just debunked her card to save face, and she didn't even had the chance to reply, the ravenette didn't let her say a word and every body is to nervous to try and interrumpt him.

Even Markov seems uneasy when he shyly (and even a little scared) interrumpts him.

"Eh, I just finished my research and according with the data, indeed there is not a disease that makes you lie against your will, I take some liberties and analyzed Lila's behaivor and what match with it is, as you said, pathological lying, but that means that she is aware of her actions and lies"

Just for a brief moment Marc came back to his sweet and gentile self "Thank you Markov" and then the scary and no-nosense Marc was back.

"So, Lila, that mean that you perfectly knew what you were doing when you lied to them. Care to explain?"

Lila was about to talk, already making an excuse, but Marc decided that honestly she just have one move left and it was not worth his time.

"Save it, I know, you just wanted to look cool and make friends or some garbage like that"

Well, actually yes, she was going to say something between that lines, damn it! Who is this guy?

"Well, It would be believable if not for the fact that more than friends, it seems that what you wanted were servants and admirers"

Again everybody is to shocked to intervene.

"I mean, how many times did you fake being hurt so they would carry your things, or make the hard work for you, or take your notes? How many times you said you were too busy so they would do your homework? How many times you were "broken" "because you donated all your money for that charity" so they would buy you lunch? And how many times you return that money? How many times you help them? How many times you promised them something but never kept that promise? How many times you aked them for something but never return the favor?"

Lila: So Marinette did talked to you about me! Otherwise how is that you know all of it? I have never talked to you before!

Marc: Marinette was not the one who talked to me about you, and I realized that you were a manipulative liar by myself, you are not as smart as you think. And even if it was Marinette who talked to me about your tales, is irrelevant, the fact is Are you really the person you said you were?

The rest of the class is now thoughtful, remembering inf fact all those times, and slowly realization sunk in their minds, and now their eyes are narrowed towards Lila, indeed, were they her friends or just her pwans? Is Lila the person they thought she was?

Lila is really really doomed, there is a too low posibility to get out of this that is almost null and she knows it. Her classmates start to demand explanations.

Marc: Check, Lila

And Lila just can see him with hate. Where is Hawk Moth????? She need some powers now!!!!

Meanwhile with the squad...

Adrien: wow, just wow

Marinette: are you ok?

She knows is pretty stunning the first time you see Protective! Marc in action.

Adrien: Yes, I just wish that this would be less... intense but Lila brought it to herself

Nathaniel: Oh dude! This isn't over

Nop, if they knew Marc and they do, they know that Marc is not done yet. Adrien is taken back for it, there is more?

Adrien: What do you mean?

Alix: Listen, Agreste. Marc is all about the right words, he just said Check, but every body knows in chess the game isn't over until someone says Checkmate, he isn't done yet.

Indeed, Marc has not yet delivered his final blow. And just a look to his face is enough to know that he is ready for it. where normally is his sweet smile now is a confident and cold smirk, and his always gentile eyes are burning with a fire that screams determination and victory.

The squad is on edge, and if Nathaniel is blushing a little not even Alix says something, to intrigued to tease her friend.

And between the voices demanding answers and the one trying to sell her excuses, Marc's voice is heard clear and strong, something rare for the always soft spoking and shy writer, making every body to remain silent. Not even Chloe dares to say word.

"In fact Lila, I'm curious, why would you do that? They were always kind to you and Marinette was never really mean to you, so why?"

Marc stands up from his seat beside his boyfriend and walks to where Lila is cornered by his friends. His walk and moves are confident, his head high and his eyes scream 'don't get in my way'

Nathaniel suddenly feels VERY thirsty, and the rest of them, even Alix and Marinette who have experience with this side of him, are astonished to see their naturally shy and anxious friend being so confident and bad-ass.

Some are starting to think that he was abducted by aliens. They clear the path, so Marc is front of Lila who is still sitting in the blanket, and looks down at her.

Now here I have a good monologue about Marc being so HBIC with Lila, but I don't want to show it until I post the fic in Ao3, this is just a draft. But he says things he knows would anger her, until Lila snaps and stands up in fury and screams about how much better than everybody she is, about what she really thinks about her classmates even about Ladybug, how much she hates her, Marinette and now him, and juts to put the nail in the coffin, she says that she wish that they were dead so they don't mess up her plans.

(Don't think Marc is reckless, he is clever and knows that Lila would be a very potential Akuma, maybe someone else, so when he comes up with his plan he said to the team that it would probably make Lila akumatized, Marinette said that she would handle that, they don't question her, after all she was who gave Alya that interview with Ladybug, so they trust her)

And then some gasps make her remember that they have an audience, she looks around and is met with the horrified faces of her classmates.

She showed her true colors, now is imposible for her to save face, nobody is going to believe her again. She looks again to Marc and sees his victorious expression, it was a tramp and she took the bait, fuck!

"Checkmate, Rossi. The game is over, you lost"

She is furious, all her work, her empire is ruined, and is all this brat fault! She looks for an akuma but nothing!

Her classmates are now angry and she is outnumbered, she runs away.

Nobody dares to speak, still processing what just happened, and then is Marinette the first to collect herself and jumps out of her seat and runs to hug Marc.

"YOU!!!! YOU LITTLE DIAVOLIC ANGEL! YOU ARE AWESOME THANK YOU!!!"

Marc giggles, his sweet and gentle demeanor back, and returns the hug.

"Nobody mess with my beloved ones and gets away with it"

Now, the rest also react and remember

HOLLY MOLLY MARINETTE WAS RIGHT

They apologize, and she forgives them, they defended her after all.

They also cheer and congrat Marc, because holly shit that was intense! They now have a new respect for Marc

Nino: Dude! Remember me to NEVER be on Marc's bad side!

And yeah, all of them unanimously agreed to never make the cinnamon roll mad. Kim also wonders if is worth it to tease him to see his funny and cute annoyed reaction, after this he doesn't want to take any risk.

Alya: Yikes! Who would think that the cute Rainbow comes with storm included?

Alix: I would like to say that you get used to it... but that would be a lie, and we know that lying is not a good idea

Everybody laughs, and enjoy the rest of the evening.

Oh! And you remember the research our artist gang did? Just after going to Mari's home for another sleepover, once the picnic was over, they send some emails, to Damocles, the School Board and Mrs. Rossi.

Next day of school was a very interesting one, Lila was being ignored until is called to principal Damocles' office. The next thing they know is that there were some screams in Italian, Lila and her mother are in the classroom, Mrs. Rossi also give a piece of her mind to Bustier and Lila is forced to apologize. Again there is no akuma. HM has been a little quiet, maybe he is bussy in his civilian life, just like Gabriel Agreste who is in Japan in a business meeting, but that is just a coincidence, really! Oh and they may or may not have the whole thing in video, because Marc deserves to watch, he was the hero here after all.

Lila has what she deserves, karma is wonderful and Damocles and Bustier are sent to make some curses in education and dealing with bullying.

Everybody who matters is happy :D

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nike-shawn · 4 years

Text

Hockey Shawn Prt II

Here’s part two!! I’m so sorry for the wait-- I rewrote this like four times. Thank you for all the love on the first installment of this series. It’s super fun to write and I’m glad to hear you guys like to read it.

Part I

After you get his number, you see Shawn a lot.

He texted you a couple days ago, asking what your plans were for that night, whether you had eaten (you had, of course, but you said you hadn’t). He was at your front door within half an hour.

You sheepishly smiled as you allowed him into your apartment, crossing your arms across your chest. You watched as Shawn took in your cheap, run-down apartment that you share with a few roommates, their coats and shoes scattered across the floor. You felt very much below him, then, thinking back to his high-rise apartment on the Upper East Side with a doorman and an impeccable view. Your apartment smells like the Chinese restaurant that you live above and it’s an odd week when you don’t kill a few roaches in your kitchen.

To say you two live different lives would be an understatement.

“S’ nice,” Shawn said kindly. You knew he didn’t mean it, but you thanked him anyways. “So... does Chinese sound good?”

It didn't. It absolutely didn’t sound good, so you nodded, took a few steps forward until you were gripping both sides of his open coat. As soon as your lips met his, you were sure that Shawn wouldn’t be thinking about Chinese food any more.

He hummed his surprise against your lips, but his hands came up to grip your jaw, his palms dwarfing your cheeks. He was cold from the winter air outside and you felt like he was trying to melt into you, trying to adopt your warmth. Your hands tangled in his hair and gave the curls a slight tug. His thigh came between both of yours as he walked you back towards your sofa. “Wait, wait,” you said breathlessly, pulling away from him, “roommates. I have roommates. Let’s go over here.”

You led him by the hand down the dark hallway towards your bedroom, his chest almost pressed against your back with how close he was to you. He stumbled over one of the odd shoes that you nimbly avoided, and you stifled a laugh as you opened the door to your bedroom and let him gently press your back against your unmade bed’s comforter. His lips found yours again and his fingers nimbly started to unbutton your work shirt, a light cotton button down with faint blue stripes. In the meantime, you found the waistband of his joggers and tugged them down.

He stepped out of his pants as you shrugged off your shirt, and as soon as his palms gripped your breasts, squeezing and pulling down the cups in an effort to get the garment off, there was a knock. “Y/N? Hey, the maintenance man is here. What did you say he needed to fix in there?”

Shawn sighed out the breath he was holding, ducking his head so his forehead rested against your bare collarbones and his breath was washing out over the cold skin of your chest. You fought the disappointment in your mind as you eased him off of you, grabbed your shirt from the floor and started to do up your bottons again. “Hey, yeah, one second. Sorry. Just have him wait in the living room and I’ll come get him,” you told her, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

She must’ve just come home, you thought, because she was nowhere in sight just a few minutes ago. You started to feel anxious as you wondered if you just didn’t notice she was home, if she saw the famous hockey player you were making out with in your apartment. She is completely the type to blab to her friends about every last thing— if she told and the secret was out and you had to explain to Shawn why everyone knew that you two were hooking up and —

“Hey, get out there,” Shawn said playfully, breaking through your wave of thought. “I can head out.”

“Oh,” you replied, “yeah, that’s fine. If that’s what you want.”

“Is that what you want?”

You looked at him now, brushing back your now messy hair. “Well, no. I would like to see you more, but I don’t know if my roommate should see you.”

Something dawned on him then, recognition flashing across his eyes. The two of you hadn’t had a conversation about his job yet, and you figured he thought you were completely oblivious to the level of fame he has achieved. “Why do you say that?” He said it quietly, less like a question and more like he was asking you for confirmation.

“She’ll recognize you. She’s bad at keeping things to herself, so...”

Shawn watched you as you watched him. He was taking note of your sudden uncomfortableness. His eyes followed you as you walked towards the door, flicking the lock back so it was now unlocked. He stepped back into his joggers and coughed into his fist. “Okay, I get it.” He looked up at you with a forced smile. “Did you know?” You paused, looking to the floor. “Did you know, like, what I do? When we met?”

“I... I didn’t know when we met. But I figured it out pretty soon after.”

He nodded. “And what did you figure out?”

“What?”

“What did you figure out? About me?”

You fiddled with the hem of your shirt. “I looked you up. Saw that you’re a hockey player for the Lightning and— ”

“— used to,” he interrupted. “Used to play for the Lightening.”

“Right, um,” you stuttered, “used to play for the Lightning.”

Shawn looked at you again, prompting you to say more. “That’s it?”

You didn’t answer, just shrugged childishly. He raised his eyebrows, calling your bluff. “I also saw something else. A video.”

He hummed his approval. “And what conclusions did you draw from that?”

“That you had a bad breakup.”

“Interesting. What else?”

“You punched him. The camera guy. I thought maybe you’ve been harassed by cameras a lot lately. A scandal, maybe? I don’t know.”

He licked his lips, fiddling his thumbs. “I kinda thought you didn’t know what I did. You just acted so normal.”

You felt almost guilty, though you know you did nothing wrong. It was simple curiosity— you didn’t mean to find out about his latest scandal, or learn about his injury. You were just trying to know more about a guy you were seeing. You tried to push aside the feeling of uncomfortableness and force yourself to make eye contact with him. “Is it so bad that I know what you do? I don’t feel any differently towards you now than I did when I met you.”

Shawn hummed again, avoiding saying anything that may have forced more awkward conversation. He pushed past you through the doorway and you followed, seeing your roommates’ eyes get wide as you and Shawn broke into the living room, him immediately making his way to the front door. You watched as he gripped the doorknob and allowed cold winter air to seep into your apartment as the door opened. He looked back at you. “Do you wanna walk me out?” He asked.

Surprised but relieved, you followed him out. You both walked in silence for a bit. Then you said, “I’m sorry.”

Shawn shook his head and bumped his shoulder against yours kindly. “Nothing to be sorry about. I understand.”

“I was just curious.”

“I know.”

You came to his car and sideled up to the drivers side as he started to get in, his lanky legs looking almost unnatural in such a small, pretty car. “I’ll text you; sounds good?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

He reached up to grip your shoulder and led you down to meet his mouth, your lips meeting chastly and only for a moment. Then you stepped to the side and waved as he drove away.

Now, two weeks after that day, you still haven’t talked to him, and you wonder if him saying he would text you was some kind of courtesy he extended at the time, knowing you two would never see each other again. A slow break. Letting you down easy.

You’ve gone through these two weeks wondering, wondering, wondering what makes you so different now that you know about his job. Since you saw him in the parking lot right after you two hooked up for the first time, you’d seen Shawn just about every day leading up to the day he left for good. Sex, wine, and television shows defined your relationship, and you avoided all questions about his life. He preferred it that way, and you knew that. But you never thought that when his job came up, he would run away like a child.

Your roommates grilled you when you returned to the apartment, asking you how and why and what you and Shawn were. You didn’t know how to answer any of their inquiries, so you dodged all of them and holed yourself up in your room. You pretty much just go from your room to work to Lily’s house in some weird, endless cycle, and he’s never too far from your thoughts.

“I like you a lot,” he says, his hand finding your jawline, sleepy features illuminated in the yellow glow of the streetlight outside your window.

You nod and kiss his hand. He smiles, a sad, sleepy kind of a smile. Then the hand from your face travels to your chest, resting over where your heart was beating wildly. His gaze follows the hand. Your gaze rests on his face. He has a scar from an old hockey injury that you analyze like an academic over a piece of old text.

Shawn leans down to kiss you, his hair rustling against your pillow, eyelashes kissing below his eyes as they close. Your lips move against his like dancers to a silent rhythm.

You scold your mind for thinking of him again. He’s not here. You fell for an athlete with an injury and a scandal and probably a million other skeletons in his walk-in closet.

And you know the world is cruel because today, as you’re sulking over the boy who doesn’t like you back anymore, his pretty yet tired face shows up on your TV. The news anchor takes on a fake somber tone as she says that “Shawn Mendes, star Lightning player, has gotten back together with his longtime ex-girlfriend, Madison Harrold. Harrold broke the news on her Instagram late last night, posting this picture with the caption, ‘miss me?’”

The picture on the screen is what made you tear up, not the story itself. It was his face right up next to hers, her eyes blissfully closed, and his hand resting over her heart.

⚡️🍁⚡️🍁

When you see him again, it’s because of a text message from some random number you didn’t have saved.

Hey Y/N, it’s Shawn. I’m in town this weekend and I’d love to see you.

You let the text sit in your unread messages for the whole school day. You refuse to let this man take up any more of your energy, any more of your thoughts. Your students notice something is off but no one mentions anything and keeps to themselves for the most part. You’re grateful.

You text him back after you changed out of your work clothes, chatted to your roommates, and poured yourself a glass of red wine. As the bitterness washes away some of your tension, you reply.

New number?

He writes back, Yeah. Old one got to the public somehow.

Your mind drags you to the conclusion that he had hooked up with some other unfortunate soul and she leaked his number, but you don’t know that so you try to press the thought of your brain. Are you at the hotel?

Yes.

When can I come over?

Now?

For a split second you think to yourself that you should turn him down, but you want to see him. You want to see if Maddy changed him somehow. You want to see if he’ll address it.

So you go to the hotel.

He opens the door with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He pulls you into a quick hug, and when you pull away you notice the hairband pushing back his curls and the slouchy grey sweater that’s hanging from his shoulders. You take note of the prominence of his collarbones and ask yourself whether he has always looked like that or if he suddenly lost weight.

“How’re you doing?” Shawn asks you, gesturing for you to follow him into the hotel room. Memories come flooding back as you perch at the edge of his unmade bed.

“You’re gorgeous.” Shawn breathes that into your mouth as he hikes up the hem of your dress over your hips, his hands gripping the bone there tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll run away. “So gorgeous.”

You break the kiss to pull your dress over your head and you throw it to some corner of the room. Shawn’s hands trace over the newly exposed skin and the touch leaves goosebumps in its wake. They find your hair, tangling in your straightened locks, tugging lightly. He starts to walk you backwards towards the bed. The back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress and you let yourself fall backwards, him following close behind, his elbows on either side of your head. His lips find yours yet again as your hands find his belt...

“Y/N?”

You snap back to the present day, dragging your eyes away from the mattress where you spent most of your time on your last visit. “Oh, yeah, sorry. I’m well, thank you. And you?”

“I’m fine.”

You nod absentmindedly, once again looking around the room, taking in the empty suitcase. He must’ve folded and tucked away all of his clothes in the drawers.

He’s staying awhile, this time.

“When did you get back in the city?” you ask.

“Last night,” he responds, still standing somewhat far away. He starts to tangle his fingers together nervously. “I had some business in Toronto.”

You think back to the news that you’d watched earlier, noting that Maddy’s Instagram post was geotagged as Toronto.

So Maddy is classified as business?

In a bout of uncharacteristic courage, you ask “what kind of business?”

Shawn’s eyebrows raise. “What?”

“I asked what kind of business was in Toronto.”

He sees right through you. “So you know about Maddy,” he says, not as a question but a statement, picking up on your suspicious tone.

“Yes.”

He clears his throat. “We have a weird relationship.”

“Are you cheating on her?”

Shawn laughs darkly. “No, I’m not cheating on Maddy.”

“What’s going on, then?”

He furrows his brows in an annoyed expression. “Why do you need to know?”

You feel your anger boiling to the surface. You fist your fingers together, gripping the duvet tightly to keep yourself seated. “Because, Shawn, we hung out together every night for three weeks and then you stopped talking to me without explanation.”

The two of you hold eye contact intensely and you fight the urge to look away. Shawn’s sharp jaw ticks. “We weren’t dating, Y/N.”

You feel frustrated tears gather and you immediately feel embarrassed about crying over a boy you barely know. You swipe away the wetness beneath your eyes quickly, though you know Shawn caught it. “Why are you being rude all of a sudden?” You ask, your voice taking on a quieter tone that you hate. You hate how affected you sound. But he hurt you, and now it’s obvious. “I knew we weren’t dating. But I didn’t think it was fair for you to cut me off completely and then, the next thing I hear about you, you’re dating a completely different girl.” You pause for a moment to collect yourself. “You could’ve fucking texted me.”

Shawn takes a few steps closer. He’s standing right in front of you, close enough to see the redness rimmed around your eyes. He has his hands in the pockets of his joggers, though you know that if you were on better terms those hands would be cradling your jaw. You can see his tongue running over his teeth behind closed lips, thinking. “I’m sorry for not talking to you,” he starts. He’s staring at the ground. “That was immature of me. I got spooked when you said you knew who I was because I thought I was...” he shakes his head, looking for the right phrasing, “I thought I was just some guy you met.”

“You were just some guy I met.”

“But if you knew what I did, why wouldn’t you say anything? When you said you knew it felt like you had been lying to me before; I don’t know.”

“I thought it would make you uncomfortable if I brought it up,” you say. Shawn goes quiet, shuffling his feet. “I knew there was a scandal and that you were injured. I thought it would bring back bad memories or just a weird conversation if I brought it up.”

He covers his face with his hands. “I didn’t think of that. I'm just... I’m just very conscious of my position in the world right now. I don’t know if that makes sense--”

You stand and take his hands away, dropping them back at his sides. You look up at him, seeing remorse on his features. “It’s okay.”

He blinks a few times, one of his hands twisting the fabric of his pants between his index and his thumb. “Do you want to know about Maddy?”

You watch him for a second, biting your bottom lip. “Do you wanna talk about Maddy?”

“No.”

“Okay,” you respond, voice dropping to a whisper.

And as he starts to kiss the rest of your thoughts away, the only one remaining is the picture of him in Maddy’s bed, in Maddy’s city, with his hands over Maddy’s fragile, little, heart.

PART THREE

#WHAT DID YOU THINK #send me your thoughts #sorry it took so long #Shawn Mendes imagines #angst #fluff #hockeyshawn

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words-writ-in-starlight · 4 years

Note

modern reincarnated song lan/xiao xingchen first meeting with both their memories back 👀

KIDS IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE I WROTE A FIC TO PROVE IT (I’mso sorry Les Mis fandom) BUT REINCARNATION FICS ARE STILL MY JAM and oh boy amI ever going to make it the Songxiao fandom’s problem. It’s also been a while since I postedsomething for that five headcanons meme, but I’m on lockdown and except for goingto the grocery store a week ago I literally haven’t left my apartment in goingon five weeks, so like, I’m officially still doing that meme. Not QUITE the prompt, but a cousin of theprompt, and it’s 3:18 AM so you’re not my boss.

ONE

Song Lan remembers the very first time he sees XiaoXingchen. Xingchen is eighteen, a yearolder than he was when they met before, wearing a white shirt and a messy bun, andSong Lan takes one look at him in a grocery store and almost knocks over adisplay of oranges. It’s—a lot to takein. Xingchen looks exactly like himself,like Song Lan remembers him from—from before. He’s talking with a store employee, a basket in one hand and the otherholding up an apple. He looks apologetic,with the mild smile that he always wore when he felt like he was imposing onsomeone’s time, and he’s saying something about being sorry, but please couldhe have some help choosing.

Song Lan’s ears are still ringing and his chest is still aching andhis hands are still shaking, but his voice is clear and steady when he hearshimself say, “I can give you a hand.”

Xingchen turns toward him, a startled look on his beautifulface, and Song Lan’s throat threatens to close up on him, because Xingchen’seyes are a clear light brown more familiar than anything in the world, and theydo not focus on him. He has a white canetucked into the corner of his arm—blind, still.

“I couldn’t impose,” Xingchen demurs immediately, and Song Lanshakes his head.

“It’s no imposition. I—I don’thave anywhere else to be.” Song Lan castsaround a little desperately for an excuse, a good reason for Xingchen to lethim help, let him stay under the light of that smile, and says, “I’m supposedto be studying for an exam and if I didn’t get out of the apartment I was goingto tear up my textbook. You’d be savingme three hundred and fifty dollars.”

Xingchen laughs, then, and Song Lan doesn’t know what hisface does, but the employee gives him a mildly pitying glance.

“Well, I suppose I had better, then,” Xingchen says, warm andamused. “I normally come with one of myroommates, but one of them is sick.” Heholds up the apple to Song Lan and says, “I’m Xiao Xingchen.”

I know,Song Lan almost says. He doesn’t. He takes the apple and says, “This one isbruised. I’m Song Lan.”

TWO

Xiao Xingchen, for his part, doesn’t remember for three weeks. It’s a piling up of little things that weardown the wall hiding the past, for him, but the last straw, the crack that bringsthe dam down, is nothing at all: his roommates are usually good about makingsure to keep all the silverware in their assigned places, so that Xingchen canfind them, but that day, one of them, a study-abroad student named Morgan,forgets, and he slices open his palm on a knife. She’s horrified and sorry and he has to talkher down from calling an ambulance, and she still insists on bandaging his handfor him, which he appreciates. It hurtsand pulls all evening, and when he goes to sleep, he has a terrible nightmare.

This is nothing new. XiaoXingchen has had terrible nightmares all his life. Sometimes he even sees in them, which hewould find academically interesting if it were happening to anyone else—all thecolors are right, every line detailed and familiar. He can’t read characters, but he knows theengravings on the swords.

It’s not a seeing dream that night. It’s a dream about darkness and lies anddying, and there’s blood drying sticky and hot on his hand and sleeve when he sobshimself awake, from where his hand is clenched into such a tight fist that itseeped through the bandages. His handfeels like someone’s laid a match to the cut, and he has a headache likenothing he’s ever felt, a bone-deep spike of pain behind his eyes, and he needs—

His hands shake as he grabs his phone and manages to pull upSong Lan’s number.

THREE

Song Lan has the gift of waking up to a vibrating phone—which isto say, he worked in retail for three years before he got into teaching school,and still has anxiety about it. Thephone is already at his ear and he’s saying “This is Song Lan” before he’s evenawake.

“Zichen?”

“Xingchen?” Song Lan issitting up and doesn’t really remember how that happened, and he’s staringwide-eyed at his desk through the dim city-twilight creeping around his darkcurtains, and Xingchen’s voice sounds ravaged on the other end of theline. “What’s wrong?”

“I—please, Zichen, I—”

“Are you hurt?” Song Lan demands, and he’s already on his feet,the phone pinned between his cheek and his shoulder as he grabs whateverclothes are near at hand.

“No,” Xingchen says faintly. “Wait—yes. My hands—no. Just my right hand.” He makes a noise that sounds like it might,theoretically, be a laugh, if he stopped crying. “I cut it on a knife, Zichen.”

Song Lan thinks about the world-ending feeling of remembering XiaoXingchen, and tries not to love the sound of Xingchen’s voice saying Zichenagain, and that moment, when he’s already dragging on socks with his keys inhis hand, is when he finally, finally catches up.

He stops cold, one shoe on. “Xingchen—do you remember me?”

“Yes,” Xingchen whispers. “I remember everything.”

Song Lan shuts his eyes for a moment and really, really hatesXue Yang. “I’m coming over.”

FOUR

Xingchen’s roommates are not going to appreciate him having his “weirdfriend with the scary face” show up at three in the morning and waking them upby knocking on the door, but on the other hand, Xingchen knows he probablylooks…bad. He knows he has blood leakingfrom his hand, and he can feel that the cut is probably worse than he thought,and he can hear one of them make an alarmed sound as he wavers on his feet inhis bedroom door, but then Song Lan stops knocking politely and startshammering on the door with the side of his fist. Xingchen makes a helpless gesture with his bleedinghand, and hears someone fumble the lock open and immediately scramble back toget out of the way. They’re scared ofSong Lan for some reason.

Xingchen can’t imagine being scared of Song Lan.

“Xingchen,” Song Lan says, Zichen says, and Xiao Xingchenknows, like he knows his own name, that Song Lan doesn’t like to be touched,but he can’t stop himself from reaching out. He stops when he can feel the warmth of a body beyond his fingertips anddoesn’t go any further.

“Zichen.”

Song Lan’s hand closes around his bare wrist without hesitation,and he forces Xingchen’s hand palm up, and says, “You’re bleeding.”

“Yes,” Xingchen says, starting to laugh. He’s not sure why he’s laughing. He thinks he might still be crying. But Song Lan is here, touching Xingchen inthe measured, intentional way he always did, and it seems obscurely hilariousthat he expects Xingchen to care about something as petty as bleeding. “Yes, I am.”

“All right,” Song Lan says softly, like he’s answering aquestion that hasn’t been asked. “Comeon, Xingchen. Let’s get a look at yourhand.”

Xingchen hates to be led around by the hand, like a child, buthe goes easily when Song Lan pulls him toward the bathroom. Song Lan lets him rest his head against SongLan’s hip, while those familiar hands dab blood from his skin and peel away thesoaked bandages, and Xingchen listens to Zichen’s low voice, and tries tobreathe.

FIVE

So, Song Lan isn’t going to class tomorrow. He send the emails from the emergency roomwaiting area, on his phone, with Xingchen sitting beside him and holding asmall pile of gauze to his palm. Xingchenhas been quiet since Song Lan announced that they were going to the hospital,but he went without a fight, admitted that the laceration was worse than it hadbeen before—from the clench of his fist in his nightmare, apparently. His hair is tied back into a braid that curlsover his shoulder, and he forgot his cane, and Song Lan washed the smearedblood from his face and didn’t throw up at the memory of watching Xue Yang dothe same, and—

“I missed you,” Song Lan says quietly, and Xingchen turns towardhim. All at once, all the things thatSong Lan planned and imagined and dreamed of saying are piled up behind histeeth, trying to force their way out in a rush. “I’m—so sorry, Xingchen. Everything—it was all my fault, I was so cruel to you.”

“Zichen,” Xingchen says, and he sounds so tired. His head tips toward Song Lan’s shoulder, buthe stops, just like he did before, just like he always has, a little distancefrom touching. Xingchen always lets SongLan be the one to close that last gap, always lets him choose how and when andwhere he’s willing to be touched. Hedidn’t need it explained to him when they first met and doesn’t need it thistime. Song Lan has missed him so much.

“I’m not—I never had your gift with words,” Song Lan goes on, somefeeling rising in his chest that he can’t name, something nearly frantic,because he’s not Xingchen, has never been Xingchen, has never had the rightwords at the right time even when he needed them most desperately. He wrote so many versions of thisconversation in his head, before, that he can’t pick one now. “But I—I am so sorry, Xingchen. I should have done better by you, I was—I wasthoughtless, and you suffered for it--”

“Zichen,” Xingchen says again, weary, and Song Lan shuts up. “I only regretted being blind when it killedyou,” he says, in a low murmur. “When itkilled all those—and that—that was not your fault.”

“But—”

“Enough,” Xingchen says. “You’reforgiven. You were always forgiven,Zichen.” He smiles a little. “Besides, I should be the one apologizing.”

“I won’t listen,” Song Lan says, trying for humor. He never did have the talent for being funnywhen he meant to be, but Xingchen smiles a little more.

“I missed you too. Allthe time.”

Song Lan thinks briefly about kissing him. Maybe later. Instead he reaches up and tips Xingchen’s head onto his shoulder, andsays, “Keep pressure on your hand.”

“It’s not bleeding anymore.”

“Good. Keep pressure onit.”

AndXingchen laughs, with his cheek resting on Song Lan’s shoulder, and Song Lansmiles a little himself.

#the untamed #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #songxiao #xiao xingchen #song lan #starlight writes stuff #headcanon meme #ask meme #i should apparently start doing what sarah yyy does and tag for sadness level according to the girlfriend #mild to medium angst #I THINK YOU MEANT THIS TO BE...KIND AND SWEET #IT'S STILL KIND! but like mild to medium angst without a doubt #this is also verging on being a whole fic rather than headcanons but are any of us really surprised #sl is a few years older than xxc again and he's in grad school for a degree in education #xxc is in his first year of post-secondary something #he has kind of a whole existential crisis about it after getting his memories back #but it turns out okay all things considered #a qing is one of the students song lan teaches the next year and she sees him the first day and shrieks 'daozhang' and throws herself at hi #song lan heroically doesn't drop her in a panic but he does later ask her not to grab him because he doesn't like to be touched #xxc on the other hand loves a hug! and by god a qing wants to give him one!#i have no idea how xue yang figures into this if at all #i just wanted sl and xxc to sit quietly in an er waiting room and talk about missing each other #xiao xingchen kisses him the next day by the way #he reaches out and stops with his hand three inches from song lan's face and says 'may i'#and song lan forces his hand down and brings his left (uninjured) hand up instead and puts xxc's palm to his cheek #and xxc is laughing when he kisses him #a queue we will keep and our honor someday avenge #insert-cleverurl #asked and answered

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lilmajorshawty · 5 years

Text

Saturn In the Houses : Where Are You Years Ahead Of Your Time

Saturn In the First House : The Mountain Snake

(Resident Evil Retribution - Flying Through The Air)

Saturn in the first house is all about world, and how it views them. now in saying this i don’t mean in a conceded sense nor do i mean that they only prioritize themselves in the way others view them or experience them, rather, these natives have a indomitable drive to be seen as both an intellectual and someone of class and deem-able respect. They strive to build on their own and have no trouble carrying the load on their own, in fact this trait is so pronounced that they actually find it impossible to rely on others no matter how impossible the task. this placement of Saturn can make the warrior spirit more grounded and earthy in it’s appeal by giving these natives a rugged and rather stoic look. the men can sport rough facial hair and gorgeously dim faces with arches and ridges that seem to structure the face like fine wine. the women can be beautiful, sporting a strong head of hair and often the hair is unruly or rater natural in it’s expression. the eyes for men and women here are piercing and can seem to stare past your soul. they age as if they’ve been swimming in the fountain of youth which is saying that they age faster in youth and slower as they get older. They are incredibly ambitious and many of them set a lot of stepping stones for others around them with their rather impulsive and direct manner of creating a life for themselves. they don’t wait for the world to give them a sign, rather they make one. they can have an outwardly cold and stoic energy that seems both intimidating and detached to those who are viewing them for the first time. many of these natives have a jarring and rather complex energy and can often carry the energy of someone carrying a burden as old as time itself. they say this placement is associated with a past life in battle, but many fights fought in the past allow this native now in their present life to structure the violence, anger, wrath and passion of the past life. they can become more merciless and driven as they age, willing to do what is necessary at any cost. they are lovely to have on your side in times of crisis and dangerous to have as an enemy. they are never going to be set back by any amount of malice or short comings and dare i say that is one of their most freighting aspects, they cannot be defeated. these natives tend to take a while to build their sense of self but once they do it’s unbreakable and they will and shall preserve over all of the set backs in their life. The desire to reach the highest of heights is at their forefront and their ability to use strands and straws to build a temple or a grand spectral of architecture is one of their finest traits.

Who has It : Katy Perry, Taylor Swift, Monica Bellucci, Russell Crowe, John Lennon, Cher, Alexander the Great, Ellen De Generes. Kesha, Usher.

Motto :

“Even if i must drag my fragmented bones through the wet mud, even if i must tear my limbs from this body, even if i loose my sight, my hearing and my soul, i shall annihilate all who stand in the way of My truth”

Key Expression : Ruthlessness, Self reliance, Tenacious, Hungry, Self critical, Emotionally Unavailable.

Saturn In the Second House : The African Rock Python

(Resident Evil Afterlife - The Outsider(Reholder Apocalypse Mix)

Saturn in the second house is something a bit more quiet and seldom. These people are calculating and extremely intelligent. the mind is often cautiously taking note, watching, understanding and digging. they are pragmatic and business oriented both literally and metaphorically speaking. they place a serious eye and value over the things they possess and hold a rather uncompromising and blunt image of themselves and their self worth which makes it incredibly hard for them to jump into any type of friendship or relationship “unless” they deem themselves as worthy or ready for that matter for something of that nature. They take intimacy and relating to others seriously and can at times seem very distant and short when they address others. to these natives the home they need to focus on maintaining is that of their own inner realm. they don’y care for lavish clothing, they want something that will stand the test of time. they don’t care for quantity, they crave something that can maintain it’s bountiful and rather serene look through and through. they are not ones to sugar coat disasters or short comings in their personality and because of this can take on a rather cruel or mean view towards themselves. they feel a strong desire for inner equilibrium and have a hard time adjusting to society or the world around them when they are internally imbalanced. as lovers they can be SERIOUS. they are are not immediately affectionate which may through people off on the onset of courting stages. they show their interest by making time for you and being dependable and consistent, aside from that they keep a steady face and remain loyal and very dedicated to their unions albeit more difficult than most when it comes to introducing psychical intimacy. These natives are also very reclusive and self invested, though this isn’t in an arian self invested way, it’s more so a self preservation way. they need to feel secure and fight long and hard to create security in themselves first before they look for it in other people. They might seem aloof or impersonal to the naked eye but deep down they are massively sympathetic to an almost tragic level for the woes of others. they genuinely care for people but can be very closed and inward about this. sexually they are passionate and deeply sensual, but these natives will not initiate intimacy or sex unless they are stable on a mental and emotional level as they place their well being and the persons above all else before actively making moves towards deepening or satisfying their needs. these natives are normally shy, timid and quiet. they normally like and need time to recharge from the public. The voices can often be raspy and low/stretched in a way as if the natives are tired. the neck is often small or short and thick. in my experience men and women here are very self aware.

Who Has It : Jesus Christ, Brad pitt, Kanye West, Justin timberlake, Prince, Jennifer Lawarence, Mark Zuckerberg, Arnold Schwarzenegger, jessica alba, Mila jovovich

motto :

“When everything lay to waste, their will be no lover, no mother, no children, no sky, no sea, their shall be only me and where i to have no peace with me, i too would become the ruin”

Key expression: Quiet, isolated, personal, emotionally heavy, very guarded, Loyal to their detriment.

Saturn In The Third House : The Rattlesnake

(Bjork - Army Of Me Sucker Punch Remix)

Saturn in this house can produce someone with a rather complex mind. Information is dispensed in such a way that it can be rather difficult for these natives to learn in school via the ordinary means. these natives may even in some cases have a hard time multi-tasking or working on other things whilst in school due to how much of their mental faculties are eaten up when they focus on one thing. these natives also sport a immense reservoir of memory and spatial awareness skills. they can piece things together or pieces of information from bits and pieces of fragmented knowledge. the rather unnerving thing about this position is the incredible minds that these natives have, their minds move fundamentally different from the rest of us, even more so then Uranus or mercury here information is packaged and tossed deep in the brain where it festers and bunches up with other mental storage. these natives can almost be a walking photo camera the older they get as Saturn here rewards study, and effort put into memorization. the natives often keep things short and sweet and refrain from digging to deep or revealing to much when they are speaking to others. their incredibly mature and wise and can easily convey emotions or feelings without the use of very many words at all. they are truly masters of language and can navigate through words and mannerisms quick enough to decipher your intent and inner workings at the drop of a hat. these natives possess a keen interest in deepening their mental capacity and tend to be advent readers, conspiracy theorist or the types to watch documentaries and or find learning and researching history and ancient mythos(especially roman and Greek). The men and women can sport rather small/fragile hands and a rather constrained or slow manner of speaking. in many cases the eyes can be alluring but cold, they seem impersonal or rather calm with a sadness. these natives are very self critical of their academic habits and can be vulnerable in this area but as they age it becomes their greatest area of talent. these natives can loathe meaningless chit chat and very rarely indulge in it unless it makes sense for the circumstance they happen to be in.

Who Has it : Steve Jobs, Justin bieber, Kylie Jenner, Bjork, Bruce Willis, Jake gyllenhall, tom hanks, penelope cruz, Matt damon

motto:

“ I wish for the day my presence is that of the written word. i angst for the day of paint and scroll held above cloud, where the spoken and the scribbling of said to be madmen and women illuminate all in the blackness of the hour”

Key phrases: Detached, Strange, Poetic, Blunt, short and low paced speech, Sad eyes. mental boredom.

Saturn In The Fourth House : The Copperhead snake

(Florence And the Machine - Seven Devils)

Saturn in the fourth house is something that feels like a massive weight on ones inner world, your core, your vulnerability locked away like some sacred prisoner of the odalisque. This placement often makes these natives emotionally closed, stoic and very emotionally unavailable. these natives don’t spill or open up, not at bonfires or community gatherings, not at family reunions or to long time lovers rather they keep a huge portion of their inner world deeply nestled and hidden away in their heart of hearts. These natives can have a streak for coldness and and even larger one for emotional distance which i might add isn’t something that is done out of self protection or manipulation rather it’s a very deep unconscious wound that these natives carry with them from a past life. wounds of a unimaginable level were placed on the natives, these wounds can be rooted to family as well even when the home life is well. these natives cannot shake the heavy and almost suffocating presence of being home, the parents the family and at times the home itself. these natives may not truly feel comfortable or “themselves” unless they are away from home or home alone away from others. these natives loathe a breach in their privacy and because of this a great deal of them is practically a mystery due to how little of themselves they are actually okay with divulging. it can take them years and sometimes decades before they feel comfortable enough to open up with you about their emotions and this is something that can carry on for quite sometime. These natives do have very deep and very structured emotions that are well beyond their years. they grew up quickly on a mental and emotional level and it’s something you can see in their actions and decisions. these natives can be worries and suffer from extensive bouts of depression and societal isolation especially if Saturn is harshly aspected. these natives can go into what i like to call hibernation periods in which they go missing or disengage from society for periods of time and depending on who you are, you might not hear from them for quite a bit. these natives are almost nomadic like and seem to have a rather serious and intense relationship with their emotional realm. they want to be truly seen and understood on a deep emotional level but they often realize that their emotional nature is so complex and deep that it can be hard to find that understanding. compassion and intimacy are hallmarks of their true nature but are also aspects you might never see in them until they make the choice to make it so. the chest for the women with this placement unless having Venus, moon or a naturally watery or earth sign on the cusp tend to be rather petite. while men here can also have a rather fragile and or boney chest. these natives may have a very serous family as the IC rules family heritage. so the family could be hardworking and very critical. These natives can also be remarkably ambitious and deeply grounded people deep down no matter how lighthearted and unpredictable they may seem with other placements in their chart. these natives despite their deep seriousness have a very caring and emotive nature and a love for nature and all people but they also in a sense lack the means to express this.

Who Has It: Marilyn Monroe, Madonna, Tom cruise, Drake, Gwen Stefani, Ashton Kutcher, john travolta, Yoko ono

Motto:

“ I’ve been locked away with my demons for such a time now that i too have become them, but I've also claimed the lantern god left so fervently”

Key Phrase: Intense, Cold, Sympathetic, Nurturing, Provider, Stoic, Closed off.

Saturn In The Fifth House: The Forest Cobra

(The Rocket Builder - Johann Johannsson)

In The case of Saturn in the 5th one is always catered to the question, to love or to isolate. these natives can struggle with the idea of children, the concept of innocence and the childlike ignorance to the hardships of life almost seem like a unthinkable medium to them. in reality despite their rather stoic and tempered view towards children, children are no less motivated to be around these natives. these natives inspire youth and can have quite the powerful effect on the motivations and aspirations of children. these natives see a limit to themselves while the rest of the world sees color and something intangible, like gold and god. these natives have a strong romantic nature but one that is old and timeless like the sands of time. they don’t open their heart easily nor do they seek commitment or sexual expression for the sake of self validation, they need depth and true consistency to commit to anyone otherwise the journey is meaningless. these natives have a very tragic and often times harsh relationship with self expression. either they are incredibly artistic or they are unconsciously limiting these talents. if there is any representation i could use i would compare these natives to the angels. they are very spiritual and innately 4D types who constantly dissociate and travel amongst dimensions making them seem rather jaded or strangely misaligned. these natives read vibrations more than they do words and actions and can often be very quick to annihilate a bond or situation the moment they sense a fallacy in the way your energy is being dispensed. intimacy and sex is often reserved for long time lovers and is very rarely, if at all something these natives spend their time begging the stars for. they are never short of admirers or sexual invitations due to being preserved as “hard to get” but the actuality is that they spend more time protecting their inner sense of peace then they do capitalizing on superficial tropes. these natives are extremely patient and slow with their works and can work on projects for years. having children is normally something these natives postpone until later in life, and if they do have them young it’ll be an area of constant growth until later in life as parenting might not be an immediate skill. dating runs slow and can be rather shy and quiet in the start but much like Lilith here these natives tend to marry the people they date or meet in the realm of the 5th house due to the longevity of Saturn.

Who Has It : Shakira, Bill gates, Heath ledger, Chris brown, Bruce lee, Mel Gibson, Emma stone, Isaac Newton, Mike Tyson, Niall Horan.

Motto:

“ Everything good in this world takes getting used to.”

Key Phrase: Deep, Earthy, Sensuous, curious, Blunt, isolated, free, inspiring, devoted, persistent, giving, understanding, forgiving.

Saturn In The Sixth House : The Pit Viper Snake

( West-world Soundtrack - This World)

Saturn In the 6th House Can create a native who is the high end architect of both their life and the life of others. they build, they build the scene, the work environment, they build their health, they build their reputation and their fundamentals as if it were all parts of one big house. they have a deep inner grounded sense of stability and home that often makes them seem unphased or rather lacking in emotional turbulence when dealing with others or even in some ways with themselves. they don’t acknowledge weaknesses in themselves and in a darker twist of fate they go to great lengths to eliminate any short comings both emotionally and physically that they deem toxic or unhealthy to their well being. for this reason these natives normally are remarkably fit and steer clear of any major aliments. this is for good reason as these natives tend to hold on to sickness for a while once it makes its way into the body. this can mean prolonged fights with colds that last well over their designated time or sometimes in some cases this can mean damage to the joints or bones. that being said Saturn here works hard to repair the body anytime scenarios like this do come about. these natives work incredibly hard and even if Saturn is afflicted here these natives are able to remain remarkably steady and grounded in their daily lives. these natives tend to plan quite a bit and can have a hard time dealing with people or situations that lack a plan or a sort of well rehearsed background. schooling can also be a source of irritation as these natives can be incredibly picky on how they prefer to be taught. teachers with quirks or little nuances in their teaching tend to cause these natives irritation as their isn’t a stable or straight forward approach in this teaching style. these natives are very reasonable when it comes to others but they also value their Independence and sense of self highly so they can be incredibly hard to tie down or create a long lasting union with due to how high of a bar they’ve set for themselves. don’t be mistaken, it’s not that these natives are arrogant rather it’s that these natives place a special value on loving the self before you’re able to love anyone else. They may want bonds or love, but they need stability and true heartfelt connectivity before they can even fathom the depth of such a connection with another person. their co-workers are often serious, grounded and mature types who have high plans for their future. they often inspire the native to rise in ranks or in positions. these natives tend to navigate away from people who are co-dependent or emotionally weak. they can have an aura of toughness and seem rather unapproachable but it’s really just that these natives feel the inner desire to carry themselves with respect and caution to the outside world. their bone structure similar to Saturn in the 10th house is incredibly well made and proportioned. the hips and lower spine can be arched in a rather coiled snake like manner. the skin can also be oily for many with this placement. the stomach is very strong and these natives usually are blessed with a good digestive system which(is great for acne and emotional stress levels.) another side note is that these natives NAP a lot. they tend to be easily worn out or tired due to Saturn low energy levels.

Who has it : Lady gaga, Nicole Kidman, Jennifer Aniston, Keanu reeves, Amy Winehouse, Lindsey Lohan, Orlando Bloom, Adele, Jimi hendrix, Demi lovato

Motto :

“ Order outside will generate order inside.”

Key Phrase: Mesmerizing, commanding, Astute, tempered, sloths, bored

Saturn In The Seventh House : Eastern Green Mamba Snake

(Annihilation Ost - The Alien )

relationships play out in a rather heavy manner for these natives, be it years in the making or be it that they themselves can’t readily open up to the opportunity. Saturn here acts as the father, in spirit it halts the sphere of connectivity between these natives and the people they interact with in a shadow sense. these natives may notice that people view them in a serious manner or suddenly may become more intense and more stoic in their presence. the honest truth is that Saturn here surrounds the environment in this candid and rather suffocating weight. mind you this is not bad at all, it’s only Saturn ensuring that the energy and the people brought into these natives lives is real, honest and pure in intention. that being said these natives have a natural guardian that brings the shadows to light, be it addictions, crime, manipulation, and so forth. Saturn here works for the individual by showing them the bad in others, the real part of others, the honest aspect of others in order to help these natives grow. connections can be difficult to form because it seems as though everyone is running away from these natives which isn’t so far from the truth. i’ll be honest in saying Saturn energy scares some people due to how deep and intense it really can be. it forces everyone to confront a side of themselves they might not have ever considered before and it also forces everyone to mature and face the music. this is not bad at all, rather these natives are blessed with the ability to attract the very real and bare versions of people instead of their performances, or their masks...these natives get to see behind the curtain and this is their superpower. dating can be hard as the typical fun flirting is absent until a later part of the relationship. Saturn does things backwards here and forces the more deep and heavy aspect of relating to someone else to come up first before the more lighthearted and playful part. the reason being is Saturn wants that deep and guarded intimacy, the kind people build stories utop of. so due to this Saturn doesn’t mind to reverse roles and cause a longer courting stage if it means true connections and bonds being formed. forming friendships or even any type of relationship for that matter can take years or months depending on Saturn well being aspect wise. these natives prefer long lasting unions and usually get that. the marriage is often very resilient and deeply fulfilling for the natives! they often marry very loving and nurturing despite the partners serious and stoic nature. these natives are also on the more serious side themselves even though they might not see it in within them. they tend to have more petite butts that can be on the more angular side of things. Saturn makes the butt look great here even if it might be on the smaller side. it really depends on the other planets here though. the partner will often have Saturn in their chart or in aspect to their natal planets. it’s also common to attract someone with strong 10th house energy. Saturn here makes things petite and since the 7th house rules the pelvis and buttocks, one can have a very well shaped butt and may even have a lovely structure to it as well. relationships can be very handwork here but they are incredibly rewarding and these natives should always wait to marry if they can or make sure that the person you’re marrying has strong Saturn contacts to you. That being said they are very loving and tender people despite their rather cool and aloof outward energy.

Who has it: Johnny Depp, Kurt Cobain, Christina Aguilera, Selena Gomez, Eminem, David Bowe, Ryan gosling, Jud Law, Sylvester Stallone, Gerad Butler

Motto :

“I was already on the other side, i had been there from the start like a cold reflection in cement...i was already there.”

Key phrases : Intense, depressive, closed, tense, anxious, stable, steady, rigorous, emotionally unavailable(in the beginning), transparent.

Saturn In The Eighth House : The Black Mamba Snake

(West-World Soundtrack - This world)

with Saturn in the Eighth house the native can feel like a disconnected, fragmented disarray. They may not easily confide in others and can have an extended “getting to know each other” stage with seemingly no ending in sight. These natives can seem detached and extremely emotionally absent especially in moments where emotional softness and kindness may be necessary. These natives do not mean to seem this way, it’s sadly just that in many cases these natives where put last as far as emotions go and due to earlier experiences these natives have learned to barricade their true feelings and vulnerabilities behind a steel door. Pushing them to hard to open up to soon often makes them shut down and place a superficial mask to make the invasion go away. These natives are keen on human nature and know how to pretend and play the naive or weak minded role that the people ask of them. beneath this facade lies a strong energy, a seemingly intangible reservoir of depth and intensity that would make Pluto, Hades and Lilith cower. These natives grapple with the idea of power and it’s place in their life and the lives of others. They may shift between vulnerable and innocent to dominant and wise. This is actually a prelude to the expression of their sexuality, they tend to derive their pleasure of BDSM and or more aggressive and control themes in sexual encounters because of their ociliating nature. they associate sexual expression and their desire for it in a complex way. on one end they hate their sexual desires and wish to repress them and on the other hand the repression creates an almost animalistic desire for “TRUE” sexual expression. For this reason these natives tend to have the most powerful, earthy sexual drive of the zodiac. Sex for them is something that is flesh to flesh, true intimacy and relating and something they cannot and will not just have with anyone. they can also be very hard to get intimate with because of hoe seriously they take revealing that hidden aspect of themselves. these natives can be very dark and have a sort of heaviness to their nature that seeps out here and there as an ominous or heavy serious air. They loathe superficiality but they feed it to the people they interact because they secretly fear their true nature is boring, stagnate and far to intense for people to handle. they can handle finances very seriously and no matter how afflicted Saturn is, these natives take time to grow money and are cautious about any inheritance or scams. they aren’t the types to spend money on others unless you’ve earned their trust and loyalty, till then they can seem cheap and Grinch like about money usage. they can last for hours in sex and have stamina unheard of, in men and women the size of the genitals can be small or Tight for women. in men it can make the member small but this isn’t always the case especially if other planets are here, the sign on the cusp and aspects to Saturn itself. These natives will live long lives and may outlive their partners. The desire for the real and honest aspects of life are real and these people can be very turned off by immaturity or a lack of stability in any of their interactions. a strange thing here is that Saturn from this spot ages the whole chart so it can cause other planetary placements to act more mature or less lighthearted even if Saturn is not touching them.

Who has it: Martin Luther King, Jay-Z, Kristen Stewart, Robert Downey Jr, Khloe Kardashian, Salvador Dali, Michael Jordan, Virgin Mary, Michael Fassbender, Dwayne Johnson, Frida kahlo, Henry cavil, Franklin D Roosevelt, Liz Greene

Motto :

“Power is Power”

Key phrases: Concrete, sensual, Horny, intellectual, dark, melancholic, sorrow, the maid/The Military general duality, intensity, DEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

Saturn In The Ninth House : The Jamesons Mamba

(The Gazelle Twins - The Entire City)

With Saturn in the ninth house the term Maneater comes into mind. these natives can have a rampaging mind. they are often dancing between ideals and philosophies and working tirelessly to give them footing, grounding or a sense of transparency. they may maintain an air of stoicism or clandestine projection when they express their values and interpretations of faith but it’s merely because they themselves feel as though believing in some un-palpable force is like playing Russian roulette. they want some sort of grounding and reliability in the “word” and “pen” and because of this they approach these matters with seriousness and intensity as they seek to find the source of the matter. These natives can be relatively to them selves at university and college and might even major in law or seek to pioneer their own business or work in architecture as these natives have quite the eye for beauty and reconstruction due to how differently their minds operate. the natives are tenacious and a tad abrasive when expressing their disdain or disapproval of faulty belief systems in others and it can be a deal breaker for them if your beliefs fail to meet them in the middle in some way. They tend to have a strong desire to learn, understand and register information. in many ways Saturn can make the thighs smaller or more petite but the shaping and angular standing of the thighs to hip will be amazing. their is an earthy look to the individuals and longer more ruffled looks are common in men and shorter more androgynous looks are preferred for the women. their can be a closed or serious nature towards experimentation and towards luck as these natives feel like one should never solely rely on luck to make things pan out. these natives because of this tend to be go getters and can place quite a bit of passion and drive into much of their efforts which often wins them admiration and respect from those who watch in the shadows. these natives can constantly stay working or struggle with giving themselves a brake but for a good cause as these natives tend to do remarkable in their college endeavors. their oversee voyages tend to be a serious event and the encounters they have can leave a huge mark on them emotionally, they tend to travel seldom when younger and this increases following the nearing of the Saturn return. these natives can feel powerful and don’t hold on to people or situations as to them people and situations change all the time, why waste time that could be spent working, growing and thriving on a choice that fell through the cracks in a carefully made bridge only continuing to grow in size.

Who Has it: Rihanna, Hillary Clinton, Julia Roberts, Uma Thurman, Nicki Minaj, 14th Dalai Lama, Prince William, Prince Harry(explains their controversial Interracial marriages), Jared leto, Paul McCarthy

Motto :

“The Fire Never Goes out”

Key Phrases: Keen, ardent, impatient, BLUNT, impulsive, critical, private, compassionate, REAL

Saturn In The Tenth House : The King Cobra Snake

(The Smiths - How Soon Is Now?)

These natives are the epitome of Saturn, the ooze it, they embody it they express it like an extension of their spiritual being and for that reason they can seem like an authoritative energy without even trying. People respect them, but people also fear them the same way we fear our boss, our parents, our obligations, our shortcomings or our real self. They are stable at the core and very easily lay the stepping stones necessary to achieve, though with Saturn's energy here success often does come later in life but when it does it is usually following very rigorous work and dedication from the individual in question. These natives are competitive but in a very quiet and restrained way, for them coming in second place or being told it was “good” or hearing the words “i enjoyed..” irritates them. They in a sense care little for public validation, and more about their own ability to surpass the limitations they set for themselves. they tend to treat life and it’s circumstances like a game of cards, and can often have a manipulative or “business as usual” approach when it comes to dealing with the public or confidants. To them unless it had to do with the work, the quality, or the means of the end, they’d rather not waste their time. These natives can be advent global warming fighters, as this position creates a very strong tie to the earth itself. these natives care deeply about the animals and the environment and can be very aggressive and even volatile towards people who fail to treat the environment with respect. these natives often dress to impress and even when they’re dressing down they have this patriarch like air to them as if the world was waiting for them to arrive. these natives have a swagger to them, as if they have the whole room gripping and swaying to their movement. Their is a strong need to dissociate and disappear with this placement so often these natives can go MIA for days or weeks at a time depending on what wave of melancholy or project has them all caught up now. These natives have beautiful smiles and can have incredible bone structures. They do care about how they are portrayed by the media or by others in public so they tend to keep a low profile. These natives can be very frank and tel you how it is, so if you are sensitive you might want to keep it short with them. These natives tend to be drawn to fashion, Acting, ,modeling, directing, and so on. In fact Saturn on the MC or in aspect to the MC is common amongst models and or designers. the ability to make money and capital out of nothing but water and a dog bone is strong as shit here and these natives will indeed outsell, outsway, out publish, out swim, and overall outdo you with both legs and arms tied behind their back because they are literally just that driven. the impact they leave on the world lat decades and even ions after they’ve longed been buried in the soil.

Who has it: Michael Jackson, Leonardo DiCaprio, Albert Einstein, Adolf Hitler, Kim Kardashian, Miley Cyrus, Leonardo DaVinci, Oprah Winfrey, Paris Hilton, Al Pacino, Celine dion, Bill Clinton, Mila kunis, James dean

Motto:

“I’d eat the nation if i could, I’ll eat the world because i can”

Key phrases: Mysterious, Distant, polite, imperialistic, ambitious, competitive, altruistic, Black Seminole

Saturn In The Eleventh House : The Atheris hispida Snake

(Cocteau twins - But Im Not )

These Natives can Be everything that opposes culture and societal up charge. They possess a strong spacious air to them as if they are this cosmic force on earth. They can be magnetic, prophetic, dark, enticing and deeply revolutionary. These natives have a natural talent for leadership and crowd attracting as they understand the intricate parts of human interaction, they understand the crowd, the outsiders because they themselves despise the insiders, the people pleasers and the followers. they aren’t the types to beg for acceptance but in their early years they often did, the spent their time trying so hard to fit in, to be welcomed and accepted but sadly they were rejected and often times bullied for their giving and loving nature. as these natives age they learn ruthlessness and they learn to express themselves no matter the recoil. they value people who are new, different and stable in their concept of “themselves.” Saturn is remarkably comfy in this house due to the fact that the 11th house and Aquarius are both co-ruled by Saturn. So these natives despite their electric and rather tethered nature can be serious, detached and highly dissociated from the world around them. they like the aloofness and lighthearted nature of connecting with others because it fulfills their need to understand, meet and converge. they actually despise people and are not very good at hiding it once an interaction that should’ve lasted a few days turns into something that becomes consistent. they can amputate relationships both romantic and platonic and even familial as if it were a house fly on their shoulder. They are not evil or cold, rather they just learned early on not to dig to deep into people or their intentions and as a result they keep a blockaded on their more compassionate and loving traits. these natives tend to be skeptics and harshly critical of civil rights movements or cultural uprisings in general because they hate crowd and mob mentality, to them any organized revolution needs grounding and a deeper meaning behind it’s efforts otherwise it’s childish and a waste of time. these natives also hold a great deal of their emotions within and because of this they can see,m unloving or out of reach to loved ones or friends even if it’s been years of knowing them. They tend to prefer authentic friendships and will bend over backwards for friends, lovers and so on so long as you prove to them your loyalty, patience and time. they wont open up for a while and can take years before they do and they’ll disappear and ghost you constantly till then because they’ve been hurt more than most in the area where most of us see our future and are most optimistic. they may seem pessimistic or stoic but it’s merely their desire for the truth and authenticity that causes this. they normally are very big on being ones true self and in the presence of people who struggle with this they can take on a colder air and seem rather unmoved or disgusted at the pity party. they are passionate but far away. the calves and ankles are often small and boney but very sturdy and sensual. The legs in general are amazing to look at.

Who has it: Donald trump, George Clooney, Cameron Diaz, Freddie Mercury, Natalie portman, Megan Fox, Cristiano Ronaldo, Pamela Anderson, Marlon Brando, robin Williams, Vincent Van Gogh, Charlize Theron, Charles Manson, Zac effron, Halle berry, Ryan reynolds, Joaquin Phoenix, Jessica Biel

Motto :

“I could stand in a room of millions gathered all for me and i’d still feel alone”

Key phrases: Lonely, detached(very), impersonal, electric, bubbly, frank, honest, Free spirit, dark, melancholy, mean spirited. compassionate and caring.

Saturn In The 12th House : The Spider-tailed horned viper Snake (Cocteau Twins - Alice)

Saturn in The 12th house can feel like a heavy weight on the soul, as if the soul’s been drained of it’s life force before it even took a breath. their is a constant feeling of exhaustion or need to recuperate. There can be periods of extreme anxiety, depression, manic episodes or heightened states of mental awareness and emotional energy and then suddenly “nada.” everything goes quiet and everything can seem like a empty opera room with a photo camera going off. there is a sense of being grounded but never really “expressing” or “feeling” this security in a tangible form. these natives can seem a bit disorganized, restless or moody upon meeting them, hell they may even seem like they’re hiding things or being fraudulent and or deceptive due to the blurry and rather incomplete personality they present. They are remarkably deep and have a immense empathetic nature that can make even the strongest of strong men buckle. they are very sweet but they are not always able to control when this side of them comes out. unfortunately their more serious and cautious nature blurs the line between duty, love, duty, relationships, duty, trauma, duty, and so on in a cycle. they can often be very private and reclusive, preferring to be alone with themselves or nature. they often have very beautiful inner worlds and can give so much of themselves to the environment and the world at large. They usually have a fine list of artistic abilities but it takes them time to bring them out into the world. art, singing, dancing, and so on are brilliant gate ways to expressing that inner burden in their hearts. These natives can constantly feel like there is an inner voice telling them they wont amount to anything or are not good enough which is often the main debilitating force for these natives. They are so kind and genuinely soft spirited and these natives have a hard time doing wrong as Saturn reminds them constantly off errors or short comings. These natives value the flaws just as much as the beauty in others and often push for a more accepting environment and world. these natives don’t see color, sexual orientation, or status which is often why they feel conflicted because Saturn feels like things need order and classification but the 12th house blurs those lines. Their can be trouble dreaming or in some cases dreams of being trapped, restricted or in a different body are common. The feet tend to be small :) but this is very cute! this placement can be hard for women as it makes them unable to differentiate the feeling of duty from pleasure which unconsciously places them into unhappiness or unhealthy expectations of themselves. For men it can be Even worse as it can lead to melancholy, depression and emotional confusion that being said we all have our battles and Saturn in the 12th housers are amazing because Saturn as they age teaches them to handle their mind, their mental health and their conscious self and soul. so they tend to have strong minds and comprehensive abilities even as they age. These natives tend to express an air of happiness and optomisim though on an outward level and for the most part you’ll never real know their struggles or pain because of how genuinely positive and good willed these people are.

Who has it: Barack Obama, Angelina Jolie, Beyonce knowles, Scarlett johnasson, Vladmir Putin, Mariah carey, Whitney Houston, Zayn malik, Will smith, Kendall jenner, Ben Affleck, tyra banks, Robert De Niro, Ted Bundy, George W. Bush

Motto :

“Deception is the only Felony”

Key Phrases : introspective, spiritual, hermit, persistent, tired, lazy, caught up in the past

Final Notes: If you look at the celebrities that share the particular Saturn placement you’ll notice familiarties with them, you’ll notice nuances and small call back of energy! this is why i find astrology so interesting, were all connected.

#Mine #saturn through the houses

5K notes · View notes

pavlikovskaya · 4 years

Text

the secret history live blogged

forever mad that i got spoilered so much on this book.

anyway hello! and welcome to this … shit fest of the secret history by donna tartt aka the biggest letdown of my life

enjoy! i didn’t

ok whaatttt the fuck. he was walked over?? he was packed and squished under ice?? WHAT DID THIS BUNNY GUY DO TO MAKE Y’ALL SO MAD????? istg what the fuck. cruel cruel fate

four against one, i knew y’all were assholes. you sounded like assholes before i even knew what your names were.

i have to say, i’m not a very big fan on the beginning: hello, my name is richard, i am 28, this is my story. makes it sound like he’s in an AA meeting, but i’ll let this one slide.

years at home dispensable like a plastic cup? fictional history and upbringing tales? [*clears throat in relatable*]

my father was mean, my house ugly, my mum didn’t give me attention, must kill someone to cope and serve the aesthetic™ of rejected, unloved child, brooding and mad at the world. got it.

if richard, plain and poor is the one who kills the rich asshole bc he’s a rich asshole, i might relate to him more than i thought.

[*slams book shut*] okay. okay. am i gonna have to google every other phrase in this godforsaken history book or is donna gonna go easy on my ass?

sounds like a university i would love to go to. oh, pardon me, CoLlEgE.

wait, they’d pay him back for the plane if he GOT IN??? and if he didn’t well then what, soz dude, tough luck , such is life, see ya never? makes a lot of sense. should pay him back regardless imo but hey, i had to pay £50 six times to audition at universities who, all six times, rejected me, so.

three days on a bus and arrival at six in the morning? i cannot fathom a worse scenario.

this prof conducts his selection on a personal level rather than on an academic one, said with a note of sarcasm? is he … you know … ?

ahhhh these saucy saucy tea spilling french people, gotta love em. ‘listen, i know i’ve only met you three minutes ago, but i’m bout to spill some serious tea which i must ask you to keep to yourself and never mention for i have some formidable enemies in the literature division, yes, my very own department, but we all actually love each other. you know, in a very shakespearian ‘i shall murder you at the end of the play but for now, let’s make sweet love under the stars as a witch friend of mine who will later murder you watches’ way. all very platonic. but don’t say a word of it.’

who do you think was with morrow when richard came to see him in the lyceum and what were they talking about? GODDAMN IT, this french bastard put me in a gossipy mood.

bunny — short for edmund…….

god, i love a redhead.

richard and me being whipped by francis and his long, flapping black coats, love to see it.

‘pseudo-intellects and teenage decadents abounded and black clouting was de rigueur’ can I enrol ~now~????

francis talks to cats and bunny yells from his window down at the incest twins to stop snogging in the garden. i can’t wait to see which one am I at the end of the book

henry and julian driving off together? do i smell something…. gay?

THEY WRITE WITH FOUNTAIN PENS????? [*flashbacks from my childhood intensify*].

i do not understand most of these references or sentences and if the whole book is like this, i will throw myself out the window in attempted suicide even though i live on the ground floor.

i have absolutely no idea what they’re on about.

hwhat

francis in black cashmere and cigarette smoke brushed past him and almost touched his arm. how bloody delicious is this??

‘give him some flowers and he’ll enrol you.’ ok, julian is definitely the gay prof everyone falls for.

at this stage, i would rater have voted we kill henry, not bunny, but we’ll see.

‘i was tired of being poor.’ [*buys a tie with pictures of men hunting deer on it*] ‘that’s better.’

‘i believe that it is better to know one book intimately than a hundred superficially.’ donna tartt gave me the book and the reason both.

constantly chuckling at the way richard is so completely mesmerised and intimidated by francis to the point that he’ll duck into a doorway to let him pass even though they’re going to the same lesson.

I don’t know how a ‘bostonian voice’ is supposed to sound like so francis will be slightly british in my mind for the rest of the book.

cubitum eamus? cubitum. eamus? CUBITUM?? EAMUS????? OH! GOD! HELP ME! THE SWEET SWEET HOMOEROTIC FORESHADOWING OF IT ALL!!! throwback to when, in a much too similar vein, boris, upon being asked by theo to say something in russian for him, he said ‘fuck you up the ass’. my heart is racing with yearn. i can’t fucking believe i just read this. it’s time to bust out the annotation tabs again.

oh my gooooddd whAt is henry’s problem????? he reminds me slightly of number one from the umbrella academy, but in a meaner, more show-offy, bastardish way that’s supposed to showcase his superior intelligence over all mortals like fuck you, go read harry potter and chill.

‘meke (s.p.) you Wear it’? i take it meke is actually make but what on earth is (s.p.)? google gave me 238 possible definitions for that acronym and, needless to say, i didn’t bother.

i love how donna’s main characters are funny essentially bc they’re bitches towards other people they deem inferior to them in their internal monologues.

if you were drunk and ‘slam-dancing’ at a party, i don’t have to be stuck up or elitist to judge you and hate on you. even less so if you throw your beer in my face.

‘love that jacket, silk, isn’t it?’ ‘yep, my grandfather’s. totally not from that annoying girl in my dorm whose mate your mates beat up at a party last term for shoving camilla and throwing a beer in her face and who probably only gave me the jacket because she wants to fuck me, nope.’

‘let me get that door for you.’ that’s it, that’s the tweet.

when bunny said they should round up the ‘officious fags and burn them at the stake’ i yelled the loudest what the fuck i’ve ever yelled at a book. i can see now why they killed him. and i bet that’s only the tip of the iceberg.

okay, his true colours are starting to show. it’s even more unnerving when i think about the fact that like half of this stuff is supposed to be true.

called it, they’re boning.

i can’t wait until francis locks lips with richard. i am simply tingling for it. i hope he and camilla have a threesome with richard at this country house. oh wait no, they’re all here. eh, maybe another time.

oh, we finally get some juicy inside gossip

if francis and richard don’t fuck in that gorgeous immense library, i will riot.

okay, what’s henry’s deal? he’s nice now? and he’s oddly … interested in/caring towards richard? like who the fuck says ‘i hope you slept well’ without at least a little affection towards them.

AHAHAHAAHA, NOW I GET ALL THOSE MOON LANDING QUESTIONS ON THE TSH RELATED UQIZZES I STUPIDLY TOOK. I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL. imagine them lot in present day completely bewildered and confused at the fact that the whole world is in lockdown for some weird fucking reason. this is the funniest shit ever, swear to god.

dogs get heart attacks?

wow they’re being dicks. that shady shit they’re doing’s so fucking rude aajksdhfkfh and to think i had initially thought richard was the ‘leader’ of their group...

okay, they’re either all into bdsm or they’re some odd breed of late vampires who don’t have much of the traits/qualities of ‘classic’ vampires as they have possibly diminished over the centuries as the species was becoming extinct. maybe witches. hm. or occultists. I REALLY DON’T KNOW!!

richard be like ‘what should I tell you?’ well—and this is merely a suggestion—, how about you start with what they’re actually doing when they’re not hanging out with you?????

i can’t wait for bunny to figure/find out richard’s not actually rich and be a dick about it.

two months??? what kind of bonkers winter vacation between terms is that???

is being constantly cold part of the dark academia aestehtic? cos it certainly seems to be.

what the fuck are these (sp)s bunny keeps putting in his letters??

i hope somebody (henry, or maybe francis? as something that would bring them together?) is fake rich too.

ouuuuu here comes the dark, mental stuff.

richard dropped out of drama to study the classics. if we were villains is a group of people studying shakespeare. coincidence? i think not. it is with dread that i think at the possibility that i might like the other more because so far, i can’t say i’m heavily impressed with tsh.

now i’m all for weird, fancy names, but marchbanks is really an odd one. who the fuck looks at their newborn baby and goes ben? nah. tom? no. MARCHBANKS! perfect.

henry winter saves richard from a piping cold winter. ah, don’t bother, i’ll do it myself [*jumps out the window*]

henry dislikes electric lights? smokes cigarettes without filter? reads milton translated into latin ‘just to see if a language with no noun cases could possibly support the structural order he attempts to impose’? can this dude be any more pretentious?

BUNNY! IT’S BUNNY! HE’S FAKE RICH THE BASTARD! ALL THAT ‘oops, forgot my wallet’ BULLSHIT, I THOUGHT IT WAS A TEST FOR RICHARD OR JUST RICH PEOPLE LEECHING OFF OTHERS (why spend yours when you can spend theirs?) BUT NOOOO, HE’S BROOOOKE! AND AN ASSHOLE! WHAT AN ASSHOLE!!! serves him right, the asshole (that gay people being burnt at the stake comment really bothered me despite the fact that i laughed). and not only is he broke and leeching off of henry, he leeches in the most shameless, greedy, extravagant and ignorant way, ordering the most expensive thing on the menu fuck out of here.

ha! he got fat the bastard. found some sugar daddy to sustain you during your last month in italy or what?

this rabbit dude sure has some big balls for a broke ass bitch.

‘let me see your head wound.’ vs ‘your arm.’

‘that sort of tension which i, being rather more disinclined that way than not, am quick to pick up on. i had caught a strong breath of it from francis, a whiff of it at times from julian (…)’ sounds like we got another one boys, a straight dude with the best gaydar in the world. that being said, julian is the fakest bitch in the book so far.

this secrecy is killing the ever-loving shit out of me. argentina one way?? whY

lol if you’re gonna steal his book with the intention of having him come back to the apartment and see all that shit, at least don’t put it in such an obvious place where he couldn’t have possibly missed it. for such a smart guy, you sure are dumb, dude.

francis’ mother be like ‘give that bad boy a kiss from me’ and i’m like HE BETTER.

richard the worst liar. just say your mum called for fuck’s sake! you could get your boyfriend in trouble!

cheesecake cover: ‘please do not steal this, i am on financial aid.’ bunny: [*steals it*] the cheesecake: [*sucks*] me: serves you fucking right, pig.

THINKING ABOUT HIS HANDICAP. I’M YELLING. funniest thing donna tartt ever wrote.

i bet they’re all there sat at the table like nothing happened and weren’t supposed to leave anywhere at all.

called it! motherfuckers.

what the hell is going on. are they a gang of assassins or something?

richard: ‘you killed somebody, didn’t you?’ henry: [*laughs as if it was the most ridiculous idea in the world and how could you possibly suggest such a thing*] yep

bunny: gays are weirdly obsessed with food, don’t you think? also bunny: [*gets excluded from the bacchanal because he couldn’t stop eating*]

okay. i can see now why this book started the whole dark academia aesthetic

aight, that’s all good and great (far from it) but WHERE IS MY FRANCIS CONTENT????

going through the motions of hating and liking henry every other chapter.

everybody: [*burning clothes, cleaning the car, running this way and that to get rid of evidence*] francis: aight y’all imma take a power nap real quick cool? cool

there is hardly anything in the world i hate more than loose-of-tongues. bunny and that bitch ass hely from the little friend. god, i want to sock each and every single one of them in their stupid bloody loud mouths.

i want to know, i really want to know if there are any bunny apologists or … s…. s… [*grits teeth*] stans out there. don’t worry, nothing will happen to you, i just wanna talk.

if it’s henry and richard and not francis and richard,,,,, i will riot.

boy this henry guy smokes a lot…. more than me in my prime.

as if this dude reenacted the murder he wasn’t even present at in the lobby of a hotel just to torture henry. i can’t believe this character is still alive and has been for so long.

FINALLY! one francis moment that indicated there will be no more francis moments…. .

funny that, reading the secret history put something into perspective about the goldfinch for me.

i love how richard just casually throws it in there whenever he happens to mention camilla that he loves her and wants to kiss her and that she’s so beautiful and blah blah blah and then it’s never brought up again ever because he’s constantly going on and on about henry.

wait, don’t tell me it’s happening now, in the middle of the book! that would be most unexpected as there’s a whole entire book following.

henry is such a stone cold bitch, i wonder where they put his heart when they made him, in his ass?

don’t tell me henry went boxer dogs on JULIAN?!?!?! he wouldn’t. … would he?

i don’t know. i get it, obviously, the gravity of the situation, but going as far as killing him to silence him is a bit … extreme in my opinion.

thank you, charles, for being the only voice of reason in this madness.

okay, i understand it’s in richard’s best interest not to be involved, but they called him there to what, make him listen to all this and then send him on his merry way?

charles: well, if you wake up intending to murder someone at two o’clock, you hardly think of what you’re going to feed the copse for dinner. [*crickets*] francis: hey, how about asparagus?

henry: someone’s coming. quick! act normal! richard: [*turns to inspect the trunk of a tree*] [*footsteps approach*] richard: [*inspection of tree intensifies!!*]

you’re a bit late, bunny, just saying.

and now what the fuck is the rest of the book about? what do we do, let’s run, let’s stay, let’s go to the police, what do we do with him?

i love how richard describes himself as part of the process: we dwelt on it, we convinced ourselves, we devised plans when in reality, he was only there as an attaché, he wasn’t included much, almost at all in the actual planning process of it other than to give his insight on the poison route because henry thought it was his area of expertise so to speak when, really, it wasn’t and then was told about the other plan because they simply thought he should know. even then henry tells him ‘you can go now, if you like’ because there wasn’t anything they sort of needed him for anymore since he wasn’t going to be there, he was just a pair of ears. i like to think he was there in hopes to maybe dissuade them, try to stop them, tell them how mad it is, tell them there’s another way, but he didn’t do much of that either (not that I think he would’ve succeeded anyway, had he tried, henry’s one stubborn motherfucker). he didn’t come up with shit, he wasn’t supposed to even be there, i think, much less contribute in any way. had bunny not told him about the bacchanal, richard would have probably found out about it after it was already done, he was only included for the fucks of it and yet, he talks as if he was right there in the room with them, brainstorming ideas how to kill him. and i get how it only comes from a sense of obvious guilt because he knew about it, he was there and didn’t do anything to stop it, but he’s by far not one to have agreed to the whole thing or condoned it in any way from what he’s told us in book one. he himself says in the very same paragraph that he only watched. he’s very much a dark academia nick carraway type of character and i hate it. because i like him. he deserves better.

i’m pretty sure that the reason that serial killer autobiography you picked up in an airport was bereft of details is because no publishing house would allow such lurid specifications that might shock, disgust, enrage or give ideas to the reader in their book, not because the author is shy, richard, but ok, let’s move on. actually no, let’s not. you can’t expect the autobiography of a killer to only tell you about the murders, especially since in this particular instance, he was caught and went to prison. of course he’s going to tell you more about that than the killings, have you any idea what prison life is like? how much it eats away at your soul? how it crushes your spirit if you have one and how hard it is to get over? the time he spent in jail is going to haunt him forever and after such a long time in there, however long it was, you hardly think about your crime as anything but a huge mistake that was not worth the torment if you’re not a downright psychopath which, since he came out and wrote a book about it, doesn’t seem to be the case here but i guess you’ll find out all about it soon enough.

OH! a francis moment???? could this be it? please dear god may this be it.

it wasn’t, but there’s another one!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

‘it’s fun, i promise you.’ [*dies*]

if this is it, if that’s all, i am not forgiving this book.

‘i tried to pull him out but it was no good; his head lolled back uselessly’ YEAH. BECAUSE HE’S DEAD, RICHARD. [*scoffs*] ‘uselessly’

i wish i held any of my teachers and professors in at least half the high regard henry holds julian. i also wish they were half as competent and passionate about teaching as julian.

I DON’T BELIEVE ‘HE WAS JUST THERE’. IT’S BORIS AND THEO AT 6 AM IN THAT NEW YORK BAR ALL OVER AGAIN. HE’S ONLY SAYING THAT BECAUSE RICHARD WENT ALL ‘YOU’RE NOT HOT’ ON HIS ASS AND I REFUSE TO BELIEVE OTHERWISE. if they don’t kiss again—

i can’t help but admire the way they communicate sensitive information to each other in ancient greek, they sound like characters from jane austen novels while talking about drugs and saving face from tabloids and gossip, it’s rather amazing.

quite pointless to go through all that trouble to hide the cigarettes and deny having been smoking when the smell will be there no matter what and she’ll know for sure. i swear, all these seemingly smart ass people are actually idiots

my question is why would anyone, drunk or not, for any reason, leave the top down in the rain? why? what possible pleasure could one get from driving in the middle of the rain with rain actually pouring down on them?

isn’t linoleum a bit tacky for a house that looks like it’s been in architectural digest?

why is charles so on edge? why are they all always hiding??? camilla and her late night 3 am phone calls, her secret phone code with henry, charles mysteriously going out for cigarettes so brusquely without a word in the middle of the night and refusing to talk about it, what are they all always hiding?! nobody trusts one another with anything, it’s very annoying, to be honest. aren’t they supposed to be super best friends? you’d think that after a bacchanal and a double homicide, you wouldn’t keep secrets from one another, but i guess not.

ah, shame. was kind of hoping for some sneaky richard/francis basement action, but alas. what’s their ship name anyway, richis?

i just spoilered myself again, twice, by going through the tsh tag on tumblr and then looking for francis/richard fanfics on ao3 and finding out that francis marries? gets with? a girl who’s apparently called fucking priscilla. donna tartt really has a knack for weird fancy names, huh? i’m here for it tbh

richard you fucking snitch! you had one job!!!!!!

why the fuck are they still keeping him in the dark about shit? henry and charles quarrelled and charles is in jail and henry still won’t tell him what’s so bad about it and why he wants richard to handle all this shit instead of him and why bunny’s murder still matters and why why just why are they still using him as their pawn??

seriously, this exchange was about the worst they’ve had so far. he himself knows it: ‘there was a silence during which I felt acutely the hopelessness of ever trying to get to the bottom of anything with henry. he was like a propagandist, routinely withholding information, leaking it only when it served his purposes.’ THEN WALK AWAY. SAY NO. PUT YOUR FOOT DOWN. FUCKING—UGH!!!!!!!

they’re all so shamelessly using him… i can’t read. it’ll kill him, one way or another.

these ungrateful little shits i swear to god. richard bails him out, he’s all thankful and sweet when he wants him to do ‘this one little favour’ of taking him to his francis’ house so he can break in and when richard’s like i don’t have a car, he immediately turns sour and passive aggressive like you know what?! richard hasn’t slept all night and all morning waiting for your ass to go to court cos you were a drunken idiot and decided YET AGAIN that driving in that state is a great idea so he can bail you out and when you are finally out, you start being fussy and then it’s all ‘right. thanks a lot’??? richard doesn’t fucking need this shit! y’all are horrible friends. he’s not your bloody servant. how about you take that stick and privilege out of your asses and start treating him a bit more kindly, huh???

‘henry made me swear not to tell.’ WHAT. WHAT. BITCH, GET THE FUCK OUT.

this is by far the most toxic friendship i’ve ever heard of.

oh wow that kiss was hot. i thought it was just a speculation that they were incestuous with each other, but i-i guess not.

FINALLY it gets interesting. Mr Abernathy spilling some piping hot tea mmm

he literally just said i’d sleep with you if you got drunk enough to let me. oh dear god help me.

oh fuck it got sad. It’s patrick and brad all over again ugh always happens to the best of gays

finally richard my boy starts hating them, as he should. except francis, you’re a dick in that respect. he’s only joking for fuck’s sake, don’t get all butthurt, jesus. sensitive much?

uuuuuu tunts Tunts TUNTS! shit is hitting the fan. henry, henry, henry, our ‘golden boy’. nothing but a crook himself, the motherfucker. i’ve been waiting for this reveal since the beginning of the fucking book. if they gang up on him and kill him, i will never stop laughing.

it’s as if he’s begging to be excluded and hated, i swear. why is he being such a prick? does he love her? is that it? then there are a BILLION other ways to go about it, he doesn’t have to be such a shady bitch!! besides, wasn’t he in cahoots with julian?

‘i was depressed, i thought if i slept here it might make me feel better.’ that’s so precious tho….. funny, but precious. such child-like innocence in this grown ass intoxicated man, i melt.

clever, luring him out of the playground under the false pretext of a drink when he’s had plenty. think like a drunk

the only consistent, recurring and ever-present elements in donna tartt’s books are the hors d’oeuvres.

it’s so cute how charles needs him, i—

girls be like: watching a film, listening to a podcast, talking on the phone, having dinner, figure painting, filing nails, writing an essay and doing their makeup all at the same time

this so called love he feels for camilla is so unfounded and feeble and just … it seems so out of the fucking blue every single time he mentions it, i can’t read this shit. IT’S SO SEE-THROUGH!!

okay WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK DID I JUST READ. WHAT. THE ACTUAL. MOTHERFUCKING. FUCK. one second he’s ‘i love her so much’ the next he wants to strangle and rape her?????????????? i have zero goddamn words. i am fucking speechless. i don’t think i have ever been this confused at something since i watched the turning. i don’t think you realise quite how done i am with this fucking book at this point.

i think i do hate henry more than bunny and i’m afraid i’ll like if we were villains better.

richard: [*takes sleeping pills*] also richard: [*surprised he can’t keep up with the film he started watching after taking sleeping pills*]

‘look,’ said francis. ‘let’s just go, if we leave now we can be in montreal by dark. nobody will ever find us.’ vs ‘well, i’m not going,’ said boris serenely. ‘fuck that, i’m running away. do you want to come?’

this henry bitch is the most difficult piece of shit i’ve ever fucking encountered. ‘you mean, it’s something you need to tell me in private?’ oh FUCK OFF AND STEP OUTSIDE, FOR FUCK’S SAKE. IT’S ONE THING I ASK OF YOU, YOU TWAT.

huh, i thought he was doing this shit on purpose, leaving the page face down on the table so that julian could see it, i thought it was some sick twisted plan of his.

lmao called it. everybody saw through julian’s façade except richard and the others and i completely understand. in a fashion much like julian’s, i think he knew that, he saw it, but just chose to ignore it because the image he posed and richard himself constructed of him in his mind was much more favourable to what he really was. i mean, fuck, who the fuck says ‘i hope we are all ready to leave the phenomenal world and enter into the sublime’ with their whole chest and mean it?

if you think he’s not coming, why sit in silence staring out the window, ignoring everyone and wasting everybody’s time instead of telling them from the very start this piece of information you have on hand that could save everybody a lot of trouble, time and overthinking? why be all mysterious and enigmatic about it? just tell them from the start, you’re not in a film for fuck’s sake……..

charles, one of the four of them (henry, camilla, julian and himself) might be the one i despise the least, almost like had he not been so brutal towards camilla,,,, but i don’t know if i can trust her, that whole scene seemed … staged somehow. i don’t know. i don’t know

didn’t expect henry would turn on julian too though. first real thing he’s done all book.

agatha

christie

writes

good

mysteries.

richard does seem like the type of fellow who would grow up in a household where his dad would strike his mum for no fucking reason.

okay so did henry punch him for that comment or not? what was all that father beating mother bit for?

#boysweekendinthecountry! 🤪 #partytime! #ignoringourproblems! #woooo!!!

oh my fucking god chARLES!!!

yes, henry, great, brilliant, fucking splendid idea to antagonise the man pointing a gun at you.

MY PAUL SMITH SHIRT!!!!!!!!! AHAHAHASFSHDGFDK

i love how absolutely nobody noticed fucking richard BLEEDING RIGHT NEXT TO THEM

‘expected everyone to stop and look at me. no one did.’ and they never will. that’s your whole friendship summed up in two lines. you don’t matter to them, you never did, you’re absolutely unimportant. just a tool, a pawn, a nobody. sorry you had to get shot to realise that.

‘’he shot me.’ somehow, this remark did not elicit the dramatic response i expected. before i had the chance to elaborate—’ ELABORATE WHAT? ELABORATE WHAT?! THAT’S ALL YOU NEED TO SAY!! GOD, this hurts to read. this angers me beyond words, but it also fucking hurts so bad…

nothing, not even getting shot can make richard lose his wit

disGUSTING henry and camilla moment. I HATE THEM

oh shit. did not see that coming. well, glad that’s over.

ugh, time to read how francis got hetero married :\

[*chokes*] DUE TO THE VERY EXCELLENT EXCUSE OF HAVING A GUNSHOT WOUND IN THE STOMACH I DIDN’T TAKE MY FRENCH EXAM YAY!!! god, i fucking love Richard.

the thing is, right, i read that line, ‘i managed to get out of taking my french exams the next week’ about three or four times and somehow, the following line or even the words ‘gunshot wound’ never made it to my eyes! i don’t understand how! but i’m completely happy about that given the fact that i spoiler myself on every single book i read by reading ahead like an idiot..

how much do you want to bet that it was the inn keep who called the ambulance and not those fuckers? because of course henry, dead henry’s more important than slowly dying, almost dead but not quite richard.

despite everything, it sounds like he had a nice summer in brooklyn. good for him. god knows he deserved it, the poor guy.

yeah no, fuck henry’s post-mortem hero narrrative.

lol, at least he got a nice car out of it. this book shows me once again that things happen just the way they should happen.

OH MY FUCKING GOD NO. NO. NO. NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! I CANNOT READ. I DO NOT SEE. I REFUSE TO COMPREHEND THIS PIECE OF INFORMATION.

i will not say a WORD on this, much less his letter. i am hurt, i am wounded, i am grieving, my head is full of thots and i cannot speak. i died on this bed.

ugh [*rolls eyes*] this fucking guy again with his sudden, out of my ass declarations of love towards camilla. JUST GIVE IT UP ALREADYYYYYYYY!!! TELL IT TO SOMEONE WHO CARES!!! (francis) i wouldn’t be surprised if she was married or engaged and just didn’t bother to mention it ‘because he never asked’ or some bullshit excuse like that.

I HATE HENRY I HATE HENRY I HATE HENRY I HATE HENRY [*deep breath*] I FUCKING HATE HENRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

he’s telling me about all these people and where they ended up after graduation but not only do i not give a single solitary fuck, i actually don’t know who the fuck he’s talking about?? like who the fuck is bram guernesnesnica? rooney wayne? what the fuck do i care what jack jud and frank did?

the only people i do remotely care about are the professors (the saucy french teacher and the boring, senile dude who wouldn’t shut up and who kept referring to richard as ‘jerry’ in his grad school recommendations letter ahahah that is the content i signed up for, not dumb and dumber’s bar or whatever) and the cat charles left at francis’ country house who lives in a ten fucking room apartment in boston.

love how ionic the whole marion storyline turned out to be. marred another corcoran who looked just like bunny and had a daughter who, despite having her and his mother’s name ended up being nicknamed also bunny. i’m sorry, i just—i have to laugh.

[*slams fists on the table*] THE AGENTS??? YOU’RE GONNA TELL ME ABOUT THE BLOODY FBI AGENTS???!!!!!! CAN THIS BOOK PLEASE JUST FUCKING END ALREADY??????!!!!!!!!

a dream. a dream. if it’s a dream of henry i will personally shoot you and make sure i aim a little higher than your abdomen this time.

[*shoots the book*]

oh, you died and suddenly you have a sense of humour?

‘that information is classified’ [*shoots a torpedo at the book*]

‘are you happy?’ / ‘not very.’ vs ‘are you happy here?’ / ‘not particularly.’

okay. so. final thoughts: fuck this book.

good night

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chaoswillfallrpg · 4 years

Photo

ANDRESSA PARKINSON is TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS OLD and the OWNER of THE GRAVE AFFAIR in KNOCKTURN ALLEY. She looks remarkably like CAMILA MENDES and considers herself NEUTRAL. She is currently TAKEN.

→ OVERVIEW:

tw: death, alcoholism

The textbook definition of glamour and intelligence, Andressa Parkinson was raised in the knowledge the best people in life may be for free but everything else is paid for in cold hard galleons. The eldest child of ANTONIA and CLAUDIO PARKINSON, she is four and a half minutes older than her younger brother CHRISTIANO and assumed creative control of their relationship at a very early age. Raised on the beauty of the Parkinson estate in Windsor, Andressa and her brother enjoyed a charmed life of tea parties, family dinners and lavish balls to celebrate the most minute achievements. A staple of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Parkinson family prided themselves on their clean and traceable bloodline which was detailed on the walls of their private family room, privy only to members of the Parkinson bloodline and those who married into it. Andressa’s family had always been an intense one, long before her and her brother had been born and had ties with only select families they would marry into. Andressa’s mother Antonia was a Pure-Blood Brazilian witch who had worked at the Ministry as a diplomat before marrying Andressa’s father. The Parkinson family had migrated from Brazil many years ago before building their grand estate in Windsor and were incredibly proud of their heritage.

Like the other members of her family Andressa strove for perfection, self-producing herself even as a child to be the best possible version of herself. Whilst other children fought with one another or disobeyed their parents on occasion there was never a peep to be heard from either Andressa or Christiano. They were the perfect children, miniature versions of their parents, copying their every move and only speaking when spoken to. Andressa tended to busy herself growing up with making herself look beautiful and learning to achieve perfect balance as she walked the halls of the ballroom with a book balanced on her head. Although Andressa loved her parents she saw very little of them, both Andressa and her brother were mostly left in the care of a governess who trained them in etiquette and how to control the magic they had slowly begun to develop to avoid unpleasant accidents. When Andressa did have contact with her parents, or quite often her grandmother it was always in a positive framing, calling her the true beauty in their family who would marry well and make them proud. Silently Andressa wondered if there would ever be anything more to her life than marriage and children, concerned it would not make her happy, though being young and inexperienced with the world as she told herself, said nothing.

When her letter to study at Hogwarts arrived she was saddened to be leaving home but excited to make her mark on the world. Sitting across from her father in his study she remembered two rules. Always take the Parkinson name into consideration and do not disappoint him. Sorted into Slytherin, she was often top of her classes, a member of Slug Club and Choir. She narrowly missed out on being made a prefect due to PROFESSOR SLUGHORN’S favouritism of her best friend ANASTASIA DUPONT, but she did become Head Girl due to her academic brilliance and wore her badge with pride. Andressa found she received a bit of a reputation for being cold which was the image she portrayed to the world. It was away at school she noticed her and her brother develop distinctive personalities, no longer appearing the mirror image of one another. Christiano was the party animal, the playboy who flashed around their material wealth and flirted with Pure-Bloods witches and snogged them in corridors in the hopes of getting caught. With her brother everything was a game and he prided himself on shock value, even going as far as to begin dating one of her best friends CAMILLE ROWLE in an attempt to get a rise out of both Andressa. In many ways she was embarrassed of her brother, but in others she was envious. Christinao, although annoying, was very sure of himself, whereas Andressa found herself trying on different personalities to see which one fit.

The perfect daughter for her parents, the model student for Slughorn, the protective sister for her brother. All of the personalities belonged to her but they clung to her uncomfortably in a way that made them feel ill fitting. Becoming romantically involved with THORFINN ROWLE was an attempt to lean into the person her family wanted her to be. From a good family that was pre-approved by her own, he was handsome and wanted a family- though Andressa knew he couldn’t possibly challenge her intellectually and was happy to let him slowly fade away and play the part of a wounded dove to her mother and father when he did. The passing of Andressa’s mother when she was twenty-one was both the making and breaking of her. Though Antonia had been unwell a long time before she passed away it had still come as a shock to Andressa and her brother, though she found she dealt with it far better than her brother did. The longer she looked at her brother she worked out who truly lurked beyond the confident facade. Christiano was emotionally dependent on others and craved the love and intimacy they had barley received from their own parents. He needed validation and often got it from his friends and girlfriend, though he demanded it tenfold after their mother passed, crumbling away in front of Andressa’s eyes.

LUCIUS MALFOY came into her life at the exact right point. Another of her brother’s friends, she hadn’t wanted to entertain the idea of a romantic relationship to only grow tired of him as she had Thorfinn, but Lucius wasn’t like any man she had encountered before. An intelligent wizard with a tongue as cruel as her own when she was angry, Lucius wanted all of the things her family wanted for her, though he was just troublesome enough to keep what would possibly be a domestic life interesting. Lucius wasn’t particularly good at caring for her brother in his darkest points, but he supported Andressa well, picking her up and taking her to dinner to lift her spirits and offering to keep an eye on Cristiano who often danced and drank till he dropped most nights while Lucius was in his company. Something was wrong with her brother, more than simply the death of their mother and with her father refusing to acknowledge the problem Andressa took matters into her own hands. A frequent visitor of The Grave Affair, when GEORGINE FARIBAULT put the bar on the market, Andressa demanded the money from her father to buy the bar and run it with her brother. Though it was arguably not the best idea to go into the bar business with someone who likes to drink a lot, Andressa knew she needed to keep her brother occupied and keep a closer eye on him.

Enjoying the aesthetic of the bar Andressa updates certain elements of the bar including employing ADRASTIEA GREENGRASS, ALECTO and AMYCUS CARROW to help run the bar and hiring ELEANOR YAXLEY and ROSALIE FLINT to sing and entertain guests. The Grave Affair suddenly sprang from being a seedy bar in Knockturn Alley to one of the most high end bars in wizarding London, thanks in part to her boyfriend who enjoyed bringing important members of the Ministry to enjoy a good time. With marriage on the cards for her and Lucius and her business booming her father mostly left her alone allowing Andressa to finally find herself. Andressa was a business woman. Running her bar with an iron fist she was diligent with her finances, a damn good hostess, though she wasn’t afraid to show her wand and deal with troublesome partygoers. With her brother starting to steadily improve, Andressa is the happiest she has been in a long time, though a nagging suspicion in the back of her head had begun to gnaw away at her. Though Christiano appears back to his old self she has noticed him acting strangely, disappearing for hours on end and lying about his whereabouts. At first she thought he was possibly drinking again but with Lucius now doing the same also something doesn’t quite sit with her and she is determined to find out what it is.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Pure-Blood

Pronouns → She/Her

Identification → Cis Female

Sexual Orientation → Up to Roleplayer

Relationship Status → In a relationship with Lucius Malfoy

Previous Education → Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Slytherin)

Societies → Pura Sorores

Family → Claudio Parkinson (father), Antonia Parkinson (deceased mother), Christiano Parkinson (brother), Ilar Travers (uncle), Vivienne Travers (aunt), Isolde Travers (cousin), Evora Travers (cousin)

Connections → Lucius Malfoy (boyfriend), Anastasia DuPont (best friend), Camille Rowle (best friend), Genevieve Avery (best friend), Florence Jones (best friend), Alecto Carrow (close friend/employee), Amycus Carrow (close friend/employee), Adrasteia Greengrass (close friend/employee), Thorfinn Rowle (friend/ex-boyfriend), Marshall Fawley (friend), Decius Flint (friend), Lavender Bulstrode (friend), Eleanor Yaxley (casual employee), Rosalie Flint (casual employee/friend) Georgine Faribault (business associate)

Future Information → Aunt of Pansy Parkinson

ANDRESSA PARKINSON IS A LEVEL 5 WITCH.

#camila mendes #riverdale #veronica lodge #pansy parkinson #city rpg #witch #magic #neutral #knockturn alley #the grave affair #alleys #andressa parkinson #taken #taken witch #taken neutral #tw: death #tw: alcholism

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alphacrone · 4 years

Text

for it’s better to burn out than to fade out of sight (3/?)

rating: T pairings: Yuki & Tohru (platonic), Tohru/Kyo, Yuki/Machi, other canon pairings & friendships summary: In the end, it wasn’t sadness Yuki felt, when Tohru Honda had her memories erased. No, it was anger. And anger he could work with.

<< read previous chapter || read next chapter >>

iii. now my heart’s a frozen lake where streams used to flow

***

“Do you think wave-girl seduced him?”

Yuki paused at the mention of Hanajima. They were barely more than acquaintances, but Yuki didn’t like the tone the girls in the classroom were using. He leaned back against the wall and continued to listen.

“Ew, no way! But he seems close to that Honda girl…”

They were talking about Tohru? Yuki’s blood began to boil.

“How could someone so plain attract Prince Yuki like that! He deserves someone beautiful and utterly perfect .”

“Seriously. Do you think she...you know...with him?”

One of the girls gasped. “Don’t say something like that. The Prince wouldn’t do that with just anyone .”

Under his blind anger at these girls’ insults of Tohru, Yuki wondered just how they could make such assumptions about him . How could they know what would attract him? How could they know he wasn’t hooking up with anyone willing? Who were they to assume his own thoughts and feelings?

But...well, even if they didn’t have the right to think they knew him, how could they even begin to know him? Yuki was a creature of ice and snow, cold and hardened against the world. His heart was frozen solid, buried deep and far, far away from the light of day. He’d never let anyone close, really, only Hatsuharu on occasion.

And then, Tohru had appeared in his life. From the moment he’d found her in the woods, he knew what Prometheus felt gazing upon fire for the first time. Yuki wanted to steal this light for himself, keep her safe and far away from harm, but to be a Sohma was to be dangerous. It would be wise to leave her behind and retreat behind his walls, but Yuki was tired. He was tired of loneliness and tired of the cold, tired of watching the world pass by like a movie he couldn’t pause.

And Tohru was bright, and Tohru was warm, and Tohru was so unfailingly kind and loving, it made Yuki’s heart ache. What would happen to his heart of ice in the face of these new flames in his chest? Would he extinguish her light? Or would he thaw?

Yuki was a creature of snow and ice; would there be anything left of him when he melted?

***

Yuki wasn’t sure what he expected from Hanajima’s house when she invited him to study after school, but the normalcy of it did surprise him. He supposed it would be foolish to think she lived in some spooky, European mansion in the middle of the neighborhood, but against the backdrop of the average house she seemed more startling, like ink against a stark canvas.

“Hope you’re better at history than we are, Prince,” Uotani said, pushing hair from her face as they approached the front door. “I’m great at remembering formulas for math, but I can’t remember dates for shit.”

“Uo’s a math genius!” Tohru called over her shoulder, bouncing a little. “She can do really complicated equations in her head!”

“Eh, math’s just easy,” Uo said with a shrug. “Once you get how it works. Remembering dates and names for things that happened before I was born is confusing.”

Tohru blushed, but didn’t seem too embarrassed when she said, “I think it’s all confusing. But I like learning about the past. So many people have lived so many lives, it’s really interesting.”

Hanajima opened the front door and softly called, “I’m home.” The other girls parrotted her, and all three kicked off their shoes with a familiar ease. Yuki knelt down to remove his own as an older woman replied, “Welcome home!”

Uotani cast a grin at Tohru. “Well, if I’m a math genius, Tohru’s a home ec genius. Our girl can cook and sew like nobody’s business.”

“I kno-” Yuki caught himself before he could reveal he had, in fact, spent a few weeks eating Tohru’s cooking for every meal. “I see.”

“O-oh, it’s nothing,” Tohru sputtered, waving her hands around. Hanajima and Uo led them upstairs to Hanajima’s room, both smirking at Tohru as her face grew pink. “Cooking isn’t anything special like math.”

“I think it’s really special,” Yuki said honestly, readjusting his grip on his school bag. “I’m awful at cooking and cleaning. Most of my meals are take-out.” Of the three men in the house, only Kyo could cook, and he adamantly refused to cook for anyone but himself. After Shigure’s last attempt at cooking, he and Yuki had gone back to take-out and microwaveable meals.

Hanajima’s room was much like the rest of her house—unnervingly normal—but at least here there were touches of her darkness. The dark bedspread and curtains at least hinted at the macabre aesthetic of Kaibara High’s resident witch.

“O-oh, really?” Tohru said, sitting down at the small table across from the bed. “I’m sure you’re not awful.”

“Oh, no, I am,” Yuki laughed, sitting down next to her. “I burn everything.”

“Well, look at that,” Uotani teased, flopping down on Tohru’s other side. “Prince Yuki has a fault . Alert the fangirls, they’ll lose their shit.”

“All men are fallible,” Hanajima said evenly, dark eyes boring into Yuki. “To be perfect is to be inhuman.”

Yuki swallowed roughly. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but I guarantee I am incredibly fallible.”

With a snort, Uotani pulled out her notebook and reached around Tohru’s to softly smack Yuki with it. “We’re just giving you a hard time, Yun-Yun.”

“Yun-Yun?” Nobody called him that, except for Kagura when she wanted something.

“Uh, yeah,” Uotani said with a shrug. “I bet that’s what Kyoko would’ve called you.”

“Who?”

“Kyoko,” Hanajima said softly. “Tohru’s mom.”

“Oh.” There was a thick pause. Technically, everyone knew now that Torhu was an orphan, but Yuki wasn’t sure how many people knew how recently her mother had died. “Was she...a fan of giving people nicknames?”

All three girls smiled. “Yes, she was,” Tohru said fondly. “She’s why Uo and Hana go by Uo and Hana.”

“And she would absolutely love to tease you,” Uo said. “A little pretty boy like you wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

“She sounds...fun,” Yuki said.

“She was,” Uo agreed.

“Who’s this? I didn’t know you had more friends, Saki.”

Yuki turned to see a miniature Hanajima. Though his hair was short and his uniform that of the nearby middle school, the boy in the doorway looked exactly like his sister.

“Don’t be rude, Megumi,” Hanajima scolded lightly. “This is Yuki Sohma, our classmate. He’s going to use his status to gain us top academic scores.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, before Uotani laughed and said, “Prince Yuki is here to study with us.”

Tohru smiled at the boy. “Sohma, this is Megumi, Hana’s little brother.”

“Nice to meet you,” Yuki offered, but Megumi said nothing as he studied Yuki’s face.

“You have an unusual energy,” Megumi eventually said, face impassive. “Shall we have snacks?”

“Go get some rice crackers, kid,” Uo said. “You can join us if you study too.”

“Do you need help, Megumi?” Tohru asked. “I can help make tea.”

“Grandmother is already making some for you,” Megumi said. “I’ll see if she has any rice crackers.” He stood and left without fanfare, leaving Yuki feeling more stressed than he had earlier. What a strange boy .

“Love that kid,” Uotani said with a chuckle. “He talks like a old man.”

“When I was staying here, he’d offer to read me bedtime stories,” Tohru said. “It was very sweet, but funny coming from a little boy.”

“He’s an odd one,” Hanajima agreed. “I’m not sure where he gets it from…”

Yuki and Uotani exchanged a bemused look. “Alright, history,” Uotani said. “Someone quiz me.”

“I will!” Tohru grabbed her flashcards and held one up for Uotani. Yuki opened his own notes and tried to focus on them, but was quickly interrupted by Megumi returning with snacks and tea. The girls all cooed over him and told him to join them, so he silently squeezed in between his sister and Yuki, making no real effort to study as the high schoolers returned to their work.

“So, uh, Megumi,” Yuki said after a few minutes of Tohru and Uotani’s excited flashcard quizzing. “Do you also, uh...see waves?”

Megumi raised an eyebrow, but his expression did not change. “No. Saki controls waves.”

“Ah.” Yuki cleared his throat, unsure if he should continue talking.

“I, however, have studied the ancient art of curses,” Megumi continued, voice high and monotone. “All I need to curse a victim is their name.”

Yuki wondered if that was supposed to be a threat. Not that it mattered; he was already cursed.

“What do your curses do?” He asked, resting his hand in his palm. He glanced to the right, but Tohru was thoroughly absorbed in her flashcards, cheering every time Uotani got an answer correct.

“It depends,” Megumi said, not breaking eye contact. “Sometimes it renders the victim ill or in pain. Sometimes it causes them bad luck. Sometimes it makes them the target of negative energies.”

“What about...transformations?” Yuki asked, tapping his pencil against the table. “Can you curse someone to turn into an animal?”

“What, like a toad?” The boy looked unimpressed. “I’m not a witch.”

“I didn’t mean to imply you were,” Yuki backpedaled, holding his hands up in surrender. “It’s just...an interesting concept, don’t you think?”

Megumi tilted his head. “I suppose. To trap an enemy in a foreign vessel is a cruel torture.”

“But you’ve never…?”

“No.” Yuki felt his heart drop. “But it is a curious idea.”

It had been foolish to put any sort of expectations in this child Yuki had known for less than an hour. But just having someone outside his own family discuss curses so casually had sparked hope deep inside him.

Could there be others like him out there? Could this curse be broken? Could this curse be inflicted on someone else, a new family of unwitting monsters?

“Sohma!”

Tohru’s voice broke Yuki from his spiralling thoughts. She was smiling—she was always smiling—and pointed to one of her flashcards. “Can you help us with this one? The textbook gives two different dates for this, and we don’t know which is correct.”

Yuki took a deep breath and nodded, scooting over to look at the flashcards. He supposed it didn’t matter, really, if Megumi held the truth to his...hereditary affliction. For now, it was enough to sit by Tohru Honda and bask in her warmth.

***

Classes were over but Yuki had promised to help the class president with some budgeting, so he bid Tohru, Hanajima, and Uotani goodbye and headed towards the student council room, already dreading Takei-senpai’s overbearing nature.

As he crossed the walkway overlooking the school gate, Yuki noticed Tohru and Hanajima waving Uotani off as she sprinted off to get to her job on time. Tohru was laughing, swinging Hanajima’s hand as they meandered down the stairs at a slower pace. Yuki couldn’t help but smile at the scene, watching his friends—friends?—look so happy and carefree.

He turned to continue his return to the classroom when he noticed a boy standing a few yards away, eyes trained where Yuki’s had just been.

The kid was dark-haired and slouched against the wall, a couple file folders clutched loosely in his hand. He frowned, still watching Tohru and Hanajima. Yuki glanced at the girls again, noticing that Hanajima had separated from Tohru and Tohru now walked alone. Still, the boy’s gaze followed her, frown increasing, turning almost vicious.

It was that angry frown, Yuki would later claim, that spurred him into action. Crossing the walkway quickly and silently, Yuki dipped between the boy’s line of sight and Tohru, blocking her from view. The boy startled, blinking in surprise.

“Leave Tohru Honda alone,” Yuki hissed. “Whatever you want with her, drop it.”

The guy held his hands up. “Hey, hey, calm down, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You were watching her,” Yuki said, poking the boy in the chest angrily. “Leave her alone.”

“I wasn’t planning on starting shit,” the boy said. “Seriously, calm down, I’m not gonna hit on your girlfriend.”

“She’s not- Just- What do you want with her?” Yuki crossed his arm over his chest, face growing warm.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” the guy said with a smirk. “But she and I have a past.” He shouldered past Yuki, turning to add, “Don’t worry about it, Yuki Sohma. I’m not gonna talk to her.”

Before Yuki could respond, he winked and sauntered away, waving as if they’d just had a normal, casual conversation. Yuki sighed and glanced back out to where Tohru had been. She was gone, predictably, but a small part of him felt disappointed by her absence.

You’ll see her tomorrow , a small voice told him. This isn’t like before. She’s still here.

Yuki couldn’t stop the chill that ran down his spine. She was still here, for now. And Yuki would do whatever it took to keep her there, away from the clutches of the Sohma family and its curse.

#fruits basket fanfiction #fruits basket spoilers #fruits basket #furuba manga spoilers #yuki & tohru #anna writes things #x-posting from ao3

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niffler-imagines · 5 years

Text

Meet my Hogwarts Mystery MC

General Description

Full Name: Angelica Marie Dulaney Nicknames: Angel Age: 16 years old Gender: Female Pronouns: She / Her / Hers Orientation: Bisexual Birthday: November 14th, 1996 Place of Birth: Pinewood, Colorado, U.S. Current Residence: Hogwarts, U.K. (Traveled to England for Academic and Occupational Purposes) Occupation: Magizoologist and Author Astrological Sign: Aquarius Myers Briggs Type: INFP Species: Human Witch

Magical Characteristics

Blood Status: Half-Blood Hogwarts House: Gryffindor Ilvermorny House: Pukwudgie Wand: willow wood with a dragon heartstring core, 12 ¾" and slightly yielding flexibility Patronus Form: Red Panda Boggart Form: Her Mother (She died a year ago or so, and Angelica feared her both while she was alive and even more after she died) Amortentia Smell: Pine, Books and Vanilla

Appearance

Height: 5’ 9” (175.25 cm) Weight: 145 lbs (43 kg) Body Type: Slender, Muscular Arms and Core and Legs, Wide Hips, Thick Thighs Cup Size: C Skin Color: Ivory Pale with Freckles Eye Color: Icy Blue Facial Features: Large Eyes, Thick Eyebrows, Grecian Nose

Hair:

Color: Light Brown

Highlights: N/A

Length: Chin-Length Cut

Style: Very Messy and Wavy

Often Worn as: A Small Ponytail or Undone

Extra:

Scars: Claw-mark Scars on Arms, Left Cheek, Lower Leg and across the Stomach

Piercings: N/A

Tattoos: N/A

Scent: Pine

Other: Doesn’t Shave so she had lots of Body Hair, Hands are very cold to the touch

Relationships

Father: Anthony Dulaney

Pukwudgie & Ravenclaw

Half-Blood, since his immediate family is Magic but their extended family does have a couple Muggles

Works in the American Ministry of Magic, and as an Author on the side

The type of Dad that constantly jokes around but is also good at giving advice and is incredibly overprotective of his children

Has a bushy white beard and long white hair, with blue eyes like the rest of his family

In his sixties at the moment, since he and his wife had Angel in their forties

Mother: Mary Dulaney

Pukwudgie & Hufflepuff

Everyone tells Angel that she looks so much like her, since she had Fluffy Brown Hair, Bright Blue Eyes and Freckles

Half-Blood, since her immediate family is Magic but their extended family does have a couple Muggles

Worked as an Ilvermorny Teacher but retired and now works as a tutor

Very stressed and tired, but also cared a lot for her children

Eventually was severely injured in a Duel and while she hung on for a few more years, she eventually died of complications from her injuries

Siblings: Jacob Dulaney, Oldest

9 years older than Angelica, 25 at the moment

A very cynical and funny older brother who loves his siblings dearly but still gets into scuffles with them and their parents. Had a rough past that he doesn’t like to mention, but works hard to overcome it

Also on the Autistic Spectrum, like Angelica

Works as a Cursebreaker who travels the world and helps those suffering from curse Tutor at Ilvermorny and then at Hogwarts

Has Short Red Hair, Freckles and Blue Eyes

Family Background: Her Grandmother moved from Poland to America, but Angelica eventually moved to England after her mother died so she could transfer to Hogwarts Best Friends: The entire Weasley Family, especially Bill Weasley, along with Rowan Khanna Friends: Rowan Khanna, Ben Copper and Penny Haywood Love Interest: Charlie Weasley Enemies: Merula Snyde

Personality

Somehow manages to be both a very mature person and a chaotic neutral at the same time. Incredibly adventurous and tomboyish, doesn’t want to hurt anything but will absolutely fight to protect somebody, and is pretty damn good at it too. Very kind and polite, also rather good with children and tends to impress authority figures with her maturity. She’s very witty and makes everyone laugh, and is also incredible in debates and insanely intelligent. Yet, she also swears like a sailor, often gets very nervous, isolates herself a lot, and suffers from depression at times. Her immediate flight-or-fight response is to fight, and she’s easily flustered but also very romantic and witty.

Trivia

On the Autistic Spectrum

Exclusively sits in weird positions, like crossing her legs in a chair or hiking her legs up on the seat or something

Barely ever takes off her Red Flannel

Likes to collect gemstones

Rides horses, works out, does archery, draws, writes, does woodworking, watercolors and reads as hobbies

Plays Dungeons & Dragons

Can sing in bass key

Flaws

Strengths

Skills & Hobbies

#jacob's sibling #hogwarts mystery #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery mc #hogwarts mystery jacob's sibling #hogwarts mystery jacob #harry potter #hp tag #hp #charlie weasley x mc #charlie weasley x jacob's sibling

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aliceslantern · 5 years

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Beyond this Existence: Atonement, chapter 4

Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.

Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

He wakes slowly.

He’s in a bed, a bed not his own, in a strange, blank, barren room. He sits up.

“Ah, friend, you’re awake,” says the voice.

He turns towards the source of it. Xehanort is dressed in all black, but it’s different than the lab coats they’ve worn; it’s got beading, zippers instead of a catch.

He blinks, once. His mind is curiously clear. He reaches up to his jugular to take his pulse, noting first that there is one, then that it’s almost unnervingly slow and steady. “I suppose it worked?” he asks, his voice flat. "We've no hearts?"

“Quite--we are Nobodies." He tilts his head slightly. "We’ve been worried about you. You’re the last one to wake. I thought you may not have made it.”

He stares down at his hands; they look the same, and so does the long blonde hair on his shoulder, freed of its usual restraint. “I see.”

“How do you feel?”

“Very much alert,” he admits. Less physically tired than he can remember.

“Emotionally?”

It’s an odd word to hear out loud. He realizes he is numb, but not a human numbness; moreso an emptiness, but a very bearable one. A comfortable one. “My head is clear,” he says instead. It’s true; unfettered by emotion, he processes this all easily, without stress.

Xehanort smiles, but there’s nothing in it. “Excellent. Seems this experiment was a success. While you were resting, we’ve chosen a sign of brotherhood, new names to usher us into this new life. I’ve chosen one for you--should you want it.”

“And what is that?”

“Vexen,” he says slowly. “The Recusant’s Sigil is said to be good luck. I’ve added it to all our names--anagrammed them.”

“How creative of you.” There’s no sarcasm behind it; nothing at all. “Very well. I suppose that is who I’ll be.” He sits up, bringing his legs over the side of the bed. “Where is Ien--the little one?”

“He goes by Zexion now,” Xehanort says. “He was the first to wake, after myself, of course. The boy seems to have taken to this new life easier than I ever could have guessed. It suits him. He has no more fear, no more sensory overload. He’s purely himself.”

Hearing this, Vexen feels nothing for the boy; no concern. It’s liberating, he realizes. “That is good news indeed. Your name already contains an X. Though I don’t suppose only that will do.”

He shakes his head slowly. “They call me Xemnas.”

There’s much to do, and it’s all so much easier than it used to be.

They’re somewhere else now, a place still taking shape. What starts as a two-story building morphs into something far larger than Radiant Garden’s castle ever was. As soon as he craves a resource, it seems to appear, seemingly out of nowhere; soon he’s able to identify this morphing substance as the same that the lesser Nobodies were made of. They study their new bodies for weeks, months; they discover their immense capabilities for magic. Zexion, in a very short amount of time, becomes a rather skilled mage; necessary, as the Heartless target him mercilessly, despite Lexeaus’s best efforts to protect him. While he and Vexen continue to spend time together, for studies, they’re beginning to drift, but Vexen doesn’t care much. There’s nothing behind the boy’s eyes aside from a cold calculation.

They find that they have weapons, extensions of their wills, each personalized to its user; more exciting yet, they have their own magics, in alignment with their personalities, a sort of expression of the deepest essences of the self. Vexen’s newfound command over ice is infinitely useful in his experiments, though it is disappointing that it is just ice, not water.

It seems every time they come to a momentous discovery--of worlds, of hearts, of matter--Xemnas always dangles something out of reach. For this Organization, Kingdom Hearts will be the key to all knowledge. Vexen works towards this goal with pleasure. In the chaotic, entropic nothingness--something entirely different than darkness or light--his experiments thrive, and after years, the replicas begin to take shape, form. They incubate.

Six years have passed in a blink; for the first time Xemnas speaks on his desire to gather more members. He needs a Keyblade wielder, so he says, to reap hearts. So they all, in their own ways, go searching across the worlds. And they do find someone, a humanoid Nobody, a seventeen-year-old boy they call Demyx. But the disappointments come hard and fast with this one. Initially, Vexen is hopeful; the boy’s power over water seems to be something nearly prodigal. But he is not very academically bright. He’s lazy, he would rather fool around with his weapon, an instrument called a sitar. They all can barely tolerate him, though inexplicably, Xigbar strikes up a rapport with the boy. Very well. If someone of high rank can keep him in line, all the better.

Because they have ranked themselves. Of course, Xemnas is the leader; as the youngest, it’s only natural for Zexion to be the sixth of the six original apprentices; Saïx, Axel, and Demyx follow when the latter arrives; but internally there’s some squabbling over the rest of the numbers. Vexen is beyond disappointed with his own designation of only fourth, but no matter, he works alone the majority of the time anyway.

In quick succession, they’re joined by three more--Luxord, Marluxia, Larxene. Not one is a Keyblade wielder, and aside from the passing intrigue of studying the first humanoid Nobody that is a biological woman, they are nothing but a thorn in Vexen’s side. Xemnas’s frustration is obvious, and Vexen feels mostly the same.

All of a sudden Zexion is no longer a little boy, but a young man. He had, more or less, what seemed to be a normal puberty. He never expresses interest in sex or sexuality, unlike some of the other members; but then again, Zexion was never a people person, and while Vexen knows that the scientist in him should want to investigate this potential quirk of Nobody biology, the part of him that once raised Ienzo is repulsed at questioning the young man farther about these matters.

One of these days, when Zexion’s about fifteen, he arrives in Vexen’s lab. “Six,” he says. “It’s a pleasure to see you. Do you require assistance?”

Zexion smiles politely. “I hope to have a word, if that’s alright. I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.” It’s easy now for him to speak, to compose himself; as Xemnas said, purely himself. If anything, the boy is too talkative.

“I can spare a few moments.”

“Very well. Then I’ll be brief. I’m aware our tutoring sessions take up a good deal of our time, time both of us could use more efficiently. I feel I’m far enough in my education to pursue it on my own. Though I must thank you for your years of working with me.” He bows a little. The sight of this old custom unnerves Vexen.

He says it so quickly, so simply. For some reason, Vexen is surprised--though shouldn’t he have seen this coming?

(And is he crazy, or is he feeling hurt? No--mustn’t. Nobodies cannot feel, though the neophytes love to pretend, especially Demyx. The miscreant must be rubbing off on him more than he thought. He curses the fact that they are both part of the reconnaissance team.)

Vexen smiles. “It was my pleasure. You know you’re very intelligent. I have the utmost faith in you. My door is always open for you, Zexion, should you have questions.”

“Thank you, Vexen. Good day.”

The years pass--they cannot find their Keyblade wielder, no matter how hard they try. The others are frustrated too, especially the neophytes, as they’re sent on the most search missions. At least there is some progress--Heartless made, worlds brought under control of darkness, his replicas becoming more stable yet. Vexen hopes he may be able to get one to wield a Keyblade.

Zexion turns eighteen. Vexen’s initial prediction was right; the young man is relatively small, slight, and probably always will be. While his face still is a bit soft, he’ll lose the babyishness in time. As the first person to truly come of age as a Nobody, he allows Vexen to prod him, somewhat indulgently. “I suppose it is interesting, though it would be more interesting if I knew the difference,” he admits, in a moment of unusual candor.

Vexen looks up at him on the table. He gently pulls free the needle that was taking his blood, and heals the tiny wound. Magic has made his doctoring less barbaric, simpler. “Would you rather have been human?” he asks.

He thinks about it. “I’ve been a Nobody ten years--longer than I was ever a human.”

“Yet, not a direct answer to my question.”

He rolls down the sleeve of his cloak. “I don’t believe so,” he says. “What I remember from that time is mostly negative--the panic attacks, the constant inundation of stimuli interpreted as pain, the nightmares, the untreated PTSD. But now… now I am stable, and in control of myself. I do not feel I’ve missed anything--though the neophytes insist the opposite.” He rolls his eyes. “As if I would ever find any of those shenanigans of interest.”

Vexen nods. “As long as you are fulfilled.”

“I am.” He pauses, smiles a bit. “I’m not the one who told you this, but the superior might soon have a mission for us. One elsewhere.”

His interest is piqued; but at the same time, he feels another wave of frustration that number six is more privy to this information than he. “Elsewhere?”

Zexion shakes his head. “That’s all he said. Though who knows--he’s become more and more enigmatic over the years. It is… trying.”

Vexen chuckles. “Well, I doubt I’ll find anything different about these samples, but should there be anything of note, I’ll contact you.”

“Keep it for posterity,” he says, with a wave of his hand. “Who knows, I could be the first of many, to live this way.”

“Child, you have a strange sense of humor.”

---

Two things happen in quick succession--they find their Keyblade wielder, and Castle Oblivion is established as a second base. Roxas is an amnesiac, utterly zombified, more than just Nobody numbness. But considering the stories they’ve heard of Sora from Xemnas, that they were able to capture his Nobody is a feat in and of itself.

He’s forced to release his first successful replica to Xemnas. It really is a puppet--it will walk, talk, perform bodily functions--but it has no sense of self, not yet. He knows it’s too soon to let No. i into the field--it needs more extensive testing. Xemnas insists. They need insurance in case something were to happen to Roxas, mostly because Sora’s allies are searching for him. Not when they are so close to finally making progress on Kingdom Hearts. With it, knowledge and, perhaps for those interested, humanity again.

Vexen isn’t sure of his own opinion on the matter. To be a Nobody is a sort of freedom; he can research, experiment without guilt, without the need for social interaction. But as Nobodies they do not technically exist, literally speaking; doesn’t that in itself negate everything that’s been discovered?

So with what is almost anxiety, No. i is christened Xion, and welcomed into their ranks. But Vexen is not allowed to stay and observe it; he, and another replica, are needed in Castle Oblivion. He, Zexion, and Lexeaus are given dominion over the lower floors; Larxene, Axel, and Marluxia the upper. Most galling yet, Marluxia, number eleven for god’s sake, is made their tentative leader. While Marluxia has proven himself time and again in the field and at the table, why does this man deserve such a rank?

But Zexion and Lexeaus do not want to hear him complain about it. “Everyone’s work is important here,” Zexion says softly, huddled over his lexicon, poetically called “Book of Retribution”--Vexen does not pretend to understand that boy’s mind. “Yours especially. Focus on the task at hand.”

It’s a big task for the boy (the man, Vexen reminds himself, he’s nineteen); they would be using Zexion’s extensive illusions on Sora, as Naminé leaches his memories. They cannot afford a heart that special to remain out in the wide world; not when he actually has the power to put an end to them. Vexen knows Zexion’s powerful, knows of his stamina; but maintaining so many complex illusions for so long was a lot to ask of him. Castle Oblivion seems to like the boy's magic, to hold its shape. Even so. But they discover more is afoot; namely, that the neophytes have insane ideas to overthrow Xemnas, using Sora. Quickly, Zexion, Lexeaus, and Vexen devise a plan. While Sora has arrived, Riku soon follows, lured there by a carefully placed clue in the realm of darkness. They’d use Riku--or some semblance of him--to stop Marluxia from using the boy. It takes a bit of cleverness. They have to make Marluxia think they’re on his side, so the replica again changes hands.

But something goes wrong. The replica isn’t acting under their control, it’s developed its own will (what did they expect, forcing him into this so quickly). Marluxia, oh so casually, says that, unless Vexen can pacify the boy himself, he’ll report him and his failure, which can only go one way. Vexen's long had a feeling that he'd be eliminated once he outgrew his usefulness.

Very well.

So he fights the boy, and it’s much more difficult than he would have thought. The boy truly is something prodigal, something nearly godlike. He’s defeated, but is still alive. He already knows what’s coming, and something gives way. He tells the boy how to get his memories back, how to discover Roxas, giving him the key to a Twilight Town. When they meet again, the boy’s almost worked it out, what they are.

And then, to be crass, it hits the shit.

But he doesn’t expect Axel to be the one to execute him.

#beyond this existence: atonement #vexen #even (kingdom hearts)#zexion #xemnas #ienzo #beyond this existence #can you tell it's been a while since i played chain of memories #sorry in advance if i forgot something

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number9robotic · 6 years

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Untitled Cyberpunk Magical Girl Project characterization prompt response:

Original prompt by @gallusrostromegalus!

OC Recap (left to right):

Suzi: Dance student, part-time magical girl/virtual celebrity, half-stoic, half-upbeat depending on the mood.

Kim: Botanist, semi-retired veteran magical girl and mentor, awkward “cool” mom with baggage.

Crash: Delinquent spirit, first magical girl, currently hyperactive virtual ghost, born troublemaker.

Nano: Rebellious slave class member in hiding, uses magical girl powers for personal investigations, comically deadpan.

HD: Gifted rich girl/conspiracy theorist unknowingly chosen to be a magical girl, quiet but eccentric personality.

A. On a scale of “is occasionally forced to bathe” to “Instagram model with sponsors to hoe for” how involved is your OC’s Skincare routine?

Suzi: She’s a teenage girl, so a bit. Even disregarding her online presence, she’s in the know of cosmetics just to look good to friends.

Kim: Very basic hydration and cleanliness, only gets special treatment if something’s actively acting up.

Crash: Currently doesn’t care due to being a virtual ghost. Didn’t care much in her physical life either except for concerts.

Nano: Very basic cleanliness; she’s very out of the loop of many things, optimal skincare included.

HD: Focused a lot. Part of it is casual access to high-brand cosmetics, part of it is natural obsession with cleanliness.

B. What are your OC’s food preferences (flavors/textures/spiciness/calories/ when and how they eat) and how did they get that way?

Suzi: Has a pretty varied middle-class palate, likes even mix of savory and sweet. Very fond of fish and rice (sushi of course) and sugary drinks (boba, lemon tea).

Kim: Very light diet. Just needs something only mildly flavorful like tea or natto rice she can easily have at work, sometimes forgets to eat in general.

Crash: Likes cheap/instant ramen and other fast foods; grew up on the stuff and hates the taste of “real” food. She also likes things spicy.

Nano: Currently expanding taste buds due to lifetime being served nutrient goop. Likes sweets, but only has them on occasion because they cause headaches (taiyaki’s pretty good).

HD: Regularly gets to enjoy high-quality “real” foods, but very frequently jumps to easier-to-access comfort foods like strawberry milk or curry rice.

C. What’s something pointless/petty/unimportant that IRRATIONALLY ANNOYS THE HELL out of your OC?

Suzi: When the train arrives earlier than scheduled, so she misses it and has to wait for the next.

Kim: Zoning out while steeping tea and realizing it’s cold after forgetting about it.

Crash: Anti-aliasing, and the inability to turn it off. NOOOO SMOOTHENIIIIIIING

Nano: Her senior chef’s taste in music. She recently got a job as his apprentice, and she can’t stand the pirate rock he blares in the kitchen. She hates the accents.

HD: Lacking the right word to articulate an emotion or idea she wants to express and being unable to look it up.

D. What’s your OC’s response to being asked for money by a homeless person?

Suzi: “Some other day.”

Kim: (quietly looks to her phone)

Crash: “Nah fam, not today.”

Nano: (completely ignores them)

HD: (quietly looks the other way)

E. Does your OC get lost easily? What do they do when they do get lost?

Suzi: Checks the skytrain routes and maps at the stations.

Kim: Knows her path from home to work enough to never get lost.

Crash: “Thanks, GPS!”

Nano: Checks street signs and looks for maps at skytrain stations.

HD: In order: check maps, call guardians for directions, ask strangers.

F. What would STOP your OC from Doing The Right Thing in a tense situation?

Suzi: If she’s in physical danger without her powers. She don’t punch above her weight.

Kim: If she has no personal stakes in the matter. She doesn’t like escalating conflict, she’s already tired as is.

Crash: If it’s a strictly physical conflict where she’s unable to interact.

Nano: If it’s none of her business. She’s in hiding; attention is bad.

HD: If she doesn’t have powers for it. She’s not even in her teens, fam

G. Realistically, could your OC (in their normal circumstances- i.e. at their own house/battlecamp/spaceship etc.) keep a small child alive for a week if they had to? A Dog? A Houseplant? A rock with a smiley face painted on?

Suzi: She underestimates her ability to accommodate someone/something. She’d start off nervous, but she’d probably pull through.

Kim: Pretty well. She wants to ensure others are safe, she’s just very awkward at it.

Crash: Even in life, she was a mess, so probably not.

Nano: She’s only just learning to take care of herself among the surface world, give her some time.

HD: She’s like 12! She might take care of a plant just fine tho

H. If your OC had to take the S.A.T. tomorrow with one night to prep, how would they do? both emotionally and academically.

Suzi: Print out practice tests, head to a cafe, get some boba, and hunker down.

Kim: Work at home, take a shower, prepare some tea, scented candles, and some ambient records.

Crash: Wait for Kim to take her to her apartment and force her to do the same thing.

Nano: Internet biiiiiinge. Get the taiyaki ready.

HD: In her room going over various books with some music playing, and probably with a tab open for streaming.

I. What would cause your OC to chose to do something petty/pointlessly cruel?

Suzi: If she’s good friends with the target and another friend dared her to, and/or if she stands to get free food from it.

Kim: If she’s REALLY had enough of you but doesn’t have it in her to tell it to your face.

Crash: If she thinks it’d be funny. It isn’t always funny, but when it is, it is.

Nano: If she’s really angry at you and thinks she can get away with it without notice.

HD: If she’s feeling especially exhausted and has briefly given up on being nice to you.

J. On a scale of “Complete and Justified nervous breakdown” to “Conquer The Entire Galaxy and become an Immortal God-Emperor”, how well would your OC handle being abducted by Aliens?

Suzi: “Oh shit.”

Kim: “Is this a spaceship?”

Crash: “Kickass!”

Nano: “Are you from The Corporatocracy?”

HD: “I was right!?”

K. What song is 100% guaranteed to get your OC beyond turnt and will be sung loudly and embarrassingly, either in public or the shower?

Suzi: “Crazy Crazy” by Yasutaka Nakata.

Kim: “Sad Machine” by Porter Robinson.

Crash: “Whole New World” by SOPHIE.

Nano: She’s not the singing type, but “Giving Bad People Good Ideas” by Death Grips gets it done.

HD: “Feel Good Inc.” by Gorillaz.

L. What perfectly-normal-to-them-thing does your OC do that confuses/pisses off/terrifies their neighbors?

Suzi: Dances to loud mixes in her room.

Kim: Very frequently lights candles or incense in her apartment.

Crash: She used to practice a lot of vocalizations, ie scream a whole lot.

Nano: Have virtually no furniture aside from a bed and table for her laptop.

HD: Own an entire floor of an apartment building.

O. How often does your OC “zone out” or do things on autopilot and how severe have the problems that have arisen from that been?

Suzi: Often, but basically only during boring times where nothing is happening, including stuff that could potentially cause problems.

Kim: Almost never when at work, but frequently gets contemplative when at home.

Crash: As a virtual entity, she’s very active and almost never blanks out. In physicality, CONSTANTLY.

Nano: She doesn’t exactly zone out so much as she gets locked into one sensation/action and is unused to the need to adjust on her own.

HD: She can get twitchy at the worst of times, her mind going on extended tangents if there isn’t a lot of stimuli.

P. How strong or weak is your OC’s Impulse control? What’s the worst thing that happened because of their Impulsivity or inability to be so?

Suzi: Generally gives things careful consideration, but if a prospect is extremely exciting, she may need a reminder to step back a bit.

Kim: Very mellow and not one to making particularly decisive decisions, unless it’s regarding someone’s safety, where she’s very firm.

Crash: Very impatient and prone to making bad decisions without thinking through them. Ever since becoming a ghost, she’s a little more careful for Kim’s sake, but still needs a lot of work.

Nano: Very methodical and calculative, but feels the need to make fast decisions if she decides she has no time to be careful.

HD: Very patient and careful, almost glacial in terms of getting her onto another mindset.

Q. How does your OC sabotage themselves?

Suzi: She’s forming a double-life as a civilian and as a Magica for excitement, but she isn’t fully realizing the consequences of it or what she must do in the future, potentially barreling into danger for a brief thrill.

Kim: She simultaneously wants to have a normal life away from supernatural shenanigans but is irreparably locked into it with her relationship with Crash, ironically denying herself closure by wanting nothing to do with her trauma.

Crash: Constantly seeks to rebel introduce excitement to the world, but is often dishonest about her own motivations, resulting in an inability to think through her plans or the consequences of her actions, some very deadly for herself.

Nano: Her extremely methodical and calculative approach to everything leads her to make an enemy out of everyone. Her inability to trust anyone to not screw up leaves her pretty ineffectual in her goals.

HD: She’s extremely smart and critical, but constantly traps herself in loops of obsessive paranoia, often isolating herself from anyone else to support her or give her better grounding.

S. How Dehydrated is your OC right now? Are they going to fix this?

Suzi: Keep a reusable water bottle for water, occasionally gets ice tea/coffee if she feels like treating herself.

Kim: Keeps a thermos of hot water/tea.

Crash: Currently NA, previously just gets water from the tap.

Nano: Usually gets her fresh cups at work, enjoys municipal tap water at home. Blame Crash.

HD: Fills a cold water mug from a filtered fridge.

T. What’s your OC smell like? no, not that “Vanilla and Anxiety” evocative stuff, realistically. Body odor? what have they been touching all day? When was their last shower? Did they put on any kind of artificial scent?

Suzi: Takes regular care of her hygiene and attends clean facilities, often showers with a peach fragrance that sticks with her daily.

Kim: Smells sanitized and like a dentist’s office when traveling from work, smells like tea and “herbal” everywhere else.

Crash: Like electrons. In life, she showered, but always smelled like a combo of light sweat and coffee.

Nano: Often times faintly like dirt, sometimes with a literal fish-y stench from work.

HD: Very presentable, often has the aroma of strawberry and bread.

#my art #character prompt #writing prompt #untitled #untitled cyberpunk magical girl project #magical girl #oc #oc prompt

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saturatethe-written-whitewa-blog · 7 years

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oikawa rarepair week 2017, day 1.

oikawa rarepair week, day 1: height / birthdays / soulmate

pairing: oikawa tooru & kuroo tetsurou

Everyone was once a child, though they do not remember much of a time so pristine, except for a broken line of memories (featuring blinks of things they hope are memories and not settling concrete to fill in abysmal gaps,) and the most embarrassing of stories that are unforgettable, sometimes twisted a little bit from what originally was, the kind that's passed around when you come with faces you've seen before until everybody's too distracted by the frozen display in their minds and the trapped laughter set free.

When Oikawa Tooru was a child, he did not know, did not want to know, what soulmates were (Now, a long enough time later, he knows- maybe a little too much,) far too busy adventuring through the mapped territories of fields as golden as the sunset he still needs to squint to see, skipping past the bobbing headpieces of plants he didn't know the name of until his legs would become itchy and he'd grumble as he scratched them painful. Between then and Oikawa's sixth birthday, Iwaizumi Hajime was added to the newness of Oikawa's ever-awake span of sight through an event too everyday to make its own landmark in the lost city of Oikawa's childhood, an example of dull concrete to add distinctiveness to the landmarks pointed to heavens, that would scratch the soles of Oikawa's bare feet if he ever took a trip and went back stinging with nostalgia.

Nothing particular happened when Oikawa turned six, it was just the earliest birthday party he remembers. The cake was a flavor he decided, on his next birthday no less, that he didn't like, iced with vanilla and eaten with plastic forks because Oikawa's stumpy fingers are yet to become the ferocious setter's fingers that they are now, the friends he had invited, found at their own pockets of the small fraction of Miyagi, he doesn't have now, with the exception of Iwaizumi, who only greeted Oikawa a happy birthday because his mother told him to through a pinched smile and a poke of an elbow enough that Iwaizumi frowns and blushes.

(The parent Oikawas were scared that Tooru would have stabbed a child's eye out, it's ridiculous, they know, and they still breathed with relief two hours after the last of the guests parted with one last wish of wellness for good measure; the last of the parents' tasks were to pick up the plastic utensils on the floor, including the ones that'd been stepped on and snapped with a frightening sound. They put Tooru to bed without so much as a fuss, wiped icing from his mouth with the same shirt that's rubbed against lots of presents wrapped in colors from baby blue to lemony yellow only hours ago.)

Now, if you look below instead of ahead at the outline that appears much larger when you're no farther than fifteen footprints from it, there's some more concrete that goes unnoticed. Weeks have passed, weeks are forgotten. Oikawa learns about soulmates then, in a suddenness that doesn't surprise him; children belong to the same species, tried and tested, though they really do seem strange, entirely different. He was with Iwaizumi, doing something typical of the summertime high, when words start falling onto his wrist with the speed of whipping winds, and they stay there no matter how frantically Oikawa scrubs at his wrist, no matter how many tears he lets darken the ink. Iwaizumi had no idea what to do when Oikawa cried, now, Iwaizumi's got a hold of the tip of an inkling- which is better than nothing, he supposes.

The words are something everyone receives at their own times (and some don't ask for it, similarly to a mid-life crisis, or any sort of crisis- unless you were the flowering kind of strange masochist that liked flavoring days with the feeling of suffocation.) Whether they want it or not is not up to them (but choosing to obey it or covering it up with pretty cherry blossoms or the forlorn look of a deer was a choice they were offered.)

The words are the first thing your soulmate says to you, or so the old wives' tale goes. The connection doesn't come at the swift blow of an instance. It was vague and unexpected with an impact still all that groundbreaking, a cruel touch of the gods that tied strangers together with a thread so fine only their eyes can catch it in the rough world of misguided youths and minds lost to business.

(Iwaizumi gets his before his eighth birthday, in a show not as spectacular as Oikawa's waterworks display. The words on the wrists of Oikawa's parents were a gentle "I'm sorry, were you going to borrow this book?" and "No, no, we can share it- I'm, um, Oikawa..."

Iwaizumi had taken Oikawa back to his parents, a journey of careful steps and gentle telling of Oikawa to stop crying (Oikawa doesn't stop crying, Iwaizumi understands,) as if Oikawa had been bitten by a wild animal, though the scared look that pours over Oikawa's eyes like poison dismays Iwaizumi all the same. Oikawa learns he's awful at looking like he isn't crying, and he's having a hard time keeping up with the sturdy pace Iwaizumi walked in. Iwaizumi only keeps looking ahead, and he still does nineteen years later.

The Iwaizumi of six years recognizes the half-open door of Oikawa's house before Oikawa does. Modest, welcoming everything from early sunlight to a neighbor asking for one of the spare tires they keep in a garage too dark for Oikawa and Iwaizumi to want to play in; what was not welcome, however, were animals from the street: dogs, cats, anything else on four legs and a brain turned so famished that it loses all rational thought. An exterior and interior painted just as how they had first purchased it when they were but young and inexperienced and twinkling from the honeymoon. Breaking and entering, all that, was a caution softly reassured by the iron will of Oikawa's dad, who still remembers a few things from the days when he was a teenager that only sought liberation from academical expectations.

Iwaizumi takes to the inside of the house, door unlocked and warm enough not to protest when its slammed curtly as Iwaizumi exclaims too many things all at once. Oikawa's parents are stirred from the stuffy lull of television and iced water, and they would have responded to Iwaizumi with slurred words if they were so careless as to miss the rare, panicked look that possesses Iwaizumi's usually unshakable countenance.

(Iwaizumi was never scared, even when faced with the moist, curious frogs that wandered after the rains and always made Oikawa cry if he'd ever touch one or if ever one touched him.)

Oikawa's parents swarm the newly-turned six year old as they investigate his free skin for any cuts, grazes, scrapes, blink openly a few times when they discover none. Oikawa's words were nothing more than blurbs, unhelpful; his eyes were still teary, the swell of his cheeks pushing down the drops, and his hands were busy crumpling appall onto the hem of his shirt.

Oikawa's parents made their conclusions quickly- the words on his wrist were bold, washed in tears, hard to miss.

Oikawa tells them about the words on wrist when his speech gains some kind of coherency, most of them he had trouble reading, and his parents only take on pitiful faces and take Tooru by his hands and lead him inside with a promise of an explanation. Oikawa's mother smiles at Iwaizumi and tells him to come inside, too. Iwaizumi is given a cold drink, one he doesn't recognize, but it sets his tastes buds ablaze with the sharpness of tropical fruit; Iwaizumi furrows his brows and wonders whether he likes it or not.

Not beside Iwaizumi, Tooru and his father sat, and the middle-aged man tried the best of his jests until Oikawa smiles in between his sniffles. Oikawa drinks the mysterious drink, too, and he doesn't go 'blegh!' in disgust like Iwaizumi expects him to, instead finishing everything fast enough the ice cubes clink against its comrades in shock. Oikawa asks for seconds, finishes only a quarter of the new glass and his dad laughs and finished it for him.

Meanwhile, Iwaizumi only realizes how hot the outside had been when he can feel the sweat on his skin like clothes he wasn't actually wearing when he braves the mightiest of the what the taller electric fan blows at him. Oikawa's stopped crying, sat between his parents who wonder how to begin their talk, and Oikawa's lips shine because of the drink that fills him enough he pats his stomach ("Like in the TV!" Oikawa pronounced 'TV' in a way that makes his dad crack up again, and his mother hides a snort well behind the back of her hand,) and not because of the tears caught and occupied on his trembling lips earlier.

Oikawa doesn't remember exactly about what his mom explained to him, but it was something about soulmates and love and promise and all the other things Oikawa was only supposed to care about later. Oikawa tries not to think about it too much, but it'll always be there, when he reaches for a bar of soap his parents know but forget that he can't reach, when he peeks through his fingers and four times out of ten Iwaizumi barks at him not to cheat, but Oikawa does it anyway, until Iwaizumi's temper is turned rotten and Oikawa has to make a promise as thoughtlessly as a businessman has to write a check.

He was six years old, for God's sake, and Iwaizumi was, too; they were supposed to remember things like the inedible rock-looking objects they'd put into their mouths regardless or the insects they'd try to give names to, and keep in cups to look at until they learn nothing interesting is going to happen. He was six years old, for God's sake, he used 'badder' instead of 'worse' had gotten corrected in second grade quite loudly by a teacher just after Oikawa had, just as loudly, argued that "No way! Iwa-chan's badder than me at cards!" and it takes him a while, but he does start using the word. They were kids hardwired to want a good time, no matter what nook or cranny they find themselves in.

Oikawa doesn't know what to make of soulmates, for not even his closest of friends know about it, not even the ones that are years older and heads taller than Oikawa and Iwaizumi are, not even the neighborhood girls who talk about foreign things like stickers and braids. Without anything to define it by, the talk about soulmate withers quickly, gets forgotten for most of Oikawa's childhood, gets lost in a sea of things that will never have light shed on it.

The next event Oikawa can remember in his timeline of broken lines and gaps recklessly replaced, sort of like a constellation but without the intricate prettiness, is in a year he can't put a name to, but it's when he first picks up a volleyball, rough and strange in his hands, tilting his heads with the weight of the questions he can't wait to ask Iwaizumi, so unaware.

(Oikawa doesn't know how much of his years are going to be consumed by the sport until he picks up another volleyball a second time that week, and then a third.)

Nineteen years later, Oikawa wishes he could be as careless as he was in his childhood, could wake up at not paralyze his brain cells with worry, could play with Iwaizumi for as long as the sun blazes. Nowadays, he feels like he's made of more parts preservatives and ramen than he is circulated oxygen and capillaries.

Oikawa's thankful for the busy life, because he forgets all the things he doesn't want to think about, like soulmates- especially soulmates. Oikawa knows better than to fuss about unimportant things, like the words that define something of a person's dreams is unimportant (which, to Oikawa, is, or so he likes to convince himself.) Two out of five of his friends (and that's a simplified fraction, because Oikawa has far too many contacts than he knows what to do with besides group projects and contrived smiley faces and besides the people that really mattered were at the top, labelled with witty sarcasm,) have already fled with their soulmates, e.g: Matsukawa and Hanamaki, and the notorious two were even happier turning Oikawa's daily life into a bittersweet species of eternal torment.

(Oikawa realizes then that's he's the kind of fellow that didn't ask for the words to flow on his wrist that one summer afternoon.)

It's not exactly a trouble to wake up with it, though some days he feels stupid when he's got a literal joke on his wrist and the person beside him has something polite and adorable like: "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" or "Isn't that a little bit too much coffee?" or "This your seat? Oh, you too, buddy?"; Oikawa's forever favorite is Iwaizumi's, a funny little thing about sardines that he laughs at just thinking about, definitely in a sad attempt to nurse his own feelings back to a sense of stability.

If he could put a name to the feeling, it was something like a cursed black sheep (he's proud that he stills remember that English idiom from once upon a school day in third grade,) among a pictureesque meadow of cloud-like whites that sing baa-baa, meh-meh, or was that a goat?

Oikawa can still remember, clear as ink, when Iwaizumi was old enough to understand how the less happy parts of the world worked, he had laughed long and loud enough Oikawa's face turned a pretty red and he'd spent the rest of the day pulling his sleeves as far as they would go. Iwaizumi, however, thoroughly wore himself out cackling at the oddity on the wrist of an oddity itself; Iwaizumi's face had kept the color of red pepper a little longer, and the breaths he took were more remnants of laughter unreleased than sips of oxygen.

Oikawa's distracted from his reminiscing, blessedly, for the pit of shame was a treacherous one, by the ringtone he'd chosen from his ultimate days in Aoba Johsai, caught surprised by Makki's contact photo: a picture he'd taken a fair summer day, with sunglasses ridden on the top of his head and his beverage spilling gloriously on his shirt for everyone to laugh at.

(Makki had asked Oikawa to take a picture of his OOTD, because Mattsun would always laugh and it would make Makki laugh, the picture losing the essence of its solemn moment. And Iwaizumi's fingers, unlike the rest of his body, were shaky and trembled for no reason at all, like when he'd brought over the iced drinks or when he'd held a camera phone for the first time. A fly had buzzed a language into Makki's ear, startling him and his drink, sloshing out of the cup and onto his shirt. Oikawa took the picture anyways. When Makki, quite flustered, asked him to delete it, Oikawa sneers and sticks his tongue out; Makki's tissue, thin as Iwaizumi's patience with Oikawa, does some sticking of its own: onto his shirt, a cause for more of the group's laughter.)

Oikawa views the new message involuntarily. Any distraction was as valuable as gold to him. He'd books to read and ink to waste and more than enough nighttime to regret it all.

hanatikimook1 sent a photo

hanatikimook1: look at us free and not doing any last minute school work because we know how to do shit on time oikawa t-hoe-ru: ffs oikawa t-hoe-ru: i have better things to do than look at you and mattsun making bad kissy faces oikawa t-hoe-ru: btw oikawa t-hoe-ru: i make better kissy faces (◕ε ◕｡ )

oikawa t-hoe-ru sent a photo

hanatikimook1: hahahahaha in what universe? oikawa t-hoe-ru: this one

Oikawa sets his phone down where he vaguely remembers putting it the last time, ignoring it when it hums another few times. He focuses on the unfinished things in front of him for a record-breaking two minutes without any stretched, exasperated groans. Oikawa had made the mistake of resisting a cup of coffee that makes his fingers feel like he's pulling some beast out of Hell, but it did good to feed him the illusion of wakefulness, without it, he feels as disoriented as a newborn calf and he's surprised his handwriting hasn't crossed each other yet in an underwhelming explosion.

Oikawa's phone makes another noise, and what the hell, he hasn't even continued his work yet, but he picks it up anyway for another bite of the distraction. He sees his reflection in the screen unlit, all tired and heavy with the unfulfilled urge to yawn and all wrapped up in bags (no, not the ones decorating the underside of his eyes,) ready to be thrown away the next morning. Oikawa had another personality in the campus, a whim to be set apart from the zombie-made college students that donned clothes as dark as their moods.

Oikawa blinks, feels more awake at the sudden self-awareness and he turns on his phone again hoping that the feeling is more long-lasting than until he finishes reading Makki's ridiculous text messages.

Oikawa's work, an essay fueled by a total of two hours, on and off, of sighs, self-indulgent breaks and invisible tears sits to collect Oikawa's neglect. Oikawa knows it's a bad thing to leave it for his phone, and the Oikawa Tooru several minutes more regretful in the future is going to feel it settle into him like a disease.

(With all these late nights made early mornings and just as many lectures on proper health from friends, family, Iwaizumi and a starving lack of opportunities to actually put the plan into motion, Oikawa thinks something's bound to happen to one of the organs he's got in him. He would have Googled it if the voice of reason in his head reminded him of the essay he'd covered with purposeful ignorance, so he texts Makki a quick "srsly i have to finish this shit" and he receives a "sure lmao sux to be u" that Oikawa rolls his eyes at.)

(He spots the words on his wrist again, grunts, and it makes him roll his eyes, too.)

Oikawa groans another groan, but it doesn't change his circumstances. He would have liked to spin in his chair if he was not so weak as to get dizzy after the first one, or do something, anything, that felt freeing if he was not shelled up in the darkness. Oikawa despises the essay the further he constructs it with each odd syllable he can think of. The man-made lights are his only companion, because he's sure even Hanamaki and Matsukawa have already tangled themselves in appendages and giggled and poked noses until they fell asleep for this was the ungodliest of hours. Oikawa yawns again, feeling complacent when it takes him more than a few flicks of the touchpad to scroll to the top of the document, where the bold text feel like screams at Oikawa's eyes.

It takes all Oikawa has to skim through what he's made, relying far too heavily on the spellcheck he knew the laptop had. He decides that it's enough, reassures himself that little bit more that nobody really gives a shit anymore, that even the smartest one in class (and Oikawa, resigned to the bitter spot of second place,) probably sat in front of a screen as begrudgingly as he did, probably groaned into the closed windows as much.

Oikawa sighs as he gets up, Alright, he tells himself, with this much cleared away I should treat myself.

And that was how he tried his best to keep the door as quiet as possible as he sneaked out into the protesting night gusts and slow, chilly, anticipating, he makes his way to the convenience store, frequented enough that one of the cashiers that worked a ten hour shift had become fast, good friends with Oikawa. Obviously, he wasn't there when Oikawa enters the convenience store- the cashier was probably somewhere, happily sleeping, and Oikawa was scornfully kept awake by the pressures of the older society.

The cashier working there doesn't greet him, good, because Oikawa doesn't want to greet him either.

The cashier looks like he's seen better nights of sleep, and as Oikawa, probably the only customer-and-meathead stupid enough not to tuck (or be tucked,) into sheets at this hour passes past the cashier that chooses to remain in silence, they both swear a voiceless oath to the night, and all its terrible beauties.

Oikawa gives the man in the refrigerator's glass door his best zombie look (that's his reflection, by the way, for all yous just as without sleep as our dear Oikawa Tooru is,) wicked enough to make blood curdle, turn milk sour, and make babies cry.

The temperature of the refrigerator's insides make him lose the feeling in his fingers, and the cheese slices he began craving out of nowhere are far away enough he has to tiptoe despite the six-feet-and-something he's put between himself and the soap-white tiles of the floor.

The dairy products section of the local outlet of college students' everything-you're-ever going-to-need, or so one of Oikawa's friends liked to call it (a guy that knew how to make just about anybody laugh, and distinctive hair the color of a yellow flower Oikawa can't name for lack of sharpness of his thinking,) was not a fraction of the quaint store that Oikawa visited a lot, only when he was hosting a friend that liked to milk in their coffee, or cheese on their toast. Oikawa's territory was the section with all the kinds of instant ramen, ranging from extra spicy to seafood that smelled exactly like seafood.

This foreign land, marked by a sign with light blues and whites and a beaming cow with a bell around its neck, introduced itself coldly; Oikawa wishes he were examining the racks of instant ramen instead, secure and organized, his lifeblood, practically; wishes he entered the store sometime other than the first hours of post-midnight, like perhaps the embracing warmth of the endings of an afternoon. Here is all pale colors and brand names Oikawa puzzles himself trying to wonder how they'd come to conceptualization (the ramen packets had unusual names, too, but bias was a force just as powerful as the sorts like centripetal works and inertia.)

Oikawa takes his cheese slices and doesn't stay for longer than he has to. The refrigerator resumes its closed position with a last condensed breath.

Kuroo has no more reason being outside than that Kenma had wanted something unhealthy to eat, and Kuroo, out of kindness, and because he'd already been rudely awoken anyway, volunteers to buy it for him.

Kuroo leaves behind his sleeping clothes for something more decent, although there was nobody around to critique him, and he enters the store with a handful more of sleep than our Oikawa Tooru, stricken open-mouthed by a yawn.

Kuroo, by the purest of coincidence or the decisions of a god made ages ago finally falling into rightness, walks past where Oikawa has a hand buried deep in a coldness Kuroo's already shivering from just imagining. He buries his own hands deeper into whatever he can bury them into, coddling the coat he's glad he's put on. He's got earbuds on, a gift from Bokuto when their friendship was still a new, shy thing.

The song flooding his senses into a state that makes him feel that least bit more alive was what kept Kuroo from counting his footsteps and tipping over afterwards.

He passes Oikawa without even a first glance, unimpressed by his backside, and to a superficial eye, the god's structure of a plan would have crumbled into ridicule. But look on some more.

"Stupid hoes is my enemy, stupid hoes is so whack. Stupid hoe shoulda befriended me, then she coulda probably came back."

Oikawa, he. He had no words. Just all the profanities he'd taken under his wing all molten and acidic and clawing to escape from his mouth. His mouth opened and closed, so cross his head would have burst in red color and empty steam if it were a cartoon, and the offender, in a big coat and a carefree gait, continued to walk past.

Those were the exact words on Oikawa's wrist, the same kind that ravaged him, annoyed him, and they seemed to glow in sick joy. All Oikawa has in his left hand is the packet of cheese slices with liquefying frost, and in his right is a fist.

He doesn't know why, but he throws the cheese slices at the passerby, hits him right in the back of overgrown horrors he called hair.

The cheese slices make a pathetic thunk on the tiled floor and are nearly stepped on as the stranger turns around with an offended face.

"What the fuck?" he asks, in a voice so eloquent (charming, even, if Oikawa's mind wasn't on imaginary caffeine and painfully real willpower,) despite the accent of early morning tiredness.

"Don't 'what the fuck' me, you're the one with the hideous taste in music!"

The stranger pauses, or maybe it's a malfunction in time, and his eyes go wide as if Oikawa's just split his head on the display case standing next to them.

"It's you!"

Oikawa flicks his hair. "Oikawa Tooru, at your service."

There was no handshake, no kind greeting. Just silence as the two regarded each other differently. The stranger's eyes were the kind of gold he could get addicted to, injure himself on a jagged stone for.

(No, not stranger, Oikawa corrects himself, but soulmate.)

"Wanna go somewhere? Get to know each other more, develop something stupid and typical and a little bit too far into the wild side?"

"Well, since you asked, Tetsu-chan, take me to the Tokyo tower?"

Oikawa tells Iwaizumi all about the story of how he finally met his soulmate, of course he has to tell Iwaizumi. Oikawa tells Iwaizumi everything. At the end of it, Oikawa was expecting a congratulations, maybe lavished with it and a platter of praise, but all Oikawa receives is a deadpan and a "Why the fuck did you throw a pack of cheese slices at the person you're supposed to spend the rest of your life with?"

(After some very deep thought and reflection, Oikawa comes to the realization that, yeah, why the fuck did he throw a pack of cheese slices at the person he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with?)

#oikawararepairweek2k17 #oikawararepairweek2017 #oikawararepairweek #haikyuu!!#haikyuu

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