#a million kisses to my favorite emo boy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

themetaphorgirl · 2 years ago

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Prompt- daob Spence hanging out with Alex and James and the rest of the bau at rossi's place. Maybe they were invites for dinner or something like that?

how did you know that this was actually something that's been sitting in my brain for like two years??

I'm very rusty but this makes me so emo and I love baby Spencer Blake and his eight million aunts and uncles.

also it's interesting to see how many Patron Saint characterizations bled into this. I didn't even notice it until I went back and reread it this morning (I wrote this last night on my phone, mostly at work). also someone please ask me about my theories about Alex's aesthetic pipeline because she's my favorite and I love her.

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Spencer wasn’t sure what a Paw Patrol was and this point he didn’t want to ask, but he did know that Henry certainly liked it. The younger boy had been watching episodes on loop since he’d arrived, climbing over the furniture with his various toys and shrieking along with the action on TV. Jack was a little quieter but not by much; he was playing his Nintendo sprawled out on the floor and was clearly losing his game, judging by how often he yelped and scoffed and talked to himself as the handheld console beeped and chirped.

Spencer curled up small in the corner of the couch with his book balanced on his knees. When they’d first arrived at Grandpa Dave’s house, it had seemed like a good idea to go play with Henry and Jack in the den that had become the default playroom every time the grownups met for dinner. Now it was too chaotic and he couldn’t focus, but the idea of going to James and Alex stressed him out. What if he interrupted them?

“Hey, boys, who’s hungry?” Uncle Derek said as he stuck his head in the room.

“Me!” Henry yelled happily, throwing his plastic dog as he vaulted off the coffee table. Derek caught him easily.

“Uncle Derek, I can’t beat this level,” Jack complained. “Can you beat it for me?”

“I could try, but you’d be better off asking Aunt Penny when she gets here,” Derek said as he draped Henry over his shoulder, making him shriek with laughter. “Come on, kid. Spencer, you hungry?”

Spencer nodded, setting his book down carefully as he followed behind them. Derek patted him lightly on the back as Jack and Henry talked over each other.

The kitchen in Grandpa Dave’s house was massive and filled with the clatter of attempted cooking and multiple conversations. Dave was busy at the stove and Aunt JJ was setting out plates, and Aunt Emily was attempting to help her as she balanced a glass of wine in one hand. The sliding glass doors were open, late summer heat twining into the air conditioning inside, and he could hear James and Uncle Hotch talking as they worked at the grill.

“I got the kids!” Derek reported cheerfully. He swung Henry around, making him squeal. “Where should I put them?”

Jack draped himself over the arm of a chair. “Where’s my dad?” he asked.

“Outside with Uncle James,” JJ said as she shifted Henry from Derek’s hip to hers. “Dinner will be ready in just a second.”

Emily took a sip of her wine as she dropped a fork onto the table. “When’s Garcia getting here?” she asked.

The doorbell chimed loudly. “That’s her, I’ll get it,” Derek said as he loped away.

Spencer bit his lip and looked around. Emily smiled at him. “Looking for Mom?” she said. “She’ll be right back, she went outside for a second. Don’t worry.”

Right on cue Alex walked in from the back deck, her long summer dress swishing. “If the two of them will stop bickering over grilling techniques, we can eat,” she said. Spencer sidled up to her and tangled his fingers in her skirt; she immediately drew him closer to her side and bent to kiss the top of his head. “Hi, sweetheart. Having fun?”

He didn’t answer her but he leaned against her, some of the tension fading out of him as she rubbed his back. Things always seemed a little less intense when she was there.

Dave frowned as he pulled condiments out of the fridge and set them on the counters. “Listen, as long as nothing is well done, I’m good with whatever they’ve grilled,” he said.

James and Uncle Hotch walked inside from the deck, both of them balancing multiple plates. “That’s something we can agree on at least,” James laughed.

Hotch set down his plates on the counter. “Barbecue sauces, not so much. Jack, buddy, stop hanging off the chair like that.”

“Hi! I’m here! I hope I haven’t missed anything!” Penelope said as she bustled into the room, Derek right behind her. “Sorry, sorry, rehearsal ran a little late.”

Dave kissed her on the cheek. “What show is it this time?” he asked.

“Noises Off. I’m having a wonderful time, but gosh, am I going to be bruised,” she said.

“We’ll have to come see it,” Emily said, nearly spilling her wine as she hugged Penelope with one arm. “Family field trip.”

“Is it going to be as long as the musical?” Spencer asked.

“Hopefully not,” Alex said, barely hiding a smile.

“It wasn’t that long,” Penelope said. She looked Alex up and down. “Oh my god, Alex, you’re adorable. You look like a preppy mom blogger.”

Alex glanced down self consciously. “Is that a good thing?” she said.

“Oh, excellent, you look like you’re spending a weekend at your summer home on Nantucket,” Penelope said. “Classy mom vibes. Beautiful.”

James kissed Alex on the cheek as he walked past her. “She’s always a beauty,” he said.

Henry came running around the corner. “Aunt Penny!” he shrieked.

“Oh! My godbabies!” Penelope exclaimed. Henry ran to her first, flinging his arms around her neck. “You get bigger every time I see you! Stop! Stay little!”

Henry laughed as she hugged him and smooched him loudly on the cheek. “Aunt Penny, my tooth is loose!” Jack said, leaning around Henry as he vied for her attention. He opened his mouth wide and wiggled the offending tooth with his tongue. “See? See?”

“Oh, I do see, that’s disgusting,” Penelope laughed as she hugged him too.

“That’s his second tooth this week, he’s going to put the tooth fairy in bankruptcy at this rate,” Hotch said dryly.

Penelope smiled at Spencer. “Hi, sweetie,” she said. “Would you like a hug too?”

He nodded, slipping away from Alex, and Penelope hugged him tight. “Oh, you’re so precious. Are you getting taller? You seem taller.”

“I don’t think so,” Spencer said. He wrinkled his nose. “Yesterday one of the parents at therapy group asked me when I was turning nine. I had to explain that I’m already nine.”

Alex laughed. “You’ll catch up, I’m sure of it,” she said, smoothing his hair.

“Yeah, keep eating your vegetables and you’ll be as tall and strong as me,” Derek said, playfully flexing.

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Height is mostly determined by genetics, Uncle Derek,” he said. “Eating vegetables wouldn’t cause that much growth. Minimal at best.”

“My mom always said I would have been taller if I’d just eaten vegetables,” JJ said.

“Adults just say stuff like that so children eat vegetables,” Spencer said. He looked up at James. “Right, Dad?”

“Yeah, he’s right,” James said, beaming down at him.

“Ha! I knew it!” Jack said, grinning cheekily at his dad.

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “You’re still eating your vegetables,” he said. “They’re still good for you even if it doesn’t make you taller. Right?”

“Oh, yeah, right,” James said. He pointed a scolding finger playfully at Jack. “Listen to your father, young man.”

“All right, all right, all right, stop squabbling and let’s eat,” Dave said as he set down the last plate of food on the table. “Everybody sit, before it gets cold.”

Spencer hung back as everyone starting taking their seats, but James took him by the hand, walked him up to the table, and guided him to a chair next to Alex. “What do you want to drink, kiddo?” James asked as he sat down at his other side. “Water or something else?”

Spencer shifted around to sit cross legged. “Something else,” he said.

“Lemonade or sweet tea?”

“Lemonade,” he said, and James picked up the pitcher and poured it into his glass.

Dinners at Grandpa Dave’s house were always chaotic as everyone carried on multiple conversations and passed around food. It made him feel better to sit between James and Alex. He knew his parents would take care of him, they would make sure he got enough to eat and they would understand if everything started to feel like too much.

Although they weren’t his parents. He had to keep reminding himself of that. But he almost didn’t mind when he forgot.

His plate ended up overly full, but with just enough space to keep his food from touching. He listened to the grownups talk as he ate, sometimes chiming in. They never minded when he joined in their conversations.

Most of his dinner was delicious, but somehow a pile of grilled mushrooms had ended up in his plate. Spencer poked at it with his fork. He hated mushrooms, they were slick and spongy and left a weird taste in the back of his mouth. But he couldn’t just not eat them, he might make someone upset. He stabbed one with his fork and gritted his teeth.

Alex touched his back lightly. “You don’t have to eat those if you don’t want to,” she whispered. He bit his lip. “Do you want to eat it? No one will be upset if you don’t.” He paused, then shook his head.

Alex caught James’s eye and nodded towards Spencer’s plate. Without dating a word he scooped the offending mushrooms away. “Are you still hungry, Spencer?” he asked as he spooned the mushrooms onto his own plate. “You can have more if you want. Or you can have more later if you’re not hungry now.”

Spencer took a deep breath. Sometimes he had to remind himself that he was going to be able to eat again, that things weren’t how they used to be and he wouldn’t have to go hungry anymore. His therapist talked about it a lot, and so did James and Alex. But it was easier to talk about it than actually remember.

“I think I’m a little bit hungry,” he says in a small voice.

James smiled at him and scooped out a little more grilled corn and roasted potatoes for him. Spencer relaxed.

By the time dinner had wound down he was comfortably full and a little sleepy. “Who wants dessert?” Dave asked.

“Oh, I couldn’t eat anything else if you paid me,” Penelope sighed.

“I don’t know, I think there’s pie. I would live off dessert if I could,,” JJ said. “I’m going to put a movie on for Henry. Jack, Spence, do you want to come?”

Jack immediately slid down from his chair, a half eaten hot dog still in his hand. “Yeah!” he said.

“Finish that first and then you can go play,” Hotch said, half laughing.

Spencer climbed down. He didn’t really want to go, he sort of wanted to just stay with his parents, but if the other boys were leaving he was probably expected to go too. Alex squeezed his arm lightly as he walked away.

He went back to his corner of the couch and his book, and Aunt JJ set up a Disney movie for them. Towards the end of the movie Aunt Emily checked on them and brought them brownies and apple pie and vanilla ice cream, and kept them company for a while before switching to another and going back to the grownups.

Spencer was barely interested in the first movie and even less in the second, and he’d long since finished the books he’d brought with him. Jack was still playing his Switch, much more subdued than earlier, and Henry had fallen asleep on the floor with a toy in one hand and a brownie in the other.

He bit down on the pad of his thumb. Lately he’d been trying even harder to break his thumbsucking habit, but it was tempting, especially when he could feel exhaustion creeping into him. The novelty of going to Grandpa Dave’s had worn off, and he wanted his normal bedtime routine and to sleep in his own bed. He felt like he was wound too tight, tense enough to give himself a headache.

Before he could talk himself out it of he slid down from the couch and slipped out of the room. The kitchen was empty, but the sliding glass doors to the backyard were open. It was dark outside, but the lawn was lit with string lights and he could hear the adults talking.

The grownups were sitting outside on a scattered collection of deck chairs and loungers; most of them were sipping drinks and Grandpa Dave had lit one of his cigars. Spencer crept closer, his bare toes curling at the feel of damp fresh cut grass under him.

His parents were sitting together, Alex with a glass of wine in her hand and James leaning back with his arm around her shoulders. Spencer paused. The grownups were deep in conversation and he didn’t want to interrupt. He inched closer, hoping they would notice him.

“No, I remember reading about that,” Alex was saying, but as she talked she opened her arm to him and he crawled into her lap. “There was a journal published six months ago, I think?” Spencer leaned his head against her shoulder as she cuddled him close. “It brought up some good points about the legitimacy of the previous research.”

He exhaled slowly. Already he felt better, the pressure in his head beginning to lift. Alex patted his hip absently with her free hand as she talked, and James shifted his legs over his lap to make him more comfortable.

The adults’ conversation began to blur in his ears as he snuggled closer to Alex and twined his fingers in the shoulder strap of her dress. He could feel the steady thump of her heartbeat and the softness of her dress, and she smelled like her violet and vanilla perfume and the strawberry scent of her half drunk glass of moscato. He nuzzled his cheek against her shoulder and she kissed the top of his head.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing he knew he was being carried, but not by Alex. He whined through his teeth. “It’s okay, baby, go back to sleep,” James said softly. “It’s okay. Daddy’s got you.”

He blinked sleepily as James lifted him into the car and buckled him in, but he must’ve fallen asleep again, because the next time he opened his eyes he was in his own room. The nightlight was switched on, casting soft gentle shadows on the wall, and Alex was changing him out of his shorts and his tee shirt.

He scrunched up his face. “‘m home?” he mumbled.

“Yes, my darling, we’re home,” Alex said. “Time for bed.”

He was too sleepy to try to sit up and get his pajamas on himself, so he didn’t fight as Alex dressed him and got him settled against the pillows. “Mama?” he said.

Alex smiled as she tucked him in. “What dearest?”

He rubbed his eyes. “Love you.”

Alex kissed his cheek, then his forehead. “I love you too,” she said. “Get some sleep. You’re home and you’re safe.”

She sat down on the edge of his bed, and it didn’t take him very long to fall back asleep as Alex stroked his hair away from his face.

#au: spencer blake #caitlin writes things #spencer reid #alex blake #james blake #aaron hotchner #hotch #jack hotchner #david rossi #emily prentiss #jj jareau #henry lamontagne #please don't ask where will is i just now realized i forgot to write him into this #derek morgan #penelope garcia

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chiwhorei · 4 years ago

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boyfriend headcannons- k. kyoutani

synopsis: boyfriend headcannon with a sweet, soft g!n s/o.

rating: sfw- just some fluffy boyfriend kyotani vibes.

word count: ~1.1k

warnings: swearing

a/n: just some self-indulgent boyfriend mad dog content, i am unreasonably soft for this man. this has been going bing bong around in my head so i just had to let it out.

This boy is rough around the edges and it drives my FUCKING crazy😍. But let’s all imagine him with a really sweet, soft, s/o.

So everyone from VBC knows Mad Dog as a punked out demon, so they surely don’t expect a sweet, smol babie like you walking hand in hand with him

He always walks a little in front of you and holds your hand very protectively ugh😖

Your style is super soft . Pastel colors and baggie sweaters. Precious really. And Kyotani is always stunned by your sweet, pure beauty.

Whenever you say a curse word my man is literally so shocked, like “Did they srsly just say fuck instead of frick frack?”

Always grumbles when you drag him to go clothes shopping. Mf only has like 5 shirts he cycles through and 182732772 different cut offs made from like old high school t shirts to work out in

“What color do you like better?” You ask while holding up two shirts he SWEARS are the same fucking shirt.

“Is this bitch trying to prank me?”

“I like that one.” He points to the one in your right hand (even though he cannot tell the difference) and you smile happily and kiss his cheek.

Cue the blushing mess of a man who tried to act all hard awwwww

You steal one of his old ripped up band t-shirts and pair it with a soft baggie cardigan and someone is going to have to check my dude’s pulse.

hOW ARE YOU SO CUTE

You also help him dye his hair and honestly bless your soul. You two have very different aesthetics but you will still meticulously dye his hair with those two lines of brunette because you support your man’s emo dreams.

Okay. Listen. Mad Dog drives a stick and really likes classic cars. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

If he’s not playing volleyball he’s working on a beat up old Mustang. He’s like... changing the... transmission or the bumper... or something...

Whatever, he’s all hot and sweaty in a tank top that’s what we all care about anyway.

And there you are, leaning against the drivers side door and chattering about something that happened in one of your classes and he’s just nodding along, offering some grunts of acknowledgement while wiping some oil off of his hands.

And CAN WE JUST IMAGINE SITTING IN THE PASSENGERS SEAT while he’s driving. Watching his hands as he switches gears and his fingers thumping to the beat of whatever song is playing on the steering wheel oomph

One of his favorite things to do is to just drive around and listen to music.

Here he comes, banged up old car he completely rebuilt, with the hardest music blasting through the open windows, and there you are in the passengers seat going 🥰☺️💖

Everyone around: “Is that person being kidnapped?”

Takes you to car shows. This is one of the very few times Kyotani is super talkative, walking you around and explaining all the different ~car~ things

You don’t really know what he’s talking about but you love it when he geeks out a little.

You show up to his practice one day to bring him some snacks.

Everyone’s eyes snap over to the random person hugging the door frame of the gym entrance, with a gigantic smile and pure, curious eyes.

Literally everyone on the team is disintegrating when Kyotani walks up to you and starts talking to you? Like? A? Normal? Conversation?

And then he starts tugging on the end of you sweater, playing with the hem bc it comforts him 😢

You lean in and rub your hand over his bleached hair, scratching your nails on the back of his neck

“Mad Dog-Chan, you look like a little puppy!”

Ope Oikawa you have a death wish

“Aww, Taro you are MY little puppy!” You say and hug his arm to your chest, rubbing your cheek on his fucking BEEFY bicep.

Everyone in the gym is waiting for him to BLOW

But he just- blushes and buries his head into your neck, mumbling something about how embarrassing you are but giving no indication that he’s actually upset

Now the whole team uses you as a lithium pill

“That’s not very nice puppy-Chan, what would y/n think?”

Absolutely hates it when Oikawa talks about you like he knows ANYTHING, he gets a little frustrated when people assume things about your relationship.

Don’t worry, Iwa spikes a ball right into Oikawa’s head so your boyfriend just glares and moves on.

His scowl never really leaves his features, but you bring out the tiniest soft look in his eyes.

You’re at every game. Sporting his jersey and cheering like a maniac

After a win, you rush down and jump onto his back. He knows you’re going to and he catches you every time like it’s nothing.

He’s just standing around with everyone and feels you approaching and hooks his hands under your knees and continues whatever he was doing as your kissing his cheeks and praising him.

Will have a whole conversation with Iwa or something with you hanging on him like a koala

After a loss, you know he doesn’t want to talk so you wait for him to change and clean up and he drives out to a quiet parking lot or the overlook on top of a hill (that sounds like a kidnapping I’m sorry)

But you just sit on the hood of the car and hold his hand, rubbing small circles with your thumb. You stay quiet and give him time to decompress.

You’re both staring up at the night sky, when a shooting star passes and you squeal and point up to make sure he saw.

Even in the dark he can see your huge, sweet smile and sparkling eyes.

He loves how the smallest things excite you, he loves how you always look on the bright side, he loves how you make him want to be a better person.

He loves you.

You snap your head to face him with complete adoration in your eyes.

He didn’t mean to passively whisper it into the night air after a frustrating loss, it honestly just slipped out.

His worries that he didn’t make his declaration special enough were quickly quelled when you scoot over and put your head perfectly into the juncture of his collar bone.

“Taro, I love you too. So much.” You lean up and speak softly right over his lips.

You’ve kissed him a million times before.

But every time, just before your lips meet and you take the cutest little anticipatory inhale and glance down at his mouth and back up to his eyes, he feels just as nervous as the first time.

#kyoutani x reader #kyoutani kentarou x reader #haikyuu x reader #kyoutani kentarou #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu #kentaro kyotani #haikyuu kyotani #kyotani headcanons #kyotani x reader #reader insert #headcanon #mad dog

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mangora · 3 years ago

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All stars is bad but it’s not like all bad here are some things I liked about all stars:

•Lightning was hilarious in Evil Dread that episode was funny tbh

•Alejandro stealing Heather’s immunity statue and getting her out with a single vote was iconic

•Sam’s arc was really good, you guys shit on him a lot and say he didn’t belong but I liked seeing him put it all down for his team and do anything to help them compared to how he was only motivated by video games and Dakota last season. The only character who got better in AS tbh

•Zoke kiss zoke kiss zoke kiss zoke k

•Mal had sooooo much potential and he was fucking hilarious you know this if you’ve followed my blog for a bit, Mal is my favorite character and I’m literally rewriting all stars just bc I love him so much he’s so cool and this season would’ve been a million times worse without him and his stupid fucking emo hair

•Cameron being on the villains team opened up a lot of potential for a second arc and I like that

•Gwen’s victim complex and Courtney being awful to the heroes was not fun but they were kinda cute together

•Duncan going soft and blowing up Chris’ house because he was feeling insecure bc being a bad boy is his only trait and he’s got lost in it was just like. Idk that hurt a little he’s actually way better here than in WT even if his obsession with Courtney was absolute ass

•Scourtney was pretty cute I wish we’d gotten to see them scheme more they were adorable in the egg episode

•Also even though Scott lost his edge this season I love me a good dumbass he was funny

•The villains actually had some cute moments together. Like Lightning handing Gwen the shovel with no ulterior motive, and Jo being happy Duncan liked her Killer Zingers

•Alejandro was ooc but he was kinda funny, especially with Heather. Aleheather my beloved. They were my little pogchamps this season

•Sierra with short hair :) also Duncan’s eyeliner was on point

•Gwen and Cameron had an adorable friendship, so did Gwen and Zoey

•Also ZOEY AND MIKE WIN queen and king shit, they didn’t really get to shine here but they were so interesting in ROTI and they deserve it

•Sunday Muddy Sundae was an atrocity and it’s the actual worst episode in the entire series but, Courtney in the final five :)

#total drama #I’m just in my little opinion zone rn all stars was good sometimes

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bllk-kiddos · 2 years ago

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Kaori Isagi

Age: 15

Height: 5'4

Nicknames:

Emo chick (Chika)

Emo Manager (Riku)

Goth Gamer Girl (Minoru)

Ori (Megumi)

Princess, My Dark Princess (Junpei)

Family:

Yoichi Isagi (Father)

Meguru Bachira (Father)

Megumi Isagi (Twin Sister)

Occupation: Boys Football Club Manager

Hometown: Osaka

Favorite Animal: "I like snails. They're slimy and gross. So fucking awesome."

Favorite Food: "...Kisses. They're sweet."

Least Favorite Food: "Bleh, bell peppers..."

Favorite Subject: "I guess classic lit."

Least Favorite Subject: "I don't have any."

Personality: An emo-punk musician who has a desire to become famous. She's a bit of an outcast at her school, but has a small group of friends who share her interests. She knows a lot about football but has no desire to play

She, however, decides to help out football in a way she prefers. She becomes the boys football club manager. She analyzes other teams and plays to help them and up morale when needed.

Fun Facts:

She confessed to Junpei and they've been dating since 5th grade

Her favorite season is winter, since it's socially acceptable to wear clothes that cover more of her body

She knows how to play the guitar

Her favorite band is Band-Maid

She knows a bit of English by listening to My Chemical Romance

Her favorite player is Nagi Seishiro

Her favorite shows are Alice in Borderland and Squid Games

Her favorite manga series are Death Note, Jujutsu Kaisen, and Chainsaw Man

On her last day on earth, she would play her guitar as loud as she can get it and scream as loud as she could for as long as she can

If she got a million dollars, she would buy all brand new equipment and a studio

If she bought something from a convenience store, it would be a pick

#bllk #blue lock #blue lock anime #bllk oc #blue lock oc #bachisagi

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tlhrfanfic · 4 years ago

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[Analogical] Closest to Heaven

DAY TWO @analogicalweek

Prompt: Stars

Read on A03.

Warnings: Angst, Minor Character Death mention, Grief. (Don’t worry though! Super happy ending!)

———————————————–

Virgil ran out of the house through the back door, the arguing echoing even as he slammed the door shut. He wasn’t afraid of his parents. They weren’t scary or mean or anything like that… to him.

But to each other��

He used the sleeves of his hoodie to wipe away the stress tears that stubbornly continued to fall. He ran and kept running through the streets until he found a park where the lights weren’t as bright and trees framed the open expanse.

He sighed, catching his breath before trudging through the grass.

Virgil knew he should go home. At some point his parents would be looking for him.

But something caught his attention.

He wasn’t sure what it was at first but it had definitely been skyward and so he turned his six year old face to the sky and his jaw dropped.

At six, he had definitely seen stars before. But the dimmer lighting meant less lights masking the stars and here, in this park, it seemed there were millions of them. He remembered his best friend telling him that once. That there were millions of stars but most of the time they just couldn’t be seen.

He had never, ever seen them like this.

So clear, so bright.

So.

Many.

He stared up in awe at the vast number and before he could stop himself, Virgil laid out on the grass and continued to stare skyward.

I’d give up forever to touch you,

Cause I know that you feel me somehow.

You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be,

And I don’t want to go home right now.

Virgil fell asleep there on the grass waking a little later as his mother’s voice startled him and, with one last glance at the sky, ran back to her.

“Mom… Mom, I saw stars! So many stars!”

“That’s nice, Virgil, but don’t you ever run out like that again. You scared me. Now, let’s get you home. It’s cold out here.”

Virgil glanced back at the stars, dim now that he was in a more brightly lit area, but for a moment he was certain that one star in particular shone just a little bit brighter, almost sparkling at him.

“Mom.. what are stars?”

“Hmm?” She asked, taking his hand.

“Stars… what are they?”

She glanced at the stars and smiled down at Virgil.

“Well… some people say they are burning gas but I like to think they are guardian angels… keeping us safe.”

Virgil gasped looking back at the shiny star he had found and smiling.

»»————　☠　————««

Virgil sighed as he made his way toward the park. He had been going to this park when he needed space ever since he was a kid. Unfortunately, it had been cleaned up some so more people frequented it which left Virgil annoyed.

It’s not your park. You can’t keep people from being here.

He was just grateful that the city hadn’t thought to put in more lights. There had been plenty of petitions but the city had far bigger issues it needed the funding for at the moment.

Unfortunately, that also meant a lot of other teens came to this specific park when on dates to make out and cuddle. Making a face, Virgil rolled his eyes as he passed one such couple on his way to his favorite spot.

He was so happy that no matter when he came, his spot was never touched. He wasn’t sure how it was possible, as it was a prime spot for couples, but no matter what, it was always there.

Virgil had nearly reached it when a couple of teens came his way and started to sneer in his direction.

“Hey, faggot!” They called.

“Wanna suck my dick, pretty boy?”

“Hey, Emo! Doesn’t look like you’ve managed to kill yourself yet. Why don’t I choke you with my big cock?”

Virgil hissed lowly and turned toward the three.

“You couldn’t handle me, fucktards. But sure, come get a kiss.”

They recoiled at that and quickly ran off, calling him a freak and using other names he was used to hearing at this point. Honestly, he didn’t get it. It wasn’t like when his parents were kids. Why did so many people still have an issue with gay people?

If it wasn’t being gay or goth, they’d just find something else to torment you about, he told himself, sighing.

He kept watching them to make sure they weren’t coming back before continuing on. Reaching the spot, Virgil laid out his favorite purple-and-black plaid blanket. Laying out on it, he sighed as he was immersed in a relaxing feeling.

Putting his arms behind his neck, Virgil looked skyward and smiled, his eyes instantly finding his favorite star. He wasn’t sure how but it had seemed to grow brighter over the years. Tonight it was especially bright and, for a moment, Virgil allowed himself to believe that it was happy to see him.

A giggle caught his attention and he glanced over to see a couple holding each other and such intense emotions in their locked gazes that he could feel from where he was.

A groan escaped him and he looked skyward once more. As soon as his eyes met the star once more, it seemed to twinkle in and out for a few seconds. Virgil felt warmth and comfort.

Yes, if he just focused on the star—his star—everything would be just fine.

“I wish you were here… you’d make this… life... all more… bearable.”

And all I can taste is this moment

And all I can breathe is your life

And sooner or later, it's over

I just don't wanna miss you tonight

Virgil woke at some point after midnight. Swearing, he hurried to get up, knowing his mom would be worrying. Once he had his stuff gathered, he looked up at the sky once more, smiling.

»»————　☠　————««

Virgil sighed shakily as he pulled the knot of the tie, loosening it. It still felt like a noose around his neck so he took it off completely, tossing it to the ground as he kept walking.

He reached his spot… the same spot he had been returning to for most of his life. Unfortunately, this was the first day he had been here that he no longer had the one person in the world he cared for.

“Why did you let this happen?” he growled up at the sky, the angry look in his dark eyes seeming to burn at the star.

For a moment, it seemed like the star grew dimmer. Almost as if in response to Virgil’s words. He didn’t know why, but it put a sour taste in his mouth and made his insides drop.

“You… you’re right…” he said, not sure why he was talking to the star. “You… it’s not your fault… but… my mom… she’s gone.”

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming

Or the moment of truth in your lies

When everything feels like the movies

Yeah, you bleed just to know, you're alive

Virgil suddenly fell to the ground, sobbing as he gripped into the earth beneath his hands. It grounded him and he looked up to see the star shining even more brightly, flickering every few seconds as if it was trying to say something.

“I don’t know what you’re saying… I don’t know what you want… maybe I’m crazy and this is selfish… but I want you here… or I want to be where you are…”

He laughed at himself, bringing a hand up to his eyes to wipe angrily at the still flowing tears.

“This is a mistake… I… I don’t think I can keep coming… I’m… I’m sorry… thank you for always being there for me… I won’t forget you.”

»»————　☠　————««

Virgil sighed shakily as he took one step onto the sweeping grass of the park. He bit his lip and took another step.

You are being ridiculous, V.

Pushing past his nerves—there was no reason to be nervous—Virgil strode with purpose past the larger lawn area in favor of returning to the spot that had gotten him through his childhood.

Reaching it now, Virgil smiled fondly.

He saw ghosts of his past. A little kid seeking security. A teenager seeking first love. A new adult seeking comfort.

Here he was once again… though this time it had been so much longer since he had been back.

Ten whole years, in fact.

Now a man of 31 and successful in life—he had gone to school to become a programmer, not that either mattered to him much.

Just like he had earlier in life, he sought more.

He yearned for a part of him that hadn’t been found. A part that could only be found in another soul.

Virgil didn’t believe in soulmates or anything like that. Still, he did believe—for himself, at least—that to be truly complete, he needed that special someone to share his life with.

Otherwise, what was it all for?

Sure, he was comfortable and healthy and relatively happy. None of that was the problem.

If he never found someone to share life with, he would be just fine.

But that wasn’t what he wanted.

And in searching for that, it had brought Virgil back to this special and sacred place. Sure, calling it sacred sounded a little dramatic, especially to him, but the feeling was there, just the same.

This place was sacred… to him.

That was all that mattered.

Allowing a little eyeroll and a smirk at his dramatics, Virgil allowed his eyes to finally move skyward.

For a moment, Virgil couldn’t find it. His heart beat rose and he felt a rush of dread but then his gaze caught it.

The star was a lot dimmer than he remembered but it was the right star. His star. He was sure of it.

At first, he felt a little silly. He almost didn’t want to speak but something urged him to, deep inside.

He told himself that if he was ever going to find what he needed, he had to make amends. Even if now he knew the star was just burning gas, it didn’t matter.

He needed to do this. He had to see it through.

“Hey… star… um… it’s Virgil.”

God, I feel so stupid.

He pushed past the embarrassment and insecurities and went on.

“I… I owe you an apology.”

He didn’t know why but the star seemed to brighten. He knew it was probably just a trick of the mind but it made him feel better. He hesitated before moving to sit on the ground. Pulling his legs up to him slightly and resting the weight of his upper body on his hands, he leaned back to look at the star.

For a moment, he just sat in silence.

And I don't want the world to see me

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

“Look… I’m not sure what to even say and I know you’re not actually some being that can magically hear me or whatever but I still need to say this…” If I’m to ever move on… he finished in his head, too embarrassed to even think it.

When everything's made to be broken

I just want you to know who I am.

“I just… I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me… everything you are to me… just… thank you. When mom died… I… I blamed you and that wasn’t fair… it wasn’t your fault… it’s just… life’s a dick… but yeah… thank you… for always being there…”

The star seemed to flicker and Virgil couldn’t help but beam up at it. It was almost as if ten years hadn’t come and gone.

He shifted to lay on the ground, his hands behind his head like he used to do as a kid. He sighed and let the comfort and nostalgia blanket him in warmth. He felt safe. He felt hope.

Virgil felt in that moment that anything was possible.

I just want you to know who I am.

“I wish… I wish you could be… a person… like me. An actual human I could hold and touch. Someone I could love for who and what they are, that could love me for who and what I am…”

He laughed softly, shaking his head, glancing away.

I just want you to know who I am.

“Silly, right?”

He snorted, looking up as if sharing an inside joke with the star. For a brief moment, he thought he was seeing things.

His star was gone.

At first he thought he had just misplaced it… or had looked in the wrong place. But no, he knew that star like he knew himself and that included where in the sky it resided.

“What the fuck?”

Virgil got up quickly, staring up at the sky. He then squinted as if that would help him.

“V-Virgil?”

Virgil spun on his heels and stared as a very attractive man dressed in slim fit slacks, a navy button down shirt patterned with stars, and rectangular metal framed glasses seemed to glide across the distance between them.

Virgil felt torn. His first instinct was to challenge the trespasser. He could be a serial killer or something. That feeling, however, was in complete contrast to the overwhelming feeling of familiarity

Had he gone to school with this guy or something?

No… I’d never have forgotten someone who looks like him.

That was true too. Virgil, being gay, found men attractive… that’s how it worked. But he had never been so attracted to anyone as he was to this man.

“I don’t know what your game is but uh… I’m not really in a mood to talk… you’re kinda interrupting my er… quiet time…”

The man tilted his head, looking confused. He then continued his walk toward him until he was standing a few feet away.

The feeling of familiarity tripled and he narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Did we go to school together or something? I swear I know you but I’ve never seen you before in my life… how’d you know my name? Please don’t be a stalker or something.”

Again, the man looked confused and also a little concerned. Then something seemed to click with him as his eyes brightened and he smiled.

“Oh… you don’t recognize me in this form.”

Virgil’s eyes widened.

Of course Mr. Perfect was clinically insane.

He sighed but before he could say anything, the man had closed the distance between them. Virgil jumped back.

“Personal bubble, dude!”

The man looked sad and Virgil felt a rush of guilt before remembering the guy was the one acting strange.

“I apologize… you had just asked me so many times to hold you… I’m afraid I just assumed…”

Virgil’s eyes widened at that. He quickly looked up at the spot where his star should be. It was as empty as it had been when he first noticed…

When this man had first shown up.

But that was impossible.

Stars didn’t just become people.

“I’m going crazy or I’ve died…”

The man gave him a concerned look.

“I can assure you that you are not dead, Virgil. I also wish you to understand… I did this…” He gestured at his body and bit his lip. “I did this for you.”

“Oh my fucking God… you are crazy. Stars don’t become people, dude! It doesn’t happen! Stars are gas! Not sentient beings!”

The man laughed softly and Virgil swore there was an almost twinkling sound to it. Not really what normal laughs sounded like. The man, he realized, also kind of glowed. It was so subtle though that he doubted anyone but him would notice.

Still, it couldn’t be… it was impossible.

Wasn’t it?

He slowly moved closer, hoping it wouldn’t bite him in the ass. He’d allow himself a little silliness… if it meant that this was real.

Could it really be? Is there any fucking way?

“I’ve wanted this for so long…” The man said now, just standing there and letting Virgil inspect him. He bit his lip, as if nervous. Could stars feel nervousness?

Well… he’s… he’s human now…

He held the other’s gaze. His eyes were brown but almost golden. There was such warmth and comfort there. Slowly, Virgil’s eyes widened.

“It is you!”

Ignoring the fact that this whole situation was feeling a bit too much like a Disney movie, Virgil threw his arms around the man.

“You’re here… you’re actually here… I can’t believe it… I don’t even give a fuck that it should be impossible… you… you came to me…”

Virgil looked up, ignoring the way happy tears streamed down his face. The main raised a hand, gentle fingers wiping them away.

“I am… I am sorry it took so long… I had tried to come sooner but as I was working on it… that one night… I worried you wouldn’t wish to see me… so I waited…”

He smiled so warmly and lovingly down at Virgil and Virgil blushed.

“I knew you would return one day and then I could be with you, if that was still what you wished.”

Virgil’s tears doubled as he laughed, nodding.

“You have no idea,” he said and with that he wrapped his arms around the other’s neck and kissed him desperately. He hated closing his eyes, worried that the man would vanish and the star would be back in the sky, but instinct won over his fear. Luckily, he still felt the other kissing him back.

Pulling away, Virgil blushed.

“I just realized… I don’t know what to call you… do you even have a name?”

The man nodded, smiling down at him as if he was the most precious thing in the world.

“My actual name you would not be able to pronounce. But I have chosen a new one for myself, now that I no longer have need for the other. You may know me as Logan.”

Virgil mouthed it and smiled.

It was the perfect name for his star.

“Logan,” he said and the man blushed but beamed. Virgil blushed as well but couldn’t stop smiling.

“Virgil,” Logan said, smiling back. He then glanced up at his old home. “It’s so much different… seeing it through these eyes… and thinking… so strange... but… if you’re here… and this is your home… then I want to share it with you… if that is something you would like.”

Virgil just threw his arms around him and buried his face into the crook of Logan’s neck. Long arms wrapped around him, embracing him. If he hadn’t quite been sure that this wasn’t all an elaborate dream, he was sure now.

Nothing in life had felt as safe and sound as his time with his star had and that was the exact feeling he felt now, in the other’s arms. He smiled and pressed closer.

“I love you, Logan.”

He didn’t know how, but he could feel rather than see Logan’s smile.

“I love you, Virgil.”

I just want you to know who I am.

———————————————–

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Thomas Sanders or Joan, nor the rest of their group. I do not own or make money off of these characters. I only own the story as it is written.

Super uber thanks to my beta reader for this fic @sunshineandteddybears and the two that preread my stuff to make sure its up to par: @romantichopelessly & @sunshineandteddybears.

#analogical #ts analogical #virgil sanders #logan sanders #tsart #ts virgil #ts logan #analogical week 2021 #tlhrfanfic #insanelycoolish #tlhr writing

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

Text

lip sync your way into my heart

( @thecomfortofoldstorries and I got into a fun head-cannon debate last night about Tik Tok POVs and this is what happened)

--- Jaskier has never really been in the loop when it comes to social media. He was behind the curve when he made his Tumblr and he was two years late to sign up for Twitter. It’s no surprise that he finally downloads Tik Tok and makes an account several months after it’s become a viral platform.

That also means all the good usernames are taken; Jaskier types in @buttercup-bard, sees that it’s available, and calls it a day. This isn’t an app he’s going to care about. It’s just to waste time during his forty minute commute to and from campus.

Alas, he has ADHD...and this shit is addictive.

Especially, he hates to admit, the thirst-trap hotties who do weird, obscure, edgy POV videos. Jaskier knows they’re aimed primarily towards teen and young adult women but he’s a red-blooded Redanian gay. He’s horny. He can watch a few POV Tik Toks on the bus and thirst after pretty boys with big muscles...as a treat.

By Jaskier’s second week of classes he’s found a definite favorite Tik-Tokker (is that what they’re called? Or is it influencer? Jaskier doesn’t care). The guy is gorgeous. He has beautiful honey-gold eyes and long, silvery-white hair; which is appropriate since his handle is @whitehairdontcare. He makes a wide range of content, too. Perfect for Jaskier’s Concerta-focused tastes. There are some dances here and there and some Q&A videos, but for the most part he does POVs.

Jask and his roommates, Essi and Priscilla, have spent many happy hours poring over Mr. White Hair’s account, watching and re-watching their favorites from his vast repertoire of content. Essi loves his weird, edgy-boi shit. Stuff with titles like “POV: I fight the bully who insulted your haircut” or “POV: you make a deal with the devil for true love”. Stuff that Jaskier would have been into when he still listened to My Chemical Romance on the regular (okay, he still does, but don’t tell Essie).

Priscilla is a huge fan of Tik Tok dances. She follows every challenge and ranks her favorites, compiling them into a YouTube series that’s more for her self-gratification than anything else. Mr. White Hair is generally towards the top of her list whenever he deigns to follow a trend that doesn’t involve badly applied makeup blood smears. The guy clearly works out and the definition of his body (and the movements of said really hot body) make the dances look so much more fluid and fun. Jaskier and Priscilla clearly share a brain-cell when it comes to appreciating Mr. White Hair’s hotness.

Jaskier’s favorites, of course, are the cute little POVs that lie scattered between all the edgy ones. Stuff made for the softies of Tik Tok. Stuff made for boys like Jaskier. “POV: I fix your car for you” is the one he’s probably re-watched the most. Mr. White Hair is lying on his back beneath a jacked-up blue car, oil smeared in a few strategic places on his face, chest, and arms. At the very end of the Tik Tok he moves the wrench out of the way of his face completely and winks directly into the camera.

Jaskier hates to admit it, even to himself, but no matter how many times he’s watched that stupid twenty-give second video, that wink drops his heart straight down into his shoes and fills his stomach with butterflies.

---

“Hey do you guys carry fake blood here?” an almost terrifyingly deep voice asks from behind him. Jaskier twirls around on his heel, Retail Smile firmly in place, and loses his shit the moment he sets eyes on his latest customer.

It’s Mr. White Hair.

Here. In the middle of the aisle of the Party City where Jaskier works every weekend. He’s either going to throw up or pass out or both.

He doesn’t though. Instead, the Demon Lord of Retail possesses his body momentarily and nods, “Right over this way!” He leads the insanely attractive influencer over to the year-round section of Halloween FX makeup and gestures towards the shelf filled with various fake blood capsules, bottles, and packets.

“Thanks,” Mr. White hair smiles. Jaskier nods again, silent, and drifts back towards the counter in a daze. He’s the only one on shift right now (it is not a very busy Party City) and he knows that he can’t pass out on the dirty tile floor or he’ll get fired (and perhaps tetanus). He just needs to power through the next few minutes and then he can crouch next to the helium tank and freak the fuck out.

But not until Mr. White Hair is gone.

Just as Jaskier is re-learning how to breathe normally, the sexy internet star makes his way towards the counter with an armful of products and the retail worker loses it again. Thank god for the ability to compartmentalize.

“So, just these for you?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“No problem! I love your Tik Toks by the way,” Jaskier replies automatically. His eyes widen slightly. Why the fuck did I mention his Tik Toks!?

“Thanks,” the guy says and blushes. “I didn’t know they’d gotten so popular.”

“You have like two million followers?” Jaskier laughs. “I think that makes you pretty popular. Maybe even famous.”

“Oh yeah...right.”

“Anyway, your total is going to be twenty-one fifty.”

Mr. White Hair pays and Jaskier bags all his fake blood, wondering the whole time exactly what kind of content he can look forward to seeing. More of Essi’s edgy shit, apparently. As he’s handing the plastic bag over the counter, Jaskier smiles and works up the courage to ask, “Is your hair naturally white? I don’t mean to pry, it’s just really pretty.”

Geralt’s face goes slightly pinker than before and he nods. “Yeah. Weird genetic thing. Thanks.”

“No problem. Right on,” Jaskier beams. “Well, it was nice meeting a famous person. Thanks for stopping in.”

“Thanks for helping me out,” the Tik Tokker replies. Jaskier watches him exit the store before ripping his phone from his pocket and dialing Essi. He needs to talk to her before he spirals into a giddy panic attack.

---

“Hey Jask have you seen that hot guy’s latest Tik Tok?” Priscilla asks, lounging across her futon like a queen. Jaskier looks up from his copy of The Collective History of Aedirnian Funeral Dirges and wrinkles his eyebrows in confusion.

“No, why?”

“You should go check your phone. I think you’ll be happily surprised.”

“Oh-kay,” Jaskier says, drawing out the ‘kay’ for as long as it takes him to get up from his seat on the floor and exit the room. He retrieves his phone from the charger in the kitchen and returns to Priscilla’s bedside. He opens his new favorite app and pulls up @whitehairdontcare’s page. There’s a new POV from earlier this morning and Jaskier taps on it.

His eyes go round when he reads the caption: “POV: You’re the cute cashier at the Party City and I’m bad at flirting”.

Mr. White Hair is staring into the camera with those beautifully golden eyes, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand while he lip syncs to whatever song is playing. He’s wearing a tight, navy blue v-neck and Jaskier can see the movement of every one of his ridiculously defined muscles as they flex. The silver wolf’s-head necklace Mr. White Hair always wears around his neck is in its usual place, dangling down between those perfect collarbones…

Jaskier takes a shaky breath and glances up at his friends, who are staring back at him with wide eyes. “It could be about anyone.”

“How many Party Cities do you think he went to yesterday?”

“I’m not going to get my hopes up,” Jaskier snorts. “He’s a social media influencer and I am one semester away from finishing my degree and my thesis. Why would he ever want to be with someone like me?”

Essi rolls her eyes and Jaskier goes back to his homework.

---

Later that night, alone in his room, Jaskier plugs his earbuds into his phone and watches the Tik Tok over and over. He finds the song Geralt used and adds it to his Work Is Tough playlist, which he’s allowed to play over the loudspeakers at the store so long as he’s working a solo shift.

He watches Mr. White Hair’s plush pink lips move around the words and dreams of kissing them someday, as far-fetched as that scenario is (because this video is definitely not for him, that’s impossible):

“My hopes are so high that your kiss might kill me.

So won't you kill me, so I die happy.

My heart is yours to fill or burst, to break or bury,

or wear as jewelry; whichever you prefer.”

Fucking Dashboard Confessional. Of course. One of Jaskier’s favorite bands from his emo days in middle school. If this really was for Jaskier, if this really was a legitimate attempt at online flirtation by Mr. White Hair himself, it was working.

Jaskier buries his head in his pillow and sighs.

#geraskier fic #geraskier tik tok au #there will be a part 2 i promise #geraskier fanfic #geraskier #geraskier au #all I do is make aus all day and work retail #geraskier fluff #flirty geralt #influencer geralt #party city employee jaskier #college student jaskier #geraskier college au #geraskier alternate universe #oops I keep making cute shit

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beholdme · 4 years ago

Text

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 8

Chapters: 8/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

“We shouldn’t go in,” Jon tells his giggling partners very firmly, but they pay him no mind, and he gets dragged by the hand into the storefront.

The girl working the front desk looks up with a vaguely alarmed look on her face, probably because Gerry and Martin look drunk, despite it being 11 A.M. on a Sunday. They are not, although Jon can understand why someone would think that, as they march right up to the desk, faces flushed, still laughing boisterously.

“Is Melanie in? She’s a good mate of mine.” Gerry tells the receptionist.

“Yes, I’ll check with her if she has a second for you.” And she scuttles off to the back.

“It’s Gerry!” He calls off behind her, before turning to grin at Jon. “Don’t hover in the doorway, babe, Melanie doesn’t bite.”

“Melanie is in fact, perfectly capable of biting,” Jon mutters petulantly, as he moves further into the room to eye the art on the walls. “Especially when you used to date her girlfriend.”

“Oh look, my favorite emo goth boy!” Melanie yells, exploding out the back of the store, all 5 feet of her filled with frenzied energy. Her face immediately sours when she catches sight of Jon, hiding behind Martin. “And my least favourite douche bag.”

“Now, now firecracker, be nice to my boyfriend.” Gerry pulls her into a hug, which leads to a headlock and a swift jab to his ribs.

“I’m very happy to be nice to Martin,” She responds sweetly, blowing him a kiss. “What brings you lot over to darken my doorstep?”

“Piercings,” Gerry tells her with an unnatural amount of glee.

“Jon agreed to let me pierce him?” Melanie asks, perking right up at the idea of causing Jon pain.

“No!” Jon exclaims.

At the same time, Gerry says, “Nah, he’s not interested, but Martin and I were wanting something each.”

“Martin?” Melanie asks dubiously, eyeing up sweet-looking, pink-haired, cardigan-clad Martin.

“Yes,” Martin confirms with false solemnity. “Boyfriends who bleed together stay together.”

“You know,” Melanie remarks, grinning at them, “I have heard about that Pagan ritual.”

Jon has slunk over to a wall of healed artwork and concept designs, managing to avoid Melanie's barbs. As far as he is concerned, the art isn’t as interesting as Gerry’s work. Although, he supposes that what you can make beautiful on a canvas is very different from what you can make beautiful on someone's skin.

“I’ve got a bit of an opening now, what do you want to get?” She asks Gerry.

“Well, you know I’ve been wanting to have my nipples done.” He offers, teal eyes looking slightly wild.

“Yeah?” She grins in triumph, “I’ve been waiting for this day.”

“Yup and Martin has been considering something for his ears.”

“Hmmm,” She wanders over to Martin to examine him. “Open for suggestions?”

“Maybe.”

“They’re a good shape. Double helix?” She looks to Gerry for affirmation.

“Definitely.” He smirks, eyes lighting up with satisfaction.

"Two?" Martin looks slightly dubious.

"If you do them together, the pain is only a tiny bit more, and the healing time is two-for-one," Melanie reassures him, and Jon thinks it's the nicest she's ever sounded. "It's up to you though, of course."

Jon steals himself to brave the fray, going over to take Martin's hand. It's slightly clammy with the nerves that Gerry's enthusiasm has prevented up until this point.

"It won't be so bad, love." He presses a kiss to Martin's cheek, offering his support. "Just a small jab, then it's done."

"Let's do it."

***

There's a brief fuss with consent forms, aftercare instructions, and payment.

"I don't know what you lot," Melanie instructs Gerry firmly, gesturing between them, "get up to in the bedroom, but no twisting, no pulling, no biting, no sucking your nipples for 12 weeks."

Jon blushes, but Gerry and Martin aren't bothered. "Yeah, firecracker, I know the drill. This isn't my first circus."

"Kinky little shit," Jon mutters under his breath, but the goth only winks at him.

Martin's care instructions are less suggestive, and Gerry and Jon both promise to help him with it.

“Martin should go first,” Melanie pronounces, patting the piercing chair as she disinfects her hands and gloves up.

“Me?” Martin asks.

“Yup, yours will be a lot simpler, and I don’t want to traumatise you by making you watch nipple piercings before your turn.”

Martin climbs on the chair, looking a little pale, but resolute. Jon stands on the side not occupied by Melanie, gripping his hand reassuringly. Gerry stands slightly behind the chair, hand on Martin's shoulder.

The ear piercings are almost comically quick and easy. Two quick pinches, less painful than bee stings, and then Martin's ear is pierced and adorned with small hoops.

He sighs with relief and oh's with delight when Gerry hands him a mirror to check them out.

"I love it!" He exclaims, beaming at Jon and Gerry. They smile back at him, each taking a turn to kiss him on the cheek or forehead, their own relief palpable.

"It's just you and me now," Melanie grins at Gerry and gestures for him to strip.

He shucks off his trench coat and black t-shirt, and stands in front of her, completely at ease.

Jon takes a moment to wonder if he has managed to get himself into a relationship with a masochist. Not because of the piercings, but because Gerry seems to genuinely enjoy being friends with Melanie.

The nipple piercings seem to be a much more complicated process, with markings and adjustments, but several rounds of cleaning and disinfecting later, Melanie runs a metal piercing bar through first one nipple and then the other. Gerry hisses with discomfort but stands carefully steady.

She steps back to make sure they look straight and even, before declaring it a success.

"Nice," Gerry says succinctly, looking in the large upright mirror, nodding his head enthusiastically. He and Melanie high five, and she condescends to grip him in a firm hug from the side.

"You sure I can't tempt you, Jon?" Melanie asks him sweetly as she starts to clean up her station, Gerry putting his clothes back on close by.

Knowing she just wants to cause him pain, Jon tells her firmly, "No, thank you."

He is over by the wall again, looking at different art this time, including a picture of a tattoo that catches his focus. It's a playing card amid a complex arm sleeve, an Ace of diamonds, and despite a lifelong disinterest in tattoos, it speaks to him.

"I think you'd look better with a spade, love.” Gerry manages to startle Jon slightly, appearing beside him and wrapping an arm around his waist. Jon marvels at his apparent ability to read his mind.

“You think so?” Jon queries, softly. Gerry hums his affirmation. “It's a bit much though, don't you think?”

"You don't need the whole card, for what you want. Just the A and the spade. Small and bold." He picks up Jon's hand, indicating the spot below his thumb on his wrist.

Gently releasing it, Gerry grabs a pen and scrap of paper and rapidly draws out a solid, simple design.

Jon glances over at Melanie, extremely dubious. "Maybe we can go somewhere else to get it?" He whispers.

Gerry laughs warmly, tapping the small piece of paper. "I could do it for you myself."

Jon blinks at him, rather owlishly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I can give you the tattoo. I'm probably a bit rusty, but I did survive a full tattoo apprenticeship. I’ve done about a million over the years, although I had to give up my machine when I moved to London."

"You did a tattoo apprenticeship?" Martin asks from nearby, tone skeptical.

"Yup, when I was living in Edinburgh. All three years." Gerry tells them casually. "That's where I met Melanie, actually."

Jon and Martin exchange a baffled look, but choose to simply file it under 'Things Gerry tells us out of order.'

“Well, if you can do it...” Jon sounds a bit floaty but he is staring at the design yearningly, which Gerry knows is a good sign.

"Firecracker," Gerry yells over to Melanie, "Can I borrow your machine?"

***

Melanie makes the stencil while Gerry reacquaints himself with the tattoo gun, setting everything up and getting used to the weight of it in his hand again. The rhythm is always the same with tattooing and he feels himself fall into the past a bit.

When everything is ready, he gestures Jon over to sit in the chair, smiling beatifically.

Jon is shaking a little as he slides up onto it, and Gerry presses a reassuring kiss to his hand before he starts the prep.

"You ready?"

Jon gulps. "Yes."

Martin comes over to take Jon's other hand and Melanie hovers nearby, wanting to watch Gerry like a hawk the entire time he's handling her machine. ("It's the true love of her life," Gerry had confessed to Martin earlier. "Don't tell Georgie.")

Gerry follows the same procedure with any tattoo: cleanse, shave, cleanse again. Numbing cream, in this case, to prevent nerve twitches, then alcohol rub down. Eventually, he applies the stencil carefully, making sure to get it straight and in the correct place.

He checks with Jon, making sure that it is where he wants it. Jon confirms, smiling to see the design on his skin for the very first time.

As the buzz of the machine fills the space, Jon and Gerry make eye contact for a moment. Jon's earthy green eyes are wide, and Gerry can almost see where his pulse pounds through his jaguar vein. He stills a moment, really checking Jon's energy.

He's nervous, it's obvious to see, but Gerry can also see the real desire in him, and with a wink, turns to look down at his new canvas. He sets to work, the buzzing of the needle filling the air.

***

"I love it," Jon whispers to Gerry later, lying in the circle of his arms, Martin's warm weight at his back.

"I love it too." Gerry kisses his forehead sweetly, almost asleep. "Martin, what do you think of your ear?"

"I think boyfriends who commit to pain together stay together," Martin mutters drowsily, repeating his sentiment from earlier.

"Ah, yes," Jon mutters, "The great cosmic bond of suffering."

They laugh easily, the hot excitement of the day echoing within them, yet another thread in the colourful tapestry of their relationship.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #fic #also on ao3

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twink-frank · 4 years ago

Note

selfish machines ?

sorry it took me so long to get to these i fell asleep <3

the first song from this album I heard: it was either bullet proof love or caraphernelia i genuinely cant remember. those are two of the most popular songs off that album and like every emo kids intro to ptv except for like king for a day.

do I own the album?: no

my favorite song: stay away from my friends, hands down. that song means so much to me. but million dollar houses and disasterology are also Very good.

my least favorite song: thats a really hard one but bulletproof love is just...okay.

a song I didn’t like at first, but now do: it took me a while to truly appreciate i dont care if you’re contagious

a song I used to like, but now don’t: like i said bulletproof love just...isnt good.

my favorite lyric: yall know this album meme is just an excuse for me to rave abt my favorite lyrics

“But you don’t know what it’s like / to wake up in the middle of the night / scaring the thought of kissing razors / this blood evacuation is telling me to cave in / stay away oh no / just stay away from my friends.” ~ Stay away from my friends

“Permanently yours / Sometimes, the moon looks brighter than the sun / as times like this run up my wrists / she hates all of the guts and blood / splash around with me / while we move like flames on burning sheets / and your doctor wont stop calling me her medication / but baby no, sometimes things don’t work out the way we’ve planned / to live is just to fall asleep / to die is to awaken.” ~ million dollar houses (the painter)

“so melodramatic but it turns me on / I close my eyes it feels just like a movie / I’m convinced that we don’t make sense / But, I’d kill anyone who gets close.” ~ fast times at clairemont high

“drag my hand behind you like a chain behind a truck / sparks over your carpet while i chase you through the darkness / somebody’s supposed to fall in love, but nobody even calls.” ~ the new national anthem

“if you come over tonight, we can travel through time / we can sleep on the ceiling and creep under black lights / I have a million different girls that hide under my bed / and when I let them out they treat me right / Oh what a waste of a perfectly good, clean wrist / you were screaming till the police came.” ~ disasterology

“Now as the rain falls like shattered pieces of glass from the sky / We bleed like water colors and drunken pastels down the stairways / And i ask myself, why do i still pray / when will it end / and who fucking cares.” ~ the boy who could fly

overall rating out of 10: 10/10 my favorite ptv album

#long post #Anonymous

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bewaretheidesofmarchyall · 4 years ago

Text

Soulmate Shenanigans Part Two (Electric Boogaloo)

Good morning (or at least, I’ve started writing this in the morning! Who knows when I’ll complete it)!

I’m continuing my Soulmate AU Tomfoolery (you can find part one here)

Prompt #2

There is a timer that counts down to when you will meet your soulmate.

Warnings for death mentions, and temporary major character death

World Building

Everyone blames the mad scientist.

Which is fair. When someone makes billions of clocks in about a weeks time, each declaring when everyone in the world (including people who wouldn’t be born for decades) would find their soulmate, it’s considered to polite to stick around to answer questions

Instead, Logan disappeared to who-knows-where and left everyone else to pick up the pieces.

Rude.

Ever since the early 1910′s, the clocks have existed, one for each person. When any kid is born, the first thing a new parent does is rush to the register to see when they’ll meet their soulmate. It’s a big deal.

If your child isn’t going to meet their soulmate in the next 13 years, they are told the exact number on their 13th birthday

Philosophers have been enraged by all of this. Is free will a thing? Is existence a lie?

Non-philosophers will often close their curtains when they see a wandering philosopher, which are easy to identify by their look of abject confusion and plucked chickens.

Characters

Remus: Remus pretended that he didn’t care about who his soulmate was when his 13th birthday rolled along. He wasn’t the best actor.

His brother seemed happy when he found out that it would be sixteen years until he found his soulmate. 29 wasn’t a bad age at all, considering that some people would have to wait until they were old and in a nursing home, or would never even meet their soulmate at all.

Remus waited for his parents to tell him. They gave each other nervous looks, and he was convinced for a few seconds that he didn’t have a soulmate after all.

The actual answer was much weirder

526 years. 526 years until he met his soulmate.

Remus said a silent thank you to his soulmate for making him functionally immortal. After all, that meant that he’d survive until then!

HE WAS IMMORTAL

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Now, whenever someone would try to say something like, “Why do you like serial killers? Planning to become one?”, he could just look them dead in the eye and say,

I’m going to outlive you, Brian

(On an unrelated note, Brian disappeared a few months later. It actually wasn’t Remus’s fault, surprisingly. One minute, he was at a museum, the next, gone)

Remus would be fine with never finding his soulmate, honestly. Connection is nice, but being eldritch is more fun.

Virgil: Virgil didn’t want to be immortal

Sure, he wasn’t a fan of dying in practice, but in theory he didn’t want to live to over 250!

His family and friends were going to die, and he’d have to live through it. And for what? To meet a soulmate? Who gave a fuck? Virgil had never wanted a romantic relationship in his life, and he didn’t think that a 526 year wait was going to change that.

He was determined to find his soulmate early so that he could live a normal life like a normal person who doesn’t cause additional distress to the wandering philosophers.

Plot

It was easy to find Remus. Local Child Will Live To Over 500 makes a good headline, and Remus wasn’t one to shy away from attention.

When Virgil was 16, he packed his bags and ran away from home to go meet his soulmate. He didn’t ask Janus how he got the bus tickets, but he did ask him to tell his parents that he’d be okay.

Virgil knocked on the door, and waited. Someone who looked almost exactly like the news site photo answered. The conversation went something like this:

Virgil: So, YOU’RE Remus McFricking Sanders-

Roman: Nope, not him, whatever he said isn’t my fault.

[Roman slams door]

Virgil was pretty sure that he had, in fact, met Remus, and he was just being annoying. Roman believed that his brother had just manage to piss off yet another person.

Virgil retreated to a restaurant, and looked up the photo on the news article, just to make sure. No denying it, that was him! Same eyes, same hair, same general face-wait.

Remus had a nose that had obviously been broken at least once. The guy who’d greeted him at the door had definitely been in less scrapes than his soulmate.

Whoops.

Meanwhile, Remus had a plan to avoid Virgil at all cost. Virgil had tried to shy away from press attention, but he tracked down a photo eventually.

And when his brother told him that some emo with “awesome” eyes had turned up on the doorstep looking for him, he had a bad feeling.

Well, spooky boy wasn’t going to cost him his long future.

And so the dance began.

In one corner, Virgil, who had spite, stubbornness, and a deadline on his side (he had to get home to his parents eventually)! Never discount a spiteful Virgil!

In the other corner, Remus, who has nothing on his side but fate. Fate, however, has a sense of humor, and Remus read enough old myths as a child to know that whatever happens can’t be changed by petty human actions.

Virgil tries breaking and entering many times, each failing in a more ridiculous way. He is a careful, but Remus is practically Kevin McCallister in terms of traps, and he fails to meet his soulmate face to face all day and all night.

They do get to have some verbal exchanges, which are pretty much

Virgil: You think you want the existential hell of immortality??

Remus: Oh, fuck off, I’m going to have the best vampire aesthetic!

Virgil: The vampire aesthetic is wonderful, but can we do everything for aesthetic?

Both at the same time: Yes. Yes we can.

And then Virgil is herded out of the house by Remus’s pet rats.

However, the final encounter goes a little differently. No witty quips, just Virgil picking the lock of yet another window, and then a very specific sound.

Have you ever heard a stubborn emo get pulled into a portal in the spacetime continuum?

It’s a distinct sound that is along the lines of loud crash-The fu-whirring noises-nyoom-eerie silence

Remus didn’t give a second thought before diving into the portal after him. If he had, he would have thought hey, this’ll probably bring us face to face, something I’ve been avoiding or maybe jumping into random portals in a stupid idea or I’m going to grab a weapon before just running at it. But his first impulse was to make sure his snarky soulmate hadn’t died, so into the portal he went.

The Year: 2550

The Portal: Glows a lot, thank you for asking

The Reason: A mad scientist has only one thing left to lose, and is terrified as it slips away

Logan: Logan was a geek at heart. He loved science, in both theories and practice. He probably should have toned down his obsession with Nikola Tesla. He wanted to travel to the sky, and touch the stars, and watch time like a film reel.

Time travel was his passion. If people could travel across the physical seas, why not the metaphorical ones of time?

It was pure luck that he actually figured it out, but figure it out he did. Logan loved his creation.

He wanted to create a million inventions, but more importantly he wanted Patton to see them all.

If there was one thing he loved more than science, it was him.

The two kept each other from drifting off into the stars, or sinking into the dirt because they’re too afraid of being rude. One of Logan’s favorite memories was he and Patton running through the St. Louis fair, giggling at terrible puns and sharing a quick kiss out of sight, before catching the next exposition.

Patton was kind, and caring, and knew how to talk to people to get them to like him, and was just good. He was good.

Logan dealt only in facts. And it was a fact that it would have been better, more fair for Logan to have died in the fire.

It was a fact that he didn’t (even though it felt like it sometimes). It was a fact that Patton had been the one to notice the smoke. It was a fact that the love of his life waited for a few seconds in the doorway, trying to call the cat out. It was a fact that, after Logan was out of the house, he turned around to see the doorway collapse.

He found a way back into the house, but it took too long.

Fact: Humans can only endure severe smoke inhalation for a few minutes before dying.

Logan took one look at his time machine, somehow still undamaged. He’d never tested it before, but he really didn’t have a choice, so he kissed Patton on the forehead and stepped into a portal.

Back To The Plot

Virgil and Remus immediately knew that they were in the 26th century.

How? There was a sign!

Hey! If You Happen To Be A Time Traveler, This Is 2550! Check In With The Lord Cerebrum To Know More, Unless You Don’t Have A License, In Which Case

You Know What Happens

They don’t have much time to mull over this before Remus tries to murder Virgil. He’s not IMMORTAL any more, and it’s not FAIR, and it’s all HIS fault!

This is where we enter the Rivals To Friends (While On The Run From Time Management) section

Remus and Virgil have many adventures escaping from Time Management, while learning to appreciate the other as a friend. They are platonic soulmates, after all!

But Time Management is nothing if not patient, and the boys are caught eventually (you know how it goes. You forget to check around for listening ears, you use 21st century slang, and suddenly a single “yeet” and a “same” get you dragged before the Lord Cerebrum)

A Handy Dandy Guide To The Year 2550 (transcript from the Handy Dandy Infomercial Station)

Hey, time travelers! I know that everyone likes zipping around the time-stream and seeing what the fates throw at them to keep them from murdering their grandpa, but we have to do this by the Rules!

If you break the rules, you know what happens

The Year 2550 is protected by Logos Industries’s time dilation filter, to ensure that no one gets the wrong idea about going free range!

If you have a license, just proceed to the Lord Cerebrum to get your stamp of approval and philosopher disguise for the maximum positive effect! After all, Logos Industries needs funding to protect us all!

If you don’t have a license, you’ll see the Lord Cerebrum too!

Have a Handy Dandy Time :)

Back To The Plot

The boys are led through a menacing government facility, taken to see the Lord Cerebrum. They try to ask questions, but Time Management is rather disinterested in their fleeting existence, so nothing much gets answered.

The final destination is a computer room, where the Lord Cerebrum sits. His form was half hologram, half skin, his age unchanging for 526 years, and recognizable at first sight to Remus

Lord Cerebrum, aka Brain, aka Brian: Hey, Remus, what exactly did you say about outliving me?

Brian: Brian was a dick. There’s no other way to put it.

He and Remus used to be friends, sticking brand new phones in water to see what would happen and planning out pranks (they made their history teacher think that she was being haunted by the ghost of Charlemagne!), but things changed, and by 8th grade his dickishness was on full display

It was really easy to get away with being cruel to Remus. He naturally unnerved people, and anyone in a position of power immediately knew he was trouble (which was true), so when there was a conflicting story between a star student and the kid who poured ketchup in the principal’s desk, you can guess who’d always get believed.

Brian was a dick, but he was 13. He could have grown later in life, regretted his ways (or at least stopped), but instead he touched an antique time machine on a museum tour of the Clock House (home of Logan, the famous inventor of soulmate clocks).

He’d been planning to snap off the handle and pin it on Remus (or maybe Roman for variety), but instead

Crash-what the-whirring noises-nyoom-eerie silence

And Brian arrived in the year 2520, the first of many time travellers.

He became a celebrity. The parts of him lost in the wormhole were quickly replaced with state-of-the-art holograms, and his fame went to his head.

Thirty years of good marketing later, he was the Lord Cerebrum. And when a desperate mad scientist came crashing through a portal of his own, it was easy to get him to work for him under the promise that Brian would let him save his “Patton” once he made some technology for him.

He recognized Logan from the museum. He knew who’s fault it was that he was trapped travelling through time, whirling through the portal, praying and promising and in the end just screaming. Brian knew who was to blame for the fact that he couldn’t tell how much of his body would stay when the power went out.

So the tasks got longer and more complicated, Patton dangled like a carrot over Logan’s head.

Fact: Logan would never win, and someday Brian would get tired of this game and there would only be one genius left in 2550.

Back To The Plot: Virgil punched the Lord Cerebrum in the face. He didn’t know all of the context, but his best friend seemed not to like the guy, and he seemed evil, so he punched the overlord in the face.

Brian was offended, and abandoned all plans for a monologue in favor of leaving them to die.

The most fitting way to do away with a time traveler is to send them everywhere at once. It’s an awful death, one where molecules are slowly lost as the traveler in question hits walls and trees and memories.

The duo managed to survive five or so timelines, before the machine miraculously shut off. A mad scientist ran into the room, unscrewed the vents in the walls, and told the teenagers that they’re late.

Things are explained as they escape the facility.

Things

Logan needed a way to break the time dilation filter. He did the math (which he tried and failed to explain to the boys), and it was determined that Remus and Virgil had the most butterfly effect capabilities to influence this particular event

Basically, removing them from the timeline changed things just enough for Logan to find the chink in the filter’s armor.

The duo’s job is done, and Logan is only sorry that he didn’t find them earlier to get them home.

Back To The Plot

Everything seems like it’s going to be fine, and the duo are almost able to go home, when the Lord Cerebrum finds them.

CLIMATIC SHOWDOWN

An Ending

In the end, Brian is sent to the 22th century, the year where nearly all of humanity were turned into giant rats for some reason

Logan found his way back to the 1910′s, and used the 26th century technology to heal his love. The time machine burned in the fire. Good. Space travel was where it was at, anyway.

Virgil had so much explaining to do to his parents

Remus knew that no one would believe him. Roman did.

Virgil and Remus stayed the closest of friends. They dressed up as vampires for Halloween. They stuck together. They got to grow up.

More soulmate shenanigans, amiright?

#sanders sides #ts sides #remus sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #logicality #platonic dukexiety #time travel #soulmate au #beware the drafts of march #soulmate shenanigans #unsympathetic brian #i don't know why this random shorts character is awful in my mind #i'm sure he's a perfectly nice fictional character #i love writing #fan fic #sanders side fic #sanders sides fic

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shoyodon · 4 years ago

Text

Stories

𝐁𝐨𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Words: 3.1k

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: language, Tattoos (?)

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU FUNKY LITTLE VOLLEYBALL MAN HERES YOUR GIFT BOKUTO STANS!! THIS IS MY LONGEST WORK YET AND I TRIED TO DO SOMETHING DIFFERENT WITH MY STYLE OF WRITING!! this is a lot more story based than dialogue based so enjoy!

After having the privilege of being with Bokuto for so long, there are many stories you have to share. Not a day went by that felt dull. There was always an adventure or antics for the two of you to be up to no matter the time, weather or place.

Here's some of the stories that you can recall like they were yesterday.

Seven years ago when you agreed to assist the boys volleyball team as a temporary manager, the day you met Bokuto. This is a story you enjoy to tell, not once failing to perk up when a friend or relative asks how the pair of you met, eager to share what, to you at least, feels like the love story of the century.

When you saw him for the first time, a smile on his lips as if it was made to be there, chatting loudly amongst his less vocal friends, throwing his hands in the air and jumping around to emphasize points in his story was like breathing for the first time. He was so animated, speaking his mind without a thought weighing him down. It was a skill he had mastered, that you hadn't yet. When he noticed your presence awkwardly standing in the doorway of the gym, he decided then to greet you for the first time. Which, in time, he realized was the single most important and life changing decision he ever made.

You became friends within the first day, exchanging numbers as practice ended before waving goodbye to Bokuto, who stood in place, watching you walk away. Seconds after you turned the block and were no longer in view, a buzz rang from your pocket, and on your phone sat a notification from the number just recited back to you.

The night was spent texting back and forth until your eyes got heavy, and only when you closed your eyes, resting your head on the pillow beneath you did you realize just how speaking to Bokuto came so easy. For the first time you didn’t hesitate when talking to him as you did everyone else. There was no fear of judgement if you said something wrong, or asked something silly. It felt like he listened to you and wanted your opinions and commentary, just as you wanted his.

Late night texts turned into calls that lasted until the next morning, small waves in the hallway became lunch dates and study sessions in the library, and the lone walk you took home every night after practice became a nightly adventure as Bokuto insisted he would come along, despite his home being in the complete opposite direction.

The months after your friendship bloomed, when he finally realized his feelings for you. (-Or, rather, Akaashi did.) Which is also one of the fondest memories you have.

It was the first day since you met him that he was nervous.

Akaashi wasn’t blind, but he was aware how blind his best friend could be to his own emotions. The way Bokuto’s eyes softened when you spoke, or how Bokuto would smile more with his eyes when he was talking to you, but still you offered the biggest grin to urge you to continue to speak, or even how he’d cut people off who interrupted you when you spoke, loudly declaring that you had something important to say and was talking before being “rudely” interrupted, even if you weren't saying anything even relatively significant at the time.

He could understand just how head over heels his best friend was, despite his best friend being completely oblivious to it himself.

The day Akaashi asked Bokuto if he liked you is the day Bokuto’s entire world shifted. Now that he was aware of his own feelings he felt as if everything would change. How would he ever face you? You probably didn't even like him back. Could the two of you ever be friends again if he couldn't get over his crush on you? A million thoughts raced through his mind at once, and the far away, almost anxious look on his face caused Akaashi to blurt out the obvious solution to the issue at hand.

“Why don't you just tell her and see what she says?”

So he did. The same day.

He told his coach quickly before practice that he'd be a little late then sprinted to the nearest convenience store. He hadn’t a clue how to confess or what girls in general liked, so he went off of the things he'd seen on T.V.

He bought a large bouquet of flowers, chocolates and some of your favorite snacks, paying quickly before stuffing everything in his duffel bag. He ran back to school, tossing his bag in his assigned gym locker before getting to practice. He didn't wave at you, nor did he shoot you a glance, and the entire practice he was off his game, hitting shots out of bounds or bouncing directly off the blocks and into his court, however none of that resinated enough with his mind to pull him into his “emo mode.”

After practice was over he ran to the locker rooms to change, being interrogated promptly by the rest of his team on his odd behavior. Their gripes and concerns landed on deaf ears as Bokuto got dressed, grabbed his bag and ran from the room, greeting you in your usual spot outside by the gym doors. Sweat started to bead along his forehead, rolling down his red cheeks. Raising a curious brow, you ask him if he's okay before he bows quickly, apologizing loudly before unzipping his duffel bag, revealing what used to be a full bouquet of roses, but has now been reduced to stems with loosely hanging petals littering the greenery, and a couple squished snacks.

He pushes the ruined bouquet into your chest, yelling in a higher pitch than his usual tone that he’d like to take you out on a date, slowly he looks up, and just then realizes just how tattered the roses were. He quickly retracts his hands, putting the stems behind his back and his shoulders slump. Silence ensues for seconds, which felt like hours to the boy, before your laughter rings loudly upon his ears. It wasn’t in a mocking tone, but pure joy. Slowly the flustered boy giggles too, before the pair of you are sitting, laughing with tears brimming the corners of your eyes on the concrete walkway into the dimly lit gym.

After the laughter died down, the happiest “I’d love to.” left your lips.

The night he met your parents, which is still your parents favorite story to retell seven years after that night.

Bokuto was nervous, yet again. Since your relationship officially began and the pair of you put a label on yourselves, he had become a bit more accustomed to this feeling of nervousness. He felt like he could lose you, and it scared him. So the day you brought up meeting your parents it struck such an intense feeling of fear in him you had to physically jostle him out of his thoughts.

It took a long time and a lot of convincing but he agreed. The Friday night of the dinner arrived and Bokuto showed up at your house an hour early. As you opened the door, still adorned in pajamas, hair only half way done. He stood with a bouquet of flowers, this time, untarnished.

His hair was done nicely, dressed in a button up shirt, half of it tucked in and the other side hanging out and a belt with nice jeans. You stared up at him, eyes wide, partially because you didn't expect him so early, before walking onto the porch with him and closing the door behind you. He stuttered out apology after apology, saying how Akaashi told him he should arrive a little early to make it seem like he respected your parents time, and to prove to them he REALLY respected their time he showed up an hour before dinner.

Giggles left your lips as you fixed his shirt, adjusting his collar and gently wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of your sleeve. You spent a couple minutes talking him down until he was relatively more relaxed before inviting him in. Instead of berating him like he thought they would, your parents laughed it off when they heard his explanation.

His flowers were put in a vase and your father sat to speak with him over various things. You left the room with a kiss on your fathers and Bokuto's cheek, heading up to your room to finish getting ready while your mother busied herself in the kitchen.

Thirty minutes later you came back down to the sound of raised male voices from the room you had left the two men previously. There your father and Bokuto sat, talking animatedly about sports. A friendly argument had broken out, both yelling out their opinions to each other with lighthearted smiles on their faces.

You stood, watching them for a moment, admiring the fact that it took a mere thirty minutes before Bokuto had already made friends with your father.

As dinner was served the four of you made your way into the kitchen, sitting down at the table next to your boyfriend, who was less tense, but still somewhat on edge as he had yet to properly speak with your mother. The dinner went smoothly, your father and boyfriend cracking jokes and playful jabs at each other, and your mother finally getting in a good conversation with Bokuto.

The night was coming to a close, plates empty as the four of you just chatted idly. Your hand was resting in Bo’s beneath the table, rubbing a soothing thumb over the back of his hand whenever he tensed up at a question or topic. Before your father decided it was time to reel it in for the night, he asked Bokuto one final question.

Your father asked Bokuto's intentions with you, the playful glint in his eye disappearing. The look he was giving the boy made him want to disappear. Eyes wide, mouth now suddenly dry despite the multiple glasses of water he had throughout the night, he stuttered.

“Uh-I-i um- well I love her! I mean- no I don’t-shit-oh god- excuse my language- I do love you is that too soon? By the look in your eyes it looks like you're going to say it's too soon and if it's too soon I take it back!” words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even really comprehend what he was saying, your parents sat back stunned and you sat there mouth agape, still holding his now sweaty hand.

Your parents excused themselves awkwardly after a moment, stifling laughter as they made their way upstairs, and the two of you sat in silence, as Bokuto apologized quietly you cupped his cheeks, pressing an ever so gentle kiss to his lips

This, as well, was another first for the night.

His entire body was ridgid, before melting into the feeling of your lips against his slightly chapped ones. As you pulled away, Bokuto hesitated before leaning in once more, pressing a quick, simple peck on your lips, then retreated as well, noses just barely brushing against each other.

That was the only response he needed.

The night the both of you had a little too much to drink, another favorite of the two of you.

The both had downed just enough beer to get tipsy, having celebrated Bokuto's 21st birthday the night before, and still having some alcohol your friends so gracefully left over for you both, you decided to not let it go to waste and chugged down a couple bottles.

Drunken words and kisses were exchanged in the living room of your shared apartment, giggles and hiccups echoing through the home. Bokuto, whose head was resting on the couches arm, perked up, looking at you, whose body tucked away between his slumped over form and the cushions on the couch.

‘Y’know...I want...a tattoo…” he muttered, returning his focus back to the ceiling which for some reason had him entranced. A laugh shook your body, causing him to giggle as well. shrugging , you asked him why he wouldn’t get one, to which he responded, eyes wide, with “I...I dunno…” before jolting up and running, or more stumbling, to your shared room to grab his phone and wallet.

“Lets go now! Now let's go!” he yells, bouncing up and down excitedly. Seeing no problem with it in your intoxicated state, you agree, pulling on shoes while Bokuto called an uber, then driving, at 9pm on a Saturday, to a parlor. As you arrived, Bo hesitated at the door, turning to you with a pout. “Wait..” he grumbled, hunched over in thought. “if i get one you have to get one as well!”

And that's how he convinced you two to get matching tattoos, the first letter of your name etched into the side of his ribs, and a big “K” etched onto yours.

The morning after, the killer headache and soreness from your ribs woke you. Barely remembering what happened, you stumbled to the bathroom, waking Bokuto up in the process, and pulled your shirt up in the mirror. It didn't even surprise you. A breathy laugh left your lips as Bo entered the bathroom as well, lifting his shirt off to see what his looked like. The biggest grin stretched across his face, sprinting back to the bedroom to get his phone, promptly taking pictures of your tattoos and sending them to Akaashi.

As the years progressed, and Bokuto had his rise to fame as a professional athlete, stories like these dwindled. He had a job now that required him to be away more than not, and loneliness creeped in every once in a while, despite Bokuto’s determination to call and text you every day before bed.

Offhandedly, the week he was home, you mentioned that its weird feeling for him on his side of the bed and it being empty and cold. That same day, maybe an hour later, Bokuto left. Then, two hour later, he returned home with a small Shiba Inu puppy.

“I didn’t know which one to get...but I saw you liked a meme with this dog in it on instagram...so I got him…”

And so, without even questioning his antics, the two of you named him Taro, and spent the next week with your new addition to the family to get him accustomed to living there.

Now, seven years have passed, and here you lay, the morning of your anniversary, Taro's large sleeping form warming the bed next to you, while your boyfriend worked hard in a training camp in America so he could obtain his dream of being recognized as one of the most powerful players in the Japanese league.

The ceiling seemed especially appealing as you recounted the last seven years, a faint smile on your face. Even though Bokuto wasn't able to be here today, he sent you a short: “I love you, relax for me today, happy anniversary!” text, presumably as soon as he woke up, which was enough for you.

You sat up, bare feet hitting the cold floorboards of the apartment the two of you have, more recently, began to pack up as to move into a new house. Your first house, together.

Standing up, you shook your head, rubbing your eyes and made your way to the bathroom. There you took a long shower, taking more time than usual to cool yourself down. Afterwards, breakfast was made and served for yourself and Taro, and the two of you laid comfortably snuggled up on the couch for more than half the day.

As 3pm rolled around there was a soft pounding at the door down the hall, Taro got up quickly, trotting to the door and waited patiently for you to open it, standing alert in case it was an unwelcome guest.

You unlock the door quickly, not expecting anyone to show up today, and as the door swings open you notice a line up of the MSBY boys you’ve come to love, all standing at the opposite end of the hallway from you, facing you as you open the door, each holding a couple roses, some holding stuffed animals and others holding boxes of your favorite snacks, adorning nice button ups and jeans, all with somewhat tired expressions (presumably from being jet lagged), but big smiles. (excluding Sakusa)

As you look around, taken aback, but an excited look amongst your features, you finally notice Bo, standing at the end of the line. He smiles widely and rushes in to hug you, spinning you around excitedly before laying the sweetest kiss on your lips. “I know you weren’t expecting me home, but I may have lied just a bit about when the camp would end...I couldn't miss our anniversary.” he chuckles. Too shocked to speak, he gently grabs your hands, drinking you down one last time before he takes one hand off of yours, moving to his back pocket. “So...I wanted to keep this a surprise...mostly because I felt like seeing you shocked like this would be really cute- but also because It’d make doing this..” He mutters, slowly kneeling down on one knee in front of you. “A little bit more romantic.”

That was your breaking point. Sobs fall freely down your cheeks as you watch him kneel in front of you, the most genuine, loving smile on his lips. The one that never changed or altered even after all these years. There he knelt, rambling on about how much he loved you. How he was so happy he could spend the last seven years with you, and that calling you his wife would be the greatest privilege you could grant him. The man you loved the most, the man that single handedly changed your future the day you met him, wanted you, and only you, for the rest of your lives.

You said yes, of course.

And as he slid the gorgeous diamond onto your finger, he pulled you in for the tightest hug. Soft sobs leaving both of you as he held you. And seconds later, the rest of the MSBY boys tackled the two of you in a hug as well, all either sobbing (Hinata and Atsumu) or somewhat teary eyed but would always deny it when this story would, ultimately be retold (Sakusa).

Out of all the stories you reminisced upon today, you just knew that this one would be your favorite.

#bokuto kotarou #happy birthday bokuto #kotaro #haikyu #haikyuu #bokuto haikyuu #haikyuu bokuto #bokuto kotaro #bokuto kotarou x reader #bokuto x reader #x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #fukurodani #fukurodani x reader #haikyuu fukurodani #bokuto kotaro x reader #bokuto birthday week

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ssidesblog · 4 years ago

Text

make sure to kiss your knuckles before you punch me in the face

remus and virgil centric (don’t tag as romantic dukexiety), 2,398 wc, ao3

remus and virgil became friends in an odd sort of way, but remus wouldn’t change it for the world

It was a cold, Friday morning and Remus had come to school in a sour mood. He hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep, he forgot to do his English homework, and Roman had been irritatingly peppy that morning.

“Are you doing well, Remus?” Logan asked when the twins approached him and Patton.

“Doin’ fine and fucking dandy, four eyes.” Remus responded, heavily sitting down at the cafeteria table.

“He’s just pissed because I woke him up early.” Roman said, grabbing one of the marshmallows from Patton’s container of Lucky Charms. Remus rolled his eyes and put his head down on the table. His head was already beginning to hurt, it was too loud in the cafeteria, and him and Roman may have been getting along more recently but his voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard at that moment. He stood up, grabbed his backpack, and walked out of the cafeteria.

He sulked around the school, waiting for the morning bell to ring. He hated being at school more than five minutes before first period started. He didn’t understand the appeal, but Roman had insisted they start getting to school earlier. To be fair, they had started getting to school late and Roman hated getting in trouble. But Remus didn’t care. He couldn’t wait until he could drive, then he wouldn’t have to follow Roman’s stupid schedule. He gripped the straps of his bag a little harder than necessary. He was starting to get angry, most would say unreasonably so. But to Remus, he thought he had every right to be angry. Stupid Roman, who wanted to be a good kid, be the good twin. Remus couldn’t help but still hold some kind of resentment for Roman. He was always the favorite, the role model for Remus to look up to as if he wasn’t the twin who was born first. Picani had been working with them and fixing their relationship and it was better now but he still had his days. And that day just so happened to be one of them. Remus, focused more on not punching a wall, wasn’t paying attention to where he was going and bumped into someone. Hard.

He looked down at the kid who half laid down, half sat up on the ground. Remus felt some of the tension go away when he recognized who it was.

“Watch where you’re going.” Virgil said and glared up at him. Virgil was Remus’s favorite person to mess with. They weren’t friends, not even really acquaintances, some would argue that Remus was bullying Virgil but Remus didn’t see it that way. It was just a good way to pass the time and Virgil had his own retorts so it wasn’t as if the insulting was one sided.

“If it isn’t my favorite emo.” Remus gave him a grin. Virgil rolled his eyes.

“If it isn’t my least favorite wannabe punk.” Virgil got up off the ground and dusted himself off, “Now please never interact with me again.” Virgil started to walk away and Remus joined him at his side.

“Now that would be no fun.”

“Remus, seriously, I don’t want to deal with your shit today.” Virgil’s voice was lower than usual. If Remus had been paying more attention, he would have heard the tremor of anger in his voice. But he wasn’t paying attention, and he never did know when to stop.

“Well life’s a bitch and you don’t always get what you want.” Virgil stopped. Remus turned around and raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to say something else, but never quite got the chance before a fist collided with his nose.

Now, Remus always knew he would get in a fight in high school. It was on the top of his list of ‘stupid teenage shit to do before i graduate’. Roman and Patton had tried to dissuade him from doing it, listing the million and one reasons why it was a bad idea but with each reason Remus just wanted to do it more. And maybe he just thought he’d look cool. Maybe he just wanted to seem tough. Maybe he was a little too much like his dad. Or maybe, there was no reason and he just wanted something to remember his time in high school. It didn’t matter to him, he just knew that he was going to get into a fight at some point in his high school career. But he always thought he would have been the one to start the fight. Never did he expect the anxious, emo kid who was a solid 5 inches shorter than him to start it, but there he was.

Remus wiped the blood away from his nose and looked at Virgil. The kid looked mortified but honestly, Remus didn’t care. He reeled back and punched him in his face. He stumbled back and held a hand to his left eye. He looked up at Remus and the look of horror had been replaced with anger and deadly determination. He lunged at Remus and before he could move he tackled him to the ground. Remus was lying on his stomach and Virgil was sat on top of him. He grabbed a fistful of Remus’s hair and pulled his head up. Remus opened his mouth to say some smart remark about him being kinky but before he could Virgil pushed his head down and his face collided with the concrete. One of his teeth hurt like a bitch and he could see a piece of it lying on the ground. Remus flipped around so he was lying on his back. Virgil was still on top of him and he had the decency to look guilty once he caught a glimpse of Remus’s face. Despite the dull beating pain in his head, Remus pulled Virgil’s head down at the same time he moved his upper body up, causing their head to ram into each other. Virgil swore and stumbled off of him. He straightened himself up and Remus quickly sprung up; he tripped a little but gained his balance. They both made a move towards each other but arms wrapped around Remus’s middle and stopped him which paused Virgil’s movements. He looked behind him and saw Logan holding him, a look of anger and some other emotion Remus couldn’t make out on his face. That’s when Remus noticed the crowd of people that had surrounded them. He found Roman and Patton standing close. Patton’s face looked pained, scared, a little angry, but mostly worried. And Roman’s face held clear anger but worry shrouded his vision along with what Remus could only describe as utter disappointment. His chest heaved and he looked at Virgil. A security guard had joined them, holding Virgil by the arm.

“Alright, everybody, get to class!” The security guard yelled to the crowd and walked over to Remus, grabbing him by his arm. Instinctively he flinched and attempted to get his arm away, which only made her grab harder to his arm. She pulled the two of them to the nurse’s office and sat them down on the long cot.

“After y’all are done getting cleaned up I’m taking y’all to the principal.” She said before leaving the room. The nurse started with Remus, who was the more beat up of the two. He had a massive headache and he was bleeding a lot. There was a cut on his forehead, which must have been from when his face had been pushed to the ground. And his nose hurt like a bitch.

“Does this hurt?” The nurse asked as she turned his nose. Remus sucked a breath through his teeth.

“Fuck, yeah.” Remus said.

“Please watch your language.” The nurse chastised him and handed him an ice pack.

“Hold this to your nose and tilt your head up.” She instructed. He complied and made a face when the ice touched his nose. There’s no way the emo broke his fucking nose. He looked over at said emo, who looked extremely tiny. The guilt could practically be seen radiating off of him. His left cheek swelled just underneath his eye, and there was a bruise forming on his forehead. Remus didn’t even need a mirror to know he looked a million times worse. He ran his tongue across his teeth; the tooth next to his right front tooth was chipped. Remus chuckled a little. The nurse came back into the room with two bottles of blue Gatorade and a pack of saltine crackers. She split the pack and put them on two paper plates and handed one set to Remus and the other to Virgil. She also handed Virgil his own ice pack for his cheek. She walked back over to Remus and crouched down.

“Now this is going to hurt, ok?” She said and took the ice pack of his nose.

“My whole face kinda hurts, I think I’ll be fine.” Remus said with a grin. The nurse bit the inside of her cheek and lifted her hands to his nose. She counted down from three and cracked the cartilage back in place.

“Fucking hell!” Remus shouted as a jolt of pain shot up his head. The nurse didn’t comment on his language this time, which Remus was thankful for. She handed him the ice pack and he put it on his nose. It still hurt but it felt better.

“Did he break my nose?” Remus asked. The nurse shook her head.

“It was a minor fracture from what I could tell. If the swelling hasn’t gone down in a couple days I advise you see a doctor, it may be broken then.” She went over to a cabinet and brought out gauze and some tape. He removed the ice pack so she could tape the gauze to his nose.

“This should stop the bleeding and hold everything in place.” She mumbled as explanation. He nodded and put the ice pack back once she was done. She picked up her walkie talkie and informed the security guard she was done. Not even a minute later she came in through the doors.

“Alright, get up I shouldn’t have to drag you two this time around.” She ordered. The two boys stood up and followed her through the hallways until she stopped at the disciplinary office.

“The principal is already in there waiting for y’all.” She said before opening the door for them. They walked in and sure as shit there stood the principal, Mr. Young. He stood against a desk and two seats were sat in front of him. They each took a seat. Remus slouched down, one leg swung over an armrest. Virgil sat with his knees pulled to his chest, making himself as small as possible, which wasn’t hard for him. Mr. Young gave them each a look but decided not to comment.

“Now I assume you both know why you’re here today.” Remus had to bite his tongue to stop himself from replying ‘no shit sherlock’.

“You both will receive a day of in school suspension and two Saturday detentions.” He informed them, grabbing papers from his desk, “Along with a mark on each of your permanent records.”

“Sir, with all due respect,” Virgil’s voice shook when he spoke, “I don’t think Remus should be punished the same as me. I was the one who started it.” Remus looked over at him, a look of disbelief on his face. Mr. Young shared a similar look on his face.

“Mr. Ackerman, that’s a very kind thing for you to say,” He said, “However, Mr. Reyes fought back. It’s mandatory he receive the same punishment.” Virgil shrank further in on himself and Remus pitied him a little. He never did like speaking up.

“In all fairness, you told me to stop bothering you and I didn’t. Kind deserved it.” Remus said. Virgil looked over to him and raised his eyebrow. Remus sent him a wink in return.

“I’ll tell you what,” Mr. Young spoke, getting their attention, “You both have clean records, a few demerits on Mr. Reyes’s end but tardiness is not nearly as drastic as a fight. I’ll keep this off your permanent records, but if either of you get into a fight again, I won’t be as forgiving.” Remus and Virgil shared looks of confusion (and relief) and looked back at Mr. Young.

“Thank you, sir.” They said at the same time.

“Just don’t do something like this again,” He walked over to the door and opened it, “We’ve already informed both of your parents and they should be here soon. I’ll see you two tomorrow for detention.” The two boys followed him out the door and sat in the front office.

“Uh, thank you for saying what you did.” Virgil said. Remus grinned.

“Anything for my favorite emo.” Remus said with a wink. Virgil rolled his eyes. “Thank you for trying to lessen my punishment.”

“Yeah, well it was the least I could do for like, almost breaking your nose.”

“And chipping my tooth.” Remus added, brandishing his tooth. Virgil leaned in with a grimace and took a good look.

“Fuck dude, I’m sorry.” He apologized and his voice was laced with guilt.

“It’s fine, I think it’s kinda badass. Now I’ll have something to remind me of my first fight.” Remus shrugged away his apology, adding,”I’m surprised you had that in you. I can’t believe I let a twink beat me up.” Virgil choked on air.

“I am not a twink.” He said incredulously.

“Sounds like something a twink would say.” Remus laughed when Virgil flipped him off. The doors to the office opened and he watched his mom come in.

“Oh shit, here comes the real punishment.” Remus murmured before standing up, “See you tomorrow, Tickle me Emo.” Remus said and stood up.

“See you tomorrow, Toothless.” Virgil said with a two finger salute. Remus barked out a laugh and walked over to his mom.

He was in for a lot of lecturing, from his mom, Patton, Roman, and Logan but Remus didn’t mind. Not one bit, because through this he started what seemed like a very unexpected friendship and earned a chipped tooth as remembrance. When Remus got home, the first thing he did was cross ‘get in a fight’ off his stupid list. Yeah, Remus didn’t mind one bit.

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rustybutterknife · 5 years ago

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Headcannons for Lydia:

She’s a transbian!!

She came out as trans when she was 10, and went on E when she was 12!

Emily and Charles were supportive of her!

Her full name is Lydia Jane Grace Deetz. Lydia because that’s what her mom said she would had named her had she been born a girl, and Jane Grace because she was really into Against me! at the time.

She got her name legally changed when she was 15, a couple of months before her mom died.

When Lydia and her dad moved, nobody else knew she was trans. Not even Delia.

Beetlejuice was the first person in the household to find out.

He saw her doing her E shot and asked her “what is that? Are you diabetic? Sick?? Dying???”

And she just calmly explains that no, she’s trans and those are just hormones.

Naturally, Beetlejuice has a million and one questions. Some are good, some are kinda dumb, and some Lydia just straight up has to go “no, we’re not talking about that.”

The Maitlands were next to know when they looked through old photo albums the Deetz’s had. They saw an old photo of Lydia when she was about 5 or 6, shaggy hair that she fought to let grow, dressed in a shark T-shirt and fish swim trunks on the beach.

They ask her about it, asking if she had a brother they never knew about. She just stayed quiet and let them ask questions before she eventually told them.

They hugged her (somehow) and told her that they accepted her, and that she could talk to them about these sort of things.

Delia was the last to find out. Lydia just straight up told her over breakfast, Delia almost choking on her coffee over the news. Cause hey, you don’t really expect it happen.

It’s takes Lydia a few minutes to explain that “no, Delia. I don’t wanna ‘be a boy’. Been there, done that, not interested” before Delia gets it.

Delia just asks everyone around her if they knew, and they’re all like “yeah, we been knew.”

During pride month, they all get shirts that say “I love my trans daughter” and she nearly cries

Whenever she’s feeling extremely dysphoric, Charles will take her to the local mall.

She’ll always book it to hot topic, it’s pretty much a 2nd home to her.

She owns 22 dresses from hot topic

She’s also an absolute goddess when it comes to makeup. She owns 15 palettes from Hot Topic, and she owns about 5 brush sets.

One from a hot topic mystery bag, one from wish, one from Ross, and 2 from Walgreens.

Her favorite ones are the Walgreens ones, they’re just so soft and work well.

She didn’t come out as a lesbian until she’d been in the new house for a couple of months.

She’d had her fair share of girlfriends, but that wasn’t anyone’s business.

She came out to the Maitlands first, who of course told her that they loved her dearly and that she could talk to them about her crushes if she wanted.

Adam is like “hey, we both like beautiful women, that’s something we could bond over now!” Barbra blushes and giggles. Lydia is like “God damn it Adam, you’re trying and I appreciate it.”

Later on, after everyone goes to bed, they get to work.

Adam makes her a hand drawn card with a little cartoon Lydia coming out of a closet, holding a little rainbow flag on the front and a little heart felt letter on the inside.

Barbra made a cake with rainbow chocolate chips on the inside, and rainbow frosting on the outside.

They wake her up and she simply rolls over and goes “Beetlejuice, it’s too early for this...”

“No, wake up, it’s us!”

She goes looks up at her alarm clock, then back at them.

“Excuse my language, and don’t tell my dad, but it is 3 in the mother fucking morning.”

They’re in a bit of shock because “*gasp*, she said the fuck word” but they get over it quickly

Barbra gets Lydia up and they lead her into the attic.

She sees the cake and lets out an audible gasp, a smile plastered on her face.

Adam gives her the card and she’s all almost in tears.

They hug her and the dam breaks loose.

Beetlejuice is the next to find out

He sees the lights and hears their voices from upstairs and wonders “ah shit, are they getting it on upstairs?? I wanna watch!” Like the pervert he is

So he bursts in and sees Lydia crying and the Maitlands comforting her and he’s like “oh shit gotta go” but Lydia sees him before he can get away and she just goes “Yo, BJ, get back her you rat.”

He sheepishly comes in and is like “hey, uh... it’s... gonna be okay.” While patting Lydia on the back because he thinks that she’s crying for bad reasons.

She’s like “no, no, I’m okay,” and she shows him the card and cake

His eyes go wide as yells “you’re a lesbian!!?”

The Maitlands and Lydia quickly shush him because god damn it Beetlejuice, her parents are sleeping and don’t know yet!

Beetlejuice is like “oh shit, sorry.”

They talk for a bit before eating the cake.

“So uh... if you want any advice on how to ‘woo the ladies’-“

“Beetlejuice, no...”

“Okay, got it, not the best time.”

“No, you just give bad advice.”

She eventually comes out to Charles and Delia.

She asks to talk to him in private about something, and he agrees. He wonders if she’s getting bullied again at her new school, or if anything has gone wrong in her life.

“Dad... there’s no easy way to tell you this... but... I’m gay.”

He breathes a sigh of relief.

She thinks that he’s frustrated or angry with her, and she starts to cry.

He quickly hugs her and rubs her back, telling her that he kinda already knew.

“What???”

“I mean, there’s no... what do you kids say? ‘Hetty spaghetti’ explanation for your obsession with Wednesday Adam.”

“Dad, please never say ‘hetty spaghetti’ ever again.”

“You got it.” He throws in an awkward thumbs up.

When she tells Delia, she goes off on a tangent about “spiritual exploration” and “discovering your true self”

Lydia cuts her off and simply says “I’m gay, it’s not that deep.”

She leaves the conversation when Delia starts talking about “experimenting with women” in college.

She loves emo music

her favorite bands are Burn the Ballroom, Against me!, and My Chemical Romance

She also loves to sing, but she’s shy about her voice.

Beetlejuice secretly has a video of her belting out “love on the brain” by Rihanna

He has a not-so-secret video of her singing “Transgender Dysphoria Blues” in the living room.

He felt like he was stabbed again when she got to... that part...

He’s surprised because god damn kid, you said it so angry, are you okay???

His hair is purple by the end of the song and he’s crying

She ends up having to comfort him

On a positive note, she absolutely loves sweets and has a little bowl of heresy kisses next to her bed.

Okay that’s all, thank you! :D

(Also I’m a trans man and I don’t know much about being dysphoric as a trans girl so please tell me if I got anything factually incorrect or if anything I said was offensive!)

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spiltscribbles · 5 years ago

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Notes: One Reblog is worth a thousand stars <3.-

The grandiose brownstone on the upper west side is filled to the brim with guests that Ronan barely recognizes, platters of foods he doesn’t remember ordering, and rounds of drinks he thanks God, Jesus and the Holy Ghost above that never seem to run out.

“Lynch, old boy,” a faintly familiar, boyishly attractive brunette calls from where he’s standing with three other nondescript fucks that Ronan eventually realizes are all from his old preparatory days at Aglionby.

“Wentworth,” Ronan greets with as much welcome as he can muster— a negative four point two on the Gansey scale of charm, but hey, what’s a guy to do. “I presume you’re enjoying yourself?”

“Thoroughly,” he assures with a coquettish little wink that Ronan completely ignores.

“Let me know if that ever changes,” he directs the question to the group as a whole so that Wentworth doesn’t get any bright ideas.

“How’s Declan?” The shortest one asks, all plastered smiles and heaps of blonde hair.

“He’s enjoying DC, says that Matthew is getting on with all his courses.”

“Smart of him to get out of Henrietta,” another of the foursome interjects with a swig of his iced white. “With Greywaren here and all the trouble he’s stirring up.”

“Come now,” Wentworth chides with a dismissing wave of the hand. “Greywaren is who’s keeping us safe from the trouble and all these awful villains. “Wouldn’t you agree Lynch?”

Ronan feels the slightest uptick to his pulse, but doesn’t let anything show, just gives a placid smile and blasé shrug to his shoulder.

“I make it a point not to mingle with politics.”

“Smart chap,” the third one smirks. “Couldn’t tell you how many times the boys on the board told me to keep my trap shut on it.”

Queue round of polite chuckles that Ronan doesn’t partake in.

“You know what isn’t controversial? A donation to the arts.” Ronan tells him.

“A wily one too,” Wentworth laughs. “Well you’ve convinced us Lynch, we’d be happy to help whatever inner city project or museum renovation you’ve got going on.”

“I’ll send Blue over to take the checks,” he tips his glass to them before continuing on strolling through the throng of blank faces, exchanging pleasantries and volleying nods of recognition as if it’s an olympic sport.

Ronan hates every fucking minute of it.

“Poor sour patch,” Blue, five foot nothing and unappreciative of any sort of bullshit, mock croons at him once he finally reaches the foursome, clucking her tongue all the while.

Ronan bares his teeth at her, swats away the hand she’s using to pinch his cheek with a hiss of, “Hop off.”

Blue only laughs ebulliently.

“I fucking hate you.”

“No way to speak to your guests,” Henry toots on Blue’s behalf. “After all, you were just elected Henrietta’s most eligible bachelor, wouldn’t wanna ruin that image with your surly attitude.”

“What would you know Cheng? I sure as fuck don’t remember your name on the list.”

With a role of the eyes, Henry just shoos him away. “Never any bite, I swear.”

“He strolls off to take a call on his pretentious bluetooth, while Noah passes Ronan a fresh flute of the Prosecco.

“You don’t have to keep up the charade you know,” Gansey tells him, popping an appetizer with to many vowels and too little alcohol for Ronan to ever really bother remembering the name of into his mouth. “It’s not as if, ahem. People would ever be made privy to your particular gifts.”

He means the gifts Ronan had inherited from Niall, the ability to dream things and even people and occasionally places into existence. He means the fact that despite the way Ronan dawns a costume with a raven on the chest, he’s in all actuality a dreamer. He dreams his weapons, his vehicles, his everything to use against the bad guys and vigilantes that roam the streets of Henrietta, their city, their home. And some of the things he dreams Declan takes it upon himself to study, to replicate, to cell for the endless fortunes the Lynch name has always been known for. The millions upon millions that Ronan grew up unaware to how his father, a scoundrel and drunk most days, and absent the rest of them, had ever been able to earn.

No, but Ronan still loves him, adores the memory and the man. Niall gave everything to Ronan and he’s going to respect everything Niall planned out, everything he wrote in his will.

“It’s what my father would’ve wanted, complete secrecy,” says Ronan, doubtless.

“Even with the solitude,” asks Gansey, cutting to the heart of his worries with none of his usual attentiveness. Finally tired of beating around the bush like the Gansey way dictates.

Ronan’s about to snarl something back that he’s not proud of, something nasty and vicious and unnecessarily cruel. Maybe about Gansey’s pretentious upbringing, probably something about his tireless efforts to find out what’s caused this explosion of superheroes and super villains in the last half century, definitely also about his piece of shit haircut that makes him look like a douchebag congressman. But Blue must sense it because she interrupts him before Ronan could even part his lips.

“All we’re saying is that we know you’ve got your priorities, but you deserve someone to come home too.”

“It’s so cute that you care,” Ronan snorts, doesn’t mention how this place isn’t home, that it can never stack up to The Barns.

Ronan doesn’t want to build a life here.

“I only care because every group needs the weirdly brooding, emo friend,” Blue says causticly.

Ronan cuffs her on the back of the head and she kicks him in turn.

“Hey tall, dark, and handsome,” Henry calls, abruptly returning with a slight franticness to his gaze. “No time for the juvenile squabbling, there’s a robbery on Appleton and they’re in dyer need of a certain masked hero.”

Ronan remembers the sun kissed skies and tumbling grasslands that painted the landscape of The Barns, his childhood manner, his oasis away from the bustling folks and raucous traffic of the city that the Lynch’s spent a majority of their year trapped within. He remembers the iridescent rosebuds that scattered the front yard and the strawberry fields he’d run through, frolicking with a giggling Matthew and occasionally a surly Declan if Ronan had nudged him outdoors by stealing one of his books or hats or whatever proper, grown up thing he was insistent on mastering for that week.

Most of all, he remembers the way Niall would card an indulgent hand through Ronan’s dark mop of locks while they tread around the trails as he divulged to his middle son all the magical wonders and whimsical secrets of this world, a doting smile on his face while regaling to Ronan stories about brave Irish warriors and lands unexplored, and things unimagined. A dreamer father showing his dreamer child— his favorite child— all the possibilities in his grasp.

“There’s nothing outside your reach Ronan my boy,” Niall, dark haired and sharp jawed and everything Ronan idealized, had boomed in his deep baritone. “You could do anything as long as you can imagine it, dream it. Omnium rum principia parva sunt.”

“The beginnings of all things are small,” Ronan, pint sized and open faced and infallibly kind hearted, had beamed up to his father, pleased that the Latin courses Niall had insisted upon were sticking.

“Oy, attaboy,” Niall had crowed, swinging on his shoulder a laughing Ronan, a Ronan who believed in the untarnished truth of his father’s words.

But then Ronan hit sixteen, and Niall was murdered and the Barns were sanctioned from anyone visiting and everything had fallen apart in a matter of days.

The BMW hums beneath his grasp as Ronan sores through the streets of Henrietta, blanketed in darkness and buzzing with danger.

“It’s at the Sheffield’s lake house,” Gansey patches in through the minuscule communication device Henry had created for them to use. “They’re big supporters of mothers campaign.”

“Oh how darling,” Ronan says in a deadpan. “We should invite them over for high tea, less we look gauche.”

“I’ll ignore the sarcasm due to this being a stressful situation and all,” Gansey harrumphs from the other end. “Noah will be there taking pictures for the paper and Henry’s sending over the address right now. Stay safe.”

“always am.”

“Now we both know that isn’t true.”

Ronan screeches to a stop in front of one of the more posh houses the city has to offer— all high gates and wide partitions and a fountain of a baby angel spitting out water while balancing on one foot— greeted by a middle aged woman in pink chiffon raving to a fearful looking officer about hooligans and dirty thugs and irreplaceable diamonds handed down to her through generations. Though Ronan doesn’t bother to stop and listen to her sulking once he catches the barest trace of a yellow cape slinking into the shadows out of sight.

He pounces.

“Fifteen minutes and twenty-three seconds,” the dude in a yellow cape tsks (all the while sporting the world’s most infuriating half grin that Ronan can’t help but appreciate if only for the esthetic) once Ronan finally catches up to him on the edge of the woods skirting against the water. He’s smaller than Ronan, but not by much, and agile as all get out if those amateur parkour stunts weren’t just an illusion. “getting rusty are we? It’s been a while since Henrietta’s seen anything more than a chump vigilante I suppose?”

His voice is low but has got this almost musical cadence to it. Ronan would’ve sworn he was a local if the subtle drawl was anything to go by.

“And who, pray tell, the fuck are you,” Ronan snarls out, stepping closer with his most menacing glower.

The guy in yellow and red just snorts, unimpressed, while he leaps backwards onto a tree branch… But no, it’s like the tree branch was waiting for him. No not even that, like it reached out for him to hop on, like he was the sun and the tree was responding to his very presence.

“Unimportant, but I know who you are Greywaren.”

“NO fuck, everyone knows me,” Ronan spits.

“Not the real you,” he counters. “But that’s why I’m here.”

Ronan is over the small talk, even if the guy’s got an admittedly attractive voice, he taps on the heels of the shoes he had dreamt and begins to shoot upwards, but the messed up thing is that the guy seems to have been expecting it, and with just a flick of the wrist another branch swings out and smacks Ronan down like a pesky fly.

“What. The. Fuck.” Ronan manages out with labored breaths as he stands back up.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a real let down Mr Greywaren, because you sure are,” Yellow Cape says with a faux yawn, stretching out to his full six feet while still standing on the branch. He looks like the fucking Fairy Folk in the storybooks Matthew had once insisted Ronan read to him before bed. “Well I’d love to stay and chat but I better get out of your hair and get some bank for my buck.”

“I’ll show you where to shove your buck.”

“Scandalous,” yellow cape sniffs, bored sounding. “ oh and before I forget, Greenmantle sends their hellos.”

In an instance everything freezes.

That word.

Greenmantle.

Flashes of blood and darkness and Niall’s too pale face accented by a wretched slash to his forehead.

The name carved in blood.

Greenmantle.

Ronan’s veins turn to ice and his chest contracts, and by the time he comes to yellow cape is already gone and Ronan is awash with the sorts of memories he ordinarily keeps securely locked away.

“Greenmantle, are you sure he said that precise name?” Henry asks for the umpteenth time since Ronan came back empty handed and with a major life revelation the night of the Sheffield robbery.

“Yes Cheng,” Ronan seethes, tugs on the tie that feels like it’s choking him.

“You look insane,” Blue toots, goes on her tiptoes to adjust it once more. “Now let’s just take deep breaths, being in public and all.”

Ronan still isn’t sure just how Gansey had convinced them all to attend the Tribune’s annual fundraiser, only remembering a lot of “getting on the insides” and “copious amounts of alcohol,s” thrown around, and a couple, “you get to tease uppity know it alls who trash the Greywaren for a living,” sprinkled on top just for good measure.

But still, Ronan hates it.

“So he’s back then, finishing off what he started.” Noah surmises.

“Did we ever truly know what exactly he wanted? Erm, aside from the Lynch family’s demise.”

Ronan glares and Henry just winces, apologetic.

“Noah you think you can get anymore intel on Greenmantle possibly leaving Boston? That was last where we tracked him, right?” Blue asks, head cocked.

“I’m on it,” Noah says while literally pulling out his phone and wandering off to a discrete corner to do whatever it is that he does that gets invasively detailed reports on literally anyone with a social security number.

“Let’s cut the conversation there, Gansey’s coming with that delicious looking friend of his,” Henry warns, causing Blue and Ronan to turn around at the same time to catch on a beaming Gansey promenading towards them with decidedly less sunny company. Company with sea glass eyes and effortlessly ruffled hair that falls unevenly on the left side of his forehead and cheekbones that can literally cut timber.

“Ronan, you’re gonna catch flies,” blue goads, shit eating grin on her face and something like amusement etched into Gansey’s own all the way across the aisle, as if he knows exactly what she had said. Leave it to those freaks to create the world’s first telepathic connection out of the power of their gross as love.

“You’re fired from both my friendship and your job,” Is all Ronan tells her, tries to look distracted by anyone that isn’t the literal incarnation of Prince Philip walking ever nearer… Erm shut the fuck up, Ronan only knows that certain prince because of Matthew when he went through his Disney phase… And well, Arora really liked those sorts of cartoons when she was bringing up her boys.

Gansey dives down to kiss Blue just as soon as they came close enough, and Henry bugged off to go flirt up some poor soul on the catering staff, which leaves it so he and Adam have got some semblance of privacy… Which Ronan doesn’t care about at all.

“Lynch,” Adam says, mouth curled ever so slightly, giving him a thin lipped smile. “How’s it going.”

“My life is a fucking summer day,” Ronan replies with probably too much glaring.

“So that nasty looking bruise on your jaw?”

“For the esthetic.”

“Think you missed bad ass and landed on kid who gets too many nose bleeds during gym class.”

“Know that look from experience Parrish?”

He shrugs, unaffected.

“I was always captain, so can’t say so.”

“Cocky little fuck,” Ronan hisses, making it so Adam’s face finally brightens ten fold and he lets out a breathy— blink and you’ll miss it— laugh. He’s got these insane dimples that never fail to make Ronan’s stomach tie itself into knots, and makes it so his heart stutter with pleasure and always, always fuels him to try and make them pop out just one more time…. But erm, that means nothing. Whatever Blue or Gansey, or Noah— Especially Henry— Whatever they say whatever stupid little ticks his body goes through, it means nothing towards what he feels for Adam. Which for the record, at best, is irritated exasperation veiled with a thin layer of indifferent acquaintanceship, considering Gansey has regarded the bloke as a brother since their first night as roommates back in college.

“You wanna grab a drink or will it hurt too much with the injury and all?”

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll make it so your shitting teeth for the next month.”

“Kinky.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Ronan’s doomed.

“So far the pattern seems to be wealthy, careless and dumb,” Blue says from where she’s hanging upside-down on the couch in Ronan’s den that’s been commandeered for any Greywaren business.

“You just read that off of Parrish’s article in the Tribune this week,” Henry toots, flipping through the aforementioned news report about who’s been labeled as The Magician.

“He’s a smart cookie,” Blue relents, having always been partial to Parrish since first meeting him years ago at one of the ridiculous “family dinners,” Gansey holds every Friday evening, instead of doing something more par for the course for adults their age, namely getting blackout drunk and dancing at sleazy clubs. (

Gansey had just stepped into Monmouth , blasé as all get out with Adam only a few feet behind him, and had gestured his way with the introduction. “This’s Adam, he’s a genius reporter and a great man. Even’s got a photo of him and Lois Lane pinned to his desk at the Tribune.”

Adam in turn smiled self deprecatingly, his cheeks flushed prettily. “She spoke at a rally our freshman year, just got lucky I suppose.”

“Oh my God! I love her!” Blue had squawked, eyes bright. “She’s right between Wonder Woman and Angela Davis on my wall of inspirational women.”

“Some wall,” Adam said wryly.

“I thought that was a wall of ladies you wouldn’t mind pegging,” Ronan had interrupted just to be a shit.

“Lynch, I’m not afraid to kill in cold blood.”

If that interaction hadn’t scared Adam off, Ronan supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that nothing had, that now he’s as internal to this little ragtag crew of Henriettas saving graces as any of them, even if he doesn’t have the slightest clue of their night gigs.

“We could ask him about the Magician,” Gansey offers, lips pursed and hopeful glint to his big, caff like eyes. Ronan knows that he— that all of them— hate lying to Adam, to evade his questions and avoid his calls whenever things are particularly insane, but it’s better this way. If it was up to Ronan none of them would be stuck in this dangerous business. Gansey is here because he had been brought up with Ronan, quite literally brothers in everything but blood. He knew what Niall was, what Ronan is. He knows the importance of the Barns and the danger of Greenmantle, Ronan couldn’t have lied to him about this if he tried. Noah was already privy to the forces of good and evil warring it out in this seemingly inconsequential city right out of DC, had been the one to approach Ronan as Greywaren first, to cultivate a bond that soon transformed into a partnership and now friendship. Henry’s family worked to provide the pieces for the technology that the original dreamer wanted replicated, for Niall, and it only made sense that when Niall had ever so unceremoniously past the mantel off to Ronan, that Seondeok did the same for Henry.

To this day Ronan isn’t quite sure how Blue squirmed her way into everything, only that she’s the daughter of a well renowned psychic that they consulted with once on a case, and she had right then, chin tipped high and a deeply embedded resilience in her gaze, had informed them all that she’d be joining their efforts. A few years later, falling in love with Gansey and officially hired to lead all knew projects for Lynch Charity, in between, Ronan can’t imagine doing all this without her scrappy self.

But that’s all besides the point. Ronan never wants to be the cause of them hurting, them in danger. He’s seen what could happen to someone if they take one wrong move, saw it splayed out with Niall’s blood and matted hair and sickly pillar that still haunts Ronan’s nightmares most nights.

Ronan’s gonna prevent that from ever happening again to anyone he loves, even if that means he has to prevent any of the aforementioned teammates from joining his chases, or if it means he has to lie to Adam’s face. To pretend as if he doesn’t see the way Adam’s begun barricading himself from them bit by bit, well aware that there’s something dividing them all from him.

Ronan would rather see Adam furious at him, than never getting to see the particular shade of forget me not blue that colors his irises, ever again.

The choice is simple.

“No.” He tells Gansey, not leaving an ounce of room for rebuttal.

“He’s a Pulitzer Prize nominated Journalist Ronan, in layman’s terms that means he’s great at figuring things out,” Gansey says with the worn patience of someone who’s hashed out this argument a thousand times before. “It’s improbable that he hasn’t already begun suspecting the truth already.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“I’m sure he could handle himself.”

“No,” Ronan repeats, voice resounding.

“Okay, no time,” Noah cuts in shortly, fingers tapping an agitated staccato against the keyboard of his desktop. “There’s a robbery on Madison Avenue and people are saying it’s our little, yellow caped friend.”

“Stay safe,” Gansey says— like he always does— and Ronan says that he will, like he always does— and the tension between them breaks, for now at the very least, like it always does.

Ronan’s day job, as Declan had once oh so kindly put it, is to stay pretty and give a good face to the brand. “You’re a shit and I know that, but maybe if no one has to talk to you and just sees that you’ve got the same smile as Dad did, they won’t find out for themselves.” Declan had earned a swift right hook for that one, but was probably expecting it considering the dodge and the lecture on anger management he had suffered Ronan through for the next hour.

All this to say, Ronan doesn’t really have a day job. He occasionally visits The Barns— never crossing the threshold but just looking from afar at all he’s fighting to get back— Other times, if he’s not nursing a hangover or injury from the night before, Ronan would drive out to Dc and pull Matthew from classes to get lunch and maybe catch a movie. Though more often than not, Ronan ends up at one of the numerous Lynch owned real-estates, specifically the one where the entire top floor is rented out by the second largest paper in the fucking tri-state area. The fact that a majority of his friends happen to work there is pure coincidence and it would be slanderous to allude otherwise.

“You enjoy our company,” Noah taunts, camera dangling from his neck and face split with a bright smile.

“Fuck you.”

“You do though,” he beams, impervious.

“Noah I swear to fucking God.”

“Ah, so the prodigal son has returned,” Adam, looking like a fucking professional in his button down and tie, greets one particular Thursday afternoon when Ronan shows up for the first time that week. It’s been a difficult one for him, with the news that Greenmantle is most certainly not in Boston anymore, but also undetectable anywhere else on the continental United States, coupled with the series of robberies from more and more of the city’s wealthiest, surely by no other than that fucking yellow cape— The Magician— It’s just been really fucking exhausting.

Ronan will go to his grave before admitting that just catching sight of Adam here, now… It kind of makes him breathe a little easier, even if there’s a cut right under Adam’s chin and his stance is woven with a certain fatigue one can only recognize with experience.

He suddenly remembers talking to one of Adam’s old school friends, a petite blonde who looked at an oblivious Adam with hearts in her eyes. He members her telling him just how Adam had lost the hearing in his left ear, how it was merely a tipping point from a long building cycle of abuse. Ronan thinks of how gutted he feels looking at how haggard Adam looks right now, and can’t imagine knowing him back when fucking Robert Parrish was still apart of his life.

But he shakes that all off, offers Adam a snide half grin like he’’s probably expecting.

“Missed me sugar dumpling,” Ronan jeers in an overdone accent to mock Adam’s subtle one, vowels rounded and snatching away the g.

“It was quieter,” is all Adam says, and if Ronan doesn’t know better he would’ve taken that as a compliment teetering on flirtatious instead of one of Adam’s deadpan observations.

And oh, that’s interesting.

“I’ve always been known for my stimulating conversational skills,” Ronan nods sagely, leaning against Adam’s desk with his arms wrapped across his chest, enjoying it probably a little too much how Adam’s peering up at him with his bright eyes through his spider leg lashes.

Sometimes, just sometimes— just when Adam looks at him like Ronan could be the brightest part of his day— Ronan feels like he’s standing on the precipice of something with him, something that makes his chest stutter and stomach tumble itself into knots. Like Adam’s air and Ronan’s finally breathing. But also that’s a ridiculous notion because in all the years they’ve known each other Adam’s never made a move, not one that Ronan could discern at least, and he just needs to not fall into some ridiculous folly.

“Oh I’m sure,” he snorts.

“You wanna grab lunch? Leo’s having a half off if you buy two sale.”

“I don’t eat gluten.”

“I saw you scarf down a bowl of pasta at the mayor’s shitty dinner literally last weekend,” Ronan accuses, incredulous and only slightly affronted.

“Fine,” Adam breathes out. “Then I don’t eat gluten that’s meant to distract me from my work.”

“Fuck off.”

“Can’t do that either.”

Ronan seriously thinks he might hate Adam, if it wasn’t for the fact that he most certainly does not.

“You don’t have to like work yourself ragged just to prove a point you know, just because you’re the newest print journalist doesn’t mean you’re the least talented.” Ronan tells him, gruff sounding and avoiding his gaze at all costs. “That’s obviously Tad.”

Adam stays quiet for too long, so Ronan braces himself and turns around, not expecting Adam to be pinning Ronan with a one eyed squint, like he’s sizing him up. Like Ronan’s some sort of jigsaw puzzle he can never quite figure out.

“Kay, let’s go,” he says, slow and cautious as he shuts his laptop and slinks on his jacket. Ronan is only partially surprised that he actually listened, usually it takes a whole lot more cross looks and prodding at and about ten times more profanities for Adam to even consider stop working on some new story or the other that he’s particularly passionate about.

“Good,” Ronan huffs in as flat of a tone he can muster. “But I fucking hate subs so we’re not going to Leo’s.”

Adam sighs, long suffering. “You were born to be contrary Lynch.”

“’S what Declan says, but he doesn’t know shit.”

“As opposed to you? Oh great arbiter of all knowledge.” Adam retorts, making it so Ronan’s mouth dips into a small, reluctant smile.

“Precisely.”

Their eyes connect at that moment, ice blues boring into a twilight night sky sparkling with kisses of starlight. Ronan can hear his heart beat in his ears and his throat lodge with emotions he can’t place quite yet.

It’s Adam who breaks it, averting his gaze and clearing his throat, adjusting his papers on the desk just to make it as seemingly natural as possible.

“Mexican, Mexican’s never bad. And hey I get a chance to hear you fail at rolling your Rs.”

Ronan glowers.

“Piss off.”

So they go, Ronan orders a meat stuffed burrito and Adam orders the special and Ronan doesn’t talk about all the gluten Adam’s eating and they most definitely do not talk about what may or may not have past between them.

It’s fine. It’s normal. He’s good.

Ronan’s got a lot of other shit to be worrying about without this maybe something he’s been harboring for Adam since before they even really knew each other, and it shouldn’t change just because Adam seems to be finally joining him in this strange little dance, stumbling together around this tiny flame that may or may not have sparked to life.

It’s fine. it’s normal. He’s good.

“I’m figuring out who Greywaren is,” Adam answers Ronan’s inquiry on what story’s got him so on edge and everything freezes over.

It’s not fine. It’s not normal. And Ronan is sure as fuck not good.

“He’s swung onto Hamilton Boulevard,” Blue tells Ronan, almost frantic, through the headphone set.

Ronan finally gets the fucking Magician in eye sight, watching as he slips into the maze of downtown apartments.

“Good, no fucking trees,” Ronan hisses while swerving off the road and chasing after him by foot, eventually landing on a rooftop. It’s the sixth encounter they’ve had in as many weeks so Ronan thinks he’s finally starting to ware him down, or at least beginning to figure out his arsenal of techniques. He knows that the moment he lands on that roof The Magician will just leap to the next one and the one after that until he finally loses Ronan in the dust.

But this time the Magician doesn’t know about the little pouch of a Ronan Lynch original that’s clacking around on his belt.

“Isn’t there more important shit you should be chasing after?” The Magician growls out, leaping to the next roof in the row and rolling his landing— smooth fuck.

“Isn’t there better ways you can be earning money besides stealing it?” Ronan counters, right on his tale.

“Like those old farts would miss’m,” The Magician scoffs, thin lips pinched into an infuriatingly attractive pout. “There are kids starving in this city, you know that Greywaren?”

“So what? You some fucking reincarnation of Robin Hood?” Ronan spits out.

“He was a fictional character, so that’d be impossible,” The Magician pivots around so quickly that Ronan is caught off guard, especially when he pulls out a bow and arrow and shoots it with deadly precision, tearing Ronan’s cape right off and sticking it to the wall behind them.

“But the bow is a favorite of mine.”

Ronan clenches his teeth in frustration.

“Look I don’t give a fuck about you getting your jollies from stealing from old, rich fucks. Not really.”

“Then why the hell do you keep pursuing me?” The Magician charges, never flinching from his stance or losing his aim directed right at Ronan’s chest.

“Greenmantle,” he grits out, like broken glass ripping his throat to shreds and piercing his tongue and lips as it escapes in a fury of blood and guts and abandonment. “You said that name when we first met.”

“Yeah, and so what?”

“What do you mean so what!” Ronan bellows, hates how this vigilante fuck is so blasé about the one person that makes it feel like Ronan’s insides are burning up and dying right alongside everything else when Niall had past. With his mother and the Barns and the memories and the ease of just existing to exist instead of searching for some existential meaning behind it all. “How do you even know Greenmantle?”

The Magician just shrugs, for the first time in all the weeks he’s been clashing against Ronan his face betrays his typical impassivity and actually looks cautious, curious— unsure.

“Greenmantle’s the one who asked me to figure out who you are, paid me like a ridiculous sum of money for it.”

“And why do you think Greenmantle wants me so badly!”

“Fuck if I know, some blood feud between the wealthy and powerful. I don’t care, it’s not my business.”

“Fuck off,” Ronan steps closer, but the Magician remains stock-still, weapon poised to be wielded. “I know it was you who stopped that armed robbery last weekend at the bank, and you saved that bus collision with your creepy voodoo one with the trees, powers.”

This time the Magician’s lips curl into acute disapproval, he’s irritated by Ronan calling him out. Ronan thinks that it should be disconcerting that he could get so much from a simple reading of his mouth, but also it’s the only feature he can see on his face, so it isn’t that creepily invested.

“I don’t put people in danger, just steal from the oblivious and wealthy.”

“You’re not a bad guy,” Ronan surmises, has known that for a while now. “Don’t get mixed up in Greenmantle’s shit. They’re bad people, really bad.”

The magician sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, flickers his focus to something right above Ronan’s shoulder, like he was considering his words in a meaningful kind of way.

“How do I know that you’re not just lying to me. That Greenmantle isn’t justified for whatever slight you’ve done to them.”

“There’s a reason why you haven’t really tried figuring me out, you don’t want to help them.” Ronan needles.

“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me.”

“It’s true, you feel it. you know they aren’t safe.”

“Tell me why I should trust you,” is all the Magician says, waspish.

Ronan wants to shout, to pull out his hair and just scream. He wants to tell the Magician that he didn’t commit some sort of fucking obscene offense to’m, that Greenmantle just knows what he can do and wants to control it, control him. But Ronan’s suddenly too tired and too frustrated and too so many things that he can’t even fathom parsing out the right words to convince him. Instead, Ronan just picks out one of the seeds in his pouch and throws it into the Magician’s sandy hair, ducking when the first arrow is released.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Why can’t you fucking just listen to me!” Ronan says instead of answering. “Greenmantle is fucking evil.”

“You missed anyways douche,” the Magician snarls out, pulling another arrow from his sheath.

Ronan lets out a little, dark laugh at that, standing up to his full height. “Haven’t you ever heard that the beginnings of all things are small?”

The Magician’s face goes very flat, completely unimpressed.

“Now who’s speaking in shitty voodoo riddles?”

Fuck, Ronan hates how much he enjoys waging words with him.

“It’s not voodoo,” Ronan says in an admittedly cryptic voice.

“What the fuck!” The magician suddenly balks. Ronan reckons it’s because of the ropes knitting themselves around him over frustration about his comment.

“You won’t listen, so I’m turning you in.”

“Screw you!” he yells, face bright with feeling.

“Jail’s better than if you accidentally get on Greenmantle’s bad side,” Ronan informs him magnanimously, dark head tilted in an admittedly Declan way.

“You are such a piece of shit.”

“Could say the same to you sweetheart,” Ronan sniffs, is taken aback at the unexpected prickling to his side.

“What—“

He looks up to find the Magician tearing through the ropes that look like they’ve been completely unwound. He looks a bit closer to find the hundreds of small spikes prickling its circumference.

“Is that—“

“A pine,” Magician scoffs, lets out a new round to pierce into Ronan’s side with a mere snap of his finger.

“How the fuck can you even do that!”

The Magician doesn’t answer, just bolts over to Ronan with a swift kick to the opposite side from the needles, rendering him defenseless, and runs off just as soon as the sirens come within hearing distance. All Ronan could do is watch the night swallow him whole.

Ronan is bothered and disgruntled and pissed off— even more than usual. It’s why he’s sulking in a dark corner, peevish as all get out, while there’s like a hundred guests invading his family home in the city, here to celebrate Declan’s thirtieth and also probably just to make Ronan hate life that bit more.

He can’t believe he let the Magician go that easily, and now that he is actually mad at Ronan who knows what he’ll do now to actually figure him out, bring’m to Greenmantle just so they could finish the job and kill off all the Lynch dreamers.

“Fuck.”

“Language,” a far too familiar voice reproofs with no heat, making Ronan jolt back to watch as Adam strolls towards him.

“You’re here?” Ronan says, floundered as he stares at the way his shoulders move just right in that blazer. God he’s beautiful.

“You should really consider asking Gansey for a job, your observational skills are truly top notch,” Adam says in a decidedly sardonic tone.

“Asshole,” Ronan huffs, excepting the drink Adam offers him.

“You seemed in a funk all week, thought you’d need the moral support for a party literally meant to celebrate your brother.”

Ronan looks away, tries not to look so gleeful that Adam came here specifically— solely— to cheer up Ronan.

“You thought I’d want your company over any of these pricks,” Ronan says just to keep up pretenses— Admittedly a bit to afraid of the outcome if he starts to let them slide and just begins to babble out loud all the stupid thoughts clamoring in his mouth and chest and mind whenever around Adam. The way his chest blooms with something splendid and the blossoms taking shelter in his ribcage. Though Adam seems to be having completely contradictory thoughts, because all he does is shrug— almost defiant.

“I thought you’d like my company yes,” he says blithely, as if he were reading a weather forecast or some shit.

“Whatever,” Ronan says instead of telling him he’s right. But Adam takes it as is with a diffident little smile and stepping that much nearer, good ear tipped towards Ronan.

“You wanna get out of the crowd? Show me around this place?”

Ronan does not swallow down, not for any particular reason at least, like how maybe to the untrained ear that could’ve past as a come on.

That is not a thing that happens! He’s not some Bella Swan type swooning over a cute boy he’s pretty sure is the one. That’s not happening! Ronan is not doing that!

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

Adam’s answering smile is radiant. And Ronan fucking hates himself for even knowing that word.

“It’s huge…. Ah erm, your house I mean,” Adam coughs a little and Ronan’s absolutely ecstatic for the turning tables.

“Dad use to say that if we weren’t at our palace we still should live like kings, and my mom just indulged all his stupid whims,” Ronan explains, wistful.

“The Barns,” Adam says, slow and cautious, probably knowing that it’s a touchy subject but still curious. “That’s your palace, right?”

“Mmhmm,” Ronan nods, stops in front of a mantel underscoring a risibly large portrait of Niall and Arora, the pair of them juxtaposing completely but still both so etherial that it would be preposterous to ever imagine one without the other.

Beautiful and rugged. golden and dark. careless and careful.

Ronan feels a sudden, acute pang to his chest. Jesus Christ does he miss them.

“They’re beautiful,” Adam marvels, pinky touching the side of Ronan’s hand ever so tenderly from besides him. “You look exactly like your father.”

“Yeah… I’ve been told that.”

They stand there, in the silence, for a little longer— Ronan isn’t quite sure how much time past, a minute or hour, but it feels quiet. For the first time Ronan feels quiet and at peace when he looks at this portrait, and he isn’t sure if it’s a good sign that he’s finally starting to mend, or a bad one that says Greenmantle will soon cause him to join them on the other side.

Eventually, Ronan turns over— apologetic— To Adam, is surprised when he finds him staring with intense interest on the words carved into the frame.

“Omnium rum principia parva sunt,” Ronan reads out loud. “It means—“

“The beginnings of all things are small,” Adam says, mechanically, disbelievingly, confusedly.

“You know the quote then,” Ronan asks, is struck dumb when Adam’s ordinarily bright and methodical eyes flicker to him as if in a trance.

“No, not really. Just heard of it recently.”

Ronan nods, it being answer enough. “You wanna meet Chainsaw?”

“Chainsaw?” Adam repeats, finally appearing to come to his own again.

Ronan cocks his head, silently telling Adam to follow suit, and he does.

“It’s a bird…”

“She’s a raven,” Ronan huffs. “Now who’s got wicked observational skills?”

Adam’s face goes a bit pale, looking excruciatingly uncomfortable as he just nods along to Ronan, not even bothering to snipe back.

“Yeah sure, of course she is.”

He finishes feeding Chainsaw and leads Adam back to his nearby room, pretending his skin isn’t squirming with anticipation.

“Is this how you court all your dates?” Adam asks, teasing unassuming all at once, a masterpiece of contradictions Ronan could spend an eon trying to parse out and wouldn’t grow tired.

“Is that what this is?” Ronan asks, tentative while sitting down besides him on the bed.

“Dunno,” Adam shrugs. “’S what I wanted it to be, reckoned you weren’t gonna make a move for another five years.”

Ronan’s face goes blotchy, and Adam’s laugh is something musical.

“You’re enjoying this.” Ronan huffs.

“You’re precious,” Adam preens, cupping Ronan’s cheek in earnest and slanting his lips against Ronan’s own, and suddenly all the muted grays of this poor substitute of The barns transform to vivid, screaming color. It’s slow and cautious at first but melts into something more, something so much more. It feels like nights racing in the BMW, and days running around the Barns as a kid, wild and free. It feels like sun kissed skies and when his cold fingers begin to thaw at the fire place. It feels like remembering and discovering and just knowing.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for like a year,” Adam admits, bashful, once they finally part, hot tendrils of breath skirting against Ronan’s lips and soft hands caressing his cheeks.

“Try. Like. three of them.” Ronan counters, punctuating his words with a kiss to Adam’s collar bone, the hinge of his jaw, the tops of his cheekbones.

He can do this, Adam wants him to do this. This is a thing that they’re doing.

“Jesus Ronan,” Adam says in an almost wine, snaking his hands beneath Ronan’’s shirt and splaying out his fingers greedily. “That’s like since we met?”

“I know.”

Adam swoops down so that their lips are moving against each other once more, and everything feels golden.

But it all goes to an abrupt halt when he feels Adam’s long fingers skimming his still bruised side and he sucks in a breath.

“Still tender,” he winces.

Adam pulls back, as if he’s been scorched.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Ronan assures, only a bit pissy that the kissing has stopped— he liked the kissing. “Just a little sore spot.” His shirt rises up enough to give Adam a clear view of the still healing spot, is confused when his face goes a sickly green and he pulls away even further.

“What’s up Parrish?” Ronan asks, sitting up right alongside him.

“That… That looks like a kick. A hard one.”

Ronan kinks up his brows, teasing.

“So I swung back to bad ass or still a nerd with nose bleeds?”

“That’s a kick,” is all Adam repeats, like he’s gone mad.

“Yeah Parrish, I got in a fight. Don’t sweat, it comes with the territory of buzz cuts and leather jackets. Wouldn’t expect you to know Mr All America.”

“A fight,” Adam says, slow and confounded. His lips moving around the words and his face still blanched, a decidedly unhealthy hue spreading across his soft features.

“Parrish you okay?”

“I gotta— I gotta go.” He says, scrambling off the bed and straightening his clothes. Ronan feels distinctly like being left high and dry.

“Now? You have to leave now?”

“Yes, now. Immediately.”

“Okay… Gimme a minute to find my keys, I’ll drive you back to yours.”

“I want to walk,” Adam declines, already racing out the door.

“Woah, did I do something wrong?”

“No, nothing,” Adam says, face being tugged into a whole array of emotions before landing on a dangerously blank expression that Ronan’s never been able to read for shit.

Adam goes and Ronan’s confused and the house is still filled with fucking annoying ass guests.

“You’re upset,” Blue says, blunt as ever.

“You’re annoying,” Ronan counters, snappish.

“It’s gotta due with Adam doesn’t it,” She charges, hands flying to her hips and looking more like Maura than Ronan could’ve ever expected.”’S why he’s called in sick to work for the past week and you’ve been more crass than usual.”

“Fuck off,” Ronan hisses, doesn’t look away from where they’re perched atop one of the higher buildings of Henrietta, perfect view to both its polished corners and seedy underbelly.

“I’m right, aren’t I,” Blue presses, but Ronan doesn’t bother to engage. “Just admit it!”

“So what if you are?”

“God, you both are such idiots.”

Ronan flips her the bird only just catching a flash of yellow ducking into an alleyway.

“Not the fuck today,” he hisses out morosely. “Call me on the bee,” he tells Blue before pouncing down and chasing after him.

He doesn’t hear her respond, doesn’t really hear anything. He only comes back to focus when the alleyway ends and he’s looking at The Magician standing rigid in front of St Agnes.

“You’re a dreamer,” He says with no fanfare, not accusing but not happy about it either.

“Wh—“

“”s why Greenmantle wants you.”

“Not exactly Nancy Drew,” Ronan mutters out, circling him cautiously.

“He killed your father, he’s the one who sent the hit on Niall.”

In an instance everything goes red, Ronan’s ears roaring with unadulterated fury.

Like a bullet, Ronan tackles into The Magician, hand wrapped around his neck and noses brushing against each other.

“how the fuck do you know that name,” he asks with heavy breaths.

“Greenmantle killed your father and he wants to kill you next because of some sort of vendetta against the Lynches.” Yellow cape manages out, barely breathing with Ronan’s hand still clasped tightly around his neck.

“Tell me how you know the name Niall?” He barks out, squeezing even harder. Though Ronan is confused when the magician doesn’t even try fighting back.

“I know you Ronan, it’s me.”

Everything stutters to a stop, and Ronan’s grasp begins to subside.

“You know my name? How do you know my name?”

“Because it’s me, It’s Adam.”

The world’s gone inside out, and flipped upside down and Ronan’s let go of the Magician— of Adam— and is across the yard once more, stunned silent as he watches as the Magician sheds off the yellow mask to reveal a familiar mop of sandy hair and night blue eyes and a tiny little dent over his top lip that Ronan’s never asked about but has always wondered if it had to do with the way he holds himself with caution strung into his stance. And absolutely nothing makes sense at all.

“Ad—Adam,” he balks.

“It’s a long story,” is all he says, completely glum.

“When did you— How did you—“

“Only the other night when we were in your room,” his cheeks go a fetching red at the memory and Ronan yearns to go back to that moment of tranquility before all of this. “I couldn’t believe it, but when I finally figured it out, it all made sense.”

“How— How did you.”

“Look Ronan— Or, erm … Greywaren, there’s no time to explain any of this right now.”

“Why the hell not,” Ronan snarls, tries to feel an appropriate amount of fear, but hates how he’ll probably always feel safe and secure when around fucking Adam Parrish, no matter who he’s dressed as.

“The Greenmantle you know, Colin, he’s dead.” Ronan balks, but Adam just steamrolls over it, continues on speaking with clipped words and a franticness Ronan doesn’t understand quite yet.”it’s his wife you need to worry about, Piper. She’s the one who hired me and has been looking for you, she wants to avenge him like some sort of Harley Quin esthetic.”

“I have no fucking idea what you’re saying.” Ronan informs him grimly.

“You don’t need to understand, just dream.” Adam tells him, thrusts out a manilla envelope to him and waits for Ronan to open it up and read its contents.

“Excuse me?”

“Read it. memorize it, Dream it.” Adam tells him.

“You want me to frame Greenmantle for some pretty heinous shit.”

“You want her taken out, don’t you,” Adam charges.

“How do you know I can even create this shit in my head?” Ronan asks, brows furrowed.

“I have faith,” Adam says with a seriousness etched into his features Ronan’s never seen. “And you’ve got fuel.”

“fuel?”

“Shit won’t be safe until she’s gone, if you ask me, I reckon that’s all your dad intended, for you and your brothers to be safe. I reckon that’s why he barred you guys from the Barns in the first place. Piper’s been there like a thousand times, the dream energy at The Barns is heavy, like a ley line all it’s own. But when the dangers gone, you can make it your palace again.”

“That’s detailed,” Ronan says slowly, still so totally confused.

“I’ve had a week to figure it all out, and this’s the only full proof plan I’ve got.” Adam tells him.

Ronan bores his eyes into Adam’s own, finds something he recognizes as quintessentially Adam Parrish in them, and feels that quiet again he did a week ago at Declan’s birthday party.

He feels sure.

“Okay, I’ll play along.”

“Good,” the ends of Adam’s lips curve up into a smile and Ronan feels like he’s finally gotten the answer right.

They’re back sitting side by side on Adam’s desk, a newspaper in Ronan’s grasp announcing the arrest of Piper Greenmantle.

“You’re preening,” Adam mildly notes.

“I feel…. Free,” Ronan says, far too vulnerable for such a open place.

“I’m glad,” Adam says, voice shimmering with sincerity as he stands up. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself, that you’ll always feel that.”

Ronan eyes him, confused.

“Sounds like a goodbye to me,” Ronan accuses, and Adam just shrugs.

“I’ve made a mess of everything, you almost got hurt, seriously hurt.”

“You didn’t know,” Ronan contends.

“I was flippant,” Adam corrects. “But she’s gone now, and you’re going to be safe, so it feels like the right point for me to maybe start fresh too.”

“No,” Ronan says.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re a good guy Adam, and that’s more than most people. People either suck or are awful… You’re not, you’re good.”

Adam frowns.

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m not,” Ronan stands up, wraps a hand around one of Adam’s slender wrists. “You’re good and you’re bold and you’re a genius and if it weren’t for you I’d probably still be running around terrified that Greenmantle would come back to finish me off. Thank you for giving me the chance not to be afraid of that anymore… Thank you for that.”

“Of course Lynch,”

Ronan swallows down, trying his hardest not to avert his gaze.

“So stay Parrish. Stay and let’s start shit over together.”

Adam doesn’t answer in so many words, instead just inclines his head forwards and kisses Ronan within an inch of his life.

Ronan likes that answer a whole hell of a lot more.

#PYNCH #RONAN LYNCH #ADAM PARRISH #THE RAVEN CYCLE #Spilled Ink #I'm a hot mess #It's Gucci I Know #SPILT INK

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