#groundbreaking and absolutely not based on the fact most of my friends have glasses

[loullipopx]

Me, using my entire brain: Gio the goat has weird eyes … so he needs glasses

[isolemnlyswearpevensie]

And This Is How It Starts | Susan Pevensie x Reader Soulmate AU

Warnings: Slight homophobia, shitty friends???

Time/Era: Modern AU

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: Everything your soulmate loses, you receive. Turns out, Y/N’s soulmate is very forgetful. 

Request: helloo. can you write a sapphic susan fic please! take it whatever way you'd like :)

A/N: I’m not sure how many people read Susan fics, but I really like this one :D

masterlist | narnia playlist | read on ao3

“Gross, can you guys please cut it out?” Y/N stated, watching her best friend suck faces with her soulmate. She was on his lap and their make out session was starting to grow more intense than Y/N was comfortable with. Hannah pulls away from Alex with an exaggerated groan. 

“You’re just jealous you’re still stuck in the ‘lose it and receive it’ phase. Not my fault you haven’t found him yet.” Her voice was light and teasing, but Y/N couldn’t help but fell her heart rip. 

“I’ll find her eventually,” Y/N sighed, taking a book out of her schoolbag. It was a small, very beat-up copy of The Hunger Games. 

“Her?” Alex responded, tearing his gaze from Hannah’s face. “How do you know it’s a her?” 

Y/N opened the book delicately to reveal “Susan Pevensie” written in perfect cursive on the back of the front cover. The book had multiple stains on it, most likely tea judging by the color, and the same perfect cursive riddled the pages. Whoever Susan was, she adored this book with her life. Y/N’s fingertips lightly traced the writing before turning the book for her friends to see. Hannah scrunches her face at it. 

“It could be his friends, you know. Like she lent it to him and he lost it,” Alex kisses Hannah’s cheek. 

“Or this Susan girl is his girlfriend,” Hannah smirks.

“Or,” Y/N was growing frustrated. Whenever she hinted that her soulmate might be a girl, everyone dismissed her suspicions. “My soulmate is Susan Pevensie and she keeps losing her things. And besides, this book is really loved, she wouldn’t just give it to someone.” 

Hannah scoffed, tossing her hair in a very I know everything, and you don’t kind of way. “Fine, believe what you want. Not sure why you would want a girl soulmate anyway, I know I wouldn’t.” 

“Well, yeah, of course you don’t. You’re straight,” Y/N flipped to a random page and read the gorgeous handwriting that was scrawled in the margins. Her mouth twitched slightly at how perfect the script was. 

“What? And you aren’t?” 

“No, I’m not.” Y/N’s eyes didn’t move from the page as she spoke. The teens sat in silence. “Is there a problem?” 

“No! No, of course not,” Alex answered quickly. ‘I guess we just, uh, didn’t expect it… I guess.” 

“Well, surprise. Now that that’s out of the way, do you guys like The Hunger Games?” 

The two grew even more uncomfortable at the sudden tension they were feeling. “No, not necessarily.” 

“She seems to. A lot. And there’s a cute little strawberry bookmark on page 47,” Y/N sighed dreamily picturing what Susan must look like. Based on her cursive alone, she must be absolutely jaw-dropping. 

“Has, er, Susan lost anything else recently?” Alex asked. Y/N nodded excitedly, digging in her bag again. She pulled out a set of keys with a feather pendant keychain, a light pink lipstick, a glass water bottle, and a small fabric coin purse. Y/N grinned down at the items then looked back towards her friends. 

“Oh, she must be quite forgetful. Do you have any other stuff?” Y/N’s grin brightened even more. 

“Oh, loads, this is just what she’s lost within the past week,” The keys jingled as she moved her hands. “The keys must’ve really ruined her day. I wonder what they’re to.” 

“Hopefully somewhere in England. Where’s the money from?” Hannah gestured to the yellow coin purse. Y/N shrugged and tossed it towards her friends. It was rather small, barely the size of Y/N’s palm, and it had a gorgeous diamond quilt pattern. 

“No clue. I haven’t opened it if I’m being quite honest.” Alex’s noble fingers undid the clasp and looked inside. 

“Well, it’s definitely British currency, which is helpful.” He tipped the pouch and emptied the contents into his hand. As expected, a variety of different coins came toppling out, along with a folded piece of paper and various pins. “Can I have this?” 

“No, you cannot have my soulmate’s belongings. Give me that,” Y/N grabs ahold of all the bag and its contents. With her hand cupped like a funnel, the pins and money fall smoothly into the coin purse. Y/N discards the pouch into her bag and begins to unfold the paper. 

She had expected the paper to be riddled with text, like a to-do list or a small reminder. Instead, it appeared to be a little photograph of a family. The paper itself seemed to be fragile as if it had been handled a lot or had gotten wet, so Y/N handled the photo with care. 

The scene depicted the smallest of the group, a little girl, giggling up at the oldest as the other two looked on with large smiles. Y/N turned the photo to look at the back, just in case any date was included with the photo. In the same gorgeous script as the book, Lucy laughing at Peter because Ed insulted him “in the name of justice.” June 15  was written in black ink. Y/N turned the picture over frantically and scanned the faces of the family. 

Susan was absolutely beautiful; her dark brown hair was styled in effortless waves and her lips were painted with a cherry red color. Her eyes were wrinkled in the corners, due to her contagious smile, and she looked like she was filled to the brim with happiness. Y/N had never seen such gorgeous baby blue eyes. 

The poor girl was speechless, her mind running a mile a second and vision focusing on only Susan’s portrait. 

“She’s gorgeous,” Y/N murmured breathlessly. 

“Who is?” 

Y/N looked up at her friends, turning the photo to show them. 

“Susan, my soulmate.” 

~ 

Susan read over the essay that sat in her lap, taking in every detail of the writing. It wasn’t hers, but it was her soulmate’s misplaced homework. The topic wasn’t overly exciting, an analysis of a book Susan hasn’t read, but just the way her soulmate wrote captivated her. Y/N L/N, which was the name written on the top of the paper, had such a poetic way of writing. It was as if she was telling Susan a story, rather than writing about an 18th century novel. 

“Reading the essay again, are we?” Peter snickered from next to her. Susan would have hit him with the paper, but she didn’t want to risk damaging it. 

“Yes, what’s the problem with that?” 

“Nothing, Su, I just don’t think rereading missing homework is going to bring Y/N any closer to you. It’s over a year old.” Peter had found his soulmate when he was young, so he didn’t quite understand his siblings’ desire to find their other halves so quickly. 

“Not physically, but I already know a lot about her from this one paper. I know her handwriting, how she talks, the way she feels about some things…” 

“Yeah, how she feels about classic literature. Not exactly groundbreaking.” Peter sunk deeper into the couch cushion in an attempt to get comfortable. 

“Maybe not to you, but to me it is. You don’t have to be such a happiness drain, you know.” Susan was growing more frustrated by the minute. She didn’t want her older brother to snatch the paper away from her, so she gently creased it and placed it into her notebook. 

“I’m just taking the piss.” 

“Well, it’s not funny. And shouldn’t you be doing your wash? We leave for school tomorrow.” Susan stood up, lifting her bag off of the floor and onto her shoulder. 

“Yes, alright mother.” 

~

“Y/N! Are you coming?” Hannah hollered over her shoulder. She was walking towards the train station with a large group of her friends. Y/N waved her off. 

“I’ll meet you there! Save me a seat, yeah?” Hannah shrugged her off and continued the conversion she was more invested in. 

Y/N sighed, watching their backs disappear into the distance. She never quite liked the group Hannah was friends with, so them leaving her out never quite bothered her. Especially when she could get sandwiches for the train ride. 

The teen was waiting at a crosswalk when she spotted her. Susan was stood at the newspaper stand outside of the corner store Y/N was going to. She looked stunning as she flipped idly through a Vogue magazine. The sun shone across her hair and Y/N thought she looked similar to an angel. 

When the light turned green, Y/N scurried across the street in order to meet her love. However, she paused a few paces away to steady her breathing. 

“Excuse me, are you Susan Pevensie?” Y/N spoke, voice shaking. Susan turned around, utterly confused. Y/N was right in her assumption; Susan was in fact an angel. An angel that looked even more heavenly in person. 

“Yes, and may I ask who you are? And how you know my name?” 

“Oh, right, um I’m Y/N L/N. I’m not sure if you know who-” Susan’s eyes widened and she couldn’t help but cut Y/N off. 

“You’re my soulmate.” Her red lips were slightly agape as she took in Y/N’s appearance. “Excuse my bluntness, but you’re even prettier than I imagined.” 

Y/N’s cheeks grew hot and her fingers fumbled with the buckles on her bag. She was much more nervous than she had hoped, but Y/N couldn’t help it. Once the bag was open, she gripped Susan’s possessions and held them out. 

“You need to keep better track of your things, love.” Susan’s perfectly manicured fingers brushed Y/N’s as she took back her book and keys. Y/N’s legs felt like jelly. 

“How could you possibly know what I looked like?” 

“You lost a picture of your family. Well, I suppose a coin purse with a picture folded inside. Still, a picture was lost and I saw it.” Y/N rambled, making Susan giggle. “I’ve been looking for you for ages,” 

“And I you, darling.” Susan placed her belongings into her bag and embraced Y/N. Y/N didn’t quite know what to do; Susan smelt of rose petals and honey and her hair was so soft as it brushed against Y/N’s cheek. All the same, Y/N wrapped her arms loosely around Susan’s waist. 

“Am I allowed to kiss you?” She whispered into Y/N’s ear. Y/N could have fainted on the spot, but she squeaked out a small yes. 

Susan kept her arms wrapped around Y/N’s neck as she kissed her gently. Y/N’s thumbs danced across the floral patterned fabric that covered her hips as she kissed back. It was light and fleeting, but it still made Y/N feel like she was going to burst. The pair pulled away and looked into each other’s eyes. Susan’s were even bluer in person. 

“Can I buy you a sandwich?” Y/N croaked, cutting the tension. Susan giggled happily. 

“As long as you let me cover the dessert.” 

[theolddarkmachine]

Imaginary - Chapter Seventeen

Midoriya Izuku’s life was turned upside by fate.

Eri’s life was turned upside down by circumstance.

And Bakugou Katsuki is about to learn that even imaginary friends need to grow up.

Chapter 17 of 19

Also on AO3

A/N: It’s another kinda shorter one but FAO;IJSELDFJ DOST MINE EYES SPOT THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL? After this, only one chapter and an epilogue left! also, fun fact, tsuru was my grandma’s maiden name!

***********************

The sun is bright and warm, heating Katsuki’s skin as he lets his feet carry him along the sidewalk. He’s distantly aware of the continuous chatter beside him as his latest assignment goes over the tactics of their most recent game of capture the flag with the other neighborhood kids at the park.

Tsuru Yuji, age 6.

Target of schoolyard bullies.

Colorful personality trapped behind a stoic, quiet demeanor.

In the beginning, Katsuki had thought that he’d be a bit of a tougher case, one that would keep his mind from tracking back to the house just two streets over with the girl with the happy smile, and the man with the all too bright eyes.

But things never went the way he wanted them to, apparently, since it had only taken a matter of days to break Yuji from his shell, and just a couple of weeks for the change to completely turn his school life around. Now Yuji had friends, and the inability to stop talking.

“Mr. Bakugou?” His name shattered his reverie, pulling his attention down to the kid at his side. The sunlight glinted off of Yuji’s too big glasses, blinding him momentarily.

“How many times do I have to tell you to drop the ‘mister,’ kid?” Katsuki gruffs without any heat as he returns his gaze back to the pavement stretched before them.

Yuji’s reply comes in the form of a high pitched giggle before he continues on about how next time, they should make the top of the slide their home base.

“Then, we could just slide down if we need to get away fast!” He exclaims, hands shooting upward as if the revelation is groundbreaking. And maybe it is.

Who was Katsuki to say for sure?

“You’re too damn smart, kid,” he replies with a halfhearted laugh of his own as he keeps his eyes trained forward.

The first time they’d taken this route back to Yuji’s house, he had told himself it was a mere accident. His feet had grown so used to this street that they’d automatically made their way here before he could even acknowledge the direction they had gone.

Not that it had mattered, as he had told himself, as he’d stolen a quick glance at the Midoriya household just days after he’d left it for the final time. While a bit out of the way, this path still technically did lead to Yuji’s house.

The second time they’d taken it, Katsuki had told himself a bit more walking was good for them both. Nothing wrong with a bit more exercise and all that.

Now, a month later, he had run out of excuses to tell himself.

It had broken just about every big rule in the imaginary friend handbook, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying to catch just one more glimpse of the pair that had worked their way so far under his skin.

When he had left the Midoriya household for the final time, he had left a bit of himself behind. The gaping open maw of his chest had been exposed and raw, leaving him filled with a painful ache unlike anything he had ever felt. Katuski had felt loss in the past, but this had been wholly different, and in those first few days, he had wondered if he might never be whole again.

It was a dramatic thought, of course. One he had to swallow down like a bitter pill as he’d taken on his next assignment.

The ache remained, it had just numbed enough for him to be able to finally breathe again.

But that didn’t stop him from walking by their home whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Just to be sure things were still okay.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Gaze still ahead, and Yuji’s droning voice filling his ear, Katsuki feels his heart stutter at the sight of movement in the Midoriya’s yard.

The honey colored sunlight twists in Eri’s hair, making it shine bright as she cheers happily at something Izuku says. She looks absolutely elated as she crawls her way up into the car and waits for her dad to get her buckled in. When Izuku closes the door, and turns to walk around the back, Katsuki can see the wide smile that’s still stretched across his lips.

They look so happy, he thinks, and something about that knowledge fills his lungs with acid.

Katsuki watches as Izuku makes his way around the vehicle, his wide frame pausing at the driver’s side as he looked out toward the street.

For just one fleeting moment, Katsuki feels his breath stall in his chest as that familiar green stare passes over him. It’s gone almost as quickly as it has come, but it still leaves his heart racing as he watches Izuku climb into the car.

“Mr. Bakugou!” Yuji’s voice is indignant as he calls his attention back to him. Snapping his gaze away from the car as it backs out of the driveway, Katsuki hums.

“Yeah, yeah, kid,” he says, trying to ignore the strain that leaves him sounding breathless. “I’m listening.”

***

Katsuki was fucking angry.

And tired.

So goddamn tired.

Tired of the pitying looks his friends shot him when they thought he wasn’t looking. Tired of feeling like hole had been punched through his fucking chest. Tired of the emerald colored dreams that haunted him.

And especially tired of being summoned to the fucking Administrator’s office.

He’d woken that morning to the text that had the audacity to proclaim a meeting time for just an hour from then, and he already knew what it meant. Time to move on. Because it was always fucking time to move on.

Katuski would never be able to stay in one place for long, never allowed to be something permanent.

And that pissed him off.

His angry steps punctuated the otherwise quiet of the lobby, making the poor sap manning the front desk jump as they looked up from their coffee towards him.

“Mr. Bak—” they start to say, eyes going wide as he growls.

“Don’t call me that,” Katsuki hisses before he throws open the doors. The loud crack of the wood against the walls cut through the air in a dramatic way that would normally fill him with some sort of thrill. Now, it just settles somewhere in the vast expanse that sits at the center of his chest, lost to the empty feeling that’s slowly expanding.

“Lively as ever this morning, young Bakugou,” the Administrator says, not bothering to look up from the folder he’s holding open before him.

The sight of the unassuming tan of the file only serves to push the burning fury through him faster as he lets the doors fall shut behind him with another loud crash. It feels as if the air in the room is sucked out by the bone shaking sound as Katsuki fixes his fiery stare on Toshinori.

“Cut to the chase, old man,” he snarls, mouth twisting into a sneer that’s full of teeth and sharp rage.

A soft sigh brushes through the space as he watches the Administrator close the folder before gently pushing it toward the edge of the desk.

“Please take a seat,” Toshinori offers, keeping his attention forward.

“I’d rather just get this over with,” Katsuki bites out in return.

There’s another weighted pause before Toshinori sits back, his gaze finally finding Katsuki’s as it flashes with the steely silence of a command. For all the kindness and fun loving nature that encapsulated the Administrator, he had almost forgotten that he was the leader of the Imaginary Friends fo a reason.

Swallowing the sharp taste of his pride, Katsuki walks to the bean bag chair, falling into it with a muted thud.

“Talk,” Katsuki snaps, whittling the single word down to a barely there syllable as he keeps his gaze trained on Toshinori’s. His stubborn defiance is the only reason he catches the shift in the Administrator’s stare as it sweeps over him. Softening into something fond, and almost sad, it cools the inferno tearing through his veins, if only for just a moment.

“Have I ever told you about my predecessor?” He asks, solemn and far off, as if lost to the track of time.

“You brought me here for a fucking history lesson?” Katsuki growls, hands curling into tight fists where they sit on his knees. Toshinori’s eyebrow raises in silent admonishment. It forces a low string of grumbles from his mouth as he folds his arms across his chest and slips lower into the bean bag.

“His name was Banjo Daigoro, and he was a great Administrator,” he sighs at the memory. “But I was never his first choice for successor.”

A spark of interest lights the cavern of his insides as he cocks his head to the side.

“Originally, he had chosen one of my closest friends,” the Administrator continues before taking a steadying breath.

“Shimura Nana.”

The name rocks through Katsuki, sending a chill rocketing down his spine as his mind spins around the words that had encapsulate Shimura Nana’s terminated friendship.

“She was in training to take over the position, but was still going out into the field. Loved working with kids, you know?” He says, a small chuckle weaving between his words as his gaze goes distant at the memory.

“Banjo had assigned her a final case before she was going to be officially promoted. But then, she was seen.”

Shimura Nana reports child caretaker made verbal acknowledgement of her presence.

Katsuki remembered. She had only been with her charge for a week before it had happened.

And then—

Friendship terminated.

“Torino Sorahiko,” Toshinori rattles off, voice void of inflection as he recites what was written in the file word for word, as if it laid there before him.

“Lost both his parents. Was showing aggression towards his uncle, who had taken him in. He was a good kid, Nana was adamant about that. Then one day, his uncle saw her, and spoke to her.”

The blue of his eyes goes perfectly clear, settling into a cutting blue as his gaze returns to the present. Finding Katsuki once more, they whittle away at him until he’s flayed open, raw and exposed beneath the Administrator’s stare.

The feeling of being seen clings to him like a premonition. It’s equal parts awe and terror as it works its way through him.

Swallowing thickly, Katsuki speaks.

“What happened?”

But he knows. Has known for far too long.

Friendship terminated.

“We aren’t exactly supposed to be seen by anyone other than our charge, especially not by their parents or caretakers, as you know,” Toshinori says, pausing long enough to arch a brow at him before continuing.

“And Nana knew that too. Probably better than most, given the position she was going to take.”

He pauses again as his lips quirk sharply upward with bygone amusement and his voice falls into a hush, carried by the weight of his memory’s past.

“Funny thing is, that didn’t change anything. Even knowing hadn’t been enough.”

Katsuki’s breath catches deep in his throat and threatening to choke him as Toshinori speaks.

“Officially, they terminated the friendship. If you found Torino’s file right now, it would say as much. But Nana had returned after that, and they could still see her.”

Silence settles between them as Katsuki notices the way Toshinori’s eyes shine wetly.

“So, she made a choice,” he finally concludes with a shrug, as if what he had just said was nothing. As if he had just been talking about the weather. Katsuki might have even found it funny, how mundane he had made it, if it wasn’t for the fact that every single one of the Administrator’s words had been shrapnel that had torn him apart.

“What did she choose?” He hears himself ask, voice twisted into something even he doesn’t recognize. It hurts, the way it scrapes itself through his throat, and he could swear he tastes blood at the back of his tongue.

And yet for all the ways Katsuki ached, Toshinori just looks him over before fixing him with an all knowing smile.

Slowly, he reaches across the desk and pushes the folder closer towards him.

“It’s time to move on, young Bakugou,” he says by way of answer. The statement rings with a finality, one that doesn’t allow for argument or further discussion.

Sighing loudly, Katsuki grabs the folder, defeat hanging heavy across his shoulders in a way that makes him think he might find himself crushed into the ground with it.

Maybe that would be better, anyway, he thinks as he flips it open. With his eyes fixed down at the file, Katsuki feels his heart rate spike as it ratchets inside the cage of his chest.

“What is this?” He asks, not looking up. His pulse is deafening as it beats its soaring rhythm in his ears as his eyes trace back and forth across the folder, as if he’s missing something.

Except he knows he isn’t.

What could he possibly miss when the file itself is empty?

Katsuki’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth as he finally shifts his attention upward. His confusion is met with another smile.

“Even imaginary friends need to grow up,” the Administrator says. The words circle around him, overlaid with the memory from months ago, when he’d been in this same spot, only the folder before him then had held information about a little girl and her dad.

Then, he hadn’t known his life was about to change.

Now, he feels the sudden click of a realization deep in his chest as his gaze falls back down on the empty folder in his lap.

A rush works through him, filling the chasm at the center of his chest as his lips slowly turn up into a smile.

************************

[windermeresimblr]

The Scotsman and the Mystery of El Bosque Del Fauno, Chapter Eight

The end (or is it?) of Alasdair’s Adventures behind the jump...

The world flickered back into view, and Alasdair found himself stripped bare and strapped to a table, unable to move. For a moment, he thought he was paralyzed, perhaps to witness his own dissection while still living, and despaired; soon, the medicine fog began to clear, and he realized he was simply bound too tightly to move more than his eyes and mouth. He was, unfortunately, still naked. 

“You’re finally awake,” said the Guardian, looming over him. “Good. I was worried XJ had gone overboard with the tranquilizers. We didn’t expect you to put up such a fight.”

“Not you again!” Alasdair grumbled. “If you mean to kill me, do it now. I’m not going back to that cell.”

“What a drama queen! I can’t just kill you, you know,” the Guardian said, looking annoyed. “You still have a role to play in the timestream. Well, multiple roles. Which is why you’re here, anyways.”

The Guardian gestured, and a globe emerged. “You’ve seen a globe before, right?”

“I’m not so unlearned I think the world is flat. I’ve sailed--”

“Sure you have! Anyways.” A few more flicks of the being’s hands, and Alasdair eventually realized what he was looking at.

“Holland? Why are you showing me Holland?”

“That’s where our next bubble is headed. So, the Dutch Republic, circa 1608, give or take a few weeks and the change from Gregorian to Julian and maybe a couple of hundred miles in any direction, up, down, or sideways. Do you know anything about that time?”

Alasdair wondered, not for the last time, if he really had died and gone to hell. “War with England, sometimes. War with Spain, more frequently. Pirates in the North Sea. There was some business with tulips and buying on credit. Lots of people roaming about with neckerchiefs starched out like millstones. Rembrandt, of course, and Vermeer. There were some English garrison towns...”

“Groundbreaking. What did you do, read Lonely Planet the night before the test? Well, there goes Bee getting any help with that term paper.” The being gestured again, frowning, and now three portraits hovered between them. They were all of himself, although the dour faces and severe mustaches--now he knew he’d look right awful with a mustache--made him wonder if the Guardian hadn’t gone digging in the McCarric vault.

“You have to choose a new life. So, you’re either of these three pillars of society.”

“Do I have to have a mustache?” Alasdair asked.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” the Guardian said. “Yes, you can stay clean-shaven if you’re so horrified by growing a mustache.”

“Do I get to know anything about what I’m getting into?” Alasdair snapped. “I’m not just choosing a new life based on how least poorly-groomed my face would be, am I?”

“I have to explain everything for you, ugh!” The being said. “Next time, I’m picking for you.” 

“Next time?!” Alasdair cried. “Oh, ye gods and little fishes, preserve me from ever seeing you again!”

“Ń̶͓̟̤̞̉̽̔ę̵̡̼̮̣̯̜͆̒̇̒̀̒͒͜v̵̭̮̳̝̗̩͐̋̍͆̊̑̔͗͗͝ͅe̷̢̢̝͖̞̟͐̌̑͊͋͛̆̀͝r̸̘̗̭̲̃͊̂̽̀̐͘̚͘͝ ̵̧̮̫̯̙͖̂͋̓̊̾̚m̵̡̬͈͎̀͛̈́͝͝i̶̧̳̮̦̩̹̘̼͊́̽̎͠͝ͅṅ̴̰̪̘͚̩̬̝̮̋̀͌̃͌̓̅̽͘ḏ̷̡̲̟̳̜̙͛̌̂̕͠ ̴̢̩̗̻͎͈̥̆̓̋̌̓͋́͐͘͘ͅţ̴̜̓̒̏͊͌ḧ̴̨̗̻͍̭̔̌̇́͘͜͠à̷̹̼̞͍̪̻̞͖̣͗́t̴͇̳̞͈̭͇̙̀̑̃̎̿͠!̴̢̲̹͍̫̘̎̓̐̀̉̊̈́” A pointer, as if the Guardian were a schoolteacher explaining a lesson, also materialized from nowhere. 

“This is William Beaton,” the being said, pointing to the man on the left with a black feathered hat. “He’s an apothecary in Flushing. Unmarried, no children--yet--” 

“I can’t be an apothecary,” Alasdair pointed out. “I don’t know anything about medicine. And I don’t speak Dutch! I’m not about to send myself hurtling into the past to poison someone and be burnt at the stake!”

“We’ll teach you everything you need to know.” Somehow, Alasdair was not convinced.

“I don’t think I want to be an apothecary. Who are the other two?”

“This is Red Finbarr of Barra, a privateer--”

“Absolutely not! I’m not ending up in a gibbet!”

“Why are you so picky? Do you know how excited some people would be to become a pirate?”

“Also, my uncle--my father’s family has relatives in the Caribbean,” Alasdair said. “Surely someone as knowledgeable as you--”

“You’re not even biologically related to most of them! And Finbarr was never known to go deeper into the Atlantic than the Faroes--”

“What’s all this past tense and ‘he was known to’? Are these real people I’m replacing?”

“Not really? I mean, they’re more...aggregates. It’s not really identity theft, or anything.”

Alasdair had a horrifying image of someone stealing his life, some hapless outsider (the bewildered apothecary, or worse, a corsair--heaven only knew what the third person would be)  beguiled by the Guardian into living out the rest of his days. A surge of anger flashed through him--that was his family, however distant, his commission, his friends, his horse, his books--at least he didn’t have a wife or a sweetheart, to also yield to this imagined impostor. (And, of course, he wasn’t really the type to give someone horns, even in the hypothetical; the thought of some burgher’s wife thinking he really was her Jan or Pieter, dandling someone else’s children on his knee while they had no idea who he really was, made him faintly nauseous.) “I’m not stealing someone’s life! That’s horrid!” 

“Fine, Mr. Picky. You don’t want to stay in the Nexus, and then it’s too immoral to go back into reality... Here’s door number three--if you don’t choose one of these, I’m turning you into a goat. A sentient goat.”

“Or you could just kill me. I think it’d be easier,” Alasdair said. 

“No. Killing’s too good for you.” The being stabbed the pointer rather viciously this time. “Alexander Cummings, a saffron merchant living in Campvere.”

“That’s a tulip he’s holding, not a saffron.” Alasdair thought for a moment. “Why are you so insistent on these three...guises? Are they going to replace me?”

“No, they all turned up their noses at your life, too,” the Guardian said, rather nastily. “Every person has their own...significance in the time stream.”

“So you want me to muck things up even further, then.”

“I have a few people in the region who also went through the Nexus. I want you to keep an eye on them.”

Alasdair had a mental image of some of the nastier members of his father’s crew...and his mother’s less scrupulous protectors. He did not much care for the idea of being an enforcer for the Guardian’s schemes. (Perhaps, though, a saffron merchant would have less chances for skulduggery than a corsair or an apothecary? Surely this Alexander Cummings wasn’t the type who personally went to the Ottomans to find his goods, or squabbled with Venetians in squalid back rooms!) “And what’s in it for me, if I’m your enforcer?”

“You’re not sent back to the Stone Age or turned into a goat? Isn’t that enough of a benefit for you?”

“I suppose. But I still don’t speak Dutch, and my hair’s awful short compared to his.”

“We have some time until the rift opens.” The Guardian snapped their fingers, and another group of mechanicals emerged. One had a tailor’s ham in its hands and pins in its mouth; another had a precarious tower of books; a third had a pair of scissors and a curious-looking bottle.

“Meanwhile, you’re going to be getting a bit more...hah...out of date.”

Alasdair was soon dragged off into a room with an array of strange devices throughout. He was pushed onto a platform, and then the harrying began. “Arm out, please,” said one mechanical, who then began measuring him for a new suit of clothes.

“The muttonchops have to go,” said the other, tilting his face its way, and Alasdair flinched at the advancing scissors.

“But they make me look dashing!” he protested, to no avail.

“Compiling trade route statistics,” said the third, its jointed fingers and stalk-like eye breezing through the stack of books with a dizzying speed Alasdair envied. “...Bingely-bing! Personality programming complete.”

“Personality what? I’m fine the way I am, thank you!”

“The hair needs to grow at least five inches at the sides...and he needs a goatee...”

“Och, no.”

“Green wool doublet and cannions, perhaps a nice mulberry sleeve in velvet…”

“No! No velvet! It’s too hot for velvet--”

“Enabling time dilation…”

His hair and facial hair grew at an alarming rate; the mechanical with the tailor’s ham whizzed about him, poking and prodding, until suddenly he was encased in a costume that itched and made him long for a good pair of trousers and a shirt. His hair and beard, even his eyebrows and nails, were trimmed as if he were a topiary in a garden. His mind was overwhelmed by new knowledge, facts and grammatical clauses and memories that he knew weren’t his and had never happened to him crammed into his skull until he felt he was going insane. Perhaps he had.

“Time dilation complete.”

Blinking, he looked at the mechanicals surrounding him, his reflection in the glass. That was, indeed, his reflection, he realized with mounting horror. 

“What have ye done to me?” he cried, looking at himself. His hair was slicked back and curled under at the ends, grazing the starched millstone ruff he was wearing; he had a mustache and goatee that made him look a pompous fool; he was, indeed, clad in green wool and mulberry velvet. “I look awful!” (Well, his calves looked excellent, but calves did not a man’s appearance make.)

“Stop whining!” said the Guardian, who had come into the room when he was unaware, or perhaps while he was contemplating the disastrous...thing on his upper lip. While some of his men had grown them, falling into the French idea that it was dashing and that their waxed mustaches were simply teeming with masculine derring-do, he had always thought they looked rather foolish. “You look nice in green, at least.”

“But I--”

“It’s time to go, you wouldn’t want to be late to your future, now would you?” The Guardian seized hold of him by the shoulders, clawed hands gripping his thrice-damned velvet sleeves so tightly he thought he might actually be mauled.

With that, he was once more shoved through a dizzying array of corridors until he was brought into a room that resembled something like a canal lock, only there was no water. “Suppose this is a canal lock, and not just another strange little room. Suppose they unleash the canal the instant I let my guard drop. I’d be drowned like a rat,” he thought to himself. “I suppose drowning is better than whatever was meant to happen to me in the woods, but what a choice.”

“Must you be so melodramatic?” The Guardian said, stepping behind a partition. “All this frowning and sighing and raising your voice. I can’t wait until you’re inflicting this Lord Byron nonsense on someone else.”

“Wh--how dare you, sir!” Alasdair spluttered. “I’ll have you know--”

Before he could make his reply--certain to have more than a few oaths and imprecations--a bright light flashed; he felt himself pulled once more by an unseen force, forward and back and side to side... 

Credits

Now and forever, thanks to all of you who read this and left such nice comments! 

Of course, my eternal thanks and gratitude to @danjaley, who was so gracious as to allow Alasdair and Daniel into the McCarric(k) clan, and for creating an excellent stable of poses; @moocha-muses, for letting me borrow Dan O’Doyle; @rennylurant​ for costuming advice and squealing over renaissance fashions/advice; @studiok2sims, for even more excellent poses and advice; @tolkiensimmer​ for advice on lighting and costuming; and @treason-and-plot for helping me get “unstuck” on several occasions and finding certain things I needed for the sequel. Why yes, Virginia, there is a sequel. It’s my NANOWRIMO PROJECT. MUAHAHAHAHAHA.

Happy Halloween!!!!!

[kidinruin]

All You’d Ever Wanted // Bartender!Shawn

Summary: You and Shawn have liked each other for a while now, but you’re not sure going out with him is such a good idea. He’ll do anything to be able to take you out, even if it takes a few friendly arm wrestling matches to win you over.

Word Count: 4.2K

Warnings: Some mild swearing

A/N: This was very loosely based off this ask. Of course I was also inspired by Shawn’s recent bartending stint in Budapest (rip me because I’m pretty sure that kid slayed me and brought me back to life three times over that night). I’ve never written a fic in my entire life, so I apologize if this is shit. Who am I kidding, it’s just 4.2K of pure garbage. Enjoy if you dare.

The noise is almost deafening when you entered the bar. You took a deep breath and grinned, taking in the familiar surroundings. You admired the gathering of bodies around the round chipped wooden tables, the white string lights that made you abandon all hope of having any sort of decent lighting, and of course, the curly-headed bartender that was too busy wiping down the bar to notice you had arrived. Those were the little things that made visiting this place feel like coming home.

You didn’t usually drink alone, but you had just finished a rather stressful work week and you’d be damned if you weren’t going to knock a few back before going home and passing out. Of course you knew that walking into a bar solo on a Friday night probably wasn’t the most brilliant life choice you’d ever made, but you’ve been frequenting this little dive bar ever since you were in college, and you knew the regulars quite well.

You returned the chorus of greetings that sounded as you made your way to the bar with a smile and a series of enthusiastic waves. The establishment’s friendly atmosphere is something that you’ll never get tired of, no matter where your life takes you.

You locked eyes with the bartender who had finally noticed your arrival as you waded through the maze of regulars. You went and parked yourself on your usual stool, unable to deny the thrill that ran through your body when you commanded his undivided attention. The confident smirk that had been living on his face as he watched you saunter up to the bar transitioned to that beautiful smile he always seemed to reserve for you. 

You wanted to kiss him, wanted to press your lips to his and replace that lovely expression with one of pure wonder and adoration. But he wasn’t yours, so you wouldn’t.

“So what’ll it be, Hot Shot?” you dramatically rolled your eyes at his question, any connection between the two of you instantly lost. Teasing you was one of his favorite pastimes, and on any other night you’d humor him, you really would. Unfortunately, your need to get drunk and relax tonight greatly outweighed your desire to indulge in mindless flirtations with the hot bartender that you’ve known for years.

“Shawn, I said it before and I’ll say it again. I’m hardly any more successful than anyone else here,” you explained, albeit a little condescendingly. You were an administrative assistant for a well-known production company, hence the paperwork mountain that’ll be greeting you bright and early Monday morning. You’d hardly call it glamorous.

He furrowed his brows at your tone, and you regretted speaking to him that way. You wanted to reach out and smooth the space between his eyebrows with your thumb, let him know that you didn’t mean to be an asshole and that you just really, really wanted to get hammered. You extinguished the thought almost as soon as it surfaced within your mind.

Before you could even begin to find the courage to apologize, Shawn started to speak, “I wouldn’t sell yourself short. I’ll bet there’s not one single person here who wouldn’t kill for a position like yours. Too bad they have no idea that you’re already the best person for the job.” Jesus, this guy was way too nice to you. Sure the two of you had known each other for years, but that doesn’t excuse your behavior.

“Yeah? What makes you say that?” you questioned, knowing full well that Shawn would dismiss any of your attempts at an apology.

“I just do. Call it a sixth sense or whatever,” he replied with a sheepish grin and an animated wave of his hand. You were glad you hadn’t gravely offended his livelihood and all, but you could tell he wanted to say more, to compliment you even further when you knew you didn’t deserve it. He was always giving you that special attention, coupled with secret glances when he thought you weren’t looking. Truthfully, it was a nice change of pace from his blatant flirting. Then again, it wasn’t like you really minded any of the attention, covert or not.

You chuckled softly and shook your head as you ordered a simple rum and coke, brushing off Shawn’s attempts to get you to try something new for a change. You fell silent after you thanked him for the drink he had made for you. Eventually, he turned back to focus on cleaning the spill your arrival had pulled his concentration from in the first place. 

You sipped your coke and observed him as he worked. Trying to stay as nonchalant as possible, you absolutely reveled in the fact that it was now your turn to give Shawn your undivided attention.

You thought it was interesting how a guy like him had ended up settling in your Midwestern town. The two of you had gone to college together, and he was an international student hailing from Toronto. That fact alone had always made you wonder how in the world he ended up here. It wasn’t like the music education program he had graduated from was particularly groundbreaking or prestigious. Just wanted a change of pace, he always answered whenever you’d asked. You had trouble believing that a guy like Shawn was destined for nothing but small town life. Regardless, he chose to stay in this college town, and he absolutely loved his job teaching music at the high school. He really only landed the bartending gig last summer in order to make some extra money while school was out. Imagine your surprise as you strolled into the place with your friend about a year ago to find Shawn grinning at you from behind the bar. You swore it must’ve been the work of some higher power.

You thought it was funny how this bar lead the two of you back to each other. You had been such close friends during your time in school, used to hang out with the rest of your friend group at the table situated next to the window overlooking the river. That very same table where you realized that maybe you liked Shawn as more than just a friend. It was such a shame the real world didn’t really leave much time for reminiscing with old friends after you graduated.

You supposed the two of you could’ve dated at some point if you wanted to, but the timing was never right. You were always too busy, he already had a girlfriend of his own, and so on. To be honest, you didn’t even think he was all that into you until you guys reconnected last summer. The lingering touches and glances, the constant offers of free drinks, and the special smile that was reserved only for you were a recent development. Despite this fact, one thing was obvious. He was sweet on you and everyone knew it.

You watched Shawn flit around the bar and interact with his customers as you mused over the second rum and coke he had handed you minutes ago without a word. He was like a ray of light wherever he went, always checking up on people, always going out of his way to make sure the customers were satisfied. That was Shawn for you, always giving.

You watched as he suddenly stumbled over the bulky boots he always wore, making the people near him chuckle. You always told him they were impractical. Maybe he’d finally listen.

Shawn apologized to the lady whose chair he grabbed to avoid face planting with a shy smile.  He looked in your direction just in time to see you turn your entire body towards him. You snorted and raised your glass in a toast before downing its remaining contents. His cheeks were rosy with embarrassment as he walked towards you, careful not to trip over his feet again. Good, you thought, you liked that he was the one who was blushing for a change.

“I wasn’t expecting a drink and a show tonight, Mendes,” you teased, poking Shawn in his broad, muscular shoulder. You had gotten slightly tipsy and the liquid courage made you bolder than usual. You normally weren’t so tactile with Shawn, but you couldn’t help it when he was standing so close to you, all tall, dark, and handsome.

“I believe the expression is dinner and a show,” he countered, any lingering trace of embarrassment replaced by his usual cocky grin. Despite the façade of smugness, you noted the nervous twitch in the side of his mouth, the hesitance when you looked into his eyes. “I mean, I can give you that…dinner, I mean. If you want?” You were shocked by his words to say the least. Sure, Shawn constantly flirted with you. Sure, you were guilty of the same. But he had never acknowledged out loud that your relationship ran any deeper than mindless flirtation. It was jarring, really, but in a good way.

You stared into his kind eyes for what felt like an ungodly amount of time and pondered his question. You saw the hesitance that previously took up residence on his face morphing into relief. Relief that he had finally laid all his cards on the table, that he had set the scene, and the ball was now in your court.

No amount of cliché metaphors could have prepared you for when Shawn placed a tattooed hand against the bar behind you and leaned in close. You shivered when you felt his warm breath against your ear, couldn’t control the gasp that left your lips as his free hand made its way to your thigh and gripped it firmly, like it had a mind of its own. He spent a few moments gazing at the side of your head, willed you to look him in the eye, but you refused. The tension was thick between the two of you, and your eyes fluttered shut in a feeble attempt to relieve any inkling of it. You couldn’t let him touch you like this, couldn’t let him get too close. You wanted to get away. You couldn’t.

Relief of the tension that you so desperately desired came when his hand left your thigh. Unfortunately, the feeling was short-lived when Shawn gently grasped your chin and turned your head to face him, forcing you to return his intense gaze.

“You gotta know by now I’d do anything to see you smile, Hot Shot,” he whispered softly. Every instinct you possessed in your body told you to run. “What do you say? Have dinner with me?” His eyes fixated on your lips and you weren’t surprised by how badly you wanted him to kiss you in this moment. You would’ve let him, too, if you hadn’t finally come to your senses.

“Hmm, maybe another time,” you stammered quickly in a half-assed attempt to divert his attention for good. You swiveled around in your stool as fast as you could before you could observe his no doubt disappointed reaction.

You suddenly remembered you were sitting in a crowded bar, where any prying eyes could’ve witnessed the exchange between the two of you. You looked over your shoulder, careful to avoid catching Shawn’s gaze. When you decided that you weren’t the victim of any particularly dirty looks, you righted yourself on the stool once again.

One glance out of the corner of your eye told you that Shawn had already returned to his post behind the bar. He placed a third rum and coke down in front of you and you mumbled your thanks, evading any and all contact. You wished a hole would open up in the floor right about now and swallow you whole.

You knew you were being unreasonable. He obviously liked you. You liked him. If you were still in college, you’d be high off the adrenaline that came with finally setting up a date with the guy you wanted the most right about now. The fact of the matter was that you and Shawn had such a good thing going. You had gotten closer than ever since reconnecting, and you didn’t want to jeopardize that. Plus, you were so busy with work that you didn’t exactly have time for anything serious at the moment.

You knew deep down that you were just making excuses. You wished you had the courage to take that leap of faith. All you’d ever wanted was dangling right in front of you. You just needed to reach out and take it.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or are you going to make me guess what’s happening inside that pretty little head of yours?” he questioned, snapping you out of your self-deprecating thoughts. He was calm, cool, and collected, as if you hadn’t just rejected his advances in front of the entire bar. Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. Dammit why did he always get you to blush so easily?

You sincerely hoped you weren’t sporting a stupidly shocked expression on your face as you looked into his gorgeous hazel eyes for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. You pondered how this man could still care, even after you rejected him, looked him in the eyes and pretended like you haven’t wanted to be his since you were eighteen years old. In that moment, you decided to come clean and at least try to make things right. He deserved the truth.

You took a deep breath and began, “Look, Shawn, you know that I’ve liked you for a very, very long time. The thing is I’ve just been drowning at work lately.” Shawn frowned and you found yourself wanting to reach out and touch his forehead for the second time that night. You let go of any remaining inhibitions you might’ve had in that moment and did just that, once again forgetting about the very public setting the two of you were in. His eyes fluttered closed when you softly smoothed away the worry lines, and you willed him to show you that beautiful smile again. You didn’t like it when he was upset. “Every time I finish a task, it seems like three more show up in its place. It’s enough to make me feel like I’m drowning.”

You detested admitting your weakness, but Shawn always made you feel safe, like you could tell him anything and he wouldn’t judge you for it. You absentmindedly slid your hand down to cup his cheek. The simple, intimate action caused his eyes to snap open and marvel at you in disbelief. You didn’t blame him for his confusion.

You suddenly felt uncomfortable and scrambled to look anywhere but into those damn eyes. Your gaze traveled past his face, down the strong biceps exposed by the black tank top he wore, until you focused on the guitar that was permanently etched into his skin. The hand that was caressing his face moved to find a new home on his forearm, much to Shawn’s dismay. It was hard to ignore the calm that washed over the two of you as you traced the ink’s delicate outline over and over again.

“Plus, I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” you admitted after a few minutes of silence. You kept your eyes trained on the permanent guitar, worried about how he was going to react. Shawn chuckled loudly and pulled away, leaving you embarrassed and frankly a little confused.

“Is that the best excuse you could up with? You don’t want to ruin our friendship?” The disbelief on his face was almost comical. “Come on, Hot Shot. You know I’d never let anything get in the way of us, even if us dating didn’t work out. Nothing could ever ‘jeopardize our friendship’.” He threw up a set of air quotes at the end of his proclamation. 

“How could you possibly know that?” you inquired as you felt a wave of uneasiness wash over you.

“It’s that sixth sense,” he stated and tapped the side of his head, as if referring back to your earlier conversation required complex critical thought. Funny how that hour between then and now could be made to feel like ten years. In that moment you swore you saw his eyes light up, like a lightbulb had ignited within his brain. “Tell you what, name your price. Tell me what it is I have to do to get you to finally go out with me.”

“Shawn, just drop it,” you said, suddenly regretting ever coming out tonight.

“No, nope, you don’t get to try and drop me with that lame excuse. Not when I know you’ve wanted this just as much as I have,” he replied.

“No, really Shawn, it’s okay. I really would just like to go home,” you insisted and began to reach for your purse so you can pay for your damn drinks and get the hell out of there. Rummaging around in your bag thankfully provided a welcome distraction. You managed to prolong the action for several minutes before a warm touch at your elbow made you sigh in defeat.

“I’m waiting,” Shawn stated, tone impatient. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, you realized when you heard him tapping his foot in those stupid boots he loved so much.

“Fine,” you said and desperately searched around the bar for anything that would get him to drop the subject. Your eyes landed on Dan, a regular you had known almost as long as Shawn. You smirked when an idea popped into your head and named your price, “I’ll go out with you if you challenge Dan over there to an arm wrestling match. Only if you win, of course.”

You were sure he’d find the idea ridiculous, brush you off and forget you even asked. Too bad you had forgotten that this was Shawn, and he’d do anything to get what he wanted.

“Okay, consider it done,” he stated confidently as he began to make his way out onto the floor once again. An adorable look of determination adorned his face when he approached Dan.

“Wh- Shawn I wasn’t being serious!” you shouted, scrambling to follow after him.

“Nope. I’m gonna do it,” he retorted, the ever-growing smirk on his face apparent.

“Shawn, this is ridiculous! You have to see that I was joking,” you protested. It was no use. He was determined to make this happen.

Shawn continued to ignore you for the duration of the short journey to where Dan was conversing with his pals. He sauntered up to the table, arms folded, clearly meaning business. Dan’s friends looked up at Shawn, confusion written all over their faces. Dan looked over his shoulder to determine the cause of their confusion only to find the bartender donning a serious look on his face.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here, Shawny Boy?” Dan questioned, clearly finding the situation comical.

“Hot Shot over here says she’ll let me take her to dinner,” Shawn explained. You saw the triumphant expression beginning to form on Dan’s face. It was no secret that he was rooting for the two of you since day one. Shawn continued, “But only if I can win in an arm wrestling match against you.”

Dan snorted and pretended to think it over in his head before he replied, “Alright, boy, I’ll arm wrestle ya. I’m not gonna go easy on ya though, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Of course, Dan. You know damn well I can’t properly win the lady’s heart if you just let me win,” Shawn stated in disbelief. He threw his hand over his heart, taking grave offense to the fact that Dan would even think of such a thing.

“Well then it looks like we got ourselves a regular old challenge!” Dan shouted for the rest of the bar’s occupants to hear. It wasn’t long before excited chattering filled the room and Dan’s buddies stood up to clear off the nearest unoccupied table.

You bit your lip and shifted nervously as you watched the two men take their places opposite each other. You couldn’t even bring yourself to shamelessly enjoy the flexing of Shawn’s arm muscles as he clasped onto Dan’s hand, aligning their elbows and getting into position. You should’ve just gone home, you thought. Passing out alone in your own bed surely wouldn’t have caused such a scene.

In that moment, as the two men prepared to wrestle, you decided to give it up. You realized Shawn would do anything for you, no matter how ridiculous the request. His tenacity and willingness to do the most absurd things finally donned on you. You determined that you needed to get over your misguided fear of losing his friendship right then and there. You knew he would always want you. He’d always find a way to have you, in any way, shape, or form.

You barely heard the crowd counting down the beginning of the match over the ringing in your ears brought on by your long overdue realization. You tried to pinpoint the exact moment when you had stopped denying it. Perhaps it was somewhere between leaving your barstool and arriving at Dan’s table, or maybe it was the second you sat down at the bar for the first time tonight. Regardless, you just wished you had caused less of a spectacle over it.

You watched as Shawn’s face twisted in concentration, biceps flexing even more than you thought possible with exertion. He was trying his hardest to win this, to win you. You didn’t know whether to burst into tears or a fit of laughter. You opted for neither and attempted to mask your regret at causing the whole ordeal.

The patrons didn’t mind though, and their excited chattering grew louder and louder any time either of the men came close to finishing it all. It came as no surprise when Shawn finally pressed Dan’s arm down onto the table, winning the makeshift match. As soon as he knew the win was in the bag, he sprang from his seat and took off around the bar on a mini victory lap, thrusting his fist in the air and high fiving anyone in sight. His happiness was infectious.

The crowd reformed to gather around the two of you as Shawn made his way over to where you were standing. You heard people shushing others as they watched the events unfolding in front of them.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” you remarked. Shawn took an exaggerated bow, goofy grin in place. He looked into your eyes as he moved in closer, cupping the back of your head with his large hand. You knew what was coming. You could feel it in your bones. And this time, you were finally ready.

“Yeah well, you know I can do just about anything with the right motivation,” he murmured. He stood there marveling at you, hesitation to make the next move evident. You were confused at his sudden uneasiness.

You hastily decided to take matters into your own hands and yanked on the front of his tank top, closing the remaining distance between the two of you. You almost cried in happiness when your lips finally met his.

Shawn pulled you in closer, if that was even possible. You felt him smiling into the kiss when you wrapped your arms around his neck. This was home, you were sure of it. Nothing in your life had ever felt so right.

“Well it was about damn time,” Dan remarked. He had to shout to be heard over everyone else’s loud cheering.

Shawn pressed one last gentle kiss against your lips before responding, “Don’t have to tell me twice, Dan.” He turned his attention towards you and spoke, “So is that a yes? Will you finally go out with me?” You playfully smacked his shoulder and he laughed. It was music to your ears.

“Yes, Shawn, I will go out with you,” you beamed as you said it, threading your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “It’s been a long time coming, but yes, of course I will.”

Shawn smiled the smile that he only ever reserved for you, and wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug. You fit together perfectly, like the two of you were solely meant for each other. You pressed your forehead to his and closed your eyes one final time.

As you stood there, enclosed in Shawn’s embrace, surrounded by people who wanted the best for you, you couldn’t help but wonder what the hell you had just gotten yourself into. The funny thing was that the more you pondered, the less you cared. You had taken that leap of faith, reached out and took what was dangling right in front of you. You’d finally gotten all you’d ever wanted.

[celiottjohnston]

Article: A Grandiose Unbelief

Author’s Note: The below article was penned prior to the global spread of the COVID-19 virus.

When paying close attention, bathroom reading at an interactive firm can turn up all sorts of interesting things. Take for instance the following closing quote from the compelling but conspicuously titled “Humans of Late Capitalism” meta-prologue  Hot Right Now: A Contemporary Landscape for Digital Thinkers: Volume 2. “Now…” is an annual collection of thoughts and trends published by Awwwards Online SL, a design competition body that aims to “recognize the talent and effort of the best web designers, developers and agencies in the world.”:

Transhumanism & The Digital Messiah

There's much more to say about emerging technologies, social utopias and hallucination of beautiful and perverse futures. Despite all the disturbing examples about big corporations, airports scanning our faces, and the shocking birth of Lulu and Nana we should be optimistic. Ideas with the potential to change the world and improve our living conditions are appearing thick and fast.

Faith in technology is substituting religious beliefs. Now, not only God can give us immortality, or create other realities. Quantum physics, virtual reality or genetic modification can do it too. Transhumanism" [sic] has the prophetic vision to transcend the species beyond our biological destiny, to abandon forever the darkness of a world out of our control, previously guided by bibles and legends and protected by saints and shamans.

Considering the healthy amount of technical and philosophical nuance woven into this colorful HOLC authored (or inspired?) excerpt, I want to quickly restate its premise, using more straightforward language. Of course, it’s not lost on me that a simple restate is still a formidable task. This is because, in true Derridean fashion, most any position proposed by a metamodernity-steeped author can be abandoned when under scrutiny, with challenges dismissed as hot takes, understood out of context or humorous intent. Therefore, caveats and disclaimers aside, here is my interpretation of the excerpt:

Barring oft-discussed examples that threaten to capitalize on, privacy-invade, or genetically engineer our lives, many emerging technologies and scientific breakthroughs are generally beneficial to humanity and should be viewed as such. In fact, they, in their various practical and philosophical forms, promise a future unhinged from the burdens of mortality. A future where technology can play a central role as our collective evolutionary leverage point, propelling humanity into a state of godlike transcendence -- all apart from the oppressive traditions and liturgies of organized religious faith.

First, a Clarification

Before addressing the primary syllogism, I want to first state that it is not my intent to turn this criticism into a “gotcha” exercise, with the intent of identifying every technical, scientific, or logical false premise found in the preceding paragraphs. Much of the author’s content prior to this excerpt, as already mentioned, is compelling, and any reader interested in the current state of quantum physics, virtual reality, (or) genetic modification should study each of the advancements in each of these fields when considering the validity of the author’s broader assertions. I agree that the use of persistent government-sponsored surveillance, casual genetic modification, and tech monopoly-offered services (slyly marketed as convenience enhancers) is disturbing, and requires even further critical analysis. Furthermore I can also recognize the bold genius behind beneficial technology-driven advancements -- such as the groundbreaking work of Carbon Engineering or MarinaTex. Likewise with Kiva or Flikshop, whose tech infrastructure is focused on upending systematic injustice, or devices such as the Light Phone and Project Alias, that attempt to frost the open windows of our 21st Century lives. There is no doubt that these, like other similar innovations, stand as shining examples of human creativity, and enable human flourishing! But as inspired as these innovations are, I’m afraid that they don’t support the same grandiose vision, as the messiah-tech the author so eagerly promotes. It is against that attempt, to replant the tired old flag of human transcendence into religion, the oft referenced whipping boy of “rationalism”, that I make my argument.

Through a Glass Darkly

For starters, let’s touch on the fact that the author presupposes some kind of universally-grasped wisdom, with the power to illuminate a moral divide between “good” and “bad” technologies, while also basically pronouncing the irrelevance of religion -- arguably the origin point and catalyst behind all philosophical or moral discernment. Ignoring the fact that across the breadth of human experience, moral discernment has not been found to be the byproduct of a common sense dualism, buried deep in all of our cerebral cortexes and ready for action, but rather an outgrowth of the process of maturity, or put in the language of my faith, Sanctification. This maturity is a fuel for discernment not cultivated in the vacuum of egoistic pursuits, or in the ever changing mind of popular opinion, but instead, initiated by humility and refined in a crucible of wisdom, understanding, knowledge, and counsel -- also known as Aquianas’ four intellectual gifts of the Spirit. Instead, as is evidenced by popular examples, if moral discernment is sought outside of a framework grounded in the aforementioned wisdom, it is often bereft of substance, blown this way and that by the winds of cultural consensus.

The Roots of Truth

The author then attempts to reinforce this presupposed duality by contextually invoking the tired false dichotomy of technology (and by extension science) against religion, painting one as the Young Turk and the other as the incumbent Bourgeoisie. Contrary to this assumption, historians of science have addressed the so-called Conflict Thesis false dichotomy so often that they’ve in fact given their collective criticism of it an official title, the Conflict Myth. Rather, I would encourage the author to consider a third way: that science (in this case referenced under its engineered manifestation, technology) is not only critically informed by a robust understanding of humanity’s condition, ethics, morality, and frailty, but is also a direct offshoot of religion. As evidence for this assertion, I turn to Tolstoy’s great work of self-reflection, My Religion:

According to the doctrine of the Church, men have a right to happiness, and this happiness is not the result of their own efforts, but of external causes. This conception has become the base of science and philosophy. Religion, science, and public opinion all unite in telling us that the life we now live is bad, and at the same time they affirm that the doctrine which teaches us how we can succeed in ameliorating life by becoming better, is an impracticable doctrine. Religion says that the doctrine of Jesus, which provides a reasonable method for the improvement of life by our own efforts, is impracticable because Adam fell and the world was plunged into sin. Philosophy says that the doctrine of Jesus is impracticable because human life is developed according to laws that are independent of the human will. In other words, the conclusions of science and philosophy are exactly the same as the conclusion reached by religion in the dogmas of original sin and the redemption.

Utopia! Take 694!

But chiefly I’m stunned by the author’s ability to ignore the narrative of human nature as played out throughout history, by instead presenting a future unfettered by religion and tuned by transcendent posthumans as blissfully utopian. I contend that this reductionism, which in a roundabout way hopes to (once again) pin mankind’s depravity on oppressive religion, ignores the countless examples of man’s proclivity toward egoism, subjugation, and abuse. Whether we look to well known examples from religion, irreligion, politics, economics, scientism, philosophy, or individual examples any other human pursuit, all it takes to debunk said reductionism is a spoonful of personal honesty and a critical view of the evidence. A point that can be underlined most vigorously by a candid observation made by Einstein in his 1917 letter to friend Heinrich Zangger:

“All of our exalted technological progress, civilization for that matter, is comparable to an axe in the hand of a pathological criminal.”

If anything, the humorous observations behind the plotlines of WALL-E and Idiocracy tell a more reliable story of the future of technology-enabled mankind. Though sometimes capable of great good, humans, when left to their own devices, are base creatures, steeped in a selfish desire that even the most secular researchers claim to observe.

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Instead of entering into a virtual utopian ideal, I rather wonder if we would instead be inclined to becoming the despotic tyrants of the author’s “other realities” -- similarly to the primary antagonists in 2k’s Bioshock franchise of games, subjugating our silicon dreams to the horrors of the human condition?

[bloodroyalsrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, LIVIA!

You have been accepted for the role of RHOSLYN GREENGRASS. For anyone who has been paying attention, I don’t think it’s any secret that the Greengrass sisters are among our favorite skeletons. We’re pleased that Rhoslyn is being picked up by someone with such clear enthusiasm for both her and her deep and complex bond with her sister. The thought you put into her really shone through in what a well rounded character you've made of her. Perhaps most of all we love her negative traits and the strengths that extend beyond the frame of her skeleton. We look forward to having both of you on the dash! Please look at the CHECKLIST for next steps. Welcome to Blood Royals!

♕ I: OUT OF CHARACTER ♕

ALIAS: Livia.

♕ II: CHARACTER INFORMATION ♕

FULL NAME:

RHOSLYN

The name rhoslyn means a tract of open uncultivated upland; a heath. Very fitting for a girl who is so open to new ideas and might seem like an open canvas for other to paint. But, like the moors, she has a hidden strength.

GREENGRASS

A name that speaks of the family’s tradition and convictions – a name inspired by the very colors of Slytherin.

FACECLAIM:

WHY WOULD I CHANGE WHEN SHE IS LITERALLY ALL THAT IS PERFECT AND BEAUTIFUL?? AND PERFECT FOR MY GORGEOUS RHOSLYN. LIKE????? YOU GUYS MADE SUCH A PERF FC CHOICE. AND HER SISTER AS WELL???? WHEN I SAW MIA ON YOUR FC LIST I WAS LIKE BITCHHHH THESE GUYS AREN’T PLAYING AROUND. SO YEAH, Lily James would be perf. thanks.

DATE OF BIRTH:

1955, 26th of April. Taurus.

Practical and well-grounded, Taurus is the sign that harvests the fruits of labour. They feel the need to always be surrounded by love and beauty, turned to the material world, hedonism, and physical pleasures. People born with their Sun in Taurus are sensual and tactile, considering touch and taste the most important of all senses. Stable and conservative, this is one of the most reliable signs of the zodiac, ready to endure and stick to their choices until they reach the point of personal satisfaction.

Honestly, I am giving her the same sign as my mom because my mom is an awesome woman who would do anything for those she loves, and that’s something I think truly defines Rhoslyn and her journey. I think this earth based sign is truly fitting for her. Stability, love, reliability, these are all of the things that set her apart from the world she was born into.

HOGWARTS HOUSE & YEAR:

Sorted into: Slytherin

True house: Hufflepuff.

Slytherin, 1966 to 1973

GENDER & PRONOUNS:

female. she/her.

SEXUALITY / SHIPS / ANTI-SHIPS:

Bisexual.  No one would presume to think that the Greengrass princess has such a scandalous secret hidden away, but between her sixth and seventh year, Rhoslyn was involved with one of her roommates. what began as a kiss during a game, turned into hot and heavy make-out sessions and sweet declarations of love. The relationship fizzled out after they graduated. but her sister has caught her lightly flirting with girls during parties once or twice. When it comes to ships I am definitely more interested in chemistry above all. but the relationships mentioned in the biography will be a lot of fun to explore. her relationship with Kingsley will probably break my heart and I think the betrothed storyline will be a lot of fun to explore.

OCCUPATION:

Is family manager a job? Because if so, that’s hers. She is the one who runs around making sure everyone in her family is happy.

ALLIANCE:

Neutral at this point.

POLITICAL VIEWS:

Her family drilled into her their convictions. She can beautifully present an argument as to why purebloods are superior. But there is no light in her eyes when she is speaking, she doesn’t quite believe in what she is saying.

However just because she doesn’t believe in blood purity, doesn’t mean she is ready to pull an Andromeda. Rhoslyn adores her family and the privileges that come with it. She is young and spoiled. Honestly, this is one of the reasons that most drew me to her, the possibility of developing this. It truly depends on the gameplay and  the connections she builds – she can either become an ally to the order or spend her life with her mouth shut.

KNOWN FACTS:

rumor – that she is in love with her fiancee. all those who walk in pureblood circles know that she is absolutely besotted with Julian. her adoring looks and praise are seen by the Avery family as a great honor; man envy Julian for the way he was able to enchant the great Greengrass beauty.

fact – her love for clothing. Her clothes are meticulously chosen; they are always of the greatest quality, selected to enhance her natural beauty and reflect her mood. Rhoslyn has been pictured several times in magazines for her outfits, several of them comparing her outfit her to her sister’s… and usually those comparisons weren’t kind.

fact – she once behaved quite unladylike in the middle of a party, throwing a full glass of red wine in a woman’s dress. The reason for this fight has never been figured out.

fact – her singing voice is very pleasing and she is often invited to sing at parties.

BOGGART:

Her boggart would be an image of herself standing alone.

AMORTENTIA:

rose petals, cinnamon, and vanilla

PERSONALITY TRAITS: At least four detailed personality traits

gluttonous – is another dress really necessary? for Rhoslyn, it may be. there is a longing in her eyes when she sees a new collection on the store. she can be finicky with her appearance, becoming too much of a perfectionist to the point she is often very late to events because she spent too long pondering over an outfit.

hoity-toity – she is like a cat sometimes, easily distracted by shiny new things. she is given to flights of fancy, giddiness and sometimes becomes frivolous.

complacent – when it comes to her relationships and other people. she lets them do whatever they want. she rarely raises her voice to protest another person’s actions and will always try to put a positive spin on everything.

Soft-hearted – her soft heart and tender soul often get her into trouble. She cannot ignore when a person within her circle is suffering and will do anything she can to help them, even if that means putting herself in harm’s way.

SPECIAL SKILLS:

Rhoslyn is a skilled piano player and singer. Her voice is sweet and soft, but her range is limited, perfect for singing at parties, but not groundbreaking enough to warrant a singing career. her skills on the piano, on the other hand, are something to be remarked upon. With grace and cheer, Rhoslyn plays complicated songs as if they were nursery rhymes. Of course what people don’t know is that to acquire this level of talent she spent years practicing.

BIOGRAPHY:

There was always something particularly magical about Rhoslyn. From the moment she was born, her mother declared her the most beautiful baby she had ever seen, announcing that Rhoslyn would be the one responsible for elevating even further the Greengrass family in society. In another person, that sort of pressure might have been their undoing, but due to her sweet nature, Rhoslyn accepted such a fate with grace and humility. When her mother began a tirade about a good single man being taken out of the marriage market, Rhoslyn would smile, prepare the old woman another cup of tea and meticulously brush her hair until her mother declared it was as beautiful as pure gold. Calm and serene, she was always able to keep her mother’s quick temper in check, soothe her father when he worried about politics or business and invariably was always the first one to compliment her sister.This way, she began forming her personality as how she could assist others, and though at Hogwarts she was able to branch out and figure out her own interests, to this day Rhoslyn when asked to talk about herself, talks about her family and friends - her personal personality has been severely neglected because of that, making her sort of dull at times.

When she was eleven years old, the old hat declared she was a Hufflepuff through and through, but Rhoslyn, dear mild Rhoslyn, argued for three minutes straight until the hat relented and put her in Slytherin. the Greengrass family is always in Slytherin, it would be a crime in her family’s eyes being seen wearing any other color except green. This act of disobedience that went unnoticed by almost everyone, for no one doubted that Rhoslyn belonged in Slytherin, even if her personality was wrong, she was a Greengrass and most importantly, she was the Rhoslyn – the girl who never let her parents down. More than once a younger student approached her and told her their parents wished they were more like her; they ask her what they can do to please their parents like she does. Rhoslyn without missing a beat replied: duty, family above all and perseverance. If they can keep that in mind at all times they will be able to succeed.

Her form of perseverance was not only drilled into her by her mother but by French ballet teachers who yelled until she perfected the sequence of moments. Rhoslyn quit ballet at the age of fourteen, but she the work ethic she learned there stayed with her.

At Hogwarts, she branched out outside of her family. New friends, new ideas, a whole new world opened up before her and she had to hide her admiration for it. To admit she loved muggle novels and was curious about its movies and culture would be a crime inside of her household. So she did it in secret. another thing she did in secret was falling in love. Rhoslyn had several crushes along of the years, pretty boys that courted her properly but who never ignited her any real passion – none of them were trying to court her, they were courting the Greengrass princess, not the girl. The first person to find their way inside of her heart was her roommate, a lovely girl whose passion filled kisses ignited Rhoslyn’s whole body. Sadly, after they graduated, her roommate moved to America with her family.

Graduating was a sad event for her.  Sure, she was ready for a new experience, but Hogwarts gave her a more diverse circle of friends. Outside of the school, her society is very limited, and though some of them are interesting enough, she misses how exciting each day at Hogwarts could be. Graduating also meant her mother began actively hunting for a husband for her; after a few years, her parents finally found someone they found worthy of their little princess.

Julian Avery was perfect on paper – handsome as the devil and elegant. But the more she got to know him, the more she feared him and his whims. At first she was afraid of saying anything because she was afraid of disappointing her parents, but the more she began to loathe him, the more she realized her parents would rather face the shame of a broken engagement than seeing their little girl hurt (sure, her mother would throw a fit at first but one look into Rhoslyn’s sad brown eyes would change her mind). But then she noticed Julian’s eyes no longer lingered on her when she walked into the room, they rested on her sister’s body, and that sight almost made her throw up. Not because she was jealous, but because she was afraid for her sister. Instead of pulling away, Rhoslyn began showing him more affection than ever, hoping to regain his love and attention. His touch repulses her, but the thought of her sister married to a monster for the rest of her life is worth the discomfort he causes. Even if that means she will never be able to marry the one she truly longs for, that’s a sacrifice she is willing to make.

CONNECTIONS:

Narcissa Malfoy

Even though Narcissa is barely older than her,  Rhoslyn sees her as a role model. Narcissa is beautiful, elegant and her husband absolutely adores her. The last part is one she particularly longs for; being beloved by her husband as Narcissa is; to have someone who looks at her like she is their everything and being able to match that look.

Kingsley Shackebolt

The sun pales in comparison to him. He is beautiful, charming and she longs to always be by his side. At first, she thought it was simply a crush, she has had plenty of those, but the months have passed and she still dreams of his smile. Rhoslyn has replayed every single one of their conversations in her mind a million times, analyzing each word that passed through his lips, trying to find a hidden meaning.

And, oh, his touches, every time he lays a hand on her Rhoslyn jumps.

Every time they part Rhoslyn wants to stay, wants to utter the words that she holds so dearly in her heart, but it’s not possible. Because even though she believes herself to be in love with him, she is sure that she loves her sister more than anything in this world. Acting on her feelings would put her sister in danger.

Julian Avery

For all the naïvety, Rhoslyn is known for she was able to understand her fiancee’s character quite quickly. He is a dangerous man lurking underneath those beautiful smiles is a soul as dark as his hair.

Fear and loathing churn in her stomach when she gazes at him.

Her parents adore her, one word from her and the engagement would be broken. And though she longs for this to end, she has noticed the lingering looks between him and her sister. To free herself from him would mean freeing him for Isolde and that is something she cannot do. Isolde is too enamored to see straight and realize how dangerous Julian is. For her sister, she will marry this wretched man.  

Long ago she dreamed of marrying only for love, but that’s clearly no longer possible.

♕ III: FREESTYLE ♕

[ drabble ]

her stomach clenches as he touches her lower back, the carefully placed smile almost falling from her fair features as disgust fills her veins. she briefly wonders if he can feel him stiffening under his touch but quickly shakes those worries away if there is one thing she doesn’t doubt is that he thinks she is in love with him.

the wind blows her blonde tresses into the wind, the flower that had been so delicately put there by her mother moments earlier continuously threatens to slip. tucking it in carefully, rhoslyn uses the moment to risk a glance at her fiancee. he is looking into the crowd, nothing unusual about that, they are in a beautiful outdoor party thrown by the Malfoys; just as her mind begins finding a new subject focus on, she realizes where her fiancee’s gaze leads – her sister.

that won’t do.

taking a deep breath, she presses herself more intimately against him, raising a hand to rest on her jaw to make him look back at her. he truly is a handsome man, probably one of the most beautiful ones she has ever seen.

“is everything okay?” he asks, brow furrowing in concern. it’s pleasing to see that he still cares for her, even if his heart is located elsewhere. she can work with that. 

“we haven’t danced yet, you know how much I love dancing.” her fingers gently trace his features, an intimate gesture that’s chaste enough not to raise any eyebrows, but still tantalizing for him. “we are always getting interrupted by other people here, not only five minutes ago i had to share you with Mulciber and Wilkes.” biting her lower lip, she looks at the dance floor with excitement. “Please, Julian?”

his gaze doesn’t return to her sister for the rest of the night.

or so she thinks.

[ Pinterest board ]

[ tag on my blog ]