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be-my-wingman-anytime · 1 year

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I’d like to do a ship Request for Top Gun(1986).

Alright so my name is Amy. I’m almost 25 and stand about 5’5 even. I love to bake and cook and read or just watch child movies or cartoons. I love shopping and supporting my family and helping when I can wether it’s giving blood or helping a neighbor. I love to be goofy but I have serious moments because I am a super sensitive person. I love to just have fun and I’ve played sports especially volleyball.

I am Female and go by She/Her/They pronouns but mostly she/her.

I’m Bi with a preference towards men

I’m a bit more on the curvy side then most girls with long curly hair that’s dirty blonde. I’m fair skinned with perfect eyebrows and hazel-green eyes. Despite being big I do work out!

Hobbies are singing, baking, cooking, reading and sewing. I also have a passion for swimming and like to skate!

Unfortunately, giving my family’s history, I have a Irish Temper and I’m quick to angry but I’m also overly emotional and will cry for no reason or over something trivial. I am also as hardheaded as an ass which I get form both parents. I was diagnosed with ADHD at a young age so unfortunately my brain doesn’t function so it’s hard for me to stay focused!

Growing up with two loving parents and a slew of family close by, I’ve learned to become loyal to a fault. I’ll always have your back and support you as long as you do the same. Despite my ADHD I love to learn and read. I’m somewhat musically gifted and I have a passion for baking and cooking as it lets me explore from what I know. If you really care about me, I’ll give you the same treatment in return. Doing your laundry(my parents mostly), offering advice and listening, just overall being there!

I’m mostly a pretty fun girl whose got a big heart and loves to have fun. I love kids too so sometimes I’m motherly to my cousins kids. I am the extrovert who collects introverts because I love to talk. I’m a people talker which can sometimes be a bad thing but mostly good!

My star Sign is Aquarius!

NSFW can be included!(im 25 on the 23 of this month)

I’d prefer to keep like all the older instructors and such off the list. Sundown and Chipper like background characters who don’t have as many lines. I’d also like to avoid Cougar and Merlin! I hope this helps! Can’t wait to see!

Hi Amy! Happy Birthday for when it’s the 23rd! Thank you for popping into my inbox and trusting me with a ship! I hope you enjoy it!

I ship you with…

Goose

I almost shipped you with Carol because she’s so fun-loving but I kept leaning back towards Goose to the point where I was basically the mental human version of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

But you’re totally Carols’ bestie! Perhaps she’s the one that set you and Goose up? (sorry Carol/Goose shippers!)

Goose definitely has a thing for blonde-hair, green/hazel-eyed babes! He honestly thinks he doesn’t stand a chance with you. You’re so gorgeous and have all the curves in all the right places. Your golden curls and gorgeous hazel-coloured eyes that are shaped by your eyebrows. Literal picture perfect. Can he have your picture pinned in the cockpit?

You and her totally go shopping together and you chat about Goose non-stop.

This is fine by Goose because he doesn’t like going shopping. However, he does love it when you come home all excited to show him what you bought! Especially if it’s clothes. He’d want a runway session!

And if it’s lingerie… Hehe

It must look a bit weird, you being on the curvier side and Goose being a literal stick figure (hurry and do some sugary baking. Fatten this man up at once!)

But he loves your curves. It’s a literal turn-on for him.

Guarantee, from an outsiders perspective who didn’t realise you two are a couple, he straight up looks like a fucking sleazebag checking you out from the aisle over. The cheesy moustache, Hawaiian shirt and holding a box of lego probably isn’t helping.

However, if you really want him to go shopping with you… lure him with the promise of ice-cream. “Can I get two scoops?” he’ll ask like a child, holding up two fingers, soft puppy-dog eyes glancing at you. How can you say no to him?

You WILL lose him in the store. But you can be guaranteed you’ll find him in the toy department looking at plane models.

Will he look at, holding a box of a model plane close to his chest and beg you? “Can we buy this? Please?” Yes. Yes he will.

Be careful though, he’ll definitely use this soft look against you to get what he wants! He’s just as cheeky as you are!

The fact you play volleyball makes up for all the times you’ve dragged him out to a spontaneous shopping spree. He loves volleyball and loves playing with you! It’s the best way to spend the summertime! A mixed round down at the beach of Girls Vs Boys and then mixed doubles (you and Goose, Mav and Carol [who aren’t dating but just friends]).

Followed by drinks at the bar.

Which leads into Goose at the piano. You by Goose’s side, loudly singing and Carol and Maverick joining in.

Goose is at his happiest during these times.

But you both have your serious moments.

Late evening talks. Sitting on the couch.

Goose is comfortable opening up about what’s on his mind. You both talk the problem out. If it doesn’t get sorted (perhaps because there’s no solution to what’s weighing on him) at least he came to you.

You both have such an open and honest relationship.

You never go to bed on an argument. You’re too soft for that and Goose doesn’t like seeing you breakdown.

No way is he going to let you fall asleep having cried your eyes out.

He’ll be the first to apologise. He has no issue with that. Even if he doesn’t know what he’s apologising for. He just doesn’t want to go to bed without saying ‘I love you’ and being able to hold you.

Goose is a huge family man. He’s always wanted a family of his own. So he’d definitely be there helping your family too. Whenever he can. He’s pretty absent most of the time but even after months of deployment that has him exhausted and tired, he’s still there helping your family.

Speaking of family, you both have such beautiful babies with cheeky personalities. They test the boundaries of what’s good behaviour, but they’re generally good kids. Always have a way of making everyone smile. So good luck figuring out which side they get that from!

He’s a very hands-on significant other. He’s always helping around the house without asking and trying to make things easier for you. Including following your ADHD trail of unfinished things which he finishes while you’ve started three other new things.

There’s more radio on in the house than the TV. It’s a very musical house.

Between Goose teaching the children piano or you just singing and humming away while you’re doing things around the house.

Goose’s favourite moments are watching you, particularly the first time you were pregnant, bopping a little in time with the song you were singing, while you were baking some cookies. You didn’t know he was watching.

Until he came in, dancing and singing, joining in the fun.

So there you two are, two parents-to-be, being silly and goofy in your own home.

But this is where Goose came in to do the dishes so you can sit down and relax.

He kept an eye on the baking because he knew you’d fall asleep on the couch. Pregnancy is tiring after all.

He loves it when you bake and cook. He cooks too! It’s not the stereotypical 50’s housewife scenario. Okay..admittedly it is. But that’s how things naturally fell into place. You do insist on baking and cooking because you enjoy it. But he does love it.

For some reason the house always smells better when you’re baking.

Luckily for Goose, he doesn’t need to worry about putting weight on because he regularly works out. Sometimes high intensity with Maverick. Other times, just a general workout with you. He loves it though. Gets to watch you work-out.

Remember when I said he looked like a total creep in the store?

Yeah…well…the gym too.

Also expect both Goose and Maverick to come to you to get their patches sewn on their jackets. Or to have it safely removed (guarantee they would’ve just pulled it off and made it worse).

You both frolicking at the beach in the summertime. I can see you both getting into snorkelling while on holiday. You both were kind of just ‘meh’ about it but once you did it, you loved it. Especially when Goose would randomly pick something up and point to it like a proud child of ‘look at this!’

But also keep an eye on him underwater too. He’s not the smartest to know what’s considered poisonous or dangerous. He just sees a cool-looking thing that looks like a plane and has to show you.

Skating dates. Or, rather… you’re off skating around the area while Goose is in a egotistical competitive match of Volleyball of him and Maverick Vs Iceman and Slider.

I know Ice-skating is different but you teaching him to skate on the Ice….

He never feels silly. He’s always up to trying everything and anything with you.

Like I said, you are both open with each other. About everything.

Goose is very calm…he shows this during all the times he could’ve torn a new one into Maverick but didn’t (instead, he calmly came to him and spoke to him about a problem) so your irish temper, whilst a thing to behold, is something Goose has learnt to navigate. He’ll either step back and leave you alone, or he’ll place a hand on your shoulder and use the safe word “Potatoes.”

Yes, you two have a safe word for your irish temper (sue me, it was funny in my head).

When you’re getting a little too angry, that little gesture and random word silently says ‘Calm down. Take a deep breath. Let’s work it out.’ …. Most especially if you’re in public. But there have been times when you’ve not listened so Goose is just “Potatoes! Think about the potatoes honey!”

Your over-sensitive heart is one of the things Goose has fallen for. It always makes him laugh a little when you cry over the silliest things (but he’s not laughing at you). He’s always there with a hug and a light “Awh honey.”

But your over-sensitive heart is one of the things Goose is extremely protective of. When Maverick gets too cocky and too risky in the air because, lets be real, he is slightly egotistical… Goose went to him that evening, once he made sure you were settled at home, and spoke to Maverick. He has you and a possible future family to think about.

Your hard-headedness is great because, as mentioned or likely hinted at, Goose needs to be reigned in with a few things (ie, buying toys he doesn’t need).

Now Goose is generally a placid being. But when he puts his foot down, you actually stop and listen. Because it’s not often he does this – and tends to do it when you’re being too hot-headed.

Also prepare to be annoyed with him throwing paper planes at you. Imagine you’re in the kitchen or just reading, minding your own business and you suddenly get jabbed by the nose of a paper airplane. You can’t be mad though because sometimes they’ll have a little love-note on them.

He would propose to you on the beach; which I see going 1 of 2 ways;

Either during the day where you were under the assumption that it was another beach volleyball so it didn’t bother you people were there. And he proposed to you in front of everyone.

Or he’d keep it just between the two of you and propose to you in the late evening when the sun was setting, the sky a soft pink, the water very gently lapping against the shoreline.

NSFW:

Do you know how hot you look if you were lounging on the bed, in lingerie or just sexy-looking pyjamas (that are specifically sexy but to Goose they are) and reading some sort of plane manual or something. You love to read and learn new things, and this was one of those things. Understanding Goose’s job… Except you look sexy doing it.

Picture this; you two at the beach…in the ocean…Your legs wrapped around his waist. Him holding you to him. The rest of the Top Gun guys have their attention on the volleyball match that’s going on at the shore.

Meanwhile Goose’s attention is on you. And IN you.

You do a lot of cooking and baking in the kitchen…prepare for Goose to interrupt that as he sits you up on the bench or has you pressed over the bench.

If he knows Maverick is coming over for dinner, always tries to steal a quickie right before he’s due to arrive. Has you pressed up against the wall, dress lifted up…

But despite these many quickies… he’s still a gentle lover.

Worships your body.

Takes his time. Peppers kisses anywhere he can reach.

One thing he always does is when he lines himself up at your entrance, you’re both gazing at each other and he wants to see your expression. Never gets tired of it.

Loves having your blonde curls splayed over the pillow.

But also loves watching them bounce up and down (amongst many other things) when you’re straddling on top of him.

The definition of sexy is what he’s seeing right before his eyes; his beautiful, blonde-haired, hazel-eyed woman with the perfect lips, the perfect curves…how he doesn’t fall apart immediately is beyond him.

He’s got his hands on your hips, bouncing you, but when you’re leaning down, one hand is definitely in the curls of your hair. Gently gripping as he angles your face to either kiss him or give him easier access to your neck.

You have a beautiful voice when you’re singing, but an even more beautiful voice when you’re moaning.

#Admiral Kazansky's Ship Fleet #Top Gun Ship #Goose Ship #Nick Bradshaw Ship #Nick Goose Bradshaw Ship #Beach Couple #Beach - Music - Laughter #Those are the vibes and I'm here for it #Why do I ship ya'll?#I thought I was doing this to give someone something nice but then there's me who's hardcore shipping everyone...#Ya'll basically are canon characters living rent-free in my head as I mentally rewrite Top Gun with everyone's S/O's #But hands off Iceman #He's mine #Admiral's Wife = Happy Life #Happy Birthday Sweet Girl

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nanamiya3 · 2 years

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what type of driver i think gojo would be (T . T)

gojo x gn reader - fluff - gojo being a questionable driver - wc. 700

Gojo…

Gojo drives a cube car…. （ーー；）

It’s white, and when you tease him for driving such a gargantuanly shaped vehicle, he just tells you it gets good mileage. You’re left speechless, because this is the same guy who Venmoed you $500 to get your nails done, telling you, “I heard people online say those things were expensive,” when you asked him why the hell he thought a trip to the nail salon would require a $500 withdraw.

He’s also definitely the type of guy to decorate his car. If the two of you celebrate Christmas, he’s got reindeer antlers clipped on the sides of his car and a wreath on the front bumper. If you guys celebrate Chanukah, he’s cutting out Star of David’s and dreidels, coloring them in before ordering menorah stickers so he can attach them all to the rear window. If you and Gojo celebrate Kwanzaa, he tries to get real candles to stick to the top of the car so he can drive around like his car’s a Kinara. You catch him sitting on top of the car with a lighter, melting the ends of the candles so they can stick to the car, and you chew him out, telling him the candles would fly off the second the car went above 20 MPH, hitting whoever was unfortunate enough to be driving behind him. You agree to help him decorate his car, ordering Kwanzaa car stickers and red, green, and black streamers. When it’s not a holiday, he just does whatever. He buys huge ass googly-eyes (I’m talking like 2 feet in diameter) and sticks them on the doors, trunk, hood, and even the roof of his car. One day he picks you up and you see a googly eye covering his license plate. You feel bad, but you tell him that intentionally covering a vehicle’s license plate is illegal, and you make him take it down. He grumbles and sticks it next to the two on the trunk, getting back into the car with an exaggerated sigh.

As for what type of driver Gojo is… He’s definitely not a bad driver.. He’s just,, erratic sometimes.

Definitely speeds up when he sees a yellow light - you’re gripping the center console with one hand and the overhead handle with the other, screaming, “GOJO THE LIGHT IS RED NOW!” … Needless to say, he still whips it across the intersection. He also loves to brake check people and he cackles when they stop following him so closely. He tries to make full stops at stop signs but ends up slowing down to like.. 4 MPH before hitting the gas again. In his defense, the intention was there.

Okay I’m thinking about it a bit more and he’s definitely a mediocre driver.

Gojo has absolutely no idea how roundabouts work and they confuse him to no end. First, he doesn’t know how fast he should be going in them. He shoots into one at 20 MPH, but as soon as that curve hits, everything in the car just shoots over to the right because of how fast he’s squeezing around that tight corner. Second, bigger roundabouts with more than three exits and one lane make his brain hurt. He never knows which lane he should be in, so when he realizes he’s in the wrong lane, he tries to switch lanes inside of the roundabout. You yell at him because cars aren’t supposed to switch lanes when they’re in a roundabout, and people honk at him because they too know that you aren’t supposed to switch lanes when you’re in a roundabout. Gojo just ends up going in a circle around the roundabout a few times before you tell him to take a random exit and make a U-turn to retry the roundabout. This time, you read the signs so that when the roundabout approaches and he panics and asks you, “Baby, what lane am I supposed to be in???” you tell him to move into the right lane.

— i’m so sorry for this but also im not (＾ｰ^)ノ◻️ <— gojo leaning on his car when he picks u up

#jujutsu gojo #gojou satoru x you #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo headcanons #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo x reader #gojo x gn!reader #gojo x gender neutral reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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naswoop · 2 years

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Anonymous:

note: i ramble a lot here again. so for everyone's sake ive decided to turn things in parentheses blue 😔👊

anyways i realize itd be kind of awkward to say more stuff. so ive decided to separate this into two different asks due to the change in topic because Man Do I Have Thoughts. Like. All The Time Every Day. this is more of a stream of consciousness thing than an actual theory

but like. you know how "the king IS siffrin" or whatever is a thing. like. a theory that i think most people have?? after finishing the game??? (source: i successfully convinced a friend of mine to get the game and during our post-game conversation she did tell me that the king being siffrin somehow was an idea she briefly had)

and i think weve talked about it before and that. like. how unlikely it is that the king IS siffrin due to the fact that its. uh. too obvious?? well i thought of two (2) more reasons that its (probably) not true:

1. since you own the artbook youd know that siffrin's pronouns are he/they and the king's are he/him. unless future!siffrin decided "hm... today i will go by he/him :)" theyre probably not the same person

2. i faintly remember going through adrienne's twitter and seeing that last year's april fools joke was something about "the king is the only queer character in the cast and that the rest are cishet. ha ha just kidding!!" and since that implies that the king is cishet (...does it??? i am very bad at reading comprehension sometimes) i feel like thatd be a very weird joke to make in reference to a character who has been explicitly confirmed to canonically be both non-binary and ace

HOWEVER. i do think itd go verily hard if siffrin was like. "the prince" or something. i KNOW this is like the third time ive suggested the idea of siffrin's title/character class changing into something else and im SO sorry but please bear with me here. basically. i am thinking about flowey undertale's line of "i am the prince of this world's future". that's literally it. also please ignore the fact that "prince" is also the name of a homestuck class thing i literally havent looked at homestuck since 2019 so i dont remember what each classpect is all about BUT @any homestucks who may be reading this if reading this makes you end up classpecting siffrin as a prince of time then i WILL cry/j /lh

(if i remember my homestuck classes correctly though then a prince is someone who destroys their aspect or destroys using the power of their aspect. so a prince of time would be someone who either destroys time itself and so leaves everything in a timeless state (such as. oh i dunno. freezing the very flow of time itself) OR someone who destroys using the power of time (e.g. freezing living beings in time and thus effectively "killing" them). hm. [imagine me glaring very hard at the king right now])

anyways im not gonna suggest the idea of a character who goes by "the prince" in sasasa and then leave without any further explanation. so like heres my own two cents on it while working under the assumption that siffrin IS said prince. basically. i have very mixed feelings about the idea of siffrin being the king's kid or something (plus! look at the man! he clearly doesn't have a wife! and as divorce anon let me tell you, he's divorced at best!/j) and besides. judging from the shape of siffrin's crafts and what the artbook itself says on it he's PROBABLY not from vaugarde (although i guess to be fair the artbook never explicitly states that siffrin ISN'T from vaugarde so i guess it could be like. deliberate trickery and tomfoolery. maybe being the prince just makes you Built Different™ and turns your crafts to look like that. i dunno. but personally even though i think the concept of siffrin as "distant traveler returning to the hometown they haven't seen in a long, long time" could definitely be done well i have unfortunately grown too attached to the idea of siffrin being from some faraway place. and besides. isn't four (4) vaugardians a Bit Much? im pretty sure much of the appeal for sasasa's main cast is something something found family + people from all walks of life and places all over the earth and whatever coming together and becoming the closest of companions. so i feel like making the researcher the sole foreigner kind of defeats the point.) so my idea on how being the prince works is that its like. a weird messed up magical "natural order of the universe" thing where "the king" and "the prince" are magical titles ushered and forced onto you by the universe/fate itself and being the king. well. being the king just gives you unimaginable power over time and also makes you Like That. meanwhile being the prince kinda uuuh. you know. may make your craft turn into stars regardless of what it should be but DEFINITELY makes something very, very bad and traumatizing involving time happen to you which may or may not be a time loop where you die repeatedly (the time loop could be caused by something else! who knows! the main point is just to make the prince have an awful relationship with the concept of time and/or the passage of it. see: the king's whole motive being to freeze the flow of time itself because he could not handle the change that inherently comes with the passage of time). in conjunction with my previous "exile siffrin" theory this COULD be why they got exiled. either way, when the current king dies, then the current prince gets dragged screaming and kicking by fate itself like "come here. you will become the sole ruler of a tyrannical monarchy whether or not you like it <3" into becoming the new king or something. this promotion may or may not be immediately apparent to the new king. i dunno. i made most of this up on the fly. i DO think itd be very messed up in a fun way though if it is written in fate itself that the current prince will be the one to kill the current king. and hey. what do you know. siffrin is the one who ultimately deals the final killing blow to the king in the true ending.

(ps. this has literally nothing to do with the rest of the theory (if you could call it that) but what are your thoughts on the idea of like. the rest of the bosses in sasasa2 being named after chess pieces. with the combination of the king being named the way he is, the game being in black&white, siffrin's colors being mostly an inversion of the king's (siffrin has (a patch of) black hair but is dressed in white, meanwhile the king has white hair but is dressed in black), fate being a reoccurring theme in sasasa so far and it being a Bad Thing, and something something about a pawn (who is destined to move only in a straight line until the end of the board, much like how siffrin cannot stray from his journey until the very end) getting promoted when it reaches the end of the chessboard, i personally think itd be VERY cool/g)

Wait, holy heck, I didn’t know asks could come in blue

I'm gonna post this now and type a response later because it's been in my inbox for far too long, but heck yeah more theories with Divorce Anon time

#ask #Divorce Anon #sasasa spoilers

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sleepy-yn · 3 years

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His Eyes || Yamaguchi Tadashi

genre: angst, fluff warnings: one swear maybe NOT PROOFREAD summary: y/n and yamaguchi are crushing for one another. but y/n finds it hard to believe that Yamaguchi’s eyes are for her only because whenever she looks at him, he’s looking at someone else.

For as long as you could remember, your brother was always protecting you. When you were kids and the older boys picked on you for wearing glasses and knowing how to read, he was always there to scare them off. In middle school, when you were told you were not good enough. The girls in your class told you guys didn’t like smart girls, they liked cute ones. Girls who needed protecting, laughed in a cute manner and didn’t talk as much. When Kei noticed you stopped trying in class and began shutting up whenever you caught yourself “talking too much”, he reminded you how the opinions of others should never matter to you. Others saw your twin as a cold-hearted person. He didn’t care for anyone, not even himself. But you knew they just didn’t understand him. Even now he continues to protect you from the truth.

Everyone knows Kei’s best friend, the only other person he cared about. You didn’t know what it was about Yamaguchi that made you like him. Was it the way he made sure to treat everyone with care even if they were a stranger? Or maybe it was the cute way he pouted when he couldn’t figure out a math problem. It still is a mystery but all that mattered was that you’ve loved him since you were 14.

But there’s something Kei wasn’t telling you. Ever since you three entered high school, there was this girl that he couldn’t keep his eyes off. When the two had sleepovers (that you weren’t invited to) Yamaguchi often told him about the most beautiful girl he’s laid his eyes on. She had blonde hair, big brown eyes, and a permanent blush on her cheeks. It was so blatantly obvious that the boy had a crush on their manager. I mean sure, Yachi’s cute but Kei couldn’t help but feel bad for his little sister.

Tsukki knew about your crush on his best friend. He’s had to deal with your constant ramblings on how cute Tadashi was and how you wish he could like you back. But Kei knew that there was no chance of that ever happening. It made being around you so much harder, which is why he found himself avoiding you.

This was unfortunate because you weren’t having the best time at school recently. You were so stressed and exhausted that you didn’t have the motivation to do anything. The rest of the volleyball team noticed how you weren’t yourself lately so every break they had was spent trying to cheer you up.

“Cmon little ‘Shima, what’s up with you?” Tanaka crossed his arms.

“School is just so tiring lately, I just want to give up. On top of that, Kei doesn’t even hang out with me anymore. It’s like he’s avoiding me.” you shrug, leaning your head on the wall of the gym.

“Hm, it seems that there’s something deeper bothering you y/n-san” Suga drapes an arm over your shoulder. You guessed your secret would be safe with them.

“Well it’s kinda hard to be happy when your crush doesn’t feel the same way,” you let your gaze fall on Yamaguchi’s figure. He always seemed to be smiling at something, his freckles (which you knew were scars) always made him seem so much softer.

The team’s laughter broke you out of your thoughts.

“Are you kidding? Yamaguchi is wild for you. Every time you’re not looking, his eyes are always on you. It’s kinda cute,” Noya chuckles.

You found that hard to believe, “Yea? Well, every time I am looking at him he’s always looking at… her. Your eyes went in the same direction but this time you weren’t looking at Tadashi, they fell on Yachi.

“To be fair, y/n, Tadashi never seems interested in Yachi-san the way he is with you. There’s a difference in the way he looks at you.” Kiyoko speaks up, surprising the boys. You still were unconvinced.

That night you laid in bed, holding a pillow to your chest. You were even more bored this night because the boys were having a sleepover that you weren’t invited to. In your own house! Your mind raced through everything the team had said and yet you were still doubting them. From a young age, you were aware that guys never went for girls like you. They liked cute girls, ones who weren’t so outspoken, had a cute laugh, needed protection. You didn’t fit the criteria in any shape or form. But you know who did? Yachi.

Deciding to drown your sorrows in ice cream, you walked towards the kitchen. But conversation from Kei’s room stopped you in your tracks.

“Tsukki you don’t understand! The way her hair looks in the light is so gorgeous since she’s blonde it makes her look like the sun itself. And oh, her cheeks. They always look so cute, like she has a permanent blush.” You didn’t care to listen anymore. You ran back to your room, not caring how much noise you were making. Falling onto the bed, your tears blurred your vision and your heart ached. It felt as if weights were pulling your heart down into the pit of your stomach. Your chest and throat felt tight as if you couldn’t breathe.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

“Go away, Kei!”

“Im coming in then,”

The door opened and there stood your big brother, mask off and his eyes held not only hurt but sadness. He would never tell you but he really hated when you cried. It made him feel like he wasn’t doing a very good job as a big brother.

“I’m sorry you had to find out that way,” he moved to give you a hug.

You pushed him away, “You knew? How could you not tell me?” With every yell, you shoved him. But to your dismay, your brother is very sturdy and strong so it didn’t do much.

Taking a pause from beating your brother with your fists, you sank to the floor and covered your teary eyes.

“If you… if you knew that Yamaguchi liked Yachi why didn’t you say so? It would have saved me all this grief.” Your voice became quiet and everything was quiet. Until Tadashi entered the room.

“Who told you that ridiculous lie?” Both you and Kei’s heads snapped up.

“Yamaguchi, you were telling me about Yachi just 5 minutes ago!”

“You thought I was talking about Yachi-san? I thought you knew that I was talking about your sister.” He looked at you two like he does when he can’t solve a math problem.

“B-But you were just describing her perfectly” you sniffled.

He chuckled, kneeling to your level and holding your chin between his fingers. “Blonde hair? Your hair is extremely light, and in the sun it’s even lighter. You’re always cold and are always anxious, so your cheeks are constantly pink.” He gave you a small smile. “I’ve always had eyes for you.”

Before you started crying again, you pulled him into a tight embrace. Your brother took that as his cue to leave. Leaving you and Tadashi cuddling on the floor.

“Hey, Tadashi,”

“Hm?”

“I like you.”

He kissed your forehead, “I like you too, Y/N-san”

BONUS

He was pacing the corridor, thinking of all the ways the game could end today. He really didn’t want to screw the team over like he always does.

“Yama,” you call out to him. He turns his head over to you, and for a second, he relaxes. You beckon him to sit in front of you. He obeyed.

Bringing his face closer with your hands, you kissed one of his scars.

“One for good luck,” another kiss, “One for strength. Another one, “One for all the worries to go away.” With every kiss of his scar, you reassured him that everything was okay. When you finished he pouted.

“What’s wrong, hun?”

“You forgot one,” he tapped on his lips.

Chuckling you said, “Get us a win and maybe I’ll think about it.” That started your new pre-game routine.

#yamaguchi #yamaguchi tadashi #yamaguchi x reader #yamaguchi scenarios #yamaguchi imagines #tadashi Yamaguchi x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu yamaguchi #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu texts #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima kei

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skaldish · 3 years

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Heya! I‘ve spent my morning reading through your website and low-key your blog here and wanted to say that the way you describe Loki feels so weirdly familiar? like him being your Mad Muse resonated in a way with my experience as an artist that is somewhat similar to yours which got me thinking. some ideas or concepts come seemingly out of nowhere and get stuck until i get them out and many of them are to do with the human condition but also gender and living the true self kinda? but more like these characters feel actually alive and thus not wanting me as an author or painter to control them but to observe and conserve these observations. it often feels like a swirling mass of chaos in my mind with me racing behind trying to grasp what i see/feel (its all really vague and words are more feelings of the essence of whats said.)

If i understand correctly You often make a distinction between chaos and his trickery (i am so sorry in advance for possible weird-wording things, or completely misunderstandig you >.< english is my 2nd language) and for me personally, i delight in chaos and trickery, though not in a hurting others way, more in a good hearted fun for the shits and giggles kind? but i love chaos in the way i love a symbol, since chaos for me means change in a rather radical way but without any judgement. Things change and get chaotic but chaos itself feels more like possibility?

I have a bonus Loki-Story for you: one time he (i assume) probably annoyed a busdriver with a red light and i caught my bus after asking any god willing to help me catch that bus (it was urgent lol). I was so out of breath but the second i could breathe properly again i asked who to thank for the red light and i kid you not, i drove by a wall with a graffiti that simply said: Loki. made me chuckle ugly but i gave him the best part of my steak never the less, gotta say thanks!

There have been several of these happenings with other gods (Thor and Odin mainly but i caught a whiff of freya once while baking i think?) so now im at the point where i feel i should finally listen. Though i know nothing about working with the gods or magic ive always felt a pull to runes and even got an engraving set to make some myself.

After reading your introduction about deity work i kinda confirmed what i thought regarding knowing the basics of magic (mainly i wont use runes or magic until i know how to do it safely with warding and shielding, which brings me to my question:

Do you have any open source or freely online available sources for learning the basics of magic and getting familiar with deity work? (possibly even for absolute total beginners who boarder on dumb - hello adhd) Like how to shield/ward yourself and your house and how to cleanse. Same with sharpening the clairsenses. It sounds kind of easy when reading but when i try to actually do that i feel helpless and dont know where to start or what to do :(

I often see these things stated (on your page and in the asks you answer but also on any site regarding these topics as well.Saw this also on sunnyway when tring to read up on runes) but never really explained in a way thats friendly for beginners, and when i try googling (i am chronically out of moneys so i guess that has to do with it) all that comes up is wicca related stuff that makes me feel icky (the norse gods are generally the only pantheon and norse religion mostly the only religion that doesnt feel icky to me but that might be my catholic upbringing? the norse gods feel so healingly friend-shaped that it spooked me for years but im staring to fall in love with that. i do get its not always like that but having a kind of mutually respectful relationship with the gods is kind of all i wanted when i grew up). Im also too new i guess to be able to discern between norse practicioners and white supremacists and dont want to end up on a nazi page and learning from them :/ (Here in germany i mostly saw nazis and white supremacists wearing norse symbols which i guess kept my spanish-libanese-migrant ass away from norse paganism for so long bc i thought theyre the only ones who practice it and i really do not like the fuckers)

Thank you in advance if you decide to answer this! (And i apologize for the sheer length of this ask!!)

Sorry this took me so long to get back! If I’m not mistaken, you’re basically asking how to move from “theory” to “practical application” with paganism, magic, and spirit/deity work.

I had to sit with this for a while because I couldn’t think of an easy answer to your question, and maybe an easy answer simply doesn’t exist. For me, everything I know and everything I believe in was built upon a combination of a few things:

Introducing myself to different branches of magical theory and trying different things, even stuff that wasn’t Norse.

Familiarizing myself with MANY different spiritual and religious practices; how they work, their ethos, their worldviews, their metaphysical philosophies, and how they differ from one another.

Finding a reputable community of actual advanced pagan practitioners who gave me the tools I needed to rely on myself and helped me troubleshoot specific things.

Identifying how my clairsenses and magical tendencies manifest and working them out like a muscle, using Tarot to help confirm or refute my interpretations of experiences.

Learning to trust myself and my judgements.

Learning what bad communities look like.

Learning what Nazi-coded language looks like.

Learning what healthy relationships look like.

Trying things and learning from both my mistakes and successes.

This stuff takes months to identify and years to cultivate, and honestly the only way to do figure it out is to expose yourself to it.

One resource I started with that IS free would be Oven-Ready Chaos by Phil Hine. This is a PDF you can google and download that introduces you to the basics of Chaos Magic. Even if you’re not a chaos magician, it provides some good metaphysical philosophies that can be applied to basically any eclectic practice. This book was also the first time magic was presented to me in a way that made a damn lick of sense.

But that’s all I really have for you, unfortunately. Someday I hope to write more about this process of magical/pagan development, but I’m not at the point where I know enough about it to do so.

#answered #Anonymous

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 3 years

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Yurtle's 2021 Writing Projects

COSMIC: Will Byers x Reader - MALE READER + NON BINARY READER VERSIONS -> plot, dialogue, and love interest will remain the same, but I will finally be fulfilling a promise I made after far too long of making two more copies of this series that will allow readers of he/him pronouns to hopefully feel more represented, as well as readers who prefer they/them pronouns. You deserve an escape just as much as anyone else and im truly sorry its taken me this long. These versions are already in development as I type this out. This will include all seasons, and is something I am working out for Scars That Heal, and all my other stories as well.

AN UNFORTUNATE REWRITE: ASOUE x Reader - Love Interest Change -> Previously Klaus Baudelaire x Reader will now be a Violet Baudelaire x Reader. I asked you guys about this a while ago and I was met with a lot of enthusiasm. And honestly I'm getting worried about my lack of enthusiasm for this series and I don't want to give up on it, not when I've barely given the series a try. And truthfully, exploring Violet as an LI intrigues me more than Klaus. And the deciding factor in all this was Klaus Baudelaire has a small handful of x readers available whereas Violet doesn't have any. Not that I've found. I'm very sorry if this upsets you, but this is a decision I've thought a lot about for months actually and I think it will help get me through to the next season which is where Reader's backstory really starts to kick in. Thank you guys for understanding and I'd be more than happy to talk about it with you guys more if you'd like 💞

I AM NOT IN LOVE WITH HER: IANOWT x Reader -> okay. So this one has really been eating at me all year. I wanna write this one SO BAD. but I just... don't have any ideas. So, if you don't mind, I'd love to brainstorm with you guys if any of you have time. I really really want to make it a Syd x Reader or a Dina x Reader. I love both with all my heart. Don't get me wrong, I love Stanley Barber with all I am, but I just. I can't do a rewrite with him. I'm sorry. All I've got so far for ideas is Syd being in love with Dina as it is in the show and Reader being in love with Syd. I'm thinking Reader has a little brother or sister that is Goob's age that is best friends with Goob, and that this is how Syd and Reader know one another but everything I try to go over the plot in my head I can't find a way to bring them together? I really thought I'd get more ideas with even a hint of what they had planned for season 2 but 😤😡 yeah. Now I have to smush it all together and wrap it up in a bow, or at least I feel pressured to. Anyways, what I'm trying to say is, those are my only solid ideas, and I am ALWAYS open to literally whatever ideas you have and more than happy to hear them, whether they're half baked ideas that came to you from some random shit post or some fully fleshed out power point presentation 😂 all my ideas are one or the other anyway, no in between lol. Point is, help is always appreciated as I do NOT want to give up on this beautiful, well crafted story and its wonderful characters 🥰💞

THE STOLEN UMBRELLA: Diego Hargreeves x Reader -> As I've mentioned before, season one has left the planning stage and is now currently ready to be written. All I need to do is finish planning season 2. Currently, I am on episode 3, The Swedish Job. There's not much I can tell you about this series that I haven't already shared but I can say what makes this rewrite an AU [if it wasn't already clear]; Vanya Hargreeves was never lied to and grew up as the seventh Umbrella Academy member. And yet, her siblings have still shut her out leaving them all with the same dynamic from the show... This book will feature my very first OC! I will explain more later, but the "faceclaim" is none other than the talented Ewan McGregor. I am very much excited for you guys to meet G.R.E.G.O.R.Y. 😇

And finally...

[working title] Not What You Expected: Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader -> This was the big one. For me at least. Doing a Harry Potter rewrite is a big commitment but I honestly just snapped when I didn't see any Hermione x Readers. My goal, the whole vibe im gonna shoot for is wholesome 90s wlw [witches loving witches lol I'm sorry I couldn't resist]. Reader would be adopted by Hagrid as an infant and will have been raised on the grounds by Hagrid cause I'm sorry but he's just SUCH A mum DAD. Another little twist? Veela are supposed to be strictly blonde with "moon bright skin" well since id be the author id say FUCK THAT and bend canon and say anyone of any ethnicity can be Veela, cause yall are beautiful in all shapes, sizes and colors 😍 so basically Reader will be half Veela and just casually charm the pants off of everybody with her veela magic ESPECIALLY Hermione 😉😊. Like im sorry can you just imagine Reader all covered in dirt from helping her dad on the grounds and seeing Hermione and Hermione just 😳 *gay gulp* and then reader opening her mouth an then greeting her with the heavy west country accent and oh no Hermione didn't realize how pretty girls were and for heavens sake, surely this girl knew she had a bowtruckle on her shoulder clinging to her ear and wait. She's ALSO memorized all of Hogwarts a History and- oh no... Like, im sorry but I have NO self control and I just have to write this. Bonus, Harry Potter may or may not but definitely will be Reader's Designated Himbo Friend™ and yes this is what I was asking you guys on your input for earlier. I totally understand and respect putting reader in Gryffindor and Slytherin, both are wonderful choices for story paths for reader. But im gonna do my best to bring as much representation to the table as I can and use the most underrepresented house cause everyone deserves to feel represented as much as they possibly can ☺ i sincerely hope you guys are as excited for this as I am, please let me know what you think about this one as I was pretty nervous to share this idea with you guys. [EDIT: I have a title!! MUDBLOODS & HALF-BREEDS !!]

Thank you guys so much for reading, I know I word vomit a lot 😄 I do promise you my current WIPs have not been neglected and I actually have been working on them a fairly equal amount. Scars That Heal has actually been written for a while but needs to be tied up and I need to find a satisfying way to wrap up the chapter. But anyways, I hope you guys are as excited about these announcements as I am and I can't wait to share them with you! Love you all! 🥰

💕💕💕 - Yurtle

#announcement #cosmic #cosmic 1 #cosmic 2 #cosmic 3 #cosmic 2.0 #an unfortunate rewrite #tsu ☂️#ianilwh #hermione x fem!reader #hp reader insert #hp rewrite #nwye #sth🎈#yurtle 2021

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goosewhisker · 3 years

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russetfur vs. the entirety of skyclan || ch. 3

read this on ao3 || read this on fanfiction.net

chapter one

chapter two

summary: After enduring months of Turtlekit and Kitekit’s abuse, Rootkit finally snaps and accidentally awakens his powers. This has the unfortunate side effect of reviving the ghost of an angry Shadowclan warrior who: 1) is personally offended by Skyclan’s existence, and 2) has magnanimously taken it upon herself to relieve the world of that burden. Or something

okay so its been a minute since i posted. a lot of things happened, i got a kitten, a job, a new fandom, and i speedran a full semester of calculus in like the past four weeks. im sorry about how late this is and i cant promise when the next one will be up but its half written already so uh hope springs eternal. anyway thanks for coming to my ted talk

also shoutout to @turquoise-tulip for reminding me that ive had this chapter in my drafts for half a year now this ones for you im sorry its so stupid

Chapter Three: In Which Rootkit Practices the Art of Blackmail

The morning after is quiet.

...is what Rootkit would like to say. Actually, he gets woken up by Tree at what his mom likes to call 'the butt-crack of dawn' to go talk to Leafstar, thereby ruining his chances of being a normal warrior forever.

When they get to the leader's den, Violetshine is already there. Rootkit discovers this by walking into her while his eyes are closed in the middle of a yawn.

"See, he's about to fall asleep on his paws," his mom points out, sounding pretty close to yawning herself. "It's too early for this. Morning, kid."

Rootkit mumbles something that's unintelligible even to himself and falls asleep on his mother's paws. A few minutes later, he's woken by gentle paws on his back.

"Hey, kid. Kiddo. You gotta get up."

Rootkit hums absently, still mostly asleep, before realizing abruptly where he is. Mouse dung! Suddenly, he's completely awake. He jerks his head up, almost colliding with Tree's jaw before he pulls out of the way. Rootkit, too busy panicking, doesn't notice. He just fell asleep in Leafstar's den! After she'd brought him over to talk specifically to him! After seeing this humiliating display of incompetence, she'll really never make him a warrior, and Kitekit and Turtlekit will-

"Rootkit." The single word cuts through the panic. Rootkit looks up to see Leafstar, looking very serious with only a hint of amusement seeping through. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes!" The answer bursts out of him before he really thinks it through. And, well, it's not entirely true, but it's not entirely untrue either. Either way, he's up for answering any questions, which is probably what she's asking.

Leafstar looks at him just long enough for him to start fidgeting before she begins. "I've already spoken to your parents, Rootkit, so I know most of the story. I just need to know your side. What happened yesterday with the ghost?"

Rootkit looks at his paws, then back to Leafstar's calming gaze. "It started when I was at the grave. I was just- just talking, and then Kitekit found me..."

He tells her the whole, stupid story. How he'd lost it at Kitekit and Turtlekit and turned around to find a ghost looming over him; how he'd asked Tree for help, only for her to disappear; how she'd attacked him and Tree, announced her intentions, and vanished. At last, the story runs dry and he falls silent to watch her expression change.

Leafstar hums thoughtfully. She turns to Tree. "Do you think she's likely to hurt someone?"

Tree shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "If she's serious, yes. Most ghosts can't touch the living. Those who can - like this one - usually died violently or thinking they were wronged. And angry ghosts tend to be... volatile."

"Ah." Leafstar considers this.

"If it comes to that, what'll you do?" Violetshine asks. "Will you be able to stop her?"

Rootkit watches Tree watch his mom, and something in his dad's eyes soften. He leans over to swipe a tongue over her ear. "You want to help her, don't you?" he says quietly. "Because she's Shadowclan?"

Violetshine flushes, but she doesn't back down. "Many of them weren't kind to me," she says, "But Shadowclan was still my home once. I can't just forget that."

Tree purrs and winds his tail with hers. "That's why I love you," he whispers.

Rootkit sticks his tongue out in disgust. Bleh. Grownups!

"To answer your question," Tree adds, "I don't know what I'll do. I suppose-" he pauses, eyes tight with worry. "I've never exorcised a ghost who didn't want to move on before. I don't know if I even can. This may be something of an experiment."

The grownups look at each other for a long moment. "I will do whatever it takes to keep my clan safe," Leafstar says. There's something like a warning in her voice that makes Rootkit shiver.

"What should I do?" he asks. All three adults look at him like they've forgotten he's there.

After a moment, Leafstar's face breaks into a smile. "Tell you what. You can help by keeping an eye out for this Russetfur and letting one of us know when she's nearby. But listen, Rootkit," and her voice goes stern. "You must stay away from her. Russetfur is dangerous, and she may hurt you to get what she wants. Do you understand me, Rootkit?"

Rootkit looks into Leafstar's amber eyes - warm and worried and burning with a fierce, protective fire - and knows what he has to do. "I understand, Leafstar," he says, and just like that, his mission clicks into place.

From somewhere else in the camp - probably the warriors' den - someone screams, followed by Russetfur's haunting cackles.

Rootkit ignores it.

As he double checks his supplies, Rootkit runs through a mental checklist. He's talked to the ghost - check. He's figured out what she wants - check. He's given her what she wants - well... no. Tree's three-step-plan hadn't exactly accounted for what happened if what the ghost wanted was unobtainable.

Well, it doesn't really matter now. This plan is sure to work.

"Are you sure this is gonna work," Needlekit says again.

"Yes, I am, Starclan above will you stop nagging me," Rootkit says.

His sister makes a disgruntled noise and hauls the next bramble into place with a particularly vicious tug. "I'm just concerned you have no idea what you're doing, is all."

"I know exactly what I'm doing."

Rootkit doesn't have any idea what he's doing.

"Hmm." Needlekit seems thoroughly unconvinced, but she gets on with the task anyway. The trailing brambles she's weaving into place will form a turtle-shell-shaped cage laced with warding herbs over the grave when they're done. The plan is more or less to summon Russetfur into a cage she can't phase through, leaving her unable to escape. In Rootkit's opinion, it's a pretty solid plan for someone who has no idea what he's doing. "Why're you so set on doing this, anyway? Didn't Leafstar tell you not to mess with Gingerpelt?"

"Russetfur," Rootkit corrects her automatically. "And, well, yes, but..." he hesitates. "It's just... you know. I was the one who set her free in the first place, and..."

"Yes?" Needlekit prompts him. She's given up on the brambles and moved to stuffing moss and bracken into the gaps.

Rootkit fidgets uncomfortably for a second before the truth bursts out of him. "And now Russetfur's running wild everywhere and it's all my fault, and what if Leafstar decides not to make me an apprentice? If I don't become an apprentice, I can't be a warrior! And if I can't be a warrior-" he cuts himself off. He can't repeat what Kitekit and Turtlekit had said; even saying the words aloud seems like tempting fate... and he can't burden Needlekit with that, anyway.

Needlekit looks at him, though, and her gaze goes soft. "And being a warrior is your dream," she says, and starts stuffing the gaps with renewed vigor. "Well, come on, then! If we can trap Scarletfuzz then Leafstar will have to make us both apprentices! I can't be an apprentice without you; then I'd have to share the den with just Kitekit and Turtlekit. Can you imagine?" She pulls a disgusted face that has Rootkit giggling despite himself.

"Alright, alright," he says. "While you're doing that..." He shoves aside the piles of bracken they'd collected and settles down on the dirt. In his stories, Tree had never really talked about summoning ghosts - his work had been more about getting them to leave - but Rootkit is pretty confident about his ability to summon her again if necessary. More importantly, one or two of his stories had been about things the average, non-ghost-seeing cat could do to ward off spirits.

Rootkit spreads out his supplies, most of which had been scavenged from the medicine cats through a combination of tag-teaming and white lies. The herbs really are going to help his mom, just not in the way Fidgetflake thinks.

Thistledown. Rosemary. Lavender. Thyme. All plants that either attract or repel spirits, according to Tree (from what Rootkit can remember, anyway). Plus a lot of spiderweb.

"Hey, are you sure that's right?" Needlekit asks, leaning over his shoulder. "I thought we were gonna get some sage. And why'd you pick up the thistle?"

Rootkit frowns. "Well, Fidgetflake was coming back too soon and I panicked, alright? If you've got a problem you can get some more yourself."

Needlekit snickers and prods the massive pile of spiderwebs. "No thanks. I think you could've gotten a little more spiderweb, Frecklewish might still have some left over... yeesh, alright, I'll leave off the sarcasm. You don't have to glare at me."

Rootkit rolls his eyes. The immaturity of some cats. "Maybe I went a little overboard, but we need it. Frecklewish can just send the 'paws out to find some more. Now help me apply it; we need to cover the entire cage so there's no chance of getting out."

It's the work of a few minutes to paste it over with cobwebs, and the work of a few more to weave in all the protecting herbs. With luck, they'll prevent her from just phasing through. By the time they're done, it's so dense that a living cat would find it impossible to escape; Rootkit can only hope that the same goes for a dead one.

"Alright, fire 'er up!" Needlekit commands.

Rootkit closes his eyes to focus, trying to recall the feeling of power rushing through his being. Once, Tree had told them of a time when he'd jumped onto a wire fence and been struck by something he'd called electricity- what lightning is made of, apparently. Rootkit imagines it feels something like that.

The power lying dormant in his veins leaps forth eagerly at his call. It swells like a crescendo of sound, rushing out through his paws into the ground.

Rootkit focuses on the grave with every fiber of his being and wills it to summon its spirit. "Russetfur!" he cries out.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then, something shifts.

It's like a hole is briefly torn through space; instinctively, Rootkit reaches in, grabs something, and drags it through.

Beside him, Needlekit gasps. "What the heck was that?"

But her voice is wavy, distorted. Rootkit opens an eye and finds his world is tilted sideways. Needlekit makes a high pitched noise that scrapes its claws across the most inner parts of Rootkit's ears.

"M'fine," Rootkit mumbles. His words are slurred, he realizes distantly, because half his face is pressed into the dirt.

Needlekit jabs him. "This is no time for sleeping, Rootkit. Did it work?"

Rootkit blinks. For a moment, he has absolutely no idea what she's talking about; then, the memories start to flood back. He narrows his eyes, remembering the feeling of hooking a soul on his clawtips like a fish. "I think-"

He's interrupted by an infuriated caterwaul that drowns out whatever he was going to say.

"What is this?"

The cage shakes as its captive throws her entire weight against the wall, but it holds steady. The herbs have done their job; even a ghost can't pass through.

Needlekit laughs triumphantly. "It's bad kitty jail for bad kitties!"

Russetfur snarls back something absolutely obscene and proceeds to attack the inside of the cage with a ferocious determination. At least, Rootkit thinks she is; it's kind of hard to tell since they can't actually see her.

"Can she get out?" Rootkit wonders.

"No," Needlekit says at the same time Russetfur snaps, "You bet your kittypet hide I will."

Rootkit blinks.

"Literally," Russetfur adds. "Because I'll strip it off your back to line my nest."

"Oh." Rootkit drops his head back on the ground. The dirt here is very comfy, he realizes. Maybe he should just sleep here from now on. "Yeah. That was kind of unclear."

"It'll become very clear in a few minutes, runt. I'll even give you a demonstration."

Needlekit leans against the cage with a smirk that probably would have been infuriating, if Russetfur could actually see it. "Don't worry, Redpelt, you're clear as crystal."

Rootkit freezes. Even the scraping sounds coming from inside the cage cut off. "What was that," Russetfur says suspiciously. "Did you just-"

"Keep your spirits up," Needlekit says. "I'm sure you'll be back to your old haunting grounds in no time."

Rootkit tries to slam his head into the ground and discovers that it's really much harder to do when you're already lying on it.

Russetfur doesn't say anything.

"What's wrong, ghostie? You're as silent as the dead in there."

Then a translucent ear rises out of the ground right next to Rootkit's face and he screams loud enough to be heard halfway to Riverclan, probably, and scrambles out of the way. Needlekit screams, too, and then Russetfur is climbing out of the ground like a corpse emerging from its grave.

She shakes herself off and grins down at them with more teeth than a cat should rightfully have. "You forgot to ward the bottom," she says. Rootkit makes a very small sound that definitely qualifies as a whimper. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

All the fur on Needlekit's body has bushed out so she looks twice her size - which, compared to the full-grown warrior before them, is almost nothing. She's shaking like a leaf, but undaunted, she spits at Russetfur's feet. "Drop dead!"

Rootkit could kill her.

In a blur of movement, Russetfur pins Needlekit to the cage wall with one paw. "I admire your spirit, kit," she hisses. "But if you want to sass me, you're digging your own grave."

That's it. Rootkit has had enough. That is the final stars-damned straw. "Shut up with the stupid ghost puns, I swear to Starclan," Rootkit screams.

The wind rustles gently in the treetops as the two she-cats stare at him.

"The next person to make a single stars-cursed ghost pun, I am going to snap your fleabitten neck. Is that clear?"

Needlekit makes a stifled noise muted by the heavy paw slowly crushing her windpipe.

"Ah." Russetfur looks to be considering it. "Would you say we're dead m-"

Rootkit makes a very aggressive series of throat-slitting gestures.

"...you've got your father's spirit in you, I see."

"I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it," Rootkit snarls.

That gets her attention. Russetfur's eyes widen, then narrow. "Oh?" Her voice is considerably less friendly.

This is where it gets tricky. Rootkit's at a disadvantage - he's just seriously ticked off a relatively powerful ghost with a grudge against his relatively powerless clan, she's got his sister by the throat, and his only bargaining chip is a bluff. But there's an opportunity somewhere here; he just has to navigate a very prickly, very dangerous minefield and pray he doesn't blow them all up.

Time to channel his inner Tree. "Look," Rootkit says, in his best diplomat voice. "Clearly, we both want something here, something that we can provide for each other. What do you say we make a deal?"

Russetfur narrows her eyes and tightens her grip on Needlekit. "I don't think you're in a position to bargain, here," she says.

"On the contrary." Rootkit raises a paw. "I am in every position to offer a deal... as you just experienced yourself."

Russetfur scoffs. "What could you possibly have to offer me?"

"Your life."

That gives her pause. "If you could exorcise me, you'd have done it already."

Rootkit gives his best imitation of her knife-sharp smile and proceeds to lie through his teeth. "What do you think we were doing just now?"

The ghost narrows her eyes and says nothing.

Rootkit seizes his opportunity and plows onward. "You don't want to be exorcised, and we don't want you in our camp. So here's the deal - you leave and we don't follow." The last few words are growled out, like Leafstar whenever someone threatens the clan.

It's very intimidating, in his opinion, but it doesn't seem to have an effect in Russetfur. If anything, it only seems to make her angrier. "I won't sacrifice my honor as a Shadowclan cat to run from a bunch of kittypets," Russetfur snarls, leaning closer. "Even if you kill me again, I'd sooner die fighting for my clan than kowtow to some coddled housepets."

Rootkit grits his teeth. She hasn't called his bluff, but they can't have her running loose and hurting people. Think, Rootkit! "Another deal, then," he says. "If you won't leave the camp, then you just can't hurt anybody."

"No deal," Russetfur snaps.

"That's the final offer," Rootkit says coldly. "Under no circumstances are you allowed to hurt or injure any Skyclan cats. I'm not going to compromise on that point. And you can't really afford to bargain, anyway," he adds with a shrug. His heart is pounding so loudly he's almost sure Russetfur can hear it. "If you don't, I'll just summon you into the cage again and exorcise you for good. Or who knows? Maybe we'll leave you in there for a while. And this time we'll cover the bottom." He finishes with the nastiest, most hateful smile he can muster - which isn't particularly difficult, right now.

Russetfur goes silent. He can practically hear the gears in her brain ticking as she weighs her options. There's clearly only one real option here; he just hopes she isn't too prideful to take it.

"Fine," Russetfur growls, voice so low he has to strain to hear it. "Fine. I agree to your terms." The hatred seeping from her voice is almost palpable.

Well, the feeling is absolutely mutual. Rootkit dips into a little bow and bares his fangs in a farce of a smile. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Russetfur disappears into the air, leaving Needlekit to slump to the ground, wheezing. Rootkit waits until he's certain the ghost is gone before sinking onto the ground himself, body shaking with all the fear he couldn't allow himself to show before. Holy crap.

"Are you," Needlekit begins, then cuts herself off with a raucous bout of coughs that makes him wince. "Are you... okay?" she whispers hoarsely.

Rootkit makes a high-pitched, keening noise before breaking into nervous laughter. "No, no, not even a little bit. Oh, Starclan, I can't believe I'm alive, I thought she was going to kill us both. Oh stars..." he trails off with a giggle and buries his face in the dirt.

They lie there for a couple minutes, the silence broken only by Needlekit's wheezing and Rootkit's trembling.

"I want Mom and Dad," Needlekit whispers.

Rootkit couldn't agree more.

#warrior cats #warriors fanfiction #wc #wc fanfiction #warriors #rootspring #needleclaw #russetfur #tree #leafstar #violetshine #now that the general premise is done #everything from here on out is stupid ghost shenanigans #you know #if i ever get around to writing them

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 5: Don’t Even Think About It]

Hi y’all! I’m so sorry I’ve been gone for so long...finals and job hunting got the best of me. I will be updating more frequently going forward. As always, thank you so much for reading!! 💜😘

Series summary: You are an overwhelmed and disenchanted nurse in Boston, Massachusetts. Queen is an eccentric British rock band you’ve never heard of. But once your fates intertwine in the summer of 1974, none of your lives will ever be the same...

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, very very very little sexual content.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @bookandband @queen-crue

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

You’re in the crowd at The Rainbow, although you aren’t sure why; this has already happened.

Freddie is skulking across the fog-draped stage as he belts out the chorus of In The Lap Of The Gods...Revisited, all glistening tan skin and teased hair, a pillar of nimble black leather; John is only a silhouette in the mist. Brian looks like something that’s crawled out of a cocoon: leggy and insect-like, the sleeves of his flowing white blouse like a pair of wings. And Roger...Roger’s in the back, of course—“the hardworking one in the back,” he always says—with a glittery black kimono-like shrug hanging loosely off his bare shoulders. He’s drumming feverishly, sprays of Heineken flying off his floor tom, his forehead and blond hair dripping.

“Whoa, whoa, la la la, whoa...

I can see what you want me to be,

But I'm no fool,

It's in the lap of the gods...”

Somehow, as the fog clears, Roger’s eyes find you in the crowd. He grins in that effervescent, blameless way that he does. And now you know for sure that this is a dream; because there’s no chance Roger could see that far without his glasses.

There’s a banging noise coming from somewhere, but it’s muted, distant, splintered like an echo.

Dream Roger is fading away, dissolving as the lights shade to black on the stage. He disappears, and then Freddie does too, and then Brian, and finally John. The crowd you’re standing in is a sea of churning, indistinguishable faces.

The banging grows louder, closer. You can hear a new voice now.

You swim up from unconsciousness and punch into daylight. You’re laying on your back in bed in a small, rustic hotel room; it takes you a second to remember what the world looks like now. It’s not November at the Rainbow Theater. It’s December 11th, and you’re in Rome.

You sit up in bed and turn towards the door. Whoever is out there is knocking so forcefully that the distressed wood rattles on its hinges.

“Hey, Dorothea Dix, wake up!” Freddie is shouting through the door.

You rub your eyes as your feet touch the cool teak floor. The band flew into Rome late last night, and has one full day to burn before their concert on the 12th. You’d pitched the idea of visiting a few museums, the Colosseum, the Pantheon, the Roman Forum, St. Peter's Basilica, maybe even the Baths of Caracalla or the Temple of Venus and Roma; but it had been difficult to get anyone to commit at 2 a.m. when you were all exhausted and dragging luggage into the modest, quite geriatric hotel. Queen may finally have a Top 20 album in the U.S., but the streets aren’t paved with gold just yet.

“Darling, need I remind you that this was all your idea, you simply must wake up this instant—!”

You swing the door open. Freddie is standing in the hallway in a vivid yellow-and-black jacket and white jeans, tall boots, dark hair huge and curly, folded aviator sunglasses peeking out of his pocket.

“Get ready, bitch,” he says, grinning, then slips the sunglass over his dusky eyes. “All those gorgeous marble blokes with their cocks hanging out aren’t going to ogle themselves.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You start with the ruins, then end up at the National Roman Museum after lunch. Brian and Chrissie meander through the halls of cracked marble goddesses and heroes and piecemeal fractions of bodies, their hands intertwined; Chrissie took a few days off work to meet the band in Rome, and she’s glowing with the thrill of being reunited with Bri. Freddie is contemplating the displays, tapping his chin thoughtfully and chatting as John nods along and sketches in his notebook. There’s a photographer scurrying around snapping photos of the band for some magazine, to the vexation of the museum employees. They scowl from the corners of the rooms, their suits pristine and arms crossed, muttering to each other in Italian.

Roger leaps in front of a hulking statue of Perseus and mimics the pose. “What do you think?” he asks you, wielding an invisible spear. “Am I courageous? Divine? A mirror image?”

“You’ll have to work on the hair. And gain like a hundred pounds.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Pounds?!”

“Whoops. Kilos. A lot of kilos. But I think I like you as you are. Can I see your hands?”

Roger falls out of his pose, smiling. “Yes ma’am.” He presents his palms for inspection. The first weeks had been hell for him as his hands were worked into touring shape, repeatedly blistered and worn raw, iced and treated and bandaged by you each night only to be pummeled all over again the next day. Of course, Roger hadn’t described it that way; he shrugged at the blood and swollen knuckles, his eyes already alight with the promise of future shows. That’s just a casualty of fame, love, he’d told you. I’d take it all again and more. The last of his blisters have healed now into discolored callouses, rough whirlpools of memories from cities like Glasgow and Bristol and Helsinki and Munich. “I can get more pounds too, you know. I’ll be swimming in them. I’m gonna buy you a mansion when we get home.”

“Not so fast, blondie.” You graze your thumbs over his rugged palms and release him. Aside from your annoyingly incessant concern for Roger, your job hasn’t proved to be too taxing: there have been sprains, minor lacerations, severe hangovers, some alcohol poisoning, and one case of syphilis that you identified and sent the unfortunate man to a doctor for, all of which afflicted the roadies rather than the band.

“How’s Jo doing?” Chrissie calls over from where she and Brian are scrutinizing a sculpture of Apollo. She tosses Roger a smirk.

“Fine,” he replies briskly. “It was amicable. She understood. Nothing personal, just with the tour and everything we knew it wasn’t going to work out. Bad timing, that’s all.”

“Hm. That’s not exactly how she described it.”

Roger sighs, irritated. “Well, Chris, I really can’t control what she chooses to tell you, can I?”

“Shhhh. Play nice, love,” Brian coos, massaging Chrissie’s shoulders.

Roger pops a cigarette between his lips and moves to light it. A museum employee rushes over, waving his arms frantically. “Per favore, signore, no smoking near the exhibits—!”

“Oh, right, right. Sorry.” Roger tucks the cigarette away, then turns back to you. “Okay, no mansion then. What’s your fancy? Diamonds and gold? Tigers on leashes?”

“A harem of sensual Italian men?” Freddie suggests. Chrissie bursts out laughing.

“I hope not,” Roger says.

“You know what I really want?” you say, eyeing busts of Hadrian and Nero.

“What?” Chrissie asks.

“A camera. A really good one. To document all of this, our adventures. I mean, I know we have...” You wave towards the magazine photographer, who’s mostly snapping shots of Freddie and Roger. “But it would be nice to have my own photos. Carry them around in my wallet, force strangers to look at them, cover my refrigerator with them, all that sentimental stuff. So the minute you kids start making real money, I’d like a nice Canon. Or a Nikon. Or whatever the best camera is.”

“The Canon F-1 is quite good,” the photographer offers.

“Perfect! Clearly, I know nothing about cameras. And will need a hefty instruction manual. But I’m still excited.”

Roger winks. “I believe in you.”

As you all wander into the next room, Freddie spies a grand piano and sprints to it. He slides onto the bench and begins testing the keys. A distraught museum employee appears instantly.

“Signore, please, this is for the museum staff only, please signore!”

“Oh relax, darling, I won’t break it.” He begins experimenting with some light, jazzish melody.

“I love Rome,” you decide as you stroll past the Aphrodite of Menophantos. “Are you sure we can’t stay here forever?”

John frowns as he shades in whatever he’s drawing in his notebook. “It’s too bad we couldn’t make it to Florence.”

Freddie rolls his eyes from the piano. “Deaky, darling, this Dante’s Inferno obsession has got to go. It’s positively morbid.”

“He ends up in paradise,” John protests wryly.

Freddie snorts. “Yes, well, Florence is a three hour drive each way. Next time perhaps. Once we’ve all got private jets and Nurse Nightingale over there has her posh camera.”

“And we’ve acquired trophy wives to pose with us,” Brian jokes. Chrissie squeals and shoves him good-naturedly.

“We could go to the beach,” John proposes.

“A seaside rendezvous?” you say playfully.

Freddie hums and nods as his fingers fly over black and white keys.

“Signore...” the museum employee begs. The photographer circles Freddie and the piano, snapping picture after picture.

“The beach?!” Roger whines. “It’s too cold for that! We can’t swim, we can��t sunbathe practically naked, what’s the point? And we’re checking out that club tonight. The one by the hotel, what’s it called, Fred? El Fuocolio?”

“Il Fuoco,” Freddie corrects, amused.

“Ah. Forgive me for not keeping up with my Italian.”

“We don’t all listen to opera, you know,” you tease Freddie. He peers over at you thoughtfully, then continues playing. “I’ll go to the beach with you, John.”

He almost drops his notebook and pencil. “Will you?”

“Of course. I’ll have fewer opportunities in my life to see the Italian seaside than get tipsy and evade dodgy men at some bar, most likely. Although I will miss seeing your dancing.”

“Aww!” Now Roger is dejected, his huge blue eyes pleading. “You have to come with us.”

“Next time,” you promise him.

“This time.”

“Next time.”

“Fine.” He points at John. “Don’t let her get eaten by a shark or run off with some Italian playboy.”

John grins. “I’ll do my best.”

Two burly security guards arrive and begin shouting at Freddie in Italian. “Oh fine, fine!” he snaps as he stands and abandons the piano. The museum employee beams triumphantly.

“Fred, I think we’ve tormented them enough,” Brian says.

“Bri, can we go to the beach too?” Chrissie asks. “Please?”

“It’ll be chilly.”

“I have a jacket. And I can borrow yours if necessary.”

Brian chuckles. “Okay. We can go. Ostia’s the closest one, I suppose.”

“You’ll love it,” you tell him. “It’ll be like time travelling. You get to stand on the same shore that the ancient Romans did, bury your feet in the same sand, watch the same sunset. That should appeal to an astrophysicist such as yourself.”

“How poetic,” John muses.

Roger comes to you, shrugs off his black leather jacket, drapes it over your violet sweater.

“Roger, don’t—”

“I’ll miss you,” he interrupts, smiling, then presses his lips fleetingly to your forehead.

~~~~~~~~~~

The four of you take a crowded, decidedly unglamorous bus to Ostia and walk the beaches under the fading afternoon sun. It is chilly by the crashing water, and the wind whips across your cheeks forcefully enough to sting; but none of that stops you. Brian and John collect seashells, and Brian retreads all the details of the tour—all the things he wishes he could do over, all the things he wants to change going forward—as John listens, smoking and nodding when appropriate. You and Chrissie kneel in the cool sand and shape castles with your hands, giggle about how messy and lopsided they are, scribble notes in the soft sifting remnants of stone and quartz: Chrissie loves Bri, Buy Sheer Heart Attack today, Queen was here. And you’re thinking about Roger more than you should be, and Chrissie knows it; but she’s not going to say anything about that now.

When the boys come back, Bri sits in the sand next to Chrissie and begins to decorate her castle with the shells he found: scallops and clams and tulip shells and oysters and tiny lightning whelks. She claps and hugs him, leaps into his lap, pulls him in for a kiss.

“This is terribly unfair,” you say, staring morosely at your now even less impressive sandcastle.

John appears beside you and offers a massive pink conch filled with very small, pristine, glossy shells. You gasp and clasp a palm over your heart.

“Really?!”

“Yeah,” he says, puzzled. “Who do you think I picked them for?”

“You’re the best. The absolute best. A treasure. I owe you my life. Wait...” You pick up a thin shard of driftwood and write into the side of your sandcastle: John Deacon, and then a heart encircling it. “You are officially lord of the sandcastle.”

“A prestigious position, surely,” he says, smiling, then passes you the conch. “Go on.”

As you place the shells, he finds a dried bit of seaweed and impales it on the piece of driftwood, then plants the makeshift flag on the tallest tower of the castle.

Brian glances over and shakes his head, his mess of curls shivering. “Chris, love, I fear we’ve been outdone.” Then he nods to the words you and Chrissie carved with your fingertips. “Leaving letters in the sand?”

“Promotional material,” you quip; but you can tell the wheels in Brian’s magnificent mind are whirling.

As the sun sets over the Mediterranean Sea, golden speckles of light floating disembodied on the waves, the four of you get gelato and browse through bookstores and wander down cobblestone streets. And on the bus ride back to the hotel, Brian points out constellations as you hold the conch shell in your lap and doze against John’s shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~~

Brian and Chrissie depart to get dinner when you arrive back at the hotel, taking the rare opportunity for a date night. You try to think of a more romantic destination than Rome. Paris? New York? Venice? Probably none of those. You push the images that flood your thoughts away: candlelit meals with violins serenading in the background, the warm cascading glow of streetlights, tossing coins into fountains older than either London or Boston, gazing over the table and into the ensnaring oceanic eyes of the person who won’t be there. Roger.

“Do you think Roger and Fred are back yet?” you ask John in the lobby. He’s still got his notebook in his jacket pocket, but he won’t let you see it.

“I doubt it, but let’s find out.”

You ride the elevator to the band’s floor, still clutching the conch shell, as John fields ideas for dinner.

“Roger’s going to want pizza and beer, but we might be able to get Freddie to go for something more swanky. Actually, he’ll probably order dessert first. There’s a restaurant down the street that I heard has phenomenal tiramisu and lasagna.”

“Oh god. I would kill for a good lasagna.”

“No need for all that,” John says. “We don’t have enough cash for your bail.”

“If they serve lasagna in prison, you can leave me here.”

“But then who would patch up our debaucherous roadies?!”

You laugh as the elevator lurches to a halt and the doors open. “Just call me up in prison and I can talk you through it—”

You step out and turn down the hallway; then all the air vanishes from your lungs. Roger’s fumbling with his key as he tries to get into his room...and pressed between him and the door is a raven-haired, modelesque woman in a short red dress. His eyes are closed, her tongue darting between his lips, his free hand skating up her bare thigh and beneath her dress. And suddenly you’re being dragged back into the elevator, John’s arms locked around your waist. He hits the button for the lobby then reaches for you uncertainly.

“Are you okay—?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m totally fine, I’m...” But for some reason, your throat is burning and your eyes are blurring with tears. You try to blink them away and they drop down your cheeks like rain.

“You’re not,” he realizes softly.

“Goddammit,” you choke out, sobbing.

“Hey, don’t do that,” John pleads. “Please don’t do that, please don’t cry—”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, this is so stupid...” You fan your face and try to wrangle your breathing. The way he was touching her...I can’t forget the way he was touching her. “I am so stupid.”

“You’re not,” John flares. And when he opens his arms you rush into them, burying your face in his jacket as he pulls you closer, drowning you in his warmth. “You’re not stupid,” he says, quietly but severely. “You’re wicked smart and wonderful and perfect, so you’re not allowed to say anything to the contrary. Alright?”

“Okay,” you whisper. And it occurs to you—as your breathing slows, as your tears subside—how incomparably comfortable this feels, homey even.

John clears his throat. “Hey, not to break this up or anything, but you’re sort of stabbing me with the conch shell.”

Incredibly, you laugh as you back away, swiping at your eyes. “Sorry.”

The elevator doors open, and John leads you out into the lobby. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says. “We’re going to go to that restaurant on the corner and I’m going to order a lasagna—”

“John, I don’t think I can eat anything.”

“Doesn’t matter. Did I say you were going to be forced to eat it at gunpoint? No I did not. I’m going to order a lasagna, and if you want some awesome, and if you don’t we’ll just sit and talk. And you can nibble table bread or drink so much wine you forget today ever happened, whatever you want. You make the rules. But we’re going, and I’m ordering lasagna.”

“Okay,” you reply, sniffling, smiling up at him gratefully.

The restaurant is teeming with tourists, and you end up seated at a tiny table near the back with very dim lighting and a roaring fireplace. It’s deliciously hot, burning away your misery; or, at least, making it feel as if it might belong to someone else, as if maybe you heard about it from a friend or in a song, maybe even dreamed it. You take Roger’s leather jacket off and hang it on the back of your chair. When the waiter arrives, John orders for you.

“One lasagna, the biggest one you have, and extra table bread, and uh...” He skims the menu. “Two red wines and a Coke. And a sparkling water. So the lady has a selection.”

“Si, signore. Grazie.”

When the waiter leaves, John lifts off his jacket too, then unbuttons his shirt to his navel. The sweltering glow of the firelight dances across his pale skin in a way that is mysteriously distracting. “Well, it definitely doesn’t feel like December in here.”

“I’m sorry, maybe they could move us—”

“No, that’s alright, I know you like it. And one should be sweating in Southern Italy, don’t you think?” He tears off a hunk of bread when it arrives and plates it for you. The conch shell lays on the table by the salt and pepper shakers, to the visible confusion of the waiter.

“Thank you. For everything, John. Really.”

He gazes at you with those blue-grey eyes that can look like either clouds or steel depending on the occasion. Tonight they are misty, like the froth over waves, impossibly soft. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he says gently. “I don’t know if that helps at all, but I think it should. It doesn’t mean anything to someone like Roger, what you saw tonight.”

You sigh. “I guess it doesn’t. And I’m sorry, I know it’s ridiculous, I know that, and I’m just so frustrated and...and...I get it, I get that I have no right to care about anything Roger does, which is why I feel like such an idiot for reacting this way, but I just...I just...I’m just so...so fucking torn up about it and I’m sick of being surrounded by it all the time and I’m...I’m so...I’m...look, I’m sorry, can you button your shirt or something? That’s very distracting.”

“Oh, it’s distracting, is it?” John asks, grinning.

“Don’t you dare—”

He undoes several more buttons. “How about now, are you sufficiently distracted?”

“John, no!” you wail, laughing.

“I wouldn’t want to do anything to distract you from your tortured inner monologue...” He removes his shirt entirely and tosses it to the floor. “How are you now?”

“Very distracted,” you wheeze.

“Excellent.” He smiles, resting his face in his hands, the firelight flickering over his bare chest and shoulders, reflections of flames in his eyes. “See, you don’t look so sad now.”

“No, I guess I don’t.” You bite into your hunk of bread. But still, the way he was touching her...

John sips red wine and smirks teasingly. “You know...if you ever get tired of the celibate lifestyle...I’m always game.”

You laugh, shaking your head, and open the Coke bottle. “That’s very much appreciated. But I don’t just want sex.”

“I know,” he replies, solemnly now. “You want him.”

“That’s pretty pathetic, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think you’re pathetic at all.” That seems like it must be a lie, but John sounds genuine.

“You’re my best friend, you know,” you tell him. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Certainly not get treated to authentic Italian lasagna.”

You chuckle. “I’m sure that’s the least of your talents. Veronica is a very lucky woman.”

John nods, staring down at the table now, pushing crumbs around with the back of his hand. “If you say so.”

And, in the end, you managed to eat your half of the lasagna after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

When you get back to your hotel room, it’s very late in Italy...which means it’s only early evening in Boston. You pick up the phone and resolve to use the last of your miniscule weekly allowance for a long distance call.

Your mom answers on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Guess where I am right now.”

“Hopefully on a date with that nice Roger boy.”

“Oh my god, Mom.”

She titters pleasantly. “Tell me, dear. Germany? No, no. Spain.”

“Rome.”

“Oh!” she sighs, steeped in nostalgia. “Daddy and I went there on our honeymoon! Ages ago, of course. But it was wonderful, otherworldly. Like getting lost in a fairytale. How do you like it?”

“I love it,” you murmur. “Mom, can I ask you something?”

“Always, dear.”

You twirl the phone cord around your fingers anxiously. “How did you know that Dad was the one?”

“Hm.” She pauses; and you can envision the way she takes a step back and glances up at the ceiling whenever she’s thinking something over. Oh, maybe I do still miss parts of Boston. “Well...you know Daddy wasn’t single when we met. And neither was I.”

“Yeah, I think I remember that part of the story.”

“I’m not sure if I can explain it, dear. Truly. I...” She drifts off, pondering it. Finally, she says: “I’d had plenty of other boyfriends. I’d been interested in other people. And people are all so different, they all have something unique to offer to your life, whether good or evil. But when I met your father...I just felt like I couldn’t live without him. Suddenly nothing else seemed possible if he wasn’t in the picture. Like if he wasn’t there I’d spend the rest of my life missing him. Does that answer your question?”

“It does, yeah.” You close your eyes and feel the dark Mediterranean night air breeze in through the open window. The conch shell has found a temporary home on top of the antique dresser. “I love you, Mom.”

“Aww, I love you too, honey. And you’ll make the right decision, whatever that is.”

You look out into the constellations that Brian introduced to you earlier, Aries and Fornax and Perseus. “I hope so.”

#queen #queen fic #roger taylor fic #but you can never leave fic #but you can never leave series #but you can never leave #queen fanfic #john deacon fic #roger taylor x reader #john deacon x reader

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aislingeu · 3 years

Text

hello!! i’m kq ( aka kelsey quinn! ) i’m twenty five, livin in the est, usin she / her pronouns!! much like the good buddy who turned me on to this rp, i don’t know a ton about percy jackson!! but mythology was one of the few subjects that held my attention in school, so i hoe i have a good handle on it! :D for now, i manage a comic book store from thursdays - sundays, so i’m scarce those times but i’m usually on discord!!

⟨ ABIGAIL COWEN. CIS FEMALE. SHE / HER ⟩ though the mist might prevent some from seeing it, AISLING DUNN is actually a descendant of H Y P N O S. it’s still a question of whether or not the TWENTY-THREE year old PAINTING MAJOR from DUBLIN, IRELAND has taken after their godly parent completely, but the demigod is still known to be quite CLEVER & COARSE.

this got way longer than i intended im so sorry...

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

she was born on march 12th, 1997 to a pair of irish musicians ( conor and dierdre dunn ) and, unwittingly, one greek god ( hypnos ) in dublin, ireland. her parents met and married shortly after her conception and neither of them suspected that conor wasn’t aisling’s father, until she was claimed.

as an only child, her parents didn’t have much to compare her too in terms of overall strangeness. for years, they wrote off her abilities as kids just sayin’ the darndest things. they remained blissfully unaware of the impact of their daughter’s words, rolling their eyes fondly, when she told them about the man in the cave, who came to her in dreams. they smiled and laughed, when she strangers at the supermarket that she thought erwin was a fine name to give a teddy bear, no matter what anyone else said. how were they to know that she was unearthing the fond childhood memories that passersby had almost forgotten?

when she enrolled in primary school, they realized that she was... strange, if not special. she was recognized as a bit of a space case, often staring at nothing in particular, while her teacher droned on. her worksheets were seldom turned in complete. instead, aisling began gifting poorly drawn family portraits on the blank sides of her papers, likenesses plucked from the memories she explored when her mind wandered, in class.

eventually, after her skill had developed and people stopped writing off the stick figures as ‘coincidentally accurate’, people began to truly take notice. they speculated that she was a medium, silently communing with the dead and painting their pictures as she did. how else could she know what her art teacher’s late father looked like? and what color tie he always liked to wear? she had to be a psychic. recipients of her art were always so focused on their perception of the little girl with the gift of sight that they hardly even realized what she had tweaked, brightening up their darkest memories, just so they wouldn’t have to hurt anymore. she hardly even realized, herself.

without a reason to believe otherwise, she told the man in her dreams that she was a psychic, but he knew differently. he told her that that wasn’t so. she was special, yes, but not in the ways that the world thought her to be. hypnos let her in on the secret he’d been keeping for the past twelve years and, just like that, aisling could make sense of herself. once she knew the truth, she chased sleep. she spent as much time as she could, communicating with the one person who understood who she was. he saw her hunger for belonging and pointed her in the direction of the camp nearest to her hometown.

after a summer away, she came home faced with a challenge in morality that she’d never considered, as a child. she came home to a world where she could no longer fit. her party tricks had lost their luster the moment she realized that true value of a memory, however sad, was worth far more than the cheap smiles that her alterations had afforded. with that realization, her art took a darker turn. unable to shift the memories she saw into the light, they haunted her. she now saw their fears and heartbreaks for what they were: unchangeable. and, now, they lived within her, too. putting them to paper was the only way to get them out. but, pieces like those weren’t the kind that could be sent home to mom and dad. pieces like those were the kind that got her meetings with guidance counselors and haunted, fleeting looks from those whose memories she’d never meant to disturb. after a year of that, aisling went back to camp, full time.

once she was a year round resident of the camp, she found herself more comfortable around people who understood; there was nothing she had to hide, among those who were like her. each one of them was fighting an uphill battle of their own. they didn’t have to hide it. even if she never allowed herself to get too close, aisling never felt all that far away, at camp.

at eonia, aisling spends most of her days painting, sleeping, or working. raised by a pair of mortal musicians, finding a job at fireside records felt like a natural progression. where her godly parent thrives in silence, she finds her comfort in noise. it’s easier to block out the things she doesn’t need to see when there’s something immediate for her to focus on. at the other end of that spectrum, aisling finds her mind most open in visual arts club, trying to keep her other creative skills sharp, while she keeps her primary focus on painting. in search of inspiration, her mind reaches out in tendrils, dipping into another’s until she finds something she can work with. she only needs to leave the room before they’ve realized what she’s borrowed.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

aisling is a naturally empathetic person, always wishing she could do more to help those around her. unfortunately, she knows that she can’t always honor that instinct. her abilities and self-imposed limitations have left her with a hardened exterior that isn’t easy to break through. those who pass through her walls see a softer side: a steadfast friend, always there to put a peaceful end to their sleepless nights or calm their worst nightmares, with a gentle run of her fingers through their hair. but sometimes, she’ll wall herself away from even those she’s closest to after she finds herself in the middle of a particularly harrowing memory. because of this, maintaining close bonds for long is a difficult thing. given her propensity for accidentally rifling through the fondest and most fearsome parts of peoples’ pasts, she’s been known cut them out of her life when she sees something that she has the urge to alter.

𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒

MEMORY RETRIEVAL — for as long as she could remember, aisling knew things that she shouldn’t. at first, her parents just dismissed her gift as imagination and observation combining in a perfect, creepy storm. it wasn’t until she started attending school, picked up her finger paints, and started to draw out moments from the pasts of strangers that people started to truly take notice. sloppy scenes from the librarian’s wedding day graduated into well sketched portraits of her bus driver’s dalmatians. she liked to take those happy moments, immortalize them in art, and hand them off to the owners of the memories. she liked to make people smile. sometimes, she took that a step further. too young to see the value in sadness, aisling would tweak the memories that were harder to bear; even if she couldn’t bring someone happiness in the present, she hoped she could bring them comfort in the future. it wasn’t until she was claimed that aisling saw the flaws in her intervention. it wasn’t until she was taught the consequences that she knew she had to stop. although the memories came to her unbidden, they didn’t belong to her and she had no right to change them. instead of focusing on the alteration of memories, aisling opted to try to learn how to shut them out. like her other powers, though, there’s a direct correlation between her emotional state and her ability to keep a wall up. when she’s feeling something strongly or hasn’t gotten enough sleep, she sees things that she doesn’t mean to.

HYPNOKINESIS — you are getting very sleepy… what proved to be a fun tool at sleepovers had more practical applications than aisling knew possible. the skill of inducing sleep was easy enough to come by and influencing dreams was as simple as altering memories. and while ( without intending to ) she’d been known to cause visions when tensions ran high, refining those visions into ones that took the shapes she wanted them to took practice. even more difficult than that was learning to astral project, but that became a necessity, coming hand-in-hand with building her mental walls. when the uninvited memories start to weigh on her, she’s learned that it’s best to remove herself from the immediate vicinity. even if she’s only technically leaving in her head.

OTHER ABILITIES — ( levitation ) a skill she only possesses in sleep, predominantly when her dreams are eliciting strong emotions. ( seeing the gods in dreams ) this is how she formed and maintained a relationship with her father, despite her parents being unaware of their daughter’s godly lineage. on occasion, she’ll encounter gods that she’s less familiar with and, in most of those cases, she’s been known to force herself awake.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

there are so many cool, fun things runnin through my brain right now!! i think it would be lovely for her to have forged a friendship with an insomniac or maybe someone prone to nightmares that she could help! and those fun customer service relationships with record store regulars!! or maybe a former friend or significant other, who aisling left behind? maybe even altering their memory slightly, if the parting of ways was ugly! who knows! the possibilities are endless!! and i’m always up to hearing other peoples’ ideas because the Sweet Lord knows i am not the most imaginative person in any given room!!!

thank u for reading ilu!!!

#euintro #death cw //#i think i covered everything!! if u have any questions lemme know!! i can clarify probably!!

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