happy thoughts | chapter 12 is now live! | chapter 12/13
As she opened the car door, Peter reached across the console, knuckles bruised and scabbed. Rimmed with red, his dark eyes met hers. Instead of mint, he smelled of salt: sweat, blood, stubbornness.
“Thank you,” he murmured, voice thick. He paused, as if rolling the words around his swollen mouth. “You don’t have t' be here, Jane.”
And in that distant memory, under the passing streetlights, Wendy had reached for Edward. Keeping his gaze on the road, Edward kissed his wife's palm. Now, Jane lightly clasped Peter's hand on the middle console. Squeezed once. Twice. Peter’s shoulders loosened, curling inward. She rubbed a slow circle into his palm.
"The drawing—the portrait," Jane corrected herself. "It's incredible."
"Practice. But," Peter shrugged, face reddening, "thank you."
“How’d you—?” Jane paused, still leaning down. She glanced towards the petrol station building. Peter raised an eyebrow.
Jane wanted to ask how he caught her in such a forgiving light.
“Your shoulder,” she said instead. "How'd that happen?"
Peter’s grip tightened. Then, Slightly stumbled out of the building, jacket collar pulled up to his chin. His high cheekbones flushed pink. Tink strolled behind him, two plastic bags full of water bottles and snacks.
“Him,” Peter answered. “We borrowed his foster father’s motorbike once.”
Lurching forward, Slightly leaned against a nearby pump. Tink shoved an open water bottle into his hand. Slightly swatted her away, lips moving silently. Tink pushed him back and pointed at the bottle. Resigned, Slightly drank, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny neck.
“Stubborn arsehole,” Peter muttered, leaning his forehead against the window. After a moment, he squeezed Jane’s hand and, letting go, added: “Better not mention it to him.”
Orpheus and Eurydice have lived many lives. A London police officer and a Louisiana student are the latest reincarnations.
A Shades of London one-shot with literary leanings. In which Stephen Dene and Rory Deveaux's relationship is reinterpreted through the lens of Greek mythology. Rated T for language. Complete.
Read now on AO3.
Listen to the curated fanmix on Spotify now.
Excerpt below! :)
Music haunts Stephen again when he retrieves Aurora—Rory—Deveaux in her sweat-stained sports bra and oversized pants.
“We’re going as the Spice Girls,” Boo had explained over the phone. Wexford students chattered in the background. “Jazza’s Ginger, I’m Sporty, and she’s Scary. You see it too, yeah?”
No, Stephen did not see it. But Gina might’ve.
"Anyway," Boo continued, all too familiar with Stephen's silences, "we turned Posh into a bone. Fake bone, o' course. Trust me, it's bloody hilarious."
But nothing is bloody hilarious now.
Instead, it's just Boo and her body—her bones—all limp on the pavement like a child's discarded plaything. Her leg is all wrong. Is this how Gina looked between that bed and the wall—?
No. There's no time. Stephen watches Rory for shock as he ushers her, shivering, into Goodwin’s Court. But Americans—or, at least, this one in particular—are surprisingly resilient.
Then Rory dons his Wallingford Regatta shirt and Eton sweats—old clothes, retired to his bottommost drawer. In the hazy light, he stares at the steaming tea kettle, and Rory sidesteps into the kitchen, arms crossed over her middle. Scrubbed clean, her face is pink and flushed. Now the intimacy is just borderline obscene.
Maybe he should clarify to her that he—very much—deliberately—with the dedication of Eton’s Sixth Form Select—does not care about the clothes he chose for her, or how they drape her form.
The name of the star is what you fear.
But Rory is too observant. Her dark eyes are more dangerous than any wormwood, any apparition.
listen to me, this is so so important: you've gotta get used to really giving it your 60% as a default. like don't half-ass it necessarily but try not to go over 70% or so of an ass. you'll feel better and live a happier more fulfilled life, and on the rare occasions where you do need to lock the fuck in you'll be able to pull off bullshit that the sad miserable wretches giving it their 100% can never dream off, because they're busy draining themselves dry and you have energy reserves to spare.
When the pairing is so good that it doesn’t matter if you see it as romantic or platonic. What matters is that you see them and know that one is not complete without the other. Frequently bought together. Do not separate. If you separate them one of them will bite you
listen, i understand that camilla and palamedes are beyond complex and i do genuinely find it fascinating as to why they are Like That and i know that they go further than just romantic or platonic or third thing. But at the end of the myriadic year of Our Lord, i'm just a simple guy with simple needs and those needs very much include having camilla and palamedes kiss on the mouth. with tongue.
"omg i LOVE it when love between characters is so strong it overrides the boundaries of flesh and selfhood, merging them into some sort of (un)holy chimera" — person who's uncomfortable with the idea of permanently sharing a bedroom with someone else
thinking about “you haven’t met all the people who will love you” and like!!! you also haven’t found all the things that will make you happy!!!! there will always be new authors and musicians and artists whose work you will one day discover and love!!!! there will always be new hobbies and skills for you to learn and feel fulfilled by!!! there will always be new things around the corner that will bring sudden and unexpected happiness!!!!!!!!!!!
i love palamades sextus because it's like. he's "the greatest necromancer of his generation". he's jealous of an eighteen year old. he's in a codependant relationship with his cousin. he's writing erotic wlw fanfic on the wallpaper of his hallucinated River bubble. he rewrote known necrophysics. he was homewrecked. he finds those little outfits that nurses wear and strong work ethic and high test scores sexy. he's been in love with a woman seven years older than him since he was eight. he gave an ancient saint turbo cancer. he blew himself up. he's dead. he's alive. he's banned from selling erotic wlw fanfic he conceived in his necrophysically impossible River bubble. he's taking care of the dead soul of the earth in the body of a girl who lobotomized herself. he never forgets anything. and he isn't even technically the main character. NO ONE is doing it quite like him.
⟡ stephen dene as the hanged man, 4 in the major arcana ⟡
sacrifice, waiting, martyrdom, perspective, contemplation
⟡ rory deveaux as the fool, 0 in the major arcana ⟡
new beginnings, originality, spontaneity, recklessness, naive
my job doesn't quite allow me to work on graphics, so i wanted to challenge myself with creating tarot cards for the shades of london series! i may make boo and callum. stephen and rory were just pretty obvious cards to me.
⟡ stephen dene as the hanged man, 4 in the major arcana ⟡
sacrifice, waiting, martyrdom, perspective, contemplation
⟡ rory deveaux as the fool, 0 in the major arcana ⟡
new beginnings, originality, spontaneity, recklessness, naive
my job doesn't quite allow me to work on graphics, so i wanted to challenge myself with creating tarot cards for the shades of london series! i may make boo and callum. stephen and rory were just pretty obvious cards to me.
