#me neither. but a friend told me to draw that but with basil in a garden

[daily-basil]

He's photosynthesizing

[avionvadion]

More of my old pokemon drawings! Since... I’m apparently back in that obsession now. Frick. Oh well. These were for chapters 10 and 12 respectively. The Underground Hideout and The Taste of Freedom. 

Basil: Bulbasaur. Belladonna: Weepinbell. Ansem: Eevee. 

There is a lot of dark topics surrounding this story, such as kidnapping, trauma, and abuse, so... if that makes you uncomfortable please don’t keep reading. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22998952/chapters/54987940

Grunt, the girl, is  thirteen. Various factors such as stress, depression, and malnourishment had caused her growth to be greatly stunted so she looks like a small child. One of her hands is crooked from an injury she received growing up in Team Rocket, the majority of her arm numb as a result of poor healing. She met Steven YEARS ago, which is the very start of the story, when he was ten and she was four. They made a promise over a broken dawn stone to meet again after she was taken in by social services, but then Team Rocket happened. Because of her lack of a name they called her “Grunt” to mock her future as a Team Rocket grunt. 

As a result of learning from the news that his very new friend got taken, Steven makes it a goal to track them down. Several years pass with no luck and everyone convinces him to give up, so he focuses on his career instead. But then... the headquarters blows up, because a certain legendary pokemon was told the truth and escaped. And he picks up where he left off, aiming to avenge the friend everyone is convinced is long dead or a member of Team Rocket, with Wallace and Winona’s help. (This is where the conspiracy theorist Steven drawing desire comes in, since he has all these old newspapers and stuff for all the Team Rocket sightings and missing children/pokemon) 

Meanwhile, Grunt- having recently escaped due to the explosion- ends up journeying, very reluctantly might I add, with Brock and eventually Blue, to strengthen her pokemon by taking on the gym leaders, heading back to Hoenn, and freeing all the children/pokemon being held captive by Team Rocket, and hopefully reunite with that friend she can no longer truly remember- the dawn stone being the only thing she had that reminds her that he had once existed. 

The man antagonists in this story are Richard (Rich) and Velga, Giovanni, and all of Team Rocket. (Jesse and James will make their appearance in ORAS) 

Chapter 10 Bit: I had been more than prepared to defend myself against anything the adult could have done. The battle went by easier than expected, especially compared to Rich and Velga, and his tactics reminded me more of those random goons found lurking about in Mt. Moon when Brock and I had been searching for the fossils. What neither of us had been expecting, however, was what happened after I defeated him.

"Wh… What!?"

"I told you before," I growled, starting to feel the familiar sensation of frustration as my words continued to fail in being understood by this person, "I'm not joining you."

"But… with your skills you could totally become a top leader!" He protested. "Your pōkemon and leadership are incredible!" When he saw I was not being swayed he faltered, taking several steps back. His teeth ground together and his eyes lit up with rage, frustration on his face. "You and that boy… damn it all! Do you realize what you're turning down!? You selfish, spoiled little kids will never understand what it's like to be part of something great! Not like this! So I guess… I'll just have to show you."

"Explain!" Brock frowned deeply when the adult started to cackle, the teen stepping forward and readying to summon a pokemon at a moment's notice. "What are you trying to do? Why does Team Rocket want to use kids so badly?"

"Hm?" He tilted his head, blinking. "Oh, you haven't figured it out? You really are just a child."

I closed my eyes, expression growing empty and solemn. It was such an obvious answer, one I had learned a long time ago. Considering how he's acted so far, I knew my travelling companion would not like the answer. Ignorance, in cases like these, was complete and total bliss. But when living under such terrible conditions like I had for so long ignorance was a curse and knowledge was power. With his view of the world, I knew the truth would only enrage him further should he find out.

"Brock, don't…"

The boy looked back at me, confused when he heard my voice trail off and go quiet. "But you want to know, right? You deserve to know! Grunt, you-"

"Grunt?" The adult echoed. Realization dawned on his face and he whirled around, staring at me with big eyes. "You can't be… no, no, no- hold on. Yes, of course! How did I not realize!? You were there that day, weren't you? The day the headquarters blew up…"

The hate on his face intensified and Brock tensed, chills going down his spine as he took a fearful step back, holding a shaky arm up in front of me, the boy bravely pushing me behind him. His actions no longer surprised me, though the logic behind them did. "It wasn't her fault!" He protested, defending me. The way he said it made it almost sound like that sentence would solve everything; that it would make all the hurt go away. Brock, despite his fear, spoke with confidence.

Unfortunately, he knew nothing. I still haven't explained everything to him.

Him believing that I didn't know why children were being used was proof of that. I knew all too well why kids like me were targeted; I just… found it hard to speak about it. I think I just didn't want to upset him anymore than he already was over my situation, which was weird. He shouldn't be so upset about it; it wasn't like my life was something particularly special that should be deserving of attention, and yet… here we are.

He said I was the one who cared too much, but it was so obviously the other way around. This only showed more with Brock's kind words.

Unfortunately, the person across from us did not care to listen. He was bristling with rage, only hearing and focusing on what he wanted to. "It was… It was you! You little brat- my friend died in that fire!"

I flinched at those words, the guilt washing over me like a tidal wave. It was suffocating, the weight of the lives taken crushing me inside. My head ducked down as he continued to scream, Brock's back being the only thing blocking him from my view. The boy kept me behind him as best as he could as we started to become surrounded- all the trainers from before crowding around us and removing their disguises, revealing the large red R that was plastered over all of their chests.

"That's not on you," I heard Brock say firmly, speaking to me and momentarily snapping me out of my darker thoughts, his attention never leaving the evil trainers around us, "you didn't mean for it to happen."

But... I still caused it. I freed the legendary pōkemon that exploded the building.

Their deaths were on my hands. I murdered them.

And these people… those that were little kids had actually been wearing well-made masks, revealing very small adults. They were all Team Rocket. In my panic to rescue Blue I made a very grave mistake; I stopped observing. If I had paid the slightest bit of attention to their attire or appearance anymore than I had then this could have been avoided. I knew their tactics inside-out and yet I let this happen.

I… I screwed up. Frick.

Why do I keep making the simplest of mistakes? Was it because this was the outside world?

It was so much larger and vast than I had ever expected it to be, and despite my reluctance to trust strangers I still found myself letting down my guard, fooled by the kindness that had been shown to me by so many. This was going to cost us dearly.

The people started to grow closer and I tensed, watching as Ansem and Basil growled at the Team Rocket members. There were so many of them; I could handle one or two of them easily, but six? The leader yelled at me, cursing my existence, and without realizing I found myself grabbing onto the hem of Brock's jacket, scared as the consequences of my foolishness caught up with me, clinging onto the newer light shining before me in desperation for comfort.

I… caused this.

I failed. Just like back in the caves, I… couldn't protect anyone.

We were totally trapped.

Brock glanced over his shoulder at me before turning around, wrapping his arms around me. I was shaking, barely breathing as horror and guilt took over, the older teen keeping me pressed close to his chest protectively. He called out to my pōkemon, catching their attention as I started to shut down and surrender to my darker emotions. "Ansem, Belladonna, Basil! Get us out of here!"

"Oh, no you don't! Aerodactyl, go!" The violet-haired man raised a hand outwards, eyes flashing dangerously. A large gust of wind appeared, nearly blowing us all off our feet. Suddenly a big pōkemon appeared from a pōkeball, flying high into the air, beating its wings. An ear-piercing screech erupted from its throat, making it difficult to hear the goon speak. "If it weren't for the boss wanting you alive, I'd kill you myself! So instead, I'll have you all suffer! "

The ground began to shake, and Brock stumbled sideways- being forced to let go as I staggered backwards. Basil panicked and leapt into his arms, scared of being seperated, and Ansem started to bark again and dashed towards me, Belladonna right behind him.

Just where was this earthquake coming from? It wasn't from his Aerodactyl; it was coming from…

...underground?

Oh frick, oh frick, oh Arceus, oh gods-

I'm so sorry-!

We're going to be killed!

I screwed up!

This is all my fault!

Why did I escape so soon!?

The ground itself began to open up, shifting as two metal slabs drifted apart, and as I sat there frozen in terror Brock was shouting, calling out me as he stumbled over, trying to get to me and the rest of my pōkemon. Basil wailed loudly, tears in his eyes, and in my shock it took me a second too long to notice Brock's outstretched hand. I struggled to move, constantly knocked back down by the violent shaking of the earth, and in my desperation I reached out for him.

This was all too familiar.

In the recesses of my mind, buried deep into my memory from a time long ago, I remembered. It wasn't the first time I bore witness to such a thing, but I was certainly never on it when it happened. It was just like how the Hoenn base opened up when I was first stolen away and… when I left to Kanto on that cursed helicopter Rich and Velga made me ride.

And, deeper still, I had the feeling that I once reached out like this for someone. Who, I wasn't sure, but the sensation of a memory was there- trying to claw its way to the surface and tearing at my brain, forcing my skull to throb even more than it already was.

The Team Rocket goon raised his voice, shouting at us with a crazed grin, rage in his eyes. "Your pōkemon, your supplies; they'll all be ours!" He declared. "And you, Grunt, traitor to our kind, will suffer alongside your foolish companion!"

That was when the ground beneath me gave way, crumbling to pieces, and as I fell through the trap door I saw a quick flash of green-and-brown as Brock leapt after, following me down into the underground like a fool.

"Together forever! Trapped in the underground maze we've created!"

Rather than air, I thought of water- cold, freezing water that was filled with debris, and skies that seemed to boil with heat. Falling deeper and deeper, sinking below the surface.

Stuck… in the terrifying abyss of darkness.

As we tumbled deep into the black I muttered not so much as a word, not even able to scream, only watching with wide eyes as the light above us vanished. For a moment, as the trap doors closed and we continued to fall, all hope was lost. I found myself wondering if this was truly the end.

"A-Are you okay? What's wrong?"

It was still there- buried in the recesses of my mind. As much as I felt I should start ignoring it, I couldn't help but find that the traces of connection still held strong. My heart just couldn't let go. Everything always went back to that one person, after all, and I spent so long surviving on the pure hope of seeing him again. Even now he was haunting me, the memory of that promise keeping me rooted to this earth.

Earth…

So many years I spent living on this planet; obeying orders, acting as the puppet I was groomed to be, and plotting schemes that were only doomed to fail. Everything I ever dreamed of or desired to obtain was just too far out of reach, and they were all centered around that boy I had met so long ago. As time past my goals did shift, focusing more on the rescue of the other children, but the fact remained- I wanted to see him again.

To thank him for saving me so many times.

But… it was all an illusion. Even this freedom I have now is false.

I'm still trapped by Team Rocket.

And now… I've never felt more useless. Falling endlessly through nothingness, mind and heart slowly giving up as everything went downhill once more. It wasn't as if I truly desired to go on this journey in the first place; all I wanted was to find the police, inform them of the hideout, and then go on my way to find that mysterious boy whom I made a promise to. Yet… those plans failed too.

Everything I come up with just… fails.

Perhaps this was the world's cruel sense of justice- to get back at me for causing such a tragedy. Team Rocket was full of cruel and terrible people; they were evil beyond belief. But that didn't mean the deserved to die. Those evil enough to kidnap children and torture them, stealing them away from their families, and even go so far as to experiment on innocent pōkemon…

They needed to be imprisoned. That fate, that kind of suffering, was far worse and more befitting.

But… I was starting to believe that there was no such thing as justice. Only karma, the world making twists and turns to toy with the lives of those that lived on its back.

"Don't forget about me, you hear!?"

I'm sorry. I did. I remember your words, though the voice that once accompanied them is long gone. It was thanks to you that I became so good at surviving, yet I'm afraid that that itself was a grave mistake. My existence only ever seemed to cause others to hurt. Whether it be by putting them in danger or inadvertently hurting them with words…

I'm starting to think you should have let me rot on that street.

"Veeevaa!"

That cry snapped me back into my senses.

The world around me seemed to recollect sound and my eyes slowly opened, vision taking a while to adjust to the dark. In the distance, somewhere nearby, I could hear Ansem barking. Brock was screaming- calling out to me and trying to locate where I was. The guilt hit full force as I thought about the family that was waiting for him. They had told me to protect him, to keep him safe, and here he is falling to his death because of me.

There's… no way I can just let him die, can I?

Not like this.

Basil, Belladonna… they were all so innocent. Like the kind strangers I've met, they've only done things to help me. The pōkemon chose me as their trainer.

Did that… Did that condemn them to this fate? Because they outstretched their hands to me?

I don't… want that. I don't want them to suffer because of me.

Too much blood has already been spilled.

I can't help people; I'm only ever good at endangering them. My only real accomplishment was staying alive- so, that means… I just have to figure out a way to extend that to those I surrounded myself with. The determination to reach my goal, the willingness to do whatever it took to reach the finish line. The reluctance of falling back into the arms of those who would hurt me, to accept those who would gather me.

Obligation, obedience. Fear, guilt. Cowardice, courage.

Hate… and love.

My eyes squeezed tightly shut, burning with tears as so many emotions welled up inside me, mixing together and creation a concoction that was far from healthy. As they bubbled up, some strange sensation rising in the back of my throat, I opened my mouth and out came a cry- a scream full of rage and frustration, aggravating my still-not-quite-healed vocal chords. A howl echoed out afterwards, coming from the ever loyal Ansem, the pōkemon reacting quite intensely to my overflowing emotions. My arms shot out and I reached blindly in the direction I heard them, body coiling around a large and soft body, fur tickling my face.

It was so dark I couldn't see anything and it hurt so much to keep my eyes open, but I have to get us through this! I have to survive, so they can survive! It's the only thing my foolish self is good at!

I had no idea how much longer we had before we splat against the ground, as we had been falling for quite a while, and as a result of this knowledge adrenaline started to pump through my veins, causing my heart to race as I hiccuped and choked, mind reeling with ideas and solutions to the problem we found ourselves in. That goon said we were heading into an underground maze, which meant it could very well be a Team Rocket hideout they've created. Our pōkemon, our supplies- he said they would be theirs.

This trap was most likely designed to capture those who refused their offer to join the organization, made with the intention of stealing their money and pōkemon.

That meant that there had to be some sort of safety mechanism at the bottom- or maybe they expected us to call the pōkemon back into their pōkeballs to save them, leaving us humans to splatter into goop at the bottom. Regardless the reason, the design, or their plans, we couldn't risk just falling forever until we became sludge on the ground. We had to take precautions. And, as someone who grown up learning how to plot and scheme by the very criminals that were entrapping us, they were greatly underestimating me.

No… they were underestimating us.

I'm not alone anymore. Brock, the pōkemon… we're all here working together. Journeying together. We're friends.

And Brock just so happened to be a retired gym leader, who owned a pōkemon that was so large that he could easily stop our fall if he so wished.

If memory served correctly, and I'm praying it did because I'm panicking so badly right now that it was rather hard to think straight, Onix was a pōkemon who liked to burrow in underground places. He could even evolve naturally into some kind of steel-type pōkemon once deep enough, becoming embedded with either crystals or diamonds, or maybe both.

It might hurt a bit, but… we could use him to our advantage here. Feeling Ansem nuzzle his face into the curve of my bandaged neck, I called out as loudly as I could, ignoring the sensation of what felt like glass piercing the inside of my throat. "Brooooock!"

"Grunt!?" The boy was alarmed. It sounded like he was coming somewhere from my… left… yet higher up. He jumped in after me, so it makes sense that I'm farther down than him. "Grunt, where are you!?"

"O-Over here!"

Ansem started to bark, sensing my pain as I started to cough. Frick- I seriously needed a drink now. It felt like needles were stabbing my neck from the inside. It was almost as if the pōkemon was trying to alert the others to our presence, so that I wouldn't have to.

Still, if we couldn't reach each other… the plan might not work. "Can you hear me!? G-Grab my hand!"

"Where!?"

I reached out above me, following the sound of his voice, trying to grasp some part of him.

Something brushed my fingers and, before I even had a chance to latch on, his hand grabbed onto my wrist and suddenly I was being pulling forward. I barely had time to let out a yelp before his arms were around my back, holding me and Ansem to him, the boy cradling the back of my head as if to shield my skull from anymore injury. I wasn't quite sure when it happened, how it happened, but sometime during the past few days his touches were starting to become less anxiety inducing and more comforting.

"I've got you!"

I didn't flinch away as much in the hospital when he was braiding my hair back then, either, so I could only assume it was because of something during my wretched stay there. Something that was actually making me reach out for touch. Keeping one hand on his shoulder and the other wrapped around Ansem so not to drop him, I was about to suggest my idea when Brock yelled again.

"W-We need to do something quick!"

"I-I know, just- where's Onix!?"

"Onix? Oh, of course!" Keeping an arm around my waist, Ansem wailing as his claws dug deep into my shoulder, Basil clinging to Brock's backpack while Belladonna cried from somewhere nearby, Brock reached out to his belt. Snatching a pōkeball and enlargening it, he held it up into the air and yelled, "Onix, come out! I choose you!"

Chapter 12 Bit: 

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, bringing the dawn stone up and resting my knuckles against my lips. My voice was muffled, but I didn't care. Everything just hurt so much, yet somehow not enough all the same. The cold, the numbness- it was all there. Amplified. Suffocating. Choking. I could barely think.

"H-he gave… he gave me the stone… t-to remind me. To remind him in case he… he forgot about me."

"...I see." Brock gave my shoulder a light squeeze, seeing how hard I was trying not to break down. "I'm glad he found you, then."

Yeah. But…

"I-I don't remember." Brock's eyebrows shot up, alarmed when he heard the sudden crack in my voice. I looked up at him, bottom lip quivering as a fresh wave of tears welled up. "I-I don't remember him, Brock. H-His face, his name, I- I can't… I can't r-recall…"

I can't recall anything.

Before he could say something to that and before I could say anything else, the woman suddenly spoke up- near flinching back when Ansem snarled at her. "W-We're here! T-Take this staircase and go through the teleporter, and you'll find the control room. See? I-I'll… I'll show you!"

Inhaling sharply, trying to distance myself from my emotions long enough to get through whatever the next encounter was, I pulled away from Brock and picked up the pace, moving my short legs as fast as they would go. I waited until the woman was through the teleporter to go myself, Ansem still being carried and stone back in my pocket, and Belladonna and Basil followed suit. Then it was Brock, then Machamp and Blue, and gradually the rest of the pōkemon…

But we weren't the only group here in the room. Without a word Machamp lowered Blue to the ground, leaving me to struggle in holding him up alone until Brock came over and grabbed the teen by the shoulders. Then the large muscular pōkemon stepped forward, standing in front of us three with Ansem and Umbreon on either side of him. Basil and Belladonna released the woman we were holding captive and she stumbled forward, rushing to the group of Team Rocket goons and… their pōkemon.

They were expecting us.

I mean, I can only imagine how much word got around about us kids when Brock was tending to Blue back in the lab- the people Belladonna knocked out must have woken up and alerted the higher-ups. These people, the adults, were more than ready to fight.

Or, rather, more than ready to have innocent pōkemon do the fighting for them.

The woman we had released whirled around with a gasp, striking the pose every goon had been forced to memorize. It took everything I had not to cringe at the sight of it, instead focusing on making sure I didn't topple over from Blue's body weight. "To infect the world with devastation, to blight all people in every nation! To denounce the goodness of truth and love, to extend our wrath to the stars above! We are Team Rocket circling the earth day and night, and you are just a bunch of brats in our way! C'mon, everyone- group attack!"

Oh no. Okay. Here we go.

A Tauros lowed and stomped a hoof against the floor, a Meowth residing atop its back. Two Zubats flew around them, flapping their wings as they stared at us nervously. Brock scowled, clicking his tongue and using one hand to reach to his belt. "Of course there are several here… Geodude, go! Help out the others!"

"M-Machamp…!" Blue began, voice hoarse from coughing. "Get them!"

"Ansem-!" I was unable to finish. Machamp was suddenly storming forward, locked onto its targets, swinging with all four fists at the Tauros when it charged. I cringed and ducked my head down upon hearing the bull-pōkemon's cries of pain, knowing full well it was fighting against its will. I hated this violence so much. "Belladonna, Basil…"

"Bulba!"

"Weeeepin!"

Vines erupted from their bodies and swung towards their foes, catching the Zubats before they could unleash a devasting flying-attack upon them. Meowth leapt up from the defeated Tauros' back, landing atop Machamp's head and using it to boost itself up again, and slashed at the vines. Basil cried out and loosened his hold, allowing a Zubat to escape, and the pōkemon hurriedly let loose several blades of wind.

Aerial Ace.

Belladonna was sent flying, several cuts lining her body as she crashed into the wall, vines retreated back into her body. Basil let out a concerned shout, but barely had time to recover himself when the second Zubat slammed itself right into him, head ramming into his side. No…

"Stand up!" My voice was panicked. Blue looked down at me in surprise as Brock ordered his Geodude to defend Belladonna as Meowth approached her. He never heard me sound so desperate and scared before. "Stand up now!"

Don't do this.

Don't you dare die.

"Basil!"

We haven't lost a single battle, so there was no way it could happen now. I won't let it.

Bulbasaur struggled to push himself up onto his feet, red eyes watering from the pain. Cuts now lined his legs from Zubat using Aerial Ace on him after the headbutt, but his expression was a determined one.

Ansem, seeing the way his companions were harmed, let out an angered roar, deciding to leave Meowth and Belladonna's Zubat alone for now, Geodude taking care of it with Machamp's help, and targeted Basil's Zubat instead. Stretching out his claws, Ansem jumped into the air as high as his legs would let him, and he caught his front paws on the pōkemon's wings, knocking it greatly off balance.

"Vaaaa!"

As they fell to the ground Ansem rolled over, biting down hard into its wings and tearing them. He was furious. The woman from before- the one we had guide us here- was glaring daggers at us, shaking with her fists held to her side in a rage. The other Team Rocket goons were both startled and very much angry, unable to believe they were now losing the battle. Worse of all, it was to a bunch of kids and their pōkemon.

Feeling Blue's weight increase I shifted in place, standing on my toes in an attempt to straighten my back and keep Blue from leaning over too much. Unfortunately, that was quite difficult as I was the smallest human in existence and these two were hecking towers in comparison. I could feel the heat coming off of Blue's face due to his fever- his heart pounding desperately in his chest in an attempt to keep him breathing. It was very unnerving.

"W-Weezings!" I glanced behind me as best as I could, trying to get a look at the other pōkemon, but auburn hair was in the way. "C-Can you help? Please?"

"Weeez?" They looked at me, surprised. "Weezing?"

The many Weezings looked at each other. If memory served right, these pōkemon had a variety of very useful moves- assuming they've already learned them, of course, and Belladonna was a bit too hurt to use her Sleeping Powder special on them.

"Weez…"

"Weez, Weezing!"

"Weez!"

"O-On the Team Rocket members!" I continued, voice cracking a little. Brock stopped issuing orders and looking back at me, alarmed. Then a bright grin spread across his face.

"Grunt, you're a genius!"

That was the wrong thing to say. The higher-up Team Rocket members shared a glance, their faces paling and somehow becoming disbelieving and enraged all at once. "Wait, what?"

"Grunt?"

One of them pointed at me, narrowing his eyes. "You're the escapee from headquarters? You? I knew you were a child, but… how old are you!? Eight?" The gaped, dumbfounded, and I tensed upon hearing their words. I was starting to believe that maybe going by my old title was a bad idea, and that maybe I should just go around titleless and nameless. "The fuck? Holy Arceus- if we bring you back to the boss…"

"We'll be promoted again!" A female Team Rocket member gasped, pressing her hands to her face. The woman from before looked exasperated by their behavior, her main goal being revenge for how we treated her. "And their pōkemon… they might be ours!"

"Who cares about that?" Another exclaimed. "Think of the pay raise!"

"Wow," Blue choked out, trying to joke, "you're famous, huh?"

My expression went blank at that, disliking the attention I was receiving. A flash of purple in the corner of my eyes snapped me back into attention, and I raised my head with wide eyes to see the many Weezings floating forward, Machamp carrying Belladonna and Basil back to us while Ansem removed his fangs from a fainted Zubat.

The Weezings continued forward, not stopping until they were past our pōkemon and residing over the fainted ones, facing the Team Rocket goons with a strange look in their eyes. The poison-type pōkemon looked angry, hurt, scared… and very fierce. "W-Weezings?"

Suddenly, and without warning, they all surged forward- flying over the crowd to the goons and headbutting them as hard as they possibly could. On impact the Weezings let out huge clouds of grey and purple smoke, causing the Team Rocket goons to start coughing as the smoke filled up the area. The many Zubats behind us, the ones we freed, decided they wanted to help out as well- swinging their wings forward and causing air blades to shoot towards them, slicing at the goons and tearing up their uniforms.

I tried not to flinch away this time upon hearing their screams, but it was too much. I just… couldn't not close my eyes. Machamp setting Basil and Belladonna by my feet, he dashed back into the action with Geodude, Ansem following behind. Together they all attacked the goons, knocking them out hard as they collapsed onto the ground. I think I heard a nasty crack from one of them, probably from the one Machamp punched in the ribs, but…

No. You know what? I'm not…

I'm not going to think about it. I cringed and shook my head, eyebrows knitting together as pain temporary flickered onto my expression. I tightened my hold on Blue's arm and waist, shifting once more as I nearly lost balance from standing on my toes for so long. "Um, frick. Okay. Uh- Brock, I-"

"I'm on it."

"Huh?" I blinked, eyes opening and turning to see him walking over there where the adults and pōkemon were, the Weezings' smoke clearing. He still had to hold part of his hood over his mouth so he wouldn't start coughing, since there was quite a bit left, but it was otherwise okay for him to head into it. "What are-"

Oh.

He knelt down, patting the adults down in an attempt to find what I could only assume to be a keycard or remote, or anything that would help us get out of here. He tossed whatever pōkeballs he found onto the ground, leaving Machamp to stomp on the empty ones- while freeing the others that remained inside. Brock also rummaged through their bags, pulling out several super potions and berries, and used those on the fainted and injured pōkemon.

Blue and I slowly waddled our way over there, and upon seeing the pōkemon's confused stares and the way the boys were looking at me… I had to greet the previously abused pōkemon. It was very awkward and uncomfortable, and it was only thanks to the other rescued pōkemon jumping into the conversation that the newly freed ones calmed down. It was mess.

Meowth looked especially lost.

"Meow…?"

A Weezing floated down and spoke to it. Understanding dawned on its face and relieved tears welled up in the pōkemon's eyes.

"Mrrooooooow!"

Haaaah, I need to get out of here. Brock shoved the remainder of the supplies into his own backpack, deciding that Team Rocket didn't need these supplies if they were just going to use them for villainy, and he slid the straps over his shoulders. Standing, he let out a heavy sigh and looked up, smiling softly at Geodude as he floated over. "Hey, buddy. You did great out there!" He raised a hand, petting the pōkemon lightly on the head.

"Geooo!" Geodude beamed, proud of himself. Shortly after, Brock recalled the pōkemon back into its ball. The boy turned, staring at the large array of computers behind him.

"I… think this might be the control panel you were talking about, Grunt."

Yeah. Yeah, he calls me by my title way too often.

He was a stupidly nice person, but every time he called me by that title it always sent whatever Team Rocket goon we were battling into a fury. And while, strategically, it could be a good thing as that meant the opponent would stop thinking clearly and act on impulse… it mostly depended on the person we were dealing with. And while deciding not to go by it anymore would prevent that from happening, chances are Team Rocket will now recognize me no matter what since so many have seen what I look like.

So… what should I do?

I bit down on my lip, thinking deeply as I glanced around at the many screens and buttons. They were all so familiar to me, yet strange all the same. How come? It wasn't from the Hoenn base, though I have seen many adults work with the computers there. I watched as Brock began to fiddle with the buttons, Basil marching up and nuzzling his leg, Belladonna and Ansem sitting at my feet. I've come to the conclusion that Basil really liked Brock, which just goes further to show what a kind person he is.

I'm surprised he didn't choose him as trainer instead.

[discnchant]

Auradon City was large and majestic, filled from district to district with much to be seen and explored. And yet with everything that was at her finger tips, Briar Rose had found herself extremely bored with the place. Perhaps it was all the years she’d spent wandering the many winding avenues, visiting its iconic locations, learning its secrets and biggest draws. Or maybe it was the fact that a young lady of her station required a chaperone and wasn’t allowed to travel far in the city. There were so many parts of it her parents deemed unsavory. For one, she was not allowed near the sandy stretch of beach in Seaside Ridge — too many naked men enjoying the warm waters, never mind the fact she had painted her fair share of nude models. She could not be in Old Town, even chaperoned — the orphans were often sickly and walking around, and the unpaved paths could cause her to slip and hurt herself. And of course she was not allowed anywhere near Low Town and it’s deviant population and shady businesses. So much of the city was barred from her reach and she’d felt suffocated when chaperoned, most often by her parents. They never let her be free.

It truly was a stroke of luck that neither her mama or father had the availability to go with her that afternoon. Instead she was attended by a maid and given strict orders to not go far. Centre Commercial would be the farthest she could go, and she was required to tell them ahead of time where she might be. So Briar Rose said she would be at one of the fabric and dress shops and then to get afternoon tea and biscuits before taking a stroll back to the Garden District, and while she wished she could rebel... she knew that was exactly what she would do. She did not have the strength to deceive her parents, not really. And so there she was, in a large haberdashery of fabrics and various clothes and accessories, brushing gloved fingers over the ribbons and hats as she contemplated a new bonnet. It was early spring in the south, growing warmer and sunnier as the days floated by. It would be nice to have a lovely visor to block out the unrelenting sunlight when strolling through the manicured gardens of the Enchanted Park — hopefully in the company of a handsome suitor. One could dream.

“M’lady, we should be on our way,” her chaperone had murmured lowly to the blonde as she let her fingers drag over the same bonnet she’d continually come back to for the past few minutes. Briar ignored the suggestion. Sure it was up to the chaperone to keep time but Briar had grown so bored in that house where the silence between her parents had become deafening. The last thing she desired was an early return, there was always a chance she would walk in to an opportune argument between Aurora and Phillip. Her fragile heart could only take so much of the back and forth shouting.

She held the satin mauve ribbon of the bonnet delicately between two fingers and sighed longingly. “I don’t think I have a pelisse that goes with this... But it sure is lovely, wouldn’t you say Mrs. Abernathy?” She heard the maid speak up again, to urge her away, but her voice had been quickly drowned out by a sudden commotion occurring behind them. With brows knit, Briar slowly turned around to see what was happening. Towards the back the store was lined in racks where premade clothing — an odd modern contraption slowly making the rounds — were laid out. How anyone could grab at these were beyond Briar; how, pray tell, was the maker to know who their pieces would fit? And alternatively how was the customer to know they’d picked the correct fit for themselves? These racks were becoming more apparent in the Haberdasher and Linen shops around town, and were clearly the center of the ruckus. Curiously, she ignored the protestations of her appointed chaperone to wander closer and get a better idea of what the shop keeper had been yelling about.

“Thief!” That caught her attention. “I caught you trying to take off with these! I’ll have you detained for this!” Briar dropped her gaze from the shop keeper’s reddening face to the bundle of fabric in the man’s worn, leathery hands. A pair of trousers from the looks of it, possibly for a young man. Her eyes followed the line of the man’s bulging ones to meet the victim of his ire. They were small, as was expected from a light fingered thief, unfamiliar at first glance. She’d thought at first they could be a youth from the orphanage — they didn’t look to be one of her peers — but it had dawned on Briar that whomever they were, they were close in age with her. And then a flash of slightly vague recollection; could they have been one of the Shadowborn who had arrived per Princess Emma’s decree? It must have been — who else would be so bold as to attempt to steal from a store in this side of town? Immediately she felt a pang in her chest, an ache for whoever this poor soul was. For all the difficulty and hardness she imagined they suffered in the Shadow Realm, she figured this was simply how things were handled there. Did they have money or possessions with which to haggle for their needs? Seemed unlikely, she figured there was no code for transactions. It was perhaps undignified of her but she hadn’t thought twice about what she would do next, she simply moved forward despite the protests of her maid.

“Excuse me,” she spoke up, calm in demeanor but firm in tone. Instantly the man had whipped away from the thief they’d been berating and stared wide eyed at the young Lady Basille of Auroria. Clearly he’d recognized her — she was, after all, a frequent shopper. He’d not have the chance to greet her with a “my lady” before Briar launched into conversation. “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding. You see, I had told my friend here to merely come find me once they had found what they were looking for. I got distracted by this lovely bonnet I had seen from the window... That one right there, with the mauve satin ribbon?” She pointed it out. “I failed to accompany them to your wares back here, but I assure you there is no wrong doing taking place. We are simply enjoying a warm afternoon at your lovely shop, were we not?” Briar nodded to the other, smiling with the warmth she spared only her dearest friends. “Now if you could be so kind as to take that bonnet and wrap it up — and direct me to where I may find a compatible fabric so I may have a matching pelisse made for it, then I will pay for mine and my friend’s items and we shall be on our way.” She gave her most winsome smile to the shop keep, who instantly launched into profuse apologies before collecting the items she required.

Briar wordlessly directed her maid to tend to the fabric cutting and costs before turning to the thief that would be. “I hope this does not wound your pride, I just couldn’t take the shouting much longer. I’m afraid if he continued then he would have expired from exhaustion and a lack of oxygen. I’ve never seen one get so red in the face.” She let out an airy giggle, before nearing the other and lowering her voice. “Now listen, in order to get away with this you’ll have to accompany me out the door and down the street — at least around the corner where we cannot be seen by the merchant. We must have him convinced we are the dearest of friends, just out on a stroll. Otherwise he’ll report you to the authorities and we don’t want that happening. Perhaps we should become acquainted quickly, in order to better to sell the con — I am Lady Briar Rose of Auroria. You may call me Rose for the duration of this scheme, okay? Now then, what shall I call you?” @cnceuponadream

[feathers-and-fisticuffs]

An Old Flame...

[chapter list HERE]

Kabu heard his Rotom phone beep, gesturing it over to see that old familiar message once again.

I'm in town right now. Are you busy?

He waved it away just as quickly, declining to answer. Just like last time. He looked at the boy curled up on his lap, sleeping so soundly, still burning with fever, and pet his two-toned hair. He was busy, and his old friend would never understand.

Kabu had invited Piers and his sister over to visit with Basil, though he'd be lying if it hadn't been in a desperate attempt to find a babysitter so he could head to the local battle cafe for a drink. Basil didn't seem to mind, and Piers agreed it would be good for Basil and Marnie to meet. They needed more friends their own age.

Kabu ordered his coffee, black, and sat down at a table in the corner, glancing at his phone every few minutes.

It would serve him right if the old man didn't show up now, he had blown him off so many times before...

His phone buzzed and he grabbed for it, excitedly, only to sigh when he saw it was just another of Raihan's selfies posted to the gym leader groupchat.

"Oh, I'm sorry am I interrupting something?"

Kabu jolted up out of his seat, cheeks burning as the snide voice startled him. "Oh! No I--" his words got caught in his throat as he stood face to face with his old friend.

"Kabu... You got old." Nanu's had wrinkles around his eyes when he smiled, giving him a sharp-toothed grin. "Well? Aren't you glad to see me?"

Although he was startled at first, he quickly regained his composure long enough to embrace him. "Nanu... You have wrinkles now." He laughed, and Nanu laughed with him. "I didn't think you were going to show up."

Nanu sat at the table with him, poking about with questions, trying to figure out why Kabu had been ghosting him without outright asking why.

Kabu dodged the questions with expert precision, Nanu might have been a skilled cop and an expert interrogator but Kabu had learned a few tricks of his own, deflecting with his own digging questions.

Neither man was able to get any information out of the other, so after a few minutes of failure, their talk turned to 'the good old days', and reminiscing on how things used to be.

"I've missed you, Kabu."

There was a raw honesty to the statement that crushed Kabu's heart. "I know." There was an unspoken admission of the same. "I had to... Focus on me. On being a gym leader. There was a lot going on."

"Yeah. Of course." Nanu looked away then, his red eyes flashing dangerously. "Very important stuff I'm sure."

"Stop that." Kabu could feel his own temper rising. "You don't have a clue what I was dealing with!"

"I know! You wouldn't tell me!"

Their voices had begun to raise, and it was drawing worried looks from the other patrons.

Kabu took a deep breath. "Can we not do this right now? Not here."

"Oh I'm sorry! I forgot I was embarrassing to be seen with!" Nanu snapped and got up, slamming his chair and storming out.

Kabu pinched the bridge of his nose a moment, trying to keep his own movements calm, taking another deep breath before following him into the street. "Nanu stop that! You're throwing a fit like a child! Grow up!"

"Stop stringing me along, Kabu. Just tell me you're not interested!"

Kabu flinched as Nanu turned on his heel to face him. He'd almost never seen Nanu this angry, and he felt guilty. This was his fault. He grabbed his friends wrist and tugged. "Not here." It wasn't a demand. It was a plea.

He kept hold of Nanu’s wrist as they walked, afraid if he let go for even a moment he would vanish like a memory, and Kabu would never get him back.  He pulled him along to a quiet spot in the Wild Area just outside of Motostoke, before finally letting him go.

“If you want to yell at me then go ahead and yell.”  Kabu said, keeping his voice even and reserved.  “I know I deserve it.  So go on.  Out with it.”

Nanu grabbed Kabu’s shoulders and the old man tensed, awaiting a barrage of insults and, if he was lucky, it would end at a black eye.  Back in the day the two of them could fight it out and be friends again in a matter of moments, but he was too old for that sort of thing now.

He was not expecting Nanu’s lips pressed against his, a passionate kiss that pulled him even closer.

Kabu pulled away immediately.  “N-Nanu!  Stop that!  It’s not... it’s not proper to...”  His voice trailed off as he watched Nanu’s confidence fall away.  “Nanu... I...”

“Why did you even agree to see me today, Kabu?”  His voice was heartbroken but his eyes, never breaking contact, were intense.  “Just to gloat?  To prove to me that you don’t want anything to do with me?”

Shaking his head wordlessly, Kabu sank to his knees.  “You wouldn’t understand.  I have too much going on right now.  You could never understand.”  He whispered, utterly defeated.  He was surprised when Nanu did the same, kneeling in front of him, intense as ever.

“You don’t know that.  Try me.”  His anger had slowly turned to concern, and he reached for Kabu’s hand.  “Please.”

Kabu squeezed back, and tried to explain what had happened the last time they had seen each other.  He had been young, and scared, and Nanu had moved too fast.  It wasn’t his fault.

“I did want to see you again.  But I was afraid.  Afraid that you were making a mistake.  I tortured myself over it every day.  But I couldn’t let myself fix my mistake, because I knew in my heart you deserved better.  And then there was an accident... And I took in an orphan.  I couldn’t handle the stress of that, and trying to be what you needed, and... time just got away from me.”  He told him about losing his friends all those years ago, and promising to take care of their son.  He told him everything, explained every scar, laid all of his feelings out bare for Nanu to see.

“That’s why... thats why I was avoiding you.  Because I’m an idiot.”  He gave Nanu a half smile at that.

Nanu was quiet for a while.  Kabu was right, it was a lot to take in.  But he understood.  He couldn’t blame him, Nanu had been feeling the same way all these years.

“I... I never moved on you know.  I couldn’t.  I waited for you.  There was never anyone else who struck me like you did.”

Kabu nodded.  “I know.  I’m sorry...”

“So what’s your excuse this time?”  He said suddenly.  “Too much responsibility as a gym leader?  Don’t want the paparazzi to find out?  Adopt another orphan?”  He sneered at that.

“Actually...”

Nanu paused a beat, then burst out laughing.  “You’re kidding?!”

“Stop laughing!”  Kabu’s face grew hot.  “I’m serious!  I know you heard about what happened with our beloved Chairman...”  He wrinkled his nose as he spoke.  “He left behind two boys.  Opal is taking care of the other.  They’re young, they need guidance.  I owe it to him to be there for him, and not be distracted.”

“He doesn’t even have to know.”

“I’m not letting you stay the night, Nanu, and that’s final.”

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

Basil gasped awake with a cry, swatting at the air and grabbing at his neck, fighting off someone that wasn’t there.  It was the 3rd time he’d had that dream this week, and he knew if he tried to go back to sleep, he’d just have it again.  He could still feel Oleana’s cold hands around his neck, and he gasped for air to no avail, trying to calm himself down.

He felt guilty, but he was scared.  He slipped on a pair of slippers and his robe and trudged down to Kabu’s room, every shadow making him jump. 

He shook the shoulder of the figure in the bed gently, and whispered his name.  The mass of blankets moved and let out a groan, and on the other side of the bed, Kabu jolted upright.  

“Fuck.  Basil?  Are you okay?”

Basil quickly pulled his hand away and gasped, as a stranger poked his head out from under the blankets.  “Mm?  What’s going on...?”  He said groggily.

“K-Kabu..?!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay!”  He promised, voice still hoarse from sleep.  “He’s a friend.  He’s just uh.  Staying the night here so he doesn’t have to get a hotel room.  Come here, sweetheart, I’m sorry we scared you...”

Basil rushed to the other side of the bed and crawled up beside Kabu, shaking and clinging to him tightly.

“Did you have the dream again..?”  Kabu asked quietly, and kissed Basil’s forehead when he quickly nodded yes.  “I’m sorry.  You’re safe here, just breathe, everything will be okay.”  He soothed, gently stroking up and down Basil’s arm until he stopped shaking and was breathing evenly again.  Once Kabu was sure he was asleep, he laid back down on his side, still keeping an arm around his boy.

“Little old to be sleeping with daddy isn’t he-- OW!”

Kabu reached over and twisted one of Nanu’s nipples.

“Okay okay I’m sorry I’m sorry!”  He hissed, laughing a bit.  “Jeez, touchy subject.  I’m just saying, my pop would never have let me come sleep with him at that age he would have called me a pussy and told me to grow up--”

Kabu elbowed him.  “I am not my father, or your father.”

Nanu grinned.  “You like it when I call you Daddy though-- OW OW OKAY STOP!”

Kabu was not as amused.  “Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out!”  He kept his voice at a whisper, but made sure his anger was clear.  “I want you out of my sight right now!  What if he had heard you?!”

“Oh come on!  I was just joking, and besides!  Where am I gonna go?”

“I don’t care just go.”

“The hotel isn’t making anymore reservations tonight I-- Kabu where are you going--”

Kabu sat up and scooped Basil in his arms, having some difficulty.  “Shh, shhh.... I’ve got you.  Come on, we’re gonna get you all tucked in,  Everything’s okay.”  He whispered and left the room, ignoring Nanu completely.

He trudged up the stairs and into Basil’s bedroom, letting out his Arcanine and Ninetails.  “Guard the door.  Nobody gets in or out until morning.”  

He closed the door and crawled into bed with Basil again, holding him close.  “It’s gonna be alright dear.  I’m here.  I won’t let anyone hurt you.”  He promised quietly, humming softly until Basil fell asleep again.

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

Basil laid awake in Kabu’s arms, thankful for the comfort but feeling guilt wash over him again and again.  He had heard everything.  Was Kabu’s friend right?  Maybe he was, maybe he was acting like a baby and he needed to grow up.  He felt tears stinging his eyes.  He was disappointing Kabu acting like this.  He would never let this happen again...

[idonthaveanydamnidea]

second part of assa and maxence's interview phew

J : What do you think about it Maxence? No but basically, what we can see in s3 is that Eliott has several ways to flirt. At the start he has one a bit more delicate, I'd call that "allusive flirting". That is to say that he's making a lot of little innuendos, he's throwing hints like that, i'm especially thinking about...

Max : "Not necessarily a girl"? (bitch is this allusive for you???)

J : Yeah, that scene! Where he walks with Lucas

Max : At that point he attacks

A : I admit!

J : Yeah but actually, he attacks but at the same time is that really clear? because frankly, me, you tell me something like this... Maybe I would tell myself "I'm imagining things", isn't it a bit too cryptic? (okay i'm waiting can someone please start being eliott-cryptic with me)

Mar : You're replacing his hair also [here's there's a confusion cause what she says ("tu lui redresses l'épi") sounds like "tu lui redresses les pieds" = you're straightening his feet]

Max : I'm straightening his feet??

Mar : You're replacing his hair

Max : Oh his hair!

A : Oh yeah, yeah right!!

Max : But this is to know how to draw him, it's not a flirting technique, you see...

O : He wants to draw him to flirt with him

J : No but there's that and there's all the piano scene (my dudes if that's being allusive to you how the fuck do you usually flirt)... He's super intense in fact, Eliott.

A : Even in the look in his eyes. You have a look in your eyes, it's crazy

O : It's intense!

A : Like you see everything in his eyes, you're telling yourself, fuck that's crazy what are you thinking about to...? We would love to get into your head, like it's.... Really.

J : So the Eliott way, a bit cryptic like that, is it working on you or not? Or do you flirt like that? Are you practicing allusive flirting?

Max : No, Eliottesque!

J : I don't even know if that exists, I may have used all along a term that doesn't exist, but...

A : It wouldn't work on me.

J : You wouldn't understand

A : Actually, even if i did understand, you need to be straight forward. You have to tell me things straight, you have to tell be things clearly, if you're not clear I won't mind you. So, yeah.

O : That's a Basile

A : totally! And you know that when I did the Serieously test I got Basile? Serieously did a test on instagram where you answer a quiz and in the end you get a character from the gang, and i got Basile.

Max : I got Yann (oh same i think)

J : Yeah you're more Basile, well Basile is a bit heavy in s3, even tho he's kinda cute, but he's still annoying

A : Yeah he's still heavy

J : At least you understand!

A : Yeah no we understand but, right, not heavy like that

Max : You're gonna start getting hit on by guys that are gonna be like...

J : True be careful, cause really some people take everything really literally.

O : Still, Basile is cute.

A : He's too cute! I like Basile, I like his character

O : Especially what he tells Daphné at some point, so cute, like at the end of s3 he tells her "I know I'm annoying, but i'm gonna do everything to get better so I deserve you". That's dope!

A : Oooh that's too cute!

J : Basile is Oumar's favorite character

O : I love him

Max : It's mine too.

O : He's great

J : So Oumar is more team Basile than team Eliott about flirting

A : Ouch

Max : Ah yeah

O : No I don't do like Basile! I like Basile. I don't do like Basile.

A : And you what do you say?

J : Umm... I'm team.... About flirt? In skam? Eliott wouldn't work with me. Actually I would always ask myself, did I understand well, I would always be scared to imagine things

A : Yeah that's it

J : So me when there's a doubt it annoys me, I prefer when there's no doubt

J : Marine wouldn't it work on you? Would it work on you?

Mar : Uh... Yeah maybe yeah. Yeah. I like little games yeah.

J : You're Eliott-like in flirting then (shout out to the dude who's listening to his boss having a casual conversation about how she likes her flirt it's... kind of surreal)

Mar : It's possible yeah.

J : It's probable.

Mar : It's possible yeah. I think.

Max : Another!

A : You didn't answer! (why does this feel like a truth or dare I'm so entertained)

Max : I'm the most naive guy on earth. In fact I never notice it when someone flirts with me. It's... Not but it's hell

A : He's doing it on purpose I think

O : "Oh yeah, that's true, you like me???"

A : "Seriously?? I didn't know"

Max : I know that talking about that....

J : "Last time I wrote you "I love you" in a letter"! "Oh I didn't understand"

Max : No, but like, in high school my friends were laughing at me so much cause every time, well when I was at parties and a girl was coming to talk to me a little and stuff, and I was like "ah that's cool !" and I was leaving. And they were telling me "but dude, it was ok" and I was like "nonsense" and actually, two weeks after I was asking her and yes it was ok. And... I didn't see it.

J : So you have to be the one to start because you don't understand anything

Max : But yeah, I'm really bad too. I'm very shy in fact, so... I can't do it. But I prefer... I like the things a bit... Where you don't really know. When everything is given, it's fun too...

J : You like being in doubt

Max : Yeah yeah, I like that

J : I don't like like it

Max : I like it. A bit of mystery, you see

J : It fits

O : We'll go join Basile

A : We'll go join Basile!

J : We'll form a small team, with Basile.

O : Ouch [no for real just look at his face it's so funny]

J : Uh, Eliott has another thing, when he brings Lucas in his little secret place, on the petite ceinture, so for those who aren't parisians, the petite ceinture is an abandoned train rail. So he takes him there.

Max : It came out as so snob when you said it. "so, for those who aren't parisians..."

O : Oh right I didn't even notice!

Max : "For those who live in "province""

O : "Hello losers"

Max : Sorry

J : That's not what I meant at all. Excuse me

Max : Excuse me

O : "Excuse me other people, excuse me the rest of France"

Max : Because I [inaudible], we're going to get destroyed. Sorry.

J : I'm not going to make it

A : Stop you're making her uneasy!

Max : Yeah clearly

J : Basically.... I'll kill you!

O : I forgot! I'm gonna get fired.

J : There's a little scene that's a bit- Okay let's focus, i'm not gonna make it

Max : You are, you are

J : There's a little scene a bit strange, where he brings him in a sort of tunnel, in a dark, and he starts turning the light off. Eliott does this, he's turning the torch on and off, he disappears, he's putting him in the dark, he comes back...

A : That's...no, I would've lost it. You don't do that to me.

Max : Me neither! Don't look at me it's not me!

A : You did it! You don't do that actually!

J : It's a bit scary actually

Max : When David told me that I was like "Seriously? Really? He's gonna do that?" I don't like that thing at all.

J : Oh yeah?

Max : Well, when i saw it on screen it was okay, because it fits the character and everything, but when he told me "yeah you're gonna do that, you're gonna disappear and you're gonna be like are you scared? are you scared?", I was a bit like "hmphff". And when we shot it, we were seeing everything. Like when I was.. how do i say it.. Well look, there's a table I can do it for you, Lucas is here, and actually the camera was at this height, and i had the torch lamp here, i was turning it off, i was like, hop ! and Lucas had to be like "??" (YEAH GO AHEAD AND WALK ON MY DREAMS JUST LIKE THAT) And it was really hard to act, cause well, we were seeing each other. So there wasn't this thing, well the final effect comes off well, but no, you don't, well you never do that to someone, it's weird.

A : Yeah

J : No but you take me in a cave and you act like a psycho, serial killer

A : I'm gonna imagine things like crazy! I'm gonna leave

J : And who says "you're scared uh???"

O : Well yeah I'm scared

Max : The sadistic guy

J : "and now you're afraid?" "well yeah I'm afraid, leave me alone". You never had moments like this kind of scary,first kisses stories? What was your worst... No ? Your worst memory? There's not any? Assa is like "complete censorship"

A : I don't see what you're talking about, I'm.... no, doesn't ring any bell.

Mar : You okay?

Max : I'm okay, and you? You good? What are you reading? What are you doing?

A : and you Oumar?

O : What are you talking about? I didn't understand. I don't understand what it means

A : Yeah same.

O : I think that's a joker.

A : Anyways, on screen the scene was great (she's trying to save the ship from drowning a+ changing topics smoothly)

Max : I love her eye makeup (???)

A : Seriously?

Max : Yeah and... Yeah. Next?

J : no but, anyways you disturbed me so much that I want to give up on you

Max : Okay, well if you want I'll take your place I'll continue the interview.

J : So no anecdotes? (lady just drop it everyone's uneasy) You're all... You've never lived anything?

A : No. Not much. What about you?

J : Me...

O : Yes, you wanna tell us!

J : No but for me it's all cute, my first kiss was in the forest, when I was 9, and actually it disgusted me because I found it dirty and I washed my mouth for three days.

Mar : Without ever stopping

J : Without ever stopping? I did stop!

Max : I'll join you I'll support you. (truth or dare I'm telling you) Mine was vaguely the same, I was in a holiday camp, to [some town name I don't understand] to do motocross in the mountains, and we did a party, i was 11 i think something like that, and, there was a girl who was like, two heads taller than me and uh, we were on a couch and she was making out with me and she had eaten mnms. And it was awful, actually it made me sick and I went to bed like I had a bellyache and everything it disgusted me too. See, I shot myself in the foot for you.

J : It's nice, thanks, thanks, thanks.

O : He was super nice. We'll let you in trouble and we're getting to season 4.

tumblr is doing shit so the following and end tomorrow!

[niccoxgiraffe]

Hello! This Elu fic is the English version of the one I posted a couple of days ago in Italian. Shout out to my friends Alex, who picked the prompts for me, and Marla, who proof read the English version. Hope you like it! <3

Prompts:

5. “I can't sleep, can I sleep here?”

13. “Are you cold?”

93. “You make me feel safe”

.

Lucas’ head was still spinning from the party at Emma’s. Not that he had drunk that much, but - at some point of the night - the house got so crowded that the boy could barely breathe. The air smelled like smoke and sweat, which didn’t help at all. And then there were some chicks of the first year who kept staring at him with lust in their eyes, making him feel even more uncomfortable. For the entire time, Lucas had wished for anything but his boyfriend to be there with him, but instead Eliott stayed home with a possible depressive episode incoming. So he had kept drinking, dancing, laughing with his friends and just not caring in general until he couldn’t take it any longer.

The bus ride back home, luckily, was long enough to let him collect himself. So at least the feeling of suffocation vanished by the time he arrived at his stop.

Once he got there, Lucas dragged himself to the door of his shared flat and looked for the keys in the pocket of his blue jacket. As soon as he managed to unlock it with a creak, he saw the living room and the kitchen sunk into total darkness. Lisa was surely sleeping, while Mika... Who knows. Mika could’ve been to bed as well, as much as he could’ve been at some party or he could’ve been having fun at someone else’s place. Anyway, Lucas put his jacket and his scarf in the closet at the entrance, trying to make as little noise as possible. Last time he woke Lisa up in the middle of the night by accident, he found a giant penis drawn on his cheek with a permanent marker. The girl could become highly vengeful if anyone dared to deprive her of her precious hours of sleep. He didn’t want to bother her again, thank you very much.

He went through the flat on his tiptoes, and as he got in front of his room, he noticed a dim light coming from inside. Weird: he didn’t remember leaving a lamp on unless one of his flatmates didn’t stick their nose in his bedroom and forgot to turn it off. He slowly opened the door and his heart started racing at the sight of the person occupying the room. He didn’t expect a visit at all. Not at such an hour, at least. However, he was so glad that he was there.

On his bed, Eliott was sitting with his legs crossed. He held a pencil in his right hand and a notebook was lying in his lap. Lucas knew pretty well what that meant: Eliott used his doodles as a way to communicate or express his emotions, especially when his head was too messed up to understand his own feelings. And judging by the way he drew hectic strokes on the paper, too many thoughts were clouding his mind in that moment. He seemed so lost in his work (and in himself) that it took him a while to realize he wasn’t alone anymore. From that distance, Eliott’s eyes looked like black pools, the shadows were sharpening his features so much that he appeared scrawnier than he actually is. It wasn’t the first time that Lucas saw him so dull, run down and lifeless. Nonetheless, he knew he would never get used to seeing him like that, neither to the feeling of powerlessness facing similar situations. Like it or not, he preferred having him around way more than not being with him at all and not knowing how he was doing.

The older one forced a tired little smile and broke the silence. “I can’t sleep, can I sleep here?”

Lucas felt a wave of heat spreading in his chest. Maybe this time his illness would’ve been mild to him. Maybe he was just sad and he was looking for support. Maybe this state of mind of his wouldn’t last long. Maybe, maybe, maybe... Enough. Did that really matter? For one reason or another, his boyfriend wasn’t feeling well and it was his job to make him smile again. He sat on the bed next to him, taking his free hand. The rings he wore on his long fingers created a sharp contrast with his soft and warm skin.

“Of course you can,” he answered in a whisper and kissed him on the forehead. “I’m gonna take a quick shower and I’ll be right back, okay?”

.

Five minutes later, when he got back in his room, Lucas found Eliott lying under the covers. The notebook and the pencil were forgotten at the foot of the bed, so the blonde boy gathered them and placed them on his desk. He glanced at the drawing for a couple of seconds: it was a raccoon (Eliott’s “spirit animal”) running from a dark cloud. Lucas felt a lump forming in his throat, so he swallowed and dismissed any bad thought that was taking form in his head. He had to be strong for Eliott, at that moment. He couldn’t afford to show how worried he actually was, otherwise the situation could get worse. Maybe if he told him about how Basile embarrassed himself earlier, he could’ve distracted him for a while. Or he could show him the video of Arthur and Alexia that he posted on Instagram. And what if he proposed to watch a movie together? Maybe he didn’t want to listen to his stories about the party. Lucas shook his head and decided to simply lay down next to his boyfriend. He lifted the covers as much as he needed to slide under, face to face with the older one. Eliott’s gaze was lost into the empty but, as soon as Lucas’ hand reached his face, he slowly managed to focus on him.

“Is there anything I can do?” Lucas asked cautiously, stroking his cheek with his thumb. Eliott didn’t say a word, but the boy noticed him slightly shivering under his touch. “Are you cold?”

This time he didn’t even dare to speak, but nodded. Lucas felt the hem of his shirt being pulled and it made him smile, because he understood what his boyfriend needed. So he adjusted himself better on the pillows to wrap Eliott in a hug. He was aware of the fact that his body wasn’t big enough to entirely shield him, but it didn’t matter. Lucas let one of his hands slide into the other’s messy hair and he sensed Eliott’s mouth curving a little onto his neck in a tiny smile. They stayed like that in silence for a long time, just listening to each other’s breaths. Lucas loved contemplating his boyfriend while he was asleep: if angels were real, Eliott would be one of them, he was sure of it. He had the hood of his sweater lowered on his head, which made him look even smaller and cuter, the skin on his face was relaxed, the lips slightly parted and his hands were still weakly clenching his clothes. He knew it was scientifically proved that human hearts couldn’t get bigger, yet he still felt like that, like his love for that boy kept growing to the point that his heart had to expand just to make room for that emotion. Every now and then, he left some kisses on his head or forehead, while Eliott kept snuggling even further against Lucas. The exhaustion that was weighing on him a couple of hours earlier had been replaced with the urge to stay awake to cuddle his boyfriend, to kiss him, protect him, reassure him. He would’ve kept an eye on him even if he were about to die. It would’ve been worth it just to see one of those beautiful smiles of his that he loved so dearly or to hear once again that laugh that turned his entire body into pure jelly.

“Lucas?” Eliott’s hoarse voice came out in a whisper, which became even less audible because of his face buried in the crook of the younger boy’s neck. Lucas, in return, kissed him on his temple. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

And, little by little, the two of them slipped into a quiet slumber.

.

“How is he doing?” Lucas huffed at Yann’s question. It’s been two days since Eliott crashed at his place without a warning, in the middle of the night. The boy seemed to have no interest in going back home, so he had to call his parents to tell them he was at the coloc and that he'd taken care of him. He never met Eliott’s parents but since they got together and Lucille decided to move on, he’s been the only one they could count on to keep an eye on their son. “Not good. But he’s been worse. He’s gonna be okay.”

“Of course he’s gonna be okay!” Basile chimed in, waving around his fork full of pasta with tomato sauce. “We’re talking about Eliott, guys. Also, you said he just looked tired, didn’t you? It’s gonna be over soon, trust me.”

Arthur, who was sitting next to him, moved some inches away from his friend. “We got it, but try not to throw pasta around the canteen, alright?”

Yann and Lucas burst into a loud laugh as the latter felt his phone vibrating into the pocket of his jacket. When he reached for it, his fingers caught also a piece of paper he didn’t remember to have. Luckily, the boys were too busy talking about the way Basile ate to notice the foolish smile that was blooming on his lips while reading the note.

It was a notebook page. At the top, there was the same doodle he saw Eliott drawing the night he surprised him in his room, but under it there were two new sketches. The first one represented a brave hedgehog who was standing in front of the cloud, attempting to protect the poor scared raccoon with fierceness. In the other one, there were simply pictured the two little animals hugging tight, along with a sentence that brought Lucas to wipe his teary eyes.

“You make me feel safe.”

[vexedtonightmares]

La Fin Des Temps Chapter 3 (Elu Hogwarts AU)

Vendredi 18:00 - “That’s not why you were expelled, right?”

Lucas sat in the room of requirement waiting for his friends to arrive for Daphné’s meeting. If they left him hanging for this he would not forgive them. Although, as long as Eliott showed up, the meeting couldn’t be too terrible. Eliott had shown up to classes the last two days and Lucas had been surprised to see that, aside from potions, they actually had a fair amount of classes together, including charms, defense against the dark arts, and astronomy.

They didn’t really talk much in class, especially the ones that Lucas shared with his friends, but Eliott had sat next to him at each meal except dinner every day since his first day. The professors and staff were usually around during dinner, and they weren’t as lenient about students sitting at other tables. Yann had been consistently absent during mealtimes, something that Lucas was becoming a bit suspicious about, but also meant that Lucas hadn’t had to share Eliott too much. The only other person that sometimes joined them was Manon.

Lucas looked around the mostly empty room. “How many people did you say were coming to this meeting Daphy?”

She flashed him a wide smile that didn’t totally reach her eyes. “Don’t worry, more people should be here soon. You told your friends to come, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I can force them to show up,” Lucas said hurriedly, not wanting to be blamed for the fail of a meeting. So far it was only him and the girls, Manon, Emma, Imane, Alexia, and, of course, Daphné.

The door started to form on the wall and Daphné squealed in excitement, expecting newcomers. Four students walked in, fourth or fifth years from the look of it. They took seats and engaged in conversation with Daphné, who spoke animatedly. Manon came over to take a seat beside Lucas. “Bets that they’re the only ones to show up?”

“I won’t even fight you on that one,” Lucas laughed. “Where’s Charles?”

Manon rolled her eyes. “Quidditch practice. He has his first game tomorrow, against Hufflepuff. I told him that this was important, but…”

“I can’t really blame him,” Lucas admitted, “Quidditch versus… whatever this is going to be? Easy choice.”

She nudged his side. “Shut up! You don’t even like Quidditch.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s my point.” He laughed again before jolting as someone sat beside him. Yann. Arthur and Basile were with him, they all must have come in while he was talking to Manon. She got up and winked at Lucas before heading back to the girls.

“This meeting is really the place to be, huh,” Arthur said sarcastically.

“I promised Daphné I’d come,” Lucas said defensively. It wasn’t as if he’d forced them to come. Arthur just shrugged as Yann said, “I think this is a great idea, but Daphné? She’s great, but she’s a little too over the top. You should have heard Emma complain about her endless ideas for the school back when we were dating.”

Lucas shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Every time Yann brought up the fact that he and Emma used to date, he wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible. Emma knew, but Yann didn’t, that Lucas was the main reason they were no longer together. If Yann knew, Lucas wasn’t sure if he would forgive him.

“What’s wrong with Daphné?” Basile asked indignantly. He’d been trying to date Daphné since second year, with no luck so far. The boys always told him there was hope, but it was a lie and they all knew it except for Basile himself.

Daphné clapped her hands at the front of the room. “All right! Let’s get started, we have a lot to go over…”

Lucas looked around the room. A few more people had come in, making the meeting thirteen people in total. Eliott was not one of them. Lucas felt foolish for hoping that he would. Daphné kept talking about her aims to unite the different houses, but Lucas tuned her out. He didn’t even notice when someone came to sit in the seat Manon had vacated until they whispered in his ear, “Exciting meeting, huh?”

Lucas blinked and turned to the source of the voice. Eliott. He tried to hold back his smile, feeling relief pour out of his chest in a wave. “I thought you weren’t going to show up,” Lucas said quietly.

Eliott scoffed. “And miss this? The event of the year?”

Lucas laughed, drawing Daphné’s attention. “Lucas? Did you have an idea?”

“I-- uh, well, you see--” Lucas stuttered, trying to find a way to bullshit himself out of the situation. Lucky for him, Eliott was much better at thinking on the spot.

“I do, actually,” Eliott said. Daphné smiled and gestured for him to continue. “The best way to have school wide unity is by bringing a little bit of the muggle world into the school.”

Daphné looked confused. She was a pureblood, so her muggle knowledge was quite minimal. Maybe Yann was right, and muggle studies did matter more than everyone thought. “How so?” she asked, smile still plastered to her face.

“Social media,” Eliott answered simply. “Not only can we connect with each other, but also with other wizarding schools. I got nearly everyone at Beauxbatons on Instagram.”

“That’s not why you were expelled, was it?” Lucas joked quietly, seeing the corner of Eliott’s mouth quirk up in response.

“Oh! Of course… Instagram,” Daphné said, turning to the other girls in a panic. Manon saved her.

“Instagram is an app muggles use on their phones to share photos with each other,” Manon explained to the room, mostly Daphné.

“Their phones…” Daphné said to herself. “Like those things where you spin the dial and talk into them? How do you take pictures with them?”

“Daphné, I’m a pureblood and I know what a phone is,” Emma said incredulously, “The kind you’re talking about haven’t been used in years.”

“Oh,” Daphné said quietly, face reddening. “Well, how would that work? It’s a good idea, but I’m sure I’m not the only one who doesn’t know much about muggle technology.”

Eliott explained various things patiently to Daphné, as well as many others that Lucas could tell were just as confused as she was. Lucas snuck a glance at Manon, who raised her eyebrows and bit her lip to hide a smile. The two of them had secret phones hidden away in their dormitories. It wasn’t strictly forbidden to have a phone, but it wasn’t strictly allowed either. She was his only contact, but they would send each other messages sometimes when neither of them could sleep.

“If I can get phones for everyone… will you help teach how to use them? We can call it the inter house unity club!” Daphné asked Eliott excitedly, the latter of whom looked a little taken aback.

“Putain…” Eliott mumbled under his breath, before looking back up at Daphné with a dazzling smile. “Sure. Of course. For the sake of inter house unity. Speaking of… I’m staging a protest. I don’t think we should have to sit at separate house tables for meals, it only causes division, so I’ve been sitting at the Gryffindor table every day since I’ve been here. It would probably be more effective if other people joined as well, though.”

“Ah! Yes! You mentioned that… Once we get the phones, I’ll send the word out, post it on Instagram. That’s how that works, right?” Daphné asked hesitantly, desperately trying to show that she understood. Eliott nodded and she clapped her hands in approval.

“Charles already has a phone, I’m sure he’ll be able to help us with this as well,” Manon offered to Daphné, who enveloped her in an excited hug.

“Well… I guess that wraps things up for today then!” Daphné said excitedly, still holding onto Manon. “I’ll let everyone know when we have more information about the phones… maybe we can set up a workshop on how to use Instagram!”

Eliott coughed into his hand and Lucas turned to him, raising an eyebrow. The cough sounded suspiciously like he was trying to cover up a laugh. Eliott looked at Lucas innocently before returning his attention to Daphné.

“Thanks to everyone who came today! Don’t forget to tell your friends about the inter-house unity club!” Daphné’s smile was so wide that it nearly covered her entire face. The few people that were there began to stand from their chairs, chatting amongst themselves as they left the room.

Lucas shifted to talk to Eliott, but found that he had already stood up and made his way to Daphné, where they were in deep conversation. Holding back his disappointment, Lucas turned back to his friends. Arthur spared a glance at Eliott before addressing Lucas. “I didn’t know you and Eliott were friends. You never talk during class…”

Lucas shrugged. “I don’t really know if we’re friends. He just sits by me at lunch for the inter-house unity whatever.”

Arthur’s eyes widened behind his glasses as if he’d had some sort of revelation, but before Lucas could ask him what he was thinking about, Yann chimed in, “He seems cool, we should hang out with him.”

Basile nodded. “Definitely.”

Arthur looked Lucas up and down once, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “I think that’s a great idea.”

Lucas wasn’t entirely sure what was up with Arthur, but he figured he could get it out of him eventually. The boys stood and made their way out of the room, Basile going on about how great Daphné looked that night while the other three of them exchanged glances behind his back. Basile and Arthur departed for their separate dormitories after a while, and soon Yann left for the library, leaving Lucas to walk alone back to the Gryffindor common room.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned to the sound, smiling involuntarily when he saw that it was Eliott. He turned around quickly to hide his smile, but slowed his pace so Eliott could catch up.

“Salut,” Eliott said as he sidled up beside Lucas.

“Salut.” Lucas smiled again, ducking his head.

“Some meeting,” Eliott continued, “Daphné sure has a lot of passion for inter-house unity.”

Lucas raised his eyebrows at Eliott. “And you don’t, idea man?”

Eliott shrugged. “I was helping you out.”

“Fair point,” Lucas laughed. “So, Instagram, huh?”

“Like I said, you weren’t doing so well with coming up with an idea on your own…” Eliott started, cutting off when Lucas laughed and nudged him gently. He smiled softly before continuing, “Plus, if we have phones, I don’t have to wait until lunch to talk to you. All of my best ideas happen when I’m supposed to be sleeping, I wouldn’t want you to miss out.”

Lucas felt his cheeks warm and hoped that whatever blush had crept across his features wasn’t too terribly noticeable. “You could talk to me in class,” Lucas pointed out.

“Where’s the fun in that? Besides, you already have people to talk to in all the classes we share.” Eliott’s voice was light but there was a hint of insecurity to it.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk to you.” The words were out before Lucas could stop them, and his heart paused briefly in his chest as he weighed Eliott’s reaction. Eliott grinned as wide as Daphné, and Lucas’ heart restarted. They reached the point where Eliott would turn right to his common room, and Lucas to the left.

“I’ll see you, then,” Eliott said, pausing where he stood.

Lucas nodded. “See you.”

They stared at each other for a beat without saying anything. It was Eliott who finally broke the stare, turning away to walk to his dormitory. Lucas was still standing where Eliott left him when Eliott cast a final gaze over his shoulder, smiling with his mouth closed and eyes crinkled at the sides before turning his attention to the riddle he had to answer to enter his common room.

Lucas sighed, and was instantly glad he was now alone. His sigh had sounded so awed that if anyone had been around they would have vomited on the spot at its tender quality. Fuck, he couldn’t be falling for Eliott Demaury so fast. He couldn’t. Lucas was a rational person, and rational people don’t go all lovestruck after knowing a person for three days. What he needed to do was get a grip. There was a very high likelihood that Eliott had no interest in him that way, so he just needed to figure out how to be friends with Eliott without spontaneously combusting or falling for him even harder. Maybe it would be a good idea to introduce Eliott to his friends.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

AO3

[if-you-built-yourself-a-myth]

maybe a oneshot about the reunion scene ❤️❤️❤️❤️

write a little something about the reunion scene please

Lucas pushed the boys the rest of the way out the door, even as Basile protested that he’d left his phone on the couch inside.

“You can get it later man, later,” Yann repeated over and over as they stumbled across the doorframe so the door could close. “We’ll come back for it later.”

“I need it now, don’t you unders—”

“Later, it will be here later.”

“But what about—”

And then the door shut, and the sound muffled. Lucas could hear his friends dropping beer cans as they walked, and Basile’s continued whining, but it became more and more distant until it faded away. They were gone, and now he was about to be alone with the boy he loved.

He turned back to the front door, looking at the messages on his phone.

You: Thank you for the drawings, but I don’t want to be on a leash. Text me when you’ve broken up with your girlfriend.

Eliott: Where are you? Can we talk?

You: At home.

He’d sent that message, and then the doorbell rang. The doorbell rang.

No. This couldn’t be real. This wasn’t happening. Eliott didn’t care enough about him to show up at the apartment fairly late in the evening, especially after faking all of those feelings during the two previous weeks. All this, the doorbell and his friends running away, was just some hallucination. But there came some knocking, and it was real. Too real. Lucas steeled himself, turned off the phone, and straightened his jacket. He would look put together. Expectant.

He opened the door. In front of him stood the person he cared for the most out of anyone.

In a parallel universe, they would have skipped the words and gone straight to kissing. Eliott seemed disheveled, as if he had left his house in a rush and sprinted the entire way to Lucas’s apartment. His wild hair looked even crazier than usual. He smiled when he saw Lucas, the kind that lit up his whole face and made Lucas fall in love with him. He noticed something else about Eliott was different, and then realized that Eliott was not wearing his normal brown coat over his t-shirt. He’d ran the whole way there without any jacket at all.

Definitely, Lucas number eighteen was already kissing him. Lucas twenty-nine had him undressed in bed. Lucas number one remembered what Eliott did two Fridays ago.

Eliott took a minute to catch his breath. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Lucas answered.

“Can we talk now?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Eliott moved to walk in, but Lucas blocked him with his body. He wanted to keep it so he could close the door in Eliott’s beautiful face if anything went south. Also, it was too obvious from the couch and coffee table that he’d just kicked out his three best friends only moments previously, and that did not do him any favors. A half-finished plate of pizza lay discarded in the carpet, and Eliott gestured to it with a hand.

“Did I disturb something?” he asked.

“No. Just me here.” Lucas grimaced at the sound of his own voice; the lie was not convincing. He cleared his throat. “So you want to talk?”

“Yes, I want to talk. Your message—”

Lucas channeled Yann’s words from earlier: no feelings. “Why are you here?”

“I have to explain something to you.”

This was the part where Lucas concentrated on his facial expression. He had to remain indifferent, even if Eliott told him that he either wanted Lucille more or wanted them both at the same time, though neither was a viable option for Lucas to be happy. No feelings. Straight up. Really, this is what he expected to happen, from the moment Eliott stood him up at the mural and from the moment he received the world’s worst text message. So he did not let his face fall. “Talk, then.”

Eliott opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. When he spoke, it was quiet. “I don’t know what to say.”

Straight-up. No feelings. “Why did you come?”

“Because I want to be with you.��

“And this time is different than last time?” Uh oh, there was some emotion in that response. He dialed it down.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Lucas once again thought over all the other Lucases in this moment. Number five hundred had already forgiven Eliott because of that sad look in his eyes, and six hundred was busy making out with him on the couch. Number seven hundred thirty-nine slammed the door the moment he saw Eliott’s face and collapsed into a sobbing mess just inside the apartment. Number one had no idea which path he should take.

Eliott wrung his hands and took a step closer. “Sometimes I feel like things aren’t my choice,” he began. “Like, I go to make a decision, but I’m so paranoid about making it, that I don’t even feel like I’m the one who chooses in the end. Someone else is controlling me. Someone else is making the selections and I’m just sitting in the backseat.”

“Oh, don’t bullshit me.” Lucas attempted to close the door. So much for indifference. “I don’t want to hear about how it isn’t your fault.”

“Let me finish.” Eliott lodged his hand into the doorframe. “I know it’s my fault, it just doesn’t always feel like it is. But wait—”

Lucas opened the door again to see his face. “What?”

Again, Eliott opened and closed his mouth, as if searching for a thought inexpressible in terms of language. The time seemed to drag for eons, until he said, “I choose you.” And then again, after the dam was broken. “I choose you. It’s my choice and I choose you.” He reached across the doorframe to pull Lucas into a hug. “I’m sorry.”

Lucas number fifty-one slapped him and shut the door. Lucas number nine didn’t believe a single word he says. Lucas number twenty-five burst into tears on the spot and let Eliott hold him. Lucas number one decided that now was the time to go in for the kiss. So Lucas kissed him.

It’s my choice and I choose you.

They stayed there in the doorway for a heated minute, one prolonged kiss, until Eliott finally broke away. “I choose you,” he said again, and Lucas led him backward into the apartment. It was time to join the Lucases from the other universes and be with this boy. Eliott closed the door behind them, careful to make sure the lock clicked into place, and then the headed to the couch, never disconnecting.

[thesecretsantaofdoriangray]

Two Birds in Flight

My (@thisblogislit-erature) gift is for @queersandcommies! One of the things you wanted was “Something in London where Dorian is nice to Basil,” so I wrote this. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you like it!

Word count: 2,007

Sunlight streamed into the studio through the open window, illuminating the pages of the, admittedly, rather dull novel that Dorian Gray was only pretending to be interested in while his friend worked on his newest masterpiece.

Dorian raised his head and watched as Basil Hallward delicately swept his brush across his canvas, an entire forest sprouting from the tip of the paintbrush. Despite only knowing him for a couple of weeks, Basil had begun to invite Dorian over nearly every day while he was painting, and even though Dorian had come to admire Basil’s skills immensely, he still had not grown completely comfortable with basically doing nothing in the studio while Basil worked. But as long as his company made him happy, Dorian did not mind too much.

Dorian stood, placing the book down, and crossed to the piano. He passed his hand over the smooth ivory keys, sat down, and began to sift through Basil’s collection of music, finally settling on a selection of Liszt’s compositions.

He started off quiet, so as not to startle Basil, watching to see if he had any reaction to the music. Basil’s concentration did not break from his work, as Dorian expected. He never understood why Basil was always so insistent on his presence while he was working, since he never paid attention to anything other than his art. Perhaps he really did enjoy Dorian’s company as much as he said he did. His adoration was still something Dorian had not quite gotten used to. His grandfather had been distant at best, cruel at worst, the Radleys, his current guardians, left him to his own devices, and everyone else he considered himself close to really did not know much about him besides any of the awful, twisted rumors about his mother that they might have heard and foolishly believed. Basil’s attention was unprecedented, but not entirely off-putting. Even, perhaps, a bit … pleasant. Yes, Dorian admitted to himself, he really did like Basil’s friendship towards him. It was definitely something he could get used to.

He played the final notes of Liszt’s piece, the soft ending chord fading as he reached to turn the page for the next song.

“That was beautiful, Dorian.”

Dorian turned and saw Basil looking at him, a smile on his face. “I am not used to music being played while I paint, but it was quite lovely. Almost as lovely as yourself.”

Dorian laughed, stood, and strode over to Basil. “Stop, that cannot possibly be true. Have you finished your picture yet? As much as you like my being here, I cannot entertain myself by reading dusty old novels and playing piano for hours at a time when I know there is someone perfectly capable of entertaining me himself right here in the room.” He sat down on the bench next to the artist.

Basil shook his head at Dorian. “It is the truth, Dorian, and you should know it.” He turned back to his picture, brushing the most delicate leaves onto the top of a tree. “And you know I have to get this painting finished by the end of the week. I have no time to entertain anyone, even you, despite how much I want to. I do want you here, however, because you … inspire me, shall I say. You give life to my art. Without you, my art would be nothing. I would be nothing. I apologize for boring you, but please know that I need you here, or else … I might as well be dead.”

Dorian hesitated, then laughed. “You are so dramatic Basil! Sometimes I think you would have suited the theatre better than painting. Then I remember that, in a way, are they not the same thing? Or, at the very least, closely connected?”

“How do you mean?” Basil asked, most of his focus still on the picture.

“Well, they are both art, despite being different kinds of art. Still, in painting you act out a life you want to live through a stagnant medium, and in acting you paint the life you are told to live through a wandering medium,” Dorian rambled, not fully aware of what he was saying, transfixed by the small strokes of the brush against the canvas.

Basil stopped and looked at Dorian, his usually warm copper eyes darkened with … was that suspicion?

“What?” Dorian asked, suddenly defensive, that horrible feeling he used to always get when his grandfather would accuse him of something he had nothing to do with creeping back into his chest. That tight, hot feeling of indignation mixed with shame.

“Nothing, it is just … that sounds so much like something another friend of mine would say,” Basil said, his voice hesitant.

“Oh? Who is this other friend of yours?”

Basil scoffed, turning his head back to the picture. “No one you should ever concern yourself with, Dorian. You are too good to associate with him.”

“And you are not?”

“I am used to his poisonous personality and theories. Someone like you, someone so pure, should not even be in the same room as him, let alone start a friendship. I am sorry I spoke of this friend, and I ask that you forget I ever so much as mentioned him. Can you do that for me? Please?”

Dorian, a bit disappointed at Basil’s insistency, but trusting nonetheless, replied, “Yes, yes, of course, if you are so adamant about it. My curiosity is piqued, however. If I ever do get the chance to meet this mysterious friend of yours, I am not sure if I would be able to turn down the opportunity.” At that, Basil furrowed his brow and tightened his lips. “Oh come now, dear Basil, I am not being serious. Since you don’t want me to meet him, I won’t.”

“Thank you.” Basil took his brush away from the picture and contemplated it for a moment. “What do you think of it so far?” he asked, swirling his brush in a glass of water and cleaning it off on a paint-stained cloth.

Dorian gazed at the painting. The limbs of the trees stretched out, tangling together and reaching towards the heavens. The verdant grass was swept to one side, pushed down by a breeze frozen forever in the paint. The sky was the color of a shining aquamarine, dotted with wisps of clouds. He pointed to the top right corner of the canvas.

“I think you could add something right here.”

Basil stared at the spot for a moment, then dipped his brush in the same dark brown he had used for the trees. In a couple of short, precise strokes, he had given life to two birds, flying above the treetops.

“Is that the right ‘something’?” he asked.

Dorian smiled. “It is the perfect something. Why only two, though?”

“Well,” Basil said, turning to meet Dorian’s clear azure eyes, the same color as the painting’s sky, “there are only two of us, are there not?”

Dorian’s face grew warm and he ducked his head, trying to hide his smile, his heart fluttering like the birds’ wings would have, if they had been real. “Is that what you think of us as? Two birds in flight?”

“Yes,” Basil nodded, “and I hope neither of us ever lands.”

~~~

Two weeks later, Dorian arrived outside of Basil’s door, a near daily tradition now. As he waited for Parker to let him in, he drummed his fingers on the package he held impatiently.

Ever since that day when Basil added the two birds to his painting, Dorian had been consumed with the desire to get the perfect gift for him. After all the kindness Basil had given him, he felt like he had to give some back in the slightest way. He had agonized for days over what would be the perfect item, and as soon as he had decided on it, he felt as if the day it was ready could not have come soon enough. He had scoured London for the best person to make it, and would not accept it until it was the perfect embodiment of what Basil’s kindness had felt like to him.

Parker opened the door and led Dorian to the studio, like usual. Once he entered, Basil stood up to greet him as he took off his hat, his gilded curls falling over his forehead.

“Good afternoon, Dorian,” Basil said with a smile. “Parker brought our drinks just before you arrived. Would you like to go out to the garden?”

“That would be wonderful,” Dorian replied, taking the drink Basil handed him.

Once outside, they sat on the bench on the opposite end of the garden from the giant flowering lilac bush, the heady scent drifting towards them on a soft breeze. After taking a sip of his drink, Basil commented, “I finally got someone to come down and hang up that landscape in my room. I am glad I did not give it to Agnew. I needed something on the wall in there. It is strange how, despite being an artist, I have very little art on the walls of my own home.”

“Why didn’t you give it to Agnew? You were offered a great sum of money for it.”

Basil shrugged. “The money is not what is most important to me anymore. I am paid now in memories, most of which contain you.” A red blush crept into Basil’s cheeks as Dorian tried to fight back his smile. “You were what made that painting good. I didn’t want to give it up for something I already have.” The two looked at each other and smiled. Basil’s eyes drifted down to the package sitting in Dorian’s lap. “May I ask what you have there?”

Dorian’s smile grew wider. “It is interesting that you brought up that painting, because … well, I had wanted to get you something … to thank you for being a wonderful friend … anyway, here you go.” He placed the package in Basil’s hands.

Basil slowly tore open the paper and slid out a leather-bound book. He turned it over and gasped lightly.

“Two birds in flight!” he exclaimed softly. He lifted the cover and flipped through. Each page was an empty white sheet, ready to be filled with drawings.

“Oh, Dorian, it is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever given me. Thank you so much,” Basil sighed, clasping the book to his chest and smiling at Dorian.

Dorian smiled back. “I am happy you like it. I just hope you know how much our friendship means to me.”

Basil’s smile softened, and he placed his hand on top of Dorian’s “I certainly hope it does. It means more to me than you will ever know.”

“What do you think will be the first thing you will draw in here?” Dorian asked, tracing the wing of one of the birds.

Basil’s eyes followed Dorian’s finger, then traveled up his arm and finally rested on his face, taking in each detail, as elegant as a Greek sculpture. His mouth curled in a small smile. “I think I have an idea.” He looked back down at the sketchbook. Images of Dorian dressed in the costumes of the ancients filled his mind, and he longed to spill them onto the pages. “Yes, I have some ideas. But for today, all I want to do is be with you.”

“I like that plan very much,” Dorian assented. Across the yard, the lilac bush rustled, and two birds burst from the top of it and soared into the sky. Dorian leapt up from the bench. “Just like us!” he cried, nearly spilling his drink in his excitement.

Basil laughed, clutching the book and watching Dorian’s sparkling eyes and flushed, happy countenance. Dorian turned to Basil, beaming at his friend’s joy. No, he thought, I don’t believe either of us will ever land.

[alcalavicci]

Robert Dean Stockwell and Art: 1955-1976

So this is part of my hypothetical biography (since Nature Boy didn’t really go into much detail on this part of Dean’s life). This is basically my notes- facts with a bit of extrapolation from said facts.

So. Dean and art. I feel like art is part of Dean’s private sphere, while acting is part of his public sphere. He kept his acting and artistic worlds apart for the most part, but there was a little overlap (see: Dennis Hopper, who was his good friend in both respects, as an actor and photographer). He keeps them so far apart he goes by a different name professionally as an artist in the 2000s- Robert Dean Stockwell. I’ve seen a few pictures of Dean doing crafty/arty things as a kid- knitting with Margaret O’Brien on the set of The Secret Garden, and making something out of clay on another set. He’s also said art’s been part of his life since he was young.[1]

How did Dean get involved with the art/Beat scene in Los Angeles to begin with? Let’s trace where he was, and when he arrived in Hollywood first. Dean said that he was in Northern California the year James Dean died, or 1955.[2] But his first role when he returned aired on March 4, 1956.[3] Semina Culture says Dean met Wallace Berman in 1955,[4] so there’s a wrinkle here to resolve, especially since Berman was in LA until 1957. Let’s say Dean arrived in the Los Angeles area around October or November of 1955- right after James Dean’s death. Somehow, he met Berman, who takes him on in a mentor role. Dean was also going to New York a lot for TV roles around this time.

Sidebar: as a child, Dean said he looked up to a few male actors he’d worked with: Errol Flynn,[5] Joel McCrea[6] and Richard Widmark[7]. His father left their family when he was about six, so Dean was always looking for male role models, and those actors filled that role for him as a child. I think for Dean, Berman also filled that role of “father”/role model.

Berman introduced Dean to the artistic community in LA[4] and got him started with his connections to various artists and creative people, including musicians. Berman also introduced Dean to experimental film and collages. I’ve seen an example of Berman’s collage in Semina Culture, and it’s striking how much it looks like something Dean would have made. Trust me when I say Dean is heavily influenced- artistically- by Berman.

As for other artist friends in the LA/Hollywood area… At some point (not sure if this was in Hollywood or New York since Dean hopped back and forth between those places during the mid-1950s) Dean met Dennis Hopper. There’s a ton of mentions of Dean meeting someone/introducing someone at a poetry reading. For example, Dean introduced Dennis to the bohemian witch of LA, Cameron, in the autumn of 1956 after he was introduced to her at a poetry reading, so he’d met Dennis prior to that.[8] Or if the year for that story is wrong, then Dean met Dennis through Roddy McDowall in 1957 while making Compulsion on Broadway.[15] Dean also met Toni Basil around 1962 or 1963 and she moved in with him in 1963.[9] They dated for a very long time- about ten years.

Back to Berman for a bit. In 1957, the Ferus Gallery opened, with the only public showing of Berman’s work. Then the police received an anonymous call that there was a pornographic image being shown, so they arrived at the gallery. Nobody is sure who called the police - Cameron blames Berman while Berman’s widow blames one of the gallery owners.[10] The squad seized a drawing by Cameron called “Peyote Vision” and arrested Berman for obscenity. Dean paid the $150 fine for him.[11] Eventually, Berman moved to the Bay Area, creating Semina Culture while he was there. Then he moved back to Los Angeles in 1961, then Topanga Canyon in 1965.[12] Dean stayed close with him and bought him a house after Berman’s house was destroyed in a mud slide. Berman, to me, is fascinating because he’s had so many close friends but he was a bit of a mystery. To begin with, he wasn’t really clear about his artistic intentions. Apparently he told Dean that his paintings of pseudo-Dead Sea scrolls had Kabbalistic meanings, but he also told Philip Lamantia, who actually knew something about Kabbalism, that there was no connection there.[13]

In the late 1950s, Dean moved to Topanga Canyon and eventually bought a house there. Throughout the rest of the 1950s and the 1960s, Dean went off and on with working on his artwork, and encouraged by Berman,[1] supported his art friends by buying their artwork. Dean collaborated with George Herms on his film Moonstone in 1963.[9] Dean also made a documentary of Bruce Conner creating Breakaway in 1964.[14] Between 1965 and 1968, Dean dropped out because he wasn’t getting much work, so he moved to San Francisco.[15]

Dean found that Hollywood didn’t really want him anymore when he returned- producers were looking for a Dean Stockwell type, but they didn’t actually want to cast Dean Stockwell in anything.[16] So Dean decided to focus more on his art. As Neil Young recalls, during the late 1960s and 1970s, both Dean and Russ Tamblyn acted long enough to get money for groceries. Otherwise, they focused on their art.[17] I’m not sure if this is Dean going, “Fuck Hollywood! I’m being an artist!” or “Oh shit, being an actor isn’t really working out now. Let’s focus on art.” Either way, between 1968 and 1976, Dean was involved with some very creative people, including a lot of musicians. He introduced his artist friend George Herms to Neil Young and he also introduced Neil Young to Devo.[17] Dean also went with David Bowie to visit Iggy Pop in the hospital.[18]

On February 18, 1976, which was his fiftieth birthday, Wallace Berman died after a drunk driver hit him. Eerily enough, as a child, Berman told his mother that he would die on his fiftieth birthday.[11]  It was at this point that Dean lost motivation to work on collages.[1] He would work with Neil Young on Human Highway, which was released in 1982,[19] but that was his last truly artistic project until the 2000s.

Epilogue: At some point during the mid- or late 1970s, Dean broke up with Toni and moved in with Russ. Acting wasn’t working out for Dean at this point and neither was art. Dean met Joy Marchenko at Cannes and persuaded her to move back to America with him. Around 1980, he got his real estate license and was planning to settle down into a career. Then he met David Lynch, was cast for Dune[20] and the rest is history.

Citations:

1.        http://stockwellsassies.tripod.com/articles/Solar_Buzz.html

2.       Sassies group post- can’t find any decent sources for this one!

3.       Stockwell Sassies – Credits

4.      http://stockwellsassies.tripod.com/articles/Semina_Culture.htm

5.       http://www.sheilaomalley.com/?p=6909

6.      http://stockwellsassies.tripod.com/articles/The_Dean_of_Hollywood.html

7.       http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001777/bio#quotes

8.      https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marjorie_Cameron#The_Children.2C_Kenneth_Anger.2C_and_Curtis_Harrington:_1952.E2.80.9368

9.      https://books.google.com/books?id=iN0kDQAAQBAJ&pg=PA120&lpg=PA120&dq=%22dean+stockwell%22+%22george+herms%22&source=bl&ots=hXGpKcAwbP&sig=tygEy_QCDfhyguTS-7TEOv_UMA8&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwje-5LnmsjUAhUK74MKHbWBAVg4ChDoAQgpMAI#v=onepage&q=%22dean%20stockwell%22%20%22george%20herms%22&f=false

10.    http://www.laweekly.com/arts/camerons-connections-to-scientology-and-powerful-men-once-drew-headlines-but-now-her-art-is-getting-its-due-5130928

11.     https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wallace_Berman

12.    http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tom-teicholz/wallace-berman-the-aleph-_b_1099615.html

13.    https://techgnosis.com/the-alchemy-of-trash/

14.    http://www.cinefamily.org/wallace-bermans-underground-toni-basil-tosh-berman-russ-tamblyn-george-herms-in-person-2/

15.    http://stockwellsassies.tripod.com/bio.html & https://www.reddit.com/r/IAmA/comments/obk0u/i_am_cylon_1_on_bsg_and_al_the_hologram_on/c3g6tj8/?context=3 & http://stockwellsassies.tripod.com/articles/Comeback_Champ.html

16.    http://stockwellsassies.tripod.com/articles/Dean_Stockwell_a.html

17.    http://stockwellsassies.tripod.com/articles/excerpts_from_Shakey.html

18.    https://books.google.com/books?id=51THbRlGpUQC&pg=PT254&lpg=PT254&dq=dean+stockwell+david+bowie&source=bl&ots=cJCryclF0Y&sig=AQr_Blp_tA-GMqlbeSK2Lk5Ebwo&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjsioT-psjUAhWKzIMKHaJHBBsQ6AEITDAK#v=onepage&q=dean%20stockwell%20david%20bowie&f=false

19.    http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0084099/?ref_=nv_sr_1

20.   http://stockwellsassies.tripod.com/articles/Great_Leap_Forward.html

[blackholehuman]

Meeting Those Left Behind

sequel to Keeping Good Company, on tumblr and AO3.  

read this fic on AO3 here. 

summary: Baz? Alive. Still. (What a blessing). Good company? Kept. Future? ...uncertain. Because Baz has yet to meet those he left behind.

word count: 14,118

BAZ

After a month of being alive again, Simon and I felt it was time to introduce me back into society.

Simon refused to go the legal route. The Coven, he felt, wouldn’t understand if I was sprung upon them so suddenly; and without any allies but himself, there were slim chances of keeping an altercation at bay. He insisted that I go back to my family first, so I could then have my father and Fiona to back me up.

I told him that doing so would probably send me back to where I’d just come from. I realized as soon as it had come out of my mouth that the situation was too real to joke about yet. That was the first time Simon and I fought since I’d come back.

Fighting with Simon is more difficult now. There’s so much I don’t know about him (or anything, really) and even though we once thought we were going to kill each other, now there’s more at stake. Losing each other would be infinitely worse than death. Simon says he knows this because of how he felt when death took me. I know this because I can picture losing him hurting much more than the nothingness I had felt in that thick fog I came to know as death.

Neither of us wants that. But I still didn’t agree to see my family first. We agreed I would need a bit of a warm up before going to Hampshire again.

That’s how I ended up here, in an old coffee shop somewhere in London. Simon ditched me, making up a lame excuse of all the errands he had to run, as soon as we walked in the door.

My two best friends are seated at a three person table in a corner by the window. Niall spots me first and waves me over. I walk towards them tentatively, and Dev turns and smiles warmly at me.

It’s as like nothing’s happened. Like twenty minutes have passed since I’ve seen them last, instead of twenty years.

It reminds me of how they acted when I’d been kidnapped. I shiver upon remembering the darkness and stench of an underground coffin, and decide that’s something I can deal with later.

“Basil, we ordered you the coffee that most tasted like sugar, hope that’s okay,” says Niall, smirking.

I smile at them and sit down. “You two gentlemen know me so well.”

They talk politics, Normal politics, and I can hardly believe it. What could be so interesting about Normal politics? They explain Magickal Britain’s governing system over the past twenty years; that the Mage has never been replaced, and the Families have become appallingly boring. Which is why Normal politics have become so popular; mages have finally realized that they need to participate in society if they want to keep up to date with new spells.

Talking to them seems so easy, and it is, which is wonderful and terrible all at once.

That is, until Niall gets a call.  A single red heart shows on the screen.

I raise my eyebrows at him, and he blushes deeply, picking up the mobile to answer.

“Hello love. Why, I’m at coffee with-” he glances between Dev and I (Dev is looking at me curiously out of the corner of his eye, and I can’t help but wonder why he’s acting strangely all of a sudden) “...some old school friends.”

Niall looks out the window as he listens, then responds. “No, not Simon. Why do you ask?” Whatever her answers is, it makes all the blood run out of his face. He’s as pale as a vampire when he answers, “I- I can’t answer that, love. I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. See you tonight? Right. Love you too, bye.” He stuffs his mobile in his pocket and continues to stare out the window.

Suddenly, everything is awkward. The silence is so present I can hear the blood pumping through my heart (a completely new sensation, and also, it turns out I got to keep all the benefits of being a vampire: super strength, heightened senses, x ray vision. Just kidding about that last one, though).

“Niall, you alright? Who was that?”

Dev lets out a sharp bark of laughter and quickly reaches for his tea to stifle his amusement. Niall turns to me slowly, and says, “My wife,” as if he’s talking to someone who doesn’t know English.

“What’s up?” I ask, still desperately trying to pretend everything is normal.

“She- she asked if Simon had a Visiting,” he responded.

“Of course he had a Visiting. Doesn’t she know Simon’s lost everyone he’s ever loved?”

They both stare at him, before Dev shakes his head and says, “Fuck, mate, that’s exactly what Simon said.”

“I told him off,” Niall remembers, smirking.

“You have no right this time,” Dev pointed out, “seeing as you owe him an explanation.”

An incomprehensible part of me flares in anger that they’ve left me so out of the loop. Then I’m angry at myself for committing suicide without a second thought which caused me to be so out of the loop.

“An explanation for what?” I question, attempting to soothe my frustration.

“Oo, look Niall, he’s already angry. Lucky you he’s not a vampire any longer.” Dev starts laughing maniacally, Niall reddens, and I still feel out of place. We’re all acting about thirteen, which makes this entire situation even more infuriating.  

Niall’s jaw works, and I can tell he’s trying to work up the courage to say something. I elbow Dev in the ribs, reducing him to a snicker. After a moment of what looks like a breathing exercise, Niall says as calmly as possible, “That was… you know, my wife. She was asking whether or not Simon had you as a Visiting. I didn’t think it would be wise to tell her yet, so…” he trails off.

“Mate,” Dev starts, almost clucking his tongue, “Dragging this out is only going to make it worse.”

“I would be sitting on pins and needles,” I deadpan, “If I had even the slightest clue what you were talking about-”

“I married your sister,” Niall suddenly blurts.

There’s silence again. And then: “Mordelia? The girl who never knocks? Complains about everything? You’re a full ten years older than her!” I don’t even register the words that are coming out of my mouth. I’m just saying what I think. Is this what Simon feels like when he’s frustrated?

“Wait a moment, she’s only nine years younger than me!”

“Niall, that’s my sister!”

“And so what?” Niall yells, furious, “You weren’t here, were you?”

Well.

That stings.

Dev looks really uncomfortable beside me. I turn to glare at him.

“Don’t look at me,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender, “I’m not your sister’s keeper. Besides, they’re happy! You’ve got a niece and a nephew now!”

On his other side, Niall fusses with his wallet, pulling out small pictures, which indeed reveal his children. He places them in front of me. Both have dark brown hair and Niall’s unfortunate freckles.

“Elizabeth Jane is seven, almost eight,” Niall points to the photo of the girl. His finger moves to the boy with light blue eyes and continues, “that’s Oliver... He’s four. Oliver Basilton.”

Niall isn't looking at the photos anymore. He’s looking at me with Oliver Basilton’s same blue eyes, but they’re full of sadness.

I’m staring at Elizabeth. She looks just like Mordelia the last time I saw her.

“The twins are twenty four now,” Dev explains to me, “Aldora’s just gotten engaged and Cedany’s going to start at graduate school in the States next fall. Edmund finished at Watford top of his class, and has been at Oxford for two years now.” Dev tells me softly.

I can’t bring myself to lift my gaze. It amazes me that Dev can still know what I need to hear as much as it amazes me to hear that Edmund, who had been not even two years old last I saw him, was about as old as I thought I had been after stepping out of the thick fog.

All of my siblings were too young to enter the library at home when I last saw them. Now the youngest is halfway through uni.

I don’t know how much time passes before I look up again. Dev drums his fingers and finishes his tea while Niall stares out the window. The quiet isn’t comfortable, but I don’t think anything can be comforting in this situation.

I finally move my head when I feel a warm hand on my shoulder. It’s Simon, I can tell without looking (he smells like scones and bacon and butter. Like home) so I stand up.

“Ready to go?” he asks, not smiling.

“Yes,” I answer.

Before we step out of the shop, Dev and Niall both nod at me. I nod silently back.

SIMON

The car ride home is quiet. I can tell Baz is hacked off about something, but I don’t know what. I can probably guess, though. Niall did marry his sister, after all.

But how can I know for sure if he doesn’t communicate with me?

His anger could be at Niall, but it could also be at himself, which makes it all the more dangerous. Self frustration is something I’ve tried to get him to avoid in the past month, and it had been working pretty well.

Granted, the distractions ended up being erotic grope fests instead of sit down, serious and therapeutic conversations that he probably needs at this point. I guess whatever we’d been doing has worked so far, but I’m afraid it's just prevention of the inevitable.

Last week, when we fought, both of us resorted to the manner we used to fight in. What he said was fucked up, but he just made things worse by sticking to it instead of apologizing and admitting defeat. On top of that, anything he said to me I threw right back.

It got to the point where I made to draw the Sword of Mages. I said the words and everything. He froze when nothing happened. And I had to remind him that my magic was gone. We were both sad about it all night, so he held me and thanked me for avenging his mother. Even then, Baz didn’t concede an apology until morning.

I can practically feel the fight brewing in him right now. Is this what it was like to be him, back when my magic was unstable and constantly overflowing?

It’s not until I’m loading heaps of pasta and sauce into bowls that Baz confronts me. He stands at the kitchen entrance, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded and looking down at me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

“Tell you what?”

He sneers. I feel about fourteen. “Do you mean to say there’s more you’re not telling me?”

“That’s not what I meant,” I say, because it wasn’t.

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” He responds, because he’s still so fucking smart.

“About Mordelia or about what I haven’t told you?”

Baz scoffs, exiting the room with an eye roll after throwing his arms in the air. I set down the fork I was twisting in the pasta this whole time and go after him.

He’s just standing in the middle of the room, staring at the only wall with decoration. The fake Picasso. I step forward tentatively, ending up next to him.

“Baz?”

He rounds on me, eyes glassy and lips in a curl. “What haven’t you told me, and why?”

“Because I knew you’d act like this!”

He throws his head back while barking out a sarcastic laugh, before saying, “Snow, I think this is pretty reasonable, considering I’ve been dead for two decades.”

Merlin, he’s just so… insensitive, that’s the word. Even going back to using my last name (or rather, my middle name).

That’s fine. Two can play at that game.

“Don’t be fucking rude,” I growl at him, “I wasn’t exactly given an instructions manual, was I? ‘How to Babysit Your Recently Resurrected Roommate: For Dummies.’”

Baz steps closer to me. The look in his eyes is lethal. “Don’t even act like this isn’t the most exciting thing to happen to you in twenty years.”

Christ, another low blow. I know my face is reddening, so I try to calm down quickly, like I used to have to for my magic. Baz is pissing me off so much that I hardly even realize how close I am to him when I step forward, smirking.

I barely even register saying, “Oh, I dunno Baz, your sister’s wedding was pretty fun.”

At first, Baz is so fast in his movements that I wonder whether or not he’s still human. I’m slightly aware of his fists in my shirt propelling me backward. But then, the pain I feel and the loudest ripping noise I’ve ever heard shocks me back into reality.

I shout, “Anathema!” because I think  that might be the only thing that would work. He lets go, and I fall to the floor, gripping my head and panting hard. I can feel something fall behind me, even though I can’t hear it over the thudding of my head. I turn ever so slightly to see what it is.

Of course, it’s the fake Picasso. My head made a hole right at the base of the violin. The edges of the ripped canvas are slightly pink, and when I put my hand on the back of my head, it comes back slick with blood.

I almost want to laugh, because this is the fight we were supposed to have twenty years ago, the one that would have decided the outcome of a war. When I turn back to Baz, he’s just staring at the wall where the painting was, and where I’m now assuming is a head shaped dent complete with a slight spatter of blood.

“Simon,” he breaths.

“My eyes are down here, you git,” I say without any real venom, and then immediately regret it. Speaking takes a lot of energy when you’ve (probably) got a concussion.

Baz doesn’t speak. What he does is pick me up, carry me all the way to the bedroom, and lay me down on my stomach on the bed.

“You’re an arse still,” I tell Baz matter of factly. I can’t see him (my face is buried in the softest pillow) but I think he’s nodding.

The last thing I hear before sleep pulls from the corners of my mind is the beginning of a string of healing spells.

~~~~~

I wake up with Baz laying on his back next to me. He’s staring at the ceiling like he’s trying to memorize all of it’s cracks.

My head is fine. I feel lighter than I have been in weeks. I know Baz is resting after pouring all of the healing magic he can muster back into me. His thoughts are loud and all I want to do is go back to sleep.

I should probably be angry, but I can’t bring myself to care that much. It was just as much my fault as it was Baz’s. I’ve already forgiven him, but I don’t want to tell him that just yet. I just want to curl into the space between his neck and shoulder and make him fall asleep with me.

So I do. Baz’s breath hitches, but he thinks better of whatever he was going to say, instead opting for bringing his arm over his chest and into my hair. I notice the way he feels for a tender spot on the back of my skull, and it’s such a caring gesture that I press a kiss to his shoulder through a layer of cotton shirt fabric, just to let him know I’m alright. I hope it let’s him know we are all right, too.

We fall asleep.

~~~~~

The next morning, I wake up and head to the kitchen, depositing the old spaghetti into the trash bin and begin to make breakfast. This is a morning for pancakes, I think.

I try to quiet my motions, because Baz is still sleeping. At Watford, he used to be angry whenever my incessant stumbling about would awake him from his beauty sleep. The fact that I thought of it as “beauty sleep” should have given me hints for my sexuality earlier, but then again, I had a lot on my plate back then.

Just like these plates are full of delicious pancake, thick syrup, and greasy, bubbling sausage.

But fuck , even food can’t distract me from thinking back to the past. Once I start, it’s always so hard to stop.

My train of thought eventually gets to the particular moment in eighth year where I caught Baz trying to steal a book. There’s something funny about that memory, and it’s like I’ve been back to it before, picking up a small, square piece of paper…

BAZ

I’m only a third awake when Simon comes banging into the room. The sound is so jarring I sit up instantly, but he doesn’t notice. He’s too busy rummaging furiously in his sock drawer, where he previously kept my wand.

I can tell the exact moment he finds what he’s looking for, because his movements slow, and his mannerisms match those of someone who is cradling a fragile little bird. He turns towards me, eyeing a square bit of paper. I have an intense feeling of deja vu, but I can’t place where it’s coming from.

When he looks up, he stares at me so intensely I can feel myself blushing from my bare chest all the way to my cheeks. Tears form in his eyes.

“Here,” he says, handing me the paper. I take it, and a quick glance reveals the photograph of my mother’s hands holding a four year old me up in the creche.

And I remember how everything started. With a photo in the office of a murderer. How did it end up like this? With my skin the same color it was when I was born, no fangs, and no hunger for blood.

He says my name, and I know how this happened. “Baz,” he repeats, and I think, love love love, over and over.

I remember throwing him into the wall and nearly cracking his skull yesterday, and think of how I still don’t deserve him.

Instead of voicing any of this, I look down at the photo again.

Simon is not crying anymore when I look up at him. He just looks mildly concerned.

“Take me to Hampshire,” I say.

SIMON

Right, well. There’s one problem with that. It’s the weekend.

I don’t know if it was traditional before, but it’s definitely traditional now for the Grimms to be together on the weekends. They’re referred to as the Grimms now, ever since Baz died. Fiona could have kept the surname Pitch, but she decided that the world was trying to rid itself of them, so she changed her name, and I quote, “before death takes me too.” She’s got a bloody dark sense of humor (heh, bloody dark- maybe it’s a side effect of marrying a vampire).

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s the weekend, so the entire family will be there for dinner. Including Fiona, who married Nicodemus, the arsehole who triggered the darkest corners of Baz’s mind leading to his suicide. It hurts to think about Nicodemus as I knew him at the age of eighteen, because he’s really turned (pun not intended) his life around for Fiona and her family. As far as I know, they all went to group counselling to sort everything out. Although, I’m not sure how well that worked, because I seemed to receive a lot of distressed Grimms on my doorstep that year.

“He had to hide everything, Simon,” Malcolm lamented to me over a bottle of sherry, “because I never cared to acknowledge the parts of him I despised.”

Daphne used to call me and ask through tears what more she could have done. She stopped believing she could be a good mother after what happened to Baz when she had tried her best with him.

The twins, Aldora and Cedany, along with Edmund, the youngest, were forced into the awkward position of a family eternally mourning someone they couldn’t even remember.

Cedany is very philosophical about this, and eventually came to the conclusion she couldn’t hate her parents for being so disturbed (“But I do wish they would get some help,” she told me once). Aldora didn’t mind at all; she enjoyed living the high life that the Grimm family fortune could afford her. Together, they looked after their younger brother, who concerned them most.

“He’s everything Basilton was and more,” Cedany told me, on a rant, over a fancy dinner. I winced; Edmund could only ever be more because he was alive.

Aldora nodded, and said, “I’m sorry, Simon, but Baz was such a dark person the shadow he cast dampered all the light we could have had,” at which Cedany told her off for speaking so ill of their older brother, and an argument began.

Mordelia took Baz’s death worse than even I did (because eventually I decided the best option was to completely ignore it). She was so young, but that didn’t stop her from being upset that his vampirism and sexuality were hidden from her, especially because she was raised on the doctrine that family is everything. As Mordelia grew older, she began to understand more and more that her parents were partially responsible for Baz’s suicide. It made her resent them.

The other problem was her magic. It became more apparent when she got to Watford, where her spell work was awful even though her Elocution was flawless. It became dangerously unstable, worse than mine was. She wasn’t putting holes in the magickal atmosphere like I was, but it exhausted her to use so much magic at once. Dr. Wellbelove couldn’t find a solution, and by then things around her were breaking or smashing or growing every time one of her emotions changed.

She didn’t go back to Watford for the optional eighth year, the first one to do so in her family (Baz notwithstanding). Instead, she decided leave England and study magickal beings (not mages, though) around the globe, and independently. Her research led to several breakthroughs and a more comprehensibly united magickal world. Despite all of this, Malcolm tried to force her to come back home and settle down (with an arranged marriage, no less), and he threatened to cut off her funding permanently if she did not do so.

I was there for this argument. It was one of the few times I joined them for dinner, and I was only there because Mordelia was and so was Nicodemus, and for some ungodly reason I was supposed to mediate. Turns out he wasn’t the problem, though. Like I said, Malcolm was.

All she did was laugh at him. Hysterics, honestly. The noise took on magic, even though she wasn’t saying any words, and it made everything in the room vibrate until she started speaking again.

“I haven’t used that money in a long time, father.” She shook her head trying to blink away tears. “I can’t believe you underestimate my discoveries so much.”

“I don’t care! You should come home anyway!”

“Why? So you can have all your perfect littlethings in one place?” Malcolm's face went almost purple with rage. Her eyes slid to where Nicodemus and I were sitting, and she got a wicked grin on her face. “You know what? You won’t want me anyway, once I’ve crossed over.”

Obviously, this sent most everyone into some sort of rage-like fit. Edmund laughed through it, and honestly so did I, because the expressions on Malcolm and Daphne’s faces were amazing. It wasn’t so funny, however, when later that night I heard her talking to Nicodemus about how she would go about doing such a thing. I had to explain to her why it was that Baz killed himself: because he was his mother’s son, who killed herself when she was bitten. It was heartbreaking, even if I wasn’t using his name. Mordelia was mollified, though, shrugging it off and saying, “Well, it was worth it for their expressions. Aleister Crowley, did you see how purple father went?”

The only reason Mordelia was even there was because of a remembrance thing that the Grimms were throwing for Baz that week; and that’s where she met Niall. She felt that she had finally found someone to talk to about Baz who wasn’t in part responsible for his death like her parents (or I) were. He understood Mordelia’s grief. He asked her to move in with him to get away from it all, and everyone ignored Malcolm’s protests of her arrangement with a faceless, nameless man and Daphne’s warnings of unstable magic. She went, I think, to spite them, but then to everyone’s surprise, her magic settled. They got married not too long after that.

She told me about the engagement (before anyone else) over coffee where I usually met Niall and Dev. “It’s just…” she trailed off, watching her coffee stir itself with a spoon intently. “He makes me quiet,” she finished, nodding to herself.

I remember thinking about how strange it was that love can feel so differently to different people. If anything, I felt quiet back then, watching her ring glint in the sunlight. But for me, quiet had always been filled with emptiness.

It makes sense that all I can feel these days is fire.

Realizing that I love Baz is one of the most awful things I’ve had to experience. It was just a regular morning, and he rolled over snuggling close to use my chest as a pillow. His hair spilled out all over my shoulder, and I just- I felt it like a tug. Like how magic feels (used to feel). And I knew, in that moment, I was doomed. We were doomed.

People I care about never make it out alive. Now that’s a dark thought. Eons ago, when I figured this out, I decided I didn’t deserve love if all it did was hurt others. I decided it would be easier to just be empty like I was, if only to save everyone else.

Anyway, I don’t know why they used me as an emotional outlet, as if talking to me was like talking to Baz since I was the last one to see him. All it did for me was dredge up things I wanted desperately to bury, but it seemed to give them some relief. I felt like talking to me further strained the fact that they couldn’t communicate as a family, but at least they were showing some semblances of humanity.

Even after all of this ametur theraputic shit, how am I supposed to tell Baz about Nicodemus? How do I tell the Grimms about Baz?

I pick up the old photo while Baz is busy getting dressed and decide to be very “Simon Snow” about the whole thing.

As soon as Baz is ready, I get him in the car and drive to Hampshire without thinking twice.

BAZ

They say that coming home is hard because the changes are too difficult to handle. It’s been twenty years, though, and what’s scaring me the most is the lack of change.

I was shocked to see wrinkles on Penny’s face and unknown freckles on Simon’s.  The turns and twists on the road that leads to the Pitch estate, however, are the same as they’ve ever been. The forest is still, and though I used to know each branch and leaf and tree I have to look away now. It’s too quiet in there.

Simon has become the noise of my life, the thing that has made me feel the most alive since coming back. I should probably tell him.

But the feeling is too close to the charcoaled words I told him two decades ago in a forest fire. I don’t think either of us could handle that, not yet.

Despite being creeped out by the static state that I left my homeland in, I’m wholeheartedly enjoying watching Simon navigate the road with one hand with the other on the console, held firmly in mine.

SIMON

Baz’s eyes have closed by the time we pull up the driveway to his house. I can see several cars out front, including Fiona’s. No hope that she and Nico won’t be here, then.

I shake Baz awake. He starts, and grabs my hand in a death grip, but realizes it’s me and says, “Oh.”

“We’re here.”

He swallows, looking nervous.

“I don’t know how to tell them,” I elaborate, seeking his help.

“Well, you certainly aren’t going to tell them wearing that, are you?”

I look down, and I remember I’m still in casual wear, or what the Grimms and Baz would only refer to as pyjamas or garden clothes. I’m about to ask just what he plans on doing about it before he turns and reaches around for something in the back seat. He grabs a bag and throws it into my lap.

Upon opening the bag, I sigh. “Of course you’ve brought suits when what we really need is a plan.”

“But we won’t be able to stay for dinner if we don’t wear them.”

“You’re alive, Baz, I don’t think they’ll care about what we’re wearing.”

“It’s called dignity, Snow,” he smirks. I throw the bag at him. “Okay!” he shouts, “Sorry, sorry. But seriously. Put one on.”

“This was just a plot to get me to wear a suit for once, wasn’t it?”

BAZ

It’s not my fault Simon looks stunning in a grey suit.

SIMON

Baz rolls his eyes and says, “Obviously.”

Once we’re both dressed, I try halfheartedly to come up with a plan. Which is to say, I ask Baz if he’s come up with one yet.

“I think,” he starts, but shakes his head, as if he’s trying to erase an idea. “I think you should tell them you had several Visitings. Then I think you should explain the whole Purgatory thing Bunce came up with-”

“That was her colleague’s idea, not her own. And besides, I hardly remember why it works.”

“Don’t interrupt me, but fine, don’t tell them. Maybe instead tell them that your last Visiting was different. From there on, wing it.”

“Wing it? Since when do you deign to speak slang like that-” I begin to ask, but stop. Then I sigh. “Penny told you about the wings?”

“Penny told me about the wings,” he confirms, laughing, “And just for the record, I wish I could have seen the tail.”

“Don’t joke about it,” I say, almost pleading. “I worked hard to avenge your mother.”

Baz’s face softens, and he reaches for me, dragging one of his thumbs across my lips. They burn.

“I know,” he says, before pulling me into a deep kiss. It feels like I pull away an hour later.

“If we really want to do this, we can’t keep stalling. I’ll come get you when we’re ready, yeah?”

Baz pulls away, nodding, and lays against the seat. “Good luck,” he whispers, and I squeeze his hand before I leave the car, making my way to the front door.

I’d forgotten the path to the door is now lined by small basil plants. It’s overwhelming, because that’s not really what he smells like, and I rush to knock on the door.

I immediately regret this because it gives me no time to think about what I’m going to say to them about Baz.

Luckily enough for me, Edmund opens the door. When he registers my face, he says, a bit dejectedly, “Oh.”

“Yeah, Ed I know, but, look- can I come in? I need to talk to you and your family before dinner.”

His lips turn down at the corners but his eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Yeah, um, sure. You’re always welcome here,” he says, a bit awkwardly. The Grimm children were never as refined as Baz was. Edmund stands aside, holding the door open for me, and I enter.

After Baz died, the Grimms did some serious redecoration. Daphne told me she couldn’t stand living in such a dark and creepy house anymore, much to Malcolm’s shock.

“Darling, I thought you loved this place! You said it was vintage,” he had scolded.

“Of course I did!” she responded, “But it was never my home. Home, for sure, but never mine.”

Malcolm had to concede to that. Fiona especially was impressed with Daphne’s readiness to change, and was the first to volunteer to take down every dark draping or outdated wallpaper.

The house is still huge, of course, but it’s much brighter. There are skylights wherever appropriate and luxurious chandeliers in the spaces between. The entire back of the house is basically one large window with a sliding back door. All the furniture is any variance of the light, neutral colors that somehow all look good against one another. As far as I know, the only room that hasn’t changed is Baz’s; that’s where they let me stay when I come to visit. I don’t think they realized how uncomfortable it made me to lie there with all these memories being watched by forty two wooden gargoyles carved into the frame.

I’m glad now that they haven’t changed it, because he might be a little shell shocked when he gets sunburnt by walking into the house (I mean, it’s not that bad, but the point is that it’s bloody bright in here. Nicodemus really tries to avoid coming here in the mornings and late afternoons. I would have thought it was comical if it didn’t make me think of all the times I opened up the curtains in our turret just to piss Baz off).

Edmund leads me to the sitting room where everyone’s having tea. “Simon’s here,” he announces lamely, and a bit too late. Everyone is seated on the beige circular couch, gaping up at me. Daphne is the first to snap out of it, getting up and pulling me into a hug. She tugs me towards an open space and sends the maid (nurse? Nanny? I’ve never figured it out), Vera, to fetch more tea and scones.

Malcolm is looking at me with all the intent in the world, and I try to scan the room for a more friendly face, but Mordelia and Niall aren’t there, which is really odd. Neither is Aldora’s fiance, who is kind but who’s name I can’t ever remember.

In my efforts to discern where Mordelia could be hiding herself, her husband, and two children, I miss Aldora saying something and I’m suddenly being passed an envelope by Cedany. I look at her in confusion, and she murmurs, “Save the date.”

“Oh, thank you,” I respond.

“You can bring a plus one, too,” adds Daphne. She, like my old boss, is obsessed by me finding happiness through dating people. Even though this family is half the reason I wouldn’t have; dating someone else would have felt too much like I was moving on.

I decide that this is a good place to start, and ignore warming up to the topic with talks of my other Visitings. I can’t keep this secret anymore- I just want it on someone else’s shoulders, and then I don’t have to deal with it anymore.

“I will, thank you.”

Fiona narrows her eyes at me, and Nicodemus raises his eyebrows. His eyes are too intense for me right now, and I feel like he’s reading my mind, even though I know he can’t (do I really, though? What does anyone know about vampires, anyway?).

Nicodemus blinks, and I swear he quirks a bit of a smile. “No way.”

See what I mean? I have reason to believe that vampires can read minds.

“Who is it then?” Daphne asks, interested.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“Baz.”

For a moment, no one moves a muscle. The sun begins to set behind them, and I notice that Nicodemus has seated himself in a clever, shadowy area of the room. All I can hear is breathing and birdsong, until:

“How dare you.” Firm and low comes Malcolm’s voice.

“You’re very fortunate that Mordelia is late,” is Daphne’s shrill cry.

Malcolm stands and points to the door. “Get out.”

I suck at this.

Cedany, my saviour, and ever the voice of reason, says, “Wait a moment. Simon would never hurt you intentionally. Why don’t you let him explain himself?”

Fiona has her mouth covered with a hand, and Nicodemus looks amused. He must not have missed how Cedany subtly pointed out that she and her present siblings were not the ones grieving for a brother they never knew.

“He came back when the Veil lifted,” I say in a rush, before any of them have a chance to protest. Once I have all of their undivided attention, I begin again. “That week, I was Visited four times: the first day, by my mum, Lucy Salisbury-”

“Oh good heavens,” Daphne gasps, “I know Lady Salisbury, her mother.”

As much as I want to know more, I have to continue. “And my dad, who turned out to be the Mage-”

Nicodemus, Fiona, and Malcolm all jump to their feet and begin to yell. This is why I didn’t forgive my father. The lasting impression he’s made brings out the worst in people.

“Stop!” I yell over them, but none of them are listening.

“Simon says,” Edmund whispers, pointing his wand at me.

Almost at the same time, but a bit delayed, I yell again, “Stop!” but this time, it comes out with magic and forces them to shut up and sit down.

Despite the positive outcome, I glare at Edmund. “That spell is dangerous. They could have died.”

Edmund just shrugged, leaning back in his seat while tucking his wand back in his pocket. I realize that they’ve always been dead to him, because he was never important enough.

In fussing over what went wrong with their eldest, the Grimms and Fiona neglected to right their wrongs by raising the younger children better. Maybe this is why Mordelia is always so up in arms with her parents.

“And Ebb. Not for secrets, just for company. I think,” I swallow, “I think she knew he was coming. And he did. Just, showed up to my door the last day of the Veil being open and walked right in. He wasn’t misty or white or anything- he was alive.”

“If he was alive, he couldn’t have done that,” Nicodemus chided. “We have to be invited, remember?”

I shake my head, searching in my pocket for that old photo. I take it out and pass it to him. “His skin looked like that. Full color.”

The photo is passed around before eventually landing with Malcolm, whose eyes become a bit blurry at the edges. “I took this,” I hear him whisper to Daphne.

“I had this old cross that burnt him just before-” I don’t want to say it, so I continue, assuming they know what I mean, “Before. He touched it that day and felt nothing. I also gave him back his wand-”

“His wand?” Malcolm’s voice is strained. “His wand disintegrated years ago. You told us that.”

“Yeah, well, I lied, didn’t I?” I snap. I can’t believe they keep finding excuses. It’s like they don’t want to believe that Baz is back. “It takes a lot more heat than that to ruin ivory.”

Malcolm sits back, stumped.

“I wanted to keep it,” I say tenderly. “I’m sorry. I should have given it back- but then, he wouldn’t have been able to practice his magic, would he?”

“You mean, he stayed after it closed?” Daphne gasped.

“Yes.” Everyone takes in a breath.

I’m the first to let it out. I allow myself a small smile. “I know. I woke up, and he was still next to me, and I was so spooked I actually fell out of bed.”

“But the Veil closed a month ago,” says Fiona, “Why are you only telling us now?”

This is kind of embarrassing. “We’ve, er, been… busy. Catching up.”  I reach my hand up to scratch at the back of my head, blushing furiously.

Both Aldora and Cedany giggle while Edmund smirks knowingly. Malcolm has his nose scrunched up in an obvious look of distaste. I wish Mordelia was here to tell him off.

“Get over yourself Malcolm,” Fiona snapped from across the room, “Your boy is back. Now is the time to be accepting.”

He frowns, and with his nose still wrinkled up, it looks like he’s sneering at me. “I don’t think I’m fully convinced.”

The family falls silent again, contemplating this. I know it’s time to bring out the big guns.

“I’ll be right back,” I promise, before turning and heading to the door.

BAZ

When I hear the front door open and close, I don’t even wait until I see Simon to get out of the car. I’m already anxious, might as well force myself to do this. The walk towards him is lined with small basil plants amongst other assorted herbs, and that kind of creeps me out, because no one in my family has ever been the gardening sort.

Simon, not paying attention, almost runs into me on his way back. I grab his shoulders to steady him, he startles.

“Baz?” he asks, as if he’s seeing me for the first time.

“Here,” I say, squeezing his shoulder and quickly kissing his cheek. I can feel his body unclench.

“What’s with all the herbs? My family’s never gardened like this before.”

“Your dad’s side is the magickal-agricultural type, remember? But these are all Daphne’s. Occupational therapy, you know,” he adds, but I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know anything less than why.

“There’s mostly basil in there,” he presses.

“Funnily enough, my vision works quite well, Snow. I just don’t understand why, is all.”

He’s giving me the face he makes when I’m being unnecessarily cruel or inconsiderate.

“Because the only thing on my wall just happened to be a painting of a violin, Baz? Basilton ? Come on, you’re not that thick.”

The realization makes my skin prickle. It reminds me of seeing Simon’s fake Picasso for the first time: knowing how people desperately tried to fill the Baz- shaped holes in their lives makes me feel guilty all over.

His face softens as he sees me shutting down. He reaches up to bring one of my hands to his lips. “I’m sorry we never told you sooner, how much you meant to us.”

“Aleister Crowley,” I meet his gaze, “You understand.”

Simon just nods and leads me towards the front door. “Are you ready?”

I just look at him. “Coming home has always been hard.”

He nods. Opens the door.

And I’m home, I’m finally home-

Except.

This is not the place I knew twenty years ago. Everything inside is shining brilliantly with the light of the setting sun; I’ve never seen so many windows and skylights in my life. The antique furniture remains, but modern pieces have been mixed in. The walls are a simple shade of light brown, making everything look warm but pristine. Pale blue and green colors are everywhere, different hues spattered against them as the sun sets. I feel like I have to squint to move to the next room.

“Different, isn’t it?” asks Simon, looking around.

“That’s an understatement,” I murmur, but I don’t know if it’s the house I’m mourning or my childhood.

He squeezes my hand and says, “They left your room the same. The bed’s still got those weird wooden gargoyles all over it.”

I grin. “You’re tasteless, Snow.”

Simon gives me a sad smile. “Come on, they’re just finishing up tea.” When we walk into the sitting room, the light is so intense (an entire wall is missing. They’ve just replaced it with huge glass windows and a sliding glass door) that I only see my family silhouetted against the dying of the light. And then they all move at once, way too fast for my vision to react (which is saying something, considering that I kept all the extrasensory perceptions that a vampire has). The next thing I know, six arms are groping for me, and three voices apologizing all at once. Then I hear something I’ve never heard before in my life, and never could have even imagined.

I hear my family, and myself, crying into each other’s shoulders.

SIMON

Even though everyone moves when we arrive, it’s only Malcolm, Daphne, and Fiona who move towards Baz. The rest step away from the emotional scene. The group hug they’re giving him is breaking my heart, and the way that they’re all collectively crying is beautiful. I want to join in, but, for once, I need to think one step ahead. What’s going to happen when they release him and he sees Nicodemus standing five meters away?

I slip my hand between the tangle of bodies until I find Baz’s wand where it’s sticking out of his pant’s pocket. I grab it and hide it in a vase full of eglantine roses and then walk towards the other group.

“Is that really him?” Cedany asks. I barely have time to nod before Aldora adds, “He’s a lot more handsome than I imagined.”

“He better not leave again,” is all Edmund contributes before folding his arms and frowning.

Nicodemus is silent but is intently watching the group, waiting for Baz to react.

“How is it even possible?” Cedany questions me.

“You’ll have to ask him or Penny. I’ve stopped remembering all of it.”

“I mean, he looks really good for being forty,” Aldora continues.

“Hey, watch it. We’re both thirty eight.”  

“Ugh, who even counts after twenty nine?” Aldora says, waving me off with a hand.

“Rational people,” answers Cedany, and they begin to bicker about the relevance of age in society. Edmund says nothing, but when I notice that his attention has waved between the twins and something beyond my shoulder, I know Baz must have turned around.

Baz and Nicodemus are having some kind of stand off. In all reality, it just looks like a really intense staring contest, but I know that Baz’s eyes can feel lethal. I step closer to him so I can stop him if I need to. He reaches behind his back, presumably to draw his wand, but doesn’t show on his face that he can’t find it. He lowers his hand back down, casually, as if he wasn’t about to duel a wandless mage.

I swear everyone now is holding their breath. Cedany and Aldora have stopped their argument for the sake of watching this tension unfold.

Then Nicodemus does the stupidest thing he could have done in this situation. He relaxes, crossing his arms and looking Baz up and down.

He says, “Well, look at you. Somehow still living the dream.”

I don’t even register what Baz picks up from the tea table beside him. All I do is jump in front of him, grabbing at his hand to stop whatever it is he’s about to throw. Whatever it is hits my skin with a sickening sizzle and pop and I hiss while Baz tries to pull away from my grip. At this point, all I can do is hope that Fiona has-

“Stand your ground!”

-her wand. She’s a fierce magician, I don’t mind saying.

Baz stops struggling with his arms and instead tries to shake his legs to get his feet unspelled from the floor, to no avail. I look at my left palm, and am astounded to see a deep burn, already oozing blood and another clearish liquid. Shocked, I look to see what Baz picked up from the table.

Of course. One of the long candle stems.

He was going to set Nicodemus on fire.

“That was stupid of you,” chides Fiona. She looks rather pissed.

“I couldn’t help it, I’m sorry,” Nico says, pained.

“You couldn’t help being an arse? Jesus, Nico!”

“He tried to throw a candle at me!”

“And he set himself on fire because of you! Now you’re even,” Fiona deadpans sarcastically.

“Fi, don’t be like-”

“Not now. You should probably leave.”

Nicodemus just grunts and shuffles out of the room. When he passes by Baz, who still tries to lunge after him despite being stuck to the ground, he mutters, “It’s actually good to have you back, kid.”

Baz watches him leave, sneering in a way that makes me think he’s forgotten that he doesn’t have fangs anymore. When the front door shuts, he turns to everyone and says, “What the fuck, Fiona.” Not even asking questions.

“Baz, please-” but he cuts me off with a scathing look, full of hatred.

“That was the other thing you weren’t telling me, wasn’t it?”

I shrug, and it pisses him off. “Snow, you imbecile,” he scowls loudly.

I look up to the ceiling as if strength will fall from the sky. “Don’t start this again, Baz. There’s no paintings to throw me through.”

Instead of sobering him instantly, like I thought it would, he deliberately looks toward the window wall.

“You’d better be joking,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

He mimics my expression, clenching his jaw. “Fucking try me,” he growls.

“You’re being,” someone says from behind me, “a dick.”

I turn slightly, and Edmund is suddenly standing with his fists clenched at his side.

“Simon is just trying to help, because Nicodemus is our family now,” he continues, moving closer to where Baz is stuck to the ground. “And what a relief, too, because he was the only one who never wanted to talk about you. The only one who took interest into Cedany’s studies or Aldora’s love life or, hell, anything I did, because everyone else was too busy mourning you.”

Baz looks stricken.

“I don’t know you, and neither do the twins. As far as we’re concerned, you’re a stranger. Don’t ever try to attack our family again. People who do that don’t have much of a lifespan, I hear.”

I wince, and everyone knows he’s talking about the Mage.

Edmund waits a moment for Baz to respond, but he’s been rendered speechless. He huffs, and says, “Look, what Nico said- and did- was fucked up, okay? I won’t deny that. But at the end of the day, it comes down to family, like it always has. It’s not Nicodemus’s fault you were raised to hate yourself, is it? It wasn’t him who made you feel,” Edmund looks a bit choked up, “like… like you’re never enough. Alright? It’s not his fault.”

And he stalked off, tears threatening to fall down his cheeks.

Baz turns to his father, brow furrowed, and asks, “What did you do to him?”

Malcolm sputters indignantly, but Cedany answers, “Nothing.”

“And that’s the problem,” finishes Aldora, “they never did anything.”

BAZ

Nicodemus aside, I can’t believe how dysfunctional our family has become. Its somehow worse than when I left them.

Edmund stomped off in tears after projecting his own emotions onto me, and the twins (I don’t know which is which; they have the same face, although one is sporting a stylish pixie cut and designer clothes while the other has a messy bun and trackies) are defending him against their own parents. My own parents.

They look as though they might explode, actually. Which makes me realize that they’ve never even talked about this issue before, much less sorted it out.

I guess the interior decor is the only thing that’s changed about this family.

“So, you all continued to make the same mistakes you made with me.”

My father, Daphne, and Fiona all wince. I fall forward because Fiona’s spell loses hold.

Simon’s at my side immediately, even after I’ve threatened to throw him out the window.

I’m not good for him.

I use my right arm to push him away and stand up on my own. Simon follows, but his jaw is clenched, and he won’t look at me. I wonder if he’s just realized I’m no good for him, and also just what in the fresh hell is he doing here defending me to my psychotic family.

“I feel like this would be better to discuss over dinner,” my father says.

Simon laughs bitterly. “Postponing the shitstorm won’t make it any better, Malcolm.”

“But it will allow time for Mordelia, Niall and the kids to arrive,” Daphne argues, “And we might as well have the whole family here for it.”

“The whole family?” Fiona scoffs. “I think Nico and I will pass. I’d rather not bring home his ashes.”

I growl at her, but Simon clutches my arm, “Baz and Nicodemus will both be on their best behavior if anything is going to be solved tonight.”

Fiona scowls, but Simon seems to take this as an agreement. “Let’s go,” he whispers into my ear, and the way he says it sends shivers down my side. He’s angry.

I let him pull me upstairs.

SIMON

I’m taking him to his room so he can at least feel comfortable when I yell at him. But almost as soon as we get there, he starts crying.

I swear I’m not pathetic. I have a reason that I find it so hard to be mad at Baz.

I’m in love with him.

That’s scary, because everyone (except Penny, because she’s invincible) I’ve loved has died, but there’s something even worse: I think he loves me too. And I’m terrified that he’s going to say so, and then disappear.

Disappear because that was his truth. Just like my mother’s was that she loved me, the Mage’s was that he was my father, and Ebb’s that she was still my good friend. They all left soon after saying their truths.

I fear that Baz will look me in the eye and say, whole heartedly, “I love you, Simon.” because it will be just like last time he said it except worse because I was teased with the hope that he was alive, and real, and that he would stay. I fear that he will say those words then fade away just like everyone else I loved did.

That’s why I can’t stay mad at Baz: I don’t want that to be my last emotion towards him.

And also, I just can’t bring myself to dislike him, because it makes me feel cold and empty inside, just like before.

Anyway.

There’s a dried and shriveled amaranth under a layer of cobwebs on his antique dresser, and he picks it up, frowning.

“Why is all this still here?”

“Nobody’s touched this room, except me, in twenty years. And even then, I’ve only slept on the couch.

His eyes cut to the couch, and something about it makes his stare hold, and the flower drop. It’s delicate branches snap off and scatter across the floorboards, leaving small broken petals in their wake.

I have to remind myself I’m mad at him as I start to see tears form in his eyes. Whatever it is, he walks towards it and snatches it off the couch.

I’m behind him, so he’s shielding whatever it is. I take care not to crush the fallen flower even further when I get nearer to him. In his hands is a large book with the title “Remember the Magic.”

There are tears streaming down his cheeks, and he can’t stop looking at the book.

“What happened,” he whispers, “after?”

“Penny and I figured out that the Humdrum was just me taking everyone’s magic, and on the way to tell the Mage, we figured out he was the one to kill your mother. He was withdrawing his sword out of Ebb’s body when we got there, and I just-”

“No I know that part, I mean directly after.”

I start to shake. I knew he would ask me this eventually, but it breaks my heart to replay it all in my mind anyway.

I close my eyes.

What happened, indeed.

~~~~~

What happened was that though Baz’s spell was effective enough to get me out of his fiery circle of hell without breaking any bones it was nothing compared to what came after.

I’ve always known what it feels like to have a star go nova in your chest; it happened back then all the time. But I’d never actually seen it. I knew the instant Baz was gone because I felt the shockwave hammer straight into my soul, and the bright fire shining like silver shooting into the trees, and it seemed to ignite the night sky.

I was still surrounded by flames. Hyperventilating from the smoke and the shock of it all.

I kept thinking, You idiot, how could you, over and over and over. I thought I was going to die, and I was pissed that he wasn’t there to do it, even if it was overtly his fault.

I kept thinking, I never even knew he was gay. And then, I never even knew, full stop, because at that moment Baz seemed more like a boy than a villain or a monster.

I kept thinking of all the ways I should have stopped it, because he loved me, because I was the last thing he held on too, but I wasn’t enough, even though he promised me I would “save us all.”

Save who? The world of Mages? Baz himself told me I was the worst Chosen One to ever have been chosen. Well, it bloody well wasn’t my fault. It’s not a title I asked for or even wanted.

And I couldn’t have even saved him.

It all made me feel like a failure. I couldn’t stop shaking and I couldn’t stop feeling my lips and forehead, the last places he touched-

That’s when I went off; but it was different this time. I went off and I sucked all the fire into me, and the trees went back to the way they were. Nothing was charred or burnt.

I was immediately sick, though, as if I had not only sucked in the fire but also the very magic that created it. That's when the Humdrum showed up, saying that he was so close to becoming a part of me instead of just an echo. All it took for Penny to figure it all out was those few words.

Before I left the newly restored clearing, however, I walked over to where atop a huge pile of ash lay an ivory wand with a singed leather handle. This is around the time Baz stopped being Baz and became simply him. I buried him in one of my lists.

I wish I could say that telling his family the news was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but it wouldn’t be true in the slightest. I walked into the Pitch mansion dirty and splotchy red insisting to Vera that it couldn’t wait. She directed me to the dining room, and what a shock that was for them (probably) to look up and see me smeared with ash and clothing partly singed off- without Baz. The plate of eggs Daphne had been passing to Mordelia dropped and shattered on the ground, eggs sloshing onto the carpet.

They probably assumed the worst. And of course, the worst did technically happen, but I think they were picturing the End Fight that was supposed to happen, the one that would have decided the outcome of a tedious war.

Malcolm rattled off “Tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!”

That’s why it was so easy to tell them. I just sat in a comfy chair and let the spell take over the story. It’s why they know everything, including his secret pining for me.

We were all crying once my truth had been told. Malcolm’s usually expressionless face sunk tenfold and dry salt stained his cheekbones because the tears all but ran out. The twins had left the room a bit before, but Edmund as a baby just looked bored.  Mordelia started screaming and was in complete denial until she insisted I show them all the ashes, and I did.

That was the first time Mordelia’s magic went awry, although we didn’t know it was her back then. I showed her the ashes, and a tree branch fell behind us.

Mordelia… I don’t know how she’s going to take seeing Baz again.

Oh well. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

BAZ

Simon opens his eyes after a few moments of heartbreaking storytelling. His shaking is slowing and his breaths are becoming more even by the second.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, because I don’t know what else to do. He gets up off the couch and goes to sit on my bed. I walk over with him and lean on the bedpost.

“I’m still mad,” Simon replies, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. But he doesn’t look mad, he just looks really tired. Like I’ve exhausted him.  One of his hands looks a bit mottled as he brings them back into his lap and turns slowly to look at me.

“It’s just-” he blusters, but I cut him off by grabbing his hands and pulling them toward me. I end up sitting cross legged right next to him. I look at the hand he was cradling, and am shocked to see that there are second degree burns on his palm.

“Is this just from the candle?” Simon nods and I curse. “I’m so sorry,” I repeat.  

“I won’t say it’s okay. Because it isn’t- but I’ve already forgiven you,” he answers.

“How can you be like this?” I whisper. “After I’ve hurt you so bad?”

“Because hating you for it is harder, and I don’t want to spend whatever time we have left fighting.”

My eyes snap his. “Simon. Are you saying-”

“Don’t!” He’s shaking. “Please.”

I stare at him because he’s looking away so it won’t matter what I do. “You have to help me understand. Because I promise,” I scoot closer to him, winding an arm around his waist and pulling him against me, “that I am not going to leave you.”

“Not willingly ,” says Simon dryly.

His blue eyes bore into mine. I’m suddenly reminded that I love him.

And Crowley, I want to tell him. So much. But what if he reacts badly because it’s pretty much the last thing I said to him?

Simon is still a bit shaky. I use my strength to sit him up properly against the headboard, then kneel between his legs. He’s got a curious expression on his face, and I feel a bit silly too, seeing as I’m about to kiss him senseless as if we were teenagers instead of thirty eight year olds.

Oh well.

He tastes like the expensive, exotic tea that Daphne always buys. The kiss is like the one on the first day I came back; like we were both remembering. Remembering something so important and surreal.

When I pull back and rest my forehead against his, he’s still got an odd look in his eye. I put my hands on either side of his face and kiss his forehead. His breath hitches, and I know he’s thinking of how I did this in the fire, because I am too. Simon’s hands fly up to capture my wrists, but nothing could push me back now. This emotion has been inside me almost the entirety of my life, and not even Merlin himself can stop me from saying it.

Simon’s eyes have squeezed shut in this process, and I wait for them to open. When they do, it’s slowly, and his breathing is shallow. My hands hold him fast.

“I love you.”

He stops breathing

“Hey,” I say, shaking him. “Breathe. In and out. With me, come on now.”

Simon’s looking at me like he’s terrified, but he matches our breathing anyway. He’s moving his burnt hand up to mine, the one with the cross in it. He chuckles, but his eyes are wet.

“What?”

He looks at me through misty blue eyes. Smiling.

I’d do anything for that smile.

“We match.”

“Why?” I turn over our hands and examine them. “Because we both have burns on our palms?”

“Nah,” he smiles again, casting his eyes down as he blushes. “I mean, yes- but that’s not what I was going to say.”

Simon stops talking, but he’s doing that thumb on hand rubbing thing that makes anyone in a relationship week.

He looks up at me again, and relief is spread all over his face, although I don’t know why.

“I love you too,” he says, and it feels like my insides are burning as he tackles me onto the bed.

SIMON

“You didn’t disappear,” I say, exasperated, between kisses.

“You’re literally on top of me, Snow. How could I have disappeared?”

He’s being cheeky, and I love him for it. I love him for it. What a relief that I can say it now.

I push up on my elbows so that I’m looking down on him. His dark hair is splayed against the satin red duvet, and silver eyes are gleaming up in amusement like happy diamonds. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.

“All the other Visitors disappeared,” I started, and he frowns. “You weren’t- aren’t- like them, I know. But I thought- maybe you didn’t express your love enough. That maybe it was your truth.”

He’s still frowning at me, brow crinkled and everything.

“But I tried to feed you to a chimaera,” he pouts, “I thought that was really romantic.”

I’m shocked out of words, and I push up again so I’m on my hands and knees, still straddling him. Baz is looking at me with a stony serious face, but after a moment he breaks into laughter, a smile literally splitting across his face.

“Oh Merlin, Simon. Your face.”

I know I’m turning redder by the minute. “Shut up. You’ve got a funny face yourself.”

He snorts. “Excellent comeback, Snow. Points for creativity.��

I lean down to kiss him again to wipe the smug expression off his face (and because I love kissing him. Honestly, it’s hard to stop). Baz responds immediately, lifting his entire body up by tucking his elbows underneath himself and pushing, more like shoving, his face into mine. I mean, really, it’s like he’s trying to attack me.

Just as suddenly as he starts, Baz stops. One of his long fingers comes up to trace my jaw. He nudges his nose against mine, turning my face until his lips are pressed against my ear. When he speaks, it sends chills throughout my body.

“I will never disappear again.”

I shudder for multiple obvious reasons.

“I love you, Simon, and that’s what binds me to Earth.”

He lays back down, and even though I’m above him, I feel so vulnerable and open. He uses the hand that’s on my face to turn me back towards him. Once we’re having what feels like a staring contest, his hands slide into my hair and my eyelids flutter closed.

“Gorgeous,” I hear him whispering out in one breath, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud, like the words crawled out of his lips and straight into my heart of their own accord.

I look at him. Baz has the softest smile and the most cloudy eyes on the planet.

“And you… Well, your love brought me back, didn’t it?”

He’s right, as always. I kiss him as a mini reward. Kissing Baz is other worldly. Quite possibly literally. But it’s lovely all the same.

The next time we stop to take a breath, Baz hugs me close and tight. “You do know you deserve this, right? That you, out of all people, deserve to love and be loved in return.”

“Oh Jesus,” I say to his shoulder, “You understand.”

He nods into my neck and presses a soft kiss to my throat.

I scramble (I don’t know why I’m rushing) to get my hands on him, anywhere   on him. Making out is one thing, but actually having Baz’s arse in my hands is quite another. All of this is pushing us closer to the edge of the bed opposite to the headboard, but neither of us notices (or cares). He lifts one of his knees, hooking one of his legs around mine, and presses his hips forward.

My moan is so loud that he laughs at me. “Shh,” he chides, “My entire family is downstairs. We don’t want any unexpected visitors, now do we?”

“Fuck it,” I curse, kissing his neck since he’s so intent on mocking me, “they already know.”

“Yes, but- fuck -” Baz hisses as I bite softly on his earlobe. He really likes this. I can reduce him to a pile of gush if I continue. “Get back here,” he demands, but not unkindly. I oblige.

It’s almost funny, making out as if we’re sneaky teenagers. I’m half expecting someone to catch us going at it, just like in the movies.

I say almost funny because it’s not really that funny when it actually happens.

BAZ

It really shouldn’t be a surprise that someone caught us, and it shouldn’t be a surprise who caught us.

I mean, honestly, has the girl ever fucking knocked in her life?

If she has, she isn’t doing it now.

Mordelia is opening the door while saying, “Simon? The family said that you needed to talk to me before di-” but not finishing the sentence.

I can’t blame her for staring because I’m sure we look ridiculous. Simon, flushed above me, mouth open in shock (and because no one ever taught him to close it), and me, head hanging over the edge of the bed looking straight at the door. The hair, I’m sure, is creating a halo around my face, but there’s also a giant hickey on my neck (probably) and since there is a man straddling me and obviously turned on, I doubt I look very saint-like.

When Mordelia peels her eyes off of me and puts them back onto the specimen above me, all he says is, “Um.” And somehow it’s eloquent (maybe because I could not have done any better myself).

“Simon. Who is this?” she asks sharply. It stings a bit that she doesn’t recognize me, but then I think maybe she’s in disbelief.

I certainly am. Mordelia has seriously grown up. She must have gotten braces at some point, her teeth are perfectly straight and her pink lips close over them easily. Brown hair falls shoulder length in waves. Her eyeliner looks sharp enough to cut anyone who looks at her the wrong way, and the clothes she’s wearing look comfortable (she does have two kids, after all) but obviously designer.

Mordelia, in short, looks great, and it’s infinitely worse than seeing Penny aged, because Mordelia was young before but she’s still so young but yet so mature. It’s hard to explain.

“Um,” Simon tries again, “This is Baz?”

She looks at us both with the most unamused and unimpressed expression on her face. She turns to leave, and “Mother said to bring you down for dinner,” is casually thrown over her shoulder (with her eyes narrowed into slits) as she stalks out of the room. We listen as the sounds of her heeled thigh-highs melt into the background.

Simon and I are both staring at the door where Mordelia had just been, but we’re put back into reality when there’s a childish scream and giggle from somewhere downstairs, presumably coming from one of Mordelia’s kids.

“Um,” Simon repeats, “why was that so odd?”

“What was so odd about it?”

“I just mean that she was totally fine with you being here, almost like she expected it to happen. And her magic- I expected her magic to…” he trails off noticing something on the floor. He climbs off of me in a hurry, running to crouch and grab at what I can’t see because I’m too busy rolling onto my stomach.

Simon stands slowly, a full, blossoming amaranth in his hands, the very one that was on my dresser when we came in.

And suddenly, I remember who gave it to me.

As soon as I came home for winter holiday that last year, Mordelia handed me a flower and said, “I saw this at the park, and it was so pretty it reminded me of you.” It was this very flower. I remember being extremely touched, even giving her a hug in thanks.

“She gave this to you, didn’t she?” Simon asks.

I nod, resting my chin on my hands.

A slow, sad smile grows and stretches across Simon’s face until it’s become my world.

“You know,” he says, tucking the long flower in my hair behind my ears, “This is the first time I’ve truly felt that everything was going to be okay.”

~~~~~

Dinner, to my surprise, is actually quite pleasant. Daphne and Vera have cooked up some sort of Spanish feast, and it’s delicious. Everyone is getting along, even if that’s only because I haven’t even glanced at Fiona’s side of the table yet (Simon says that it’s okay if I need time to sort out my issues with Nicodemus).

Mordelia and Niall’s kids are wonderful. I can just tell that they’re great parents, because the way my niece and nephew take to me is fantastic. They want to know all about my adventures with Simon from our school years and how it feels to not be a vampire anymore. Father stiffens at this a bit, it’s clear he’s still not comfortable with magickal beings that aren’t mages. But the kids, Elizabeth and Oliver, were raised with stories of their mother’s travels and the research she’s done, and it all gives me this sickeningly optimistic outlook for the World of Mages.  

“Speaking of your research,” Simon interrupts at some point during a conversation about the existence of cave nymphs in South America, “why weren’t you surprised at all that Baz was-”

“Underneath you and sporting a giant hickey?”

Father actually spits some of the wine he’s drinking back into the glass and Daphne tries unsuccessfully to not let a laugh escape at the sight of it. Simon blushes cherry red, but I just snort, because she’s not wrong, and because Mordelia’s smirk looks like she stared at photos of me doing it until she got it right. Good on her, I’m very proud.

“Well, who do you think funded Penny’s studies?”

He’s gaping at her. “I thought it was just the university.”

“Oh please,” Mordelia scoffs, waving a hand, “UC San Diego is filled with Normals in the administration. They hardly even accept magickal students, supposedly on accident, since that’s not actually part of the application. And it’s not, but it is kind of a weird coincidence.” She chews a lip thoughtfully, “Maybe we should look into that.”

After a moment, she shakes her head. “I digress. What I meant to say is that I gathered a team of people interested in studying the afterlife, the Veil, the Visitings, and other such phenomenon and asked politely if UCSD would give them a place to perform their research. They couldn’t tell me no once I said I was willing to pay for the new building.”

“So they were really just conducting those tests for you?” I ask.

Mordelia’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nah,” she says, less formally. “It was for you.”

I don’t know what to say to this.

“So you knew about Penny’s colleague's hypothesis?”

“Well it’s a theory now, isn’t it? They’ll have real proof once Baz lets himself be known and gives them an interview. But yeah, I knew. I didn’t allow myself to get my hopes up, though. They said the arithmancy checked out- even if it was in a weird way- but I never studied arithmancy so the rest of the theory all just sounded like a Greek myth to me.”

“You might have understood the arithmancy if you stayed in school,” grumbled Father at the head of the table, and everyone ignored him. Edmund rolls his eyes so hard I fear they’ll stick in his skull.

“Anyway,” Simon says, clearing his throat. “Did you say they don’t know Baz is back.”

She nodded the affirmative. “Why not?” Simon asks. “I told Penny.”

“But it wasn’t her truth to tell, was it?” Mordelia responds, eyes gleaming. “It’s yours.”

“How could that be my truth and not his?”

“Because you’re the one who’s been telling people, Simon!” Mordelia yells, gesturing with her wine glass at the table full of people before them. She frowns. “Come to think of it, Basil has probably already told his truth. The Veil’s magic would’ve compelled him to say it sooner rather than later.”

“I told him I love him today,” I blurt out, and the noise my father makes involuntarily makes me wish he was just a Visitor.

Simon is giving me a fond look that’s so cheesy it belongs in the movies, but Mordelia is shaking her head like we’re both idiots. “No, that’s too long. Did you ever feel something so deeply that you had to say it out loud?”

I think about that for a moment before remembering that I have.

“Never again,” I whisper, because it kind of hurts my heart to have to say again. The entire family is eavesdropping into the conversation shamelessly at this point, and they all lean closer to me to hear what I have to say.

“Never again,” I repeat more loudly, then meet everyone’s eyes (Yes. Even Nicodemus) before saying, “I really am so sorry.”

Mordelia beams at me, and her children jump out of Niall’s lap where they were previously perched to give me a huge hug. It’s adorable, and I feel like my heart is swelling.

SIMON

Malcolm is trying not to cry and Daphne is sobbing but I barely notice. As Vera clears the dishes away, pausing to give Baz a blank faced look like she’s seeing a ghost, all I can concentrate on how well he’s doing with his niece and nephew. They’re climbing all over him, begging for stories, and he’s just letting it happen. I suppose I expected him to be disgusted with such ill mannered beings, but I was wrong, obviously.

“You’re really good with children,” I tell him later on the ride home. We didn’t spend the night at the mansion because it probably would have been awkward, seeing as the first thing Baz whispered to me as we exited the dining room was, “I’m going to eat you so hard tonight.”

And also because it’s important for Baz to feel like he’s not being suffocated by his various family members. I’m just really excited for the former.

Baz just hums his acknowledgement and looks out the window. We’re out of the countryside by now, and the lights race each other past the glass. One of his hands rests on the center console where a long finger is slowly tapping. I think this is some sort of signal for physical contact wanted, so I oblige. Our fingers slide together easily.

He smiles like he’s trying not to, letting out a small laugh.

“What?” I ask, putting my eyes back on the road before I accidentally drive us into oncoming traffic.

“I just think I realized how much I’ve missed out on,” Baz says, speaking to our hands. My smile falls- I thought the laughter was in joy, not in sorrow.

“Like what?”

“I want what Mordelia has.”

“Success? Happiness?”

“A loving family,” he corrects.

Oh.

“Baz. Are you talking about children?” I look straight at him because this is a very serious conversation, driving be damned. I trust Baz’s reflexes with a wand anyway (which I had returned to him after dinner).  

“Maybe,” he replies, eyes boring straight into mine.

My insides flip over, and then flip over again. It takes all my strength to soothe my outward appearance. I don’t want to look panicked, because even though I am, it’s for all the right reasons. I don’t want to scare him off when I genuinely like this idea.

So I shrug and turn back to the road. Try to contain my smile.

“We’ll need a bigger place to live,” I point out.

“And the city isn’t really a proper place to start a family, is it?”

I peak at him through my peripheral vision. He looks soft.

“You’re right. We need somewhere they can see the stars.”

“We can make it ourselves,” Baz points out.

“House building? You sure know how to woo a man.”

“I’ve had loads of practice, love. Remember that time I pushed you down the stairs?”

~~~~~

Less than an hour later, I’m parking the car in the lot. Baz gets out of the car stretches with his arms over his head, exposing a sliver of his lower back. My mouth waters (just a bit). He catches me staring and smirks- then saunters up the walk to the flat. He's even swinging his hips, the bastard.

It’s a miracle I can even think straight, but I must be able to, since something’s just occurred to me.

“Hey!” I call, running to catch up. As I get there, I start to say his name, but Baz receipts my incoming self and spins me in his arms. He then proceeds to lower me into a dip.

“Yes love?” He asks, kissing my nose. Fuck. He's so distracting.

I try to wrestle out of his grip, but Baz just stands is up and puts a had in my back pocket and another at the behind my neck. Rocking us, only a little.

“How did you find me?”

Baz stills.

“I mean, you don't have to answer right now,” I rush to say, “I didn't mean to upset you, I was only wondering-”

He kisses me forcefully, which is a relief, because I couldn't stop from blabbering otherwise. It's merely a peck, so he's quite quick in responding, “I was called here.”

“To this building?”

“Yes and no. I appeared in the grass, under a tree, just there,” he elaborates, pointing to the lush green corner where the lot ends. It's pitch black out, given, but I've lived here for twenty years and I know exactly which tree he's talking about. I used to sit there with headphones on and people watch, whenever I was feeling particularly glum. Sometimes Penny would bring me out ice cream and a blanket (we still lived together then) and we'd have ourselves a proper urban picnic.

“I had no clue where I was, or what was happening. I remembered catching fire, and I could still feel that thick fog, as if it was still in my throat.” He shivers. “Anyway. I wanted to see you, but didn’t know how. I figured my best shot was to find a public place and start asking around.”

I glance at the starbucks on the other side of the street. He snorts. “Yeah, I went in there. I went and ordered a drink, and then asked the boy working if he knew a Simon Snow. Before he could answer, the woman waiting behind me tapped my shoulder. She looked so eager and said she knew who I was looking for. She pointed across the street, gave me your flat number, and said, ‘You’d better be good company.’”

“Hang on- what did she look like?”

Baz frowns, hand on chin, trying to recall the woman’s appearance. “Short, dirty blonde hair, big green eyes-”

“Kind of a soft looking face?” I ask.

“Yes. Do you know her?”

I laugh and laugh. “Yeah. That was my old boss.”

He looks at me like I’ve gone mad. “Why is that so funny?”

“It’s just- the last thing she said to me was ‘Did you find good company?’ And she was always berating me about…” I trail off.

“About what?” He presses.

“Finding happiness.”

Baz smiles and pulls me to his chest.

“Falling in love.”

Places a tender kiss into my hair.

“And with both of those, creating a future.”

[nyxysabyss]

LEVEL HORIZON; YEAR FIVE.24 1/3; Resolve & Potential

Chapter 34!

It is in my nature to be kind, gentle, and loving, but know this: when it comes to matters of protecting my friends, my family, and my heart, do not trifle with me, for I am also the most powerful and relentless creature you will ever know. ~Anonymous

~Five Months Later, High Summer~

Tobio Kageyama lands lightly in the middle of the main road running through a small town, his leveler dropping beside him a little less gracefully. Lev appears out of nowhere with a grin, Yaku at his elbow.

“That was the longest flight so far.” The tall cat says, his green eyes bright as they are joined by the owls, Noya, Asahi, Yamaguchi, and Tsukishima. This is the first trip they’ve taken away from home since last fall… since Hinata’s wings ruptured into existence. Everyone had been going a little stir crazy over winter and spring, and it is probably well overdue now that they’ve hit summer and they’d had yet to take one.

The jaunt hadn’t been entirely welcomed by everyone; Yachi had worried constantly the last couple days, and had extracted any number of promises from all of them that if Hinata was getting tired, that they’d stop. She’d insisted that he not be allowed to push himself too hard, and that they rest if he was having a hard time. Kuroo had forced them to plot out a course this time and then secured a commitment to send ravens every other day to let everyone back home know they were still okay, much to the cynical annoyance of Tsukishima. Daichi had told them not to do anything stupid, and Suga had sent along a few extra coins in case they hit a bind somewhere. The only one who’d seemed at ease with letting them go was Kenma. The golden cat had smiled happily with a small wave as they’d taken off right after Tanaka had told them they’d all better come back in one piece.

Natsu, on the other hand, hadn’t been happy about being left behind at all. And since Natsu wouldn’t be allowed, the bald crow had remained behind as well; when the girl would wake in the dark with panic because she was positive the snakes were coming for her, he was the only one who could reach her.

“I go, too.” Tanaka had shaken his head at her even though he’d been put out about being stuck back home, too.

“You wouldn’t be able to keep up, Munchkin. I told you this would happen if you didn’t do those conditioning drills. Besides, you have lessons with Taji and his sister. You prove you can stay airborne for three hours, and pass your tests, and maybe you can go next time.”

Yeah, that had gone over well. The girl had settled into a perpetual sulk before they’d left. Coercing Natsu had been necessary, though. She could fly now, but she’d opt to walk over taking to the sky if given the choice, so she lagged heavily in her flight skills.

And it had been disappointing to discover that she could neither read nor write. She’d never been given any type of schooling during her time with the snakes, so they’d promptly set her up to learn not only written skill, but also a verbal regimen alongside Suga’s young cousins. They had no problem with she and Hinata conversing in their ‘island babble’, but for Natsu to be able to succeed in the world around them, she would have to be able to read, write and speak the crow lexicon like her brother. Hinata draws in a large breath and looks up at the grey cat with a grin.

“You guys are good rabbits! We almost lost you twice!” Hinata says with a laugh. Kageyama smiles slightly.

The trip isn’t just to restore Shouyou’s sanity and craving for adventure and human interaction. It’s also to build his strength and condition his wings, to actually field test them and put them under stress. It is to push them without breaking them, to increase his stamina and control, to restore the redhead to his pre-grounded state.

‘Catch the rabbit’ was one of their drills that they’d been doing as they moved from town to town. A modified game of tag or hide and seek, the cats would zip along in an unpredictable and often chaotic pattern across the forest floors, the airborne group working to keep tabs on them. It was actually eye opening to see what they were truly capable of physically. They could really stretch out, their movements fluid and sleek, until Kageyama and the others would be pushing their upper limits on speed. They could stop and turn on a dime, something that really forced any of them with wings to use every muscle and skill to keep up with their switchbacks and banks. When the cover grew thick, they’d slow and test the avians’ eyes and see if they could keep track of them in the heavy undergrowth.

And, skies, could they leap. Just the other day, they’d been pushing along at a clip and Kageyama had seen Lev clear a fifty-foot river in a single bound with ease. It had immediately dispelled his misconception that the river had stopped Kuroo when he and Shouyou had been headed back to the rookery after Hinata’s grounding; he’d never underestimate their abilities in that department again.

“You look a little pale, Hinata. You pushed too hard, didn’t you?” Yaku asks with a frown. Hinata beams at him, the smile a little too tight.

“Not at all! I could go all day!”

“Uh, huh,” the small cat says skeptically before turning to Kageyama, “We should probably stop for today.”

“We don’t have to!” Hinata says hurriedly, but Kageyama is already nodding.

“Take Noya or Bokuto or someone and go find some lunch.” He says and the redhead stops dead and turns to him questioningly.

“Where are you going?” The avian heir turns a bland look on him.

“Find some gingko leaves.” He says flatly, and Shouyou’s face scrunches into a scowl.

“They don’t hurt that bad, Kageyama. Really.” An eyebrow creeps up Kageyama’s forehead.

The crow setter raises one hand and drives an index finger into the muscle on his shoulder. Hinata almost drops to get away from it and Kageyama gives him a pointed look. His face puffs into a sullen pout and the avian heir suffocates his amusement.

“I’ll join you. I intend to get some basil, because you guys are all weird and can eat tasteless food twenty-four-seven.” Yaku says.

“That’s because you ate salt for decades at sea. You don’t have any taste buds left.” Noya says with a grin and Lev turns to the small cat.

“Is that why you’re so short?” He asks. Hinata snorts right alongside Noya and Bokuto, and even Kageyama can’t keep the smirk off his face. He’s quite sure the lanky cat will never learn.

“You aren’t getting laid for a week, Haiba.” The short cat deadpans, and Noya bursts out laughing.

Kageyama’s smile threatens to split his face as his leveler and the streaked owl quickly follow suit. Yamaguchi can’t keep his own down and even Akaashi’s mouth quirks. The only ones apparently not amused are the large bearded crow who just looks scandalized and Tsukishima who watches them with a very ‘I have never met any of you, don’t ever speak to me’ look. Still, Kageyama can feel his ears burn just a bit; he still colors at vulgar comments from his companions, but he’s gotten far more used to them— unlike Noya’s leveler.

“Yaku!” Asahi protests and Bokuto waves him off.

“What’s the matter? Natsu’s not around right now so he doesn’t need to mind his mouth. It can run all he likes; when they start gettin’ friendly is when it’ll be a problem. Let’s find some food before Yaku goes back on that threat in broad daylight, Hinata.” The streaked owl says throwing his arm over Shouyou’s shoulder.

“Akaashi, control your idiot before I drop kick him.” Yaku growls.

“That would be a wasted effort. The first and last time I tried that, I told him to get lost— you can see how well that went.” The smaller owl says with a quiet smile before drifting toward Kageyama. “Bo, I’m going to head over with these guys. They find a shop that carries gingko, they probably have a decent tea, too.”

“Maybe I could look for kukicha!” Yamaguchi says hopefully.

“Then I guess it’s up to us to get the food. Anyone not with us doesn’t get to complain about what we bring back.” Noya says, waving at them as he turns with Shouyou and Bokuto to head down the street, Asahi trailing after them like a child’s kite.

Kageyama feels that small pull in his gut that he always gets whenever he’s left watching Hinata walk away from him. He intrinsically knows his leveler will always come back to him, but it doesn’t make it any easier to let him wander around without him; he mentally thanks the streaked owl and large crow for accompanying the two short avians, because they are each imposing enough to be a large deterrent to anyone who might want to mess with them.

That small smile stays fixed at the corner of his mouth as he watches them start away, his leveler already arguing animatedly with Noya and Bokuto about what they should have for dinner. He’s enthusiastically invested enough in their meal prospects that his face lights up and his wings twitch with anticipation. Kageyama knows that whenever Hinata is around, he’s as easily distracted as the smaller boy himself… and right now, he should be looking for a place that sells ginkgo, but his gaze lingers on his leveler a few more moments.

Hinata without wings would never have been normal, but Kageyama has yet to get entirely used to them being back; it is still incredible to him that Shouyou is flying once again. Hinata’s perfect, white ticked black wings have gained over another foot in spread since that day he’d taken his first clumsy flight again in almost five years. They continue to stretch, and Kageyama knows it’s painful even if he never says a word.

Kageyama estimates that he probably has maybe another foot yet to go before they are back to the size they were before he’d lost them, and he still glows every chance the stupid bond gets. They have to be careful anytime they aren’t at the beach house, and they still can’t find sleep together. It has been particularly frustrating on this trip, and nearly everyone has had to remind them about it when one of them would subconsciously gravitate toward the other.

But… Kageyama would go through it all a hundred times over again just to see Hinata smile so freely like he is now. It’s an expression they’ve rarely seen in the last two years, and one that has slowly been making a comeback. Kageyama can see the way the others brighten in subconscious response, especially the streaked owl.

Kageyama knows Bokuto has been fixated on Hinata, trying with all his might to bring back that obliviously sunny insanity that had perpetually fueled the redhead when they’d first met the owls. He knows that’s the reason the streaked owl had been one of the first to step up to help him train in his new wings. He knows the larger man has acutely felt the difference in Shouyou since their run in with the snake nest… because Shouyou is different.

But Bokuto is wrong about two things.

Bokuto thinks that he’s mellowed because he’d had to take a life… but that’s not right. Kageyama had actually asked him about it once because it had bothered him, too, and Hinata had looked at him with surprise.

“That’s not it at all, moron.” He’d said frankly and Kageyama had frowned with confusion.

“But the nightmares since then—”

“They always end when you or Suga or Natsu or somebody dies. Kageyama… killing someone wasn’t the nightmare, it was being unable to save someone.”

“Then—”

“It’s because we went after my sister in the first place. I barely remember her from before I came to the rookery. When we ran into her, I had no idea what she’d been through, hadn’t even realized she’d survived. I do wish I never had to take lives, and I hate that I’m the reason that someone will never come home. But I don’t regret it because Natsu wouldn’t have been safe otherwise.

“What frightens me is that I readily placed all of our lives on the line for someone I didn’t even know. She could have been a plant and it wouldn’t have mattered because I’d have still tried to get her out. And that choice... we could have all died and we did nearly lose Sugawara and Sawamura. Two people to save one isn’t an even exchange. And I know it’s two for two in retrospect, but at the time, none of us knew she and Tanaka were levelers. It was an impossible call, because she’s my sister no matter how much a stranger she might have been, and I know things all turned out fine, but Suga and Daichi… Kageyama, I gambled their lives— all of ours really— to try and save someone I couldn’t have told you the first thing about.

“And it’s scary because if we had lost them… I’m not sure I’d have ever been able to look at Natsu the same, knowing that she lived free by their sacrifice. I’m scared to death that I’d have held that against her, because you and everyone from Karasuno, the cats and owls and girls, and even Tsukki and Yamaguchi— they’re family, and I love them all. I’m not willing to trade any of their lives for anything, and yet… I nearly did. And I did it with ease, no hesitation. I never thought I’d be someone who could do something like that.”

Kageyama had been quietly stunned that Hinata didn’t agonize over having killed snakes, but rather the illusion that he’d made the choice to endanger the others for the chance to save Natsu. Hinata was wrong about that notion, because they’d all made the choice to go after his sister, not just him, but it had tormented him all the same. And Bokuto never failed to pick up on that.

But he���s been trying to restore the redhead’s buoyancy in the wake of that emotional turmoil all along when it’s never really been gone. Hinata is still Hinata, and that brilliant shining happiness that he’d always radiated… it’s still there— it’s just tempered by a brush with harsh reality now. It might not be as obnoxious as it was before, but it’s far from gone.

He still gets ridiculously excited about the littlest things and he’ll still exclaim over Yachi and Shimizu’s meals. He still loses his mind when he gets one of their freaky fast hits off in Volley. He still avidly participates in pranks with Noya and Tanaka, and he still smirks right next to them through the rebukes from Daichi or Kuroo.

The difference is that Shouyou doesn’t miss much at all anymore; it’s not just Kageyama— he’s far more attuned to those around him than he ever was growing up, and it’s made him a little more quiet. But that brilliance that has always been his trademark is still there, and Kageyama can see it even now.

“You look like a lovesick idiot.”

Kageyama blinks and turns a nonplussed look on the ibis as Yamaguchi stifles a chuckle, but he has no comeback. The blond has always been quicker on the uptake, his barbs always sharp and on point. Kageyama has never been able to rattle off insults as well or fast, but for once, it isn’t his leveler rising in his defense.

“Better lovesick than love starved.” Yaku mutters pointedly and a smirk tips the avian heir’s mouth as Tsukishima rolls his eyes. The cat doesn’t even give the ibis a chance to respond and ignores Yamaguchi’s indignant squawk before he’s wandering off in search of a place that will carry his basil, and Kageyama drifts after him without conscious effort.

“Speaking about a lovesick moron, you missed it Yaku. You should have been awake after we found you and Lev after the wave. He wouldn’t let you go even to let Suga put his entrails back inside him.” Akaashi says with a smile and Kageyama huffs through his nose, because the lanky cat hadn’t released the russet one beside him for close to two days.

“No one ever said he was intelligent.” Yaku remarks flatly.

“That was mean Mori. You told me just the other day I was a genius—”

“Shut up, Lev.” The small cat snaps, taking a page from the blond he’s just shut down.

Akaashi laughs easily and Lev’s own mouth pulls into a covert smile. Kageyama has the distinct impression that the lanky cat knows exactly what he’s doing every time he opens his mouth, and that Akaashi is far too comfortable with this conversation, because his own face is already burning.

“Mori, what about—”

“I will end you, you mangy mongrel feline.”

They follow the russet cat inside a small shop, Lev still pushing his buttons and Yaku slowly developing the twitch over his eyebrow that signals a swift kick isn’t long in coming. Which will soon be followed by a suspicious absence. Kageyama wonders if he should have stuck with his leveler instead of Yaku and his exhibitionist other half.

He has zero desire to ever be privy to their activities again, he’s already had one front row seat, thanks. Seriously, he can totally sympathize with the expressionless look of distaste on Tsukishima’s face… and isn’t that bizarre. He and the ibis agreeing on something is like spotting a unicorn— it doesn’t happen. Resigning himself to the coming mortification, he heads for the counter where an older man he assumes is the store’s proprietor stands.

“Do you have ginkgo leaves? Also, opium lettuce?” He asks and the shopkeeper glances at him curiously.

“We carry both, but I wouldn’t recommend them used together. They can have… unintended effects.” He says.

“That’s fine.”

“Are you looking to trip your shrimp out or something? You’re far more depraved than I thought.” Tsukishima says from behind him and Kageyama’s face drops into a glare.

“They aren’t both for him, you degenerate. He isn’t the only one who’s frequently fielding pain. Natsu hates the taste of ginkgo, but she took to the opium lettuce much better.” He says, tossing an annoyed glance back at him.

“Oh, that’s right!” Yamaguchi says with a smile. “She was more willing to do flight drills when she got a good night’s sleep and wasn’t in as much pain.”

Natsu might have had wings the entire time where Shouyou had lost them, but she’d never used them. At least Hinata’s back muscles had had the muscle memory yet; she was starting from scratch and probably frequently in as much pain as his leveler. But where Shouyou would never complain as their rigid military upbringing had demanded, it was easy to tell when Natsu was hurting because she’d get cranky and Tanaka would in turn get surly.

“It’s tougher to come by around Sheru Bay, so I’m going to bring some back now.” He says as the door opens behind him.

“Will that be all then, Sir?” The shopkeeper asks.

“For me. The others might need time yet.” He answers.

“Tobio?”

Kageyama mentally stumbles, his mind half-shutting down on him.

Tobio?

He blinks slowly, wondering if he’s just hearing things, because he hasn’t heard that voice in over five years. His cobalt eyes find the russet cat five steps away by the dried herbs, his brow pulling down into a frown.

There’s no way he actually heard that. He’s going to have to start taking some valerian like they give Natsu for sleep at night if he keeps hallucinating crap like this.

But the small feline is watching him sharply from the corner of his eye, a question in his expression, and Kageyama’s thoughts finally starts clicking again.

“Tobio Kageyama.” The call comes again, more certain, and his spine stiffens.

He hasn’t heard that voice in five years… and he can’t tell himself that he isn’t hearing it now, because he will never forget who it belongs to.

His mind kicks into gear, mentally tabulating where everyone is at. The two cats, Akaashi, Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi are all here with him… which leaves only Bokuto, Noya, and Asahi with Hinata. His gaze finds Yamaguchi over the russet cat’s head, his hazel eyes also staring back. The ibis beside him is still fixed straight ahead at the shelves of herbs, but his jaw is a rigid outline, a dead giveaway that he’s hyper aware of his surroundings. He can’t find Akaashi or Lev over his other shoulder without being obvious about it, and he feels a muscle beside his eye leap. The freckled crow’s mouth clicks shut, and he turns with a bow to the shopkeeper before heading for the door, Kageyama’s unspoken request loud and clear: Find Hinata and the others.

They aren’t prepared for this, how are they going to get out of it? Their first trip back out this year, their first since Hinata’s wings have returned, and they just had to run up against this. They’re scattered and out of combat practice, tired after a day of travel. Is there even a possibility at this point of them all escaping? Is there any chance they all come out of this alive?

Slowly, he turns to the doorway, his cobalt eyes finding the Grand King exactly where he knows he will, Iwaizumi just behind him. The rookery leader stands just inside, his face slack and eyes large as Yamaguchi slips past him and Iwaizumi. There are a few more worry lines in his face now and Kageyama might be mistaken, but he thinks he sees a few strands of gray in his wavy brown hair. He still looks the picture of health and poise, but… Daichi was right. He looks older somehow to the avian heir. The crow over his shoulder shares his expression and Kageyama’s gaze skips over him with a single cursory glance of accusation.

What the hell, Iwa. We had a deal.

“Good Afternoon, Grand King.” He says automatically.

He can’t explain his need to draw their attention from the others in the room. Hinata might not be here, but he wouldn’t be the only one in danger right now. Memories of Kuroo’s threats on account of having lost friends and family alike to Kageyama’s father make him want to do everything he can to keep the two cats in the room nothing more than background scenery. And the extra feathers that decorate Akaashi’s face mark him as an owl… if he can be kept unnoticed as well, that would be ideal.

“You are alive.” The Grand King says with marked amazement, and Kageyama tenses as Tooru takes a step forward. The others near him shift, and to keep the focus on himself, he also steps toward the rookery leader.

“Last time I checked, sir.”

“All this time, you’ve been here, Tobio?” Kageyama’s chin lifts, a spark of irritation slipping through his tension.

“No, first time. And I wouldn’t have even been here if I’d known you were coming, Father. My source obviously dropped the ball this time.”

He doesn’t look away from Tooru, but he catches Iwaizumi’s abrupt tension. He also catches the slight jerk Yaku does and prays that they all just stay silent.

If the Grand King doesn’t realize they are connected to Kageyama, they might be able to escape this confrontation— because he’s certain this will resolve in no other way. All he needs to do is keep Tooru’s attention on him.

His father will never let him just leave, he’s more than positive. They can’t flee by air; the Grand King can simply follow. They can’t go back home in case the rookery leader sets a tail on them. Even given the severely strained relationship between himself and his father, Kageyama is sure he’d never be able to kill him. Doing so would start a relentless hunt regardless, and none of them will be safe; their best option would be to somehow incapacitate Tooru and Iwaizumi— which shouldn’t be that difficult if they all act, but he doubts they are here alone.

He doesn’t remember a time where his father had left the rookery without a contingent of at least three units always with him, so he’s fully banking that there are others in the near vicinity. Which makes this tricky: they aren’t going to be up against some half-trained gutter snakes who don’t know the first thing about battle efficiency and technique, these are all sentries who’ve had the exact same training they did. These people will be conditioned daily through all those drills, will probably have the upper hand because of that; the last time he’d sparred with the others was over a week ago and their skills won’t be as sharp. The Grand King’s head tilts with a slight frown despite the smirk that twists his mouth.

“You wear the same face… but I hardly recognize you, Tobio. Your voice and expressions— you don’t even carry yourself the same. You’ve… grown up almost overnight. I’m disappointed to have missed it.” He says, and by the time he’s finished, that mask of a smile that Kageyama remembers so well has returned, all trace of his surprise vanished once more.

“Where have you been all this time, Tobio?”

“Wherever you are not.” He says bluntly and his father’s gaze fractures but that smile doesn’t waver.

“That’s awfully harsh, Tobio. And Shrimpy? Is he still alive, too?” He asks with that fabricated cheer that used to infuriate Kageyama.

“He is… but I doubt you really care about that. I have no desire to discuss him with you in any case.” The Grand King blinks at him with a shadow of surprise once more.

“To the contrary, Tobio, he is the reason you left; is it so hard to think I’d have an interest in his well-being?” Kageyama feels his eye twitch at the way he phrases it, as if it does matter to him.

“I imagine his getting iced somewhere along the line would be ideal for you, wouldn’t it?” He says before he can stop himself, unable to keep the bite from his voice. The Grand King glances back at Iwaizumi with a crease of… discomfort? But Kageyama can’t decipher the look before it’s sliding back under a layer of incincerity.

“Tobio, that’s not—”

“I’m not coming back.” He cuts him off, and Tooru’s jaw hangs for a moment before it closes with a tight smile.

“You’ve definitely grown into your own person. The rookery could use you. You should return, Tobio.” Kageyama’s brow cocks, knowing already where this conversation is headed, knowing the Grand King will try and strong arm him into doing as the rookery leader deems. That can’t happen. He will not fall prey to his father’s manipulation.

“How many men did you bring, Sir?” He says more than asks and Tooru’s brows crease in puzzlement.

“I’m here with Iwa’s unit. Probably ten of us or so.” Kageyama blinks, struggling to keep his surprise off his face.

That’s it? It might be possible to escape then. Provided his father isn’t lying.

Iwaizumi’s been unusually quiet through the entire exchange, his sharp eyes flickering between himself and the others, and it makes Kageyama wonder if the sentry leader hadn’t, in fact, foreseen this encounter. And when his dark eyes settle on him with a firm set to his jaw—unease, Kageyama banks that his father is telling the truth. One sentry unit; ten people. He settles back, sets his feet, his chin lifting just a touch. He knows there will be no doubt on where he stands with his next words.

“That’s not nearly enough.”

His father stares at him in bafflement, clearly unused to him pushing back. But his face quickly slips into a surprisingly real grin, and Kageyama realizes that Tooru’s taken it as a challenge. The flash of joyful rally in his gaze sets Kageyama on edge, because he’s never won a debate or argument with this man. But he’s also calm; the rookery leader has nothing to coerce him with this time— all the people he could have used are no longer under his control.

“For what? Bringing you back? You are one crow; you yourself might be strong, but eight or even six will be far stronger.” The Grand King says with a smirk. Iwaizumi shifts behind him and his attempt to intervene cements Kageyama’s gut feeling that the sentry leader hadn’t banked on this encounter either.

“Sir, we should maybe—”

“I don’t think he realizes he’s surrounded, Feathers.” Yaku says and the room stills.

The Grand King’s eyes flicker and they slowly drift to the russet feline. The avian heir can see an entire monologue of thoughts flipping through his orbs despite the neutral expression that takes over his face. Behind him, he can see Iwaizumi’s breath still, the muscle in his arms go taught. Kageyama wants to smack the cat, because he’s just undone any invisibility Kageyama’d bought the others by engaging in this verbal spar with his father.

Well, there’s no helping it now.

“...Obviously.” He drawls, hoping there’s a way to salvage this situation. The Grand King glances at Iwaizumi for only a moment and looks back at him, his expression closed off.

“Tobio… that’s a cat.” He says matter of factly, and one of Kageyama’s brows arches.

“Is it?” He asks, the sarcasm in his voice almost Tsukishima worthy.

“What are you doing with a cat?” Tooru asks, his entire face smoothing into bafflement. Kageyama almost smirks.

“Living.” He distractedly hopes the ibis is paying attention, because he feels like he’s on a roll at the moment.

“Sir.” Iwaizumi tries once again to intervene, but Tooru’s gaze skips around to the other faces in the room that all now watch him. He sees the ibis, his flat look as unimpressed as ever, notices Lev in all his lanky graceless glory, and he lingers on Akaashi, Kageyama certain he doesn’t miss the decorative feathers.

“… and these others?” He asks, a note of incredulity sliding into his voice. Kageyama’s head tilts.

“The same.”

“We’re all on his side. And this isn’t even everyone.” Lev supplies with a cheeky grin and once more, Kageyama wants to facepalm, because the tall cat is giving away information that is probably best kept under wraps.

“Really Tobio? Cats and owls and…” the Grand King trails away as he focuses on the ibis with scrutiny, “a gull?”

“Try again.” Tsukishima mutters, and Kageyama’s mouth almost quirks. Most people treated the Grand King with extensive respect; he’s probably been subject to more scalding sarcasm in the last two minutes than the entirety of the last six months.

“You trust these people?” Tooru asks and Kageyama deadpans.

“They’ve had my back time and again where sentries and a rookery leader failed.” He says defensively, and Tooru’s eyes find him once more, a slight frown creasing his face.

“You don’t have to live like this, you can come home.” He says and Kageyama scoffs quietly.

Did the Grand King honestly think he hadn’t had a choice in all this? Did he think he stayed with cats and owls and songbirds against his will? Did he think he was here by any other means than under his own power? And did he that actually bothered him?

“The reason I left would still be there.” He says evenly and Tooru’s face creases again, and Kageyama gets the distinct impression of pain at the words. It makes him blink in surprise, because it’s something he’s never seen from his father unless his mother had been mentioned.

“You can do whatever you want, Tobio. Live in the private sector as a civilian for all I care, but come back.” Tooru says lightly, contradicting the deep look the line between his eyes gives him.

Kageyama bridles at the order cloaked in the guise of a peaceful request.

“Not a chance.” He says, his response quick and sure and his father blinks.

“Why ever not? You don’t have to be a sentry, you can do whatever you want.” He says again, a note of sincere confusion sliding into the repeated proposition. Kageyama shakes his head slightly. Pity slips into his gut and he curses his flux of compassion towards his father’s ignorance.

“Why?” He says softly, positive he’s going to regret his next words. “You’d have killed my leveler.”

Silence. The Grand King and Iwaizumi stare at him and he stares back. He catches the look his companions cast at him, the glances of covert alarm.

What are you doing, Feathers?

He can almost hear their panic, but he knows how his father will react.

“Your… your leveler, Tobio? Those were stories we tell kids. Don’t tell me you believe them?”

Of course, he wouldn’t know what it was to have a leveler. He might have loved her, but his mother had died and his father had remained; they hadn’t been levelers. His father has never felt the burn of a breaking fight or the quiet content of a binding heal. He hasn’t known the fear of dying because it will kill his other half. He hasn’t watched another at death’s door knowing that it won’t be one person they bury, but two if they don’t pull through.

“Stories. Stories… the only reason I would ever return to the rookery would be to visit Mother’s tree and tell her of everything that’s happened. I’d apologize for how I’ve missed the last five years and make her a promise to try to return sooner… but I’d never guarantee it.” His father’s face fractures, the mask completely cracking away. And in that moment, there’s nothing but pain and sorrow.

“Tobio—”

The door bangs open and Kageyama wants to curse every deity when he sees who comes through it.

“Kageyama, I’m pretty sure I saw sentries, we should probably—” Shouyou breaks off as he finds the Grand King and Iwaizumi, his almond eyes blowing wide as the others crowd in after him.

“Shit.” Noya spits, automatically grabbing and shoving the redhead behind himself.

The Grand King’s eyes have already found them, though, Iwa’s not a moment behind. Kageyama had never intended for them to meet again, never intended that they even had a chance to see one another. But they stare at each other now, Hinata’s gaze solid and flat, the rookery leader’s wide eyes taking him in from head to toe, from limb to wing, and Kageyama knows he’s overwhelmed. But Hinata is calm.

“Grand King.” He says with a formal nod, centuries as a sentry demanding the acknowledgement without conscious thought.

“Sh… Shrimpy?” He says, his voice half shelled. “You… your wings— how— ”

“They’re just stories, right Father?” Kageyama says, recalling Tooru’s attention. His brown eyes snap back to him, stunned at a reality he’s being forced to acknowledge.

“They were Mother’s legacy. You can drag me back any number of times, but the only way you’ll succeed in keeping me there is to chain me to the garrison floor. And if you so much as try to force me through him, I promise you, I will destroy the very empire you and Mother worked so hard to build. I am compromised, and I cannot lead, Father; find someone else.”

Tooru’s eyes flicker between himself and Shouyou, skips over the others around them, back to himself and his leveler before settling once more on him.

“Fine, Tobio. I won’t ask you to bear that responsibility again. But you can come home. You and Hinata. They all can.” He says in an oddly strained voice while gesturing to Noya and Asahi, and Kageyama sighs lightly.

“That can’t happen. What message would it send to both your allies and enemies that you’ve welcomed back an heir and his unit after desertion? You would have an uprising. I knew the consequences when I left, and I know you do, too.” He says, and starts toward Hinata.

“So what happens now, Tobio?” Tooru’s voice is plaintive and he can’t decide how much of it is sincere. He straightens and glances back at the Grand King.

“Ideally? You return to the rookery safe in the knowledge that I’m alive, and I return back home with my leveler and companions unhindered and unsupervised.” He says and the Grand King’s head tilts.

“You expect me to go along with that?” He asks and Kageyama hates the half-strangled sound of his voice. It’s a sound he’s almost never heard from his father, and it infuriates him that Tooru is using it now. Does he think he will be moved just because he’s slightly altered his tactics?

“I do, because if you don’t, we will slip through your hands once more and you won’t see us again. I’d rather not since we are comfortable and safe where we live, but we are prepared to do whatever it takes to guard our lives.” He murmurs, turning away from him, his gaze finding Shouyou’s wide-eyed almond one like a lifeline. It’s a threat that could make his father act to prevent their escape and throw them into a physical confrontation as much as force his father to back off. But Tooru does neither.

“I’ve only just found you again.”

Kageyama curses his feet for pausing. He hates feeling like the Grand King is prodding at his resolve with that voice and those words, and he can’t stand the idea of being manipulated anymore when his entire future stands by the door flanked by crows and an owl. He will not bend and endanger him again.

“That should put your mind at ease, then.” He says evenly.

“He’s kind of right, Feathers.” Lev interjects and Kageyama turns a furious scowl on the lanky cat. He’s not the only one either… the rest of them turn incredulous glances toward the grey feline, the least of which would be his father’s.

What in all flaming feathered hell was going through his head? Did he somehow miss the part about this being his father? The man they’ve been hiding from for five years? The entity who’d have had Shouyou killed?

But Lev’s green eyes crackle with perceptive intent that makes his feathers stand on end. His eyes hold that glint that makes him think the cat is actually two steps ahead and knows precisely what he’s doing.

“It’s been five years, Feathers, let him have more than five minutes. Give him a chance to see that you really are okay and content.” The grey cat says and Kageyama can’t keep himself from glaring with massive irritation. But he has to keep his control. His father is a master at exploiting weakness and to lose his temper would be an excellent opportunity the Grand King could capitalize on.

“What exactly did you have in mind, Lev? Do you propose we sit and drink tea over biscuits? I think you have the wrong impression of the kind of relationship he and I share.” Kageyama growls but the grey cat’s bright green eyes flash with devious triumph.

“How about Volley? There was a net on the edge of town—we could have a friendly match.” He says. Kageyama blinks, blindsided by the suggestion.

Of course, it would be Volley. Everything began and ended with Volley. Damn that cat.

“What do you think, Hinata?” Bokuto asks and Kageyama’s head snaps toward his leveler and the streaked owl.

The redhead glances up at Bokuto who watches him with an avid enthusiasm and the short spiker’s head tilts. The smallest smile tips the corner of his mouth and he looks back at Kageyama, his eyes creasing with a telltale excitement.

“I’m okay with it.”

Kageyama scowls darkly. This isn’t helping them escape. In fact, he’s quite sure this is doing the exact opposite. The rookery leader clears his throat lightly and he looks back at him, not relishing whatever input he’s going to have.

“A Volley match would be... perfect.” The Grand King says, a strangely skewed smile on his face.

It makes Kageyama think that the rookery leader is trying to pull the mask of fabricated enthusiasm back into place and failing. Like it hurts to say the words, but he will stomach them no less. Like he’s not satisfied with that, but he will settle for it just the same.

Like he’s reaching for even the barest threads.

The notion that his father might be agreeing just for the chance to see and talk to him is totally foreign to Kageyama, bizarre and wrong. The idea that he’s willing to bargain for Kageyama’s time makes his skin crawl because it’s unnatural. This man had commanded his life for centuries, a tool structured and honed for a carefully planned out future. That he might actually want anything more from him… is irreconcilable for the crow setter.

“Tobio?” Hinata asks and he jolts at the name, the feeling he gets when the redhead says it completely different than the one he feels when Tooru does. The avian heir runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

How had this encounter been taken out of his hands so smoothly?

There are so many things that can go wrong. The Grand King could try to kill the cats and owls the moment they turn their backs and then it will be down to just the he and the other former sentries, Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi. His father could wait until they’ve spent most of their energy on the match and then command that they all be taken prisoner when they have none left to fight. He could have them subdued and return with more sentries to ensure he succeeds in dragging them back to the rookery where they’d likely be detained indefinitely where they’d have no bargaining power, no means of buying their freedom…

Wait… wait. That… might work. That could work.

The idea hits him and he doesn’t even give himself a chance to second guess it before he’s turning toward Shouyou.

“You think you’ll be good?” He asks quietly and a brilliant smile lights his face, anticipation skyrocketing in his almond eyes.

“For one match? I think so!” Kageyama’s gaze narrows slightly.

Somehow, he didn’t quite believe that. They’d just busted ass across the sky the first half the day; he’s pretty sure his leveler is underestimating his level of fatigue.

A heavy sigh escapes him all the same, and he looks up at the Grand King.

“If we give you a match, do you give us your word that that you will leave us be?” He asks, banking like hell that his father will be up for making a deal.

There’s a spark of joyful gratification in the rookery leader’s eyes— as if he’s won something, and Kageyama almost instantly wants to take it back. He wonders how much he’s going to have to fight or promise to get what he wants.

“It’s yours, Tobio.” He says, a small smile, real and honest breaking his features, the mask forgotten completely and eyes sincere.

And for a moment, Tobio Kageyama doesn’t even register that Tooru agreed without any hesitation—no conditions or reservations, because he can’t breathe under that look filled not with deception or calculation, but pride, happiness, and more than anything, relief.

Level Pair ; Chapter 1; Chapter 33; Chapter 35

A/N:  So... start of the end. I feel like it is going to be VERY lackluster after everything else, lol. This one didn't have more than like one rewrite and I think everyone is very out of character -_-

I hope it still comes across well enough. I'm sorry for being slow to post, these are all still being hashed out almost as I'm posting them so they are really rough. I apologize for mistakes/errors/boring. I'm currently home with family for the first time in years and being pulled in 8 directions which means I'm writing these when everyone else is asleep lol. I'm being summoned to go play rummy, so take care and have a magical evening guys!

[hazeldough]

i........ have a lot of feelings about tpodg with the announcement of the film adaption

disclaimer: i’m not mlm, so i can’t speak about that part of its narrative in place of mlm. plus, the film adaption was only recently announced and we don’t really have any details on it except that it exists and is set to have female leads. 

and while i’ve done my share of analysis on the book and some of wilde’s history and really passionate about both, there’s a lot i dont know yet or may be misinterpreting. my opinions and pov about tpodg and oscar wilde are subject to change the more i analyze the book and read about wilde’s life through his writings and the transcripts of his trials, so i’m open to reading other people’s opinion on the novel and film!

also, i got carried away and even busted out the copy i annotated in, so this got super lengthy. it’s mostly me reanalyzing the book after stepping away from it for a few months. 

oh, and spoilers ahead.

(i spent about 2 hours on this and it’s 4:27 am now.......... im already yelling @ a future me who is procrastinating on an essay, looking back at this moment thinking “hey, i wish u could put some of that focus and research into this thing right now” and hey......... hard same, buddy)

anyway.

 i just want the film adaption to not lose the essential themes and messages that come with tpodg and the weight it carried in wilde’s life.

it’s already not the best lgbt rep with its leads being assholes (dorian & henry) or (spoilers) ending up dead (basil). granted, the victorian era wasn’t the best time to make revolutionary strides in normalizing lgbt+ media, but it still was a novel that was written by a gay man that time period, drawing from his own experiences. 

wilde’s works primarily criticized english culture and society’s tendencies to put up a front for the public to save face for their personal lives. 

“My dear fellow, you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite.“

“Dorian,“ cried Hallward, “that is not the question. England is bad enough I know, and English society is all wrong. That is the reason why I want you to be fine. You have not been fine.“

Dorian & Basil (Chapter XII)

tpodg was no exception since it featured a lead who was groomed to believing that the downfall of others was the ultimate symbol of his love towards him and was eventually able to abuse/manipulate people on the regular through his charisma and get away with it because of his privileges. 

“Someone has killed herself for love of you. I wish that I had ever had such and experience. It would have made me in love for the rest of my life.“ (Lord Henry Wotton, Chapter VIII)

and it’s not like no one was aware that dorian had major red flags around him. because they did.

“Women who had wildly adored him, and for his sake had braved all social censure and set convention at defiance, were seen to grow pallid with shame or horror if Dorian Gray entered the room.“ (Chapter XI)

“Why is it, Dorian, that a man like the Duke of Berwick leaves the room of a club when you enter it? Why is it that so many gentlemen in London will neither go to your home nor invite you to theirs?... Why is your friendship so fatal to young men? There was that wretched boy in the Guards who committed suicide. You were his great friend.“ (Basil Hallward, Chapter XII)

(that whole paragraph is just basil talking about how men are afraid to be associated with dorian, there’s way more stuff, but i felt that info was enough)

even though there were consistent and frequent rumors that surrounded him. no one believed that this cherub looking guy was the reason that everyone who interacted with him either had their reputation ruined for life or were driven to suicide. 

(spoilers) basil wasn’t an exception to this, not believing that all the rumors surrounding his friend, muse, and for a lack of better term crush were true. he was so blinded by his love that dorian was capable of bringing on ruin ultimately led to his death. 

“But you, Doian, with your pure, bright, innocent face, and your marvellous untroubled youth-- I can’t believe anything against you.“ (Basil Hallward, Chapter XII)

even dorian’s motives in murdering basil was a result of his own misattributions. instead of taking ownership of his own behavior, he placed blame on basil and his portrait instead.

“The friend who had painted the fatal portrait to which all his misery had been due, had gone out of his life.“ (Chapter XIII)

and when dorian was close to confessing what he had done to his confidant, the person arguably more responsible than basil for leading him to his lifestyle? he didn’t believe dorian either.

"What would you say, Harry, if I told you that I had murdered Basil?”

(...)

“I would say, my dear fellow that you were posing for a character that doesn’t suit you. All crime is vulgar, just as  all vulgarity is a crime. It is not in you, Dorian, to commit a murder. I am sorry if I hurt your vanity by saying so, but I assure you it is true. Crime belongs exclusively to the lower orders. I don’t blame them in the smallest degree. I should fancy that crime was to them what art is to us, simply a method of procuring extraordinary sensations.“

(Dorian & Lord Henry, Chapter XIX)

after stepping away from the book for a few months, i feel like some reevaluation is due. i initially approached the book thinking that it would end up with an ambiguously happy ending, having only heard slivers about it and knowing that it was written by a gay man. i guess the part of me that’s very invested in good redemption arcs and lgbt books in ap eng lit just wanted a book to read that didn’t feature weak character development and/or heteronormative relationships. the closest books i got were their eyes, atss, and tpodg.

but now that i’m looking back at it, most likely unpopular opinion: i personally think that tpodg isn’t a lgbt story. (even if it was, it’s not the best representation for lgbt characters since it has a lot of tropes that we now see as overused and negative) 

to me, it’s just a story that has lgbt characters. meaning that while the novel focused on dorian, it focused on his morality, not his sexuality. dorian knew who he liked, since it was heavily implied that dorian had male and female lovers. the story wasn’t focused on his romantic or sexual relationships, but on how his morals took a nose dive as he developed into a grade-A fuck boy using his multiple failed relationships as evidence of that.

i’ve come to understand that character development doesn’t always mean getting a redemption arc. good character development is a character starting from point A and actively moving towards point B with minor interference by other characters. most of the time, it’s a character going from morally neutral/bad to good. this time, it’s a character going from neutral to bad.

i do agree that there’s a huge imbalance of lgbt characters being portrayed as predatory and abusive instead of flawed and needing of development, adding on to preexisting homophobia that’s rampant in most cultures. i also agree that there needs to be more positive representation of lgbt characters, by lgbt people, for lgbt people. 

at the same time, tpodg was written before we could even safely discuss and address these issues in public. i’m saying that because wilde got straight up jailed for “gross indecency” for just being a gay man existing. but i don’t think wilde was unaware of the repercussions he’d face when he stated that being gay was normal. most of his works were about calling out the hypocrisy of english society. even in his own testimony at trial, he stated:

"The Love that dare not speak its name" in this century is such a great affection of an elder for a younger man as there was between David and Jonathan, such as Plato made the very basis of his philosophy, and such as you find in the sonnets of Michelangelo and Shakespeare. It is that deep, spiritual affection that is as pure as it is perfect. It dictates and pervades great works of art like those of Shakespeare and Michelangelo, and those two letters of mine, such as they are.”

full quote and transcript found here

wilde was fully aware that he was going to be imprisoned for being gay and accepted it. not because he was ignorant of how society functioned, but because he knew how it functioned. and he was right. and i want to say that he was aware of this even when he was writing tpodg (which was about 4-5 years before his trials took place).

even if tpodg was going to be portrayed with male leads, the film would be in an era with a new perspective about mlm relationships. homophobia is still rampant in multiple societies, but lgbt people and mlm in particular have more of a voice and agency to defend themselves, look for, and create media that is representative of their experiences without needing to pander to heterosexual audiences. it still isn’t perfect, knowing that mlm still have trouble telling their stories in a field dominated by straight women who only see to use them as objects for fetishization instead of helping them create a safe platform to be heard.

basically, wilde’s context for writing tpodg is drastically different from how it can be interpreted and discussed today vs how it was in his time. based on that, i’m inferring that if writing a negative, heavily implied mlm relationship was deemed criminal enough as it is, i imagine he would have faced even more horrible punishment for writing a positive relationship between two men.

at the moment, we know nothing about the direction the film is going to follow, other than that it’ll be female-led. and, judging from the recent string of female led films (ghostbusters & oceans eight), i’m going to safely assume it’ll be a dominantly female cast, with dorian, basil, and henry being portrayed by women, and them all being wlw. (there’s a better word to describe this, it starts with a p, but it’s 4 AM now and i’m losing steam)

i’m not saying that the movie is going to be free from homophobic comments, but i am saying that it’ll face more criticism for not accurately portraying SGA (same gender attraction) relationship more than it featuring a SGA relationship at all.

even with the lack of information, i feel like if i’m going to be consistent about an opinion it’s this: the any adaption can do is to keep elements of the book while being cognisant of its perspective and purpose.

at the same time, i do want the film to deviate from the novel by being more open about the leads’ sexuality while also addressing the tropes that’s present in the society its set in and how it affects the narrative. 

to me, the film doesnt have to be a carbon copy of the novel, it just has to have the same vibe the book gave and to do that, it has to be aware of the issues wlw face in society today but also integrate it into the victorian era setting.

...yes, i know it sounds really confusing but i’ve spent around 2 hours on this already and it’s currently 4:24 AM. i’m doing my best my sleep deprived and coffee fueled brain can do atm. but again, i’m open to discuss this when i’m more put together and see more perspectives on the film adaption.

i am aware that there might not be enough elbow room for that to happen since society’s still pretty homophobic (albeit, not as much as before) as well as time constraints that come with adapting a book to a movie. still though, it’s something i’m interested to see be executed properly.

[akhmenos]

To a ten year old me

A couple things to tell you, man, some of them you won’t listen to, some of them you’ll at least think about, and some you need to hear.

You are going to fuck up. A lot. Ask for help. As soon as you fuck up, go to your parents or someone else, and apologize and ask for help. I promise they’ll forgive you, even if they’re a bit angry at first.

You’re having issues doing your work for school. I know that they’re just saying your lazy and disrespectful, but it’s not your fault. It’s called Executive Dysfunction, and it’s coming because you have genetic Anxiety. It’s not your fault. Talk to your parents about getting a therapist and getting help to do the work. I promise that once you get help, it’ll get easier. Nothing’s going to get rid of your big fat mouth. Sorry

This especially applies when you get into relationships, romantic, sexual, or neither. Instead of pulling back or running away from it, go ahead and talk to them. When you feel like you’re losing control over the relationship, talk to them and your parents about it. Talk to your therapist about it.

Hug people. Get hugs. Get as much friendly touching as you can. Forget sex, you seriously will be happier if you get more hugs.

You’re starting to run into things you’re not immediately good at. Push on them. You’ll never be so happy or proud of yourself as when you learn something you thought you couldn’t. Take dance classes. Give art another shot. You’ll really like drawing cause it lets you do technical drawing, and you’ll love that. Join a chorus, and learn to sing. You’ll enjoy being able to sing along to things, and being able to just pour every emotion into it. It’s liberating.

While we’re on that, remember this phrase ‘Auditory Processing Issues’ it’s why you can’t hear people quite right. You don’t need to try harder, you need to get help and try smarter. IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT THAT YOU CAN’T HEAR.

Your father will never apologize for the verbal abuse. That’s what it is. You don’t deserve it, and it isn’t normal. He will never change, but if you accept that it is his failing, not yours, you’ll be happier.

On happier news, you’re going to visit Ryan’s high school for a play in ninth grade (don’t worry, RM would be really bad for you, you’ll like Blake way better). It’s called Seven Sisters or something, it’s not important. What’s important is that you’ll meet a girl there, her name is Madeline, and she won’t immediately draw you in. Give her a shot. Ignore her best friend, Ali. She’s a bitch. Fall in love with Madeline. She’s going to show you how to feel, with welts on your back and blood on your lips, and she will show you how to safely live on the edge. Kiss her suddenly at Sarah’s party (speaking of, don’t go for Sarah, she’s hot but isn’t careful enough about safewords). Kiss her chastely in front of family and friends. Kiss her hurriedly and secretly in hidden alcoves of the RTC library. Hold her close and kiss her again when she says she might want to be called Matthew. Research and buy him a binder. There’s a really cheap one with a dumb name, but it’s amazing. Spending an entire summer’s paycheck on buying him a new wardrobe, because his mother will never understand, and the look of joy on his face when you do will light up the world. Sing with him, and tell him often how much you love his brassy voice. You will never love someone the way you loved him, but that won’t mean you are broken when he breaks your heart. It just means they’ll be different.

In tenth or so grade, you’ll meet a freshman named Dana. talk to Matt seriously about doing a poly relationship, because you need the gentleness and light that she brings. She kisses like sunshine on a summer’s afternoon. I have no idea how that’ll go for you, cause I horrifically fucked it up on my run. Tell her really often how much you love every inch of her body. Have fun.

Apply to Saint Mary’s College of Maryland. You’ll love it down there. You’ll meet a few people there who you’d have fun if you got involved with, but are probably ideas. I’d be a hypocrite if I told you not to, but give serious thought before you agree to get in a relationship with them. Seriously. That being said, give Lovett a chance, and def take (Piper?Basil? not sure what name she’ll go by at the time) up on her offer. One of the more fun things you’ll get.

This is pretty much it. Don’t try to remember it all, just keep what you can in mind. Here’s the most important part. YOU ARE NOT A BAD PERSON. YOU’RE SUPREMELY FUCKED UP, AND YOU NEED HELP. THERE’S NO SHAME IN ASKING FOR HELP. GET HELP, AND THEN GO FULL HOG IN EVERYTHING FROM THEN ON. FUCK AND FIGHT AND DRINK AND FALL IN LOVE BECAUSE YOU DESERVE TO FEEL GOOD

[doc1965]

The following reflection is courtesy of Don Schwager © 2017. Don's website is located at Dailyscripture.ServantsOfTheWord.org Meditation: Would you do a favor for someone who snubbed you or treated you like an enemy? Jesus did just that and more! He treated the Samaritans, the sworn enemies of the Jews, with great kindness and respect. The Samaritans who lived in middle region of Israel between Galilee and Judaea and the Jews who lived in the rest of the land of Israel had been divided for centuries. They had no dealings with one another, avoiding all social contact, even trade, and inter-marriage. If their paths crossed it would not be unusual for hostility to break out. When Jesus decided to pass through Samaria he stopped at Jacob's well because it was mid-day and he was both tired from the journey and thirsty. Jacob's well was a good mile and a half from the nearest town, called Sychar. It wasn't easy to draw water from this well since it was over a hundred feet deep. Jesus had neither rope nor bucket to fetch the water. When a Samaritan woman showed up at the well, both were caught by surprise. Why would a Samaritan woman walk a mile and a half in the mid-day heat to fetch her water at a remote well rather than in her local town? She was an outcast and not welcomed among her own townspeople. Jesus then did something no respectable Jew would think of doing. He reached out to her, thus risking ritual impurity and scorn from his fellow Jews. He also did something no strict Rabbi would dare to do in public without loss to his reputation. He treated the woman like he would treat one of his friends - he greeted her and spoke at length with her. Jesus' welcoming approach to her was scandalous to both Jews and Samaritans because this woman was an adulteress and public sinner as well. No decent Jew or Samaritan would even think of being seen with such a woman, let alone exchanging a word with her! Jesus broke through the barriers of prejudice, hostility, and tradition to bring the good news of peace and reconciliation to Jews, Samaritans, and Gentiles alike. He demonstrated the universality of the gospel both in word and deed. No one is barred from the love of God and the good news of salvation. There is only one thing that can keep us from God and his redeeming love - our stubborn pride and wilful rebellion. What is the point of Jesus' exchange with the Samaritan woman about water? Water in the arid land was scarce. Jacob's well was located in a strategic fork of the road between Samaria and Galilee. One can live without food for several days, but not without water. Water is a source of life and growth for all living things. When rain came to the desert, the water transformed the wasteland into a fertile field. The kind of water which Jesus spoke about was living, running, fresh, pure water. Fresh water from a cool running stream was always preferred to the still water one might find in a pool or resevoir. When the Israelites complained about lack of water in the wilderness, God instructed Moses to strike the rock and a stream of fresh living water gushed out (Exodus17:6 ). Even though the Israelites did not trust God to care for them in the wilderness, God, nonetheless gave them abundant water and provision through the intercession of his servant Moses. The image of "living water" is used throughout the scriptures as a symbol of God's wisdom, a wisdom that imparts life and blessing to all who receive it. "The teaching of the wise is a fountain of life" (Proverbs 13:14).  "Living water" was also a symbol for the Jews of thirst of the soul for God. The water which Jesus spoke of symbolized the Holy Spirit and his work of recreating us in God's image and sustaining in us the new life which comes from God. The life which the Holy Spirit produces in us makes us a "new creation" in Jesus Christ (2 Corinthians 5:17). Do you thirst for God and for the life of the Holy Spirit within you? Hippolytus (170-236 AD), an early Christian writer and theologian who lived in Rome, explains the significance of the Holy Spirit's work in us: "This is the water of the Spirit: It refreshes paradise, enriches the earth, gives life to living things. It is the water of Christ's baptism; it is our life. If you go with faith to this renewing fountain, you renounce Satan your enemy and confess Christ your God. You cease to be a slave and become an adopted son. You come forth radiant as the sun and brilliant with justice. You come forth a son of God and fellow-heir with Christ." (From a sermon, On the Epiphany) Basil the Great (330-379 AD), a great early Christian teacher and Greek bishop of Caesarea,  speaks in a similar manner: "The Spirit restores paradise to us and the way to heaven and adoption as children of God; he instills confidence that we may call God truly Father and grants us the grace of Christ to be children of the light and to enjoy eternal glory. In a word, he bestows the fullness of blessings in this world and the next; for we may contemplate now in the mirror of faith the promised things we shall someday enjoy. If this is the foretaste, what must the reality be? If these are the first fruits, what must be the harvest?" (From the treatise, The Holy Spirit) "Lord Jesus, my soul thirsts for you. Fill me with your Holy Spirit that I may always find joy in your presence and take delight in doing your will." The following reflection is from One Bread, One Body courtesy of Presentation Ministries © 2017.   DRINK AND TELL   "The woman then left her water jar and went off into the town." —John 4:28   A Samaritan woman brought her water jar to the town well to fill it with water (Jn 4:7). Jesus, sitting by the well, offered her living water instead (Jn 4:10). Jesus told her: "Whoever drinks the water I give him will never be thirsty; no, the water I give shall become a fountain within him, leaping up to provide eternal life" (Jn 4:14). The woman, filled with the flowing water of the Spirit, forgot all about well water, and simply left her water jar sitting by the well. Her only concern was to tell others about Jesus (Jn 4:28). God created human beings to be physically and spiritually thirsty. We need to physically drink every day, and need to spiritually drink even more frequently. Even the most hard-hearted are thirsty for Jesus' living water, whether or not they recognize it. Once the Samaritan woman drank of Jesus' living water, she couldn't help but bring that water to others. Likewise, it's up to us to give God's thirsty people a drink of Jesus' living water. The Samaritan woman teaches us that when we drink fully of the water Jesus offers, we will start evangelizing. We'll be so filled with living water that we won't be able to help it. If we're not evangelizing, it's likely a symptom that we're getting spiritually dehydrated. Jesus says: "If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me; let him drink who believes in Me. Scripture has it: 'From within him rivers of living water shall flow' " (Jn 7:37-38). Come to Jesus; drink deeply; tell the world about Him.   Prayer: Jesus, immerse me in Your living waters. "Water from the side of Christ, wash me." Promise: "Doing the will of Him Who sent Me and bringing His work to completion is My food." —Jn 4:34 Praise: Praise You, Jesus, the crucified Resurrection and the Life! (Jn 11:25). You are "the Author of Life" (Acts 3:15).   (This teaching was submitted by a member of our editorial team.)     Rescript: In accord with the Code of Canon Law, I hereby grant the Imprimatur ("Permission to Publish") for One Bread, One Body covering the period from February 1, 2017 through March 31, 2017. †Most Reverend Joseph R. Binzer, Auxiliary Bishop, Vicar General of the Archdiocese of Cincinnati, October 12, 2016.   The Imprimatur ("Permission to Publish") is a declaration that a book or pamphlet is considered to be free of doctrinal or moral error. It is not implied that those who have granted the Imprimatur agree with the contents, opinions, or statements

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Sunday (March 19): A spring of water welling up to eternal life

Gospel Reading: John 4:5-42

5 So he came to a city of Samaria, called Sychar, near the field that Jacob gave to his son Joseph.  6 Jacob's well was there, and so Jesus, wearied as he was with his journey, sat down beside the well. It was about the sixth hour. 7 There came a woman of Samaria to draw water. Jesus said to her, "Give me a drink."  8 For his disciples had gone away into the city to buy food. 9 The Samaritan woman said to him, "How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?" For Jews have no dealings with  Samaritans.  10 Jesus answered her, "If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, `Give me a drink,' you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water."  11 The woman said to him, "Sir, you have nothing to draw with, and the well is deep; where do you get that living water?  12 Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well, and drank from  it himself, and his sons, and his cattle?"  13 Jesus said to her, "Every one who drinks of this water will thirst again, 14 but whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst; the water that I shall give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life."  15 The woman said to him, "Sir, give me this water, that I may not thirst, nor come here to draw." 16 Jesus said to her, "Go, call your husband, and come here."

17 The woman answered him, "I have no husband." Jesus said to her, "You are right in saying, `I have no husband'; 18 for you have had five husbands, and he whom you now have is not your husband; this you said truly." 19 The woman said to him, "Sir, I perceive that you are a prophet. 20 Our fathers worshiped on this mountain; and you say that in Jerusalem is the place where men ought to worship." 21 Jesus said to her, "Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem will you worship the Father.  22 You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews. 23 But the hour is coming, and now is, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for such the Father seeks to worship him. 24 God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth."  25 The woman said to him, "I know that Messiah is coming (he who is called Christ); when he comes, he will show us all things." 26 Jesus said to her, "I who speak to you am he."

27 Just then his disciples came. They marveled that he was talking with a woman, but none said, "What do you wish?" or, "Why are you talking with her?"  28 So the woman left her water jar, and went away into the city, and said to the people, 29 "Come, see a man who told me all that I ever did. Can this be the Christ?" 30 They went out of the city and were coming to him.

31 Meanwhile the disciples besought him, saying, "Rabbi, eat." 32 But he said to them, "I have food to eat of which you do not know." 33 So the disciples said to one another, "Has any one  brought him food?" 34 Jesus said to them, "My food is to do the will of him who sent me, and to accomplish his work.  35 Do you not say, `There are yet four months, then comes the harvest'? I tell  you, lift up your eyes, and see how the fields are already white  for harvest. 36 He who reaps receives wages, and gathers fruit for eternal life, so that sower and reaper may rejoice together. 37 For here the saying holds true, `One sows and another reaps.' 38 I sent you to reap that for which you did not labor; others have labored, and you have entered into their labor."  39 Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman's testimony, "He told me all that I ever did." 40 So when the Samaritans came to him, they asked him to stay with them; and he stayed there two days. 41 And many more believed because of his word.42 They said to the woman, "It is no longer because of your words that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is indeed the Savior of the world."

Old Testament Reading: Exodus 17:3-7

3 But the people thirsted there for water, and the people murmured against Moses, and said, "Why did you bring us up out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and our cattle with thirst?" 4 So Moses cried to the LORD, "What shall I do with this people? They are almost ready to stone me." 5 And the LORD said to Moses, "Pass on before the people, taking with you some of the elders of Israel; and take in your hand the rod with which you struck the Nile, and go. 6 Behold, I will stand before you there on the rock at Horeb; and you shall strike the rock, and water shall come out of it, that the people may drink." And Moses did so, in the sight of the elders of Israel. 7 And he called the name of the place Massah and Meribah, because of the faultfinding of the children of Israel, and because they put the LORD to the proof by saying, "Is the LORD among us or not?"

Meditation: Would you do a favor for someone who snubbed you or treated you like an enemy? Jesus did just that and more! He treated the Samaritans, the sworn enemies of the Jews, with great kindness and respect. The Samaritans who lived in middle region of Israel between Galilee and Judaea and the Jews who lived in the rest of the land of Israel had been divided for centuries. They had no dealings with one another, avoiding all social contact, even trade, and inter-marriage. If their paths crossed it would not be unusual for hostility to break out.

When Jesus decided to pass through Samaria he stopped at Jacob's well because it was mid-day and he was both tired from the journey and thirsty. Jacob's well was a good mile and a half from the nearest town, called Sychar. It wasn't easy to draw water from this well since it was over a hundred feet deep. Jesus had neither rope nor bucket to fetch the water.

When a Samaritan woman showed up at the well, both were caught by surprise. Why would a Samaritan woman walk a mile and a half in the mid-day heat to fetch her water at a remote well rather than in her local town? She was an outcast and not welcomed among her own townspeople. Jesus then did something no respectable Jew would think of doing. He reached out to her, thus risking ritual impurity and scorn from his fellow Jews. He also did something no strict Rabbi would dare to do in public without loss to his reputation. He treated the woman like he would treat one of his friends - he greeted her and spoke at length with her. Jesus' welcoming approach to her was scandalous to both Jews and Samaritans because this woman was an adulteress and public sinner as well. No decent Jew or Samaritan would even think of being seen with such a woman, let alone exchanging a word with her!

Jesus broke through the barriers of prejudice, hostility, and tradition to bring the good news of peace and reconciliation to Jews, Samaritans, and Gentiles alike. He demonstrated the universality of the gospel both in word and deed. No one is barred from the love of God and the good news of salvation. There is only one thing that can keep us from God and his redeeming love - our stubborn pride and wilful rebellion.

What is the point of Jesus' exchange with the Samaritan woman about water? Water in the arid land was scarce. Jacob's well was located in a strategic fork of the road between Samaria and Galilee. One can live without food for several days, but not without water. Water is a source of life and growth for all living things. When rain came to the desert, the water transformed the wasteland into a fertile field.

The kind of water which Jesus spoke about was living, running, fresh, pure water. Fresh water from a cool running stream was always preferred to the still water one might find in a pool or resevoir. When the Israelites complained about lack of water in the wilderness, God instructed Moses to strike the rock and a stream of fresh living water gushed out (Exodus17:6 ). Even though the Israelites did not trust God to care for them in the wilderness, God, nonetheless gave them abundant water and provision through the intercession of his servant Moses.

The image of "living water" is used throughout the scriptures as a symbol of God's wisdom, a wisdom that imparts life and blessing to all who receive it. "The teaching of the wise is a fountain of life" (Proverbs 13:14).  "Living water" was also a symbol for the Jews of thirst of the soul for God. The water which Jesus spoke of symbolized the Holy Spirit and his work of recreating us in God's image and sustaining in us the new life which comes from God. The life which the Holy Spirit produces in us makes us a "new creation" in Jesus Christ (2 Corinthians 5:17). Do you thirst for God and for the life of the Holy Spirit within you?

Hippolytus (170-236 AD), an early Christian writer and theologian who lived in Rome, explains the significance of the Holy Spirit's work in us:

"This is the water of the Spirit: It refreshes paradise, enriches the earth, gives life to living things. It is the water of Christ's baptism; it is our life. If you go with faith to this renewing fountain, you renounce Satan your enemy and confess Christ your God. You cease to be a slave and become an adopted son. You come forth radiant as the sun and brilliant with justice. You come forth a son of God and fellow-heir with Christ." (From a sermon, On the Epiphany)

Basil the Great (330-379 AD), a great early Christian teacher and Greek bishop of Caesarea,  speaks in a similar manner:

"The Spirit restores paradise to us and the way to heaven and adoption as children of God; he instills confidence that we may call God truly Father and grants us the grace of Christ to be children of the light and to enjoy eternal glory. In a word, he bestows the fullness of blessings in this world and the next; for we may contemplate now in the mirror of faith the promised things we shall someday enjoy. If this is the foretaste, what must the reality be? If these are the first fruits, what must be the harvest?" (From the treatise, The Holy Spirit)

"Lord Jesus, my soul thirsts for you. Fill me with your Holy Spirit that I may always find joy in your presence and take delight in doing your will."

Psalm 95:1-2,6-9

1 O come, let us sing to the LORD; let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation! 2 Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving; let us make a joyful noise to him with songs of praise! 6 O come, let us worship and bow down, let us kneel before the LORD, our Maker! 7 For he is our God, and we are the people of his pasture, and the sheep of his hand. O that today you would hearken to his voice! 8 Harden not your hearts, as at Meribah, as on the day at Massah in the wilderness, 9 when your fathers tested me, and put me to the proof, though they had seen my work.

A Daily Quote for Lent: The Living Water of the Spirit, by John Chrysostom, 347-407 AD

Sometimes Scripture calls the grace of the Spirit "fire," other times it calls it "water." In this way, it shows that these names are not descriptive of its essence but of its operation. For the Spirit, which is invisible and simple, cannot be made up of different substances... In the same way that he calls the Spirit by the name of  "fire," alluding to the rousing and warming property of grace and its power of destroying sins, he calls it "water" in order to highlight the cleansing it does and the great refreshment it provides those minds that receive it. For it makes the willing soul like a kind of garden, thick with all kinds of fruitful and productive trees, allowing it neither to feel despondency nor the plots of Satan. It quenches all the fiery darts of the wicked one. (HOMILIES ON THE GOSPEL OF JOHN 32.1)