#there is a very delicate balance i need to take with this chapter's details and it has become quite the hassle to execute

[vodid]

struggling way too hard on ch3 of my fic so here we are.

[immediatebreakfast]

Second chapter of the jojolands, and we are already entering silly territory. This is pretty standard for a jjba part.

Jodio and Paco trying to "expand" their market at request of Meryl May is really funny. Hell most of the time in these drug schemes the teens at the bottom are the ones who suffer, but I can't stop myself from laughing for seeing both of them use the same strategy that they used at school. It's a "if it's not broken don't fix it" type of thing.

One thing that I am always glab to see is how Araki has been consistent in his "fuck cops" sentiment since part 2. No one should trust cops, and if you run into them you will have to go all the way or else they will commit more harm. These grown ass cops not only "needed" a fucking squad to arrest two teenagers, but also they are acting like they broke out a global trade when in reality all of them are two movements away from beating up two teens for a tiny bag of cocaína. Of course Jodio wouldn't recognize a cop because he has only been selling inside his school so he is quite naive in that part, BUT he has every right to get violent with these trigger happy pigs. On top of that, the slap of reality of how that gross pig from chapter 1 could actually (but will never happen) rape Dragona, and not face any consequences in the eyes of the corrupt law is chilling. Araki knows what is up.

Congratulations to Jodio for being the first joestar with a canonical mental illness! It is quite the delicate subject to introduce, but I hope to see how it gets developed. And I can't talk about it since I'm not familiar with it, so maybe other people who know will explain most of the details of antisocial personality disorder. But I can say that Jodio's feelings of "don't I deserve to be happy?" are very real, sometimes that is the thing one chases, a happiness that includes your diagnosis even if other people see it as something wrong.

The Hotdog guy has finally a name, welcome to the part Usagi! We are only two chapters in, and all of the characters already show so much personality. Usagi seems to be a pretty relaxed guy with an affinity for food, and he also has a speech pattern in which he stretches some wooooooords. This type of speech conveys that he doesn't take himself very seriously since it comes across as something very silly. Paco attributed this to his drug use, but I think it's just part of his personality to be all "no bad vibes just chilling", and it's also very refreshing to finally see some flirting that doesn't come across as creepy.

It seems that Dragona so far is the "leader" of the group, in the sense that they are the one who keeps the dynamics balanced between the other three. From scolding Usagi from being late, telling Jodio to say his information, to Paco waiting for them to stop speaking to deliver more information. I hope that Dragona is on the path to become one of the best jobros we will see.

Matte Kudasai is just a little creacher, and it's so cute. This part seems to be more focused on utility stands rather than punch rushdown stands. It's very cool to see the extend of what stands can do.

And at the end... ROHAN?!? FUCKING ROHAN????? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE YOU COCKROACH. THIS IS NOT YOUR PART GET THE FUCK OUT, THIS IS NOT EVEN YOUR UNIVERSE. But, the introduction of Rohan is the best chance at comedy. He got beat up by teenagers in part 4, he will get beat up again by teenagers in part 9 too. I am waiting for this so bad.

[blindmagdalena]

Did you or do you ever struggle writing character x reader fanfiction? I read it quite a lot but I just can't get used to writing in that format. I'm writing an OC x Homelander story, though.

I had never created an OC before, but I am certainly more comfortable writing a character that has a name, face and backstory of their own than using a generic reader. Particularly when I'm writing about the character's past and other individual characteristics, addressing the reader as you seems so weird to me. It makes me feel like I can't give in to specifics because it breaks the illusion.

Also, I've enjoyed the act of creating an OC. Giving them a name, a story, motivations, designing their psychology, etc.

However, I find it discouraging to see that OC x HL stories are nowhere near as popular as HL x Reader and I worry that I may not find an audience. When I post anything in ao3 it gets like two likes and in tumblr I'm just ignored completely 😢

Could you please give me some advice pls?

oh my darling! i hear you. the disparity in interest between x oc content vs x reader content is undeniable, but it's also inevitable. all the reasons you describe struggling with reader perspective fics is why it's so popular: the lack of detail allows the reader to adopt a nebulous perspective, whether they see their own oc in that situation or their literal selves. it doesn't require them to get to know or become invested in your creation, it allows them to indulge in what feels like their own.

i don't think readers get enough credit for their suspension of disbelief and the mental work they put into filling in the blanks that authors leave. similarly, it's absolutely difficult to tell a compelling story while leaving what is often the perspective character a near blank slate. that said! the fics i get the most feedback on are where the reader does have a stronger personality. people love banter, and even if the reader's voice doesn't always feel like something they would actually say, it always produces much more engaging interactions.

i've definitely had my struggle with this in the past, but i'm still learning. the series i'm working on right now, Guilty Pleasures, features a reader with quite a lot of personality, and i've established things about her that i wouldn't normally go into such detail, and the response to it has been great! your reader perspective SHOULD still feel like a character with thoughts, motivations and feelings. otherwise, the story is going to fall a little flat.

if it's easier for you to write the reader perspective as if they're your oc, you should do that. there's a delicate balance between too much and too little information when it comes to reader fic. sometimes taking liberties really works, and i think you'd be surprised how well readers can stretch that illusion. reader perspective should resonate, but not be so overpowering that the actual person reading doesn't like them.

but you absolutely do not need to force yourself to write a particular style of story if it's not something you actually enjoy. i also write and enjoy oc fic! i honestly think my oc fic Eat Your Ego is some of my very best work. unfortunately, it's rare that any of those chapters ever break close to 100 notes, whereas even little reader drabbles will see 2-3x those numbers, sometimes more.

but i write it because i love it, and it's the story i want to tell. that's what matters! and because of my dedication to the story, people have been kind enough to trust me with their time and investment. oc fic will never have the same broad appeal that reader fic does, but that doesn't make it less valuable. you just have to invest more in promoting yourself and convincing people that your story has something to offer them.

my best advice is just don't give up! i'm horribly erratic when it comes to the creative projects i work on, but i've been writing Eat Your Ego for over a year and it has gathered a lovely little following. feedback on that fic means SO much to me. even though there's less of it, the joy it brings me is immeasurable because that fic is special to me. don't give up on your story! it deserves to be told. 🖤

[impossibleprincess35]

[WIP Wednesday]

A little peek at an upcoming chapter of "REPUTATION," my modern AU Obitine fic, where a coup d'état has happened in a modern-day Mandalore, and he's part of an organization called CLERIC (Clandestine Espionage and Rogue Intelligence Command) assigned to protect her:

It was a thin gold chain with a medallion no bigger than a dime dangling from his neck and coming to rest upon hers as he hovered above. She reached up to take the medallion in her fingers, inspecting it in the moonlight that shined dimly in the room. The silhouette of a woman was present and words in a language she didn’t know, and as she ran the pad of her thumb over the detail, Satine asked softly, “Will you tell me about this?” Obi-Wan quietly revealed, “She’s Saint Philomena. Patron saint of children and lost causes. Or,” his brows furrowed for a moment as he looked down at the medallion in her grasp, “I think she was, I dunno.” He shrugged. Satine knew very little about Catholic saints, so she could do nothing but take his word for it. She was a bit surprised, as she had never seen him read a religious text or pray openly, and quietly, she wondered if he was Catholic. Her eyes slowly moved upward to his and she asked, “Why do you wear this?” “It was a gift when I was a boy,” he recalled softly. “A nun gave it to me. She said I needed it, you know, being a child and a bit of a lost cause. It brings me a little bit of peace, I suppose. It’s silly." Memories of his early years sitting in church and listening to tales of the saints came to him, and Obi-Wan smiled as he recalled what he knew about Philomena. Strangely, the girl lying beneath him bore slight similarities to his patron saint, and he disclosed, “She was just a girl when the Roman emperor threatened her father with war. Her family went to the emperor to advocate for peace, and when he saw Philomena, he wanted to marry her but she refused him out of her devotion to God.” Satine listened quietly as one hand held the medallion in her grasp and her other hand lightly traced the chain as it drifted up and towards his neck. As her fingers brushed over the chain where it pressed into his neck, she could see gooseflesh form below her touch. “He tried to have her killed, but she survived multiple attempts on her life,” Obi-Wan continued as he reached down to brush her golden hair from her face, taking in the way that she raised her chin to look up at him with a determination in her eyes that made his pulse race. “Her faith in the face of danger led many Romans to embrace Christianity. You remind me of her a little bit, actually.” The look on her face became curious and she asked, “What happened to her?” There was a tense pause from him as he hesitated to speak of Philomena’s demise. “She lost her head,” he murmured, “but I won’t let you lose yours.” The hand of hers that held the medallion gently grasped it and as her heart was pounding in her chest, her eyes scanned his face. She was scared, but at the same time, Satine had never felt so certain about anything in her life as she tugged on the chain and it brought him closer until he was delicately balancing his weight upon her. Her fingers at his neck slowly snaked their way into his shoulder length hair, and as his eyes closed in a moment of peace, she whispered, “It’s too late for that.”

If I could just get these WIPs done.. :/

[jrow]

Fic Writing 20 Questions

Thanks for the tags @khorazir and @raina-at

How many works do you have on AO3?

13

2. What’s your total AO3 wordcount?

268,623

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Sherlock (BBC). I may try my hand at a Merlin fic in the next year, but we’ll see ...

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Beautiful Pictures

A Week in November

Lines in the Sand

The Man with the Cartier Frames

That Time of Year

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! I love getting comments, so it’s the least I can do (even if it takes a few days). I love when authors respond to my comments, so it’s only fair.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Like many of the people answering these questions, I don’t write angsty endings. I considered it for Jam (I almost didn’t include the epilogue) but I love a happy ending.

7. What���s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All my fics have happy endings. If I had to pick one as “happiest”, I’d say The Man With the Cartier Frames.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I have not, luckily. I’ve had a weird comment or two where I’ve thought “why did you tell me that”, but nothing super negative.

9. Do you write smut?

Not really? I’ve written some mature scenes that allude to things, but don’t go into detail.  

10. Do you write crossovers?

No. I have particular objections, but I doubt I ever will.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, Lines in the Sand has been translated into French and That Time of Year into Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I haven’t. I don’t object to the concept, but I’m not sure I’d be a great collaborator given my current writing style. I think I’m better at betaing which gives me a way to work with other fic writers.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

This is really tough. I feel like it’s okay if your “all time” favourite ship changes every five or ten years. I mean, I am a very different person at 40 than I was at 25. My favourite to write is definitely Johnlock—they have a great dynamic and are both really interesting characters in their own rights. So, they are definitely up there. The other ship that comes to mind in terms of those that have really stood the test of time for me is Goren/Eames from Law & Order:CI (a very small fandom). Goren has a lot of Sherlockian traits and Eames is just incredibly cool (and both actors are gorgeous, which doesn’t hurt!).  I discovered Merlin in the last year or two and really like Merthur (honestly, I also really like Mergwenthur which I never thought would be my thing, but Gwen is so lovely), but it’s too early to tell if that will last long enough to be on my all time list!

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Corsi, my NHL Johnlock AU. I have a couple chapters written, but I started it a long time ago and my writing style has changed a fair bit since then. I think I’d want to go back and rewrite the first chapter, but that seems like a waste … so, instead, I will just leave it to languish.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I write Parentlock really well. I have young kids, so it’s relatively easy for me to make kids read age appropriate (which they often don’t in stories, be they fic or published). I hope I am also able to convey that delicate balance that parents feel—namely adoring their kids with every once of your being while wanting to throttle them.  Basically, I think I can write believable kids and believable parents.

I also think I am okay at creating cases, mainly because I become a bit obsessed with making the pieces fit.  I like internal consistency!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I can’t plot out a fic well enough that I can post anything before it’s done. Which means, that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to write a truly long fic (say longer than 50K words).  To have the motivation to write something that long, I think I would need the dopamine hit from posting and getting feedback. But, I just can’t see me ever posting a fic before it’s completely written, because of how often I go back and revise as I write. Particularly for fics with any sort of case—I’ll have the loose parameters of the case set out, but the details won’t emerge until I write. Which may mean I have to go back and edit earlier content to make those details work (internal consistency!). Even things like John’s work schedule or the timing of a phone call or what time Rosie gets out of school may change a half dozen times as I write to make the other pieces work.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic? 

I think it’s fine, but it’s best if you have a half-decent knowledge of that language. The only language I would use is French, should that ever come up.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

X-Files (this also seems to be a common theme)

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Ugh. This is an impossible question. I really like Beneath the Surface—I love epistolary fics and I think I did pretty well with text exchanges in that one. I am also pretty proud of Jam. So, I suppose those would be my faves.

Hmmmm, I think I am late to the game here so anyone interested in doing this, consider yourself tagged!

[godsfavdarling]

chapter 20

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!oc

summary: Diana starts living with Spencer and it's not easy.

list of chapters, also available on wattpad and Ao3 my, masterlist

warnings: it's a bit sad. now we are entering very sad chapters. i'm sorry.

words: 1,7k

A year later

As Molly stood in front of her class, guiding her students through a lesson, her phone suddenly rang. Surprised, she glanced down at the caller ID and saw Spencer's name flashing on the screen. 

Spencer knew her schedule like the back of his hand, whether he wanted to or not he remembered every detail of it, he wouldn't call if it wasn't important.

Molly quickly stepped aside, positioning herself near the wall of the classroom to take the call. With a subtle gesture, she signaled to her students that she needed a moment. 

"Spencer, is everything alright?" she asked, her voice hushed with concern, mindful not to disrupt the ongoing lesson.

"Hi! Molly, um... my mom flooded my apartment and then the nurse quit, and well... the team is gone on a case and I'm still gonna be in touch with them via video call but yeah... um..."

As Molly listened to Spencer's words, she could hear the worry in his voice. She knew that his mind was racing, trying to figure out the best option for his mom. Bringing Diana to live with him had been a difficult decision.

With Spencer's demanding job and Molly teaching five days a week, it had become clear that they couldn't manage on their own. Despite their best efforts, they simply didn't have the resources or the time to provide the round-the-clock care that Diana needed.

Molly understood Spencer's fears. Taking Diana out of the facility where she was receiving constant care wasn't an easy decision, but she also understood his desire to have his mom close to him, where he could oversee her care personally. It was a delicate balance between wanting what was best for Diana and wanting to keep her close to family.

Molly's voice trembled with worry as she spoke, her concern evident in her tone. "Oh my god, Spencer, I can't leave right now..."

Spencer's expression softened with understanding, "Oh god, no, Molly. I don't want you to," he assured her, his voice gentle and reassuring. "I'm fine. I just wanted to let you know..."

"Okay, listen, I'm gonna pick up some takeaway on the way," she promised, determination coloring her tone. "And right after work, I'm gonna come by and help you out, okay?"

"Okay... thank you, Molly," he replied, his voice filled with appreciation. "I love you."

Molly's heart swelled at Spencer's words, her love for him evident in her response. "I love you too," she whispered, her voice filled with warmth and affection. "It's gonna be okay!"

...........................................

With a bag of still-warm takeaway food in hand, Molly hurried up the stairs to apartment 23. She reached the door and gently knocked.

Seconds later, Spencer swung the door open, his expression a mix of relief and gratitude as he welcomed her inside. 

"Hi," he exclaimed, his voice tinged with appreciation.

Molly smiled warmly at him, her heart swelling at the sight of him. 

"Hi," she replied, her voice filled with determination, and leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. As she drew back, she noticed a slight redness on his cheek. It wasn't from her lipstick - she wasn't wearing any.

Her brows furrowed in concern as she examined his face, trying to discern the cause. Spencer attempted to quickly look away, sensing what she was doing. But Molly was persistent, gently reaching out to touch his cheek. 

"Spencer, what happened?" she asked.

Molly's voice carried a gentle concern as she called out to Spencer again, her tone reflecting the worry that knotted her stomach. "Spencer...?"

Spencer's weary expression softened slightly as he turned towards Molly, a hint of relief flickering in his eyes. "My mom went to take a nap," he explained, his voice tinged with exhaustion but also gratitude. "She's gonna be happy we have something warm to eat. I was cleaning all day." His shoulders sagged a little as he continued, "Few books got ruined, but other than that, everything's okay."

Molly reached out to him, her touch light yet reassuring, as she urged him to open up. "Spencer... talk to me," she implored, her voice soft with understanding.

A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the faint sounds of their breathing. Spencer's eyes flickered with a mix of emotions - fatigue, concern, and something else Molly couldn't quite decipher.

"Did she...?" Molly whispered.

He confirmed with a nod, his gaze darting towards the closed bedroom door where his mother lay resting.

Molly's heart ached at the sight of Spencer's troubled expression, her own worry mounting with each passing second. 

"How did that happen?" she asked gently, her voice a soothing balm in the midst of his turmoil.

Spencer's shoulders tensed slightly, his jaw clenching as he recalled the events of the day. 

"She got angry," he explained, his voice tinged with sadness. "I caught her throwing away the medicine I started to give her. And she hates it, so she threw it in the toilet. I managed to rip the last bottle from her hands, but that won't last us long."

Molly's heart went out to him, her own eyes filling with sympathy for his plight. She longed to ease his burden, to offer him the comfort and support he so desperately needed. But in that moment, all she could do was stand by his side.

Suddenly Diana emerged from the bedroom, Molly's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her. 

"Oh, Molly! Hi, sweetie!" Diana exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine affection as she approached Molly and enveloped her in a tight embrace.

"Hi, Diana," Molly greeted warmly, returning the hug with equal warmth. "How are you feeling?"

Diana's smile widened, a glimmer of vitality returning to her eyes. "Oh, much better," she assured Molly, her voice infused with newfound energy. "A nap was all I needed."

Molly couldn't help but smile in response, her heart swelling with relief at Diana's improved mood.

As Diana's gaze fell upon her scrapbook, her eyes widened in surprise and delight. "Oh my goodness! My scrapbook! I've been keeping that since I don't know when," she exclaimed, a mixture of nostalgia and wonder coloring her voice. "I have no idea how it got here."

Diana's attention shifted to Spencer, her concern palpable as she noticed the redness on his cheek. "Oh, honey, what did you do?" she asked, her voice laced with a mother's instinctive worry.

Spencer's gaze briefly flickered towards Molly, a silent plea for understanding passing between them. He offered Diana a reassuring smile, though it did little to mask the discomfort etched into his features. 

"Must have bumped into something," he replied casually, his tone meant to downplay the situation. "Nothing to worry about, Mom."

"Oh, you need to be more careful. It's really awful. You were always so clumsy, smart as a whip but I used to call you Crash. You were always bumping into things," Diana lectured Spencer gently, her affection evident in her teasing tone.

After a while, all three of them found themselves on the couch, immersed in Diana's scrapbook. "I'd almost forgotten about this."

"What is that?" Spencer asked, his curiosity piqued as he flipped through the pages.

"When you were a little boy, I took you to the circus, and after that, all you could talk about is you wanted to be a tightrope walker when you grew up," Diana reminisced, a fond smile gracing her lips.

"I thought I wanted to be a magician." Spencer said with confusion.

"You did. That was later. This was first," Diana remarked.

"Really? I don't remember that at all."

"Oh, no wonder. You were no more than 3 or 4," Diana explained, her eyes sparkling with nostalgia.

"What's on its head?" Molly asked.

"It's Spencer!" Diana exclaimed, pointing to the photograph of the head of a young boy.

"That's me?" Spencer asked in disbelief.

"Yes, you glued that on there yourself," Diana confirmed with a laugh.

"Why did I do that?" Spencer wondered aloud.

"Well, here. See this little scar right there on your wrist? That's from where you fell when you were trying to balance on our backyard fence," Diana recounted, her voice tinged with fondness as she held his hand. "Oh, you were so determined to make it the whole way.

And I'll never forget looking out the kitchen window, watching you out there as you were trying to make a balancing pole from a broomstick," Diana continued, her eyes misting over with emotion. "Calculating how long it should be and making adjustments. My little budding genius."

"Did I ever make it?" Spencer asked, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"No. And you were heartbroken," Diana admitted, her expression sympathetic. "You see, the problem was, you were so smart, you were so brilliant, you really believed that you could solve anything if you just put your brain into it. But that tightrope... No... you just couldn't figure that out.

But you were meant for bigger things, Spencer," Diana concluded, her voice filled with pride and affection. "Now, how do you tell that to a 4-year-old boy?"

Spencer turned to Molly and noticed the tears glistening in her eyes as she stared at him.

..............................

After seeing Diana off to rest, Spencer returned to Molly, who was seated on the couch, her expression a mix of concern and exhaustion. With a heavy sigh, he sank down beside her, feeling the weight of the day's events settling on his shoulders.

He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of exhaustion and emotion pressing down on him. His breaths came in ragged, uneven intervals, betraying the turmoil within.

Molly, sensing his struggle, reached out to him and squeezed his hand. Her touch a gentle anchor in the midst of his storm. 

As tears welled in his closed eyes, she could see the vulnerability etched on his face, the trembling of his lips betraying the emotions he fought to suppress.

"Do you wanna talk?" Molly's voice was soft, filled with empathy and understanding.

"No," Spencer replied, his voice barely above a whisper. Tears spilled from his eyes as he sat up, wiping them away with a trembling hand. The weight of his emotions threatened to overwhelm him, but he fought to maintain control. "Sorry. I don't wanna cry."

Molly's heart ached at the sight of his struggle, the rawness of his emotions laid bare before her. "It's okay to cry," she reassured him, her voice gentle and soothing. "I'd cry if I were you. Although, I don't know, maybe I'm more sensitive."

"No, you're not," Spencer countered, his voice tinged with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. "You're just bad at hiding it. Especially from me."

Molly enveloped Spencer in a warm embrace, her arms encircling him gently but firmly. She could feel his trembling body against hers as he surrendered to his emotions, letting out the tears he had been holding back for so long.

[animehouse-moe]

English-First Manga Re:Anima Begins Publication

Yeah, you read that right. Kodansha has been trying very hard to tap into the North American/English language market as a JP publisher. Some things have flopped like K-Manga, but surprisingly, their English-first series have been seeing impressive success. Blood Blade wowed fans, and now Re:Anima from Yoshinori Matsuoka is aiming to double down on that result.

So, who is Yoshirori Matsuoka? I think a lot of North American-slash-English-language readers don't really recognize the name, and it's not fault of their own. Matsuoka only has one real original manga to their name prior to this entrant. Out of the total 5 that they've worked on, they've only written for 2, and one of them is an RPG adaptation of Hiro Mashima's 'Gate of Nightmares'.

And that leaves just Kessen No Kuon, a two volume manga series from 2017. Even back then, however, Matsuoka had potential.

The environment art was incredibly full and detailed, the character designs packing an intense degree of punch and personality. It's art that could take an artist very far- which is why I'm surprised that it took up until now for Matsuoka to be given potential to make something of their name.

Though, Kessen No Kuon's quality is sorely outdated against Matsuoka's work on Re:Anima. Character models retain their sense of personality but bring a greater degree of refinement, the line art has gotten much more confident, and Matsuoka's layouts have improved a considerable amount.

Probably one of the best improvements is their willingness to break panels for effect and flow. It's something that in my flip through of Kessen No Kuon was sorely missing. That feeling of restriction really did limit Matsuoka's strong art, and I'm glad to see it differ here with Anima.

Similarly, I think their character designs remain strong, but have grown even more expressive. They don't need silly or simplified faces to express intent or emotion to the viewer, but Matsuoka keeps them in for comedic effect, which I can appreciate.

But that's enough about the art- it's strong and is certainly not the weakest link here. Story is more the concern as it's Matsuoka's 3rd (I'd argue 2nd) pass at writing the accompaniment to their art, so how does it fair?

Honestly, pretty damn good. It manages to make the most of Matsuoka's character designs and visual style, and presents itself as an incredibly strong science fiction story. Walking confidently into global warming territory to set the stage, it's tackling a lot of typical fare for a good sci-fi story- namely in the forms of the concept of freedom, and the idea of human connection.

Off the bat it establishes that everyone's basically just piloting a synthetic version of themselves so that they can "live" above ground, but that idea immediately gets picked apart by tradition, history, and the freedom that it affords people.

I think the easiest examples appear with the chapter's antagonist, as well as a young boy's questions of the world.

Both do incredibly well to frame the suffocating nature of existence in a world that's effectively uninhabitable, and express the natural desire to challenge or deny the system that has stripped the people of freedom and human connection.

Overall, I might even say that this is "quintessentially styled" manga. It presents a strong core with an intense desire to pose a question to viewers through its world and characters, but it's not afraid to joke around with itself. It's a delicate balance to strike, but Matsuoka shows a very confident degree of refinement within this first chapter, so more than anything I'm excited to see where it chooses to go.

[sparxwrites]

Usually I don't read many mcyt fics because a lot of minecraft mechanics feel weird and incomplete in fic form and take me out of the story, but I wanna say I absolutely love the way the worlds feel when you write them! I'm never once taken out of the scene because something feels awkward and I'm very glad I found your accounts. Thank you <3

thank you! <3

managing reader immersion when writing minecraft stuff is really hard. if you ignore minecraft as a setting too much (e.g. people saying "jesus" too much, when jesus does not exist in minecraft) then it can be jarring and incongruous - and is also really boring imho . but if you lean too hard into minecraft as a setting (e.g. using "oh devs" or "oh my end dragon" or whatever) then it sounds silly and will also drag people out of the fic. it's a very delicate balance

the way i do it is like... pick the stuff you want to use or mention, especially within the specific fic/chapter you're writing (e.g. if you mention inventories, don't also talk too much about sleeping/eating mechanics or world hopping). don't over-explain, and let your reader fill in the gaps (e.g. say "x pulled their sword from their inventory with a flourish", you don't necessarily need too much detail about how inventories work unless it's a fic about how inventories work). and think carefully about like, "rule of cool", and whether it serves the worldbuilding or plot (e.g. it's cool to have someone wrench a shield from their inventory mid-fight, it's cool for someone to be able to world-hop in a flash of light, and these are important details that will impact the plot; someone cursing using random names drawn from minecraft lore is probably meh-to-uncool, and unless you're writing about minecraft religion it's probably not plot-important).

it's a bit like speech-tags - people use "said" all the time because it's a background word, you just gloss over it. if you use a different one (screamed, shouted, whimpered) it's going to make the reader sit up and take notice, so you have to do that with intention and care. if all the speech tags are foreground words, your reader's constantly going "oh, they've emphasised that by using a foreground word, that's important!" and then it's not important and they eventually get worn out. same principle with mechanics - let people gloss over stuff, unless it's important.

i would love to see more worldbuilding in mcyt fics tbh - i think the ability to write stuff closer to original fiction, in the sense of e.g. designing characters and doing worldbuilding, is a real strength of mcyt stuff - but i agree that it often feels incomplete. do more deep and intentional worldbuilding, people! you fics and readers will thank you for it.

[sambvcks]

crawl home to her, b.b. x reader

chapter one // body’s working on empty

summary: bucky isn’t as receptive to this new life of his as everyone had hoped. he’s cold, sharp-tongued, and closed off. except to the tenant across the hallway from him, who always wears pajamas and bakes a dozen too many of his favorite cookies

warnings: food, nothing too bad this chapter!

word count: 1.5k-ish

author’s note: i thought my marvel phase ended five years ago...here we are again. i haven’t written in awhile so please be kind! title and chapter titles taken from hozier’s ‘work song’.

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Five minutes into their first session, Bucky decided he was going to make Dr. Raynor’s job as difficult as he possibly could.

It wouldn’t be an impossible task, seeing how this whole ordeal depended on him opening up and talking, two things that he had abandoned decades ago. Her unwavering stare was nothing more than a challenge, these fifty-minute sessions once a week were nothing more than a slight inconvenience to his lackluster day to day routine. He would play along, do whatever exercises she asked, and feign stability until he never had to see her again.

“Since this is our first session together, we’ll take it easy.” She promised with a forced upturn of her lips before whipping out her notebook.

Suddenly, it felt like he was encased in bulletproof glass in Berlin again. He remembered that the last time he had been forced into receiving psychiatric help, it hadn’t exactly gone to plan. His chin fell to his chest, hands wringing together as he thought of any excuse to request a different doctor. 

“Let’s begin.”

It was already getting too hot to wear leather gloves and his heavy jacket. New York’s heatwave was supposed to be the highest on record this year and while kids popped open fire hydrants in the street, Bucky would be settled on the hardwood floor in the back corner of his apartment, waiting.

Waiting for what, he wasn’t quite sure.

It was a fairly nice apartment, newly renovated and practically barren. Government issued and funded, of course, and he had spent the first night pulling the furniture from the walls to the center of the room in search of bugs and cameras. He found thirty-four, destroyed them under a rolling pin, and they hadn’t come to replace them. Message received.

The one thing he really liked about the apartment building were his neighbors. The price tag for a one bedroom was substantial to say the least and only older couples could really afford it. No children, no dogs, no outsiders. The only break from his undisturbed routine would be occasionally helping Mrs. Johnson down the hall carry her groceries as she struggled to get the door unlocked with her brittle hands.

They affectionately called him James and the older women were quick to get a hold of his arms, saying things like “They don’t make them like you anymore, James!”. He swallowed the bile prickling at the back of his throat as he nodded, and they moved on to telling him about their single granddaughters.

It was almost nice, his routine. Almost.

Outside of those small encounters, he spent most of his waking hours jogging in the park and cooking the same three meals. He had his appointment every Wednesday with Dr. Raynor, but that was it. He’d take two trains back to his apartment and wouldn’t emerge again until he needed groceries two days later.

It was when he was returning from one of his biweekly grocery trips, a paper bag settled on his hips, that he spotted you outside his door.

He stilled in the hallway, taking a quick step back to peek around the corner without being spotted. His breath stalled, his ears picking up your soft humming and the crinkle of plastic as you set a bundle of cookies at his doorstep, the only one without a mat. His eyes flicked to the other doors, where identical bags of cookies sat propped up, tied with blood red ribbons.

His shoulders relaxed. No threat.

The bottom of his grocery bag suddenly gave way, fruit rolling in every direction. Bucky fell to his knees, glove clad hands snatching up everything he could reach as quickly as he could manage. You were faster, though, and scooped up a plum that had rolled your way, offering it over as he tried to balance the rest of his groceries in his arms.

“Thanks.” He was quick to sweep past you, hand digging in his pockets for his key.

“James, right? Ms. Robinson downstairs is like, in love with you.”

“Yeah, but, uh-“ Dr. Raynor’s instructions from their last session rang in his head, as much as he tried to tune her out: make connections. “You can call me Bucky.” He cleared his throat. “And Mrs. Robinson is far too good for me.”

“Bucky it is then.” You trailed him down the hallway, “Y/N.”

Bucky tried to sneak a glance at you from the corner of his eyes, which was harder to inconspicuously do now that he had gotten a haircut and couldn’t hide his wandering eyes behind long tresses. Young was Bucky’s first thought. much younger than the other renters in the building. Bright was next, followed by much too smiley for a Tuesday morning.

Pretty, he admitted as he turned his back to unlock his door. Maybe in another life he would have lingered in the hall, his so-called effortless charm seeping through as you swooned at the very thought of a date with James Buchanan Barnes. But that life was long gone, and instead he rushed to retreat.

“Oh, don’t forget these.” You swooped down to collect the bundle of cookies you had left at his door, handing them to the hand that wasn’t delicately balancing the pile of groceries he still held against his impossibly broad shoulders. “Oatmeal raisin, super-secret family recipe.”

He was back in the doorway of his ma’s kitchen, watching his little sister balance on a wobbling stool as she struggled to crack and egg with her little fingers. He can so distinctly see the pale green of the cabinets, remember the fight his parents had when she begged for that shade of green while his dad had wanted white. Of course, she won.

“These are your brother’s favorite.” His ma whispered to his sister; her flour covered hands reaching for the age faded index card with their grandmother’s script detailing the ingredients. “Our family’s recipe. One day, you will make these for your children. And your children’s children.”

Rebecca, still so young and with a hatred for smelly boys deep in her bones, giggled at the mere thought as her fingers fished out the bits of eggshell that snuck their way into the bowl. She wiped it away on the spare apron tied twice around her waist, much too big for her. 

Bucky would never see her grow into it. He would be drafted only a few months later.

In the meantime, he would bundle half a dozen of them in a tea towel and split them with Steve on the walk to the movie theater. Steve would begrudgingly admit that Buck’s ma made the best cookies, but his made the best brisket. They’d sneak in through the back door and do it all again the next weekend, until they ran out of weekends together.

“Oatmeal raisin are my favorite.” He admitted, accepting your offering like a stray cat does to the first scrap of food from a stranger.

“I think you’re the only person under the age on one hundred to ever say that.” You teased, backing away to the door adjacent to his, “Anyway, don’t tell me things like that. I’m a stress baker and with finals coming up…” You winced at the image of the dozens of batches you would surely be whipping up in the coming weeks.

“Finals?”

“Law school, one semester left.” You fished your own keys from your back pocket. Bucky barely held in the scoff at the shiny Spider-Man keychain that dangled from your fingers. “You?”

“Oh, no. I haven’t been in school in what feels like…a century.”

“Well, I’m all alone here and as much as I would love to, I can’t eat everything that I bake. So, expect a few dozen muffins and cookies every few days.”

“No arguing from me, doll.”

You both lingered in the small hallway, only a few steps apart, each leaning against your respective doors. Keys in each hand, with no intention of using them any time soon.

“Law school, you said? How do you afford a place like this?” Bucky was sure he was the only recently pardoned fugitive under this room.

“Well, this used to be my grandma’s apartment and it was handed down to me in a maybe no so legal way. If the landlord asks, I’m an eighty-year-old woman who doesn’t know how to work her answering machine.”

He huffed a laugh, mostly because that wasn’t particularly far from how he felt with today’s tech. The flip phone that Dr. Raynor had described as archaic sat heavy in his back pocket with only three names programed into his contacts. Don’t get him started on his television.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

With that, you each stepping into your respective apartments. Bucky stalled at his door for a moment, listening as you locked and dead bolted your door behind you. He sighed, dumping his half-ruined groceries on his barren kitchen island.

The next day, he’d have another appointment with Dr. Raynor. This time when he’d say I’m trying, as he did each week, it wouldn’t be a complete lie. His phone buzzed in his back pocket.

2 New Messages

From: Sam

You coming up this weekend?

Don’t ignore me this time. He’s getting worse, Buck.

[angelswithscalywings]

Angels with Scaly Wings Sequel slated for 2023

It's official: My next visual novel is going to be "Angels with Scaly Wings, part 2".

Alluded to in last year's April Fool's Day post, as well as the teaser we released last month, this reveal finally makes official what some of you may have already suspected.

Taking place 4 years after the events of Angels with Scaly Wings' True Ending, a murder threatens to upset the delicate balance between the 3 cities of the new world.

  Today marks AwSW's 5th anniversary, and as such I believe it is time to elaborate a little on the history of the sequel and where we stand today.

It really started during the development of AwSW. While writing the story, I would get many ideas about events and things that could happen to characters and the world in the future. I wrote down all of those ideas, and as development progressed these ideas started forming into an overarching story.

By the time we neared release for AwSW, I knew I wanted to create that sequel if I would be given the opportunity. The only question for me was whether AwSW would be successful enough to make this possible.

That is how the secret ending came into play. Would I not be able to create the sequel, the true ending would still be a good place to end the story, while the secret ending could tease what was to come if I was able to contiue and make another game.

  Ultimately, Angels with Scaly Wings was planned as one, big story. When AwSW finally released, the first scene and events of the true ending for the sequel were already known to me, and work on the sequel commenced almost immediately.

The story became bigger and bigger, and I eventually realized this game would take a very long time to make.

That's where Angels with Broken Hearts (our webcomic taking place in the world of AwSW) came in. I was looking for a good way to elaborate on the world and characters of AwSW that I felt needed to be introduced to players to provide important context before playing the sequel - as carrying the story of the sequel was a big enough task on its own.

Since the game would take place in the new world, Reza's chapters in particular were a necessity so players would have the opportunity to know more about the human world and Reza's story - though of course other chapters of AwBH also play their part and not just Reza's.

  Between this, a japanese translation and the console ports, my attention unfortunately became somewhat unfocused in order to make all of these things happen - further slowing the work on the sequel.

For this game, we are aiming for improvements on all fronts, meaning a lot more people to be involved (and assets to be created).

As of today, the various aspects are in very different states of completion, with music, backgrounds and character designs being mostly done - while others such as programming and CGs haven't been given much attention yet.

I am very confident in the people who are working on this game to raise the bar - and you will definitely be able to spot a number of familiar names in the credits as well.

  We expect Angels with Scaly Wings, part 2 will release at some point in 2023 (hopefully sooner rather than later). When you eventually get the chance to play it, the amount of time to get through should be significantly higher compared to AwSW due to the sheer amount of content.

I don't think I can express in words how important the world and story of AwSW are to me - especially in light of all the lovely messages and reviews I have received about how much this story has meant to players.

I am very much looking forward to share this next chapter of Angels with Scaly Wings with you. Unfortunately, you will have to wait a while longer as many more days of work are ahead of us until this is possible.

However, with these news finally unveiled, I will also be able to start talking about the next game in more detail and share various pieces in blog posts just like this one throughout the year.

[softinkshadows]

Shingeki no Kyojin Astrology: sun-moon-rising combinations

I was looking around tumblr for detailed astrology speculations of my fave anime characters, but there aren't that many! Being q well-versed in astro myself, i thought why not do my own version (very spoiler-free, don’t worry)! I followed the birth dates given by isayama:

Eren Jaeger - Aries sun, Scorpio moon, Cancer rising Aside from the fact that he can be hotheaded and impulsive, Eren's feelings of vengeance run deep and explosive. Remember that time he was chained to the bed after the attack on trost, and his eyes were wild with the need to violently eradicate all titans? He's so tenacious and emotionally stubborn too (a Scorp moon trait) to the point of being closed off from everyone else, especially towards the end where he seems to take the weight of the world's burden on his own shoulders. And all for the sake of protecting his community and ensuring the safety of his friends for the rest of their lives. His comrades and family are his motivation. This is his Cancer rising steering his life.

Mikasa Ackerman - Aries sun, Aquarius moon, Aries rising "Look that moody brat is running off on her own again." Mikasa is similar to Eren in her impulsiveness and determination, but different in two ways- what they aim to protect and their extent of fearlessness. Eren is aware of his own weaknesses and helplessness, but Mikasa's amazing physical prowess makes her act without any hesitation at all. She's hella fierce and driven to keep herself in shape too, doing all those sit-ups and chopping firewood post-injury. I think she deserves a double Aries! An Aries rising means a Libra descendant too, which is reflected her whole-hearted devotion in her close partnerships (Eren and Armin). Her aquarius moon really shines thru with her stoic independence, focus and perseverance.

Armin Arlet - Scorpio sun, Virgo moon, Pisces rising He's the brain of the 104th cadet corps, and is second to Erwin in terms of strategy! An intelligent planner with low self-esteem often found second guessing his own analytical abilities, Armin is a true blue Virgo moon. His emotional self stands out the most from the main three protagonists - Eren & Mikasa mostly express anger and desperation, whereas Armin is usually shrouded in fear and worry. He's a very soft bb, hence the Pisces rising, not to mention he gets so dreamy imagining the sea, the vast plains, and the magical world beyond the walled universe he knows. A spiritually-attuned and curious explorer :")

Levi Ackerman - Capricorn sun, Scorpio moon, Virgo rising Levi is such a complex person, thanks to Isayama's brilliance. Like many Cap suns, Levi is authoritative, cold and incredibly savage. That's not to say he doesn't feel anything either. Levi is an evolved Scorp moon (maybe even moon in 11th house) because his feelings are never for himself, but he hurts so much for others - you can tell every death hits him so hard, but he doesn't show this to anyone else. He also exudes this quietly intimidating aura of natural competence, a common characteristic of this sun-moon combo. He can take things personally as well (re: height issues) but it never snowballs into more than passing irritation. The turbulence of his emotions and habit for violence is balanced out by his earthy Virgo rising, which is emotionally subdued, quite thin and delicate in physique, and super neurotic and nitpicky when it comes to cleanliness and health. Cap, Virgo and Scorp are some of the most guarded signs, and a combi of all 3 are hellish. You can tell this poor beautiful man is always caught between feeling and thinking, between maintaining his humanity and forsaking it.

Erwin Smith - Libra sun, Capricorn moon, Leo rising In another life, Erwin Smith would be the damn CEO of a global conglomerate because he oozes so much charisma. Hell if charisma were energy Erwin Smith would be its prime, eternally renewable source. His stature alone is so commanding, and I find some strong Leonine traits in his thickset physique, strong eyebrows, beautiful hair, and that way he shouted in full glory atop wall Rose in that one episode to the cheering masses below. He might be a Libra sun, diplomatic in political affairs, but his Capricorn moon is what drives his decisions. Cap moon has a rep for being cold and unemotional, but i believe they are way more than that! Cap moons rarely boast about their long list of achievements, instead looking forward to the next goal. They struggle with emotional expression, and are super driven and disciplined. Erwin is capable of making the hardest decisions, putting aside emotions to strive for an abstract ideal, and this is to be expected of the commander who takes on the role of the devil.

Hange Zoe - Virgo sun, Sagittarius moon, Gemini rising All hail our favourite mad scientist!! Hange is such a breath of fresh air in the Survey Corps, balancing out the heaviness of missions with their wacky tales of titan research and experimentation. Their penchant for study and higher knowledge is typical of a Sagittarius moon, who is drawn to advanced academic study and spiritual truths. It's also a lighthearted and optimistic sign, true to Hange's upbeat personality. The Virgo in them contributes to their sheer intelligence and obsessiveness with research subjects. We also know they LOVE to talk, and once Eren asks Hange about experiments, they cannot stop (Gemini governs communication). Virgo, Sag and Gemini are the most intellectual signs, and because they are mutuable Hange tends to follow orders rather than give them, making it difficult to adapt to their new role towards the end of the series. Mutable signs also means rapidly-changing emotional states, and a whole lot of chaos, which suits our beloved squad leader.

Jean Kirstein - Aries sun, Virgo moon, Taurus rising Our third Aries on the list ohmygod. The snk universe is full of feisty hotheads. Jean is always seen clashing with Eren, fuelled by Eren's closeness with Mikasa and his own adorable jealousy. I mean, they had a full on fist fight right after dinner in the mess hall, although everything went downhill after the first few punches. Our first impression of Jean during his cadet days is coloured by his desire to work in the interior, and this favour for material safety and wealth is perhaps common to a Taurus rising. Also, Taurus is ruled by Venus, planet of beauty and harmony, and thus often figures in the charts of artists. If you've seen Jean's drawing skills in that special episode, you'll know that his artistic abilities are the finest we have seen, exceeding even that of isayama himself. Jean's strong principles such as being averse to killing people and oftentimes cynical nature, is also characteristic of the moral and cautious Virgo moon.

Sasha Braus - Leo sun, Gemini moon, Taurus rising Not all Leos are showmans. Sasha is the type of Leo who displays more of the quirky, unabrashed personality suited to her opposite sister sign Aquarius. Authority doesn't exist when food comes into play, as we see when she breaks potato with Shadis and later steals a slab of meat from the officer's warehouse. Unlike the visual artistry that Jean possesses with his Taurus rising, Sasha's Taurus centers around her love for food, and hell she can have fiery determination for it (rmb the wild night she mistook Jean's hand for meat?). I love that both of them were pitted with each other in that cooking special episode. I considered placing her as a Taurus moon, but Taurus moons are usually steadier and classier in emotion, whereas Sasha is often breezy, gets nervous and chaotic, with stellar intuition, making her likely a Gemini moon.

Connie Springer - Taurus sun, Cancer moon, Gemini rising Although not much attention is paid to Connie's growth, his character development reminds me a lot of Aang from ATLA. Cheery and happy-go-lucky at first, before the incident with his mother made him more prone to feelings of anger and vengeance, especially near the later chapters. His strong protective bond with his mother is what compels me to say he is a Cancer moon, which is a moon sign that is very homebody and drawn to family and traditions. His goofy self and him referring to Sasha as "his twin" puts him as the spunky Gemini rising, another sign he shares with her.

Reiner Braun - Leo sun, Pisces moon, Capricorn rising Aside from his natural leader personality (Leonine), Reiner likes to take on the persona of the big brother of the group. His outward stoicism, decisiveness and task-oriented nature is typical of a Cap rising, who is often serious and solemn in appearance. He reminds me of that Cap rising workaholic who does his best in a corporate organization, working 9 to 5 plus overtime as it fulfills his sense of purpose. Beyond his stoic facade reveals a more troubled personality. Like a Pisces moon, Reiner is impressionable, and it's difficult to tell if his emotions and personalities are his own, wavering and absorbing traits from those around him. His internal war with his identity and the ensuing fatigue characterises him during the second half of the series.

Annie Leonhart - Aries sun, Aquarius moon, Virgo rising Annie is the kind of Aries that is so motivated to achieve her goals that everything else is sidelined, including her own emotions. She's quite ruthless in chasing her objectives, and her composure, focus and endurance is highlighted with an Aquarius moon. I'm guessing she has a 4th house influence somewhere because of her motivations to go home to her father and lead a normal life. I find the daintiness and delicateness of her features similar to Levi, who is also a Virgo rising. The Virgo effect also registers as a brutal, unfiltered honesty (also seen in Levi), and Annie doesn't hesitate to speak the truth about her own or her opponent's capabilities.

Other characters which I won't go into much detail about:

Bertholdt Hoover - Capricorn sun, Virgo moon, Pisces rising Bertholdt is quiet with an unobtrusive personality. His lack of supposed iniative and aggression can perhaps be attributed to the mutuability of Virgo and Pisces, which goes with the flow instead of charging forward. He keeps his feelings to himself, but reacts when the people he wants to protect are threatened.

Historia Reiss - Capricorn sun, Libra moon, Cancer rising Historia initially lives for the sake of others (esp Ymir), and is more co-dependent than many of her other squadmates. She also tends to put up a front of pleasantness, afraid of disappointing or offending people. She has a strong tie to family, and a profound sense of duty.

Ymir - Aquarius sun, Pisces moon, Aries rising Ymir is extremely astute when it comes to evaluating human behaviour. The religiosity of her background is also usually found in this sun-moon combination, which tends to attract paths of strong spirituality. She also has a bold and noble sacrificial streak for the sake of her companions.

Zeke Jaeger - Leo sun, Capricorn moon, Scorpio rising A headstrong, intelligent and radical character. In a way similar to Erwin in his ruthlessness, but emotionally darker and much more sinisterly private.

Kenny Ackerman - Aquarius sun, Sagittarius moon

Rod Reiss - Virgo sun, Libra moon

Dot Pixis - Virgo sun, Sagittarius moon

Hannes - Capricorn sun, Taurus moon

[clearlynotjanus]

Loceit Appreciation Week: Day One, Hobbies

READ ON AO3

Chapter Summary: Through three accidental bonding moments over their usually solo hobbies, Logan & Janus realize they have a bit in common & enjoy what the other has to offer.

CW: Food mention, NSFW insinuated very briefly, Greek mythology Word Count: 6497 Genre: Gen Rating: Gen Ships: Slowburn Loceit, slowburn Intruloceit, pre-established Intrulogical, pre-established Dukeceit

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Without any effort made to conceal himself, Janus observed Logan and Remus from the kitchen pass through. Cynically his eyes measured the almost formal distance between the lovers on the couch. There was no need to guesstimate their familiarity; Remus gushed every chance he got about their private life but Janus was still nosey as ever. He leaned forward there with an elbow bent across the counter, the other propped up with an apple brought to his mouth every so often with a satisfying crunch. His gaze switched between keen on their movements and hazy as trains of thought whisked him away. 

Janus was aware his staring made Logan uncomfortable in these moments. He shifted, glanced in Janus’ direction, cleared his throat, pushed his glasses back unnecessarily, all as though being perceived so closely was an entirely new concept; but that was just another reason to continue. This was, after all, the Dark Side; his side, and far be it from Janus to let Logan forget that detail. Besides, it wasn’t like he was a peeping Tom, leering as their casual afternoon became intimate. No, whenever that occurred, Janus was out of the room faster than Remus could get it up.

Today was tedious in its domesticity. Remus scribbled like a madman with furious scritchscritchscritches in a notebook that seemed to change positions whenever Janus looked at him, specifically. Logan rested his head gently against a loosely balled fist. With a quiet schwiff every couple of minutes, he turned a page of the book in his lap. The room was silent otherwise.

Crunch. Schwiff. Scritchscritchscritch. Crunch. Schwiff. Scritchscritchscritch. Crunch -- The apple was finished and the sticky core was disposed of.

“Logan,” Janus called suddenly in a sweet tone as the trash’s lid closed. 

The Side in question stayed silent; either to finish the line his eyes were currently on or to give Janus a taste of his own uncomfortable medicine. Either way, Janus rounded the kitchen corner and balanced a hip against the arm rest next to Remus. A gloved hand idly found its way into his partner’s curls; thoughtlessly, Remus leaned into the feeling, but remained otherwise unresponsive, clearly content with his scribbling. Logan finally blinked up. His expression seemed indecisive between exasperated and dubious, with a predictable amount of disinterest.

“What is it you’re reading?” Janus asked, brows and chin raised with an amount of intrigue that Logan didn’t immediately trust. Not to say Logan didn’t trust Janus individually, but even if he was the Side who understood Deceit the best, there was still quite a bit of water under this particular bridge -- or, uh, whatever idiom would fit here.

Instead of responding verbally, Logan held up the blue and black cover for Janus to read himself; which he then did. With a slightly cocked head, the words were enunciated slowly.

“Born Under Saturn. The Character and Conduct of Artists; A Documented History From Antiquity to The French Revolution,” Janus blinked back up at Logan’s face, digesting the rather wordy sentence. “An analysis of historical artists?” He attempted to boil the topic down to something more … succinct as Logan lowered the book again.

“Basically,” He allowed, eyes poised to resume his reading.

Janus hummed with peaked interest and continued to watch as Logan’s demeanor receded from vaguely conversational to studiously mute once more. In truth, it sounded like a rather compelling read. Being Thomas’ Sides, of course, they were all inclined to art in some way; for the more left-brained Sides such as Janus and Logan however, the critique and reasoning behind the art and associated artists compelled them more frequently than the act of creating art, itself. 

“What’s the part about Saturn?” Janus asked with knitted brows, the hand in Remus’ hair going still as he interrupted again after a moment. This question seemed to get Logan going as he shifted in his seat.

“Well, I had assumed from the title that the study would be centered around evidence pertaining to when and where artists were born, alluding to the hypothesis that Saturnian positions and dispositions resulted in a certain type of artistic character,” Logan explained, annoyance bleeding into his tone as he placed the back of his hand on the page he was currently on in a humorless gesture.

“And I take it from your very contented mood that that’s exactly what the book is about,” Janus teased reflexively, taken aback by Logan’s sudden enthusiasm. Perhaps, Janus thought, he hadn’t been so bothered by being stared at and was simply wrestling with his expectations of the text.

“Ha ha,” He laughed dryly; the sound made Janus smirk. “Saturn is, unfortunately,” Logan waved his hand at the book, “Just a metaphor here.”

“A metaphor for what?” Janus pressed gently, giving a final tug of affection to Remus’ hair before retracting his hand; sensing the appendage being stolen, the distracted Creativity leaned to follow the stimulus until it was far out of reach. Janus turned away and sat delicately on the shallow coffee table in front of Logan, who then paused.

He didn’t wonder why Janus was interested in this topic; after all, he thought, philosophy and theoretical debate were right up Janus’ alley. Additionally, they were speaking about metaphors, he rationalized. Logan didn’t need to understand nor regularly use the literary device to know its practical application, particularly to Deceit who always spoke in those encumbering and roundabout ways. What Logan really paused for was a moment of recognition that after years of distant silence, they were embarking on a rather cordial discussion.

“The melancholic,” Logan explained.

“So not the Roman god?”

“Well, yes and no, but for the comparison to make sense, no is easier,” Janus nodded and crossed his legs, listening with intent held in his brows. “It is a tad convoluted but the theory relates to the history of the four humors,” Janus gave a soft, one-noted hum and Logan nodded. “After all, the Greek etymology for the word melancholy is melas, meaning black and kholé meaning bile; black bile, of course--”

“Being one of the four … fluids,” Janus scrunched his nose distastefully, “Associated with the four humors,” He finished his interruption, gesturing with a loose wrist. 

“Exactly,” Logan breathed with a surprised half smile.

“So what does Saturn have to do with black bile?” Janus asked reasonably.

“Well that part goes back to the interpretive study of Astrology,” Janus tilted his head with surprised interest. “Which, despite its dubious plausibility today, played a frequently understated role in the founding of modern science, especially modern psychology.” Logan paused, watching Janus’ face shift subtly in thought. 

“Forgive my relatively ignorant knowledge of Astrology,” Logan nodded permissibly as Janus began to piece the theory together with slow words, “But I guess what you’re saying, or rather, what you expected the book to say, is that artists all suffer from a melancholic disposition?” Logan hummed and shook his head, causing Janus to purse his lips. 

“Again, yes and no. The book is saying that, to some extent.”

“You had just been expecting the evidence to be reliant on literal Saturn rather than...whatever they’re actually using,” Janus tried again and was rewarded with another half smile.

“Are you nerds done yet?” Remus piped up suddenly as Logan opened his mouth to continue. Janus’ head turned and the awareness in his partner’s eyes made his own narrow; how long had he been attentive to their conversation? “I wanna show Lolo what I made.”

“Quite, then,” Janus smiled curtly at Remus who beamed with knowing sarcasm in a way that only Janus would be able to detect. Rat bastard. “Another time,” He promised almost provocatively as a parting to Logan, who looked rather miffed and torn between continuing this unexpectedly stimulating conversation and tending to his boyfriend’s desires.

Janus stood before brushing invisible dirt off himself. “Have a wonderful afternoon, lovebirds,” Janus lilted, fingers wiggling in a goodbye wave as his back disappeared down the hall.

Logan blinked several times before inhaling and turning to Remus, who seemed a few moments more patient and perhaps a little more amused than usual.

- - - - -

Remus’ door having gone unanswered, when music began to softly crackle from the direction of the kitchen, Logan followed it with a vague intrigue. He paused in the entry, blinking at the four black-sleeved and yellow-gloved hands that flitted about the counter spaces. They rifled through the fridge and plucked from the cabinets with a sense of mindlessness from their owner, who stood at the sink. Using his natural two arms, Janus filled various bowls with water as he hummed along to the quiet, bouncy swing song that played from an antique looking gramophone Logan could’ve sworn wasn’t there yesterday. The scene was fascinating, from a scientific point of view; he had never considered how Janus’ many arms worked and seeing them here, stretching out and acting as though they had their own sentience piqued his interest immensely. 

For long moments, Logan watched silently before the arms retracted, bringing various items back to the workspace closest to Janus. Packets of gelatin, food coloring -- Logan squinted from his position; corn syrup? The answer to a question he hadn’t asked made itself apparent as he recalled a few various tidbits Remus had given him about his partner. Logan cleared his throat to get Janus’ attention, satisfied with his distant examinations.

“Oh,” The baker turned around, excess arms disappearing inside him with a flourish as they completed their purpose of fetching. “Logan, good morning,” Janus greeted in a sunny tone, though confusion hinted in his eyes.

“Good morning,” He returned, taking conservative steps into the kitchen. He nodded at the gelatin packets. “So this is the gelatin art Remus talks about,” Logan observed without question.

“Remus talks about it?” Janus asked, reserved happiness in his distracted tone as he stepped from the sink to the counter and began measuring out tablespoons of corn syrup.

“Frequently,” Logan confirmed, crossing his arms casually. The conversation came to a peaceful lull as Janus began to stir the syrup and water. Concluding that, he turned and took steps that placed him closer than usual to the other.

“What does he say?” Janus asked like a teen greedy for rumors, giving a sly glance from under his lashes as he paused. The moment lingered as he reached around Logan for the gelatin packets he stood in front of, meeting his eyes all the while. Suddenly, Logan couldn’t remember a single thing Remus had ever said. The tips of his ears reddened with a blush that creeped up the back of his neck. He swallowed against the dryness of his throat.

“Just that you enjoy making gelatin,” Logan responded after Janus had made his way back to the counter, his posture feeling as stiff and unnatural as his answer. He could see the disappointment in the way Janus’ lips pursed as he began dumping the neutral colored gelatin into the solution.

“Is that so.”

“Yes,” Logan cleared his throat and again felt that his response was lame. It made the air between them go stale. How did Remus manage to speak with Janus so casually and with so much enthusiasm? Of course, he wouldn't be Remus without an absence of shame, but still; Logan found himself envying the fact. 

He was appreciative of the cheerful music that eased the awkwardness. Also that Janus didn’t seem to mind how apparently awful he was at idle conversations despite his desire to engage in them. After a few moments, Janus went back to humming as he repeated the task of pouring gelatin into the bowls and discarding the packets. As the heat in his face receded, Logan recalled more of Remus’ words over the time they had been dating. 

He always spoke very highly of his partner, which was to be expected. Janus was graceful, patient, and, quote, ridiculously smart. Despite taking everything Remus had to say with mounded tablespoons of realism flavored salt, examining Janus now and through the lens of their recent interactions, Logan would have to agree. 

“He has an awful habit,” Janus revived the conversation as one song faded into the next. He turned and leaned back against the counter; as he spoke, he slowly began turning the knob of a manual can opener against a can of condensed milk. “Of eating various inedible things,” Janus scrunched his nose and Logan exhaled. “You won’t believe the things he’s consumed over the years.”

“That’s why you make the gelatin, correct?” Logan asked, hoping this time his phrasing opened up the possibility for more elaboration.

“Mhm,” Janus hummed with a shallow nod and twisted the lid off before throwing it in the trash as well. He turned and stirred the thickened milk into the largest bowl of water and corn syrup. Discomfort washed over Logan once more as he began to realize the conversation had died again. His head fell but soon snapped up as Janus thankfully continued after a moment.

“Of course it doesn’t negate the problem entirely,” His tone was less annoyed than Logan would’ve thought. Though there was plenty of quiet frustration, mostly he sounded concerned and tired. “But I like to imagine it helps some at least.” 

“I think it helps more than you realize,” Logan offered slowly in a tone that was sure of itself despite the confusion in his brow. Did Janus not realize his instrumental intervention?

Remus never really shut up about how much he appreciated Janus. The various ways Janus managed him and his mental health over their lifetime together, how effortless Janus made it all look; Logan had to admit, hearing about it constantly was rather intimidating, especially at the beginning of their relationship. He had high expectations to meet if everything Remus said was true, and like he thought before, it was beginning to look that way as Logan got to know Janus for himself. Remus talked a fair amount about how much he appreciated Logan as well though, so he never did have much of a chance to get demoralized about it. Even so, gauging the dynamic between Janus and Remus without his interference was a bit startling as everything came into focus.

They flowed together easily; in the interactions Logan had witnessed, their affection always had a sense of routine and familiarity, but not in the stale way that felt boring after years of repetition. Perhaps, Logan began to think, it had clouded his view a bit and prevented him from questioning if Remus ever expressed his gratitude to Janus, directly. The likelihood that he didn’t seemed infinitesimal, and yet the doubt was still clear in Janus’ words. Was it that he didn’t believe Remus then?

Janus cautioned a look at Logan from over his shoulder, surprise and then confusion flashed across his features; exactly how much did Remus talk about him? He didn’t mind being complimented of course, he adored praise, but something about the idea of Remus jumping into a new relationship only to gush about him constantly didn’t sit right with him. Especially if that person was Logan. Who knew how Logan felt after all this time? Janus scrunched his nose and tossed the now empty can with a sense of distaste.

“I suppose he talks about me too much if you think that,” His tone was apologetic as he gave the mixture a final stir before turning to meet Logan’s eyes with a flashy smile. “Enough about all that though; would you like to help?”

Logan blinked, his mind catching up to the topic dismissal. “Help?” He repeated automatically before realizing what Janus meant. “Oh. No,” He unfolded his arms to wave a hand, shaking his head. “I’m not one for baking, I’ll just get in the way.”

“Nonsense,” Janus insisted, reaching forward to gently steal Logan by his sleeve. “If you need more motivation than just my requesting, think about how thrilled Remus will surely be knowing you had a hand in this batch.”

Logan let himself be pulled towards the workstation, not having it in him to refuse Janus’ smile and persistence more than once.

“I suppose you have a point,” He conceded with a sigh and Janus clapped his hands together quietly.

“Splendid,” he plucked the box of food coloring from the counter and pushed the dark blue dropper into Logan’s hands. “This is the easy part anyway. I trust you completely.”

Somehow, the implication of Janus trusting him made him pause, feeling his chest going warm. Logan stared down at the small bottle in his hands, feeling even more clueless now being involved than he had simply watching Janus; but Janus still trusted him. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that Janus was trusting him on reputation alone, something the others consistently seem to find inconceivable. Not often was Logan trusted so explicitly, which was concerning to say the least, but function aside, the sentiment filled him with unexpected happiness. 

“Just get this,” Janus tapped one of bowls filled with water, corn syrup, and gelatin, “As close to this shade,” He then pointed to the blue swirl part of the Tide Pod resting between the various ingredients, “As you can get,” Janus finished with another disarming smile. Forcing himself to look away, Logan thought that at the rate Janus used that sort of charm on him like that, he’d never remember anything ever again.

“Okay,” He asserted slowly with a nod and unscrewed the small bottle. As he set to dropping small amounts of the dye before stirring and comparing the colors, Janus seemed to be doing the same with a shade of bright orange. “I suppose that’s good,” Logan ascertained after a few silent moments, holding the clear bowl up to his face for closer inspection.

“Flawless, I would say,” Janus complimented, completing his own color a second later. “Next,” He said slowly and reached to gather several of one kind of item that Logan didn’t immediately recognize, “We set the molds,” Janus explained as he neatly lined about a dozen purple, palm sized squares between them. Logan uttered a small, ah, in understanding.

He scanned the counter for a tool that would be useful here; the idea of pouring the liquid straight into the molds seemed rather silly and messy. If this were Patton, Logan wouldn’t put it past him, but Janus was far more structured, far more sensible.

“Should we use those?” Logan asked, reaching for the rather thick gauge baking syringes set to the side as Janus opened the molds to reveal a swirl shape identical to the signature Tide Pod.

“A step ahead of me,” Janus lilted with a nod, raising his eyes just enough to spot the syringes he planned on retrieving next. “Go on then,” He pointed his chin at the gelatin, reaching over Logan for a needle of his own. “I trust it’s fairly self explanatory for you.”

And it was; the entire procedure wasn’t particularly challenging, as long as Janus wasn’t smiling at him or charming him out of his brain cells. Logan drew up about half the syringe’s barrel and then held one half of the mold in his palm. Comparing it to the Tide Pod, he began to gently squeeze the blue solution along half of the swirl pattern, dragging it across the material for an even consistency. Janus smiled to himself, watching from the corner of his eye and began to do the same with his own orange gelatin, working from the opposite end of the line. 

“When it comes to the ones already filled,” Janus began as they approached meeting in the middle, though before he could finish, Logan interrupted knowingly.

“I suppose I should avoid picking the mold up so as to not disrupt the other side,��� He guessed and positioned his syringe at a different angle, experimenting with how he should go about it now before settling on a method.

“Precisely,” Janus delighted quietly, moving behind Logan and out of his way to fill in the orange sides of the already completed blue ones. “Typically,” He continued as they settled back into a rhythm, “I just do both colors at once, holding it as you had started,” Janus glanced out of the corner of his eye; Logan looked so concentrated, it was impossible not to find the focus in his eyes adorable. For a brief moment, before Janus continued, Logan began to worry that he was getting in the way as he feared. If Janus had a certain way of doing this and he was doing it wrong, comparatively, then it was just as he thought; that he shouldn’t have gotten involved. 

“But I don’t quite mind this either,” Janus finished softly and Logan exhaled the breath he didn’t realize was being held. As the silence began to press on, he started to wish he could figure out something to say to Janus’ kindness. Then he wondered if this was how Remus often felt.

As Janus took Logan’s empty syringe and quickly rinsed both of theirs in the sink, he explained their next and final step before they would be placed in the fridge until completion. Sealing the molds with their domed, other half, they would repeat the filling action with the condensed milk and gelatin mixture.

“Simple enough,” Logan said as he accepted the syringe that Janus handed him with a smile. This time, Logan offered his own small expression before the two set to work. After a few silent moments, he continued with a rather impulsive question. “Does Remus ever help you with this?” Surely he did; in the same way Logan found it impossible that Remus never expressed his gratitude to Janus, he couldn’t fathom that the two didn’t enjoy this together.

“Oh, no, never,” Janus answered immediately with an appalled tone. Logan blinked, his hand going still as he again reevaluated how he perceived their relationship. “The first and only time I tried to get him to help,” He continued, his own hands pausing to stare wide eyed and offended at Logan, “He ate three of my molds!”

Logan couldn’t help the small smile that curved his lips, though he tried to dismiss it quickly by pursing them and looking away. The distress Janus clearly felt for something so simple was … a bit bewildering, but also very him, Logan decided. He got the sense that Remus would love to help, if he could, but that he had the habit of ruining Janus’ things in the process. With a heavy sigh, Janus went back to filling the molds and when Logan could keep the smile out of his voice, he continued.

“The other day he brought a few rocks from the Imagination to my room and asked what they were. He does that,” Logan glanced at Janus, “Stops by and asks questions like that, but when I located my geology kit, the first thing he did,” Logan smiled again, fondness creeping into his tone despite himself, “Was tear the handbook pages in excitement,” Janus clicked his tongue and shook his head, empathizing with the tragedy, but Logan continued, gesturing in small ways now. “It was completely illegible,” Logan paused, recalling the fear in Remus’ expression as he apologized profusely, handing the torn book back by the tips of his fingers. 

“Was?” Janus prompted quietly, watching Logan’s faintly passionate storytelling from the corner of his eye.

“At least for its intended use as a portable guide. If you pushed the papers together, you could piece the sentences but,” Logan paused again and shook his head, “He insisted on writing it, all of it. He took one of my notebooks right there and stared down at the little book and wrote everything he could make out,” Logan laughed dryly and resumed filling the mold he had stopped on. “I bet he has the entire handbook memorized now.”

“He adores you very much then,” Janus said without reservation, without even looking away from the molds. The conclusion caught Logan off guard and silence persisted as he waited for Janus to elaborate; but no such continuation came. Again Logan found himself holding his breath, but it wasn’t like he didn’t know that Remus loved him. He said it at least ten times a day. It just felt very different coming from someone who’s known Remus for so long, Logan guessed. It’s different when someone else can see love that easily.

“I know,” Logan whispered sentimentally after a while, and wondered in the enduring silence of their work if he should’ve said that Remus loved Janus very much, too.

- - - - -

Janus paused on the bottom step of the Dark Side stairs as he spotted Logan, bent slightly at the waist and jotting something down on a rather large stack of white paper. The astringent smell of Sharpies was unavoidable. While it certainly wasn’t new at this point for Logan to be found here on a casual basis, it was a bit strange that Remus wasn’t in the immediate area.

“Hello, Logan,” Janus greeted in a smiling tone as he continued into the room and approached the workspace that was their dining table. 

“Hello,” He returned the friendly gesture without tearing his eyes away or stopping his hand from drawing a simplistic symbol in one of the dated squares.

“What brings you here without your typical consort?” Now peering over Logan’s shoulder, Janus realized it wasn’t just any stack of paper he was writing on, but a wall calendar.

“Remus just went to the bathroom. He’ll probably be back in a few moments.”

Janus made a soft sound of understanding and continued to watch. Capping the silvery marker he had been using, Logan switched it out for a dark blue one. Intrigue growing, Janus observed as he neatly drew an open circle, then some complex looking arrow shape beside it. Next Logan drew an odd arch shape on the other side of the square beside another open circle, this one with a dot in the center. Then two smaller circles diagonal from each other connected with a single line. Finally, next to that symbol, he drew a half crescent moon. Janus’ brows furrowed delicately. 

“Logan, dear?” 

“Hm?”

“What on Earth are you doing?”

Logan blinked and paused before slowly standing from his leaning position. He … didn’t really know where to begin. Talking about his hobby with Remus was one thing; while his boyfriend readily listened to his enthusing and had even offered his artistic expertise in ‘livening up’ the calendar today, the idea of explaining it to Janus felt like a different beast altogether. Why was that? Logan observed his feelings on the matter, staring down at the calendar. The writing there was neither impressive nor sloppy, but a typical middle ground of insignificantly informative, in his opinion. Mindlessly, he brought the marker up to his chest and capped it with a decisive click. His stomach became uneasy imagining himself divulging eagerly, about anything, to Janus. Why was that?

“I’m,” Indulging in a pseudoscience? Partaking in something that is unreliable and interpretive at best? Having an indemonstrable belief system? Being less than serious? Logan turned to face Janus, his arms falling to his sides. “Calculating planetary positions and hypothesizing on their potential,” Spiritual? Emotional? “Financial, political, and interpersonal ramifications,” Logan’s heart raced. He counted the beats. One, two, three, fourfivesixseveneight--

“I see,” Janus said reflexively but then paused to digest the sentence. It sounded interesting enough to him; foresight was high on his list of well regarded practices. Whatever helped in that pursuit, Janus found at least a little compelling. Though he cocked his head slightly and gave Logan a once over. Was he acting rather … defensive? There was no lie in his words, Janus would’ve immediately known after all, but he got the sense that he wasn’t being painted the full picture here. 

A bead of sweat dripped down the back of Logan’s collar. Janus wasn’t looking at him in any specific way, there wasn’t anything interrogative about the silence, in fact Janus’ expression was rather polite. Logan had noticed at some point that Janus looked at him more like an equal than any of the other accepted Sides. In return, he had come to trust the intrigue frequently found in his expressions. And yet he was anxious. Why? Historically, talking to Janus had never made him nervous before, sharing in pastimes together hadn’t either, so … why did he feel like sinking through the soles of his shoes and never speaking about this, ever again?

“Well,” Janus broke the silence with his entertained tone. “You were always into space and such, I shouldn’t be surprised.” 

Logan inhaled through his nose, more suddenly than he meant to, and realized only now there was a tension in his hands as they twitched to relax. Janus didn’t see anything wrong with his description of the hobby, but the fact was that he didn’t know the whole story. Logan’s explanation was, of course, accurate; accurate enough to not count as a lie, but Janus’ suspicion was warranted. A suspicion that was much closer to curiosity than Logan realized in his paranoid attempt to seem and sound more serious than necessary.

“Yes,” He mumbled and turned back around to the calendar. Janus watched with narrowed eyes as Logan placed the marker back with the rest, seeming to have a particular order that they belonged in. After a pause, he diverted his attention to the open, beige colored notebook on the other side of the table. Logan began to lightly drag a finger along the bottom of a written line of symbols there. Janus could only assume he was committing their exact meaning to memory in a way only someone like Logan could.

“So tell me,” Janus interrupted again as he elegantly sat himself down at the table opposite Logan, whose train of thought halted abruptly. “What do those symbols mean?” Janus asked, cradling his cheek in his palm as he reached the other hand to point at the five dark blue markings Logan had made. Logan swallowed and blinked slowly, bracing himself. There was no way he made it out of this conversation with Janus’ opinion of him remaining positive.

Keeping his tone as neutral as possible, Logan then dragged his finger along each symbol as it was defined, meeting Janus’ inquisitive eyes with his own hesitant gaze.

“Full moon,” Open circle, “Sagittarius,” arrow. Logan directed his finger to the other side of the square, dictating that those two symbols didn’t correlate in a direct sense to the next three. “Gemini,” He continued, pointing to the odd arch shape, “Sun,” dotted open circle, “Opposition,” the two smaller circles connected by the thin line, “Moon,” Logan finished at the half crescent moon shape.

A puzzled look flashed across Janus’ face before the words connected like a puzzle, forming a sentence he understood theoretically but in no literal way; full moon in Sagittarius, Gemini sun, opposition moon … which was in Sagittarius then? Janus could only guess. These were phrases he’s heard before, of course, but Logan said them in a way that felt far more significant than any well-rated horoscope app had.

Logan let Janus ruminate on his explanation, hoping no more questions came at the detriment of his reputation. Again he started to consult his notebook, but it was only a few moments before Janus spoke again.

“So … what’s the significance of … all that?” He asked and Logan’s mind raced in the same way Remus, Roman, and Virgil could speak at a mile a minute.

“The significance,” Logan began after what felt like much longer than a moment of struggling to quiet his mind, “Is as I said; potential financial, political, and interpersonal ramifications,” He completed in a mumble before clearing his throat, unable to meet Janus’ eyes anymore, causing the latter to frown.

The fact that Logan was growing increasingly uncomfortable wasn’t lost on Janus, of course. He watched the gears churning in Logan’s mind as mental gymnastics were performed. It wasn’t a secret to Denial why he felt discontented currently; being taken seriously was paramount to this Side and everyone had a long history of finding Logic to be a joke. After years of being dismissed without advocacy, Janus could only hope to display a patience and interest deep enough for Logan to find himself comfortable in his presence again.

“As you said,” Janus agreed, dismissing that superficial statement. “But what about that one, specifically? It’s in blue so I assume it has some significance.”

Logan’s lips tightened; where did he even begin? Explaining the correspondence between phenomena and full moons? Diving into Jupiter’s mythology and Sagittarius’ significance to Thomas, personally, as his moon ruler? The unease in his stomach shifted up his throat.

“Oh hey, Dee!” Remus suddenly interrupted as he returned from down the hall. If Logan were a man of lesser self control, he may have jumped right out of his skin.

They both turned to blink at the entrance, Logan a second too late as Remus dotted an affectionate kiss to his cheek. Rigidly, he gave a half-lipped smile to the gesture.

“Lolo telling you about his nerdy Astrology stuff?” Remus plopped himself into a chair between them at the table.

“Just a little,” Janus said as he sat back and crossed his legs.  

“Booooo,” Remus cheered, giving Logan a thumbs down before grinning. He leaned over to peer at the dark blue symbols that were drawn while he was away. “Full moon in Sagittarius,” Remus read like he was fluent in this second language Janus had only just learned the existence of. “And uh,” He paused, cocked his head in order to read the markings easier, “Gemini sun, uh, what’s that one again, Lolo?” Remus pointed at the connected, diagonal circles. 

Janus narrowed his eyes. He got the sense that Remus could easily say what that sign meant, but had asked Logan in order to hear him talk about it. How sweet.

“Opposition,” Logan repeated like a sigh as he reached to scratch the back of his neck. “Since the sun is in Gemini for most of this month, it will be opposing the moon’s position in Sagittarius that day.”

“Does that spell trouble for Tommyboy?” Remus asked mischievously, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the unused seat behind Logan.

“On the contrary,” Logan responded, opening his mouth to continue but then quickly closing it as the corner of his vision registered Janus again. 

The frown on Janus’ lips grew deeper as he silently observed the two. It seemed to come down to him and his effects on Logan’s nerves; the assumption that he would dismiss him like Patton, Roman, and Thomas, or say that he was wrong like Virgil.

“Please,” Janus urged in his most genuine tone as he held up his hands like a white flag. “Pretend I’m not here, do carry on.”

Logan inhaled slowly and seemed to take his time believing that sentiment. Another mental stalemate began; Logan wrestled with the expectations he held himself to, the assumed expectations Janus had of him, and the misconception that his hobby would be seen as silly or less than in any way. The silence dragged on until Remus broke the tension once more.

“Yeah, c’mon Lolo. Dee listens to me rant about stupid shit all the time. He’s got the patience of a Saint, I swear,” Remus smirked at Janus, who then reached out to pull affectionately on his partner’s ear.

“Like I have a choice with you,” Janus mumbled fondly, lacing his voice with thick sarcasm. 

Quickly, Remus turned his head like a baited shark and bit after Janus’ hand as it was retracted, narrowly missing the appendages with his teeth. Janus rolled his eyes and Remus beamed before shifting in his seat and staring up at Logan expectantly.

Logan’s chest burned with some unfamiliar feeling as he watched the clearly loving display. Naming emotions certainly wasn’t his strong suit, but whatever it was tightened his throat and made swallowing difficult. As usual for him, the feeling was quickly pushed away.

Which caused it to land directly into Denial’s jurisdiction. Janus had long perfected the art of remaining stoic in the face of blindsiding emotions that weren’t his own; which of course included now, as the denial of jealousy swiftly punched him in the stomach. Janus’ breathing stopped as he waited for the familiar pang of envy to subside, knowing by instinct that the originator stood before him.

“I suppose,” Logan continued after a moment before clearing his throat. “It is on the contrary that Thomas will be experiencing anything negative on this day or the two previous days leading up to this full moon,” He reached to flip a page in his notebook, revealing a neatly drawn chart of dates and signs. His finger rested decisively next to three in particular. “The moon will be in Sagittarius, opposing the current sun sign; Gemini. This is particularly good for Thomas since he has a natal Sagittarius moon.”

“Laaaaaame,” Remus exaggerated belligerently. Having been through this before, Logan gave a renewed half smile, knowing Remus only found Thomas’ lack of misfortune ‘lame’ and not the inherency of his explanation.

Janus exhaled finally as the emotional turmoil in his stomach subsided with Logan’s contentment. His chin raised curiously, eyeing the revealed page. This all sounded fascinating. He got the feeling that there was so much more to this topic, and that he would be very willing and rather eager to listen to it all as long as it was coming from Logan.

“Tell me, Lolo,” Remus said in a dark voice, frantically leaning forward, splaying his palms on the table and disregarding the way his quick movement made Logan’s markers roll away. “Do your charts and shit say when he’ll die?”

“No,” Logan sighed and rolled his eyes. The air turned sweet and Janus’ brows raised despite himself. “Even if they did, I wouldn’t tell you. It’d be incredibly subjective anyway,” Logan gestured dismissively and turned away, catching sight of Janus’ intrigued smirk. The expression made him gulp. “It’s all incredibly subjective,” He continued, now in a mumble as he went to close his notebook. 

Hastily, Logan began to gather the haphazard markers like he planned on packing his project away for the day. Lie and jealousy aside, Janus found himself invested.

“Well,” He began as Logan took a step back from the table to stare at the floor, seeming to have lost a marker in Remus’ chaos. “I thought it was all rather … enchanting,” Janus flirted unashamedly, producing the green hued utensil between his fingers with a curled smile. Logan blinked, the tips of his ears going red. “You’ll tell me more sometime?” Janus insisted, turning the thing in his grip and offering it more pointedly.

Logan swallowed and reached to quickly pluck the object from Janus’ fingers. 

“Sure,” He sighed, suddenly feeling like he had agreed to something rather damning.

“Delightful.”

Chapter One || Chapter Two

[robininthelabyrinth]

Tedious Joys 

 - Chapter 1/8 - Ao3 link -

By the time Lao Nie wrote to Lan Qiren under personal cover to ask for his assistance, they hadn’t spoken in nearly seven years.

Oh, they’d spoken – it was rather impossible to avoid speaking, acting sect leader to sect leader. They attended the same discussion conferences, and of course the Lan and Nie sects were close allies, insofar as the Great Sects were anything to each other; their alliance, martial and moral, tended to balance out the riches and clever tricks brought to bear by the Jin and Jiang sects, and of course the Wen sect was large and powerful enough that it didn’t need or want any allies that it couldn’t subject to its dominion. An alliance meant constant contact, checking in, and ideally would call for a good relationship between the leaders of the two sects, which they had once had.

They had once been very close, even.

Lan Qiren had idolized Lao Nie from a young age, admiring his fierceness and his passion for life, his ruthless logic and his practicality and his thoughtful sense of judgment, all the more admirable given that he was from a sect known for being a bunch of hotheads. When Lan Qiren’s older brother – older by nearly ten years, with a middle brother that had died before Lan Qiren’s birth and several miscarriages in between as his parents struggled to provide the sect with the requisite spare – had continuously tried to leave his irritating younger sibling at home when going on night-hunts, Lao Nie had cheerfully interjected himself more than once, volunteering that he would be happy to take him along, and at that point Lan Qiren’s brother, who admired the older man nearly as much as Lan Qiren did, would generally yield, even if he grumbled about it.

Unlike Qingheng-jun, who ought to have been more considerate for his own family, Lao Nie had never minded having to slow down the pace of his hunts in order to accommodate a sickly child, a pedantic one that needed to understand things thoroughly before he was comfortable trying something new. He had often allowed Qingheng-jun to rush ahead and win glory that ought in all fairness to have been his, something Lan Qiren only discovered when he reviewed his history in retrospect.

Lao Nie hadn’t minded how clumsy Lan Qiren was, or how picky he was, refusing to eat even common foods if the texture didn’t appeal to him; he had only laughed at his excessive formality, the harshness of his tone, his tendency to repeat himself or to become caught on little details. He’d indulged him, wasting copious amounts of his time listening to Lan Qiren talk enthusiastically about the Lan sect rules, which he’d fallen in love with at an early age and, when young, rarely missed the chance to bring into any given conversation no matter how irrelevant.

He’d always been very kind to him.

If you had asked Lan Qiren ten years ago, he would have confidently asserted that Lao Nie was one of his dearest friends.

And yet – it had been Lan Qiren, who was short on friends, and not Lao Nie, who had many, that had cut off their relationship. Lan Qiren hadn’t truly spoken to Lao Nie in seven years, limiting their conversations to the subject of sect business and keeping their meetings as short as could be allowed by etiquette, ignoring the way Lao Nie looked at him with sadness and regret in his eyes. Even when Lan Qiren’s anger had finally died down from a raging flame to a simmering anger he suspected would never leave him entirely, he had thought to himself that it was too late, that the fire had burnt everything out, that there were only ashes left behind.

And yet – on the seventh year, apparently apropos of nothing, Lao Nie wrote to him, requesting his presence.

As a friend, he wrote. Come as a friend, or not at all. I have no use for a sect leader.

Lan Qiren struggled with the request, which did not obey any of the unwritten rules he had forced himself to learn on top of the many that were written. He did not know if he was still enough of a friend to Lao Nie to answer such a request.

He did not know himself whether he would go until the moment that he went.

Lao Nie met him at the gateway to the Unclean Realm, relief written in every line of him.

“Thank you,” he said, and Lan Qiren shifted uncomfortably from side to side.

“I didn’t even do anything yet,” he said stiffly, instinctively reaching up to stroke his beard. It was a more acceptable social tic than others that he had been discouraged from employing; losing access to it, however temporarily, had been one of the reasons he had been so upset with Cangse Sanren when she’d shaved it off while he was asleep. She’d tracked him down later to apologize when she’d realized how badly he’d taken it, serious for perhaps the only time he’d known her, and they’d ended up as something almost like friends out of the whole debacle. He hadn’t heard from her in years, either, but that was no breach; it was only that she was busy with her husband and the little child she had once shoved into his arms with that deep, echoing laugh of hers. “Don’t thank me until I’ve determined if I can do anything for you, or will.”

Lao Nie nodded and showed him inside, leading him to his private chambers rather than the sect leader’s study. This suggested that the issue was private, although Lan Qiren supposed he’d already known that, based on the letter.

They sat in silence while Lao Nie personally served the tea, his brow still creased in concern, and Lan Qiren stared at him – too intently, as always – and wondered what private issue could have caused such an upset, and moreover what he could possibly need Lan Qiren for. Lao Nie was a private man, in the custom of his clan and sect; Lan Qiren didn’t know his birthdate or even his age, only the approximates, and many of the details of his life escaped him. It made it difficult to guess what the matter might be, if it were personal and not political.

Although…

“My condolences regarding your second wife,” he said, watching, and Lao Nie jerked his head in a tight nod, acknowledging the loss. Lao Nie’s first wife had been a mysterious figure, appearing and disappearing as suddenly as an unexpected burst of rain on a sunny day – the stories in Qinghe enthusiastically claimed she was a goddess that descended from the heavens to dally with moral race, who’d ended up marrying Lao Nie to legitimize the child he’d unexpectedly planted in her belly, only to be summoned back to the heavens on important duties, although of course it was commonly understood that she was more than likely just some powerful rogue cultivator who had decided after a short interval that being married was not for her. Lan Qiren had never met her, although he had had the fortune to meet Lao Nie’s second wife, who had been much more down-to-earth, an innkeeper’s daughter.

(Lan Qiren had rather liked her the few times they’d met. She was a little self-absorbed, in a harmless sort of way. She liked beautiful things and good food and talking about them, and was happy to carry on entire conversations while he responded only with nods and grunts; to his relief, she had never expected anything more from him. She was very beautiful herself, both delicate and seductive with her fox’s face and long and narrow eyes; some cruel people spread rumors that she was a demon or a yao in disguise, sent to wreak havoc through the seduction of men. She had never tried anything like that on Lan Qiren, unless her attempt at seduction consistent of sharing a plate of snacks and occupying him enough to prevent him from having to listen to the more boring parts of the social parts of certain discussion conference meetings. At any rate, he’d been truly saddened to hear that she had died.)

Still, Lao Nie had not yet begun to speak.

That meant that the problem was not in relation to that aspect of his life, which in all honesty was a relief. Lan Qiren could not imagine a world in which Lao Nie confided his marital problems in a prematurely old bachelor like him.

Perhaps…

“Your sons?” he asked, and this time Lao Nie flinched, so he’d guessed right. “Ah. The younger one?”

The younger one would be about A-Zhan’s age, surely, or even younger. Little more than a toddler, not yet quite old enough to be taken away from the mother – or nurse, in the case of Lao Nie’s second son – and they were so terribly fragile at that age…

“No,” Lao Nie said, and sighed, a long exhale. “Forgive me, it’s a difficult subject. A-Sang is fine. The issue is with A-Jue.”

Nie Mingjue would now be around eight or nine years old, Lan Qiren thought, or perhaps even older – it was so hard to tell with these secretive Nie, and he only knew enough to make the guess at all because of their former friendship. Most sects were only vaguely aware that there were heirs to the Nie sect, and had certainly never seen hide nor hair of Nie Mingjue, during discussion conferences or otherwise.

He’d been a toddler the last time Lan Qiren had seen him, young and energetic, running around anywhere, but he had something of his father’s kindness – he’d actually listened to Lan Qiren telling him about rules that didn’t apply to him, and even proudly repeated some of them back to his father, much to Lan Qiren’s embarrassment – without having yet grown into his father’s occasional callous ruthlessness.

Perhaps it made a certain amount of sense that Lao Nie would ask for help with his children. Since his life plans had been irrevocably altered, Lan Qiren had taken over teaching at the Cloud Recesses, and to his surprise, was apparently making something of a name for himself.

It hadn’t been intentional: he’d been desperate for something to do with himself that wasn’t just for the sect, so much of his time consumed by the business of sect leadership, and he’d always planned to become a teacher eventually, although he’d always assumed it would be much later in life. He’d volunteered to teach, only to look at the small handful of obedient, well-trained Lan sect disciples that he would be in charge of instructing and quickly realized that such ‘teaching’ wouldn’t occupy his time at all.

Accordingly, he had demanded that the sect elders allow him to accept disciples from other sects as well. The request was highly irregular, but strictly abided by all Lan sect rules on the subject – it was Lan Qiren putting together the proposal, after all – and the elders had granted it with surprisingly little debate. To this day, Lan Qiren wasn’t sure if it was pity for his circumstances or simply an assumption that no outside students would bother attending, but he would not let the approval, once granted, be so easily retracted: he had sent out letters asking for students at once, and to everyone’s surprise but his own they actually came.

(He’d been clever about it, at the start. He’d reached out first to those smaller sects that would not have access to resources even a quarter as good as the Cloud Recesses, asking specifically for those children that seemed troublesome – the ones it took time and attention to teach, the ones who didn’t seem to be getting what they were supposed to learn. The slow, the stupid, the angry, the ones who disappointed their parents most of all. Lan Qiren might not have answers for those children, but at least he could give them his time and attention and he found, for most of them, that was all they wanted.)

Recently, though, they’d started getting more requests to join from the slightly larger subsidiary sects, more people, even murmurs about sending him their sect heirs rather than their burdens – people were saying that his teaching could make a gentleman even out of a waste, which Lan Qiren didn’t really understand. After all, putting aside a few students that were too arrogant to be willing to learn anything, he hadn’t encountered a single one he’d characterize as a waste.

“How can I help A-Jue?” he asked, expecting Lao Nie to finally give in and explain.

But Lao Nie shook his head.

“There’s some background I need to tell you first,” he said. “Without which the problem won’t make much sense. You have one of the finest analytical minds I’ve ever met, Qiren, and a way of thinking that doesn’t match up to conventional wisdom – I’m hoping you can help me where expertise has failed.”

Lan Qiren frowned, embarrassed. “I can try,” he said, already mentally rearranging his plans to account for a longer stay. He disliked sudden changes and had planned out three possible lengths of time for his visit – one short, one medium, one long – so that he would be able to select whichever one would be most appropriate. He hoped that the issue would not require any more time than the longest period he had allotted. “What is the subject?”

“Saber,” Lao Nie said, and smiled at Lan Qiren’s confusion. “My sect’s cultivation style. Let me explain…”

Lao Nie’s explanation was fascinating.

The cultivation style of the Nie sect – and the Nie clan in particular, especially the main branch – was unlike anything Lan Qiren had ever heard before, completely different in both substance and philosophy. It was a rough trade, a difficult road, heartbreaking in its sacrifice, impressive in its results…

It wasn’t the road for everybody, but one couldn’t help but admire those that walked it.

“Doesn’t it get close to demonic cultivation, using resentful energy like that?” he asked at one point, and Lao Nie had explained to him how they had drawn the distinction – using beasts, never humans, and channeling the worst of the effects into their sabers rather than themselves. How much they strived to cultivate morality into their sabers as well as power.

Lan Qiren thought that it was a fine line, but after some thought concluded that they fell on the right side of it, if just barely. The primary dangers of demonic cultivation were in the way it increased the amount of evil in the world, whether through the inevitable madness and violent rampages of its wielders or through the simple side effects of using other people’s corpses as your playthings, increasing their own resentment, breaking the hearts of their loved ones, and causing their ancestors to curse you; that sort of vile conduct was an offense to the Heavens. The Nie sect’s cultivation avoided that, and if through their sabers they added a little bit of evil to the world then it could not be denied that they took much, much more of it out.

“I think I understand now,” he said, brushing his fingers along his beard. “But…why tell me? Isn’t it one of your clan secrets?”

“It is,” Lao Nie agreed. “As a general principle, we do not tell outsiders unless we must.”

The Nie sect preferred principles over rules, which Lan Qiren begrudgingly accepted even if he himself preferred having rules, clear and precise and equal even if they sometimes weren’t quite fair. But situation-dependent or not, the Nie held to those principles just as tightly as any Lan did to their sect rules, and that was worthy of respect.

“So you felt that you must,” Lan Qiren observed. “But why? And what does it have to do with A-Jue? Is he not taking to your sect’s teachings…?”

“I would almost prefer that,” Lao Nie said, and rubbed his eyes. “We’ve always had those that didn’t follow our ways – those that refused to train the saber, or refused to cultivate a spirit despite all their training. No. It’s actually…A-Jue’s very good.”

Lan Qiren had been a teacher for seven years. He was accustomed to parents who needed to praise their child before getting to the point, though he wouldn’t have expected it of Lao Nie. He waited.

“He’s too good,” Lao Nie said, and abruptly covered his face with his hands. “He’s already cultivated a spirit in Baxia.”

Lan Qiren’s whole body jerked. “Lao Nie!” he exclaimed. “You’ve already given him a saber? He’s too young!”

Under the age of ten, Nie Mingjue should still be building his strength, shaping the muscles that would serve him in the future; he should be wielding only a practice saber made of wood, heavy and slow as he etched the forms of his sect style into his bones. Even if he was a true prodigy, a once-in-a-generation genius, he should at most bear a weapon of dulled steel, and never an actual spiritual weapon, much less the one that would be the companion of his future life.

“He took it himself,” Lao Nie said. “A little over a year ago – we had a surprise attack, right in the middle of the summer hunts. Supposedly bandits, but actually mercenaries, supported by traitors from the inside; they had a map to lead them straight inside our home, and attacked at the moment when most of us were gone. When everyone else ran for cover, A-Jue went to the armory and picked up a saber, freshly forged, and he took his first blood the same day. What was I supposed to do? Take it away from him?”

Lan Qiren felt a stab of sympathy for Lao Nie’s impossible dilemma.

Taking the saber away just when A-Jue had started bonding with it, right after he’d shed blood with it for the first time – yes, that would have been far worse. It might have crippled his confidence, introduced hesitation that would damage his cultivation forever, hinder his future growth…

“And he already developed a saber spirit?” he said instead. “Within a year?”

That wasn’t genius. That was insane.

“I know,” Lao Nie said. “The faster we cultivate, the sooner we die, but how am I supposed to say that to a child? And there’s how fast he’s picked up our cultivation style, how fast he’s going – what if he introduces some flaw into it and it sinks in before anyone notices? Even a minor disruption to his qi, at this age –”

Lan Qiren scowled. “Stop panicking,” he ordered. “That won’t help anyone at all, least of all him.”

Unexpectedly, Lao Nie smiled at him, although the smile was full of regret.

“It’s easy to say and hard to do,” he said. “Don’t you know I always lose my head when it comes to love?”

Lan Qiren knew.

Lao Nie had always been reckless in matters of the heart, as seen by his decision to marry some stranger for his first wife and a nobody for his second, and to thereafter refuse a third, more sensible arrangement with some sect leader’s daughter or sister that could care for the children as a mother while acting as a useful political tool, even if no other children were forthcoming. Even though his life had been beset with later tragedy, he had been happy with his wives – happy and in love, and unwilling to trade a single moment with them for anything.

Lan Qiren knew this. He even understood it.

He just had trouble excusing it.

Lao Nie had been friend to Lan Qiren’s brother long before he’d been friend to him, and so when Qingheng-jun had fallen in love in that sudden, shocking, irrevocable manner that the Lan sect had, Lao Nie had been the first to support him in it, delighted to think that his friend would find the same happiness he had himself found. He’d encouraged him not to be shy in presenting his courtship, in presenting himself as a possible match; he’d reassured him that some disinterest to begin with was reasonable, given that they were still strangers, and advised him to enjoy the feeling of falling in love, to be reckless and bold and daring with it…and he did it all in writing, from a distance.  

Lao Nie had been occupied at the time with issues in his own sect – probably the scandals relating to his first wife, in retrospect, though of course he said nothing of it back then – and had unwisely trusted in Qingheng-jun’s description of the events, rather than seeing the circumstances for himself.  It was understandable that he would not comprehend how fiercely his friend’s heart had been gripped by love, or how truly disinterested He Kexin was in her ardent suitor, not when Qingheng-jun described her resistance as mere coquetry. It was impossible for Lao Nie to have predicted that his well-meant advice that love was worth anything, even defiance of sect rules and the counsels of the elders, would be interpreted in such a terrible way.

Still less, of course, could he have predicted what happened next, the tragedy of He Kexin and the friend that deceived her, that tried to use her and Qingheng-jun through her through false rumors and twisted stories, and in so doing underestimated how unbridled He Kexin could be when pressed. It was all part and parcel of the same underlying calamity: if Qingheng-jun had not been so persistent in his courtship, He Kexin wouldn’t have had such a bad impression of the Lan sect; if she hadn’t had such a bad impression of the Lan sect, she might not have been so ready to believe her friend’s lies about their teacher’s conduct, to allow herself to be indirectly used to manipulate Qingheng-jun’s love-madness to the advantage of another sect; if He Kexin had been a little less arrogant or a little less blindly trusting or had bothered to ask a single question before taking upon herself the duty of executioner as well as judge, if she’d only held back her sword and not gone so far as to kill a man over baseless rumor – if only – if only – if, if, if –

If Qingheng-jun had not decided that his love mattered more to him than his sect.

There was no way Lao Nie could have known what would happen.

It was understandable.

One might even say that it was forgivable, except Lan Qiren had not yet gotten around to forgiving him.

Lan Qiren had dreamed of travel, not teaching; he’d wanted to play music in all the forgotten places, to learn all the things that could not be simply deduced from inside the safety of the Cloud Recesses. He’d wanted to help people, to use that vast store of knowledge that seemed irrevocably stuck in his brain to solve problems and suggest solutions. But the Lan sect needed a leader, and with Qingheng-jun in permanent seclusion, disinterested in sect matters, choosing instead to obsess endlessly over his broken heart…

The duty had fallen to Lan Qiren instead.

(He Kexin had eventually grown rather fond of her husband, even if love wasn’t the word for it. Lan Qiren didn’t know if she was simply salvaging what she could out of an unsalvageable situation or if she just enjoyed the exercise, but he had two nephews now, to raise as if they were his own. Because that was just what he needed, another chain binding him to his home, another duty that shouldn’t have been his – he loved his nephews more than anything, so he couldn’t be angry at them, couldn’t blame them for being born, and so he had to be angry at everyone else instead.)

Lan Qiren lowered his head and pursed his lips. He knew Lao Nie wanted his forgiveness. He even knew, according to the sect rules he valued so highly, that he should grant it. Seven years was surely long enough to pay for any innocent mistake, wasn’t it?

Come as a friend, or not at all.

That was the invitation Lao Nie had extended, and Lan Qiren had come. That was very nearly a decision, if he wanted it to be.

“Let me see him,” Lan Qiren proposed, and Lao Nie’s smile warmed at once.

[flyingkiki]

A Very Merry Christmas (4/4)

We're ending this little series with a steamy little Christmas celebration for our favorite little birbs. Thank you all for following this series. I had a lot of fun writing this story.

Chapter Three of A Very Merry Christmas is here.

I'll focus on a few other TimRae projects and finishing a few other stories. Would you be interested in an AU?

Here's a steamy Christmas celebration, my loves!

~~~

Christmas dinner was a sin, really. It was the most delicious meal Raven ever had in her lifetime – Alfred truly did wonders in the kitchen. She still silently marveled at the normalcy of the Wayne family celebrating Christmas with a Christmas ham, creamy mashed potatoes, and array of vegetable dishes and sides, and a delirious amount of desserts. It felt strange to watch Bruce Wayne carve into the ham and gingerly place a rather large slice of ham on an annoyed Jason’s plate. The emotions in the room were strange – hurt still bubbled low and raw underneath the surface, but there was a level of protectiveness, forgiveness and care she could feel all at once with the family.

While everyone was still full and dutifully placing dishes into the dishwasher (“Alfie should not wash dishes, you little shits,”), Raven, Cass and Alfred carefully portioned off leftovers into containers for everyone to take home tomorrow.

The house smelled like Christmas as Cass steered her back into the sitting room where the large Christmas tree was bright and warm. If she blinked, Raven thought she was in an old Christmas movie as she watched Dick and Bruce settle a few more gifts under the Christmas tree. Their movements ruffled a few sprigs of the tree and Raven could smell the fresh scent of pine.

“Presents time,” Cass whispered into her ear and pushed her into the plush rug next to Tim, who easily caught Raven by the elbow and helped her settle in next to him. Cass pushed a plate stacked high with desserts into Raven’s hands, “Eat,” before bounding up to the couch to settle next to Bruce.

Raven stared at the gingerbread men and colorful thumbprint cookies warily before shooting Tim wry smile. “This is so much food,” she whispered to him, while watching Tim chuckle and pluck a colorful peanut butter Christmas cookie, his favorite, off her plate. Alfred had taught her how to make them, which thankfully turned out passable by Alfred’s standards. Tim didn’t seem to mind the burnt edges.

“We’re growing superheroes, we need our calories,” Tim said teasingly before quickly devouring the cookie.

Raven leaned into Tim, pressing into his side as they settled comfortably against each other. Curling her legs under her and feeling just a tiny bit drowsy from all the food, she carefully balanced the plate on her lap. “I don’t think I’ll fit into my uniform after all of this,” Raven breathed in resignation and took a careful bite out of a gingerbread Batman.

Tim made a dismissive sound and grabbed another peanut butter cookie while the rest of the family was busy pouring themselves glasses of eggnog and hot cocoa. “I definitely do not mind you out of your uniform,” he whispered discretely into her ear, earning a blush and exasperated eyeroll from Raven.

“Shut up,” she shoved Tim lightly, and she smiled at his amused chuckle as he plucked another cookie from her plate and crawled towards the large coffee table to grab them some hot eggnog. He carefully crawled back to her, half a cookie in his mouth, balancing two glass mugs of eggnog in his hands. Raven accepted the small glass mug and took a careful sit and immediately felt the warm rush of alcohol and spicy, creamy sweetness coat her tongue. Delicious.

“Okay, presents!” Dick announced after Alfred finally joined the family, not after depositing a large Christmas log on the table much to everyone’s delight. Bruce dove right in and began handing out slices.

Raven settled back and watched in a mixture of fascination and amusement as everyone eagerly handed out gifts. Bruce received a Green Lantern shirt from Jason, much to his chagrin. Damian received a new easel stand from Bruce. Jason got a new holster with tech upgrades from Tim. New ballet shoes for Cass from Dick. Alfred received some incredibly fancy pair of gloves from Damian. Dick chuckled in amusement at the Hufflepuff scarf he received from Cass (Both Dick and Cass seemed to have taken quite a liking towards Harry Potter).

There were more gifts that were passed around and opened and Raven took great pleasure to take in the domesticity of the scene in front of her. She ignored how her stomach leaped and warmed at the occasional ‘Thank You’ and the hug she received from Cass for the ballet tickets (“We can go together!”). She still was not entirely used to having this kind of doting attention directed towards her. This year she and Tim signed the tags of all the gifts for the rest of the Wayne brood with their names together. It was a surreal act, a first in their relationship (since last year they just kept to themselves), making this feeling of inclusion into this little bubble very real. She watched as Damian carefully unwrapped the silvery wrapper of their gift for him, her gaze briefly catching sight of the familiar tag she and Tim meticulously cut out and signed. She felt her heart leap briefly and marveled how a simple strip of paper could affect her.

They gifted Damian with leatherbound sketchpad and graphite pencils which Tim had carefully picked out for the younger boy. She watched as the corners of Damian’s lips curled slightly into a smile as he lifted the large sketchpad and inspected the lettering of Damian Wayne carefully pressed into the leather. She knew that Tim and Damian were not always at best terms, but Tim still was very thoughtful of his younger brother’s interests.

“Thank you, Raven, son,” Bruce smiled kindly over at the couple, holding up a large leather satchel. Tim had mentioned that Bruce needed a new bag for work, so he and Raven tried to find one and worked on customizing it with a few more hidden panels and locks.

“Welcome, B,” Tim beamed and quickly went through the codes and panels with the older man.

Raven was busy making plans with Cass to catch a performance at the New York City Ballet Company for their Spring season with the promise to use a portal to pick the younger woman up in Gotham. Tim returned and sat down next to her and gently pressed a small present into her lap.

“Oh,” Raven looked at the small red package in surprise. She caught Tim’s bemused smile and playfully rolled her eyes. “Wait, let me get yours,” she said and hurried towards the tree and grabbed the medium-sized gift. “Here,” she offered him a stern look. “Don’t shake it,”

“What is it?”

Raven settled next to him and placed her own gift into her lap, curiosity piquing slightly at what could be in the box. “Just open it,” she nudged him gently while watching his fingers pull at the ribbon and meticulously unwrap the giftwrap.

“Oh,” Tim pulled out a Sigma camera lens from the box. He blinked and stared at the new model, surprised at the gift. They briefly talked about getting new lenses for his camera a few months back, Tim was touched that she even remembered that conversation. “This isn’t even out on the market yet,” Tim marveled.

Raven shrugged and smiled mischievously. “I have my ways,”

Tim carefully returned the lens into its box. Leaning in he pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. “Thanks, Rae,”

Raven hummed, a warm blush dusting her cheeks, and she ducked her head. Focusing on her gift, she unwrapped the gift carefully and stared curiously at the grey box. Carefully lifting the lid, a small smile spread across her lips as she stared at the little note she found on top of a pair of very fuzzy blue socks. ‘For your cold feet.’

She released a soft huff of laughter and pulled out the impossibly soft and fuzzy socks. She shot an amused look at Tim, who quickly returned hers with a familiar boyish grin of his own. Pushing aside the colorful box stuffing, she pulled out a portable mug heater and a beautiful kabuki mask from his last trip to Japan.

“Thanks, Tim,” she pressed a soft kiss onto his cheek.

“There’s one more,” Tim gentled nudged her shoulder, prompting her to look back into her gift box and rummage through colorful paper before fishing out a small velvet pouch. She cast Tim a curious glance, before turning back to the little pouch and carefully opening it. Turning it upside down, she knew it was jewelry when she felt the light weight of a chain slide down the pouch and drop into her hand. “Tim,” she breathed.

It was gold necklace with a little bird in flight pendant. The pendant looked delicate and finely made, Raven could see the details of feathers on the little bird’s outstretched wings. The little pendant slid down her palm as she shifted her hand in the warm light, the delicate weight of the necklace tickling her palm. She never really thought much of jewelry, but her heart warmed at the thoughtfulness of the gift.

“Do you like it?” Tim asked carefully, leaning into her space, and gaging her reaction. He knew that he shouldn’t be all too worried over her not liking the gift, he already knew that she appreciated small tokens and trinkets. Early on into the relationship Tim learned that Raven did not seem to care over expensive and lavish things, but she enjoyed simple treats and gifts from his business travels and missions. She did the same by bringing rocks or other strange trinkets from her off-earth missions. Yet the little golden necklace seemed to unwittingly rattle him just a little bit, he thought.

Raven smiled and nodded. “It’s pretty,” she mumbled, careful to keep the little conversation between them as the rest of the Bat family busied themselves with their own presents and conversations. Leaning into his space, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You shouldn’t have,”

“Well,” Tim chuckled and took the necklace out of her hand and gently pushed her shoulder to turn her around for him to put the necklace around her neck. “I would have wanted to get a bat pendant, but that would have been weird,”

Raven released a huff of laughter as she pushed her hair out of the way and allowed Tim to fasten the necklace around her neck. The little gold bird settled against her red reindeer sweater. Absently fingering the little pendant, before turning back to Tim to show him how it looked. She smiled as she watched him beam at her, blue eyes bright in mirth. He looked happy and content, bathed in the warm Christmas lights and wrapped up in his dorky Festivus Christmas sweater. Raven’s heart warmed at the sight, the Tim she met so many years ago was so different – much darker, and she enjoyed seeing this new light in him. Leaning in, she kissed Tim. “I love you, you dork,”

Tim hummed and offered a mumbled ‘I love you’ back before gathering her into his arms for a quick hug. Aware of others around them and the curious glances they shot their way, he released her and pressed a quick kiss to her temple before they settled next to each other. While Raven busied herself with Cass, Tim caught Bruce staring at them, his gaze warm and there was a small smile on the older man’s lips. Tim felt a little flustered at being watched but felt relieved to find himself in a better place with Bruce and the rest of the family. Offering the older man a small smile, Tim was glad that he and Raven decided to spend Christmas together with the family.

“We should take a family picture,” Dick announced, his Gryffindor scarf clashing terribly with his cat Christmas sweater. There was a loud cacophony of agreements and grumbles (“So many dramatics, dickface”) as Dick herded people to the small couch by the Christmas tree and had everyone settle around Bruce and Alfred.

Raven blinked, suddenly unsure where to place herself in the middle of people moving around the living room for the family picture. She awkwardly stood up and made a grab for Tim’s camera. “I’ll take the picture –”

“No!” Cass jumped to her knees and stopped Raven from picking up the camera from the table. “You sit with us,”

Raven felt heat rush to her cheeks at the invitation. “But I –”

“You’re one of us now,” Dick chirped from his perch on the couch’s armrest. His arm was slung over the back of the couch behind Alfred and he smiled warmly at Raven.

“Sit,” Tim mumbled warmly into her ear, gently pushing her lower back towards the couch. He easily caught on her sudden discomfort, catching the way her brows drew together in worry. Smiling gently, he gave her another gentle push before he took the camera and worked on setting up the tripod and timer.

“Come sit with us, Raven,” Bruce said while wrapping an arm around Damian next to him. Bruce easily caught her flustered glance and tilted his head towards the side where Cass had settled down next to the Christmas tree.

Raven tried to hide her surprise and embarrassment as she ducked her head and hurried to sit down next to Cass by the foot of the Christmas tree. You’re one of us now settled low in her stomach and surprisingly sent warm jolts up her spine – she had not expected that invitation. She felt Cass’ hand wrap around hers and she looked up at the younger woman in surprise. Cass offered her an encouraging smile and nudged her shoulder. Raven offered a small one in return as she allowed these new feelings to settle in.

“Hurry up, Timbers. Let’s get it done within this year’s Christmas maybe?” Jason’s annoyed voice drifted through the living room and Raven listened to Cass giggle next to her. “My hot eggnog is getting cold, and I’d like it warm, thank you very much.”

“Hold on, one sec,” Tim mumbled. He was busy tinkering with the camera settings, making sure that the lighting was perfect, and the exposure was just right. After making sure that everyone was in frame, Tim pulled out his camera remote. “Okay, got it.”

Hurrying towards Raven and Cass, Tim settled down on the floor next to Raven and gave her gentle smile. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer to his side, he squeezed her shoulder encouragingly. “Okay, everyone. On three, smile. One, two, three!”

“Wait now? Or on three? Or after?”

“On three, Dickface!”

“Boys!”

“Three!”

As the sounds of the camera shutter filled the room, Raven smiled and leaned into Tim. Whatever discomforts and flustered feelings she may have had early on, seemed to have slowly dissipated – like a weight she had been carrying on her shoulders had lifted. She belonged. Leaning into Tim more and feeling his arm just tighten a little bit more around her, Raven basked in the warmth of belonging.

The picture turned out great.

~

They all settled into their own rooms later that evening after everyone had their fill of eggnog, hot cocoa, and the Christmas Yule Log was miraculously eaten up. (“When you raise boys, leftovers are rare,” Bruce told Raven with a chuckle) A round of ‘Merry Christmas’ filled the living room followed by amusingly stiff yet warm hugs among the men (except for Alfred, who warmly hugged his brood) and a promise of Christmas leftovers for breakfast for everyone.

Raven and Tim silently shuffled back to their room carrying their gifts. Raven was surprised she even received gifts that evening considering that none of them even knew that she would be coming. The cashmere scarf from Alfred was beautiful (“I wasn’t sure who Master Tim would bring, but I would think every young woman would need a beautiful scarf”) and the Christmas-themed Batman sweater was funny (“We didn’t know who you were,” Dick shrugged apologetically). Bruce gifted her with a first edition Mark Twain book, undoubtedly pulled out of his personal library, but she loved it. (“You’re welcome to come and visit the library, or our home, anytime.”). Damian surprised both Tim and her when he silently offered them a thick rolled up paper before scurrying back to Bruce’s side and stuffing his face with cookies. When she and Tim unfurled the paper, they were surprised to see a beautifully drawn pencil drawing of both of them asleep and curled up into each other in one of the many sitting rooms of the house. It was beautiful.

Just as they carefully deposited all their gifts on Tim’s study table, Raven heard a little huff and scuffle by their door. Titus’ head peaked through the open door, obviously on his way to Damian’s room down the hall. The large dog whined, begging for Raven’s attention. Leaving Tim to change and get ready for bed, Raven released a soft chuckle and went over to the large dog.

“Hey boy,” she whispered and knelt to offer some scratches. Titus huffed loudly and promptly plopped down on the floor and rolled onto his back for some belly rubs. Raven eagerly complied, rubbing the dog’s soft fur.

Raven chuckled as Titus gave a low huff and whine as she scratched just the right spot. She heard Tim move in the background and slowly appear next to her, watching them in amusement. “Titus is going to miss you,” Tim chuckled while rubbing his face with a towel.

Raven hummed and she briefly looked up at Tim, noting that he had already changed for bed. Taking that it was her turn to get ready, she gave Titus one last pat on the belly and finally stood up. “I’ll miss him too, but not his sheer force of a dog,” she said with a small smile and stood up. They both watched Titus whine and get to his feet, watching Raven curiously. With a sneeze and a huff, he sat by their door. “Night, boy,” Raven gently patted the dog on his head before gently nudging Titus out the door and closing and locking it.

Pressing a kiss to Tim’s temple, she slowly shuffled off towards the bathroom to wash her hands and get ready for bed. She could hear Tim climb into bed and tinker with his phone as she heard the distinct tapping of keys, she was sure that Tim was busy checking emails and some work-related project from WE. She could feel the gentle push of his stress and it was a little surreal how well she knew Tim. While admittedly, there was still so much to learn from each other, Raven oddly caught herself surprised at how well they complemented each other despite the physical distance between them at times.

Despite her earlier hesitations of coming to meet Tim’s family officially, Raven was glad they made this trip. She understood his hurt a little bit better. She got a glimpse of how much he cared for his family, despite the tension that often bubbled low beneath the surface. She understood and saw Tim more, a rawness she was privileged to see, and her heart unconsciously warmed to have shared those moments with him.

Frank Sinatra’s ‘Have yourself a merry little Christmas’ crooned softly from the bedroom and Raven smiled. Feeling warm and full, Raven was glad she was here with Tim. She silently hoped for more of this. These quiet, raw, moments between them. Funny how she now found herself wanting this kind of raw intimacy.

After washing her face and brushing her teeth, Raven stripped down to her underwear – thankfully a matching lacy black pair. Not bothering to change just yet, she slipped out of the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe as she listened to Sinatra’s voice and watched Tim frown at his phone screen.

“I’m not sure Frank Sinatra will appreciate you frowning so furiously at his singing,” Raven teased, while playfully crossing her arms.

“There’s just a report –” Tim paused and openly stared at her figure, drinking in the black lace. “Oh,” He sat up, leaning against the headboard and watched her move towards the bed with piqued interest. “Hey,”

“Through the years we all will be together…”

Raven released a soft chuckle. “Hey,” she replied, lips curling every so lightly as she felt the familiar press of desire and attraction press against her. Drinking in his own boyish grin and the way his muscles rippled as he carefully placed his phone on the nightstand while not breaking eye contact with her had her own desires pool low in her stomach.

“Merry Christmas,” Tim said as Raven reached his side of the bed.

Raven hummed playfully. “Merry Christmas,” she replied and climbed into his lap, Tim’s hands immediately settling on her thighs as she sat down.

Tim grinned up at her boyishly and ran his hands up her thighs and over the swell of her hips. Fingers teasingly hooked into the sides of her lacy underwear and his lips curled further into a smile as he caught her amused stare. “May I unwrap my Christmas present?”

Raven released a thoughtful hum and ignored his fingers press into her hips. Leaning over him, she instead slipped her hands underneath his grey shirt and teasingly tugged it up his body while pressing a kiss to his neck. “I was hoping I could unwrap mine?” she mumbled into the underside of his chin as she pressed her body into him and felt his hands splay over her hips and butt. She tugged at his shirt once more and they fumbled to remove it while Raven lay over him.

They kissed languidly, both basking in a warm Christmas glow that settled low in their abdomens and left warm tingles up their bodies. Fingers were needy and gentle as they pressed into familiar curves and scars.

Raven felt nimble fingers run up her back and make quick work to unfasten her bra as she kissed him deeply. With a soft inhale, Raven sat up on Tim’s lap and allowed the garment the slide down her shoulders. Raven raised an eyebrow playfully as she caught Tim’s heated gaze, watching her remove her bra and drop in on the floor. For good measure, she teasingly rocked her hips into him as she felt his erection press against the apex of her own growing need.

Inhaling sharply at the steady rocking of her hips, Tim’s fingers dug into her hips and slowly slid up her waist for a steady trek up her chest. “Definitely the best Christmas, I must say,” Tim announced, hooded eyes eagerly drinking in Raven’s naked form.

Raven teasingly raised an eyebrow and ran her hands down his abdomen, watching in satisfaction as the muscles contracted in contact. She hooked her fingers into his sweatpants. “I still need to finish unwarp—”

Titus’ loud snuffling interrupted them as he sniffed the bottom of their bedroom door. Raven paused, lips lifted into an amused smile, and they both curiously watched as the silhouette of a large nose danced across the small crack at the bottom of their door. There was a low whine and a lot louder snuffling.

Tim shot an annoyed-amused look at this door. “Go away, Titus. You’re killing our Kinky Christmas mood,” he said, which of course did not achieve anything with the silencing charm still in place in the room.

Raven chuckled. With a little spark of magic that danced through the crack, Titus released a loud huff, before scurrying away from their bedroom door. With purple eyes dancing in amusement, she turned back to an equally amused Tim. “We should get a pet,” she said, tilting her head to the side thoughtfully and she regarded Tim’s surprised expression.

Tim blinked, surprised at the announcement. Scooting further up against his pillows to sit up better, he dragged Raven closer to him on his lap. The pads of his fingers pressed into her waist. “A pet?” he repeated, curious at this sudden announcement.

“Yes, a pet. An animal,” Raven rolled her eyes and squeezed his left forearm playfully.

Tim paused, gaging where this was going. He watched Raven curiously, waiting for her to explain but she seemed to wait patiently wait for his reply. He blinked. “Uh, okay? But we’re rarely together as often as we’d like in one location. So maybe a,” Tim paused and drew his eyebrows together. “A fish?”

Raven released a soft huff of laughter. “I’m pretty sure a fish needs just as much care as any other animal,” Her gaze softened a little bit as she took in Tim’s curious look and the corners of her lips curled up. “You always said you’d like a cat and I thought we could get one together?”

Tim’s chest warmed at Raven’s explanation. She remembered their conversations of wanting to own a cat as a child but never having been able to. Tim smiled warmly up at Raven, as a rush of emotions spread across his chest. It was always so easy to remind himself why he loved Raven because of her simple acts of kindness and thoughtfulness. “I’d like that,” he said. Curious, he pressed on. “So, it moves around with us? A few months in Gotham and Jump at a time? How do we –”

“I could be more in Gotham,” Raven cut in, tilting her head thoughtfully as she looked down at him.

“Oh,” Tim breathed, as realization slowly dawned on him. A pet – something they’d share together, the feeling of permanence bubbled low underneath his skin and the thought left him just a little bit breathless. “More time in Gotham?” he repeated, sounding terribly like an old record, but he needed to confirm what he was hearing and what it meant.

The corner of Raven’s lips lifted slightly, and she shifted in his lap as Tim sat up fully to lean against the headboard. Fingers pressed into the dips of her waist, and she felt a blush spread across her cheeks and neck as she felt his warm press of emotions against her – want, love, happiness.

“Yeah,” she replied and absently traced an old scar along Tim’s right forearm. “I’ve been thinking of getting a degree at Gotham University, have a life more outside of the Titans,” she shrugged nonchalantly. “I’d still help where I can, but –” Raven blinked thoughtfully and stared at Tim. “I’d like to have a life as Rachel as well,”

Raven watched as a smile grew on Tim’s lips. She returned his smile, her own emotions a whirlwind in her chest as she thought of the different prospects of the future. “That’s an excellent plan,” breathed Tim, eyes shining and his grin wide with excitement and happiness.

“Yeah?” Raven asked, unconsciously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. They occasionally talked of the future and their current arrangements, but her plans offered unspoken possibilities they both seemed eager to explore. “That is, if Batman is okay with having a half-demon resident in Gotham?”

“Fuck Batman,” Tim huffed and pressed forward to kiss Raven, muffling her bark of laughter. Pulling away from the kiss, he smiled “So, a cat?”

“We should look at shelters,”

In a rush of emotions, Tim kissed her again. The promise of so much more between them seemed to teasingly dance in front of them and he was eager to take what he could get. He felt Raven hum and melt into the kiss, leaning deeper into his embrace.

“I love you,” he breathed after finally pulling away and gently pressing another kiss to the corner of her lips. Basking in the joy of the moment and the unspoken promise of what lay ahead for them, a cat and so much more, Tim pulled away and carefully leaned towards his bedside table. “I have another Christmas gift,” he announced and with unusually clumsy fingers, he pulled the small item out of the bedside drawer.

Raven’s brows furrowed as she curiously watched Tim blindly fumble through the items in his drawer. She kept her balance on Tim’s lap, as he twisted and tried to keep his balance over the edge of his bed as he rummaged through the drawer. “Here,” Tim announced and turned back to her a little too quickly, eager to present to her what he pulled out of the depths of his drawer.

“What – oh!” Raven felt her heart stutter to a halt and her breath was knocked out of her lungs. She stared at the small black box in front of her with a wild mix of emotions. She blinked, wondering perhaps she was seeing things, but yes – the little black box was there. Her heart jumped into her throat. “Tim.”

Tim blinked at her tone and jumped as his own thoughts and stray emotions seemed to catch up with him. “It’s --- ah,” he breathed, and Tim was sure he could barely hear his own thoughts over how loud his heart was hammering in his chest. He shifted in bed, bringing Raven closer to him. Her eyes were wide, staring at the little box in his hand.

“It’s not an engagement ring,” Tim quickly explained, catching the panic and surprise that crossed her face. “I --- ah, yet.” He quickly added, heart beating like mad in his chest and he watched in relief as Raven released a soft huff of laughter and the confusion on her face disappeared.

He pressed the little box into her hands with a nervous laugh. “It’s not an engagement ring,” he repeated and offered her a small reassuring smile. “Yet – we didn’t talk about that. But --- yeah,” Tim wrapped her fingers around the small box and held her hands. “It’s just a ring I thought you might like,”

There was an inexplicable warmth that spread through Raven at the unspoken promise of something deeper. They had never really talked about how their future may look like – their work offering little stable foundation to a permanent future. But this tonight – these little promises and pictures of what may potentially be ahead of them painted a much clearer picture of the future for the two of them. It left Raven breathless. They were getting a cat, together, and they had this now – this little warm bubble they shared.

“Oh,” Raven opened the box and stared at the silver infinity knot ring perched in the velvet case.

“I thought you might like it,” Tim explained gently, taking in Raven’s surprised reaction. “I just – I like this, us, and everything we have together. It was a dangerous mission, but Lisbon and getting shot and getting paired with you was incredibly lucky for me – well, minus getting shot and losing a lot of blood, but,” Tim shrugged and watched as Raven chuckled softly. “I’m so lucky to be with you, and I honestly don’t think I deserve you or everything that you’ve given me. You’re the kindest, most loving person I know. The last year has been incredible and yeah --- I want more of this. These moments of us together, it’s been incredible. I love you, Rae,” Tim felt his stomach twist and he smiled gently at Raven. “I’d really like that cat with you,”

Raven laughed; eyes filled with unshed tears. “I love you too,” she breathed and dipped down for a deep kiss he eagerly responded to. There was a jumble of emotions that seemed to catch up on her – she honestly wasn’t quite sure if they were hers or Tim’s, but the feelings were pleasant, and she was in no rush to dissect them.

She pulled away when air became scarce and a deeper hunger pressed into her as their hips slowly rocked into each other and fingers pressed into the dips of her ribcage and brushed just under the swell of her breasts, a reminder of their nakedness. Sitting upright under Tim’s watchful gaze, she pulled the ring out of its box and slipped it onto her finger. It fit perfectly. Looking down at Tim’s face, she quirked her lips up teasingly. “Are you sure you didn’t just propose?”

Tim laughed and leaned forward to press a kiss onto her cheek, he felt her grin widen. “I want you to be my cat partner,” he teased and ran his hand down her bare back, enjoying how her warm skin felt against his hands. There was a little window that offered a little glimmer of being more than just cat parents that they both seemed to acknowledge but they did not bother to speak about – yet. “Besides,” he mumbled against the underside of her chin and teasingly ran his hand over her waist. “I’d rather propose somewhere else, not with a 200-pound dog standing guard outside our door and the rest of my family in the house,”

Tim flipped them over, Raven released a soft laugh as she was pressed into their bed and Tim hovered over her with a teasing smirk. Fingers teasingly hooked into the waistband of her underwear and he grinned boyishly at her, long hair falling into his eyes as they twinkled playfully. “And I’d like us to celebrate very loudly all over our apartment and not worry over nosy neighbors,” he said and playfully tugged at her panties. Pressing down for a breath-stealing kiss, Tim nipped at her lower lips and pulled his body flush against hers and gently started to tug her panties down. “For now, we celebrate us being cat parents. I’m going to unwrap my Christmas gift,”

“Yes,”

With a final tug, black lacy panties were thrown off their bed and Tim quickly dipped his head between her legs, tongue eagerly licking wet folds and burying into an addictive warmth. Raven gasped loudly, back arching off the bed, just as hot electricity shot through her body and desires pooled low in her abdomen.

“Tim!” she gasped, her thighs straining against his forearms as he pressed them wide open. Raven’s world seemed to turn into a blurry haze as heat just ignited her skin. Blindly grabbing the sheets to anchor herself and her reeling world, Raven buried her right hand into Tim’s hair and gave it a sharp tug as he hit a particular delicious note in his ministrations. Groaning, Raven felt her titter dangerously out of control.

Enjoying watching her coming undone, Tim continued with his careful ministrations of measured licking and strokes. Humming in delight as he felt her sharp tugs in his hair, he peered up at her and watched in satisfaction as continued to writhe in delight. Spreading her wider open and digging his fingers into her hips, Tim’s tongue buried deep within her and eagerly stoked a fire that made her sing.

Raven felt the world melt away as she felt herself quickly tumbling over the edge as Tim continued to stroke and suck, quickly sending her into oblivion. With a cry, Raven felt her body tumble over the edge. The world seemed to explode as she fell through the sky and her body roared at lick after lick after lick – continuously stoking flames and propelling her into the abyss.

The world came back around her slowly and the first thing she heard was her unsteady and rapid breathing. Her senses came back one of after another, her skin hot and sticking against the sheets despite the cold winter air that brushed over her legs. She lay spread eagle, all her limbs weak, and she gasped for breath as the heat within her belly still roared and her core throbbed deliciously.

“Fuck,” she breathed, blinking up at the old wooden ceiling and thanked the gods for their common sense of using a silencing charm.

“Hmm,” Tim made a humming sound of agreement from below and Raven lazily lolled her head in his direction to catch him still draped over her thighs and hips. He looked like the cat that ate all the cream – quite literally with the way his chin glistened. Raven blushed at the sight and her desires roared lowly for more. Nimble fingers danced over her heated flesh, dancing across her inner thighs and dangerously close to her throbbing core – teasing her with each stroke. Raven involuntarily bucked into him. Fuck.

“That was the best present to unwrap tonight,” mumbled Tim with a soft grin. He watched her sigh softly as he ran his hands up her waist. “Need to do one more thing before we move along,” he announced and quickly began kissing and nibbling on her hip bone.

“What are you doing?” Raven asked in between breaths as Tim nibbled and sucked on her hip bone, teeth scraping against heated flesh. She gasped as teeth dragged across her skin and she felt herself buck into him, cashing the delicious friction.

With a wet pop and a satisfied grin, Tim looked up at her, catching her blown blue eyes over her heaving chest. Tim felt his emotions hum in satisfaction, he loved watching her come undone and loose herself. “Just leaving a little mark to celebrate the occasion,” he said, eyes trailing back to her hip bone.

Raven’s brows furrowed together in confusion before releasing a soft huff of exasperated laughter as she saw the blossoming red bite mark on her skin – on her hip bone. “You didn’t,” she threw him an accusatory smile.

“Oh, I did,” Tim kissed her rib cage as he crawled up her body. Pressing a kiss to the side of her right breast, he dragged himself up her body and enjoyed the silky press of her skin against his. Pressing into her and enjoying the subtle roll of her hips against his own, he kissed the underside of jaw. “Thought it’d be a good touch to celebrate our Kinky Christmas,”

Tim had lost his sweats at some point earlier and Raven felt him brush against her inner thigh. Chasing the silky heat and his hot emotions, she laughed and wrapped her arms and round his shoulders, drawing him flush onto her. “You sap,” she whispered and caught his lips for a kiss. Feeling him brush against her, she whimpered softly and wrapped her left leg around his waist.

Tim rolled his hips against her teasingly, his cock brushing against her entrance and he released a breath he was holding in anticipation. Teasingly, he kissed the corner of her lips and smiled. “You like it, admit it,” he said while grabbing her leg around his waist and digging his fingers into her thigh. He grinned at the soft mewl and how their bodies rocked into each other.

“Yes,” She whispered, slowly loosing herself again. Her fingers danced over his shoulders and traced old scars. Rocking her hips against his and chasing the heat that was building up, Raven tapped his shoulder and hungrily brushed up against the silky skin of his cock. “But,” she whispered and her breathing stuttered as Tim started to kiss her neck and continued to teasingly rock into her. “I – I’d rather,” she mumbled, and she felt him nibble at the junction of her neck. “You fuck me into oblivion to celebrate our cat parenting future,”

Tim dragged his teeth along her pulse point and listened to her stuttered breathing. Allowing a fire to consume both of their desires, Tim promptly crawled over her and grinned down at her wolfishly. Rocking his hips into hers and brushing against her entrance teasingly, he spread her wider for him and pulled her in for long, bruising kiss. “Gladly,” he growled and all but impaled himself into her hot heat in one fluid motion.

“TIM!”

Much later, when they lay spent against each other and basked in the afterglow of lovemaking, they’d agree that this was perhaps the best Christmas they ever had – the promise of more Christmases together, as a cat family, seemed to glimmer teasingly.

[lesbianlotties]

five times Deena and Sam met in secret (and one time they didn’t) - Chapter 4

Chapters: 4/6 Fandom: Fear Street Trilogy (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Fraser/Deena Johnson Characters: Deena Johnson, Samantha "Sam" Fraser (Fear Street) Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Canon, High School, Cheerleaders, Band, Teenagers, Teen Romance, First Meetings, First Love, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst

Secrets.

Deena and Sam met by accident. They fell in love in secret.

But how long can they last together like that?

Chapter 4 - secret fears

“So this is Samantha Fraser’s room,” Deena said, slowly walking into her girlfriend’s room.

“Ugh, don’t call me that,” Sam scrunched up her face adorably in distaste as sat down on the edge of her bed.

Deena gave her a small smirk and said, “Sam fits you better.” For a moment, she placed her hand on Sam's cheek and looked deep into precious blue eyes. Then she moved on, distracted by every little thing she was seeing.

Sam, on the other hand, couldn’t so easily move on from the feeling of having Deena stare into her eyes like that. She felt a little breathless. Because Deena’s eyes were full of love, understanding, and honesty. That little sentence “Sam fits you better,” wasn’t just a little joke. It was the full weight of Sam’s entire existence in this world. Deena and her friends were the first ones to call her Sam instead of Samantha. Back then, when she came home after hanging out with them and her mother’s yells were addressed to Samantha, something had inevitably changed. Something inside Sam had been broken down in two. Sam and Samantha. Unacceptable feelings and suffocating expectations. Another Shadyside outcast and anything but that. Holding on to two parts of herself was difficult, and every day it became a little more painful. Especially considering she refused to let go completely of each of those sharp-edged pieces of herself. Letting go of Samantha would be giving up on her own mother and the concept of a different and brighter future for herself. But she couldn’t put down Sam’s reality either, not only because that would mean losing Deena and her friends, but because it was the most real part of her, as scary as that was. So, all she could do was wrap her arms around herself and hold tightly in hopes the secrets and lies wouldn’t come bursting out of her, and try not to think too hard about how much longer she could keep up that balancing act of Sam and Samantha.

In the meantime, her mother would be out of the house the entire day, and it was the first time she could bring her girlfriend home. Even if Deena’s own bedroom was starting to feel much more like home than her own house anyway.

“It’s very you,” Deena was saying, staring at the walls, the shelves, the essence of Sam on every surface.

“Can’t let my mom control everything,” Sam shrugged, putting on a smile.

“Shouldn’t let her control anything.”

Deena’s comment had been accompanied by a small frown, but she was distracted still, she wasn’t starting a fight, she was leaving that ball on Sam’s court. And Sam decided to lower her head and stay silent this time. That had been an ongoing argument for a short while already. Deena seemed completely against even trying to understand why Sam would want to be civil with her own mother. Why Sam tried so hard to find a middle ground, a little peace in trying to satisfy her mother even at the expense of some of her own happiness. Much like Deena would immediately snap if Sam so much as suggested that she should stop cleaning up after her alcoholic father. It was strange, Sam thought, fighting with Deena. Their situations weren’t so different. They understood each other. It just appeared that they weren’t ready to fight against or fight for the same things at the same time. They weren’t each other’s enemies by far. They had plenty of threats around them already. But, while still being kept a secret, who could they end up fighting but each other?

Either way, at the moment, Sam decided to shake herself out of her continuously darkening thoughts, which Sam greatly preferred to ignore and instead focus on Deena’s own tendency for pessimism. Instead, she chose to focus on the experience at hand. How vulnerable but happy it made her to see her girlfriend’s delight and curiosity upon being in Sam’s personal space as never before.

“The Pixies,” Deena pointed at one of the posters on Sam’s wall. “Nice,” she was smiling brightly, looking closely at the details on the walls, “and I have this same one.” She continued looking at the posters, flinching a little from at least five classic horror movie posters. She turned toward her girlfriend with a playful grin. “Tell me, the other cheerleaders know you’re a horror movie nerd?”

“Hey!” Sam chuckled.

Deena playfully gasped. She kneeled down to take a closer look at some of the books on the shelf. As colorful as they seemed to be, Deena recognized them as horror books too. “Babe, even your books are creepy!”

“Okay, enough snooping around!” Sam laughed. “Come here.” She extended her arms and Deena quickly approached her, taking her hands and holding on, letting their joined hands hang in between them while Sam continued seated on her bed and Deena stood in front of her.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Deena tilted her head. She looked earnestly grateful.

Sam gave a small shrug. “I wish I could’ve done it sooner.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Deena replied and softly pushed a strand of hair behind Sam’s ear.

“I wish…” Sam started to say, looking up at Deena. In a brief pause, she looked down and reached out to hook her fingers on the front belt loops of Deena’s jeans, lightly pulling her closer. “I wish I could keep you here forever,” she sighed. Deena was now standing between her legs, looking down at her with an amused smile and affectionate eyes. Sam was still holding on to her belt loops. “Everything feels better with you here,” she confessed, her heart on her throat as she stared into her girlfriend’s eyes, “I feel better… with you here…”

Deena sighed too. Sam’s words were wreaking havoc on her heart, but she continued to try to hold her composure. She softly ran her hand over Sam’s arms, reaching her shoulders, her neck. Her thumbs softly stroking the delicate skin of Sam’s jaw. “I’m here,” Deena told her in a whisper, “I’m all yours, Sam.”

In response, Sam’s eyes couldn’t have looked more in love if she’d tried. “Kiss me,” she breathed out.

“Gladly,” Deena replied, smiling for a moment before finally closing the gap separating them and getting lost in the kiss.

Sam gave another tug to Deena’s belt loops, earning a quick laugh pressed to her lips, and getting her as close as possible, so Deena’s was standing between her legs. Then her hands settled comfortably on her girlfriend’s waist. Deena’s hands were just a little more adventurous, descending from Sam’s jaw to trace her collarbone and finally resting a little lower, distinctly aware of the heartbeat wildly beating underneath her palm. Then, she followed the neckline of Sam’s blouse, reaching the first button, toying with it between her fingers, pulling at it just a little.

“Can I?” Deena breathed against Sam’s lips

“Yeah," Sam nodded quickly, before reconnecting their lips.

It might have been Sam’s shirt, the one being unbuttoned, but it was Deena who was starting to tremble. Her attention was being split between Sam’s lips, the buttons of the blouse, and Sam’s hands sneaking under her sweater, thumbs rubbing teasing circles on her bare skin. Although it felt like centuries had been leading to this moment, when Deena ran out of buttons on Sam’s shirt, she felt like the moment came too soon. She pulled back slowly from the kiss, and nearly gasped at the sight in front of her. Her hands froze and her lips parted as she studied the expanse of skin revealed to her.

“Sam…” Deena sighed, when Sam finished taking off her shirt.

Then, Sam’s hands didn’t return to their place under Deena’s sweater. Instead, she tugged on the hem of it. “Take it off,” she asked her girlfriend in a breathy whisper. She attempted a teasing smile, but it was obvious in her eyes she was as deeply affected by this development as the other girl.

Deena didn’t need to be asked twice. In a not-so-effortless but definitely quick movement, she took off the colorful garment. Any thoughts Sam might have had about teasing her girlfriend for her reaction after seeing her without a shirt on for the first time flew out the window. Because now Sam had Deena standing there between her legs, only her bra on, and looking down at her with the most passionate pair of eyes in the world. Sam’s head went blank and the only thing she thought of saying was, “I love that sweater.”

In response, Deena chuckled fondly. “Should I keep it on?”

“No,” Sam quickly shook her head. But she was smiling again, and soon enough the two of them were laughing.

They could hardly hold off their smiles long enough to kiss. Especially when Deena joined Sam on the bed and they started the ungraceful process of scooting up in bed. It was a collection of all the imperfect details necessary to make up a perfect moment. A moment that they wouldn’t change for the world. There were messy kisses, knees knocking against each other, hair falling on their faces, fits of laughter pressed against one another’s necks. Buttons on both their pants coming undone, breathy gasps of delighted surprise, sweetly inexperienced hands trying their best and succeeding. 

They weren’t ready to move a single inch away from each other. Not after the precious discoveries they’d just made. In fact, they only wanted more. Sam was mostly on top of Deena, kissing her neck, saying with lips and teeth things she wouldn't dare say out loud. Deena’s hand was traveling Sam’s back, settling on the clasp of her bra, a question on the tip of the tongue… when they heard the front door of the house open.

“Goddammit,” Deena sighed gravely, letting her head fall back on the pillows, knowing their moment was over.

“What the hell?” Sam whispered, scrambling off the bed at a quick speed. “She isn’t supposed to come home yet!”

“Fuck,” Deena groaned, “Now what?”

There was a moment of complete silence. Sam was standing still as a statue, the wheels turning furiously inside her mind, faintly hearing her mother move downstairs. Finally, she looked at her girlfriend and said, “You have to hide.”

“Sam, come on,” Deena protested. She wanted to think Sam was kidding, but the blonde looked dead serious.

“Deena, please,” Sam begged. At that point, her voice was starting to shake. Deena felt frozen in place, because she was looking at her favorite pair of blue eyes and the absolute terror in them was heartbreaking. But, soon enough, Sam was grabbing her arms and urging her off the bed, continuing to plead, “Please, please, hide in the closet.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Deena asked her with a bitter chuckle. She had trouble focusing on one single emotion, because this situation was tragically funny, because part of her was growing outraged at being shoved away like a dirty secret, and because her heart couldn’t help but ache for the girl she was falling for, the girl fumbling to put on her shirt and shaking with fear. Deena scoffed, “Let me help you,” she whispered, and despite her anger, she gently helped Sam recover her composure to look as innocent as possible.

“Thanks,” Sam breathed out in relief, but she still appeared beyond terrified. “I’ll figure something out, Deena, I promise. But… I can’t… not like this, not right now…”

“Not ever?” Deena snapped back at her, but complied as Sam gently pushed her inside her closet.

“Deena!” Sam whispered-yelled, but before she continued they heard a voice call out from the stairs.

“Samantha? Are you home?”

Before replying, Sam took a deep breath, and Deena could’ve sworn she turned into a completely different person. “Yes, mom. I’ll be down in a minute!” Sam- Samantha said.

“Sam?” Deena took a step back, deeper into her hiding place, away from her own girlfriend.

“Deena, please,” Sam pleaded one last time. After another deep breath, her eyes softened. The fear dimmed from the blue of her eyes, but the sadness persisted. She was trying so hard not to let any of it show. “I’ll make it up to you… okay?”

“Yeah…”

Deena didn’t sound particularly convinced. The image was enough to make Sam’s heart speed up. She couldn’t ruin this, she couldn’t. But there was that voice, that Samantha voice in the back of her mind telling her that every time she was with Deena could be the last time. Impulsed by such an awful fear, Sam reached out to hold her girlfriend’s face in her hands and pulled her in for a kiss that she hoped could convey all the feelings she had for her.

After Sam walked away and the closet’s door was closed, Deena, unfortunately, had time to think. Having time to think, in that particular circumstance, is a terrible thing. Because she started thinking about the afternoon they just spent together, and how serious her feelings for Sam were. Sadly, it was too easy to end up thinking about how difficult their whole situation was becoming, how much it looked, from her perspective inside Sam’s closet, like it wasn’t working. But all things considered, this time, like always, Deena was reassured by the firm knowledge that both of them really wanted this to work, they were both willing to fight for it, right? They… loved each other. She nearly gasped out loud in her hiding place when the thought popped up in her mind. She loved Sam, she really did. And she felt Sam loved her just as much. That was enough, wasn’t it? It had to be.

The problem was that, unbeknownst to Deena, Sam’s mother had arrived home that day with a folder carrying divorce papers. Those documents would change her and Sam’s lives, would put it all upside down, would threaten their already fragile relationship.

[rosaliepostsstuff]

Chapter 1 - Of quidditch, detentions and birthdays

series masterlist

tag list for this series:  @weasleysbees​ all George fics: @hufflepuff5972​

if you’d like to be added, send a DM or an ask

warnings: swearing, mentions of wounds, slight mention of food, alcohol drinking

word count: 1823

a/n: hope it’s a nice opening that will keep you interested and give you the feel of the whole series;  we couldn’t have a fic taking place during ootp without a classic detention with umbridge sorry

I’d love to know what you think about it!

—————①—————

Quidditch. You were decent on a broomstick, but the catching and throwing part has never been your strong suit. The summer sun was blazing hot, not helping you focus on the game. Suddenly Ron took a shot at one of the makeshift posts, the quaffle was speeding in your direction and you panicked slightly – lost your balance on the broomstick and dangled upside down. As you grasped the stick for dear life, the ball hit you square in the forehead, knocking you out.

“Ha-ha-ha,” you mocked George who was wheezing with laughter beside you. “That was years ago. Besides, it’s called the sloth-grip roll, you’re just not on that level yet” “No-no it was brilliant – you saved the game, you just weren’t there to see it anymore,” he tried to regain his composure.

You sighed and shook your head with a small smile. He gave you a wide grin and draped his arm around your shoulder pulling you closer to his side.

You were watching the try-outs together, not really paying attention until it was Ron’s turn. In the distance, you could see Fred juggling beaters’ bats behind Angelina’s back. “D’you think he’ll get in?” you asked curiously. He shrugged and made one of his faces, so you jabbed him on the side with a finger.

“Ron’s good, isn’t he? He should get in…” you worried. “Yeah, yeah, he’s alright. You’ve seen all those other slacks, he’s got a good chance,” he reassured you.

You crossed your arms on your chest and rested your head on his side. “I hope so. It means a lot to him.”

 —————①—————

 “Oh but that is absolutely ridiculous!” you exasperated, “It’s fucking torture..!” you pointed at Harry’s hand.

You had been chatting with Hermione, Ron and Harry in the courtyard, late afternoon, and noticed the wound on his hand, then made them explain everything in detail. It made you furious.

“First they try to make us dumb, then re-shape us - using violence?!” you whisper-yelled, then noticed three’s terrified expressions.

“Eh hem” you heard behind your back. “Oh for fucks sake…” you mouthed silently and slouched your shoulders, sighing in defeat. “Miss Y/L/N, is it?” She knew your name well, although up until this point you tried not to step out of line, from the very first lesson with Umbridge you showed your dissatisfaction with the new regime rules. Much to Fred and George’s amusement as you usually tried to avoid conflict whenever possible.

With a stoic expression, you turned on your heel to face her. “Yes, professor?” “You have to agree this kind of language does not suit a young witch like yourself. It is in your best interest that we work on your attitude a bit as well. I’ll see you in my office after dinner, dear,” she finished with that sickening smile and walked off.

 Defeated, you approached George and Fred at the table and sat down in silence. They glanced at you curiously. “Why the long face, sweet cheeks?” Fred asked, making you snicker and a small smile broke out on your face. “I-“ you elongated, “had an encounter with Umbridge.” “Oof..” grimaced George. “Yikes, you looked like you were about to maul her last class. Too bad I wasn’t there to see it this time around, what’d you do?” Fred propped his chin on his palm, abandoning the food. “She appeared behind my back in the middle of my tirade about her,” another set of oofs and acknowledging nods, “a strong-worded one…” “Oh this is brilliant, why weren’t we there…” Fred expressed with amusement.

George found the situation quite funny as well but was less expressive about it because he felt bad for you just a bit more than his twin. “I-I... I’m sure you can imagine,” you tried to drop the topic, getting busy with the plate in front of you. They didn’t know about her method of discipline and you weren’t keen on letting them know. “Tsk- whatever, don’t tell your best friends,” he pouted, then brought the conversation to their newest developments with the Skiving Snackboxes.

 ‘I will respect my superiors’ was written out underneath a bandage on your left hand. You’ve been successfully hiding it for almost a week, telling George you cut yourself during potions.

You felt a sharp pain and winced as he grabbed your hand to speed you up on your way to hang out by the lake. “Oh, sorry, Cherry!” he apologized immediately and stroked your hand delicately with concern, “I forgot…” You smiled at him reassuringly, “It’s alright.” “Does it still hurt so much..?” he frowned slightly, confused, “It should’ve started healing by now…”

It would’ve if you hadn’t spent every evening in the toad’s office.

You shrugged dismissively and started walking again, George following. “I don’t think that’s good, Y/N. Maybe you should go to Pomfrey..?” “Noo, it’s fine, I’m sure it’ll heal in no time,” – just a couple more days of detention, you thought. “Well, let me see it, at least,” he said softly and you felt faint. Not only would he find out about the black quill and freak out, but you also hid it from him, deliberately, lied even.

“Y/N” he repeated in a more serious tone. “George, it’s fine, really” you still tried to shrug it off, knowing well it was a lost cause. He sensed something was off. He stopped walking, expecting you to do the same. When you looked at him, he reached out his hand for you to show him the bandage and you obliged.

You held your breath as he unwrapped the dressing. You only dared to look up at him after a few long seconds of silence.

His eyes were still trained on the words, jaw clenched and he started caressing the skin around the wound with his thumb.

He then looked at you and you spoke without words.

You were sorry for not telling him.

He was disappointed but concerned about you.

You wanted to reassure him you were holding up okay.

And he was furious with Umbridge.

“Ferula,” he cast and put his wand away as your hand got wrapped up in clean bandages.

“Please, don’t do anything stupid now…” you worried, “I don’t need revenge.” He smirked a bit, but remained rather serious, “You’ve known me for too long…”

He let go of your hand and resumed walking, putting his hands in his pockets. “I mean it, Georgie. It will have changed nothing and it’s no good if she just makes you write those stupid lines too.” You sighed, “Promise me you’ll be more careful around her. And Fred too.” “Brave of you to assume I can control him,” he snickered, making you smile. “but I can try if that’ll make you happy.” “Thank you,” you said with a big grin, wrapping your arm around his. “Speeaaking of making you happy,” he paused for emphasis, looking up into the sky, “your birthday’s coming up. You didn’t make any plans, did you?” “Mmm, depends what you’re offering.”

 —————①—————

 Your birthday was in the middle of the week this year, so you planned to have a proper party over the weekend. And the evening of the actual birthday, George booked for himself.

It was late, you took a shower and as per instructions – changed into comfy PJs. Excited, you walked down the steps and into the common room.

There were only a few last stragglers left in there, buried in rolls of parchment, probably writing last-minute essays.

No George in sight.

Next to the couch in front of the fire, you saw blankets and pillows spread out, and some snacks on the coffee table. Walking up closer you noticed a little note in George’s hand-writing:

Do not touch or you’ll regret it

You chuckled under your breath and the round door opened, revealing George with two mugs in hands. He was also wearing some pyjama pants and a comfy jumper.

“Heeey!” he greeted with a wide grin. “Good evening” you replied with a smile and a little nod. “That all you?” you gestured at the table as he set down the mugs. “Unless you want to count Fred’s snickering as help,” he complained sitting down and you did the same.

“Oooh, hot chocolate..!” you exclaimed leaning over the mug in front of you.

George reached behind him and revealed a bottle of firewhisky and you chuckled. “For a bit of kick.” He opened the bottle, then hovered it over your mug and glanced at you, asking for permission and you nodded.

He poured a little bit into both mugs.

“Happy seventeen!” he toasted and you clinked delicately, not to spill the hot liquid, then gave it a taste, letting its warmth pour through your bodies.

“How was your day, Cherry?” he asked, getting comfy on the pillows and wrapping both his hands around the warm mug.

You didn’t see him much that day, with the exception of meals, as you took many more N.E.W.T. classes than him.

“Alright. Went by quickly. Snape wished me a happy birthday.” “Oooh” “Yeah, I don’t know if he was being sarcastic or not. Knowing him, he could be, even with birthday wishes… how about you?” you took another sip of the hot chocolate. “Mmm... We might be getting closer to figuring out how to stop the nosebleeds,” he opened a box of biscuits, “but we need to read up on it a bit more before testing it.”

 “That’s not the end of my surprises,” he said after you finished the conversation about nosebleed nougats, standing up for a moment to retrieve a small packaging he then presented to you with a giddy smile. You placed it in your lap and let your hands ghost over the ribbon, “I was about to say you didn’t have to, but then I remembered you’re a rich business owner now.” you teased him, earning a small laugh. He bit his lip and waited for you to continue.

It was a book, the newest tome of a series you and George would geek out about together. It had just come out.

Screeching out of joy you tackled him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“You managed to get it already?!” you questioned. “Yup. Blood, sweat and tears it cost me, but I’ve got it,” he said proudly. “Thank you, Georgie” you gave him one last squeeze and pulled away to admire the book once more. “You’re welcome, love. D’you wanna start reading it tonight?” he asked with clear excitement in his voice. You nodded and opened the book on the first page right away.

You stayed up late that night, taking turns in reading out loud for as long as you were able to fight off the tiredness. Eventually, it was just the two of you, immersed in your favourite fantasy adventure, the soft crackling of the fire serving as a background.

You couldn’t have asked for a better seventeenth birthday.