#there proper punctuation sorta

[interstellarsystem]

Little Plural Things

Systems can present in a lot of different ways. Sometimes, being a system can be loud and obvious if you're naturally more overt and/or out about yourselves as plural. Sometimes, it can be quiet and barely noticeable, but still there--just harder to see. Our system is fairly obvious if we're unmasked, but there are still things that escape even our own knowledge when we're masking as hard as we can. Little things that to us, remind us that our system is undeniably real. This is a post about those experiences we've had with barely-noticeable signs of a system.

Not every system will relate to these experiences, some might feel similarly about a few points, some may have others of their own entirely, some might not know or not have anything like the experiences we mention, and that's all part of being plural. No two systems are mirror images of each other. This is a post about our experiences.

1. Handwriting

Recently, we've had it brought to our attention that we have different handwriting. We don't write with a pen/pencil often, but we were asked to fill out a worksheet for our psychologist recently. She told us that whoever in our system wants to contribute to it can, and suggested that we signify who wrote what in some way--to which we chose different pencil colours for different headmates. We took the worksheet home and put things on it depending on who was in the front and if they wanted to.

It turned out, that some of our writing widely differs from each other. Out of the 6 people who wrote on the sheet, most of them were wildly different. Rift and Martin wrote the most tidily, with Rift's writing looking more "proper" and "adult". I (Vince) apparently am not the best at neat writing but I managed to be better than what our "normal" writing is like from what we remember. Merlin wrote messily like he was writing very fast. Mystery wrote with very large letters with sharp angles that overall made it look like it was written by a child new to writing. Which makes absolute sense. It's not a child, but its hands in-headspace are bigger than ours and that was the actual first time it had written anything on paper since it got here.

Somehow, it took until our psychologist pointed it out for us to notice how different it was.

2. Vocabulary Choices

Something we are able to notice sometimes is how our vocabulary and sometimes sentence structure changes based on who is speaking. Some obvious examples are our British headmates substituting "bloody" for other words as an exclamation and the difference between what some of our headmates would call a "chip" or a "fry".

Other times though, it's more subtle. Sometimes there's certain phrases that will just have a word or two swapped out and it does tend to point toward who is fronting even if people do use multiple of these. Some examples are:

"I suppose" vs "I think" vs "I believe"

"Kinda" vs "Kind of" vs "Sort of" vs "Sorta"

"Recently" vs "A bit ago"

"Sleepy" vs "Tired"

"Lol" vs "Haha" vs "Lmao" vs a keysmash (Even though these are text-based they are quite telling.)

"Quite" vs "Very" (Speaking of the above.)

Getting more subtle with them, some other examples are:

"You know" vs "Y'know"

"Uh" vs "Um"

"Uh-Huh" vs "Mhm"

Sometimes typing is influenced too. The amount of em-dahses within the text, the consistency of proper punctuation, how mechanical the text feels, how many run-on sentences there are and even how much tends to be written in one message/post can all point toward different people being in control.

3. Accidental Accents and Inflections

While accents are usually very obvious, we're generally good at masking them. Generally.

Due to us living in Australia, our headmates with accents straight from London don't stick out too bad when they're struggling to mask, but they are still noticeable to those around us who know we're plural. Passerby on the street or people who don't see us often don't think much of it, but certain people we are close to know that a few people in our system find it harder to mask and can tell when they're fronting very easily because of it.

Even if we are masking our accents properly, some parts of the way we speak still come out. Some of us end sentences on a higher-pitch more often due to what our accent generally has us do and some end more on lower-pitch notes when speaking. Some of us put emphasis on certain syllables differently. There's lots of little things that go into language that make it hard to completely mask.

4. Food Choices

More of a noticeable one, but something we tend to brush off as "just a bad batch" when it happens. Some of us like and dislike different foods and drinks, some of us to an extreme degree.

Mystery hates the brand of juice we normally buy and thought that it might've just been past expiry (it was not) or just a bad batch of the juice, but they're consistently the only one who doesn't like it.

Rave likes spicy food much more than the rest of us because they have a harder time tasting it. I on the other hand can't handle spicy food at all and am worse with it than the others in my system.

Some of us favour different brands of food and some of us might like/dislike textures of food differently too.

5. Default Facial Expressions

Different resting facial expressions are something we hardly notice because we don't look in a mirror often due to dysphoria. What we do know though, is that some of us just rest our faces differently.

I look more stern and tired than others. I have a bit of an angrier resting expression.

Martin looks a little bit more anxious due to being an anxiety-holder, but he also looks softer and kinder.

Crowley also looks tired but has less of a stern look and more of an almost blank one.

6. Body Language

This is one we don't know too much about because we can only get knowledge on this from other people, but most of our headmates have a different "vibe" by the way they carry themselves.

I end up seeming to-the-point and business-like.

Martin reads as being very anxious even if he's not always.

Crowley reads as smug.

Mal reads as if he's planning something mischevious and silly.

We've been told that Filigree just reads as "gay".

We're not sure what actions make us seem this way, but some of us can be clocked by others around us as fronting without even talking first. I don't know how people do it, but it's something in our body language.

7. Clothing Choices

A few of us have different clothing choices--Crowley still wears sunglasses everywhere due to light sensitivity and wears dark colours, I prefer to wear button-up shirts as opposed to more casual things, Martin prefers hoodies that are lighter in colour and Merlin prefers to dress in pink and black and more fluffy textures.

We don't have too many clothes overall so to others it does just look like we're cycling through our wardrobe, and sometimes we are, but there's certain styles some of us tend to lean toward more than others.

---

Some of these might seem quite noticeable, and maybe they are if you know we're a system, but people change a lot so once again some of this is much more subtle than it sounds. People who don't know that you're a system hardly ever notice, and if they do they put it to "having an off day" and leave it at that.

We wanted to take some time to appreciate those little things we find it hard to notice, though. And maybe it'll end up helping some other system realise how unique they are as individuals and help fight off the imposter syndrome like these realisations did for us.

[basilone]

'Heat' and 'threshold' for Buck? Juno xx

Yes hello! 👀 Always game to write more Buck. And, well, I really wanted to take a moment to write him with Lottie, with whom he's got a bit of a complex something going on. I've set this after the events in full of grace, but it can be read as a standalone for sure. Half of this was written as a voice exercise for their relationship ages ago, and finally repurposed here in what feels like its proper place. 😊I don't think this piece needs a warning that isn't covered by the blanket "Lottie's a bi disaster"-tag, so... we're good to go!

heat / threshold

“I ain’t apologizin’ any.”

The shadow cast over her seems to shift slightly at the snap-and-bite she’s laced her words with. Lottie doesn’t bother looking up. Keeps her arms locked around her knees. Presses her face against her legs when the shadow doesn’t go away. Something curdles in her belly – low, aching, sharp like the bile in the back of her throat – that makes her feel all wrong. Makes her want to jump out of her skin in a way that leaves her head spinning and her choices less than fine.

“Jesus, Ace.”

She hates his long pause that makes her nickname a punctuation mark in his mouth. He sounds flat. Tired. She hates that she’s not Lot to him now. He calls her that every other time – even when he’s Major and she’s Captain and they’ve got a job to be doing – but never when he’s mad at her. The fact that she’s Ace to him now stings worse than the scrape on her knuckle that hasn’t stopped bleeding yet.

“You’ve got to stop fighting,” he says, then, and that’s a tune she’s heard from him before. “Hey? You have to.” His boots meet her toes. His flight jacket lands on the sand beside her. His sigh fills the air as much as his lingering aftershave does. “You listenin’ to me?”

“Yeah.” She allows a beat to pass. “Sorta.”

“I mean it.”

“I heard ya just fine, Major. Sir. Gilly Gale Cleven of the three-five-oh.”

He scrapes his throat. “Jesus, you’re really gunning for it now.” He still doesn’t go away. If anything, he moves that much closer. Folds himself into her space as he sinks down onto his jacket. He nudges her shoulder as they come to sit arm-to-arm, foot-to-foot, jacket-to-jacket. “What happened out there, Ace? Tiny said something about you and some of Blakely’s crowd?”

“Something like that.” Lottie shrugs. Keeps her gaze fixed on the small dent in the lone water canister Benny hasn’t picked up yet. “They ain’t learned to keep their mouths shut yet. Carter especially. Shutting them for ’em seemed… prudent.” She affects her mother’s tone on the last word. All debutante-socialite judgment rendered with the precision of a bullet. Is rewarded for it when he snorts out something that, in a better universe than this one, could very well be a laugh. “You give them a talking-to, too? Little lecture? Or am I the lone lucky one to face Major Cleven’s disapproval, sir?”

“Put a lid on the sirs, Ace.”

“Stop callin’ me Ace and I’ll think about it, sir.”

“Lot,” he rasps out, then, and goddamn she doesn’t like how her eyes sting when he nudges her again, “you really need to stop fighting us.” You need to stop fighting me is what she hears, exhaustion lacing his voice, not even an admonishment in place for the tone she’s taken with him. “All right?”

“I hear ya, Gilly. Y’all just get under my damn skin sometimes.” She tries to not make it sound too much like she’s sulking. Ain’t sure she’s succeeding when he chuckles and stretches his legs out beside her. “I don’t know. I don’t got anywhere else to put that feelin’, ya know?”

“Sky ain’t enough, huh.”

“The sky shoots back these days,” she says conversationally. “Gotta leave the pain on the ground. Take anything up with ya, it’s gonna make ya crash.”

“Ain’t that a truth.”

“I ain’t Val, I ain’t good at lyin’ to ya. Unless Bucky asks me to, of course.”

“Of course.”

Lottie exhales a noisy breath. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Gale’s face is serene when she glances at him. His hand finds her bruised knuckles. “Do better, Lot. I know you can.”

“You really believe that horseshit, huh.”

His hand squeezes hers none too gently before he releases her. “Manage a week. I’ll take you flying after. How’s that sound?”

“Like a damn impossibility.” Her voice cracks. She blinks furiously as her lower lip starts to wobble. “I… I don’t think…”

“Gotta start somewhere. This heat’s got all tempers at a high. Perrault has yet to take a breath without insulting John in the process.”

Lottie sniffs. Wipes at her cheeks. “Bucky deserves it.”

“I’m sure he does.” His smile is wry. His cheeks are flushed with heat. The start of a sunburn is already sprawling over his bare chest, beneath the glint of his dog tags. “You wanna talk about it now or later, Squeaky?”

“Not at all?” she hedges. Ignores the way his eyes narrow at that to the best of her ability. “I’m sick of talkin’, Gilly. Sick of people askin’ me shit.” She bites her lip. Wishes she could draw blood with the action. “You might as well be the only one who’s nice to me lately. Even if ya call me Squeaky.”

“Benny was plenty nice to you after we landed.”

And she can’t fault him for it. Can’t even hate him for it. “Yeah. He was.” She swallows thickly. Her head feels like it’s about to start swimming. “Darlene likes him a lot, ya know? Can’t be mean to him when she’s all soft about the guy.” Can’t be mean to him even when he makes Darlene smile in a way she hasn’t smiled at Lottie in a long time now. “I ain’t got a problem with Benny, all right?”

“All right,” agrees Gale, even when his tone suggests it’s anything but. He scrapes his throat. Pointedly doesn’t look at her. “Next time you want to fight a guy, Lot… You try me first.”

Lottie blinks. Stares. He is looking at the same water canister she was, earlier. “You? Gilly,” she laughs, breathless all of a sudden, “I ain’t gonna fight you.” I like you too much for that. “You’re my superior officer and all that shit, remember? You tryin’a get me into trouble here?”

He grunts a little. “Trying to keep you out of it, actually.”

“That don’t make sense.”

“What, me wanting to keep you out of trouble?” He laughs. Glances at her, all crinkled eyes and far too much warmth in his gaze, and her belly swoops the same way it did when she first stood on the threshold of a cockpit. “If you fight me,” he continues, speaking straight through the static that fizzes to life inside her, “I can chalk it up to training. Say it’s friendly. If you fight anybody else, they’ll demote you eventually. Send you home, if you keep going.”

“So, what, you’ll be my punching bag?”

“This bag will still punch back, Squeaky,” he snorts, nudging her. “And hard, too. You’re not the only one with a mean right hook in this squadron.”

“You’d punch a lady like me, Gilly?” She flutters her eyelashes at him. Nudges his shoulder none too gently. Anything to shake that feeling inside her that feels treacherously like butterflies. “No warnings, no takebacks, no apologies? Give it to me good and hard?”

His cheeks flush a deeper crimson than before. “Jesus, Lot…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you’ve already hit your max on dirty chatter for the day,” she laughs, lifting her sunglasses out of her hair and donning them again. “Can’t fault a girl for jumping on it though. Think of it as me perfectin’ your poker face in case you run into them Nazis. They ain’t gonna crack you during interrogation.”

“Pretty sure them Nazis won’t crack a hundred crude jokes like you do.”

“Pretty sure that makes them more boring than me.”

His answering laugh is soft. Doesn’t carry beyond where they’re seated. “Pretty sure you’re the least boring person in my world, Lot.”

Her cheeks feel warmer than the rest of her does, even though she’s been sunning herself in this mid-day heat for at least an hour now. “Bucky’s gonna cry if you tell him that,” she says, leaning her head on his shoulder long enough for him to tense and then relax under her touch. “But ya sure know how to make a girl feel special, sir. Marge is damn lucky to have ya.”

His shoulder tenses just a fraction beneath her cheek. Just enough.

It’s easier when she draws this line for both of them, or so she’ll tell herself half a million times more.

[ant1quarian]

What if the Avian boys met a feathered DragonShifter S/O, How do you draw feathered wings.I can't draw those for the life of me. teach me your way! Lovely Art too.

Practice. Lots and lots of practice. And also a lot of references. Super fun to draw wings though :]

Glad you like my art! As for the Avian Boys...

Sans is probably equally as wary as he is curious. At the start, he likely would have watched you from the shadows until he'd developed a proper opinion for you. As an S/O, however, he's even more curious! He's super glad he can fly with you, and wants to know how you work. If you can shift into a full-dragon, he probably marvels at how pretty you are and likes to preen your wings. Expect getting given shiny things as gifts.

Red immediately confronted you as soon as he saw you, brimming with curiosity and something akin to awe. He would have definitely challenged your place on his territory at the first, though. Eventually when you became his S/O, he became... surprisingly sweet. He's super curious about you being a Dragon Shifter and wants to know more, but he'll also teach you a bunch about avians! He'll also indulge in preening your feathers, usually punctuated by a lot of flirting as he usually does.

Axe was. Well. He doesn't really see you as that different? He's like "oh cool, dragon." and sorta just chills. He doesn't mind learning more about you- his only question is if you need to eat more than the average human. He really likes to nap on/with you and will definitely do a couple, rather cute things for you. He likes to fly and hunt with you.

Dust... well... The likelihood of you somehow becoming his S/O is low, all things considered, and he likely didn't enjoy the fact you were on his territory. However, he would have eventually warmed up to you, and sort of just hangs around now. He gives you things, does favours, and occasionally will challenge you to a flying competition (which he undoubtedly wins- he's a Peregrine Falcon Avian, fast enough to break through the sound barrier and then some if he's diving.) He likes to sit around and "guard" you when you nap, and has probably showed you his territory a couple times. He loves you, he's just crap at showing it.

[klugpuuo]

7 15 27 a+d for dew (or if you wanna answer for another oc that's epic also)

doing this for dew AND feathers bc they are a pair do not seperate

7.What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

for feathers it would be any interaction w/ the concept of sky-sail festivals. his citizens used to hold massive ones and he would sometimes sneak out to watch everything, maybe even steal some food and get on a skysail (obviously he had to get off pretty quickly - it doesn't take much to realize that there's a stowaway and a thief onboard, especially one who likes talking so much!) he misses those festivals, but he enjoys the feeling of nostalgia he gets. it reminds him that it was real in a weird way. anyway, he can always talk to others about it, seems they were a pretty widespread phenomenon!

dew doesnt have much to be nostalgic about.

15.How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

giving dew my Ailment where she constantly scripts whenever she leaves a conversation and makes like 50 iterations [lol] of the same sentence to perfectly please whoever she's talking to and then when she gets back to talking she feels like she's a horrible person just misleading them or forcing them into an rp bc she scripted

feathers just says shit . unless it's serious, then he very carefully thinks of what to say next

27.What causes them to feel dread? 

well other than the obvious "THE ROT"...

feathers isnt bothered by much usually very bothering stuff. he does sorta panic when he runs out of a specific type of medicine thats hard as hell to fabricate or whatever though

dew gets that feeling pretty frequently unless she's actively shutting herself off :v:

A) Why are you excited about this character?

BECAUSE THEYRE FUCKING COOL. THEY'RE SO AWESOME. LOOK AT THEM.

dew is like... she's one of my Popular ocs!!!! people who havent directly interacted w me know abt her!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAND SHE'S ONE OF MY POPULAR OCS WHO HAS NOT BEEN SEXUALIZED TO DEATH she did get the curse of incorrect assessment but like this is really good for a fat woman who wears shirts lie 30% of the time ok?

for feathers... smiles i just like writing him!! it's nice to have a character who always can use sign language tbh, and i love writing his dialogue it's fun he's silly. i love the concept of the only group's doctor being everyone's brother and i like how kind and loving he ended up being even though beneath it all he's really fucking annoying (funny annoying but. still annoying. and he LOVES being so)

D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?

are you prepared for that question.

THIS is what they used to look like. their original designs. before all the crazy lore, when feathers still Talked sort of like this, using full punctuation and proper hoofdletters.

one thing that's more or less always been true was that dew had fur or hair of some sort. i changed it to fur once i remembered she had hair so it would make a bit more sense considering my hc that iterators Dont have that

and one thing i've kept with feathers is the little diamond thing on his clothes, which you can actually see on artis too!

[headmates-for-you]

Could I ask for a fyodor and nikolai pair from bsd please?

With the special if you feel up for it but don't do it if you don't want to !

Wasn't feeling super up to it but I did give you a sorta in between?

Name(s): Fyodor

Age(s): 27

Pronouns: he/him

Gender(s): cismale

Orientation(s): aroace

TransID(s): transgod, transinvincible, transimmortal, trisrussianaccent, transworshiped, transharmful

Source(s): Bungou Stray Dogs

Paras: sadism, autotheophilia, autohybriphilia, mild vigiliaphilia

Emoji signoff:🤍🐀

Positive trigger(s): rats, logic puzzles

Typing Quirk: da instead of yes, proper caps and punctuation

Ex: Da, that is what I said. Were you not listening?

Faceclaim:

~~~~~ ~~~~~ 01101110 01100101 01111000 01110100 ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Name(s): Nikolai, Niko, Nik

Age(s): 26

Pronouns: he/him

Gender(s): cismale

Orientation(s): gay mlm

TransID(s): transjester, transmagic, transfemboy, transinsane, transpsychosis, transsanity, transworshiper, transharmed

Source(s): Bungou Stray Dogs

Paras: maniaphilia, hybristophilia, traumaphilia, autoaptophilia, vigiliaphilia

Emoji signoff: 🤍🖤

Positive trigger(s): quizzes, jesters

Typing Quirk: double spaces and alternating caps

Ex: WOW  what  A  day  WE  had,  WOULDN’T  you  SAY  fyo?

Faceclaim:

[scabbardsystem]

Plural Asking 100 Questions: Part 4!

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

31. How do Members pick face claims? uh we. we don't i guess?? hgkj songbird just draws us until we Look Adequate Enough and then that's us! its hard to actually depict us, we tend to be formless hkjhg but the drawings are approximations that feel sorta correct at least!

32. Do you have any Introjects of popular sources? & 33. Do you have any Introjects of unpopular sources? as of now, no introjects! unless if you count that we were first conceptualized as personal disco eIysium skills, in which case, i guess we all come from a relatively popular source!

34. Do you have nonhuman Members? i think all of us need to have some kind of nonhuman/supernaturaI trait in our designs or else it doesnt feel right hkjhg moms got the half-statue/deer antlers and ryan's got the bunny ears and cottontail and juli's got the heart antennas and wings and scottie's got a wholeass fox form hkjgh i think most if not all of us are non-human :]

35. Do any of you use Typing Quirks? a lot of our typing quirks mush semi-cohesively when typing together (thanks blender), and a lot of these have exceptions, but:

Maestro, Archer, Elle, Harlowe, Expertise, Oath, and Burden all tend to talk with proper capitalization, syntax and punctuation, but this is often discarded when fronting with blender (aka masking) or someone who uses lowercase.

↑ Archer also uses arrows for nuance (<- like this)

DEADSPRINT USUALLY USES ALL CAPS, and Hackles will use caps to EMPHASIZE ANGER.

whimsy and juliet are probably our most prominent as our socializers!! whimsy usually adds our :3 :] :P smiley emojis and exclamation marks!!! :D and juliet adds the hearts <333 (on their own, whimsy also uses silly word shortenings, "da" for "the" is first example i can think of, and juliet uses more ^^ :> :o emoticons)

scottie's actually p similar to whimsy but with a lot less of a filter and more gremlin energy lol >:3c

songbird likes using ~ as punctuation when applicable and likes using french sometimes? otherwise, mostly lowercase

[faucet talks like this because it feels safer(?).]

chamomile will fuck up spelling as we get more tired, but otherwise keeps to all lowercase and minimal punctuation. jaded is also all lowercase and minimal punctuation

memo, mom, sharps and debby all talk in lowercase with appropriate punctuation.

lili is baby. also she really likes using emojis hkjhg??

blender tends to copy any of these as xe sees fit :3

36. Do all of you front, or only a selected amount? i think a majority of us front!! we all have our moments where we're needed, or just There

37. Are there any Members who can't or prefer to not speak? faucet hates talking, and hates us talking. distance speaks, but hates speaking to others other than scabbardmates. ceres and lookout rarely talk or can't talk(?)

38. Are most of you short or tall in height? uh. hard to say!! i think short seems to win out as the majority (12-ish out of 25), though we've got some real outliers (whimsy, obligation, dad being pretty tall) hkjh

39. Is there a Member that is collectively loved by all in the System? Core. everyone loves core a lot, our collective main who we all orbit and help and blanket. we hope she knows she's loved...

40. Do any of you struggle with being front-stuck a lot of the time? Core does! Core is kinda. part of front, in a way? don't know how to explain that hkjhg but yeah, they're stuck in front forever really, i don't know if there's something we should do about that, i think we need her there to? function? :']? but i don't think he minds being frontstuck so hkjhg??

[anorc-writing]

Hehe. Old story descriptions.

Once these lurked in my fanfiction.net profile.

'Not with a half-blood!': Now (Amazingly) over seven hundred and fifteen thousand hits. Hooray!

My take on a post-war Harry and Daphne betrothal, but without magical contracts, ancient betrothal contracts or... Harry being unable to get out of it. Daphne Greengrass at a ministry party tells that famous half-blood about her immanent engagement and marriage to the new head of the house of Black, Draco Malfoy. Harry is confused. (Spoilers: Harry has a saving people thing, a terrible upbringing and spent seven years at war.) (Double spoiler: Fleur Weasley doesn't like Ginny Weasley much) (Triple spoiler: Harry does things and sometimes it turns out good. Sometimes not so good.) The story is intentionally slow-paced, in a naturalistic take on what a story is. You may not like it. Or you may love it, it's rather polarising.

*My editor is editing this for spelling and punctuation. (Should help)*

*I have a revised text, where I've added in Harry's thoughts, because apparently people can't read between the lines. I may be uploading this alternate version. The working title for it is "Not with a halfblood for people that don't read good." To be honest, it's hard to spell out what Harry's thinking and still keep the tone I want in the story.*

(I've seen some quite public, extremely critical comments about this story. As uploaded, it does need line editing, but I like to think that for the money, it's very good value for money entertainment. And my editor is editing, so it'll be all updated by .. probably .. September 1st.)

The Sequel "The Curious Incident of the Trip to the Seaside" is under way also completed. It contains disaster, bad luck and terrible injuries. And a side order of legal troubles. Oh, and (spoilers) Harry and Daphne loving each other. https://archiveofourown.org/works/43202524/chapters/108585235

A third novel in the series, "But I wanted a Pony!" arrived one day.

Minerva McGonnagal would not recommend it. Firenze is very annoyed. The Destroyer comes, rending the veil. https://archiveofourown.org/works/50075527/chapters/126449407

"Fireworks" is my first fic uploaded to the internet. It's not my best work. There is a sequel to Fireworks, "Harry Potter and the rise of the Black Rod" -- which is currently being worked on, Also complete. I wrote a lot of Fireworks on holiday on what was the abandoned estate of a "French Baron". I'm going back, 'and this time it's personal.' Fireworks as a text started out as an experiment in 3rd person objective with everyone's thoughts opaque. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and I went back and changed it to be more like proper Harry Potter. JKR. uses "speech" said Ron "more speech" ; I did not notice till I reread Deathly Hallows.

While I was writing Fireworks I had several exciting computer problems, including the program I was using to write it with shuffling scenes randomly. Needless to say, I don't use that program any longer. Links are in my ao3 or ffn accounts.

Ashes in your mouth Yet another Harry after the war story. Fireworks took a turn for the cashed-up Harry Potter with seven surnames. This story instead has Harry Potter, with some modest inheritance, a job as an Auror and issues to work through. Including goblins who hate him, back taxes, unpaid bills and the love of a good woman. Once he smooths over those arguments with Ginny. (Spoilers: Harry has annoyed the goblins of Gringotts, has PTSD, but he's not alone. In having PTSD, anyway.) Less money, more problems, and a hint of Harry having real mental problems. Kind of a respin. Fireworks redeux, sorta. It goes different places. https://archiveofourown.org/works/39086295/chapters/97776888

Harry Potter and the Method of Double-tap, and Harry Potter and the Unwanted Marriage Contract

For Harry Potter and the Unwanted Marriage Contract I did four! different flavors of the same story, because it amuses me. Maybe you'll like it too. Don't take it too seriously.. except maybe the message that niceness beats being horrible. And that a fritatta is a good breakfast. I'm rewriting this due to forgetting the impact of Tonks & Andromeda. *I May have abandoned the rewrite.*

And "Harry Potter takes things into his own hands: an alternate second chapter for Harry Potter and the method of Double-Tap, where Harry attempts to 'solve his problems' and falls in unrequited love with a witch instead. Features Harry, his trusty gun, an invisibility cloak and a cursed marriage contract. More bad behavior than is suitable to be read by anyone. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13934551/1/Harry-Pottter-takes-things-into-his-own-hands

Ride-Along: Post Hogwarts immediately after the end of the war. Because Harry always wanted to be an Auror, be Ginny's boyfriend and call his son Albus Severus. Quite a sad story. (Needs line editing, and depicts PTSD. Some people really like it.) https://archiveofourown.org/works/36209560/chapters/90262342

Hedwig's Choice: If you give a valentines day card to a snowy owl that is 100% attitude, you might not get to chose who she delivers it to. Saying 'The Prettiest girl in Hogwarts' is just opening a can of worms. And Hedwig likes worms. And bacon. And sausages. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13698121/1/Hedwig-s-Choice

Find the Lady. Where Harry Potter leans some practical life skills before Hogwarts... with three cups, a coin and some Street Theater patter. An one-shot made from short scenes between Harry's adventures where he takes a break from being Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived with kung-fu grip, Emerald eyes and mysterious prophecy. Underage substance abuse and an (intermittently) very bad Harry Potter. Maybe the bit in Cursed child where he breaks up two marriages isn't so out of character, if you knew the man behind the myth. This Harry Potter may contain a bit more Crank, Trainspotting and Cursed Child than normal. I blame cousin Dudley, and the book on Street Theater Harry bought aged ten. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13759496/1/Find-The-Lady

When Harry Met Daphne: Harry Potter. Wannabe-auror. Ron Weasley, Wannabe-auror. Hermione Granger, reformer of magical creatures laws. Daphne Greengrass... wants to go shopping and has nothing to do with those three. Character deaths. A detective story... sort of. Weirdly even has a happy ending. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13647450/1/When-Harry-met-Daphne

Yes, Minister:A collection of vignettes set in the double-Tap universe. Like... small shorts. Short shorts, if you will. (The Simpsons did it first) https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13885554/1/Yes-Minister

How badly could this go: There was a challenge about being a self-insert (SI) into Harry Potter, trying to make things better, and accidentally making things worse. "What's the worst that could happen" turns out to be my favorite phrase. It's written in the first person, which will put people off. A SI redo fic with try, die, repeat. https://archiveofourown.org/works/36206152/chapters/90252628

Strangely, not only have I started on a sequel (Old and Tired), there's a sequel to the sequel. (Readers, ask yourself, should you write a sequel when you're not done writing book 2? No.)

Harry Potter meets Death: Lets take the very end of Deathly Hallows and play a game. Bonus points to realize just what Death's game is. Not metaphorically, that's just being death. Harry's going to use his intuition. Yeah. He's gonna get badly injured. Also, a diverging plot complete with a psychopomp and it's voluntary. Chapter nine is kicking my arse. Ten's kinda done.

[astros-turf]

So, just as an aside based on my last post that I probably will delete if it continues to go off the rails... If you think like this:

Then please consider a few things:

People come from a variety of educational backgrounds, and some people (like myself) were never taught *how* to research.

"Common knowledge" to you may not be common knowledge to others.

People who are actively asking for help in finding out *how* things work shouldn't be berated for simply asking questions.

If you don't think where you are seeing a question being asked is the right place, you are free to redirect them to the correct place to ask that question if you know of somewhere better, but insulting people doesn't help people learn.

I will say that again. INSULTING PEOPLE DOES NOT HELP THEM LEARN.

Plenty of very smart people are on tumblr, and while we may all be losers lmao, I have learned a lot of very important things on here from people that enjoy sharing their knowledge and sourcing their information. (Those are the kinda people I was looking for on my post because I am struggling to find them via tumblrs broken AF search lmao)

If the lovely person that commented that thinking I'm some idiot is reading this, my dear, I *have* researched the candidates. Im best friends with vote411.org and progressivevotersguide.com and I do my research and vote according to what I think is best at the time. However, that was not the point of the post.

The point of the post is that I am trying to find out: "is the correct option to vote for still Biden even tho I fucking hate how he's handling shit? What else can I do as a voter to help make the right changes? Is there any more I can do except for just voting for people who have similar values to me when an election comes up? Can I actually trust their campaign or is there a better resource out there?"

Because personally? I was homeschooled by abusive conservative Christians with a heavily bible influenced homeschool curriculum that my parents barely helped me with. I taught myself basically everything I know from researching shit myself and just googling stuff until it works. I still am not very good at math, my concept of sciences are fucked. I can read very well, but the comprehension of certain things still evades me just because I was not given proper building blocks to learn from and have no idea how to find beginner information for so many things.

I have tried many times to research how the presidental election system works, even wrote a 10 page paper on it in high school because I knew I didn't understand it and wanted to devote my time to learning it, but even then it was "corrected" by my parents that *also* don't know how the system works so they basically took whatever my 15 year old self wrote as fact so long as my punctuation was okay. I sorta can grasp it, but in a situation like our current one, what I am curious about is who the hell people like me are going to vote for. Because the way the electoral college works means we basically only have two options, even though on paper we are supposed to have numerous options.

Because my brain feels like there has to be a secret third option that I just don't know about because I'm not googling the right terms because I don't even know what to Google. And replies like the one I screenshot and shared above are EXACTLY the reason why most people don't ask questions. So I will say again,

If you want people to be informed on things you're already informed on, INSULTING PEOPLE DOES NOT MAKE THEM LEARN.

[dodger-chan]

3 Q’s back to you 😊

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

🕯️ ⇢ on a scale from 1 to 10, how much do you enjoy editing? why is that?

🥑 ⇢ you accidentally killed somebody, which mutual(s) do you text for help?

🍓: Well, that sorta depends on how you look at it. Because little tyke me made up elaborate backstories for my Ghostbusters toys (mostly how they died) that in hindsight does count as fanfiction. But the more proper answer is that I got really into Gundam Wing and Fushigi Yuugi in highschool, started reading fic, and immediately came to the conclusion that I must be watching different shows than the fic writers because the characterization was all wrong. So I had to start writing. No choice really.

🕯️: I hate editing for grammar, punctuation, spelling, word omissions, that sort of thing. Because I always miss something. Always. On the other hand, I like to go back over a story once it's mostly done and tweak the wording a bit. Making sure that I'm saying something in the most effective or in character way I can say it. And when it's a fic with actual plot, I like to go back and try to work foreshadowing in. That's the main reason I almost never publish a fic in progress - what if there's a good place early in the story to hint at a twist or demonstrate character growth?

🥑: No offense, but none of you. I'm not going to discuss committing any crimes over text and I'm certainly not admitting to any crimes in text either; those are in-person only conversations and I'm pretty sure all of my mutuals live too far away for that. Hopefully the accidental murder isn't of Darling Spouse, because he's the one I'd want to talk to.

[liinos]

seeing how older people text is really so wild like where is the Emotion... the tone... the humor... the Understanding... what’s the fun in texting like you’re writing a letter? language isn’t real 

[kvnyin]

Strangely, In That Moment. . I Still Felt Cold.

Pairing: Felix X M!Reader

Wording: a lot

Genre: Angst Sorta? I think more sad, v sad i dunno

TW: homophobia, internalized homophobia, slight implications of depression and anxiety

song to go with it cause yea: sad

A/N: This bad boy is LONG LONG but i worked rlly hard on it so pls read it throughly loves! If you know where the title is from I love you <3

ps; I no longer have an editor and I suck at grammar, proper wording and correct punctuation sometimes so please bare with me T__T

-------

“Don’t leave.”

“I’m sorry, we’ll meet again I promise.”

“How can you guarantee that?”

“I can’t.”

-------

You woke up to the sun in your eyes, it stung as you focused on the bright orb shining through the window, snow was falling gently outside, coating your town in a blanket of white. After ruffling your hair around and pulling your disorientated shirt down, you got out of bed with a heavy mind.

That stupid dream came up again.

You stood in the middle of your room, your mind was roaming for answers. Blankly looking out of the snow covered window, you heaved a shaky breathe and got dressed for the day.

----

December 5, 2016

It was a really cold day, it was snowing quite a lot. You buried your face in Felix’s scarf, waiting at the usual spot, the Royal Botanic Garden, couples littered the snowy park.

You rocked back and fourth on your feet, checking your phone periodically waiting for a new message, Felix had asked you to meet him suddenly, you didn’t mind though. Ever since winter break happened you haven’t been out as much, this felt nice.

You stood in the cold for what felt like forever, hugging yourself to keep the warmth from seeping out anymore then it already has, looking down to stare at your redden hands.

‘I should’ve brought gloves’

Mid-way through your thought, you felt something warm against your cheek. Slowly turning around to face whatever it was, a peek of blonde caught your eye.

“Felix where have you been? I feel like I’m going to turn into a popsicle.”

You let out a laugh after seeing his face, a line of hot cocoa resting on his top lip.

“How’s my mustache? Took me a while to grow ya know!”

He cracked a goofy smile, handing you the other cup of hot cocoa. You carefully sipped the sweet liquid, it burned your tongue a little but it did help you warm up a bit.

“Why did you call me out today with no explanation?”

“I wanted to hang out with my cute puppy duh.”

“Felix I’m not a dog, we’ve been over this.”

“Aw come on, you’re too serious for your own good. I called you to come shopping with me!”

“Shopping? Why can’t you just do that by yourself?’

“You’re no fun. Besides you came all this way, might as-well tag along with me!”

You rolled your eyes playfully at Felix, but complied with his little request. The rest of the day went by quicker than you expected, time always seemed to pass by faster whenever you were with Felix, no matter the place, it never felt like enough. 

You guys went to a bunch of stores, bought things, tried clothes on, and made fun of mannequins. Walking out one of the many stores, something had caught Felix’s eye.

“Hey! Look it’s the new ice-cream shop, we need to go in come on!”

“Felix my wallet is crying right now, I can’t-”

“It’s on me!”

He grabbed your hand, and your heart fluttered. He’s done this ever since elementary school but it always manages to make you go wide-eyed while filling your stomach with butterflies. No matter what your face always flared red. Reluctantly following him into the cute ice-cream shop, you could feel your heart beating out of your ears and chest, that your breathing is heavy with a mix of wandering eyes. 

Over the years, you’ve become attached to Felix. He was the one who could touch you and not make you uncomfortable, the one you could laugh your heart out with, the only one you would show your tears to. You would think over the course of more than 10 years, you would’ve told him everything and anything but the fact is, you’ve been hiding one.

It’s difficult to comprehend really, it’s not like you’re ashamed of who you are. No matter how much Felix meant to you, you would never let him decide what kind of person you became. 

Though the reason why you’re scared of what’s inside your heart is because it’s forbidden. 

We’ve all been taught, or have heard from someone at some place, that loving the same gender as your own is nothing but trouble and disgusting.

That no matter how much you connect with a person, no matter how much you pour sunflowers into their heart, society will never fully accept you as one.

And that’s scary.

Felix never really spoke about anything relating to the LGBTQ+ community, and if you guys had happen to walk past a gay couple all he would do is look ahead, his expression still the same, as-well as his body language; swift and gentle; content.

Though it was a different story when it came to speaking on the topic, you’ve tried to confess to him, drops hints and even went as far as telling his mom. Though before you could finish your confessions the moment Felix heard the word “homosexuality” he would tense at his shoulders, look away in irritation and tell you were being insensitive for bringing it up when it wasn’t your place to. 

You shook your head slightly to get rid of the bad thoughts. You were out right now with Felix, you shouldn’t be thinking this way during such a good time. Peeking at Felix, he was grinning ear to ear with little worry in his eyes and beaming with so much light you couldn’t help but let your heart pound loudly.

You have to tell him, one way or another. 

“What flavor are you getting? I was planning on getting-”

“Mm, Chocolate.”

You both muttered at the same time.

“You read my mind! Oh my god. . . are you a wizard?”

“Felix, we’ve been friends for more than 10 years. We’ve also have gotten the same ice-cream flavor for more than 10 years.”

“It doesn’t hurt to be surprised!”

You both laughed at each other’s comment and proceeded to find a seat. Eventually Felix laid his eye’s on a little booth by the window, with your hand still interlocked with his.

 It was crowded and busy, so of course two boys holding hands caused unwanted attention.

You could see Felix tense at the stares, he quickly let go of your hand and shoved his hand into his hoodie pocket. You felt your heart sink by the lost of contact but still acted as if it didn’t bother you, you had to or else nasty comments would start flooding in if you didn’t.

Sitting down, the tension was gone. By the time you turned to look at Felix, the guy already downed three spoonfuls of his ice-cream, of course you laughed at him while he gave you the 'lost puppy' look.

Then, he cracked the prettiest smile, his eye’s locked with yours.

God if he wasn’t pretty enough, he was even prettier with his golden brown eye’s glowing from the sunlight, his freckles littering his face like the stars alined and that flushed pink blush spreading across his nose. 

Without thinking, you leaned in. Your mind was so clouded you didn’t hear Felix screaming at you, not until you felt two hands grasp at your shoulders tightly. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

You sobered up quite quickly after seeing Felix’s face.

He’s never cussed at you before.

And he’s never had such a disgusting look on his face.

Shocked turned into anger in a matter of seconds, you roughly shook off Felix’s hands. 

“What am I doing? What the fuck am I doing? I like you. God fucking damnit I like you! Never once have you ever considered that have you? I feel like an idiot liking you because you’re all about this ‘we’re only friends’ bullshit!”

Felix immediately back-offed of you, his expression was sunken and grim. 

By the time you were done yelling, the whole shop was looking at the both of you, whispers filled the air.

“They’re gay?”

“Oh my god are they dating?”

“What a disappointment.”

“I hope my son never turns out that way, disgusting young boys they are.”

Your eye’s started wandering, scanning the shop. Every eye was on you, and every single word was aimed at you, panic started to set in.

You were so focused on the stares that you hadn’t noticed Felix running out of the shop until you turned your gaze back to him and he was gone.

You sprinted out of the shop, searching every-where for Felix. You ran as fast as you could, tripping over your shoes and every little rock, calling out his name repeatedly over and over again.

You never found him in the span of the hour you searched.

It was already dark out by the time you stopped running, your legs were sore and bruised. You knew he went home, but you hoped he would appear in-front of you, telling you that it was alright to feel like you did, but of course he didn’t.

You fell to your knees in the empty park, snow was falling down on top of your head and shoulders. 

You never cried whenever inconveniences happened, and god forbid you to cry in a public area.

You can’t recount the last time you cried, was it weeks ago? Months ago?

It didn’t matter when because you could feel warm tears running down your face. Tears turned into sobs, your hiccups echoed around the park, at that moment you didn’t care if people heard you. 

The only thing racing through your mind was Felix, if you had known he would react this way you would’ve never uttered a single word.

You ripped off the scarf, looking down at it with tears in your eyes. 

And that’s all you did for hours, on the ground in the bitter cold while snow gently fell onto you.

Holding onto Felix’s scarf, you finally mustered the courage to face the world again and trudged home.

It wasn’t a surprise when you fell ill, it wasn’t a huge shock either that Felix hadn’t talked to you. You didn’t have the energy to message him, and if he had messaged you, you didn’t have the guts to admit that you lost him just yet. 

You were bed ridden for a week, and not once did Felix come check up on you, not once did he call to ask how you were. To say the least your mother was concerned when Felix didn’t come over to take care of you like he always would.

“Where is he? He usually would be bickering with me about what to cook you!”

Your mother let out a light-hearted laugh, while you pursed your lips. You hadn’t told your mother what had happened that night, Felix was like her second son and if she had known she would never see him again you didn’t know how she would react.

Ironic enough, his house was next door. Thus explaining where your guy’s relationship stood after the incident.

“I don’t know, he’s probably just busy.”

“That boy is wrapped around your finger! You know he would drop everything for you in an instant if he knew you were sick dear. I vividly remember-”

“Can we not talk about this right now please?”

Her smile slightly drooped.

“Honey, listen. Felix won’t be around for much longer. He’s actually mo-”

“Mom, please.”

She gave you a look of worry. You were quite stubborn when it came to topics you didn’t like talking about, nonetheless she respected your decision.

It was no secret to her that you liked Felix. She’s known about your attraction to guys ever since you entered middle school, but never once did she judge you for it or shamed you for being the way you were.

You were one of the lucky few that had supportive parents, who still looked and smiled at you the same. You played with a stray string on your sweater, your mind was blank yet racing at the same time.

Tired of sulking and being inside, you put on some tennis shoes and made your way outside. There was a van parked in-front of Felix’s house, boxes littered the nearby ground while his father was talking to the driver.

You thought it was odd.

‘He’s going on vacation this late into the break? Why are they bringing so much stuff along if there’s only a week left?’

Felix’s father spotted you and waved, motioning you to come over to him. You reluctantly made your way over, politely bowing to avoid verbally saying your greeting.

“Hey! We haven’t heard from you the past the week, are you alright?”

“I was sick due to being in the cold for too long.”

He made the typical ‘why would you something like that’ dad head shake. 

“That doesn’t sound like you at all, Felix didn’t tell us anything that lame brat. I’m glad you recovered well!”

You bitterly smiled at the old man.

‘So this is really it. It’s over. We’re over.’

“Ah! You must be curious to why we have so many boxes right?”

You nodded.

“Man that brat! Well, to answer your question son, we’re currently finishing up packing our things for the move. Felix got accepted into some music program and it requires us to move across the globe, to be honest with you it was last minute and not well planned out but that’s just life.”

You froze in place, you blankly stared at him. You were waiting for an upcoming joke but it never came.

“Did he really not tell you? I swear that guy-”

“Where is he right now?”

You were frantic and in a state of panic.

“Oh, he’s in his room polishing up anything he-”

You didn’t let him finish, sprinting into Felix’s house running up the stairs, you could feel hot tears pooling in your eyes, your lungs burned. You turned the corner and there was Felix, stacking his boxes and luggage with a sorrowful look on his face.

You stood in the blue hallway. 

The hallway that you played in with Felix when you were 7, where you would make paper crowns for him while he would pretend to bake you brownies with brown play-doh.

The hallway you cried in when Felix fell ill with a fever and couldn’t play with you when you were 10.

The same god damn hallway where you fell in love with him when he sang to you on the night you lost your pet dog. He sang so sweetly and soft while the moon shined on him. You truly believed he was some sort of angel that you were destined to meet, an angel whom came to rescue you from anything harmful.

Tears were pouring out the more you thought about the memories you had made with him.

You wouldn’t be able to eat his mom’s cooking anymore. 

You could no longer come over after school to bake sweets in the kitchen, lie on the couch watching cartoons while Felix acted out the moves, run your fingers over his freckles while he slept soundly on your legs, and you could no longer hear him whisper sweet nothings into your ear while he held you close.

You let your emotions take over, angrily stomping to his door.

Felix looked up in surprise, dropping the small cardboard box in his hands.

“What are you doing here-”

“Why did you invite me out that day?”

“Why are you asking me that now?”

“Answer me.”

You pursued your lips while wiping away your tears.

“I just missed you is all-”

“You knew you were moving that week didn’t you.”

He looked down with guilt.

“I couldn’t bring myself to tell you, you just seemed so happy in that moment and I didn’t want to ruin that.”

You scoffed at the blonde, clenching both of your hands.

“So you thought it was a good idea to take me out when your parents were at home packing to travel across the fucking world while I was left to believe I would see you again after break?”

Felix stayed silent, he had no excuse to why he didn’t tell you sooner.

“You don’t care about my feelings Felix. You always do things your way, not once did you ever consider how it would make me feel.”

“I don’t care? For years I was the one who had to sit through all of your sobs storys about all of these stupid guys who treated you like shit, I was the one who ran on my own two fucking feet from our school to this random guy’s house because you were crying. I was the one who missed out on the biggest music event to come take care of you when your shit ex wouldn’t, and you have the audacity to tell me I don’t care?” 

“What the hell does that have to do with any of this Felix.”

He looked at you with anger, his fist was balled up to the point his knuckles turned white. He looked away in frustration before heaving a heavy breathe, he sharply turned back to you.

“I’ve liked you ever since we were kids.”

You stood there awestruck.

“What did you just say?”

Felix was practically steaming at this point, his eyes dead set on yours.

“I’ve liked you ever since were kids. How could I not? We were such a good pair together, one thing lead to another and I just caught feelings alright.”

“You’re lying. You’re only saying all of this because you have a guilty conscious.”

It was like you blinked and you were suddenly in Felix’s arms, his chest was pounding loudly and his breathe was wavering. You tried breaking away but he just wouldn’t budge, you looked up at him and did your heart break.

There he was, embracing you like it was the end of the world while tears rolled down his face. You could tell then he was being sincere with his words, but it still didn’t explain anything. You hugged him back and took in his scent, he smelled of tangerine and mint, your favorite scent in the world.

“I can tell you’re being truthful but it still doesn’t explain why you acted the way you did that day if all of what you’re saying is true.”

You guys maintained eye contact until you asked him that, his gaze slowly shifted to the side and he looked almost guilty. His arms turned loose around you, you broke away from him and just stood there patiently for an answer.

“I’m a guy, and you are too.”

“So? What’s wrong with two guys dating?”

Felix turned to you suddenly, his angry expression reappearing.

“Everything about it is wrong. The world was created so guys would be with girls, it’s morally wrong to even think about you in any other way than a brother.”

You didn’t understand where this was all coming from, love is love?

“Felix what are you trying to say?”

He took a deep breathe.

“You’re fucking disgusting for liking guys and I feel sick to even be thinking about you this way.”

Your ears started to ring, and without a second thought you bolted out of his room. Slamming in between the railing and wall, you clumsily ran down the stairs, his father gave you a strange look and called something out to you, but you were too panicked to even register what he said.

‘He hates me. He thinks i’m disgusting, Felix out of all people thinks i’m disgusting.’

You wiped away the tears with your sleeves, but they just continued to roll down your face. You barged through the front door of your house and headed straight to your room, you slammed the wooden door shut and dropped to your knees hyperventilating.

The one person that you loved, the one you shared many memories and laughs with thinks you’re disgusting. You let out screams that you never thought was possible. Memories kept running through your head and it began to throb painfully.

It was a blur from there, you don’t remember much but another week had passed and still no answer.

One early morning, unbeknownst to you, it was the day Felix was leaving. You woke up late that night, your mom gently knocked on your door with a sad smile.

“Hi there sleepyhead, I’m guessing the goodbye made you sleepy.”

You looked at her confused.

“What goodbye?”

She looked at you and her face dropped.

“Oh honey..”

“What is it? Why do you look so concerned?”

She shook her head gently.

“Felix left not too long ago to catch his flight, I thought you happened to meet him before he left.”

Your eyes widened, you rushed to get out of bed, ran pass your mom and out of your house bare-footed. The cold snow stung at your feet but you didn’t care, you stopped in-front of his house. Your breathe heavy, all of the lights were out and the only thing left was the emptiness of it. You let out a shaky breathe before softly speaking.

“You’re not gone, you wouldn’t leave me like that. I know you wouldn’t.”

Tears started to form again, even though you said it, you weren’t so sure yourself. No one answered back for a while, you don’t know how long you stood there, but it was like time froze and all you could do was move your eyes.

“What are you doing here this late, aren’t you cold? Why are you bare-footed?”

That voice. You whipped your head to the person, and there Felix stood with a concerned look on his face. You didn’t think, you just ran to him and hugged him tight like he was going to disappear any minute.

“My mom’s lying right? You’re not really leaving, if you were you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Felix’s scent scorched at your nose, and it made you cry even harder.

He patted your head, and gave your snow-covered hair a kiss, a sigh leaving his lips.

“My parents are currently parked a couple streets down, we forgot some documents to finalize selling the house. After I pick them up, we’re heading straight to the airport. There’s nothing else I can say but I’m sorry.”

You shrunk, and your legs gave out.

“You’re lying. You’re not moving, not after everything we’ve been through. We made a promise remember? Till death do us part, come on Felix I know you wouldn’t abandon me like this.”

It was silent for a while, or a few seconds. Maybe it felt like a while because you knew no matter what you said, time wouldn’t reverse and you were stuck in the present.

Why do good things always end?

His phone started ringing, he picked it up and his facial expression turned grim.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have much time left.”

You tried one final time.

“Don’t leave.”

“I’m sorry, we’ll meet again I promise.”

“How can you guarantee that?”

“I can’t.”

He squeezed you tight against him, brushing your bangs out of your face and planted a kiss on your temple before letting you go, and running into his house, he waved one last time before disappearing into the dark house.

You couldn’t bear to see him leave, so you trudged home. There were no more tears to be shed, you aimlessly walked back into your house and sat on the sofa.

You started to shiver, the cold was finally biting at your skin harshly. Your eyelids felt heavy, after awhile you were soundly asleep. There was a gentle knock at the door, your mother quietly went to open it and there stood Felix holding a pink box.

“He ran away before I could give it to him, do you think you could deliver this to him in the morning?”

He let out a small chuckle and handed your mother the small box before his eyes landed on you fast asleep on the sofa.

“Of course. He’s really going to miss you Felix.”

His chuckle subsided and a sad smile appeared.

“And I’m going to miss him just as much.”

Your mother gave him a pat on his shoulder, tears of her own forming.

“Do you mind if I carry him to bed? He wasn’t wearing any shoes when we met earlier and I’m afraid he might catch a cold again.”

“Oh please do, you know I wouldn’t be able to lift him even if I tried, I’ll go put the box in my room for the time being.”

Felix slowly walked towards you, afraid to wake you from your slumber. Swiftly picking you up without any trouble, he purposely took slow steps so the remaining time he had left with you would last a bit longer.

Disappointedly enough, he was placing you down in your bed in no time.

He kneeled by your bed, examining your face one last time.

“I love you, till we meet again.”

Unknown to him, your mother was well on her way upstairs to give him a parting gift when she saw it.

As she stood by your doorframe silently.

Felix leaned down and gave you a tender kiss.

She darted down the stairs before he caught her, a smile arising on her face.

—

You don’t remember how you got into bed but the next morning, your mother came in with a box. She knew you weren’t in the best mood, so she placed it on the end of your bed.

After a bit, you eventually sat up and spotted the pink box.

With all the strength you had left you stretched forward, grabbed the box and placed it onto your lap. There was a letter, and a stuffed animal, carefully picking up the letter, you opened it and bursted out in tears once more.

“Hey there, I honestly don’t know why I’m writing this, but I can’t leave without telling you. I’m a coward for not being able to say this to you last night when you were with me, but by writing it I hope to get my message across. I’ve been in love with you since we were little kids.

Never once did I have a bad time with you, you were always the star that I aimlessly kept trying to catch when in reality I should’ve realized you were already mine.

At first, I denied that I liked you more than a friend. How could I, a male, love another male romantically? It felt morally wrong, and even now it still does. As time progressed, I slowly started to accept that I saw you more than just my best-friend, I wanted to hold you more intimately and I constantly catched myself staring at your lips. The feeling was foreign and scary, but I knew you liked me back, I’ve known about your feelings these past years but I was ignorant and ignored them for my own sake.

I love you. I hope one day when we meet again, I’ll be able to say it with my chest proudly instead of writing it on this paper. I promise to be a better man when we cross paths again, whether it’s in this lifetime or the next, I’ll finally accept who I am and we’ll be able to be happy together, but for now, this is as much as I can give to you.

I had this bear handmade especially just for you, it has one of my bracelet charms on it. Make sure to not lose it, and to take care good care of the bear. When you get lonely and miss me, I hope you can confide in it about your worries and doubts while I’m gone. I was going to give you this when I went into my house but you were gone once I came out, I hugged it once last time. So when you hold it, it’s like you’ll be holding me.

Funny enough.

As I held the warm bear in my arms.

Strangely, in that moment. . I still felt cold.”

[galpalaven]

i saw art of thane and shepard meeting at the sea or whatever but now im just like. what if that’s how the afterlife is for everyone in mass effect

Sun Shepard’s mother, Hana, has been on that shore for years, but one day a new figure washes up on shore. it’s familiar, even in its stupid capri khakis and white button up and she doesn’t know how long she sits there, switching between laughing and crying as she waits for her love to wake--time stops in the afterlife, and that makes it hard to tell

Hana’s face is the first face Li Shepard sees in the afterlife, haloed by stars and blue skies, just as warm and alive as he remembers. After the years of horror and torture he suffered at the hands of Cerberus--becoming all but a husk who they tried to sic on his daughter (but he fought, he fought--he would not kill her)

but there is no pain here--only soft white sands as far as the eye can see and the gentle whisper of the tide.

“Come,” his wife says, rising to her feet and pulling him up with her. “There’s a salarian that showed up here a bit ago who says he knows our daughter very well.” sliding her hand into his, she smiles and says, “and just wait until you see the buffet.”

[gagmebucky]

hiiii i wrote this awhile ago but took it down because i was 👉🏼👈🏼 embarrassed about it (because i do not have the skill to pull off peter parker) and sorta still am but everyone’s been so nice to me about it i thought the best way to repay the kindness by posting it for those who did like it 😅 (originally inspired by spider man 2 with andrew garfield but loosely set in the 2018 issue of the amazing spider-man.)

in which the guys are making fun of peter and accidentally see a video of him fucking you. (includes avenger!peter x girlfriend!you, peter’s pov, voyeur!steve and voyeur!bucky, a sex tape featuring d/s dynamics, bondage, praise kink, exhibitionism, unprotected sex.) 

do not repost.

—

Despite being twenty-one years old; a proper adult who lives with his high school sweetheart, a photographer doubling as a seven-year veteran vigilante in the dangers of New York, Peter Parker is still considered as a super-powered amateur to his seasoned peers. 

Nonetheless, given his success in countless battles in the state, country, world and even galaxy-wide, he more than qualifies to hold the title of Avenger; it’s official now. A laid-back induction ceremony and his very own identity card: a sturdy rectangle, shiny with full clearance and all. Yet, as an official member, his teammates still treat him like he’s that same goofy, out-of-his-depths sixteen year old.

To be fair, yes, his style of heroism isn’t the most serious. He favors levity in the face of danger, a cheeky flare with smart quips and an infuriating grin. Even after taking a beating from the worst of foes, his demeanor never wavers because in the end, he wins. The villains are slayed and the people are saved, even comforted by the boyishly confident way he works. 

But beyond that persona, he has grown into a skilled warrior. On that note, he wants to be regarded as such—at least, to a certain extent. The jokes and teasing, poking fun at his age or the shenanigans he gets himself into, don’t bother him. No, his playful wit handles it with relative ease, and he’s a good sport about it. The only thing that he’d want to see change is some recognition that he isn’t a naïve kid anymore and is fully capable of taking charge when needed.

With his recent acceptance into the gifted pantheon, he’s intent on making that known. The jesting can continue but he wants it to be with an understanding of his capabilities. Luckily, a perfect opportunity has presented itself to showcase his abilities: a training session. 

He’s late. And yes, he knows that’s probably not a good impression to make.

In his own defense, it isn’t technically his fault. He forgot that you, his personal alarm clock (amongst other things), left early this morning because you volunteered to help his aunt move. Four years of mornings and nights, he’s gotten used to—and prefers—your languorous wake-up call.

Without your reminder, he regains consciousness fifteen minutes after the scheduled time and ends up scrambling to the compound. In a flurry, he throws on his suit—unknowingly backwards, he realizes later—trips at least three times over his own footing before he finally springs out of the balcony with webbed bursts.

When he reaches his destination, Captain America and the Winter Soldier are unimpressed; mid-simulation, it powers down. Both super-soldiers whirl around to face him, fixing raised eyebrows at his disheveled arrival.

He adjusts his now front-facing suit and shuffles forward into the space with as much confidence as an interrupter can have. “H - hey, guys,” Peter greets sheepishly and manages what he hopes is a charming smile, absentmindedly fidgeting with his phone. “Lookin’ good for a couple of geezers.” 

Unfortunately, Steve Rogers is not charmed or disillusioned from the tardiness. “You’re late, Parker.” His arms fold, and he shakes his head when punctuating his disapproval with an echoing, “Again.” 

Thankfully, to his right, more relaxed and cool, Bucky Barnes steps up. “C’mon, Stevie. Y’can’t be that surprised,” he chimes in matter of factly, contrasting against his friend with amusement sparkling in his blue eyes. “What’d you expect with Parker?” He gestures at the younger superhero. “Kid’s gonna be late to his own wedding.”

(Beside the point, but worth noting, he will not be late to meeting you at the altar. That is, of course, if you accept when he pops the question. Which is going to happen relatively soon, considering he has the ring in his nightstand drawer.)

The consult seems to relax him. “Yeah, I guess you’re right and—Peter, you—seriously, man?!” Steve sputters the last bit when he glanced over to see him blatantly check the notification that’s vibrated in his hand (on the device that is ruled to be stowed away during training). “Now the phone?!” 

Even though he shouldn’t, being on thin ice with Cap and all (pun not intended), Peter’s gaze flickers down to see your contact name appear on the screen, and he can’t resist. While Bucky guffaws a laugh at his audacity, he’s swiping up to pull up your text thread. 

> you 😛❤️🥰, 10:37AM: spider boyyyyy you’ll never guess what i found in a box labeled ‘peter’s junk’ ;;;)

peter, 10:37AM: those magazines are NOT mine and i don’t know how they got there.

> you 😛❤️🥰, 10:38AM: not quite but close, naughty boy

> you 😛❤️🥰, 10:38AM: for a man who depends on keeping secrets and a penchant for home movies, you might ought to keep a lock on your phone unless you want someone to see me like this...

> you 😛❤️🥰, 10:38AM: (video attached)

Immediately, he recognizes the pornographic thumbnail. One glance, and he’s remembering the first couple of times you guys explored the exhibitionism side of things. It was at the end of his freshman year of college and taped on a phone he thought he had lost. But he must've forgotten it at his aunt’s house, and she tossed it in the box until you came along. 

Although there’s been plenty more made, he recalls that one being a shared favorite, his especially. When long-distance duty calls, it was his go-to media. The angles, your face and body beneath the lights, the sounds it caught, you once asked if he considered switching to cinematography instead of photographer

Subconsciously, his teeth run over his bottom lip, feeling that blazing spark of desire igniting in the pit of his gut, partially at the memory and partially at what’ll happen once you guys can re-watch it together; his thumbs start typing away with that message.

“Peter!” Steve’s exasperated voice snaps, but to no avail—the real gall of the youngster, or the effect of you. His weight shifts toward his best friend, and he nudges him with his elbow. “Kids these days!” The hundred-something year old’s gaze cocks a brow back over. “Is that why you were late? Blowing off training to text your girlfriend?”

The text delivers with an audible bloop. Finally, his concentration gives, and he can look up, though his expression is clueless from the last minute. “Huh?” His brain registers what he missed, and he winces. “Sorry, Cap. My bad.”

Bucky chuckles. “Give him a break, Steve,” he faux comes to his defense, a teasing quality underlying his tone. “He’s young and in love. It’s not his fault he’s pussy-whipped.” He cracks him an antagonizing grin as Peter rolls his eyes. “He can’t go an hour without sending those little weird pictures with heart eyes, or she might not know he’s thinking about her.”

“As if you know anything about romance, old man,” he fires back and presses past them with squared shoulders, correcting him quite seriously: “And they’re called emojis, by the way. But that’s not what I was doing, if you want to know so bad.”

The brunette tilts his head thoughtfully, and small hackles arise for reasons he doesn’t understand, or pay attention to. “You know, I do want to know really badly,” Bucky decides and poses a question to his left, “Wouldn’t you, too, Steve? Aren’t you curious what his girlfriend sent that was so much more important than training?”

The blond mimics his actions and clicks his tongue. “Yeah, I am.” 

Peter’s eyebrows pinch while his skin tingles and the hair on the back of his neck stands straight up. “What—” Before his senses process it, one of the super-soldiers plucks his phone out of his hands and darts back beside his best friend. His jaw drops as he tries to follow after him. “Bucky, you asshole—”

“Some spidey senses, huh?” The Winter Soldier lifts it high over his head, utilizing his six-foot stature against his five-ten like elementary school bullies do and older siblings to their juniors. “Haven’t ‘cha heard about sharing with the class?” He laughs and practically stiff-arms him to squint up at the screen. “Aw, he can’t wait to see her. What’s it been, more than two hours since you two saw each other last?” 

Conceding to the height difference, Peter stops his physical efforts and diverts it to someone reasonable. “Cap, you gonna help me out here?” he addresses the entertained onlooker in the most friendly voice he can manage. 

“The kid’s got separate anxiety not just from his girlfriend but phone too, Buck,” Steve drawls with a lopsided curve of his lips. He side-steps Peter to stand next to Bucky, and for a second, he thinks he’s on his side despite the tease, but he simply adds a stern, “So be careful. You don’t want to break it, or Parker will have a fit.”

Peter crosses his arms and scowls. “Ha, ha,” he retorts dryly, only somewhat amused by their banter. He tilts his head up at them, and the duo look thoroughly pleased with themselves. “You know, you guys are kind of dicks.”

“No, we’re your mentors, kid,” Steve corrects with a wink and rests his arm on his friend’s shoulder. “This is a lesson. No phones—” He jabs his thumb back in reference to the device’s unlocked screen: “—when you’re supposed to be training.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky chimes in upon glancing up from his phone. “And a little advice, women don’t like clinginess. Try being a little more stern and see how that works for you. If you’re able to manage that. But I won’t hold it against ya if you can’t.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter patronizes with a bob of his head, biting back a response pointing out the hundred-something year old’s inexperience. Instead, he focuses on the electronic readily loaded up with some private content. With that, he decides to do the rational and mature thing and ask nicely. “Noted. So, uh, can I have my phone back now?” 

To his shock, Bucky merely flashes a smirk and his thumb scrolls half-heartedly over the thread. Thereafter, he leans toward Steve and raises his cell for him to see. “Oh, look, it’s a video,” he teases. “What could Y/N send that would take priority of training?” 

There’s an unspoken let’s see then a metal finger taps the play button. Before Peter can think, much less react, Captain American and the Winter Soldier are watching how he effortlessly renders his pretty little girlfriend into a cute nonsensical yet eager mess— 

In his point-of-view shot, the ratio holds in portrait view in a bid to capture every bit of you. Above you, the camera focuses on you and your beautifully debauched state beneath warm lighting where it’s unalienable that the camera was made for you. 

Your eyes are dilated brightly, desperate with desire as your lashes flutter up at him. A sheen coats your features and glistens like glitter at the highest points of your face while the shape of your face is framed by your stretched arms. 

Your wrists are bound over your head, splotched with expertly sprayed strong, white webs. The mesh sticks them together in a criss-cross, comfortable but nearly impossible to break out of, fixed in place atop his headboard. The tautness tugs a mild strain on your figure so your breasts are jutting out like an offering, and it’s obvious he’s taken advantage of it. Darkened marks adorn your glowing complexion, peppered across your décolletage with imprints of his teeth; including your nipples, sucked swollen and tender. 

The angle trails down until it reveals the sight of him mercilessly pounding inside of you. His better-than-average girth is sliding in and out of your tight channel; slicked in shared translucent essence, creaming around the base, your inner walls visibly clinging to his cock with every backward stroke. His hand splays on your mound, using his thumb to abuse your engorged clit. He easily keeps the sensitive nub pinned under his control despite your wildly twisting hips. 

Like the display, the soundtrack is equally obscene. Loud, your stuffed depths gush and squelch as skin slaps rhythmically. Your breathy, wanton moans overshadow both, drawn out whimpers, almost nonsensical other than the syllable of his name. A melody of neediness, you sound so fucking pretty, (depraved, like a whore, you once told him during your little film marathon with a sly smile), and for him specifically.

The frame pans upward and confirms you look just as good. A perfect mess, unhinged by the skilled ministrations of your boyfriend. Passion beads on your forehead like reflections off of a diamond. Panting, your lips are plumped from kissing parted with mewls of pleasure. 

“P - please—I need to—can I - I please—” You’re begging like the sweet little thing you are, incoherent babbling the result of his excessive edging. Of course, you know better than to give into the sensations ravaging you; instead you ignore your visceral desire and ask him for your release. “Peter, please!” 

A deep chuckle vibrates behind the camera as his big hand slides into view, trailing over your jiggling tits to the slope of your throat. “Maybe,” he says breathily and grasps the line of your jaw between his fingers. “Open your mouth first, babe.” 

No more preamble necessary, you follow his direction, your pink tongue flat over your Cupid’s bow. Immediately, a long string of his saliva drips into view and onto your taste buds; the vulgar act is accepted with a swallow and a quivering moan of, “T - thank you.” 

“Good girl,” he praises huskily, and the voiced approval has you visibly shivering. “Alright, then, pretty girl. Make it good for me, and c’mon—”

Before your otherworldly reckoning washes over you and his teammates can watch your bliss immortalized in film, Peter snatches his property back. 

Not much force is necessary as Bucky’s grip has been stunned loose. A dark expression permeates on young hero’s face but not because of embarrassment; if he was still nineteen or eighteen, he would’ve been mortified that his titular superiors caught a depraved glimpse of his sex life, on both his and your behalf. Rather than, there’s just a flit of annoyance when he folds his arms.

“Shit,” Bucky is the first to speak, exhaling the swear raggedly. His blue pupils have widened in obvious attraction, dilated dark, blinking rapidly as if it’ll help calm him down from the clip of you, his innocent seeming girlfriend, all ruined and begging. “Parker, fuck, I - I didn’t know you got down like that.” 

There’s a swell in his chest, pride beating steadily while he remains reticent-faced. He prefers you keep your bedroom activities secluded there. Yeah, he likes to be in control and you like to be controlled but it’s only in a sexual nature. Yet, their reactions—stunned, embarrassed and viscerally affected—surges smug satisfaction he’s never known before through his veins. 

Even the prestigious Captain America is bothered, though he may try to hide it. He clears his throat, a flustered pink coloring his cheeks. “Peter, uh,” he says, barely maintaining the confidence to look him in the eye after witnessing his girlfriend like that. “We - we shouldn’t have invaded your privacy like that.” 

“Uh-huh,” is Peter’s response, a hint of a smirk curling on one side of his lips. “Why don’t you guys call me after you’re finished with your cold showers, and we can actually train. Until then, I’m gonna go to my girl who’s more than eager to handle mine.” He pauses. “Maybe if you guys ask nice enough, I might let her show you how well I’ve trained her.”

[hgsn-moved]

you know the way i talk in these posts I'm not sure if I can blame randoms for thinking I'm some sorta evil kinnie. like sorry for using proper punctuation and formal wording I just contain multitudes

[spookyspaghettisundae]

The Best Way for a Spy

A bright flash of lightning streaked across the sky. A thunderclap and a baritone bout of rumbling followed on its heels. The smell of rain crept through the air.

Alone on the muddy road wandered a figure of androgynous shape, robed in fancy attire, in all manners of bright red and deep black and gleaming gold. A porcelain mask of beauteous shape concealed their face. And they stopped. Stared skyward. Pondered.

Evening neared and the cloudy sky had stolen away the sun, bathing the idyllic countryside in a gloomy twilight, a fittingly bleak azure to accompany the chill in the air. A lonesome inn stood by the roadside. Warm and orange lights from the inviting hearth inside lured the masked figure.

The best way for a spy to stay hidden was to hide in plain sight. So spake their mentor. Thus, they always stayed on the road to deliver important messages. For spies who slinked across the rolling hillocks tended to get confronted and questioned more thoroughly by the knights-errant and the militiamen and the inquisitors. The spies and thieves who dressed in muted colors; those who dared to look inconspicuous, they always drew the most attention.

Hence the colorful jester's attire. The fancy mask, unsettling and like to draw questions, but also a face easily replaced.

First drops of rain bounced off the porcelain and turned the garb a shade darker wherever they landed, soaked up by the fabric.

A soft sigh escaped the thin line where the mask's mouth allowed its wearer to breathe, and the spy set into motion. They approached the inn's entrance.

The Boot of the Cockfosters, read the letters on the sign outside the inn. The colors painting the rooster dancing on a treasure chest had faded years ago. The iron rings from which the board hung now squeaked as the signpost swayed in the wind.

The spy, now going by the name of Gladstone—or Rain 'o Blades, or just "Rain", as people in the savvy of their trade referred to them—pushed inside. The wood of the door and the floorboards creaked. They stopped just beyond the threshold, just outside the weather's reach.

The heads of three people turned. Three men sitting at a table by the fireplace, huddled over tankards of ale. They stared. Studied the eerily serene porcelain mask, the garish garb. Did not notice the many knives strapped to Rain's body in different spots, concealed by frivolously fancy layers of cloth.

The men's eyes only ever rested on the darkness of the eyeholes of the mask, and on the short dirk sheathed at the spy's side.

"Who are you?" asked one of the men at the table. A local, given the ring of his accent.

Rain shook their head. Slowly. Tired.

The men still stared.

"Here for a room for the night?"

Rain nodded. Firm and resolute.

"Come, sit with us. My price for boarding is fair, and fairer yet if you share a drink at my table."

"And good news," said the next. "So few guests here this season that you need not share a bed. Unless you want."

Raucous guffaws exploded out from the three men's throats.

Rain approached their table. Crept with strange grace. Some of the beads and gilded rings on the spy's dress jingled.

Always jingled when Rain wanted to be heard. And stayed silent when they snuck.

The keen ear that seeks the sound always misses the silence, so spake the master. The best way for a spy to sneak was to be noticed whenever they wanted one to notice them, so less attention was paid when they wanted one to not notice.

The men watched Rain's approach with a strange glint in their eyes. A lopsided smirk here, carrying a smug sense of superiority; a leering, lustful gaze there, seeking for a feminine form hidden underneath the jester's cloth.

"You some sorta artist? A dancer mayhap?" asked another one of the men.

"Looks like you lost your carnival, eh?" asked another.

More guffaws from the round.

While rain loudly poured from the clouds, drenching the countryside, Rain stayed silent. Stopped midway across the room. Bowed deeply, flowing like water. The fabric rustled; the jewelry jingled. They flowed from bowing into crossing slender arms before their center, and spinning around in a series of elegant pirouettes, excess cloth flapping and twirling colorfully as Rain finished the series of dancing moves with a dazzling somersault.

The rings jingled one last time as they landed in a striking pose, one hand pointed at the men, splaying all fingers to punctuate the performance.

Another rumble of thunder ripped through the heavens outside the inn. Another flash of lightning lit up the windows. Then Rain bowed again.

The three men chuckled nervously. That made way to clapping and cheering in welcome response to the spy's impressive display.

One slapped the table and waved Rain over to sit with them, and the spy took the last steps. Only trained eyes would notice how easily and deftly they pulled out a chair and slid onto its hardwood seat without a sound.

The grin faded from the innkeeper's face. He leaned over the table, grabbed his tankard, and raised it between them.

"Good show, good show. But in these whereabouts, it's not proper polite to wear hoods and hats 'n masks in the presence of your fellow countrymen, jester."

Rain nodded. Slowly.

A hand gloved in black and silver finery crept to the mask. Into the hood. A latch and buckle clicked, thin fingers clutched the faceguard and removed it.

A lock of curly black hair flopped down before a narrow forehead, a set of piercing amber eyes, and the angular features of a long and symmetrical face devoid of facial hair. Rain's thin lips twitched, suppressing a smile in response to seeing the faces of two of the men fall—having expected to see a woman's face revealed behind the mask, now uncertain over what they beheld. The third was intrigued.

This range of reactions—it always amused Rain.

"Come, drink," said the innkeeper. His face beamed less with enthusiasm and more with curiosity as he turned.

Slapped the table again, causing the plate with the candle and a knife on it to clatter.

He shouted over his shoulder.

"Woman! We have a new guest for the night! More ale!"

Soon waddled from another room a woman dressed like a maid, muted earthen colors as her garb and skin flushed red from the heat of the kitchen.

Her eyes lingered for too long on Rain, searching the jester's figure for defining form and drinking in the sharp features of their face. The innkeeper noticed the awkward pause, and the spy felt his burning glare as it rested upon them.

"Give this good man his drink and get on with it," snarled the innkeeper.

Rain bothered not to correct him. Rain never did.

The woman fumbled with the fourth tankard of ale and placed it in front of Rain, some of its contents sloshing over the edge and splashing the tabletop, and not once did she break eye contact with the mysterious jester-dressed spy.

She had a strange air about her. The spy struggled sometimes to read overly subtle expressions, and the long road and the longer day had been too long for them to dwell on whatever they could have read in her face. Sorrow, perhaps. Despair, possibly.

Rain's lips twitched again, this time forming a timid smile. They nodded. The innkeeper's wife eked out a crooked smile of her own—genuine, warm, but feeble.

"There we go," said the innkeeper.

The very moment Rain picked up the fourth tankard presented to them, the innkeeper clapped a meaty palm onto Rain's bony shoulder and hugged them close, clinking their tankards together in a motion of merriment. The woman retreated into the kitchen, taking her time to peel her gaze away from Rain's captivating presence.

Asked one of the other men, "You don't talk much, eh?"

Rain shook their head. Kept a straight face.

The best way for a spy to be forgotten is to give them only what you want them to remember. The less you spoke, the harder it was to recall how exactly you sounded. So spake the master. These men would only remember the garish colors and the fanciful dancing, reckoned Rain.

"I know what I said, and I am a man of my word, but I'll tell you what. Drink's on me, stranger. You wanna pay less for the room, then you let us hear your voice—just once."

The innkeeper grinned. Missing a front tooth. Bad breath, damp and warm upon Rain's cheek.

Rain smiled, though they had to force it. It did not reach the spy's eyes.

"You're too kind," said Rain. Smoky, silky, and smooth.

One of the men gaped while the other squinted, both still unable to determine the spy's gender.

Copper coins jingled as they danced on the table. One of them almost landed on its edge, then toppled over to join the rest. Nobody had ever seen the "jester" produce them, or where on their body the currency had come from. Like all good magicians, they only saw what Rain wanted them to pay attention to.

Rain lifted the tankard to their lips and gulped away. And gulped. And gulped.

The three men watched in stunned silence. The logs in the fireplace crackled, exploding with a tiny shower of embers. Rain continued to gulp away until having downed at least half the tankard.

They finally paused, swallowing before a belch could arise. Exhaled sharply.

The men still stared. Brows arched, their curiosity still burning.

"It has been a long day for me, so if you'll excuse me, I shall retire for the night," said Rain. "Thank you very much for all your hospitality."

Smiled again, this time more in earnest. Gently put the tankard down and slipped out of the innkeeper's uncomfortable embrace—and out of the chair. Slinked away to the nearest flight of stairs. All eyes on them.

Rain swiveled and performed another low bow, as elegant as the entrance they had made, permitting rings to jingle once more.

Said one of the three, "G'night."

The other two nodded as a courtesy. Then they exchanged curious glances amongst each other, and Rain was already up the stairs, making nary a sound.

They poked their head into the rooms to confirm they were meant for guests, then chose the one in which the weakest smells lingered. It still reeked of onions and stew, but it would serve. The spy opened the window to let some air in while undressing. This attire always cost a lot of time to get in and out of.

Just like armor.

Armor for the identity.

The best way for spies to protect themselves from harm was to wear the proper clothing. For the right attire helped others manage expectations and manipulate them into not ever even wishing to do the spy any harm. So spake their master.

Outside, the storm whipped heavy drops of rain against the window, soon closed for the night by the spy to keep the cold and wet elements at bay. The sound of the downpour and the long and thunderous rumbles had a soothing quality to them, lulling them to sleep. Slowly but surely.

It had been a long day.

Rain jolted awake.

The rain had stopped. The storm had subsided.

The darkness of night had blanketed almost everything, broken only by silver moonlight that poured in through the window.

Neither the spy nor the man standing inside the ajar door to the room had seen how fast it happened, only the flash of the dirk, gleaming in that moonlight, held out in front of Rain. A sharp tip pointed at the man.

He blinked. One of the three men from earlier—not the innkeeper.

The smug sense of superiority admixed with a hint of fear as he went cross-eyed in staring at the pointy tip of the blade.

Said the man, "Pardon. Did not know you was in here." Drunken slurring rounded off each word.

He grinned, but it looked forced.

Rain just stayed sitting in bed, measuring the four paces of distance between them, the blade held steady and pointed at the bothersome man's face. They said nothing in response.

"I'll be leaving, then. Unless you want some company to warm your bed?"

Rain shook their head.

He grunted and closed the door behind him.

Rain sheathed the dirk in one fluid motion, then slumped back down into the uncomfortable straw-stuffed bed. The wooden frame creaked.

They sighed. Clamped their eyes shut and twisted and turned under the heavy, coarse blankets, trying to find slumber anew. Exhaustion from the road returned. Rain's world went dark once more.

Commotion from downstairs made Rain jolt awake again.

More time had passed.

The moon had wandered across the sky, judging by how its silver rays now bathed the interior of this guest room in a different light.

The innkeeper shouted something. Swearing, muffled through door and floor and walls. His maid-wife shouted something back.

Things clattered.

They fought with words and objects.

The familiar sound of a slap echoed through these halls.

Sobbing. Another slap, a cry in pain. More clattering.

Rain twitched. Twisted and turned. Rubbed their eyes, pinched the bridge of their nose, then gazed at the sheathed dirk leaning against the wall right within reach beside the bed.

Fighting the urge to act, they closed their eyes again, hoping to get more sleep. The noise might stop soon, after all. Why endanger the objective by interfering in some animated lover's spat?

The best way for a spy to succeed on their mission was to not get distracted. Distractions led to mistakes, and mistakes led to failure. In the end, the mission was all that mattered. So spake the master.

There was no need to get violent, reckoned Rain. They could just threaten the innkeeper a little bit to mediate matters, perhaps. The spy was very good at mediation. People rarely got hurt. Just a gesture here, a little threat there, and they would be quiet again.

But this was permitting distraction—even just thinking about ways to silence the fight downstairs. Rain perished the thought, and Rain's mind quieted again. The noises downstairs had stopped. Perhaps sleep would come again easily.

Several slaps followed, making Rain flinch more each time. The wet sound of something hard like wood or metal hitting human flesh. Repeatedly. The sobbing choked, sounds of pain and misery mixed in from the woman's subdued wailing, interrupted by brutal strikes.

The spy emitted a soft sigh.

Swung their feet out of bed with the grace of a trained dancer. Slipped on the jester's jacket—a tunic lined with several hidden daggers.

Rain made no sound on the way down.

Found the innkeeper standing over his maid-wife, who lay on the ground, sprawled out. Blood had sprayed iron pots and the door to the pantry. The innkeeper held the crude weapon in his hands; a now-bent pan clutched in a meaty fist.

A single slipper of the wife lay elsewhere, astray, the other still dangling from her twitching foot. It smelled of cooked chicken and rust in the kitchen. Two smells Rain never connected but would not easily forget.

A dark pool spread out underneath the woman. She tried to lift herself up from it, but her arms buckled like the legs of a newborn foal. Funny how closely that death and new lives danced together, reckoned Rain.

She looked like she was dying. They would have to act quickly if the innkeeper's wife was to survive the night. And the man raised his improvised weapon high over his head, ready to bring it crashing down in another, potentially fatal blow.

The final step that the spy took to enter the kitchen fully, they allowed some rings on the jacket to jingle.

The innkeeper's head snapped around. He glared at Rain with murder in his eyes.

Growled with a sneer, "What in the hells do you want?"

Rain said nothing.

Let the daggers do the talking. Let them spell out the name.

Rain 'o Blades.

The innkeeper gurgled and the bent pot fell from his hand, banging against the floor and ringing out from there until it stopped bouncing. He pawed helplessly at the knife sticking out of his throat and gripped the one in his belly with a trembling hand.

Rain had crossed the distance with little pause, a deadly pirouette accompanying the motion as two more small blades gleamed in the glow of fire and moonlight. Blood sprayed and then two more knives were sticking out of the man's body. Yet more blood splattered from his insides as Rain yanked out the first two to spell his demise.

The man continued to gurgle as he clutched his opened wounds where blood pumped out at an alarming rate—alarming to the man, at least. A cacophony of falling kitchen utensils and pots erupted as he dragged the entire surface of a table down to the floor with him in his final fall.

"You're going to pay, you basta—"

Whoever of the other two men had entered the same door as Rain just to utter that oath, two more knives greeted him. No gurgling escaped his throat, just a hoarse groan as he slowly teetered back and forth, a face gaping with surprise and one eye wide open while the other had a knife sticking out of it.

Rain already knelt by the woman in the puddle of blood before the dead man hit the floor. The spy turned her over and cradled her head in their hand.

Eyes white, rolled back. Her crinkled chin quivered, allowing only unintelligible whimpers as the lifeblood continued to spill from her skull.

The spy had seen this sort of trauma before. Too late to save her, no such magic commanded they. The only magic Rain knew was mundane, the methods of toying with simple men's senses, the art of deception, and the sorcery of blades in the dark.

Gingerly, they placed the woman back down, bedding her in her own growing pool of blood.

They produced another knife from the jacket and inserted it. Lovingly. Slipped it right in, underneath the chin, driving the blade right from the soft gap into the brain. Stopping that mouth from flapping uselessly like a fish suffocating on land.

Ending it quickly for her.

The best way for a spy to complete their mission was to complete it without bloodshed, because blood always left a trail. So spake the master. But sometimes, death was inevitable. So, also, spake the master.

And sometimes, death was a mercy. So thought Rain.

They held her in her final moments. Her spark of life slowly dulled until fate snuffed it out entirely.

Rain slowly rose to their feet again. Undergarments stained with dark crimson from the carnage.

Wooden floorboards creaked. Something heavy hit the ground. Rain was out of the kitchen like a flash of lightning. The third man fled towards the inn's front door. Ripped it open, letting it slam against the wall.

He had seen everything.

When all had gone wrong, the best way for a spy to stay hidden was to leave no witnesses. So spake the master.

A lesson Rain always despised but understood the necessity of.

The third man took five flying daggers to the back. Rain did not rush, hurling two at a time with deadly precision, walking at an almost leisurely pace after him, slowing him down with each additional knife launched. A sixth blade flew right into the man's nape, and he collapsed outside, face down in the mud.

His hand helplessly clenched the muck, and mud oozed out between his fingers, just as painfully slow as the life escaped his body and his soul passed on to the afterlife.

Rain sighed once more.

Looked skyward. Observed and pondered.

The rolling thunder rumbled farther in the distance. Though the clouds still hung heavy in the moonlit sky, they had parted, and the rain had long stopped.

Not even a faint drizzle remained.

A short rest at best, this was no longer a safe place to stay. Lights still glowed inside the inn, but it had fallen deathly silent.

Now, Rain would have to go against the best ways for a spy to do anything.

Fully garbed and armed again, all daggers cleaned and back in their rightful place, and the porcelain mask back on their face; Rain stood outside the burning inn. Flames licked outwards from the ground floor windows, and the inside of the establishment glowed brighter than ever before.

The Boot of the Cockfosters would be little more than a husk come morning.

By the time anybody could investigate, the spy would have long snuck away across the hillocks, spending a miserable night in a cold crypt to get some muchly needed sleep.

But before all of that, Rain o' Blades unfolded the folded parchment that had been hidden inside their jacket this entire time.

The message.

The mission.

The best way for a spy to ensure their survival was to never read any messages they had been tasked to deliver. So spake the master. And so, Rain ignored the lesson, as this night had been a lesson of its own.

The note read:

PZHZERI UZROVW ZMW RH YFIRVW. GSLFTS IVTIVGGZYOV GL VMW GSV YOLLWORMV GSFH, GSV PMRTSG’H XSROW NFHG WRV HL GSV UZNROB’H HVXIVGH TL GL GSV TIZEV DRGS GSVN. HL HKVZPH GSV NZHGVI. NZPV RG JFRXP.

Rain studied the note. Let their eyes scan over the cryptic arrangement of letters. Then again. And again. All the while searching memories for different ciphers to unlock the meaning of this message.

Once they had understood, anger guided their slender hands—crumpling up the parchment and stuffing it back into their jacket in a huff.

The best way for a spy to live long and die peacefully in their bed one day was to carefully heed the master's every lesson. The best way for a spy to succeed at any mission was to not get personally or emotionally involved. So spake the master.

But that night, Rain decided that their master's way was no longer the best way. Watching the inn burn brightly, they found a new resolve. A new purpose. Someone to protect. A quest to prevent being a mere witness of another innocent death at best, or an instrument of murder at worst. A quest to shed any willful blindness towards the woes of the unfortunate.

That night, walking away from the inn burning bright, Rain decided to blaze their own trail. To no longer serve as a spy. To no longer bow to any kings or masters.

To make their own best way.

—Submitted by Wratts

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

The Stuff of Dreams

Ao3

Summary: Of all the ways to spend the morning of his day off, Remy really hadn’t thought he’d be dying on his kitchen table. But sometimes that’s just what happens when your roommate and crush of roughly two years kisses you on his way to work as if he’s been doing it every day of his life. Warnings: Repeated mentions of someone making/almost eating a toothpaste sandwich, sleep-deprivation, some minor self-deprecation, not actually unrequited love Pairing: Romantic creativisleep

    Remy watched as Roman hurried about the kitchen. A late night well wasted with a mix of Disney and action movies had led to him sleeping in an extra half an hour, and now he was rushing through his morning routine to make sure he wasn’t late for work. As he watched his roommate brush his teeth with Crofter’s and make a sandwich with toothpaste, Remy, personally, felt he had never picked a better day to call in ‘sick.’

    It didn’t help that Roman was clearly exhausted. He had been working a lot of late nights recently. Last night had been one of his earliest nights off in two weeks, and even then, he had been back around eight pm. The movie night had been Remy’s attempt to get him to relax and, hopefully, tire him out enough he slept in long enough Remy could call in ‘sick’ for him too. He needed the break.

    But in disabling his alarms, Remy had missed Roman’s secret one, and his plan to get Roman a proper day off had failed. Now, the exhausted dreamer stuck in a retail job he was not getting paid nearly enough for was going to go to work anyways, and he was going to do it running on all of four hours of sleep.

    That plan really worked out well.

    Roman zipped his lunchbox up with easily more force than he needed to use, still rushing as he shoved it in his bag alongside his keys, his phone, an egg, some gloves he definitely wouldn’t need halfway through May, his wallet, and a pinch of salt.

    “You sure you don’t want to just call in sick, hun?” Remy asked, Roman shaking his bag as if he was mixing the contents together. Given the salt and egg, Remy was starting to think Roman was trying to bake a cake in his bag. “You look like you could do with a nap. Or just a whole day spent catatonic.”

    Roman shook his head, finally pulling his bag over his shoulder, looking ready to head out. “I need the money. I’ll be fine.” He explained. Remy sighed and leaned on his hand as Roman hurried past him, towards the door.

    Before getting there, however, Roman back-tracked, coming back into the kitchen as he said, “Oops, almost forget.”

    “Forgot what, some sugar-”

    Remy’s snark died on his tongue when Roman came up beside him and, without thinking, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, leaned over and kissed him right on the forehead.

    “Have a good day, dear.” Roman murmured, not seeming to notice that Remy’s jaw had dropped or that he was now staring off at some far off point, completely unresponsive. He left, then, the sound of the door opening and closing just barely reaching Remy’s ears.

    It wasn’t until a solid fifteen minutes had passed that Remy finally reacted, and even then, all he did was scream. The screaming was quickly followed by his head dropping onto the table, where it rested as he looked searchingly at the plastic surface.

    Roman had kissed him.

    Roman. His roommate of two years. Crush of one year and 50 weeks. Absolute prettiest man to exist. Very possibly a shooting star personified. Had kissed him. On the forehead as he left for work. Like they were a married couple in an old black-and-white movie.

    That was it. Remy was going to die.

    What else was he going to do? It was obvious to him that Roman, tired and probably distracted in his thoughts, had kissed Remy on accident. Maybe he briefly thought Remy was someone else, Virgil or Patton or another one of his coworkers. Goodness knows Remy had listened to him talk about them all enough. Chances had it he liked at least one of them.

    The one person he definitely hadn’t been thinking about when he kissed Remy was, of course, Remy. Remy had come to terms with it a while ago that Roman was bright and big and beautiful. The whole world wasn’t just a stage but Roman’s stage and Roman was going to put on the best performance anyone had ever seen, Remy knew. Roman needed someone who was just as amazing and wonderful as he was.

    Remy was a coffee-guzzling IT tech who was going to die young, pretty, and alone. Him and Roman? In his dreams and his dreams alone.

    Except one of his dreams had just skipped off the sleepy-time screen and played out in real life, leaving Remy feeling completely shocked and a tad bit giddy. And even if he knew it was nothing more than an accident, a mistake made in a haze of sleep-deprivation on Roman’s part, it had still happened, and his heart had still fluttered, and his entire life had still just fallen to pieces because, really, was he ever going to do any better than that?

    Nope! He was not! The highest moment of his life would forever be when Roman accidentally kissed his forehead.

    Of course, that meant that the subsequent lowest moment of his life would be that night, when Roman got home and likely refused to talk to him for a week or so, because as amazing as that single mistake had been for Remy, it was likely just as embarrassing for Roman.

    For a moment, Remy wondered if the consequences were worth it. But then he thought back for a second to when Roman had kissed him, so quickly but still so gently, calling him ‘dear’ like he was the most important person in Roman’s life, and as he simultaneously melted and died some more, he decided that any consequence the world could throw at him would be worth it so long as he could treasure that moment forever.

    After all, things couldn’t get too bad from here, right?

    ~~

    Turns out, things could get really, really bad from here.

    Because Roman had been home for over an hour now (he had been sent home early at five pm, saying that his manager had deemed him a ‘hazard’ to supplies and others; given that a moment later he was telling Remy about how he almost actually ate his toothpaste sandwich for lunch, Remy was inclined to agree with his manager) and he hadn’t acknowledged the incident. Not once. There were no awkward glances at Remy or random apologies or general weird tension in the air. He was just acting like nothing had happened.

    And it was driving Remy insane.

    He thought living with it would be hard, but living as if it had never happened? 

Somehow a million times worse.

He had spent the entire day preparing for every possible scenario, from Roman being too ashamed to admit it happened to Roman being angry that he had been stupid enough to do something so foolish. But ignorance? Acting as if nothing had happened? He had no plans for that.

He managed to stand it, at first, figured that this was overall better. After all, Remy didn’t want to acknowledge it, so if Roman didn’t want to either… well, that all worked out, didn’t it?

Except two hours passed, Remy couldn’t stop looking at Roman and thinking about that moment, and it was becoming very quickly apparent to him that this was NOT working out.

It finally came to a head right where it had begun: the kitchen. Remy was leaning against the counter, distractedly sipping a coffee as Roman slapped together a sandwich (a proper one, this time) for dinner. He was watching Roman (which was nothing new), but now, every time that Roman would glance over at him he glanced down, focusing on his coffee instead.

Eventually, Roman cleared his throat. “Something you’d like to share with the class?”

Remy glanced up from his coffee, raising an eyebrow. “Something you want me to share with the class?”

Roman shrugged. “You’ve just been acting a little odd, that’s all.”

Remy couldn’t stop himself from snorting. “I’ve been acting odd?”

“Yeah, you keep looking away from me- what, did I say something? Is there something on my face?” Roman asked, hands quickly brushing over his cheeks as if he might find a bug on it or something.

Remy just stared at him in bewilderment. “Oh, sugar, you can’t be serious.”

Roman just stared back at him in confusion, however, and Remy sighed. “I can’t believe you’re making me say this…” He bemoaned before waving his free hand at Roman and continuing, deadpan, “You kissed me.”

“...What?!”

Remy nodded. “Yep! You kissed me! This morning! Right before you left for work! Right smack dab in the middle of my forehead like we’re some sorta of nineteen-twenties domestic couple!” He said, punctuating every statement with a gesture of his hand. “So, y’know. There’s that ‘odd’ behavior.”

“Oh.” Roman said, suddenly much more calm than he had been a moment ago. “Just on the forehead?”

“Well I wouldn’t say ‘just,’ but on the forehead, yes.”

Roman shrugged and turned back to his sandwich. “My apologies, then. Mustn’t have been thinking.”

“Mustn’t have been-” Remy’s eyes widened. “That’s it? That’s your reaction?!”

“Well, yeah.” Roman said, once more looking at Remy. “It was just a minor slip of the sleep-deprived mind. If I seriously overstepped your boundaries, though, please, Remy, know that I do mean it when I say I’m sorry-”

“No, that’s not-” Remy stopped himself, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. “I need you to treat this as importantly as it is.”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “But it’s not important…?”

“Actually, it kinda is.” Remy snapped, though he sighed immediately afterwards, regretting the tone he knew just came from the stress. “To me, anyways.”

Roman frowned, confusion replaced with concern. “Why?”

Remy watched Roman’s face for a moment before he finally shook his head, looking up at the ceiling. “Because you are beautiful and wonderful and amazing and, honest to god, perfect.” He admitted, still refusing to look at Roman. Part of him felt stupid for saying all of it, for giving up the ruse he had been pulling for almost two years, but at this point he didn’t know what else to say to make Roman understand why the kiss was so stupidly important. “And I have had a crush on you for too long for you to just- just do that and act like it’s nothing. So, yeah. It’s kinda important to me.”

For a minute, he was met by nothing more than dead silence, and every second it dragged on made him feel worse and worse. He was beginning to contemplate the benefits of just running away, right then, and never coming back, when Roman finally said, so quietly Remy almost missed it, “You have a crush on me?”

Remy looked back at Roman at that, finding his roommate wide-eyed, expression shocked. He held his gaze for a moment before he looked to the side. “Yeah. For a while. If it makes you feel better, I never meant to let you know, but… yeah.”

Once more, the silence stretched, Remy’s mind wandering to how far he could get from the apartment in a minute when Roman broke it again, this time with, “Do you know why I kissed you this morning?”

Remy half-shrugged, still looking away. “You were tired. Maybe thinking about your own crush. Virgil, maybe? I don’t know.”

“I was thinking of my own crush, yes.” Roman confirmed, sounding closer, somehow. “I do that, sometimes, when I’m bored or tired. Think about him. You know what I think about, when I’m bored or tired and thinking about my crush?”

Remy bit the inside of his mouth, feeling more than a little hurt by everything Roman was saying. Why did he have to hear this? Was this Roman’s response to Remy’s stupid crush? Cruelty? “What?”

“I think about slow dancing with him at two pm, and distracting him when it’s his nights to make dinner with smooches, and listening to his heartbeat while I fall asleep holding him, and kissing him goodbye every morning before I go to work.” Roman said, slowly, drawing out the last one extra long and making Remy feel extra worse. He was definitely closer now, and Remy was certain if he looked over he’d find Roman right beside him.

“You must’ve been really out of it, then, to get me mixed up with someone you think about so much.” Remy said, subdued, crossing his arms and wishing for all the world he could just disappear.

“Remy, look at me.” Remy didn’t, finding he was relatively sure he preferred the sight of their cluttered table to whatever anger or disappointment or other negative emotion he’d find in Roman’s expression. His choice, however, proved to be pointless, Roman’s hand coming up to cup Remy’s cheek and forcing him to look at Roman.

To his surprise, Remy found that Roman didn’t look angry or disappointed. Instead, he was smiling, just a little, mouth quirked up a bit and his eyes bright and his expression almost what Remy would’ve called fond. “I didn’t mix anyone up.” He said, softly, gently, in a tone that would have made Remy melt in any other circumstances. “You can’t mix one person up.”

“You lost me.” Remy said, which wasn’t entirely true, because he was fairly certain he knew that Roman was trying to say, but the problem was that that was impossible, absurd, the stuff of dreams and dreams alone-

“You’re my crush, Remy.” Roman said, still softly, still gently, his smile growing a fraction as he did so. “And in almost two years I don’t think I’ve gone a single morning without thinking about how lovely it would be to kiss you goodbye like it was the most commonplace thing in the world.”

Remy just blinked at Roman at first, not having immediately processed what he said. Once it sunk in, however, he could feel his cheeks colouring as he let out a little gasp, hurt and confusion being quickly replaced by shock and joy.

“You sap.” He gasped, and before Roman could so much as widen his smile Remy’s arms were wrapped around the back of his neck and pulling Roman in for a proper kiss.

“You’re going to skip work tomorrow.” Remy said when they finally pulled apart, breathlessly, leaning his forehead against Roman’s and still holding him close. “I don’t care if you say you’ve got the plague or if you quit, but you’re staying home tomorrow and we’re going to sleep until two pm and we’re only going to wake up then so that you can show me how to slow dance like a proper domestic couple.”

Roman smiled, and they were close enough that Remy couldn’t just see it but feel it against his lips. “Only if you promise that we’ll be sleeping together.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Remy responded easily, though he pulled back a smidge when Roman tried to kiss him again. “But I’m taking your pj pants. The fuzzy ones with crowns on them. And if you think I’m not stealing your biggest shirt then, really, lover boy, you don’t know me.”

“For the prettiest boy in the world? You can have my whole wardrobe.” Roman answered. “Now can I have another kiss?”

“For the prettiest boy in the whole damn universe?” Remy said, raising an eyebrow as he smirked, tugging Roman closer to him and whispering against his lips before he fulfilled his request, “You can have a million.”