#this is really important and it makes me very emotional and incoherently yell about these poor space parents

[odetothestars]

Once again a very incoherent, not spell checked, all over the place ramble that might not make any sense (lmk if I need to clarify something)

But I think this one is kinda important? At least, it is to me. Before you decide how you feel about this, do me a favour and at least try to actually read/digest it first!

Something I think desperately needs to happen within multiple fandoms is working through your internalized misogyny…because people on this app are a little too comfortable stereotyping, belittling, sexualizing, devaluing, and just generally disrespecting women or fem presenting people. It’s usually pretty subtle, but the micro aggressions are definitely there.

I see fics where the only time female characters are mentioned is if they pipe in to say something snarky or when male characters are talking about their appearance/desire to sleep with them.

The example of misogyny that I see the most often is in mlm ship writing where one of the characters tagged as fem!x and that character is very often portrayed/described as:

- “Emotional, dramatic, whiny, clingy, soft, delicate, fragile”

- They’re dependent, usually being provided for by someone else

- They’re the subordinate/“beta” in a relationship

- They’re “helpless” and need protecting

- They’re interested shallow things (appearance, money, class, etc.)

- They have an “attitude”

- Their hobbies consist of baking, shopping, decorating

- They’re looked at like a trophy, something pretty to win and own

- There’s a strong emphasis of their appearance (slender, rosy cheeks, sharp features) and sexuality especially

I’m sure many of you have read at least one fic tagged as fem!*insert male chatacter name here* and this is the character description you were shown, no?

Before you yell at me, there is nothing inherently wrong about that characterization! It’s completely fine to live your life that way, it’s okay to be into superficial things, it’s okay to want to be protected, it’s okay to have someone provide for you, etc. Slay however you want!

My problem is that this characterization is NOT A TRUE REFLECTION OF WHAT FEMININITY IS. The issue isn’t in these traits themselves, I have some of those traits myself, the problem is using these traits to prove that a character is more feminine. It’s so stereotypical, surface level, and old-fashioned, and reduces the beauty of being feminine to a caricature. Whether you like it or not, whether you mean it or not, this is misogyny. Feminine people/characters can be strong, brave, intelligent, hardworking, independent. Being feminine is something that I’m very proud of, and I hate seeing it be reduced to something it isn’t. This is deeper than just not personally liking the way a character is written. This is misogyny.

Not to mention the super masc x super fem characterization is super heteronormative and also a stereotype in itself but I digress.

I’m not telling anyone they need to drop these kinds of characterizations, I’m just saying you should probably take a good minute to reflect on your motives and how you really feel think about femininity deep down. Is it something you truly views as inferior? Why? Do you want to change that? What are some ways can you?

Don’t even get me started on the literal abuse of fem characters in fics and novels. Yes, there are pieces of fiction where masc characters are victims, which is horrifying, I just see it the most often against fem characters. It’s absolutely disgusting that people are romanticizing and glorifying abuse of anyone, but that’s a topic for another time.

I typically subscribe to “don’t like don’t read” unless we’re talking about stuff the is genuinely offensive or harmful to an entire group of people. If I see an au, ship, plot, or general writing style I don’t particularly like, I will simply swipe passed and move on with my day (you should to). But when fics are written with any kind of internal bias (misogyny, homophobia *including heteronormativity*, transphobia, racism, etc.) behind them or have elements of glorified abuse, there is a genuine issue and I’m not just gonna scroll and pretend that it isn’t super fucked up, because it is. It’s fucked up! Touch grass and breath fresh air PLEASE.

Sure, I can’t stop anyone from writing or reading what they want, they’re free to do so, but that means they are also free to deal with criticisms of it.

If this upset anyone, I genuinely am very sorry, it wasn’t be intention to offend you. Unpacking things like internalized bias can be really difficult, but I think it’s important to have conversations like this so we can learn and grow from each other. Feel free to share you thoughts, try to be respectful if you can:)

*Tags are not a direct call out to any ship or fandom. I have seen this in multiple different fandoms with multiple different ships. This is just a primarily HP blog, hence why tags are HP*

[thegeminisage]

ok, i have a lot of extremely important stuff to do today, but nothing and i mean nothing is more important than this latest tng update. sunday we did "first contact" and "galaxy's child" which was so bad it came close to making me skip my first tng ever and then last night we watched "night terrors" and "identity crisis" which sent me to fucking mars. let's do this

first contact: what a wild episode. my favorite bit in the world is "humans are aliens." it's never not funny. it was funny when they did it in farscape and it's funny when they do it in star trek. i was having a great time. they hold up one of riker's hands and wiggle those strange alien appendages (fingers). gasps all around. "what ARE these?" "a birth defect." points for trying, buddy. he stayed with it until the bitter end

i do wish this had been a funny episode instead of a serious one about space bigotry and alien republicans. the premise is hilarious and the seriousness of the tone, and knowing that in any other context i WOULD have been taking it seriously and enjoying it, kind of brought down the mood a little.

i have mixed feelings about riker's whole deal with that alien lady, tbh. i love watching riker suck and fuck his way out of situations. i love how down to clown he is. unfortunately he didn't seem very down there which turns what could have been an outrageous and fun riker slut moment into a close encounter of the space babes, and i don't really want riker to have any close encounters with space babes. i just want him to have a good time. like did they play it for laughs? yes. and was her fetishisizing him as an ~aaallliiieeenn~ hilarious? also yes. but he literally put his boots back on. and so i just have a hard time finding it as funny as the writers did. i would have been over the moon if this happened to kirk though we could have added it to our slideshow

that said watching him lift up that huge bench preparing to break the window with it was great. he's really strong. good for him.

galaxy's child: i think the only episode worse than this one was code of honor. and at least during code of honor i knew what to expect. i knew everyone said tng seasons 1 and 2 were bad. this blindsided me. it made me incoherent with with rage. catherine straight up stopped watching and let me do the back half on 2x speed.

speaking of seasons 1 and 2, i went and checked and the writer for this episode wrote primarily season 1 and season 2 episodes. they they let this person back i'll never fucking know.

the b plot to this was passable, actually. i liked the pregnant space whale thing even though i thought picard was kind of holding the idiot ball about it. i think it could have been really good in a different episode.

i can't even begin to articulate my thoughts on geordi and leah. it's easily one of the worst examples of star trek aging poorly...in 1991 they had no idea we'd be fighting these battles for real, but today in 2024 we absolutely know it is wrong to use a version of a person's face and body, without their consent, for your own emotional and physical gratification. and the fact that they had kind, easygoing geordi not only do this but then be a huge creep once he met the real woman is already bad, but they didn't even use it as an aesop moment where the moral is not to do that, because even though she yelled at him and told him how violated she felt, she immediately apologized afterwards???

it's just like the barclay episode. fucking real women in the holodecks is embarrassing but not immoral??? but this is totally different from having fantasties in the privacy of your head. he pulled information about her from the fucking computer! christ i'm so glad she turned out to be married. i'm going to try to forgive geordi bc it's not his fault they gave him this shit plot device twice but eeeugh.

night terrors: i literally deserved this. i EARNED this. after the sheer torture of last episode i needed nothing more than whatever the FUCJ this was

firstly for context i had had about two hours of sleep and been awake since 5am while watching this episode. that everyone else in this episode was also profoundly sleep deprived was a source of unending fucking joy to me

i spent half this episode shouting JUST LIKE THOLIAN WEB and then was briefly devastated when it was not in fact the tholians but they delivered in the form of scaring me silly

people hearing things that werent there. picards doorbell pranking him and then the KNOCK AT THE DOOR. the elevator trying to squish picard. SPACE GHOSTS. i was so happy

untill. the scene in the morgue

if you havent watched it then well don't read any further. but beverly is in the morgue and she's looking at all the bodies and then all of a sudden all of them sit up. in the body bags. they moved and they weren't supposed to be moving because they were dead. i may have screamed out loud. i definitely had to pause the episode. i will be thinking about it for the rest of my life. the episode ever. i can never watch it again because what if it's not as good when i've had an adequate amount of sleep? better to leave it as an extremely fond and terrifying memory.

anyway whatever cgi they did to put deanna in that dream was so funny. i hope it looked great in 1991

OH AND I NEARLY FORGOT. her talking worf down from suicide. fueling my riker e deanna e worf ambitions <3

identity crisis: this one was also scary because 1. geordi was with a woman and 2. that invisible shadow thing

luckily the woman brotherzoned geordi within the first 5 seconds (wise) and geordi almost turning into an invisible blacklight guy did a lot to redeem him in my eyes. cuz i dont WANT to dislike him yk thats like the reading rainbow guy

anyway the little invisible shadow in the footage/the holodeck got me bc at first i couldnt even see it. and then i did see it and i got scared about what it belonged to. and then geordi made that little invislbe blob and AAAA it was STANDING THERE even though nobody could SEE IT and i hated when he did it in the holodeck and i hated that planet and

oh yeah everybodys uniforms kept getting shredded. i thought the planet was trying to fuck them or something i didn't like that. but they were just naked bc they had to be naked to be invisible. and i didn't like that either but it was better than the alternate but it was all very frightening

anyway the makeup/special effects in that episode were VERY good, 10/10

TONIGHT: "the nth degree" and "qpid," which i am dreading already <3

[pretty-setter-bois]

your outro

ONE YEAR LATER

     “(Y/N)! GLAD YOU could make it!” atsumu notices you entering the restaurant, waving you over.

“hi, everyone.” you smile.

your friends from highschool are already here, after a month of planning to suit your busy schedules. courtesy of atsumu, of course.

“hey.” aran grins.

“hey.” osamu raises an arm.

“hello.” kita smiles.

conveniently, the only open seat is next to him. he shares his menu with you, although you end up ordering the same thing.

the five of you catch up, atsumu casually throwing in unnecessary yet amusing comments with osamu there to regulate him. of course, aran is there to keep the conversation going, too.

somewhere along the way, volleyball gets brought up into the conversation, leading into a one-sided debate between aran and atsumu. osamu pays attention for the fun of it.

“you okay?” kita casually whispers in your ear.

“why wouldn’t i be?” you tilt your head to the side. “we’re all together, we’re having fun.”

he stares at you for a bit, looking sympathetic. “you know it’s not all of us.”

you don’t reply. he’s right.

as much as the topic is better to avoid, it’s almost impossible to miss the fact that one of their old teammates is absent.

you try not to mull over it. after all, you did come here to have fun.

“it’s fine.”

“drinks for all of us!” atsumu declares, cutting your conversation short.

you chuckle, looking at kita once more. “let’s have some fun?”

he nods, directing his words to atsumu, “we need at least two of us to be sober.”

“me.” osamu casually offers.

“i’ll be the second. the rest of you, go all out.” he laughs.

kita’s laugh is nice. so are several aspects to him. in fact, it’s almost impossible for you to find flaws in kita.

as much as you do care for him (one will even go as far as saying you love him), you know you can’t get back in another relationship for at least a while.

kita knows that, too, and he’s very respective of your decision. that doesn’t mean the two of you don’t think it over every once in a while, though.

“(Y/N)! drink something!” atsumu says.

“unlike you, not all of us are free from work tomorrow.” you tease. “i have an important meeting.”

“you’re no fun.” he pouts, though you know he’s joking. “we’re here to celebrate!”

“and what are we celebrating, exactly?” you cock an eyebrow.

he pauses for a bit. “it’s been one year since our team participated in the olympics!”

“10 months.” osamu corrects.

“so what, i just forgot a few months!”

“you’ve been obsessing over the olympics for months prior to the event itself. you wouldn’t forget an important detail like that.”

“do i really need an excuse to hang out with my friends?”

“no, but if you’re going to come up with an excuse, don’t lie about it.”

osamu seems to have said something he shouldn’t have, because you can feel the slight vibration of the table as something hit it. atsumu instantly reaches for his foot, mumbling something incoherent.

although you never really understand what they fight about, the twins never cease to bring a smile to your face with their banter.

“it’s been a year since… (Y/N) became an independent woman!”

osamu sighs.

“too soon?”

another kick is sent under the table, this time hitting atsumu. he goes for his other foot, softly massaging it through the shoe as he insults his brother.

“if you keep that up, i won’t be able to use my feet.”

“you hit yourself the first time.”

“shut up!”

you chuckle a bit, and atsumu is relieved that the topic isn’t sensitive for you to speak about.

“to independant women.” you raise a glass.

“do independant women!” atsumu raises his, despite it being almost empty.

“to independant women.” osamu raises his glass of water, intentionally clanking into atsumu’s.

“hey!”

“to independant women.” aran grins, raising his drink.

“to independant women.” kita smiles, raising his glass of water.

the five of you simultaneously drink out of your glasses, despite the difference of liquid within them.

the men find themselves arguing over how to split the bill, and you find that as an opening to sneak outside.

as much as you do enjoy spending your time with them, there are times that you need for yourself.

you never think that you’ll find yourself staring at the same sky again, and you could have sworn that you promised yourself to leave behind this city.

it was hard, and you caved after a little over a year.

it’s also hard to believe that it has been that long. a whole three-hundred-sixty-five days, and you still haven’t gotten over everything.

“hey.”

speak of the devil.

“who thought i’d find you here?” the voice speaks again.

you turn to face the familiar tone, not surprised to find the one you left behind. he doesn’t look much too different.

“hi.” you say, not really wanting to indulge in conversation.

“so, what are you doing out here?”

“i could ask you the same.”

“just on a walk.”

a pause takes place. the both of you know that the conversation is awkward from the start. there are far too many unspoken words, far too much meaning behind them.

“you look great.” he says again.

“thanks.”

“you changed up your hair.”

“yeah.”

“i always liked it better when it was long.”

“i think it looks better this way.”

another silence. this one is a bit shorter than the last, but it’s long enough for you to decide that you want closure.

“how did things go with the olympics?”

“ended a few weeks after.”

a few words are missing from the context, but the two of you have managed to understand each other with no misconceptions.

he knows you’re speaking about her, and you know what he means when he says after.

“i’m sorry.” he mutters.

you’re holding yourself back from shouting at him, yelling that he can’t apologize after all this time from being away and what he’s done.

“was it a coincidence that we met here?” you say instead.

“no.” he sighs. “they told me they were busy tonight, and i made a lucky guess that you’d all be here.”

“you wanted to speak with me?”

“yeah. you needed some closure after all this time.”

“so will you answer my questions truthfully?”

“to the best of my abilities.”

“for how long?”

he sucks in a breath, “a few months.”

“for how long?” you repeat.

“three months.”

you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. as much as you hate admitting it, crying was inevitable when you think of what happened.

“when did you meet?”

“that day i brought you to the jelly-stick stand, when i had to leave early.”

“what’s her name?”

“that’s kind of irrelevant now.”

you chuckle a little. then it turns into a full blown laugh, and you’re bent over your knees trying to catch your breath.

“i really, really wanted to believe that you had changed.” you say. “it’s not realistic for people to change, but part of me wanted you to. part of me hoped for you to.”

“i…”

“the same part of me that can’t get you out of my head.”

he faces you with his eyes widened, but you pay him no mind as you continue to stare up at the moon.

“i’m… i know what i did was wrong, but-”

“there isn’t a ‘but’, and you and i know that well.” you sigh. “as much as i still think about you, i can’t put myself through something like that again. even before that incident with her — and i don’t know her name because you’re not telling me — i was beginning to feel out of place.”

“i-”

“don’t say you’re sorry. you and i both know that won’t do anything.” you say. “but if you were right about something, it had to be that i’d become a shell of myself.”

he knows that what you’re saying has been on your mind for a while. “i understand what you mean-”

“you don’t understand, suna. i’ve never felt more free in my life than i do now.”

“oh.” he breathes out — he notes the use of his last name. “i didn’t realize i’d put that much pressure on you.”

“you’re smart.” you say. “you just didn’t want to realize.”

you are right, and he’s surprised to have seen you caught on. it’s hard to forget someone, someone you used to feel every emotion that you can possible feel towards. ten years of your life that the old you will claim to be the happiest, but the new you knows better.

“oh, yeah.” you shuffle for something inside your pocket. “i’ve been meaning to give you this, incase we met up randomly at a time like this.”

he’s handed the ring he gave you over a year ago, in almost pristine condition. you don’t wear it often, but that is a given considering the meaning behind it. it rests in his palm, and he makes no effort to put it away.

“(Y/N), you alright?” you faintly hear kita shout from the dark.

“yeah, i’m fine!” you shout back.

he’s too far away to see you, but the sound of your voice is enough reassurance for him to stay put.

“we’re finished with the bill, do you want us to come?”

“no, it’s fine. stay in the car, i’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“alright.”

“so, kita?” suna questions. “anything going on between you?”

“i don’t think it’s your place to ask.” you say words similar to his own when speaking of her.

“you’re right, my bad.”

“well, i should get going. it was nice to get some closure, i guess.”

“do you ever think about what could’ve been?”

you sigh, “we’re not having this conversation. you and i both know it’s futile.”

“you’re right.” he murmurs. “this must’ve been how you felt before.”

“what do you mean?”

when he doesn’t answer, you look up at his face. suna rintaro isn’t a very emotional person, so it’s a surprise to see small, subtle tears falling down his face — almost invisible in the moonlight.

“i really put you through a lot, huh? and i made you cry again tonight.” he sighs.

“i have to get going.”

“so this is goodbye?”

“yeah, i guess so.”

“will i see you around?”

“we both know the answer to that.”

you turn around, beginning to walk to the parking lot with heavy steps. before you can get very far, he calls out to you once more.

“katsumi sato.”

“huh?” you face him.

“that’s her name.”

a small pause settles into the air, with an accompanying breeze.

“like you said before,” you say. “it’s irrelevant now.”

you turn on your heels for the final time, your footsteps much faster than before. you don’t want any distractions or last-minute stops.

suna watches you go, wiping the small tears of his own. the droplets of water were but a fraction of what you had to endure for a long time, all because of him.

he should’ve known that the wholesome, friendly interactions the two of you had in highschool could never develop into anything more.

even if you’d gotten to know him more than anyone else, he should’ve never accepted your confession without thinking it through. he should’ve never kept moving on with the next step of your relationship just for the thrill of it.

after all, the relationship was doomed from beginning.

it was good until it wasn’t.

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TAGLIST ☆☎☂♔

@stfucanunot @sunaswife @sredamancy @kiyobbie @kairebear-4evr @youngestdelacour @kara-grayson04 @anngelllla @tycrackculture @kingkagss @heyatsumu @kathya420 @gladly-olus@hxneybee-uwu @1lluminat3 @heyitzwolf @pharvhs @asdfghjkl7things @tinygremliin @pelicanpizza​ @xfangirl-trashx​ @nintendoutoori​ @toaster-stick​ @nit-sir-hc @daphnxy  @kageyamasgirl @kiyoomisproperty @velociraptorenthusiast @ohrintarou​ @mariand​ @phixoseusarmy​ @oranoyaora

NOTES ♕❣⁂ღ

hello, everyone! firstly, i would like to thank everyone that has commented and left asks about the story, all of you really kept me going! at some point, i lost all inspiration for this story and even considered discontinuing it, but i coudn’t. it’s been a nice journey between the innerworkings of a toxic relationship, and i feel like i can... truly understand what the mc feels like now (i don’t know if that makes sense?). again, thank you for sticking around, and i hope to see you all in the next series i have planned!

[sunnysviolin]

currently having so many thoughts about aubrey getting sick of her moms mess one day and packing her bunny into her carrier and just leaving... she drifts about friends houses for a while before basil braves up to ask if she's okay :(( she's all out of energy + too stubborn to go home so she doesn't bother arguing and lets him take her to see polly (sorry me again with aubrey ramblings pls tell me to shush if you dont vibe w it)

Wow....I love this so much so I’m gonna combine it with that ask I got the other day and noodle on this a bit. Hope you don’t mind me taking your idea and running nonnie!!!

This got really long and kind of intense, so I’m putting it under a Read More. There’s also gonna be way more ahead!! This AU has caught me. But y’all Serious warning for emotional child abuse and neglect. Aubrey’s mother is decidedly not a good person, and their relationship is very damaged. Read only if you know you mentally can handle it, and no shame in skipping this. This part of it is heavy.  TW: Child abuse and neglect. TW: Alcoholism TW: Running Away TW: Homelessness

In the end it’s the rain that does it. The rain, the drafts in their weary old house, and the bucket that sits in the corner of her room next to her half broken laundry basket

On the last night Aubrey spends in her mother’s house the rain is coming down in freezing icy sheets. It’s bitterly cold, and she is weary. 

The summer of her 16th year has come and gone, and they are firm into the grip of September. It was a summer that had changed everything in her life. A summer where she found her way back to her chosen family, while becoming more isolated than ever from her real family. She had spent almost every hour out of the house- riding scooters with her gang, reconnecting with Basil, finding her way back into Kel’s loyal heart, letting her walls down around Hero, even discovering a hidden strength within her to forgive Sunny.  

It was the best summer of her life, even beating out the perfect summers spent in her childhood with Mari. In those days Aubrey had been naive. She didn’t know what she had, she just assumed she would always have it. This summer she had seen every experience for what it was- a gift. 

Fall coming had been difficult. Really almost nothing had changed, except it had. 

Hero had gone back to college, promising to visit at every chance he could. Aubrey had pushed down the spike of jaded denial that had risen up inside her at his words, and put her arm around Kel who was misty eyed saying goodbye to his brother. 

Sunny had spent most days in Faraway at either Kel or Basil’s house over the summer, but now he only came on weekends. He had started school again, a new school where no one knew his name or his face. He didn’t say much about it, but he hadn’t stopped going yet, so Aubrey considered it progress.

Kel and Basil had stuck close to her, and she was thankful for it. Aubrey knew now that nothing would ever separate the five of them again, but there was still the irrational fear inside of her that they would all leave her sooner or later. Her gang must’ve seen something too, because they had been awkwardly affectionate in a way that both irritated and comforted her.

But her mother....

Her mother had changed too. 

By sixteen Aubrey knew her mothers rhythms like the back of her hand. She knew the cycles that played out. Her mother would circle through various moods- cleaning, ignoring, depressing, drinking, regretting, promising, and then cleaning again. 

The regularity of it all had numbed her to the terrible conditions of her childhood home, and Aubrey spent most of her time out of the house anyway. (She had never been so grateful for nine hours at school, four hours after school goofing off in a big group, and the usual invitation to dinner with Polly or Kel’s mother. Aubrey usually only went home to sleep these days)

But her mother had added and taken away from her cycle. There was a new cycle now, and it was impossible to deal with. 

Ignoring, Depressing, Drinking, Angry, Regretting. Rinse and Repeat. 

Angry was new. Angry was (terrifying)....Angry was new. 

Aubrey had never tried to disrupt her mother’s cycle before, but Angry was enough to get her to try. She would clean the house top to bottom, putting in an effort she had never put in before to make things nice. She had thrown away bottles, cleaned dishes, cooked food, on and on all in an effort to change what she knew was coming. It still came. Her mother still wailed like a banshee, shrieking and hollering loud enough neighbors had called. 

The calls were the worst part. The low humiliation that sat in her stomach as she assured these people who didn’t really care that everything was fine, all while her mother continued to scream in the background. 

With Angry, Regretting was also different too. Aubrey, never one to take things lying down, screamed back until angry tears burst from her eyes. She would break down and sob in front of her mother, her walls finally ripped apart brick by brick by the woman who was supposed to love her most. 

Then her mom would hold her tight and promise things would be different. Regretting had mixed with Promising, and as much as Aubrey wanted to shove away the confusing affection, she couldn’t bring herself to. 

Screaming at each other was the only time that Aubrey’s mother looked at her. Curled in her mother’s arms weeping was the only time that her mother had a kind word. Aubrey couldn’t resist what she always craved, and some sick twisted part of her even longed for the point where her mother would snap and start yelling, just because she knew the release of emotions was soon to follow. 

That last night in her house was one of those nights. Her mother was yelling, too incoherent for Aubrey to even make out the words, but the tone said everything. Her mother had lost it over the dishes in the sink piling up. Aubrey had done them this morning, yet somehow she came home to a sink full of chipped dirty dishes. Those dishes felt like an ironic symbol of her life. No matter how many times she wiped it away. The dishes would be dirty the second she turned around. 

Aubrey was already in tears, her fists bunched at her sides and her teeth grinding down against each other. Soon enough it would be time for her to start yelling back, and the cycle would go on and on and on. The dishes would never be clean. 

Aubrey didn’t want it to go on. Not even her mother holding her was worth how torn apart her heart was becoming. She fled upstairs, slamming the door to attic and locking it tight. It didn’t matter anyway. By this point of drinking, her mother could barely stand, let alone climb a ladder. 

The rain was slamming against her windows, a steady drip already starting in the bucket in her room. It was freezing cold, and goosebumps rose on her bare arms. Maribelle was sitting in her pen, her nose twitching as she watched her Aubrey. Aubrey brushed at her damp cheeks and picked her bunny up, snuggling the tiny white creature close to her chest. 

Maribelle was too cold. Her mother hadn’t paid the heating bill again. The rain was too loud, and the wind sneaking in wrapped Aubrey in a tight grip. Aubrey sat on the edge of the bed and rocked her bun, trying in vain to warm them both up. A single thought ran through her head over and over

This wasn’t worth it. This wasn’t worth the love she craved from a woman who couldn’t give it. This wasn’t worth her pride at keeping things together. This wasn’t worth trying to fix over and over with no results. 

The rain began to slow to a quieter drizzle. Her mother was silent below. In the cold wet of her tiny attic room, Aubrey decided. 

No. This really just...wasn’t worth it. 

Aubrey slipped onto her knees, keeping Maribelle close as she pulled her backpack towards her and began to empty it out. She kept only her English textbook and her history notes. Everything else she could get a spare of. in her bag went two spare shirts and one pair of jeans. She packed in underwear and socks into the smaller front pouch. Aubrey stood and pulled the false bottom out of her desk drawer, taking the cash and the pack of cigarettes she had pinched off her mom and throwing them in as well. 

Finally there were the pictures. The frame of her photo of her and Kim had to be abandoned, but the actual picture was placed carefully inside her backpack. She had never been more happy to have her tiny carrier for Maribelle. The bunny happily hopped inside and burrowed deep in the soft downy blanket Aubrey put inside for her. 

It was depressingly easy to pack up her important things. Shockingly simple to write a note to her mother (I’m leaving. I’m not coming back. Two short sentences and that was it) It hadn’t even been hard to sneak out. After the hour or so it took to gather the rest of her necessities from the house and steal whatever money was in her mother’s purse, said woman had passed out on the couch in an alcoholic haze. 

Aubrey locked the door and stared at the silver key gleaming in her palm. She had only her backpack, a messenger bag, and her tiny bunny carrier. Her whole life fit into two bags. Aubrey left her key on the doorstep. 

She wouldn’t need it anymore. 

The rain had let up, but a harsh breeze whipped around her as she walked, pushing Aubrey to move faster. She took the sidewalks she had taken since she was little, letting her feet move as her mind went blank. Before she knew it she was standing on another street, one more familiar to her than her own. 

Aubrey spared a long look at Kel’s hosue. The lights were on inside, bathing their front yard in a warm golden glow. She stared at it for a moment, considering, and then the chill became too great. 

Aubrey bypassed Kel’s house and quietly snuck into the backyard of Sunny’s old home. The elderly couple that owned the house now was sure to be asleep. Kel said that they were quiet and almost never noticed anything going on. Perfect. 

Aubrey knew exactly where she was going. It was still standing. Faded and beaten down, probably rickety too, but it would be safe for her and her Belle. 

Besides only four other people even knew this treehouse existed. No one would ever find her here. 

[jadoue1999]

The X-Men and the member they lost - Chapter 6

Summary: With a witch threatening the town and Hayward's team trying to stop Wanda, the X-Men only have one goal: to save Peter. Problem is, he's a little hard to catch. *There are references to the fourth chapter of Wanda and the life she deserved, please make sure to have at least read this chapter before reading this one!*

Previous parts: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, 

Chapter 6: Free at last

They quickly left the circus and decided to follow the main road to find the town square. Call it superhero instinct, but all the fights usually took place in wide public space. They alternated between running and walking, had the town always been this big? It didn’t seem that huge on the broadcast. They had quickly drafted up a plan, it wasn’t much. It basically consisted of finding Peter and stopping Wanda. Erik wasn’t sure what they’d find, but he sure hoped his son was alright. The sudden awakening of the town couldn’t just be a change of mind from the redhead. If she really were as determined to keep her world as Charles claimed, there had to be an external force working against her.

They finally arrived at the center of town and noticed a few things. First, Wanda was looking around wildly and second, the citizens were all yelling at her to let them go. Third, the neighbor, Agnes was dressed in some supervillain outfit and was staring at the redhead with greed in her eyes. Oh, and her fingers were stained black for some reason. Erik assumed that the neighbor had probably been the one who freed them. That didn’t really matter, the real question was: where was Peter? He was nowhere to be seen, had Wanda done something to make sure he would stay? The woman suddenly let out a red light and screamed at everyone to leave as it reached the sky. To the team’s surprise, the dome started to come apart. They came to a stop and looked at each other with hesitation.

“Charles, what do we do?” Asked Raven.

“We try to find Peter,” answered the telepath. “I’m worried for his safety.”

As soon as he had said those words, the speedster appeared. He was holding Vision in his arms, who looked quite sick. “Sis, I found your husband,” he told her, “he was close, but I figured I’d cut some time. Oh, and there’s some military people coming.”

Charles and the other gasped in surprise as Peter popped in. Erik couldn’t keep his eyes away from him. His son was there, he was so close. Perhaps he wasn’t too late, perhaps he could break him out of the witch’s spell. An emotional bond that they had formed separately might just be enough to get him free of the mind control. Wait, he was still under her mind control. That didn’t make sense, they all had been released from Wanda’s lies. Why hadn’t he? He observed his son letting go of the woman’s husband. She was distracted, he had to act now. “Peter!” He called out to him. His voice made the young man turn around, or perhaps he was recognizing his own name? Hopefully, it was the latter. He felt relieved as he wrapped his arms around him, the mere fact he had been able to touch him without him speeding off was proof that the control was most definitely chipping away. He squeezed the speedster in his arms, “I’m sorry we didn’t come sooner, we were trapped as well. I know you wanted to tell me yourself, but Raven here spoiled the surprise. It doesn’t change that you’re my son, and I’m glad that you’re alright.” He felt Peter trying to remove himself from the hug, Erik loosened his grip and let his arms fall to the side. They were finally together; he had a shot at happiness once again. His son was there, it would be alright. Erik expected the young man to smile, to hug him back, anything. What he didn’t expect was the look of utter confusion reflected in his eyes. 

Peter frowned and eyed him up and down as if he was a crazy person. “Who are you?” His own son didn’t recognize him. He was still under the spell and quite deep into it as well. There wasn’t even a flicker of recognition. They were too late. Had Wanda truly taken him away the moment he had been in her grasp? But it couldn’t be the end of Peter. They had travelled so far to get him back; he couldn’t be lost. Erik felt his rage building up at the woman. How dare she? She had lost a lot, but she had no right taking away what wasn’t hers. He had done some terrible things in his life, especially during his quest to avenge his family, but he had never gone as far as brainwashing someone to replace what he had lost. 

He tried to grab at whatever metal she was wearing, but she seemed to have shielded herself from his power. No matter, he’d let her know just how much she had messed up. “What have you done to my son?!” Erik raged, his nerves were flaring, and he found slight satisfaction as the woman was taken aback by his outburst. “Release him immediately or I swear you’ll come to regret it!” He could feel her fear and hesitation, she was reconsidering her actions. He had seen that look many times before. Peter was confused, he was probably fighting the control inside his mind. He kept looking at Wanda, his eyes pleading for an explanation. Erik couldn’t do anything about it, so he walked back to the group. He felt so defeated, his future with his son depended entirely on Wanda. And she didn’t seem to want to let him go. Once again, he had lost even more family without having a say in it. “He- he saw right through me,” he croaked as he joined the group. They all looked at him with sympathy in their eyes. Raven gently took his hand and squeezed in an attempt to comfort him. It didn’t do much, but at least the intention was there. Charles was looking off to the distance, probably at Wanda. She was still taking down the barrier, he was probably curious about her powers. Perhaps he was seeing Jean in her place? They all missed home. The metal bender was sucked into a spiral of incoherent thoughts. Wanda was very likely Jean equivalent in this universe. She could manipulate reality itself; she could very well make them forget about their own world just as easy as it had been when they were mind controlled. Except, it was possible it could be permanent. Had she done it to Peter already? Was he beyond saving at this point? “Mom!” A voice echoed through the town square. Erik turned to it and briefly caught Wanda removing herself from his son, probably telling him fake promises. He was shocked as his eyes locked on the twins. They were falling apart. How could this be possible? Their very beings were breaking apart like pieces of a puzzle. They fell to the ground as their feet disappeared, along with their hands that were desperately reaching out to their mother. Vision was disappearing too, but Erik couldn’t look away from the boys. Everything they had seen about them, it was so very human, so real. They were only an illusion? He could see Peter trying to help them, but he himself seemed to be glitching. He was breaking out of the mind control, only to be put under again. Erik’s heart broke every time he saw the realization in the speedster’s face that his nephews were fading away. He hated the renewed horror that showed in his eyes every time the mind control took over him. Wanda panicked as she took in the state of her family; he couldn’t blame her. She bent her back and the dome began to close once again.

The family was now sharing a hug, they all seemed so relieved to be together. Perhaps they really would have to leave without Peter. Military cars and soldiers flocked all around the place brandishing heavy weapons. Wanda and Vision delegated them to Peter and the boys as Agnes threatened Wanda. Where did her hatred even came from? Had Wanda trapped her or was the neighbor pretending the whole time? He didn’t know and that wasn’t what mattered for now. The speedster was talking to the twins, probably explaining them the plan. The metal bender turned to the telepath.

“Charles, what can we do?“

He watched as Peter nodded to Billy who then created a blue orb from his hand. He twisted his arm, and all the soldiers froze in place. The two speedsters held hand and disappeared for a moment. When they came back in sight, the military personnel had either lost their weapon or been knocked out. Tommy was gleaming as Peter handed him a pair of sunglasses and hat, he had most definitely stolen from one of the soldiers. Erik smiled at the scene; the young boy looked as smug as Peter had been when he saved them from the Pentagon’s guards.

“It’s the necklace, “ suddenly interrupted the telepath still staring at the Maximoffs. “The necklace is what’s controlling him.“

“How can you be sure?“ asked Raven, uncertain of the professor’s sudden realization.

“For starter, he’s been wearing it consistently ever since he made his first appearance. Secondly, when Wanda came to see me, I tried to see something that could make her change her mind, one of her regrets and I saw this necklace. And lastly,“ he nodded towards a woman that suddenly gave a strong right hook on Hayward’s jaw. “this woman saw the necklace reprogramming his memory. She probably doesn’t understand why, but she knows it’s important.”

The team didn’t have time to respond to the professor’s claim before Kurt teleported himself close to Peter and the boys. The speedster sped a few feet back as the blue teen tried to grab the jewelry piece. Kurt materialized himself to where he had run to, only to realize that the spot was now empty. Erik watched attentively as they chased each other, Peter always being slightly ahead of the teleporter. The teen was calling to him, trying to explain why he was trying to get to him in the first place, but the man wasn’t listening. He could see the grin he had on his face; it was a game to him. A very hard game to follow for outsiders, but a game, nonetheless.

“I can’t deal with this,” complained Raven as she morphed into a copy of Nightcrawler. Charles and Erik shared a glance before looking back at the various mutants; they could hear Wanda and Agnes fighting in the sky but not much could be understood. The appearance of a second Kurt caught all the Maximoff boys off guard as much as it surprised the actual Kurt. Raven locked eyes with the teleporter and pressed him to act. Unfortunately, the moment it took for her to talk was enough for Peter to tell the younger speedster to take the shapeshifter out of the way as he whispered something to Billy. In a flash, Raven was a small dot far away from the town square and Peter had sped off, once again teasing the teleporter. Kurt always seemed to be less than a second late, just enough time for Peter to always see him coming. After a few minutes, the speedster stopped next to his nephews and stayed in place. That suspicious decision gave Kurt the opportunity to materialize next to him. He gasped in pain as his hand brushed over the necklace but didn’t have time to do anything else as Peter turned to the mini telepath.

“Billy, now!”

A light blue orb emerged from the young boy’s hand and collided with the teen, sending him crashing to the ground a few feet away. Peter high-fived each of his nephew. Erik and Raven, who was fairly close now, quickly rushed to the teleporter’s side, making sure he wasn’t gravely injured. How strong was Wanda’s control? His son hadn’t even hesitated. Had he not realized how Billy, with his untrained powers, could have done a lot more than simply throwing the teleporter away? He wasn’t able to tell him just how dangerous as the sky suddenly glowed red. Fearing for yet another mind control spell, Erik focused on who he was and braced for impact once again. Charles was the one who assured him that no such thing was happening. Wanda was a pulsing ball of energy, the woman she was fighting wasn’t doing anything, too stunned to react. The red cleared out and Wanda was now sporting completely different clothes.

“Guess she really is related to you, one way or another,” teased Raven, referring to the woman’s outfit that was very similar to his, in both color and  structure.

Both women and Vision floated down to the ground, Agnes was wearing a bitter look of defeat. They landed on a patch of grass. Wanda was telling the woman about how she had underestimated her, and she could keep the role she chose. That didn’t really make any sense, but Erik wasn’t really there to care about locals. She changed the woman back into civilian clothing and he tried to not notice the pain in her eyes as she was brought back under the mind control. Wanda shared a sad look with Vision before their children ran up to them, excitedly telling them about how they had chased Kurt. Peter was smiling to himself as he watched the family hugging. Wanda went over to him and linked her arms around him. Erik knew that kind of hugs, that was a goodbye hug. Would she?

“I truly hope you forgive me,” he heard Wanda say.

Yes, she would.

The necklace was gone, his son was back.

“Wanda?” he heard him say. He sounded confused; the redhead wasn’t looking at him. The speedster looked around and his gaze stopped when he spotted them. “Guys, you’re here!”

He was at their sides in an instant, hugging each one of them. Charles was chuckling, Raven was thankful he was back to himself and Kurt tried his best to hug back with how sore he felt. Peter quickly apologized for that. He stopped in front of him, a nervous hand rubbing the back of his neck. “So… I guess you know?”

Erik nodded and quickly took him in his arms as tears threatened to flow. They had done it; his son was free. They could go back home and start to build their relationship. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize any sooner, perhaps you could have avoided this mess.”

Peter shook his head and looked around the place, “it wasn’t as bad as you make out to be. Not after Wanda-“ he cut himself off.

“After Wanda what?” Pressed Erik. He already had an idea of what his son was about to say, but he wanted to hear it from him.

Peter considered his words before anxiously looking and them. “Well, first of all, I’m the one that followed her voice, I wasn’t dragged here or anything. I ended up in some freaky dungeon and Agnes over there got the necklace on me, I suppose it’s because she’s powerless, but now I remember.” He paused his rambling as he watched Wanda walk away with her family. He slowly turned back to the group who were waiting for him to continue. “So, um, Agnes’ spell wasn’t great, I was trapped in my mind and confused as hell. It was super uncomfortable when she was forcing me to question Wanda. Then she freed me.” That took Erik by surprise. He hadn’t thought the woman would have been brave enough to investigate the little imperfections of her world. “We talked a little about… stuff and I told her I had to leave. She broke down and I get it, she’s been through a lot. She, um,” He looked uncomfortably at Erik, who knew where this was going, but was still angry at the fact that it had happened. “She put the necklace back on me. But it wasn’t horrible! I felt like myself, I was just sure that I was her brother and that we grew up together. It wasn’t that bad.”

As much as he wanted to tell him that, yes, it was bad, he decided against it. She had let him go, and luckily without much of a fight. He only hoped that it would stay that way. The red wall that once kept them trapped was retreating, Wanda truly had accepted the consequences of her actions. For a moment, everything was still. There was a strong tingling sensation as reality came back to what it was before it became distorted by Wanda’s magic.

“Aww guys,” teased Peter, “I really liked those ridiculous costumes you were wearing.”

“Says the guy who dressed up in the cheap costume and spiky hair,” snorted Raven. The speedster pulled his tongue at her. “By the way, not sure if blonde suits you.”

He raised an eyebrow at her remark, “what do you mean?”

She motioned him over to a tinted car window and pointed at his reflection, his hair was still glitching between blonde and silver. “see for yourself.”

Peter’s reaction was immediate, he was running in a blur, probably yelling about wanting his old hair back. Erik couldn’t be sure; he was going too fast for anyone to understand what he was saying. Charles was trying to tell him that it would probably stabilize in a minute or two, but he doubted that he was listening. Sure enough, after a few minutes of running, his hair was back to silver and he was standing in front of them, rambling about the tragedy it would have been if his hair would have been stuck blonde forever. Erik smirked at him before looking down at himself and then the others, it was good to be wearing his usual clothing instead of the hideous garments they wore when they were in the circus. Plus, seeing his son back in the silver jacket with the absurd number of zippers after all the costumes he went through during his time on the show was reassuring. Peter was finally back to himself. The nightmare truly was over.

He spotted Wanda walking towards town square with a woman at her side. Erik had hoped she wouldn’t come back, surely no one would forgive her, even though she had freed the town. One good thing didn’t erase all the bad things, that was something he had experienced himself. Peter was jumping from one foot to another, anxiously looking at the redhead.

“Peter, please tell me you’re not seriously considering going back to her,” pleaded Erik. Her family wasn’t with her, they probably had disappeared with the dome. He didn’t want his son to go to her, she might whisk him away once more. Then, there would probably be no finding him again.

“Dad, please,” he begged. “She’s all alone, she needs her brother.”

Erik didn’t know how to respond because Peter had just called him dad for the first time. Luckily, Charles spoke up. “But you are not her brother.”

They could both see the pain and conflict going through the speedster’s mind. He seemed torn between the team and the redhead, who he definitely considered family in both cases. “Wanda… might not be my real sister, but for the time I was here, I truly felt complete. I know for a fact that she did too. She wasn’t able to come to term with Pietro’s death; I have to help her.”

The metal bender understood the sentiment, he truly did, but the whole situation started with Wanda being too grief stricken to control her magic. That’s how she could summon him here in the first place, he had to be careful if he approached her again. They were from two different realities; they were never supposed to meet. “Peter, you are not her Pietro.” He tried to reason him, but he simply shook his head.

“Maybe not, but she’s not my Wendy either. I can’t just leave her alone.” With that, the speedster disappeared and was now at her side. She jumped when he appeared, she seemed ready to leave this place, but Peter had interrupted her plans. Erik turned back to the group with a sigh.

“He needs this talk,” reassured Raven. “He’ll be alright after.” She turned to the professor, “right Charles?”

The telepath didn’t respond, his gaze was focussed on the pair that had now moved to a bench. Erik knew that look; something was going to happen. Whether good or bad, he had yet to decide. So, the group decided to simply look around them, keeping an eye on Peter but still giving him some privacy. After fifteen minutes, the speedster was coming back to them, thing is, he wasn’t alone.

“Hey guy!” yelled Peter, dragging the redhead behind him, “Wanda’s going to stay with us!”

***

Notes: We are done with Westview! I hope you guys liked this chapter and are ready for some bonding time between Peter and Erik!

[wixibaby]

How did William react to Ben death?

Oooh, yikes. That one is a knockout of shit. Excuse me for the infodump but these have been sitting in my inbox for like two weeks and I want to give you a thorough answer:

Ben's death didn't immediately hit William. Well, it did, but it didn't have the impact it did for about 45 minutes to an hour after the fact.

It was a late night and William had taken up the habit (that only lasted a week) of seeing Ben in the hospital before work, during his lunch break, and after work, almost completely forgetting about his two other children in the process. He always made his kids breakfast and dinner. Since his mother was a pastry chef in France, she instilled in him the hardcore French way of making food like this man seriously did not fuck around with his food and if he saw you microwaving something he would probably spit on you. Either he was in the process of making dinner for the evening at like 4:30 in the morning or he was up until midnight working on food for the next day. While Ben was in the hospital the most thought William gave his other kids was leaving a $50 bill on the table for them to order something. I know him making breakfast and dinner isn't exactly relevant to Bennett's death but I want to emphasize that William completely stopped giving a fuck and dropped everything for his favorite other child who he loved equally.

So when Ben died it was due to a brain hemorrhage that had gone unnoticed until it became a serious issue in the last few minutes of his life. During those few minutes William noticed the EKG was giving out a weaker pulse and he thought nothing of it, as it was a late night and he didn't think it was that important. Nobody monitoring the readings thought anything of it either. When Ben's body was like "Ok we can't get any oxygen to the brain because the blood is causing too much pressure let's abandon ship," and flatlined, William still didn't really comprehend it. Well, he got the memo "Hey, your son just fucking died," but he was still in denial. The entire medical staff crammed into that room and ushered William into the hallway where he sat in the same spot, looking at the same picture of a smiling kid on a playground for a full 45 minutes before it hit him. And when it hit William, it hit him like a fucking truck. He immediately burst into tears (which he had probably not done since he was, like, 4) and booked it for a payphone, where he called Michael and Elizabeth, a sobbing mess who could barely catch his breath. They, however, immediately understood. Michael took his car and went 90 on a 55 highway to the hospital. His vision was so blurry from crying so hard he nearly drove into two ditches, almost missed the exit, and ran a red light and two stop signs.

William then proceeded to argue with the head doctor, screaming incoherent nonsense at anybody in his line of sight. He yelled at doctors, nurses, people at desks, and a mother with an infant patient in her arms on her way to the bathroom. Everybody on the floor had been screamed at with a nonsensical mish-mash of French and English with phrases varying from "How could you do this to me?" to "I am going to sue the shit out of all of you," to "You're all going to rot in hell for this." When the nurses were like "Ok we're really sorry about all this but we have to get your son's dead fucking body out of here," William finally left. Michael drove Elizabeth home in his own car, and William stopped to find three bottles of the most potent alcohol he could find at the liquor store, drove home, and chugged them all on the front porch.

Ben's funeral was a much more tame situation, but William had locked the door to Ben's room and hid the key somewhere nobody knew until some 17 years later. William would talk to nobody, muttering things to himself and having to walk away from the service a few times to break out in tears. When everyone attending the funeral eventually congregated at William's house, they found every picture with Ben in it face down and William crying every tear out of his body in front of the door to Ben's room. To say Ben's death took every scrap of William's emotion and left only rage, neuroticism, homicidal tendencies, and a complete lack of empathy is a perfect way to describe it. When he saw Elizabeth's body he literally didn't give a single fuck to the point where he didn't even seem shaken up, but he was still very open to admit that he would often wake up in crying fits over Ben's death.

So, uh, William is a wretched father and I don't feel bad for him at all. Fuck that guy.

[a-dumb-simp]

Wrong

Trans Leviathan (Obey Me) fic/vent

Leviathan had always been a female in the celestial, before the fall. She had a suspicion there was something missing but was constantly reassured that god had made her in a perfect way, and that nothing could ever be wrong. And she had tried to brush it off, tried to forget about it, she truly did.

Her brothers we're very protective of her and Lilith even in the celestial. But after the fall they became more possessive, they were worried about her constantly as she was their only sister left. Lilith's death had caused them to show her more affection and it only served to make her feel worse. She couldn't let them down once again, could she? They needed a sister, and she was the only one left.

She attempted only once to tell her brothers about what she had been feeling and yet they only waved it off. One of them, she couldn't remember now, had even started to say ”he made you perfect” but then had a realization as to where they were and shut up fairly quick, instead moving onto a different subject. She even tried going to Asmodeus but he was really no help, just spent the entire time not really listening to her while doing other tasks.

She couldn't take it. She had locked herself in her room for nearly an entire month never leaving. We knew her brothers had become sick with worry and they would leave food out for her, but they all knew she wouldn't eat it.

Leviathan got envious of everyone around her being happy with their body image and themselves and could take it anymore. Why were they happy while she had to suffer through life not knowing who she was? She had a sudden urge and grabbed a pair of scissors she found laying around and before she could feel any regret snipped off a long strand of hair. She barely had time to think before she was doing it again, the adrenaline pushing her forward and her...his?? Hair rapidly falling to the floor. He finally looked up at the mirror and realized he was crying, small tears fell down the bridge of his nose from looking down, hair sticking to his hands annoyingly. But he smiled and continued his work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mammon had looked up during dinner to see a blur of blue hair and felt relief that she had finally come back out. He thought it must have been a new game or anime, or something stupid that had distracted her from seeing them. He looked back down again remembering that he was supposed to be grabbing the food for everyone as it was his night to cook. He attempted to get Levi to help him.

”Hey, Levi could you.....uhhhh”

Mammon was shocked just continuing to stare at her as if he was seeing cerberus coming charging at him. Lucifer told him to shut up, and to everyone's disbelief he didn't follow the order. This had caught the other brothers attention who had walked into the dining room on routine and barely noticed those around them. They all looked first toward Mammon who still stood mumbling incoherently and then secondly to Levi whom he was staring at.

Mammon started sputtering attempting to say something but it was more of even worse panicked mumbling then before, Lucifer just stared with a neutral look on his face and his hands resting on the table not moving an inch, Asmo and Satan stopped what they were doing and both slightly smiled at Levi although shock was still evident, unsurprisingly Belphie had yet to enter and was still sleeping and Beel had already started eating although looking at Levi out of the corner of his eye.

Levi slowly turned around with a blush lighting up his face as he finally looked up at everyone.

”hey” he settled on

Asmodues immediately ran over and started petting his hair, the strands still in his eyes and the cut was a bit uneven but Asmo was still impressed with him.

”you look gorgeous dear!” he yelled ”but if you don't mind me asking what brought this on sister?”

Levi flinched at the word...sister coming from Asmodeus’ mouth. Every brother took notice and frowned a bit, now more concerned with the fear in her eyes then her hair. Lucifer finally stood up in the silence walking over to Levi. He stopped in front of her and Asmo and was silent for a moment studying her features and the look of doubt written all through her face and body language.

He attempted to reach for her but she yet again flinched, making the brother even more concerned. Lucifer took his hand back quickly as if being burned and, while he usually hides his emotions well, hurt and worry managed to seep out.

Asmo took her hand, this time Levi let him, and looked into her eyes. Levi wanted to deny what had happened and move on but knew that wouldn't be the case.

”we need to talk” Levi said.

The boys all stood silence surrounding their sister but Lucifer nodded in agreement and led them away from the dining room. They hadn't eaten yet and it was a school day, but he knew this was important and maybe the only time they would get Levi to open up so he allowed it.

They all settled on the couches in the living room, trying not to be too obvious with their concern and failing miserably. Levi decided to speak up first knowing he should take a grip on the situation.

”I don't feel right”

Fuck.

that was the wrong thing to say. The brothers look even worse now all leaning in, Asmo now lightly touching his arm in reassurance.

”I mean, I feel wrong, in this body. It isn't truly me, it's just wrong.”

Lucifer finally spoke up at that.

”what do you mean wrong?”

Attempting to keep his voice neutral but they all could hear the waver. He couldn't lose another sister, not again, no matter what he would not let that happen.

Levi sighed ”Being female feels wrong, I don't k-know why” the hitch in his voice caused by the oncoming tears of frustration. ”It just feels...wrong..”

The next things that happened were a blur. Asmo had grabbed her and pulled her into a hug, letting her cry softly into his chest while looking at his brothers in worry. Lucifer stood up and sat next to Levi gently prying her fingers from Asmos shoulders and lifting her chin to talk. Before he could Asmo spoke up.

“Is, is that why you cut your hair?” He spoke softly

Levi nodded only feeling tension and regret for what he had said. Maybe he was just making a mistake, maybe he was a girl and just faking for attention, maybe he’s just delusional and this is how he’s supposed to feel, maybe he’s-

His thought got caught off by Lucifer pulling him into a hug.

“Just talk to us, please.”

Lucifer never said please. He was the avatar of pride after all, and yet he was letting his guard down for his little sister...brother? Levi attempted to explain again, saying nearly the same words as last time until he felt Asmo leave the couch behind him. He immediately felt shame, he had made his brother leave and soon they all would leave him. He couldn’t help but cry again, until he felt the weight dip back into the couch.

Asmo had brought back with him a binder, he had forgotten at this point which of his lovers had forgotten it in his room and he simply had washed it and added it to his ever-growing closet, hoping it would come in use. Lucifer spotted it and was a bit confused but sat Levi up so he could be handed the piece of clothing. Levi had been doing research the entire month constantly and knew what it was the second he saw it. He had to look a few time back and forth between the binder and Asmos growing smile of encouragement but grabbed it from Asmos grip quickly, and proceeded to tackle him into the sofa. Asmo let out a small giggle and turned to the side seeing his other siblings giving him confused looks.

”how about you go try that on while I explain everything dear?”

Levi quickly shot up, taking action again based on adrenaline and happiness alone before he could back out. And ran out of the room leaving Asmo to explain.

As soon as he had walked into the bathroom though, he couldn't move. He couldn't look at himself at all, tugging off his baggy shirt and bra and putting the binder on quickly. It took a second to get used to, his breath stolen for a minute before he put on a regular t-shirt and turned. For the third time that night he cried. Cried because he had found himself, cried because his family excepted him, cried because he could start becoming who he truly was. And there were only happy tears for the rest of the night.

[imaginesmai]

Tom Holland - Forgotten aniversary

So, I heard Tom was thinking about taking a break next year! I’m really happy for him, becuase I think 2020 is going to be pretty stressful. Anyway, I got a fic idea because of that. I hope you like it!

Plot: working so hard had consequences. 

Angsty and fluffly! 

The water burned as it flowered over your hands.

Hands that tightly gripped a sponge as they angrily scrubbed away at the pan. You muttered unintelligibly under your breath as your hands worked away at the cooked on bits. Cooking wasn’t your strong point, and more than once you had burnt the food on the pan, creating a mess. But that wasn’t the case. The pan was hard to clean, because it had been just too long for the food to stick to the material.

Your breath hitched as your hands finally recognized how hot the water had actually gotten, and you cropped the pan into the water, splashing yourself in the process.

“Fuck!”

You moved quickly to cut off the water, the silence welcoming you like a needed blanket. As you grabbed the edge of the counter and closed your eyes, you forced the tears back and focused on breathing through your nose in normal patterns.

You weren’t mad. You were mad two hours ago, when the dinner you had cooked grew cold on the table you had set up in the balcony, and the screen on your phone had remained black. You were mad when you were taking off the new lingerie set your best friend had helped you pick last weekend in favour of the ratty pyjamas you wore normally to bed. You were mad as your phone finally lit up, only to be a message from your mother asking how the anniversary was going, and to wear condom. Then, as the clock hit midnight and you poured yourself your third glass of the expensive wine you were going to open up for the occasion, you weren’t mad at all.

Pissed. Disappointed. Sad. On the verge of crying, too.

The sound of keys rustling outside the door made you open your eyes, and you knew it was Tom who was outside the door. He sounded in a hurry, the keys falling to the ground twice before he finally put them right. You heard him curse under his breath, and finally the door opened and Tom walked inside the apartment; where he was supposed to be two hours ago, when the food was still hot.

Secretly, he had hoped for you to be asleep. It wasn’t his intention to be late, but Harry had wanted to wrap up their last project and he had promised him that it would only be a few minutes tops. Turned out, it was longer than that; and when he had finally looked down at the clock and had seen your single message of ‘everything ready, luv u’, he had ran out of Harry’s house and ignored a few traffic laws.

When he looked inside, he saw you nowhere in sight, so he left his jacket and his papers on the desk and spared a glance at the table in the living room. He knew it had been in the balcony for a long time, since it didn’t have the usual ornaments on. He looked at the kitchen, where there was no proof of any kind of food. Only an open bottle of wine.

“Darling?” he tried, walking a bit farther into the apartment. He repeated the name, with a little bit of more power. “Y/N, you there?”

Tom stepped into your shared bedroom and saw you sitting on the bed, propped up against the headboard with your legs crossed. You spared him a quick glance, and Tom got the message clear enough; you were mad. You had all the reasons to be, but sometimes Tom wished you a different type of mad. The one who screamed and kicked, the one who cried or the other who talked things out. From the few fights you had had, he knew you weren’t neither of them, but rather the one that kept everything inside.

Nothing and lames ‘I’m sorry’ was what came into his mind, so he decided to give it a little time before he could screw it up even more. So he started by taking out his shoes, sitting on the bed to take out his socks and shirt. Every button that came down was another brick of guilt on his back. When he had put the whole set of pyjamas, he was close to tears himself.

He turned around and hoped that you were already looking at him, demanding an explanation or something. Instead, he got more silence and wall staring. Tom wasn’t known for making very sharp choices when he was under pressure. Probably, there was only one thing that he could say that would make the pressure cooker explode.

“Hey” Tom started, standing up and crossing his arms in front of his torso. “So, happy anniver –“

“What?”

Tom gulped at your sharp words, and finally met your eyes. They weren’t the sweet loving orbs that he looked everyday at, not even the annoyed ones from when he teased you too much. Instead, there was pure anger behind them. Tom didn’t have time to say anything else, because you shifted until you were on your knees in front of him and talked again.

“So you dumped me in our anniversary, didn’t call in all day, not even a message, and you appear two hours late with a fucking happy anniversary? Really, Tom?” you spat at him. “Not to talk that I’ve worried sick because I haven’t known anything of you since this morning”

“Darling, I’m sorry” he said and took a chance by stretching his hand forward. You swatted him away. “Look, Harry told me –“

“No! You’re not sorry!” Tom blinked surprised at the sudden outburst. “Maybe, when you would’ve been just thirty minutes late, maybe you would have been sorry. Or maybe, if it was the first time it happened, you can be sorry. But it’s our anniversary, you promised you would be here, and I fucking believed you like the last ten times!”

There were tears in your eyes, and Tom’s heart broke with them. It was true that, lately, he had been too caught up with work to have life outside of it. All the projects he was working in, the brother’s trust foundation, his own film with Harry… It wasn’t the first time he was late for one of your dates, and that it was your anniversary only made it worse.

“I… um, I – I” Tom tried to come up with something to say, but his stuttering only made more tears be contained in your eyes; and that made Tom stutter more.

“You were – have you been cheating?” you said, finishing in a small cry that let the first tear fall. “Is that why –?”

“No! No, I’m not cheating!” Tom let his knees fall on the top of the bed, so that he was almost at the same level at you. “I promise I would never, ever – I wasn’t… I w-was with Harry! We didn’t, we lost track of time and – and –“

“Is your work more important than me?”

The question wasn’t yelled, just whispered. You voice had finally cracked and the tank of tears that you had been keeping at bay for almost two hours broke. Big, fat, droplets of water went running down your cheeks as you tried to keep your sobs down, while Tom could only babble incoherent things.

It was as if someone had tied a brick to his heart and had let it to drown, because suddenly he couldn’t breathe. You had had the same argument before, when he had forgotten a date or missed an important event for you for his work. But never, not once in your relationship, had he seen you cry over it. Tom was a pretty emotional guy, so he couldn’t do nothing against his blurry vision.

You fell back to you butt in the centre of the bed, propping your elbows on your thighs and covering your face. Your breaths were becoming raspy and the hiccups were the only thing cutting through the sobs. Eventually, Tom moved fully into the bed, until he was in front of you and could drag you into his lap.

The bed that you had bought in IKEA two months ago wasn’t perfect. You were in a hurry because the last one had broken a leg, and you decided you would have time to buy another one. At one in the morning, the decision to buy online hadn’t been the brightest; but you had had so much fun putting it together, that Tom and you had decided to keep it.

It cracked when Tom sat on the bed with you on his lap, still crying. He missed the way your hands would wrap themselves around his torso when he did that, but he understood that he didn’t really deserve you attention. It was enough for him that you weren’t pushing him away.

“I’m sorry” he sighed, and kissed the side of your head. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I promise. I’m sorry”

The sounds of the city leaked through the window. Cars horning, people shouting in the distance, some laughs. All of that was insignificant in front of the sound of your despair, which Tom wished more than anything to go away.

He held you as you cried, sometimes whispering how sorry he was, sometimes crying with you. The minutes passed by, and he knew it wasn’t just one night tears. It had been going on for a while, the obsession to do as many things as possible was finally having it’s consequences.

The time you took to calm down, was the time Tom used to put a solution to all of that.

“Y/N” he called your attention when your tears were almost gone. You didn’t look up, but tried to move away. “Y/N, please. Listen to me”

“Why, Tom? So you can tell me how busy you’ve been with Harry?” you snapped. “How this new project is just very long and hard? I’m tired of you putting your work in front of me always”

“I won’t anymore” Tom’s grip lessened, and he ignored the pang of hurt when you finally moved to your side of the bed.

“Until next time, right?” you gave him a tired glance. Your eyes were swollen and red, and your lip was trembling again. “I just want to go to sleep. We can talk about it in the morning”

“But – “

“Night, Tom”

You went to lay on your side, back facing Tom. The clock showed twelve forty-five in the morning, and you turned off the night lamp. Darkness filled your room and you closed your eyes, trying to fall into a dreamless sleep that let you calm down.

Tom, however, had different intentions. You felt the bed dip under his movement and the light being turned again. That time it was farther, on his side of the bed; and then, he moved towards yours and rolled you on your back by your shoulder. You were ready to yell at him a bit more when you were met with his face inches away from yours.

His hair was longer than what you had noticed last, the first notice of curls showing, and his smile was sadder. You tried to think of a time where you had stopped and just looked at him, enjoying a lazy morning between lovers. Sadly, you couldn’t find none. Tom took a while to talk, seeming as memorized by you as you by him.

“I’m sorry. And I mean it. Sorry for being away for so long, for putting my work before you and for forgetting that you’re the most important part of my life. You’re my family, and that’s always before everything and anything” Tom let out in one row, stopping barely to breath. “I’m sorry I’ve forgotten the anniversary, and your mother’s birthday party, and the date at the Italian restaurant. I’m sorry”

Tom waited for you to talk, and when you didn’t, he took it as a good chance. He breathed the nerves out and continued.

“I… I was thinking about taking a break for a while” he went back to his part of the bed, leaning against the headboard. It was your turn of moving up and open your eyes wide.

“What?” the sheets fell out of bed. “I-I didn’t mean, like – like a break! We’re, we’re – we can –“

“Not from you!” Tom quickly corrected you, before you could start crying again. He seemed horrified that you could think something like that. “I wasn’t – God, I meant for work! A break from work! Like – a sabbatical year, or something. We could… we could go somewhere. Or stay here. Whatever you want. If you want. Because – because I wouldn’t want to take a break with you. But if that’s what you need, I guess –“

“You don’t have to take a break just because I cry” you scoffed out, interrupted him.

There was something that neither Tom or you tolerated; pity. When you made a decision for each other, it had to be because it grew out of your love, not because you thought it was the best thing to do to stop the other one from being sad.

You crossed your arms and sat against the headboard too, and almost laughed. To anyone who was outside, it seemed that you were an old couple ready to go to sleep after taking out their prosthetic teeth. You stood serious and focused on your socked feet, covered by a cute pair of spiderman socks that had small Christmas trees and webs all over. You entertained yourself moving your toes while Tom decided how he wanted to express his thoughts.

“I’m not doing this because what has just happened” Tom started, voice as low as a whisper. You had to lean a little closer to hear him. “I just – I’ve tried to do more. I want to achieve great things, and there are a lot of good opportunities coming my way right no”

“You don’t have to leave all of that behind for me, Tom” you tried to reassure him, in case he didn’t want to do so. Because even if it meant you and Tom broke up, his happiness would always be your one priority.

“The thing is, I’m searching for the perfect life in the industry, and sometimes I forgot that I already have it here with you” Tom declared.

He turned his head to the right so that he was looking at you. His cheeks had a pinkish colour and his jaw was clenched tight. For a second, you didn’t see the grown man that was working every day until late night and missing all your dates. You saw the boy who asked you out with a bouquet of flowers when he was allergic to them. The boy who you fell in love right when you finished highschool. And the man you had loved and wanted by your side till then.

“I promise I won’t forget any other anniversary, dates or birthdays. I’ll be home more, and we’ll do things together. And if I do forget, you’re allowed to fill the house with cats” Tom joked, giving you a hesitant smile. When he saw your fond one, he finally relaxed. “I love you. And I’m sorry, I’ll say it as many times as you want”

“Maybe another thirty will be necessary” you teased back. “But tomorrow. I really want to sleep now”

Tom was ready for you to turn your back to him again and go to sleep on his own, but got pleased when you scooted closer and forced him to lay down on his side. It had been probably months since you had laid down that close, cuddling like when you had time for each other.

You laid your head on his shoulder and trapped his body with your arm, that gripped the pyjama. Tom wrapped himself more tightly that what he used to and closed his eyes tightly, thinking about how lucky he was that you were by his side. Just when he stretched his arm to turn off the light, he heard your sleepy voice.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook because you made me a promise” you warned him, and he actually stopped his movements. “But I love you too, Tom”

Tom smiled softly and finished turning off the lights. You nuzzled your nose against his neck and he closed his eyes peacefully. If it was necessary, he was sure he could give up his whole career for you. Because nothing was more important to him.

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

Tom Holland and Peter Parker Taglist

@delicately-important-trash

@lexxxistrips

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[ask-the-crimson-king]

The Return from Art Hell

[RIGHT. SO. THIS TOOK. A BIT. 

Explanations, artist mumblings, and detail shots below the cut, also tagging @luwupercal​ cause you may enjoy the story behind why this exists and what is happening.

SO this image is based on a small Discord rp thing I did with a few others on here where Horus:

Came back. First as a Warp blob, but then with the aid of Magnus, he was able to get a more solid form, (which was a small husky puppo) and eventually becomes this big ol fucker. (Who was designed by @hoholupercal​ )

This was a pain in the fucking ass to draw. I must’ve had five or six drafts on this alone cause I couldn’t get shit right. The pose, the posture, the head (I cannot fucking draw wolves lol I draw birbs) AND THEN I FORGOT IMPORTANT DETAILS RIGHT AS I WAS ALMOST DONE WITH THE FUCKING LINEART. But I do like how this came out, personally. Especially the fire. Very happy with how it looks. 

NOW, along with Warp blob Horus returning, there was a bit of a reunion among brothers. And with this reunion came several revelations, one of which... well, let’s say this nerd:

He learned the truth about what happened to Prospero. Horus confessed. And Magnus was, understandably, pissed. And Horus was, understandably, feeling incredibly guilty and broody.

Now for the random artist tangent: I said fuck the TTS wings and fuck the model wings and based his wings off the Magnus v Guilliman pic because those look cool as fuck and are superior to many other incarnations (including the ones mentioned) and you cannot change my mind. Also the blue sash was because I realized just how much fucking red was gonna be in this picture and decided to add more blue.

Also also added Pandora, the kitten, because why not.

Now, what happens when you have a pissed nerd and a broody wolfish bastard?

You get this little birdstard:

Acting as a botched therapist, trying to force him to talk about his emotional issues and stop being weird and broody. Does it work? Kinda. Kazakh did pull out a knife. Or tried to.

SO that’s why Kazakh is yelling at Horus. Essentially he’s saying “HEY, YOU, STOP BEING WEIRD AND FACE YOUR EMOTIONAL PROBLEMS!” to which Horus is saying “No.”

So. This all happens, and then the brothers start talking again. And eventually the topic switches to that of Kor Phaeron and Erebus since they’re really the ones responsible for everything going to shit. Among other things.

To make a longer story short, the band splits up after making a plan. They’re going to pin one against the other -- Erebus is going to be poisoned and sent a letter that’s “””from””” Kor Phaeron (plagiarism, woo), provoking him into openly attacking the old bastard. Kazakh and Lorgar end up going to the Venegeful Spirit to go poison Erebus, while Magnus, Sanguinius, and Horus prepare to find Kor Phaeron on Sicarus.

Only one problem -- Kor Phaeron isn’t on Sicarus. He’s on the Spirit. And Kazakh and Lorgar find this out after seeking out Abbadon in order to figure out a way to test the poison that Lorgar can create. Kazakh quickly goes flying off to find Magnus and tell him what’s happened, and after some deliberation, Magnus suggests to be direct and to have both of them killed outright instead of them killing each other. He offers to kill Kor Phaeron in Lorgar’s stead, but Lorgar says that he needs to do it.

And so he does. And it is a ride. A feelsy ride. Horus goes to kill Erebus and it’s less feelsy because it’s essentially a one-and-done but no one is complaining. Bastard is gone. 

Sanguinius senses Lorgar’s distress and pulls him back through a portal to their little sanctuary (where this saga began, with the arrival of warp blob Horus) in order to give him comfort. 

AND THUS, we come to the end of the tale, and to the final scene.

Sang, chilling with Lorgar, enjoying a nice, calm conversation and a drink or two.

While Horus enjoys a bottle to himself.

Other little note things: I just threw everyone in the Warp because. Listen. Okay. It was 2:30 am and I was like ‘aw fuck I don’t have an idea for a good background’ so I just yeeted the background together hastily cause DEAR FUCK I WANTED TO BE DONE ALREADY.

AND NOW I AM! A total of 15 or so hours later, and you all get an art piece and a tale. 

Also if anyone wants to come at me for Lorgar and Magnus not having horns, take it up with my wrist because No. Magnus can make his form variable and that four horned Lorgar thing is only fan art, it’s not canon. He and Perturabo don’t have canon daemon prince forms. 

Also also I know I drew a beefcake but please, if you’ve read this far, DON’T FUCKING THIRST OVER MY ART. IT’s not meant to be fetish-y or anything. If you think it’s hot or sexy KEEP IT TO YOURSELF. Don’t leave weird tag comments please. It makes me very uncomfortable. 

Anyway, thanks for reading. This is probably rambly as fuck, and incoherent at points, but if you did read this far, good for you! You get this Kazakh:

[shintorikhazumi]

“Yet” (14): Homecoming

A/N: Sorry this one is kind of long, but I really wanted to end by the second week, so I tried to just... end it with a full-ish chapter.

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

She looked... foreign. But at the same time terribly familiar. She knew her, and yet she didn’t as she’d never even met her.

Russet strands covered in dust, dried, and with some odd, greenish glow to them (she was sure an explanation would be given in due time); a sweet burgundy that matched her own- it was like looking at her own reflection in the mirror... just that... this reflection was a horrific mess of a copy of her own face- a few years older, and deformed with an ugliness that had its own story to tell- this was what she came face to face with, on a cold sixty-sixth day of her eighteenth year of life.

She almost couldn’t bear to look at that sorry countenance.

She would have asked her mum-voice clear and to be heard by all- who this frightening stranger was. She would have.

And yet... she didn’t have the heart to inflict that kind of piercing pain on the older woman staring right back at her; shock, awe, wonder, hesitation, fear, guilt, longing. She could see them all- the various splashes of emotional color on that otherwise paling face.

A face that angered her. A face her mind resented.

Yet...

//-//-//-//-//

It was awkward. Excruciating.

Akko stood in front of a girl- no. That wasn’t quite right; not anymore.

Dull reds scanned the figure fixed on a spot just below the front steps to the mansion, face contorted with feelings she must have wanted to mask behind nonchalance and trained grace; but failing miserably to hide contempt, or disgust, or whatever it was that Akko assumed the sight of her made her feel.

Still, she was on a mission. A brand new one, assigned to her by none other than the keeper of her heart- her wife. A mission that she just could not fail. Or at least, couldn’t keep failing.

The task? Well, she was currently meeting this young lady. For the first time. She looked elegant, raised with as much love and care that a parent could muster on their own. She looked like she had a good head on her shoulders; responsible and intellectual. She had a finely groomed appearance; hair flowing down to mid-waist level, kept neat by a single violet headband; her clothes were modest and elegant, befitting of a bearer of the Cavendish name. She seemed well-mannered enough with how she held back any violent reaction towards someone Akko believed did not deserve to step foot in these premises. Her.

Despite the guilt gnawing into her entire being, Akko found it impossible not to look upon the fair maiden instead of hiding her own nightmare of an appearance. She should be looking down in shame, desperately figuring out how to start this long-due apology. However, all that left her mind as she was spellbound by the one person before her, the only one her eyes could-would see, this very moment.

This girl, this lady, this young woman...

This...

This was her daughter.

//-//-//-//-//

“...ko... Ak... Akko!”

It was tingly. It was warm. It surged through her body like magic. Magic that was not her own. This feeling so familiar- when had she experienced it before? Ah-

Diana.

“Akko? Can you hear me, love? Please. Please, respond. Just say my name again one more time. Or anything. Please. I beg of you. Please. Anything to know you are okay.” The desperation was palpable in that voice. “Professor Croix, how do I know this is working? Are you sure this is all I should be doing? What about healing? What if I-”

“No, Diana. Do not do more than I tell you to. Right now, Akko... Akko isn’t in a state that can be fixed by a normal session of healing. This is...” A much older sounding voice paused, hesitant. Akko could only wonder why. “The magic of Wagandea’s system embedded in her will keep her alive for a while, but we do need to figure out a way to extract it in the near future; before that very system withers away.”

“But-!”

‘What are they... talking about... I don’t understand.’

“Diana, please. We don’t have much time to leave this place before the concentration of magic becomes more than we can bear. Having used the rod, we are at risk to inadvertently become the rerouted storage for all this excess energy that the Tree cannot handle to contain anymore. We cannot become like what Akko has started to turn into.”

‘What does that mean? Why- what am I turning into? Diana? Diana, why are you crying?’

“How will we know if she’s okay to be transported then?”

“We will just have to do so, blind.”

‘What...?’

“And if that hurts her?!”

“Diana, you’ll just have to trust me when I say she’ll be better once we leave. Let’s go.”

“But Professor!”

‘Don’t cry... Diana. Please, don’t cry. I can’t bear to see you cry. I love you.’

Akko tried to feel her arms, tried to close her hand, or at least twitch a finger. She needed to let Diana know. She needed to call for her. She needed to respond. Diana. Diana. Diana-

“P...lease...” Her voice croaked, she sounded like she was dying. Might as well be, right now with how shitty she felt. Still. That seemed to be enough to grab her attention, Diana’s gorgeous blue eyes sparkling with more tears.

“Akko!” She felt herself embraced tight. Warm. At home.

“Dia...na... ple...s... don’... c-cry...”

“Shhh, shhh. It’s alright. You can stop talking now. Please. Stop talking. It’s okay now. You’re okay now. You’re fine now. You’re... You’re perfect. We can go home. We can go home now, Akko.” Diana rambled through her tears, tender salt-kisses pressed everywhere on Akko’s numbed face. “We can go now, professors.”

Akko barely recognized the presence of her two closest mentors. Since when had they been here? No, nevermind that. She wasn’t done with what she was saying.

“Di...a... Dian... Diana... list...n...”

“Akko? Akko! What is it? What is it, Love? I’m here. I’m listening.”

It hurt, her throat. It felt weird. She cleared it. She needed Diana to understand her well, and exact.

“Diana...”

“Yes? Yes, Akko.”

“I love you.”

Oh no. No. This wasn’t what she had intended. She was trying to make Diana stop crying. Not sob all the more. Before she could voice any concern however, she was hoisted into strong arms, loaded on a broom. She saw Diana wipe those tears from her eyes, and as if reading Akko’s hazy mind, replied,

“Don’t worry. I’m simply overjoyed Akko. I love you as well. More than life itself. I love you.”

She must be looking like the picture of stupidity right now, but at least she still remembered how to smile. Diana appeared to have remembered too.

Speaking of remembering... wasn’t there something else? Something Akko needed to do? She wracked her muddled brain for- ah.

“...I ...w-want t’ see... her.” She slurred against Diana’s chest, eyes feeling heavier by the minute. “Diana... wan... see her... please.”

She only felt a nod on her head, and a wetness drop on her cheek. Diana knew what it was she was trying to convey. She felt their ride move faster. Faster and faster. Her wish was to be granted.

“I want to see Kotone.”

//-//-//-//-//

It was a weird thing to wake up three days into the travel home. The magical carriage they boarded steady rolling along the dirt road.

As soon as she’d opened her eyes, Diana was all over her, smacking her arm lightly, wailing into her shoulder.

Once she’d calmed down, Akko was able to take in many more things with a less-foggy mind. Her two teammates were seated at one end of the carriage, Lotte looking as though she’d replace Diana next with the breathtaking hugs. Sucy had never had as much emotion show on her face until this moment.

Then Croix stole her attention with a comment on how surprised she was at Akko’s state. She was asked questions. How did she feel? Was there still pain? Did she feel drained, or odd, or anything. And if Akko thought about it, she felt better than she had ever in so long. Why was that? Croix hadn’t answered her then, but she was promised an extensive conversation after more urgent matters were settled.

What could be more urgent than information about what exactly was going on right now?

When the carriage came to a stop, and Akko peeked out the glass window, she finally knew. Or she tried to know. Her mind was at a screeching halt once more at what she saw.

And so Diana laid it all out for her. Her mission.

//-//-//-//-//

“...”

“...”

“I-” “You-”

“Oh” “Go ahead-”

“Ah, no you go first.”

“Oh, no, I insist that you-”

“B-but I really think that you have something to-”

“I... maybe, but... I... who... um... introductions... my Mum told me introductions are important and... you go first.”

“I...” She could feel her hands trembling. Anticipation? Anxiety? She didn’t know. She was simply overwhelmed by this... this... this. How does one ‘break the ice’, again? Eyes darted back and forth, head whipping this way and that, looking for some kind of aide, a distraction, a bridge for communication. Something. Anything! ‘Please, Kami-sama. Send me something. Someone... anyone-’

The sound of a clanky bell, and a rolling cart.

There! That! That could work! Wait! Stop! She needed-

She spun quickly on her heel towards the main gate they’d just passed through, leaving everyone dumbfounded as she rounded the wall, disappearing from their view momentarily. It made quite a few of them nervous, fearing she’d never return after they just got her back.

Those worries were laid to rest, as barely a minute later and their long-lost brunette marched up to them, some containers in hand. Diana realized what just occurred. It was fairly early in the morning, time for the farmers to pass...

“I-!” Akko yelled accidentally, nerves catching up to her, messing up her motions as she nearly punched a white-filled glass bottle into her very own child’s face. “I... I heard growing children need milk?!”

“...”

“...”

Diana was concerned. “Ak-”

But then a bundle of teary, incoherent words suddenly lunged into Akko’s arms, staining her torso with held back sorrow and need. Sure, she could not comprehend a word yet, but she completely understood everything Kotone wanted to convey.

And Akko missed her too. With all of her believing heart.

"You're such an idiot." Kotone sobbed, fists hitting her back a few times. "...I'm all grown up."

 It hurt. It hurt so much. She knew it, but hearing that truth killed her. To know she's missed that much of her daughter's life.

She felt the girl’s head press against her chest, arms around her waist pulling her ever closer, tighter. She could cry at the realization of what the girl was doing... She was listening to Akko’s heartbeat.

“So this is the sound of Mama’s heart...”

...

And Akko cried.

“Kotone. You are the sound of my heart.”

//-//-//-//-//

“ARE YOU SURE THIS IS SAFE, MAMA?!”

“PERFECTLY!”

“AKKO! STOP LYING! I REMEMBER YOU BREAKING YOUR ARM THE LAST TIME WE-”

“And off we go!”

“NOOOOOOO!”

“M-mum! Mum, I can’t- I can’t breathe!”

“Don’t be such a spoil sport, Diana; flying surfboard are always so cool!” Akko cheered, directing their vessel through the air, towards the beach.

“NOT WHEN THE THREE OF US CROWD YOUR TINY-” A pair of lips silenced her own, Akko’s grinning face coming into focus.

“Relax. Don’t be so tense, dear. We’re finally having our long-awaited family bonding time!!! At the beach, no less! You work so hard, it was a struggle to organize this day off, y’know?” Akko pouted, but it immediately vanished at the sight of her daughter nodding enthusiastically in front of Diana. “See? Kotone agrees!” They shared a high-five that Diana could only sigh to.

“Yay!”

“Not ‘yay!’” Diana chided. Wait a second. “WHO’S DRIVING?!”

“Calm down, Diana! Akko laughed aloud, breeze running through her hair as she manned the wooden board with her body. “What could go wro-”

There was a tree.

“...”

“...”

“You were saying?” Akko only groaned in defeat, face up against the bark.

“Aw, man. Board broke, mama. How do we get to the beach now?” Kotone frowned. None of them seemed to have the common sense to just magic it back into perfection, at the moment. They’d probably realize sooner or later.

“Well, there’s no rush anyway. We can always walk!”

“But it’ll take so long! The time...”

Akko pet her daughter’s head affectionately, gathering their fallen things, as well as her fallen wife on the ground, muttering curses and possibly planning spells to teach Akko important lessons about safety later on. Well...

Turning to Kotone, instead, she smiled, addressing the girl’s concerns.

“Worry not, love. Time is nothing. We have so much day left, and it’s definitely not over yet!”

Just like their story, together now.

It wasn’t over yet.

It’s only just begun.

A/N: I’M SORRY, I JUST HAD TO DO THE MILK OKAY?! THE TAGS NEED TO BE PROPERLY USED.

Awkward ending. I have writer’s block. Sorry. This short fic ended with full-length chapters. I’m sorry. It was hard to just... end it. So... sorry.

Anyway, welp. That’s it for the main run of “Yet”. Thank you to everyone who stuck around with the daily updates. There will be a few chapters of afterstory to address the blank spaces between plot such as what exactly happened before they got Akko home; what happens to the world of magic now that wagandea, a system akin to bodily homeostasis is gone; what happens to Akko herself after turning into this half-human, half-tree spirit entity; the magic community and the way the Old Nine are seen. But for now, I’d like a break from this to return to my multichapters that I’ve left behind. This was just supposed to be my in-between writing whenever I got stuck with my diakko day piece, but look where it’s brought us all. Hahaha. Frustration and all that. I truly enjoyed this, and I hope you all did too!

I can also begin to reply to the amazing amount of comments you all left behind! I’m extremely honoured and happy to receive so many feedback!

Til next time!!

~Shintori Khazumi

[preparetosufferemotionally]

Home: I can’t see!

Logicality

TW: Toxic/Abusive relationship, destruction of object, yelling, mentions of a fight,fighting, violence, past abusive relationship, slight dissociation, guilt tripping, physical abuse, unsympathetic Patton, emotional abuse, confused thinking (If you know, you know),and manipulation. 

Logan was terrified. Why did he try and win the argument this morning? It wasn’t important! It was very unimportant! If he was being honest, he didn’t fully understand what he did wrong. He could barely remember the fight. All Logan could remember was shouts that seem incoherent and far away. And now he was locked in their small apartment bedroom, waiting for Patton to come back from work. 

He hadn’t always been like this, terrified of the outcome of an argument. In fact, he had been well known for his debating abilities in highschool, when he led the debate team. Logan had even considered becoming a lawyer, he thought he would do well. But when he met Patton, everything changed. 

Janus, a fellow law student and Patton’s older brother, first introduced the two after a “project” with a few friends had just barely been saved by Logan. Patton had a bright smile, and the moment he smiled at Logan, the fears of Logan being alone forever washed away. Patton and Logan were inseparable in their early college years, becoming best friends. What Logan had not realized was that he slowly, at Patton’s prodding, began to drop friends. 

The first to go was Remus Empire, Janus’s best friend, a slightly cocky guy, with crazy ideas, but a big heart. Patton complained one night that Remus made him uncomfortable and that if Remus was around, he should stop inviting Patton over. Logan scrambled to apologize, and slowly stopped hanging out with Remus.

Then Patton asked him to be his boyfriend. Ecstatic, Logan said yes, as Patton subtly took control of Logan’s life. Soon, Remus’s brother, Roman and his boyfriend Virgil Black were shoved aside. Virgil had been getting suspicious of the relationship, having previously dated someone who abused, controlled, and manipulated him. Roman had full trust in his boyfriend and encouraged him to go forth to talk with Logan. Virgil met up with Logan after class, and gently asked about the relationship. Logan quickly realized that Virgil thought he was in an abusive relationship. He said it was preposterous and left early.

When he got to the dorm, Patton was waiting for him, clutching Logan’s phone. Logan was appalled he was invading his privacy and started to tell Patton off for taking the phone. Patton argued back, insisting that he didn’t do anything wrong, and that he should have told him. The argument escalated quickly, Patton turning to petty insults and complaints. Then Patton snapped. He slapped Logan across the face.

It was the first time Logan had ever been hit like that before. He gasped and clutched his cheek. Patton immediately burst into sobs, crying about how Logan made him do this, how could he do that to him! Logan, still in shock, didn’t know what to do. Eventually, when Patton kept crying, Logan crept forward, apologizing and soothing Patton, who made him promise to block Virgil and Roman out of his life immediately. Logan did. And fights became more frequent, Patton demanding something from Logan, Logan refusing and fighting back. Each became more and more painful, first slaps being doled out, then hair pulling (NOT in a consensual way), and being shoved against the wall. Hard. And Logan became tired. So, so tired. He stopped fighting back, just agreeing with every word out of Patton’s mouth without a second thought. 

Logan dropped out of law school. He blocked his friends on his phone. Logan married Patton, signing the document that made them spouses. Janus was there as a witness. He moved into an apartment with Patton and stayed home when Patton worked as a Preschool teacher in a private school. But it didn’t really stop the fights. Patton always found new reasons to be mad at Logan. And Logan sometimes tried to fight back, even though it just made everything worse.

And now he was here. Freaking out and reminiscing in his bedroom. The door suddenly opened and Logan jumped up.

“Logan! I’m home!” Patton sounded happy, but Patton always sounded happiest when he was angry. “I missed you sweetheart.” Logan’s breath caught in his throat as the bedroom door began to open. Patton’s ID was swinging in his hands, coat soaking wet from rain. Instinctively, Logan walked forward, taking Patton’s coat and ID to put them away. He moved carefully, not wanting to upset his husband anymore than he already was. 

“How... how... How was work?” Logan asked quietly as he placed the ID on their small bedside table. Patton hummed cheerfully moving out of the doorway and sitting on the bed. 

“Oh it was wonderful Logie. My students are such good little listeners and just so curious!” Patton dried his glasses on his light blue shirt as he spoke. “You know, they didn’t understand why we couldn’t play outside. I told them about how the rain would make them wet and how it would get all over my glasses so I couldn’t see. Then little Remy Empire, such a silly kiddo, tried to steal my glasses so they couldn’t get wet. They almost broke.” Logan froze as he put away Patton’s coat in the small closet. “And it reminded me of you.” Patton went up to Logan, a silent threat. Logan didn’t move. “Give me your glasses Logan.”

“I-but-I-what-” Logan stuttered, panicking. Patton rolled his eyes, hands out. 

“Now!” Logan quickly obeyed, handing his glasses to Patton, his sight quickly blurring. “Good.” Then Patton dropped his glasses on the ground, lightly pushing Logan, who stumbled forward, smashing them. Logan couldn’t breath. He couldn’t think. And most importantly, he couldn’t see. “You obviously didn’t need these very much Logan. Why else would you be so carelessly clumsy?” Patton said sweetly. “Now, do you have something to say to me?”

“I’m sorry for arguing earlier. I trust your judgement.” Patton smiled. At least, that’s what Logan thought he saw. 

“Good. Because I already have a kiddo in mind. Just put your signature here, and we can adopt him.” Patton pushed a pen into Logan’s hands and had him sign the adoption papers. Logan did so mindlessly. Patton clapped cheerfully, planting a kiss on his head. “I can’t wait for you to meet him, Logie. His name is Emile and he’s so sweet and smart. He’s perfect. You’ll be raising him while I’m at work of course.” Logan nodded absently. Then he frowned slightly.

“Will I be getting.. getting new g-glasses? I can’t... I can’t... I can’t see.” Patton ran his fingers through Logan’s hair. 

“Mmm, maybe after you’ve really learned your lesson. Now, isn’t it your turn to cook dinner sweetheart?” 

“But-”

“But what?” Patton asked innocently. Logan sighed in defeat, stumbling out to the mini kitchen. As he did his best to cook a satisfactory meal, he thought about the son they were adopting. He remembered why he was against it at first. He felt strangely as though a child should NOT be here. It didn’t feel safe. 

As Logan stirred the sauce, he promised himself that he would make that child feel safe. He would protect him. 

[kinetic-elaboration]

September 10: Friday

I just had this feeling this morning like I didn’t want to go to work and eh... that was probably right. Nothing really bad happened, I just felt very strongly that I did NOT want to be there.

My coworker wanted to talk to me at like 8:30 in the morning (you know those silly little ‘don’t talk to me before I’ve had my coffee’ signs?? literally do not talk to me before 9:30 EARLIEST) and I was supremely incoherent. Then later a different coworker essentially took out his bad mood on my department including on me personally, and it was... dumb. I got his point but I’m just, as I tried to explain to others later, unkeen on being talked to about actions I took under others’ explicit instructions. Also, in part because of that, in part because I thought he was semi-unreasonable, and in part because I just truly didn’t want to do what he was asking/telling me to do, I did not really budge on the issue. Which was very awkward because as I said I did get his point. And of course the issue is SOMETHING DUMB which is always how it is. All of these fights are 100% shit that would sound idiotic if you tried to explain it to someone else, which is why I’m vaguing right now.

And the nametags thing came up on Teams (thanks @ the same coworker), and the only good thing about that is that the director explicitly said she was against the idea so I feel pretty confident that it won’t be mandated. Also I could detect some panic in other people about it. I do NOT like the way this is being handled AT ALL. Plus it’s just the hill I’ve decided to die on (because I think I can win--so I guess it’s better to say this is the hill I’m going to defeat my enemies on) so I gotta get annoyed at it. I refrained from contributing to the conversation but I did like the director’s anti-nametag post, which I think gets my point across.

Also I felt like I spent a lot of time doing not much, to be honest. Still didn’t go to stupid compact shelving. Devoted too much time to the crap in the above paragraphs. Talked to BL over in admin and heard some more unflattering stories about a particular administrator. Like, incredibly unflattering. Which is stuff I do want to know but it contributes to the overall Mood of the day, which again is ‘I don’t want to be here.’

I took a very late lunch, and that in turn contributed to me not paying enough attention to the time and leaving late.OH AND I got 3 important emails in the last ten minutes of the day. Two were very expected because they were coming from the West Coast but the last was like.. do not make me deal with this right now.

I didn’t deal with almost any of it but I did get so distracted that I left about five minutes late, and so I missed the bus. I wasn’t too upset about it since the weather was nice anyway and I didn’t mind spending some time downtown. But I did waste time trying to see if I could catch said bus, and then more time trying to go to my favorite coffee shop, which had closed at 5. But since it was 5:15, there were still people inside (cleaning up, which is fair) and people outside (drinking coffees they’d bought before 5 I’m sure, also fair), and the sign said hours were until 7 so I spent a few confused, embarrassing moments going ????? what is the truth?

So ultimately I went to a different cafe, a newish one that opened in 2019 I think. I’ve always avoided it in part because the floor is very loud and in part because I felt like I was cheating on my main place lol. (Not that I never get coffee anywhere else... just that this place is so close to my usual place, I always feel like, if I’m in the area, I might as well go to said usual place.) I did find the inside very disorienting. The pattern of the floor is just truly A Lot. They did have these weird teacup ornaments hanging from the ceiling though. I got an iced latte, which was fine, and this delicious spinach and feta pastry. I feel like I should stop by more often for baked goods. I settled outside with what I’d gotten, mostly because of the floor, partly because it actually was nice out, and partly because I’m not currently comfortable with indoor dining, even in places with almost no one in them.

I only had like 25 minutes to kill at that point, but it was nice. I had a notebook with me and I did a teeny bit of planning on the Southern Gothic AU (still behind on this!!). Mostly I listened to the conversation next to me. I couldn’t entirely help it; the girl’s voice was carrying. She was talking to her guy friend about some recent issues they’d been having in their friendship. I was honestly...kind of impressed with them? I could mostly hear her--he was talking too but his voice didn’t carry as much--but it just overall sounded like a really open, emotionally honest, generally calm talk. Like certainly there were strong emotions in play (not exactly going to judge whether they were “warranted” given the apparent facts of the dispute, since I just ranted about a disagreement over something so dumb I don’t even want to name it in public) but they were just... expressing feelings that were difficult, and expressing displeasure with others’ actions, without yelling or being passive aggressive, etc. I mean even that they’d picked this time and place to meet specifically to discuss it I thought was commendable. And they were definitely friends, not bf/gf, because the disagreement involved his girlfriend (once referred to as his “partner”...sorry lol I judged that a LITTLE since they looked like they were maybe 21 years old--partner in WHAT??). The girl mentioned her therapist, which put a lot of her tone and vocabulary into perspective. Not necessarily in a bad way, I mean, it seemed to be working? But as someone who has never been to therapy, but is self-taught, so to speak, in gauging and describing my own feelings, I could... discern a sort of purposeful vocabulary that almost sounded scripted. I wrote down some specific quotes but I don’t want to put them in a public place. I’ll draw my respecting-strangers’-privacy line in the sand there. But a lot of, like “when you do x, it makes me feel y” kind of controlled explanations.

Anyway, I got very invested in that. Partly for future writing purposes, partly out of curiosity and partly because... I don’t know that I could have that kind of conversation NOW and I’m fairly sure I could not have when I was in college. I mean.... I don’t know... I’ve blocked out a lot of the pretentious/serious/about-our-feelings talks I did have. And what sticks out now are all the times I didn’t do that--all of the many, many issues with TA38... Even the way B and I have literally NEVER acknowledged the handful of times we hooked up in 2009.

You’re never gonna sound COOL talking about your emotions, your wants and your needs; it’s always gonna sound, imo, like a Therapy Script. And I don’t even always think you gotta have those talks. After graduation, R and I literally had this exchange where we said ‘well we both made mistakes last year, and we could try to untangle it now, but it’s just gonna bring up a lot of bad feelings. It’s done now anyway. Blanket apologies given, blanket acceptance of apologies, let’s move on.” And we did and it was fine. But if we’d had better conversations while we were living together, that would have been a different situation.

All of which is of course complicated for me personally because I am extremely conflict-averse. EXTREMELY.

Anyway, I ran into BL at the bus stop and we talked a bit there and on the bus, which was fine but kinda exhausting tbqh especially because of the topic of conversation. I got home at 6:30 and must have crawled immediately into bed and gone to sleep, but I barely remember it at all. Woke up at 10:30 and had no idea what time it was or what day it was or what I was doing.

Had dinner and then somehow went down a rabbit hole that started... somewhere?? and ended with me looking up my childhood home on Google Earth, which you KNOW is the sign of a mentally stable person who is doing just fine okay.

Now it’s the absolutely disgusting hour of 2:30 in the morning... Idk I wanted to go out tomorrow and take advantage of the nice weather but we’ll see how that goes. The thing is I feel like I need a full day to sleep but I only have two (2) days and in that time I gotta do laundry, cook for the week, preferably write one (1) whole chapter of this fic, and possibly also go on the aforementioned excursion. Which is a lot for me. It doesn’t really... fit.

Everything’s just so much all the time and so on.

[giornocentric]

Bucci gang’s Christmas

It’s that time of year again and I’m feeling especially Christmas-y right now, even though it’s still November.

I’m the type of person to get really happy around this time of year and I’m definitely the first to set up and decorate the tree (I’m the person people make those memes about). I love my family (half are Christian and half are Jewish) and the gifts and the food and music and just everything, and I can’t help but want to spend it with my favorite people on Earth!! (yes I know they’re fictional characters, Karen)

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Bruno Bucciarati

He’s not the biggest on Christmas but would love to celebrate it with the gang or his s/o if he had one at the time. Christmas is celebrated much differently in Italy so he would laugh at your more Western expectation of Christmas and would insist it’s better this way, less commercial and more centered around the Catholic/Christian importance of the day.

This is not to say Bruno is Catholic or Christian but I believe he would feel more comfortable and happier without the CRAZINESS of Western/American Christmases and would just enjoy spending time with you and his teammates/friends, along with maybe a small tree and an occasional Christmas song.

When he received a small gift his eyes widened, “Wait what’s this for?” He would be so shocked, he had never gotten a gift on Christmas, he didn’t even realize that it was something people actually did, he thought it was only in movies. Once his s/o explained what a Christmas gift was, he would open it hesitantly and smile in awe then return the favor with a kiss. “Sorry I didn’t get you anything, Tesoro.”

He would be the one to make Christmas dinner for you and the gang, more than likely, antipasti and pasta with a walnut cream sauce and Panettone (Christmas cake) that he’d ask if you wanted to help him bake, which would probably end up with both of you covered in batter and icing.

Giorno Giovanna

Christmas? is that a fruit? He has never celebrated or even thought about celebrating it, but his s/o wants to and Bruno does too? He will, but what exactly does that entail? Does he dress up like Saint Nicholas? He‘s never actually had a family to celebrate with so you have a LOT of explaining to do and then he’s SO EXCITED and wants to do EVERYTHING and now it’s time to make up for lost time.

Once he understands, he’s a little extreme, he’s already made a gingerbread house, cut down a real tree and decorated it, bought everyone TEN gifts and has an ugly sweater on, waiting for you to see and be impressed and well... you are. He’s admittedly looking for praise so you have to let him see just how much you appreciate it, maybe with a little kiss or a gift of your own.

Be prepared for an absolute marathon of Christmas movies, possibly accompanied by a cup of hot cocoa with marshmallows or a cup of eggnog with extra cinnamon and a side of gingerbread cookies. So many gingerbread cookies. But you snuggle together away from the cold so that makes up for it, most of the time you both stop watching the movie and it’s just the two of you making out or staring at each other, longingly.

Once the entire house smells like Yankee Candles and you can barely breathe over the cinnamon and peppermint, it’s time to tell that poor boy he needs to stop. But before you can, you walk right under the dreaded mistletoe (trap) that he’s put up pretty much everywhere and he’s coming up to you and shutting you right up. He kisses you and with a cheeky grin and says “What was that about taking away Christmas away? You don’t like it, dolcezza?”

Leone Abbacchio

Two words. Seasonal Depression. Abbacchio is a bit of a grinch when it comes to Christmas. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to hate it, but his depression is bad during this time so if he goes to the Christmas get-together with you and the gang, he will most likely be drinking an ungodly amount of alcohol. His s/o might be able to calm him down and reassure him enough to attend but he will misserable no matter what, he’ll stay for the gifts and food though, regardless of how much he wants to leave.

Once he’s drunk and people are opening presents is when his emotions overwhelm him and he breaks into tears at the smallest things (Narancia received a CD from him that he already owned and Abbacchio felt guilty not knowing Narancia well enough to know which albums he already had.) His s/o is one of the only people who can calm him down in that moment, laying his head in your lap as you play with his hair and hum softly.

Now he goes through the second stage of grief, thrashing out the tree and throwing gifts and screaming about how much he loves you and Christmas and that delicious food and alcohol. He’s a mess, and before he gets any more drunk and destroys anything else, you have to drag him home and force him to lay down and sleep it off.

But Abbacchio wants to give you his gift, and before you can protest, he’s already on you, kissing you everywhere and mumbling incoherently about how much you mean to him and how good you are to him, but soon he breaks into tears once more as he convinces himself that he doesn’t deserve you. “I’m so stupid! I ruined everything! You probably don’t even love me anymore, and I don’t blame you for it.”

You just have to reassure him a little more until he finally passes out from the alcohol.

Pannacotta Fugo

Has mixed feelings about Christmas, he used to love it as a kid but now the memories are a little tainted by thoughts of his mom and dad and he thinks about being abandoned by them and it makes him angry, sad, and scared. But if he had an s/o, he would agree to celebrating it with them, they could make new memories that would help the bad ones fade away.

Fugo might ask for specific things to make him feel more comfortable and safe. Opening presents might bring on a little fear/bad thoughts, as well as the board games and card games, so you should be prepared to comfort him in any and every way possible. In my opinion, he’d love for you to hold him tightly and feed him your food as he complains about the music being too loud or the house being too cold, to which he’d snuggle closer to you.

When the group sees the two of you, and a totally different side of Fugo, some of them stare, some of them make snarky comments and laugh, and Narancia sighs before getting pissed at the ones who laughed. Fugo, doesn’t care much in that moment, of course he’s gritting his teeth and his nails are digging into his skin but he loves you far too much and feels too comfortable to mess with them.

Once he’s completely comfortable, you both go for a walk in the snow (much to Fugo’s dismay) talking about the meaning of Christmas to you and him. When Fugo’s disposition gets a little worse from talking about his past, you get down on one knee and create a little snowball. Holding it out, you tell him you’ve fallen for him much like this snow or that you love him snow much and ask him if you could have the honor of him being your boyfriend. He laughs at first at the cheesy/cringey puns then his eyes widen and he’s in so much disbelief that someone like you could love him. He bends down to meet your face, tilts your head up slightly and kisses you.

“I guess that’s a yes?” Now Christmas is going to have a totally different meaning for him.

Narancia Ghirga

“Where’s my gift?” “Is that mine?” “When can we open presents?” “What did you get me?” He knows everything about American Christmases and will run around the room, take a bite of food, get up, run around again, sit by the tree, open a gift, yell what he thinks it is then tears it open and repeats until all his gifts are opened.

When it’s someone else’s turn, he will look to his s/o and sigh. He might ask you to play a game with him while he waits, or sneak him some cake. Narancia is the type to constantly engage in the festivities and gets easily bored. If he gets you a gift it’s most likely something small and inexpensive because the boy is poor, but you will continue to Cherish it for many years to come.

Once the Christmas music is blaring and everyone has opened presents, Narancia is dancing like a maniac and pulling you on the floor to join. He’s not the greatest at slow dancing, but he’s probably better than most of the gang as he’s been to school dances before joining Passione. He doesn’t speak much in the moment but his hands are on your shoulders and you’re swaying un-gracefully until you both trip and fall on each other. “Are you alright, Mi Amore?” he asks quietly before building up the courage to kiss you.

Eventually you’re both off of the floor and Narancia is back to his enthusiastic, happy-go-lucky self, and is bragging about getting to kiss you and yelling about great you are. Get ready for a night of him being an absolute show off in front of his teammates and be prepared to drag him back home.

Guido Mista

I think Mista would treat this day the most seriously out of the group, only because I headcanon him as Catholic/Christian or religious in some way. He would probably enjoy taking his s/o with him to San Gregorio Armeno and San Gregorio Armeno Church in Napoli, also known as Christmas Alley to see the Prespes (Nativity scene of Jesus’ birth) and overall would be very happy about Christmas and the joy it brings him.

Mista would also absolutely adore going to classical music concerts and Christmas concerts. It would remind him of a time when he was a carefree child and would bring him so much joy. Of course he would drag you around with him and UGH he would just have the realest smile on his face, so content, thankful, and happy.

Soon he would realize he was late for the Christmas party but he’d walk extra slow so he could enjoy his time with you just a little longer. He would also be the type to start a random snow ball fight, like you’re just walking in front of him and suddenly a snow ball hits you with the help of Number 5 and Oh, it’s on. The battle goes on for a while until you’re both tired and in a little pain so Mista kisses your cheek then offers a piggyback ride, even if you’re too heavy, he’s ready to pick you up and carry you all the way to the house.

Once you both get there, you crash on the couch, eat some food and then open the leftover presents. You reach for the same gift and his hand is on top of yours. You can’t help but lean in and place a kiss on his lips and he kisses back, it’s a true Christmas miracle.

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I’m SO sorry I kinda got lazy/lost inspiration with Mista’s but please accept this trash 🗑 :)

[tired-enjolras]

Capable of Being Terrible. Enjolras/Grantaire.

Read on AO3

NEXT CHAPTER HERE

Warnings: alcoholism, smoking, addiction/recovery arc.

Genre: Angst-Hurt/Comfort.

Words: 1297.

Summary: It’s a hard semester for everyone, Combeferre and Joly are working an internship, Éponine works two jobs and somehow gets it all done, and Grantaire drinks himself an inch from incoherent every night. Enjolras doesn’t have it worse than anyone - better than most, actually. But this year keeps knocking Enjolras down and, for the first time, cannot figure how to get back up again.

CHAPTER ONE.

It was Friday night. Every other student in the city was off doing something fun and frivolous. Enjolras was not. He was not one for fun until work was complete. The blonde man could laugh louder and harder than all of his friends and co-workers combined, but he’d simply have to party on Saturday instead. He was only days out from the start of exams week. Desires could wait. His computer was open on the bed, resting on a red pillowcase and gray sheets. It was playing a documentary film about the Paris Climate Accords that was required for a biology class - his lowest grade this semester was this class. He cared about science and certainly about climate change, but he was just fundamentally bad at the subject. There were others who could handle it. Enjolras could be the change in other areas.

Enjolras did not focus on the monitor, but instead his hand scrawled ferociously in a yellow spiral-bound notebook. One could hardly blame him for his excitement. Not only had he prepared a new pamphlet for his student political organization - which he would need to remember to copy at the library the next day - but he had discovered this American politician called Harvey Milk. He was working on final stage research and outlining for a research project on him for his World LGBT Advocacy class. That remained one of about two classes that were worth him expending a fuck on during this particular semester.

The number of credits he had chosen was much too high. 7 classes (one having a lab) was an irrational choice. It was Enjolras’ first year funding half of his own housing off-campus. He worked a real job. As real as scanning books and accepting payment could be. This, really, was the first year Enjolras had learned that everyone was correct in telling him that he was incapable of doing everything he assumed he could.

He did not live alone, but it felt like he did. The other half of the rent was supposed to be paid by Combeferre, who had been gracious and helpful and always so willing to do his part. Until he wasn’t and moved out. Combeferre had moved in with a very tall and very stupid man that Enjolras sincerely enjoyed named Courfeyrac. The two men cared terribly for each other, so Enjolras was happy to see them be able to make a sort of home together. Combeferre’s replacement was not gracious or helpful and almost never willing to do his part. René Grantaire had crashed into the apartment like a car fire. Enjolras was decently sure he would not enjoy his time with Grantaire whatsoever; that they would be professional and nothing more to each other. That never happened. Initially, he was very pleased that Grantaire never imposed an organizational system for Enjolras because everything he had sat in stacks, falling off of shelves and spread across each open surface. Grantaire picked up on this philosophy and effortless operated within it. For a while, they seemed to make perfect sense to each other.

In mornings, Grantaire would get coffee brewing, immediately being able to remember how Enjolras took it. In exchange, Enjolras would sit in destroyed stack of leaflet rough drafts and crack an egg and a shot of hot sauce into a glass for Grantaire. They moved in perfect sync like Aristophanes four-limbed love people. Before too long, they stopped being roommates and started being bedmates. Their relationship lacked definition, but both miraculously kept their affections exclusive and they liked this way.

Then Grantaire’s drinking, once consisting of some wine, a few beers and maybe one or two of something a little stiffer over the course of an entire week turned into several bottles of wine, a case of beer and empty liquor bottles collecting in the trashbagless bin in front of the kitchen sink. So Enjolras tried to take some actions.

The bedroom door swung open.

“Good evening, mon Ange,” Grantaire often called him this. My Angel. Grantaire thought was funny because he may as well have been saying Mon Enj. My Enjolras. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy...”

Grantaire stood, leading against the doorframe. Whether for physical support or confident swagger was still unclear. He looked bad. Enjolras felt sick to his stomach to consider saying that about this person he cared for, Grantaire could never really look bad to him, but he was glassy eyed and sallow. Grantaire pushed himself off of the door, and walked to the side of the bed, crouching to his knees to throw an arm around Enjolras flat to the bed body.

“You smell like alcohol.” Enjolras stared plainly.

Grantaire scoffed. “Good nose you’ve got there,” he reached out and gently flicked Enjolras across the nose. “I was, in fact, drinking.”

Enjolras sighed, refusing to look over at his... whatever they were. If he looked at him now, he would get emotional. Hysterical or angry, it wasn’t yet clear which. “We talked about this.”

“I know, but look at me—“

“Hey, how much did you drink?”

“Oh, am I being cross-examined now?”

Enjolras sat up on his knees in bed, Grantaire’s arm sliding away. He was looking at the darker haired man now. His blue-green eyes burned. “No, but I can call a witness, if you’d like...” he extended his fingers to the other side of the bed for his phone. Marius would know. Éponine perhaps was there. Bahoral, or Courf, maybe. Wouldn’t take too many calls to figure it out.

“Lord God Almighty, Enj... Fine. A lot. Lost count after a couple rounds. But it’s Friday. I’m...” Grantaire cleared his throat, trying to sober his voice up some. “I’m not working tomorrow. Big deal. Don’t you ever get tired of talking about ol’ me?”

“Friday’s fantastic, but what about every other day that isn’t Friday?”

“It’s social. I’m social.”

“Grantaire.”

Fuck. “Mhmm?”

Enjolras’ jaw was tight. He was not going to yell. It was after midnight and the neighbors would call their pig of a landlord again. “Couch tonight.”

“It’s Friday!”

“René,” Enjolras had said this in the voice that mothers use when their child doesn’t understand why they can’t keep sticking their hand in the cookie jar. It was not mean, it was firm. Final. Grantaire sat up a little straighter. “Couch. Please. I love you to pieces, but this is getting fucking ridiculous. Sleep it off.”

Slowly, Grantaire raised himself to his full height. “You win. You always win. Happy?” He braced an arm on the bed and leaned down to plant a kiss on the top of Enjoras’ curls. The brunette swiped a discarded blanket off of this ugly leopard print chair that sat in the corner. Grantaire walked through the door, not bothering with a change of clothes for bed and shut it quietly behind him.

Enjolras was far from happy. It had been so truly okay and it’s not anymore. Everything was too much. Homework, organizing that protest, holding the pieces together for Grantaire when there’s clearly more going on than what he wants to share. Grantaire was Enjolras’ most important person and he was going to watch him finish his degree if it killed them both. Dear Reader, do not think for a second that Enjolras believed Grantaire was some kind of burden. He wasn’t. Enjolras loved him too much to ever consider him to be one, he just was unsure of how best to be supportive. No one ever supported Grantaire so Enjolras would simply have to be that person. There were too many things to care about in Enjolras’ life, too many problems. But that had historically been where he thrived. And Enjolras would find the time to fix them all. He always did.

[thedreadvampy]

(just to clear it up, tho ik this is dumb but, the pan thing wasn’t intended to be provocatory, i just recently saw other things and lots of,, panphobia happening within the mechs fanbase and am trying to gauge how safe myself and any of my friends who are pan are within that fanbase, both online and in person. that’s all! im sorry for any weirdness or stress, I should’ve thought that through, things get weird online, not an excuse just— sorry)

I appreciate the apology/clarification. Hopefully this whole conversation has helped you make a decision about whether this is a space you feel safe. HOWEVER (and I know you know this which is why you've got back in touch) it would have been useful to have some context for that in the ask, and even with that context

I. Hm. I'm not sure how to put this without coming across as a bit of a dick? To me it feels like a lot to be, uhhh, value tested? effectively at random (I literally haven't been part of a single conversation about pan/bi IDs in the Mechs fandom that I can recall prior to this) in order to assess whether I met the standards you, somebody I do not know and may or may not have interacted with, have set (and I don't know what those standards are! there are, as I said, people from all over the Discourse Spectrum who would consider any given answer to that question hurtful/offensive!)

so while I appreciate that your intentions are good and self-protective and I am not trying to have a go at you, it's a bit chunk of emotional work to dump an extremely live, open-ended question on someone randomly (especially in an online climate where, as you say, people can be real weird and intense about stuff and giving the Wrong Answer to the wrong person can open you up to a lot of harassment). It invites a lot of anxiety (oh no have I said something to hurt someone? why has this been sent to me personally? what DO I think about this? what are the consequences if I have an answer you don't like, or an answer you might agree with but I phrase it poorly and dig myself in deeper? what effect will answering this ask have on other people following me - will they be hurt by what I say? if I don't answer will that be seen as evidence that I Can't Be Trusted?) and like...ok I DO have CPTSD and anxiety so I'm probably overthinking a bit more than you might reasonably have expected, but I do think it's a lot to put on someone to drag them into Discourse they aren't already involved in.

Also like this specific situation you're describing feels......hm...very impersonal? Like, I'm entirely willing to get drawn into Discourse about something I've Actually Done. like I didn't have FUN when I sparked White Jon Discourse but I don't resent it - it was a meaningful reaction to something I had said and not really thought about, and there was something for me to change in that. If I'd made a post that had made you think I might have an active issue with pan people, that would be one thing, but to ask me to pass a purity test because OTHER PEOPLE SOMEWHERE ELSE did something hurtful? That's not...about me? That's, not to put too fine a point on it, Not My Problem. This is where I'm concerned I come across as a dick, but honestly to me there's a really big gulf between "something I saw on your blog worried me so can you clarify your position" and "somebody somewhere is bigoted so I'm going to need you to prove you're not." Especially coming from an anonymous source with no context (and I do understand why you anonymised it! If you're worried about feeling safe then I totally get the need to do this in a way that doesn't come back to you!) there's a real responsibility gap - I am responsible for answering to you, a stranger, because of a situation I haven't (to my knowledge) been involved in? There's nothing for me to do, change, learn or gain in there, it's entirely about you testing me for reasons that have very little to do with me, and idk that sits really poorly with me. I would prefer that it had been about something careless I said that was harmful, because at least then I would have been able to do something about it. I WANT to be questioned and called up on things I assert or stuff I do. But I am NOT responsible for others' actions or opinions. I am sorry that you feel unsafe in the Mechs fandom, that's awful. But the reality is that I don't have any responsibility for your experience of The Mechs Fandom - I have responsibility for my own actions and opinions and nothing else, and if there's something in my actions or opinions, however small, pinging alarm bells then yeah, talk to me about it, ask me about it. But if it's a concern you have about the environment we're both moving through (I really don't engage much with fandom beyond what's on here) then like...we can talk about it but it's YOUR concern. I don't have any obligation to answer for it because it's not mine? Does that make sense? I don't mean to imply that you feeling safe isn't important, because it definitely is - it's just that when deciding who specifically is someone you feel safe around, the onus is on you. You're the person who knows what's harmful to you, you're the person who is being affected - asking for support, information or behaviour change is fine, but you're not entitled to demand that everyone around you actively accommodates you. When you come to somebody to change or to help support you, that's totally fair IF IT'S ABOUT THEM. If you messaged me and said "some of what you've been posting seems to tap into X ideas and there's been a lot of people in Mechs fandom throwing those ideas around lately, what's the deal there" then that would be fair enough and a lot less overwhelming than turning up in a random inbox to yell "QUICK WHAT'S YOUR STANCE ON PANSEXUALITY", you know? I still wouldn't be obligated to respond but I could reasonably be expected to connect it to things that are My Problem (how do I act in Mechs fandom? What opinions do my posts imply, and do I stand by that?) and make a decision about whether/how to respond. To me it's about working with vs imposing on.

Idk sorry this is a very long and emotional response, this kind of stuff taps into some emotional baggage for me via a vis taking on responsibility for the world and I'm working hard to establish boundaries in myself between My Problem and Other People's Problem, but really it's a bit dense and thinky so I'm sorry that this is a bit incoherent and comes across as a telling-off.

[mageicalwishes]

Read on AO3: here

Read the previous chapter (On Tumblr): here

Summary: “I’m egging your house for a dare, but you’re parent is a cop and now they’re yelling at me, so I told them you were my ex and you wronged me, and now you’re coming outside, so please just go along with this, I really don’t want to go to jail” AU.

When Simon Snow agreed to egg some posho’s house, he never thought he’d find himself here - The only thing standing between himself and a criminal charge, the word of a handsome stranger.

Chapter: 6/7

Words: 7,418

Finally done with Chapter 6! Sorry for such a long wait, this chapter was a pain. A lot goes down, though - So, I hope you feel as though it was worth the wait :)

Baz

Staring into my reflection, I fiddle with my hair, desperately trying to smooth out a particularly disobedient wave. Realistically, it doesn’t matter (From the persistent tangle of Snow’s curls, it’s fairly apparent that he doesn’t mind the messy, untamed look), but it feels important.

Clicking my phone, I check the time once more. 11:07 - Seven minutes late, typical.

We haven't met up since whatever happened last time, and I’m anxious to get the potential awkwardness of seeing him again over with, as soon as possible. We completely ignored it over text (Since he never brought it up, and I wasn’t exactly thirsting to accidentally expose my idiotic crush), but I'm not sure when can do the same face-to-face. I mean, surely it'll be more difficult to just pretend it never happened, confronted with the face of the memory, in real life. Although, despite the optimistic spark of hope buried deep within my gut, I doubt it really meant anything to him - So, maybe it won’t.

Either way, I just wish that he’d get here soon. The anticipation is killing me.

————————————————————————————

Just as I’m about to call and berate him, the doorbell rings.

Scrambling over to the door, I swing it open, pitifully enthusiastic.

“What time do you call this then?”

“Dunno,” he smiles, stepping inside. “I bought scones, though. So I think I’m worthy of forgiveness.”

My pulse slows at the sight of him, the trepidation thrumming throughout my body cooling. Bright and smiling, he’s the same Snow as always. So, it seems that, despite it all, nothing is weird. Just as I suspected. Which is good, obviously (I mean, I didn’t want to ruin what we have), although, somehow … Mildly disappointing, too.

Risking a lingering glance, I take him in, appraisingly. It’s immediately apparent that he’s made an effort with his appearance today - Although, I consciously avoid thinking too deeply about why that is, knowing that my love-plagued mind would only lead me down the dangerous path of wishful thinking. He’s obviously attempted to brush his hair, which, going by it’s strangely loose, fluffy appearance, was a remarkably stupid idea. And he’s sporting a simple, white shirt. Objectively speaking, it’s a little too tight for him, the fabric pulling obscenely against the swell of his chest (Although, personally, I can’t say I object).

He’s a sight to behold - A little dishevelled, perhaps, but no less wondrous. I'd lavish in it all day if I could, although, conscious of getting caught, I tear my eyes away from him, reluctantly, and stare down at the floor, instead.

“Now that … Is entirely up to me, Snow,” I drawl. “And, I’m not convinced that a packet of scones is enough to earn you my forgiveness, especially considering that this isn’t your first offence.”

“Offence,” he snickers, bitterly. “I’m ten minutes late, at worst!”

Showily, I lift my wrist to glimpse at my watch (It’s set at the wrong time, so is, in reality, useless - Although, I won’t tell him that).

“Twenty three, actually.”

He glares at me, and murmurs something incoherent under his breath (Probably a swear word. He always resorts to those, when he’s frustrated), so I decide to ease off. He's only been here a minute - And there really is no need to do all of our bickering now.

“Come on up, though,” I call, biting back a laugh, and padding up the stairs - The heavy clunk of Simon’s stomping, following behind me, momentarily. “I’m sure you can make it up to me somehow.”

————————————————————————————

“Just to let you know, I like talking while I’m watching movies.”

“Oh god,” I groan. “I should've known, you’re one of those people. Why didn’t you warn me?!”

“I just did, you pillock!”

“Yes - As I’m putting the bloody disc in! That doesn’t give me enough time to mentally prepare for your onslaught of meaningless commentary, Snow!”

“Hey! It’s not meaningless! I’ll have you know that I’m very perceptive ... I’m sure that my commentary will only enrich your movie-watching experience.”

I raise my brow, entirely unconvinced. If he was really so perceptive, I doubt that we’d be spending the day watching Pride and Prejudice - Considering that there are many other things I’d rather be doing with him, right now.

“You're such a liar,” I tease. “You best not just sit there spouting a bunch of useless crap, and claim your being insightful. If your chatter gets to be too much, I retain the right to clobber you, you know - So be warned!”

Apparently at a loss for words, he sticks his tongue out at me - His nose scrunching up, sweetly, as he does. Oh god. I even find that pathetically childish display endearing. Clearly, I’m disturbed - I mean, poking his tongue out, seriously? I'm in need of some serious correction.

Sucking in a breath, I try to push Snow out of my mind - Which is an undeniably big ask, considering that he’s sat barely a metre behind me, laid out on my sofa, grinning to himself, boyishly. So it’s no surprise that, I fail - My mind trailing off into thoughts of whether Snow’s chest is as freckly as the rest of him.

I sigh, frustrated. I’ve had crushes before, obviously (I mean, Rhys from Year Eleven Maths was an absolute God), but none have been quite as virulent as what I have for Snow. Nobody else has ever consumed my thoughts, so entirely. Nobody else has ever made my heart stutter, so dangerously. Nobody else has ever …

I seriously need to stop. He’s barely been here half an hour, and I’m already subsiding into a hormone-fuelled madness. If I keep this up, it's going to be an insufferably long two days.

————————————————————————————

True to his word, Snow has managed to ramble over pretty much every scene, so far (With an unhelpful 'He sounds like Snape!' here, and a 'Her legs must be super tired, if she walked all that way!' there).

The urge to throttle him (or shut him up another way) was certainly growing. Although, beneath the seething anger, I must admit that his menial observations were somewhat winsome.  

We’re about three-quarters of the way through the movie, when Snow flops down onto my leg, with a dramatic puff - His cheek pressing against my thigh, heavily.

Suddenly tense, I clench my hands into fists by my side, and try to refocus on the movie.

“He’s cute isn’t he? I like that guy,” he mumbles, his voice slightly muffled against the fabric of my jeans.

I glance down at him. He’s staring up at me, his blue eyes bright, and his lips curved into a soft smile.

“Really?” I ask, my tone laced with judgement.

“Yeah? You don’t think?” He asks, his brow furrowed deeply. His forehead folds into small crinkles, and for a mad moment, I imagine reaching out and smoothing them out with my fingertips. I don’t. Obviously. But, I could. He’s right there - Within my reach. It wouldn’t take much (Except a level of confidence I simply don’t have).

Pathetically, I look away, unable to hold his gaze any longer (My treacherous face, already flushing with heat).

“No. I never said that-” I scoff.

I didn’t say that, because it’s objectively untrue. He is, as Snow so eloquently put it,'cute' - His hair ruffled excellently, and the hint of a dimple popping each time he smiles (Just like somebody else, I know). And while he is, undoubtedly, a blithering idiot, somehow, on him it’s charming. So ... It would be unfair to call him unattractive.

“- He’s … fine. But this is a very emotional scene, Snow. I thought you might have more to say than 'He’s cute'. I pity your English teacher, if that is your level of analysis!”

“Oi nah! I got a B in English. And my teacher loved me! She gave me a homemade cookie on the last day, and everything - Only a few people got that! So don’t be a bellend!”

“Sure she did,” I taunt. “I mean a B … That certainly is impressive. I got an A star, but -”

I’m interrupted by Snow jabbing his fist into my thigh, as hard as he possibly can, his knuckles digging into the muscle, sharply.

“Fuck off, you arrogant tosser!” He gruffs.

I laugh, despite myself - Embarrassingly loud and cackling.

“Ow, dick! You didn’t have to hit me so fucking hard,” I whine, snapping my head down towards him, and swatting at his arm, teasingly.

“You deserved it.”

“I know, I know,” I laugh. “I’m only winding you up though - A B is a perfectly good grade. It’s just funny to watch you pout ... If it’s any consolation, I only got a C in DT. My shitty attempt at a table fell apart before it was graded, so the coursework sort of tanked my grade. It’s my greatest shame. I told everybody else I got an A, so you're the only one who knows the truth.”

He beams over at me, his tongue pressed against his front teeth, goofily.

“Really? Well … That is unfortunate. I got an A star. But I guess we can’t all be so talented.”

I glare down at him, my face twisted into the cruellest scowl I can muster (It’s a fairly weak effort, though, but, in my defence, he does look adorably happy when he’s pleased with himself).

“Oh ha ha. So hilarious,” I drone. “Just shut up and watch the film, you numpty!”

With an over-exaggerated huff, he rolls his head back towards the screen, his weight shifting against my leg, warmly.

Unobserved, I smile down at him, the movie significantly less appealing than the sight of him beneath me - His curls swept to one side, and his face smushed slightly where it’s pressed against me.

He doesn’t look back up at me after that.

I try not to let it bother me.

————————————————————————————

I leave Simon playing Fortnite alone, to go to fetch our dinner (He’s better at it than me, anyway).

“Hello, you,” Daphne smiles, scooping a mush of baby-food off of one of the twin’s chins (I find it impossible to tell them apart when they’re not in their colour-coordinated clothing, although she always manages to, somehow). “Your dinner is in the oven- I wasn’t sure how long you’d be, so I thought I’d keep it warm. There’s dessert in there, too … If you’d like. Your favourite.”

I scrunch up my face, awkwardly.

“Cheers.”

“No problem. So … How is it going? How's Simon?”

“Good,” I drawl, suspiciously. “We’re only playing on the PS.”

“Okay,” she shrugs. "I was just wondering.”

I turn, scrambling with the casserole dishes, and hurrying over to the door, hoping to nip this mortifying line of conversation in the bud.

“Hey what!” Mordelia shouts, finally looking up from her plate. “How come he gets to eat in his room? That’s not fair! If he gets to, why don’t I?”

I falter, my hand on the door - Freedom laying tantalisingly close.

“Because,” I spit. “I have a friend over. When you have friends over, I’m sure Mum will let you, too.”

Daphne nods in confirmation. “Let Basil get on with his dinner, Mordie.”

She crumples up her face, angrily, apparently dissatisfied with the idea. Oh, Christ, here we go!

“Does Dad know about your friend?” She presses, an sinful tinge to her voice.

My shoulders drop, instantly. Shit. Of fucking course.

“Don’t tell him,” I command, sternly.

“Why not?”

I press a fist to my forehead, in irritation.

“He doesn’t like my friend. Okay?”

“Why?” she coaxes. “Are they a girl.”

“No,” I sigh. “Obviously not. Look, I really don’t have time for this. Just … What will it take for you to keep your mouth shut?”

She grins, manically. Even though she’s just a child, she’s already worryingly devious (I suppose, in that respect, she takes after me).

“You … Have to help me with my violin practice, this week,” she chirps.

I think of her horrifically, screechy 'playing' with dread, and look over to Daphne for help - Her perfectly painted lips, pulled taut, into a poorly suppressed smile. For God’s sake!  

While I do enjoy spending time with her, I’d really rather skip the whole violin tutorial element of her bargain. Although, I suppose, a short-term earache, is a small price to pay for avoiding Father’s acrid disapproval.

So, loathfully, I agree - Storming out of the kitchen, and jogging back upstairs, in a rush.

————————————————————————————

Simon

I peek a glance around Baz’s head, staring over at the casserole dish on his dresser.

“Do you normally have dessert?” I ask, innocently, shovelling the final spoonful of Shepherd's pie into my mouth.

“Not normally, no,” he laughs. “Although, I made sure that Daphne made one, especially for you. Which I think you may have suspected, given that you’ve been gawping over at it for the last five minutes."

I scrub the back of my neck, and chuckle awkwardly, embarrassingly exposed.

He flashes me a smile, mercifully free of mocking.

“I can get you a serving now, if you’d like?”

I definitely would like. Although, Baz still hasn’t finished his main - So, I should probably wait (Penny said it’s rude to make people feel like they have to rush their meal).

“Oh no. It’s alright,” I murmur. “I’d rather wait a minute.”

A knowing smirk spreads across his face, and an eyebrow raises, suspiciously.

I wish that I could do that - The eyebrow, thing. I tried practising it in the mirror the other day, but I didn’t look all cool, and elegant like him … I just looked like a constipated twit.

“You don’t have to wait for me to finish, Snow,” he beams, his voice alluring velvety. “If you’re hungry now, then I’ll serve you up a bowl - It tastes better warm, anyway.”

“Okay,” I chirp, contented. “That’ll be perfect. Thanks.”

Siding his plate off of his lap, he stands, treading over to the dresser, and spooning the pudding into a bowl for me.

I try not to stare at him (I’ve been trying all day), but it’s proving increasingly difficult.

He hasn’t tied his hair up today - Leaving it free, draped in loose waves against his face. And, he’s dressed more casually than I’m used to - Having opted for a navy-blue T-shirt (Rather than his usual boxy button-ups). But, in spite of his more dressed-down style, he still looks ridiculously expensive - His jeans dark, and perfectly fitted, and a thin, silver watch glimmering against his thin wrist.

“Here you go,” he says, thrusting the bowl into my hand.

Excitedly, I snatch it out of his hand, and peer down into it. The look of it catches me off guard - The bowl filled to the brim with a mildly peculiar looking, light brown, slush.  

Confused, I scrunch my face up.

Baz sighs, rolling his eyes upwards, exaggeratedly.

Fuck. That was definitely rude of me.

“It’s nothing sinister, Snow,” he assures. “Don’t worry. If I wanted to poison you, I wouldn’t waste a perfectly good dessert, on it. I’d just spike one of your scones, or something.”

I school my face back into an uncertain smile. God, I’m such a dick.

“No, no, sorry,” I stumble. “I didn’t mean to do that. It’s not bad. I mean … There’s nothing wrong with it. It smells delicious. I just … Don’t know what it is. That’s all.”

“Om Ali,” he shrugs.

I still have legitimately no idea what he’s talking about, but I decide to just drop it. I wasn’t lying, it really does smell nice - So I suppose that it hardly matters what it actually is.

Clearly, he sees right through me, though - Rolling his head backwards, and scoffing, dramatically.

“It’s sort of like … A Bread and butter pudding. Just with proper flavour ... It’s Egyptian.”

“Oh, I see,” I say, smiling, and digging my spoon into it. “Are your family like … Egyptian then?”

“Yes, Snow. My family are 'like' Egyptian,” he drones. “Well, my Mother’s side are, anyway.”

I really am excelling at making a twat of myself, today.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound … I was just - Sorry. Is that your mum, then?” I ask, pointing over to the field of photo frames. “The lady in the pictures?”

“It’s fine,” he laughs, his gaze following my finger. “And, yes … That’s her.”

“She’s pretty.”

He raises his eyebrows, smirking suggestively.  

“Not like that!” I splutter. “Ew, no! I just mean ... You look like her.”

“Yes, well, funny that - That is how genetics tend to work, Snow”

“Sod off!” I grunt. “You know what I mean. You look nothing like your dad.”

“I know, thank the merciful gods! Could you imagine if I'd inherited those non-existent cheekbones … That would be a tragedy of unparalleled proportions!”

I beam over at him, my eyes scrunching half-shut, as my cheeks force themselves upwards. He’s being completely ridiculous, but I still find myself stupidly endeared.

He looks up at me, then, and catches me smiling.

“Just get eating, you divvy,” he chastises, scowling at me fiercely. “You barely breathed between mouthfuls, earlier, and now, suddenly, you’re Mr. Chatterbox ... It really is nicer warm, you know.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice - Plunging my spoon into the bowl, I scoop up the largest mouthful possible, and take a bite. It’s slightly unusual (And much crunchier than I was initially expecting), but so, so good - Filled with intoxicatingly sweet coconut and raisin.

“Oh my god,” I moan, unable to find the words to convey how fucking delicious it is.

He simpers over at me, clearly pleased with himself (Even though he didn't make it).

“I know. I did tell you it was good … It was actually my favourite dessert, as a kid. My mum used to make it for me every Saturday, as a treat.”

“Does she still make it for you?” I ask, the words slurring in my food-stuffed mouth.

Something awful flashes across his eyes, the smug look wiped clean from his face, immediately. Oh, God. What have I done now?

“Uh no. Not anymore,” he mumbles, staring down at his bedsheets, blankly. “My mum, she ... Passed away when I was around five. Car accident.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m such a moron. I’d just assumed his parents were divorced, and that his mum lived in some other mansion, down the road, or something. Not that. I never even considered that.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe.

“It’s alright. You weren’t to know.”

“I know, but still … I really am sorry.”

“Hey. Come on now, Snow. There’s no need to get all gloomy,” he smiles. It’s a shadow of his proper smile, hollow and painted-on - Although, I can hardly fault him for that. “I didn’t 'go all awkward' on you, the other day, so don’t do it to me. That would just be terribly hypocritical, of you!”

“Okay. I won’t. Promise.”

We sit in silence for a while after that.

I occupy myself with the dessert, while he just sits there, scraping his fork over the top of his mash, aimlessly. Regretfully, I think that my line of questioning may have killed his appetite. But, I’ve still got some scones left, so if he gets hungry again, later, we can just share those.

I snatch a glance at him, in my periphery vision. He’s got his brow tugged down, and he's scrunching his lips up on either side of his face, alternatively.

I’m pretty sure he’s thinking, so I just sit there munching, quietly - Patiently, waiting for him to speak (I've learned my lesson. Anything I could say, would probably just make matters worse).

He clears his throat, with a stifled cough, and then he’s talking again - His voice, barely a whisper.

“When Daphne found out about it (The dessert thing, I mean), she bought herself some Egyptian cookbook, and taught herself how to make it. It’s not quite the same, since my Mother used some family recipe she had memorised, but … It still reminds me of her. It was lovely of her, really, but, when I was little, I used to get so mad at her for making it. I’d always pretend that I didn’t want it, but when I thought everybody was asleep, I’d always sneak downstairs and steal myself a bowl. It makes no sense, but I just - Always thought that she was … Trying to replace her, or something. And, you know, nobody could replace her. Not ever.”

He looks at me then, his grey eyes stormy, and flooded with tears. His lips pulled into a hard, stony frown, and his jaw taut with tension.

I gulp, miserably. I don’t know what to do. I didn’t mean to upset him - I’d never mean to upset him. I just … Wish I’d never said anything.

Leaning forwards, I grab his hand - Slotting our fingers together, and squeezing lightly, in an attempt to comfort him. I’ve never really been the best at physical affection (Being unused to it, it always made me feel clumsy, and weird. Sort of like my skin didn’t fit right), but it’s easier with him. Everything is easier with him.

He smiles, meekly, clenching my hand back, and pressing on with what he has to say.

“One day, when I was around fourteen, I confronted her about it. I was properly awful, screaming at her in the kitchen like some spoiled brat, throwing it all right back in her face. But, you know, I was … Well, I don’t know what I was. Just … Not good. I hadn’t been for a long time, either, so I just - Snapped. Accusing her of trying to replace Mother, and yelling at her for even daring to make it. I went so far as to say that she did it on purpose, just to upset me. I mean, can you imagine?”

He snickers, mirthlessly - Wounded, and weak.

“I probably deserved a slap, to be honest, but she didn’t even raise her voice. She just hugged me - Even after I tried to fight her off ... Eventually, I just gave up, and sobbed against her chest. It was all very dramatic, and I can’t imagine how pitiful I must’ve looked. But, afterwards, I felt … Better. Not fixed. I don’t think I can ever be fixed. Something like that, I don’t think that it ever goes away - Not fully, anyway. But, I think that … At that moment, that's what I needed the most - To just … Let go. It had been a long time coming.”

I nod my head, affirmatively, just to let him know that I was still listening.

“Later on, when I’d calmed down a little, she told me that she knew that I used to eat it, secretly - That she’d always known. She apologised (Even though she really had no reason to), and explained to me that she was only trying to help. I think that, deep down, I’d always known that ... I just wanted somebody to be angry at. And you know what’s funny?” He asks.

I shake my head.

“Nobody else in the house even likes the bloody thing! She used to just throw a few portions in the bin, so that I’d feel safe to go and steal mine (Under the impression that, nobody would notice a little bit extra going missing).”

I smile, cautiously, tracing a finger against the inside of his palm.

“I was so cruel, Snow. So bitter, and broken, that I’d torn her apart, when all she wanted to do was help me. I didn’t speak to her for days, after that. I mean, how could I, after I’d been so awful to her? And, I stopped eating the Om Ali, all together. I didn’t deserve it, anymore - Didn’t deserve the joy that it brought me. I thought … If my Mother could’ve seen me, she’d have been so ashamed of what I’d become - Of who I’d become. Like I said, it was always intended as a treat - And ... Bad people don’t deserve good things -”

I interrupt him then, unable to listen to him berate himself, further.

“Please don’t say that, Baz,” I plead. “I know, I don’t know her, but … It’s obvious she loved you, dearly. She would’ve understood. It was a mistake. You’re not a bad person, you were just … Hurting.”

He nods, wordlessly. I don’t know if that means he agrees, or he’s just acknowledging what I said, but he clearly doesn’t want to speak - So, I don’t ask.

“She still made it, every few weeks or so, in that hopes that I’d crack. She even still threw half of it away! And then, you know, on my mum’s birthday she snuck one up into my bedroom, for me. She looked so hopeful, and I just wanted to make her happy, again - So ... I took it. I gorged myself that night - Ate the whole thing, in one sitting (I’m surprised I didn’t hurl, to be honest).”  

He lets out a watery laugh, then, his eyes damp, but a slight, genuine smile breaking across his face. Hesitantly, I mirror him, grinning back, shyly.

He huffs in a shaky breath, and grips my palm tighter.

“It was amazing. I'd denied myself it for so long, as a sort of penance. And I still wasn’t sure that I actually deserved it, but it was so, so good to finally have it back. To have a piece of her back.”

I stare at him, unsure of what to say.

“Anyway,” he laughs, his voice splintered. “I don’t even know why I’m even telling you all of this … There’s me lecturing you about getting gloomy, and then I go and start bloody weeping! Do forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” I shrug. “I like … Knowing about you. I want to know things about you.”

“I see … Well, I promise you that the rest isn’t so dreary.”

“Even if it was, I’d still want to hear it. It’s still you.”

He smiles properly then, the reddened skin surrounding his eyes crinkling, slightly.

“Yes, well,” he murmurs, tearing his hand from mine, and reaching up to scrub at his eyes. “We’ll save all of that for another day. Want to play some FIFA, or something? I fancy beating you again.”

Truthfully, I don't, and I don't think that he does either - But, I can tell that he needs the distraction, so I agree.

I mean, there are definitely worse things to do.

————————————————————————————

We’ve been playing for about two hours, when Baz flops back against the sofa, dragging his hands down his face, tiredly.

“I’m going to go and get ready for bed,” he sighs, his voice still a little rough from earlier.  

Despite my initial reluctance, I don't want to stop playing. I mean, it’s only just gone Ten, and I’m finally winning - Four matches to two (I may, or may not have, forced the lads to play with me everyday, since I last saw him, as practice).

“But I-”

“Hey,” he interrupts. “Quit complaining. I saw you yawning, Snow. We can play more tomorrow.”

Displeased, but unwilling to argue, I nod my head. I suppose that, as long as he doesn’t actually intend to go to sleep right now, it doesn’t really matter - Mostly, I just want to talk to him (Beating him at his own game while doing so is just a nice, little bonus).

“I’ll be fifteen minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” I sing. 

I don’t trust that timescale, for a second - But, I’ll tease him about that later.

————————————————————————————

Unsurprisingly, he takes ages in the bathroom (Even though all he really needs to do is brush his teeth).

When he eventually reemerges, the familiar scent of Cedar and Bergamot fills the room, although that is not what I pay attention to. What I pay attention to, is what he’s wearing - A set of long, silky, maroon pyjamas, decorated with a deep blue piping.

I let out a wild cackle, clapping a hand over my mouth, in a failed attempt to try and contain it.

“What?” He asks, indignantly. “What the fuck are you laughing at?”

I pause, still desperately trying to stifle my laughter. 

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

“Pyjamas,” he deadpans, scowling slightly.

I laugh, gesturing toward him vaguely.

“But I mean … Really?”

“Yes really, Snow. Why? What do you wear that’s so much better?”

“Boxers,” I shrug.

He snaps his head down towards the floor, clearly embarrassed.

Whoops. I sort of forgot about that, to be honest. It probably would’ve been polite to bring a pair of trackies to sleep in, or something (Even though, they'd only make me overheat).

“Right well … I get cold. So, I wear clothes, like a normal person … Now quit being a prick, and go and brush your teeth.”  

“Okay, grandpa” I giggle.

He shoots me a warning look, his eyes piercing into me, fiercely. 

Alarmed, I dart towards the safety of the en-suite, slamming the door behind me, and guffawing absurdly.

“Stop laughing right now, you nightmare!" He shouts, bashing against the door, angrily. "Or else, I’ll make you sleep in the garden!”

————————————————————————————

Luckily for me, Baz didn’t actually make me sleep outside. Although, the spare room he does put me in, is hardly any better.

It’s bitterly cold, and the bed is covered in these horrific, carved gargoyles, whose eyes stalk me around the room (Well, maybe not, really - But it definitely feels like they do!).

I thought he was having me on, at first, but one look at his stupid, smug face, showed me that he was (Unfortunately) deadly serious.

I’m just about to text him to voice my complaints (Manners be damned!), when I hear it - An awful, shivering wail. Because, of course, out of all of the rooms in this shithole, Baz just had to put me in the one that's fucking haunted!

Petrified, I bury my head beneath the starchy, old duvet, and pray for safety.

————————————————————————————

Baz

It’s barely twenty minutes before there is a timid knock at my door. My little plot having, seemingly, worked perfectly.

Smiling to myself, I pad over to the door and pull it open as quietly as I can manage (It still creaks, gratingly, but I at least tried).

And there he his - Simon Snow. Standing on my doorstep, his hair mussed, and a blanket pulled over his shoulders like a cloak (Apparently, he wasn't kidding about the boxers thing, then).

He looks a little ridiculous, to be honest, but that doesn’t stop the swelling in my chest. 

“Your house is haunted,” he whines.

“No it isn’t, Snow. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just old.”

“Nu-uh … It’s haunted. There were all these creepy wailing sounds.”

“That’ll be the pipes,” I deadpan. “Somebody probably just ... Used a tap, or something.”

“Well … It’s weirdly cold in there - Like there is a ghostly presence.”

I shake my head, amused.

“Yeah, that's down to the practically non-existent central heating. Like I said … The house is old.”

“Whatever,” he huffs. “Can I just … Sleep in here, with you. I’m too creeped out to go back in there, alone!”

I roll my eyes in faux displeasure, and step to the side.

“Come on in then, coward. I’ll protect you from that dastardly pipework.”

“Just shut up,” he mumbles, shuffling into the room, and plopping himself down onto my bed.

He stares down at his hands, picking at his nails, savagely.

“Do you - Do you want me to sleep on the sofa, or something?”

My throat constricts, purposelessly, as I swallow down a nervous lump. I definitely didn’t think this through, properly.

“Up to you,” I drone, moulding my voice into a cool, nonchalance.

“It might ... Be warmer if we’re both in your bed,” he breathes, his voice so quiet that it’s barely audible.

“Sure. That makes sense,” I shrug. “Just get in, then.”

Tip-toeing across the room, I slide into bed besides him, and stare up at my canopy, expressionless.

“Baz,” he whispers, turning his body to face mine.

I mimic him, immediately - Rolling onto my side, to face him. His eyes are wide, with barely a slither of blue still visible - His pupils fully dilated in the dimness of the room.

“Hmmm,” I hum.

“Do you like ... Anybody?”

I puff out a breath, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Yes, Snow. Obviously, I like some people.” I answer, tartly.

“No, you dick. You know what I mean! Do you … 'Like like' anyone?”

“Oh wow,” I sneer. “'Like like', Really? What are we twelve? I can go and fetch Mordelia, if you’d like. I’m sure she’d be very interested in this conversation.”

“Just answer the question, you knob,” he groans, shoving the hell of his palm into my shoulder blade, painfully.

“Alright, alright,” I laugh. “Yes, Snow. I 'Like like' someone … How about you?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, his eyes fluttering shut, and a soft smile gracing his face.

My stomach twists uncomfortably, as bitter jealousy pulls at my gut.

“What’s he like, then? - The guy you like.”

I scan my eyes across his face, taking him in properly - His stubby, bronze lashes, the slight rosy tinge of his full cheeks, the perfect constellation of moles that adorn practically every inch of skin. He’s perfect. Indescribably perfect.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, my voice pinched.

He opens his eyes then, beaming over at me, cheerfully. My chest swells, pitifully, at the sight of him. Drenched in moonlight, he’s the Sun - Bright, and warm, and beautiful. And, painfully untouchable.

“You must know,” he titters.

“Well, yes. Obviously. They’re just - It’s just hard to put into words.”

“Oh wow! The great Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch speechless, they must be special!”

“They are,” I reply, thoughtlessly.

His eyebrows jump upwards, clearly shocked by my earnestness.

“I see,” he drawls. “And have you known Mr. Special long?”

My heart stutters within my chest. I'm walking on dangerously thin ice, here.

“No. Not really. How about you? Have you known your person long?”

“Guy,” He rushes, his tone urgent. “They’re a guy,”

“Okay,” I whisper. “Have you known your guy long?”

“Nope. But, that doesn’t really matter … Does it?”

“Not really, no … I don’t think so, anyway.”

He smiles softly, then, but his brow quickly follows, furrowing conflictingly. He looks - Well, I don’t know how he looks. Disappointed? Pained? Worrying his lip, he screws his eyes shut, firmly.

My eyes dart across his face, madly, desperately trying to read him.

“Snow,” I call, poking a finger to the inside of his wrist. “Are you alright?”

Opening his eyes slowly, he sucks in a breath, and lifts his lips, weakly.

“I’m good. It’s good. I’m just -”

He sighs, frustrated, tugging at the curls that lay over his forehead, roughly.

“I don’t know. I just … Don’t know how to say it.”

I nod slightly, my pillow crinkling beneath me.

“Okay. Just take your time.”

"I don't think - I mean, I don't think that rushing is what's wrong. I can ... Maybe try and show you, instead. If you'd like?"

“Sure?” I answer, my voice creeping with uncertainty. “Whatever is easiest for you.”

Trembling slightly, he reaches forwards, timidly, and carefully tucks a wave of hair behind my ear.

My breath stills, as my treacherous body tenses up, defensively.

“Okay?” he whispers.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

He huffs out a breath, relieved, and reaches up, laying his hand against my cheek, properly. Tracing his thumb along the high-point of my cheekbone, softly.

His eyes trail downwards, tantalisingly slow - His gaze, impossibly hot, as it lands on my lips.

My heart skips a beat - A momentary break, from the insistent careening of my pulse.

I don’t really know what I’m thinking anymore, my mind trapped in a useless haze.

It’s completely overwhelming - Being looked at like this, being held like this. Like I’m something precious. Like I’m something worthy. Like I’m something … Loveable.  

He must know - Surely, he must see it. His touch rendering my utterly defenceless, it must be written all over me, the truth of my affections tattooed across my skin, clear as day.

He’s right there, his face mere inches from mine. His hand resting against me, warm and reassuring.

I think I might do it. Just forget words, forget an explanation, forget caution, and just do it. Just end this exhausting charade and kiss him.

“Simon, I -”

And then he kisses me. Surging forwards, and crashing our lips together desperately.

For a moment, I freeze, stunned into stillness by the newness of it all. But then, instinct takes over, and I’m kissing him back - Sliding my lips against his, hungrily.

I have no idea what I’m doing, but doesn’t seem to mind - Humming against my lips, contentedly, his hands clasping at my hair.

He just his chin forwards, confidently, and I feel it everywhere - My body thrumming with his fire, from my tingling lips, to the white-hot heat, stirring deep within my stomach. It’s a wild push and pull, and I take everything he has to give me, willingly - Savouring each and every spark, greedily.

Utterly blissed out, and unstoppably happy, I smile against his lips, helplessly.

He pulls away, giggling breathlessly - Grinning down at me, his hair hassled, and his cheeks flushed.

Pushing my shoulder lightly, he presses me down into the mattress, and clambers on top of me, clumsily. Holding himself up above me, before leaning down and pushing his face into the crook of my neck - Nipping at the skin there, teasingly.

“I cant keep doing it if you keep smiling, idiot” he sing-songs, the deep gruff of his voice vibrating against my neck. “As much as I like you, I don’t really wanna kiss your teeth.”

Still floating, I laugh openly, my heart squeezing within my chest.

“It’s not my fault,” I mumble, leaning upwards, and pressing a chaste kiss to his exposed collarbone.

“Hmmm,” he hums, cradling the back of my head in his hands. “Whose fault is it, then?”

Refusing to answer, I stare at him - His eyes sparkling, and a wicked smirk, plastered across his face.

“Shut up,” I smile, rolling my eyes jokingly.

“You’re gonna have to make me.”

I raise my eyebrows, suggestively, reaching up and tugging him down towards me by the back of his neck. Our lips mere millimetres apart, I whisper against him, coquettishly.

“Oh. I will. Rest assured, when I’m finished with you, you’ll barely be able to string a sentence together.”

Puffing out a shaky breath, he trembles against me - A needy whine escaping his lips, as he does so.

I did that to him. Me. Fucking marvellous.

Wonderfully pleased, I snake my arms up his body, pulling him forwards, minimally, and claiming his lips with mine once more.

————————————————————————————

I’m sat propped up against the headboard, now (Snow pulled me up a while ago, grumbling about how I was 'Too far away'). He’s seated himself atop my thighs, our hands laced together between us, and his mouth working against mine, insistently.

I don’t know how long we’ve been wrapped up in each other (Long enough that my leg is prickling through lack of movement), but I’m certainly not complaining.

Shifting backwards, he beams over at me, a playful glint, sparkling in his eyes.

Enraptured, I trail my eyes over him, appreciatively, my gaze falling on his neck. Reaching a hand upwards, I circle a thumb over the small, red mark, blooming against the fair skin, a strange sense of pride welling up within me, as I do so.  I hadn't set out to do it (Starting off with completely innocent intentions, I'd only hoped to press a kiss to a particularly appealing mole), but I’d quickly gotten carried away, his breathy huffs urging me ever onwards.

With a chaste kiss to my brown bone, he rolls his hips down against mine, just-so - The friction eliciting a pathetically needy moan, from me. I grip his hips, tightly - Pressing my fingers into the softness of his side.

Humiliated, I thunk my head down against his shoulder, hiding my face away, as it fills with a burning heat.

“Eager,” he giggles, his lips moving upwards, brushing against the peak of my forehead.

I pinch his thigh, lightly, in retaliation - Simon yelping against me, in surprise.

“Unless you want to discuss what’s currently pressed against my thigh, I suggest that you shut up! Otherwise, you can sleep alone,” I threaten.

“No, Baz,” he cries, throwing himself down onto the bed besides me. “You can’t do that to me. I’ve been proper nice to you, all night!”

I flip onto my side, so that I’m facing him, again - Apparently incapable of keeping my eyes off of him, for even a minute.

“I'm pretty sure that I can.”

His shoulders drop slightly, as his hand pats along the bed in search of mine.

“Yeah, but ... You wouldn’t, though. Would you?”

“No, Snow,” I breathe, weaving our hands together. “I wouldn't.”

Harumphing, he pouts his lips outwards, sulkily.

“What?” I chuckle, pushing myself up onto my arm, and leaning over him. “I thought you didn’t want me to.”

“Yeah but - You called me Simon before.”  

I press out foreheads together, helplessly charmed.

“No, I never,” I argue - Because, despite all my unforgivable softness this evening, I’m still me. Irritatingly petty, to a fault.

“You definitely did.”

“Hmmm,” I hum, airly. “Well … I have no memory of it.”

He scoffs then, rolling his eyes, and peppering a flurry of kisses against my jaw.

“You definitely did. But ... No worry - Deny it all you want. I’ll get you to say it again, soon enough. I just need to soften you up,” he shrugs. “And that is easy, enough - A couple of snogs here and there, and hey presto ... I’ll get myself another 'Simon'”

I wince at his awful imitation of my accent. I don't know why he even bothers trying, with it - He always just ends up sounding like a drunken Prince Charles impersonator.

He chortles, bright and joyous, but is interrupted by a long, gasping yawn.

“Tired, Snow?” I goad.

He nods, smiling lopsidedly.

“Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Why ever not?” I pry.

“Nervous … You know - About this,” he murmurs, stroking the pad of his thumb against my lower lip.

My chest swoops joyfully, an unbridled grin breaking across my face.

Pursing my lips, and kissing his thumb, quickly, I reach down, and slot my hand into his. Interlocking our fingers, I drag our joined hands down, underneath the duvet, and spread his palm flat against my left breast.

He giggles lightly, pushing upwards, and pecking the tip of my nose.

“Your heart’s going super fast,” he breathes.

“Yes, well. You are aware of what we’ve been doing for the past … I don’t know how long.”

“Uh huh, I’m aware,” he affirms, the smugness plain in his voice. “It’s okay - Mine is, too.”

“Is that so?”

He nods, driving forwards, and pressing our lips together, once more. It’s slower this time, although no less exhilarating, his lips moving against mine, languidly - Our frantic desperation, replaced by a slower, sweeter indulgence.

I sigh, joyfully, luxuriating in the feeling of him against me. Melting into his touch, I’m putty in his hands - Open and relaxed. My heart feels exposed - Beating proudly, unprotected outside of the walls of my chest. But, I’m not afraid. I know he’ll treat it tenderly.

Snaking his free hand upwards, he tugs against my hair, enticingly. Moaning against his lips quietly, my stomach sparks with heat, once again.

Despite my eagerness to continue, I'm increasingly conscious of the hours slipping away from us, and so pull backwards, mournfully - Lifting my hips away from his, to remove temptation.

“Enough of that, you insatiable thing,” I chide, twisting a bronze curl around my finger, absentmindedly. “We’re going to have to wake up early, to put you back in the right bed, in case Daphne decides to check. And, if we don’t stop now, I’m not sure we’ll ever get to sleep.”

He huffs petulantly, his eyebrows pinched, and his lips pulling into a deep frown. I shake my head at him, unimpressed.

“Fine,” he whines. “Just - Roll over then.”

“What?” I cough, flustered.

“I said - Roll over. I wanna cuddle you.”

“Oh my god. 'Wanna cuddle you',” I groan, disdainfully. “Seriously?”

“Yes seriously, you wanker. Don’t pretend you don’t want to. It’s definitely a too late for you to start playing hard to get, Baz.”

Called out, I abandon my false protests, twisting onto my side, and wordlessly surrendering to what I want.

Wrapping a strong arm around my waist, he pulls me backwards slightly, and tucks me against his body, neatly.

With my face hidden from view, I smile, privately - The simple innocence of having him besides me, embarrassingly thrilling.

“G’night, Baz,” he mumbles, drowsily, blessing my shoulder with a feather-light kiss.

Uncontrollably lovestruck, I decide to indulge him (And, if I’m being honest, myself).

“Goodnight, Simon,” I coo.“Sleep well.”

With his smile against my skin, I flutter my eyes shut, and snuggle against him. Unfamiliarly content, I succumb to sleep, quickly - My mind blissfully quiet, and my heart seeped in love.