#honestly naked simon in the fic too

[monbons]

Stitches and Sentences Sunday

Thanks for the tags @martsonmars and @artsyunderstudy. I loved reading your WIP snips. As always, such delicious delicious words from both of you.

This is a long update with video and some mild NSFW, so I am slapping everything under the cut. Enjoy!

STITCHES I resolved to take it easy in the new year, so I have no big doll projects on the horizon. I've just been slowly plugging away at MRB Simon as I sat on planes and in airports for hours on end this break.

But Monica, didn't you make him for COC? Well, yes and no...

As soon as I started making things for COC, I realized the only way to make the project sustainable was to create what I now call "base Simon" and "base Baz." These consisted of a head, torso, and legs. Then, depending on the position required, sometimes I swapped out the arms (on one occasion the legs), and I always changed the clothing and/or accessories. As a result, MRB Simon was actually ONLY arms and some hasty pipe cleaner flowers.

After wrapping up the last post, I cleaned up the CHAOS that had exploded in my bedroom and the little disembodied arms sitting on my desk began haunting me. So, I decided to complete MRB Simon. Here he is in all his naked glory.

I would like to add the disclaimer that I didn't know anything about embroidery before this. Truly. I taught myself three simple stitches in one night from youtube just to have these arms made in time for COC. So, given that, I am pretty happy with how he's turned out. I am still waiting on shoes and a few accessories to arrive, but once he is finished, I'll give him his own dedicated post and mail him off to @rimeswithpurple as a thank you for all of her help with my COC Watford map.

SENTENCES As I said, I was trying to take it easy. Not so much a resolution as what I needed after all the madness. However, almost as soon as I made the decision, I was struck by creative lightning. I've learned that you never walk away from inspiration, so I've cranked out almost all of my EGF fic already and it is in the hands of my trusty forever beta.

I have nothing I want to preview just yet because it is the filthiest thing I have ever written while also not being very filthy at all??? I don't know how else to explain it then to share the comment I left @thewholelemon on my doc.

Perhaps I will feel brave enough to share more in upcoming weeks. Since it was inspired by a slutty doll accessory I stumbled upon and have since commissioned for one of my dolls, I may also illustrate my own fic. We'll see.

Hellos and high-fives from the smutty doll factory!

@alexalexinii, @argumentativeantitheticalg, @aristocratic-otter, @arthurkko, @artsyunderstudy

@best--dress, @blackberrysummerblog, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @bookish-bogwitch, @confused-bi-queer

@cutestkilla, @drowninginships, @emeryhall, @facewithoutheart, @harrie-leithillustration

@hushed-chorus, @iamamythologicalcreature, @ic3que3n, @ileadacharmedlife, @katatsumuli,

@larkral, @letraspal, @martsonmars, @messofthejess, @mooncello,

@noblecorgi, @orange-peony, @prettygoododds, @raenestee, @rbkzz,

@rimeswithpurple, @roomwithanopenfire, @run-for-chamo-miles, @shrekgogurt, @skeedelvee

@stitchyqueer, @talentpiper11, @twinkle-twinkle-up-above, @theimpossibledemon, @thewholelemon,

@valeffelees, @whatevertheweather, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @youarenevertooold

[lanadelnegan]

I’ve never seen someone write a Negan fic that included some Simon haha.

Idk why but Simon just- big psycho hottie energy, and I’d love a fic w some sort of Simon involvement. Even if Simon was just watching reader w Negan or degrading reader or something idk.

You know what I mean. Anywho! Enjoy my depraved thoughts haha

Hello my lovely. This one was fun. :)

Two in One

Negan x Reader x Simon (threesome)

Warnings: 18+, all smut no plot, threesome, simon and negan being extremely dominant and degrading with you, spitting, choking, double penetration, unprotected sex, anal, slight daddy kink, cum play

Note: I wrote this super quick so I'm sorry if it's not the greatest. It's just pure filth honestly.

"Oh fuuuck!" You cry out as Negan pounds into you from behind.

You barely even notice the knock on Negan's bedroom door before Negan calls out annoyed. "Yeah?!"

"Got a situation, boss." Simon says, opening the door and walking in before looking up and stopping at the sight of you bent over taking Negan's cock.

Negan continues thrusting into you as he looks to Simon. "Seriously man? Little fuckin' busy here." He says unsteadily.

"I see that." Simon's eyebrows raise as he studies you. You stare back at him, resting the side of your reddened face on the bed as Negan rails you relentlessly.

You whimper with your eyes locked on Simon, deliberately putting on a show for him. The idea of someone watching you has always turned you on, and you secretly hope Negan let's him stay.

As if reading your mind, Negan motions with his gloved hand for Simon to come closer to the bed. "What's the situation?" He asks out of breath before sliding his hand across your ass and squeezing firmly.

Simon glances to you hesitantly before speaking, letting Negan know what's going on inside the walls of the sanctuary. But you're too focused on what's going on inside the walls of your cunt to notice what they're yapping about. Frustrated with their endless conversation, you slam your ass into Negan's hips repeatedly, meeting his hard thrusts as you moan loud and purposely.

"Goddamn it." Negan grunts, cutting Simon off mid sentence before pulling you up by your hair until your back is pressed against his chest. Your head leans back on his shoulder as your eyes connect with Simon's. "Can't even fuckin' hear him over all the goddamn noise you're making, sweetheart. Does daddy make you feel that good or do you just like an audience?" His hand reaches up to wrap around your throat as his dick glides in and out of you at a steady pace.

"Both" Your whine out, struggling against the restriction of his hand around your neck.

Simon's eyes roam down your naked torso, stopping at the intersection of your pussy and Negan's dick pumping inside you. The fact that Negan is openly fucking you in front of Simon makes you even hotter and can't deny.. you love being watched.

Negan chuckles before biting his bottom lip and looking at Simon, who's zoned out watching your tits bounce with each thrust.

"Simon, you heard her. My girl wants an audience. Get on the bed and watch how fuckin' good I make her pussy feel." Negan demands, sliding completely out of you before pushing on your back and shoving you down back in your original position. You fall over, catching yourself on your forearms as you settle on your knees and Simon is already in the bed in front of you with his back leaned against the headboard as he stretches his legs out on either side of you, settling in comfortably.

You can't help but notice the large bulge behind his boxers as he proudly flaunts it in your face. If you leaned down further, you could easily suck him off but you wait patiently for Negan's permission.

The bed dips behind you as Negan climbs in on his knees, immediately burying his face in your dripping cunt and eating you like his life depends on it.

You make an o-shape with your mouth at the sudden sensation of Negan's tongue entering you from behind as you lock eyes with Simon.

"One rule." Negan says into your pussy, speaking to you and Simon. "No kissing."

That's all the permission Simon needs before letting his cock spring free from the slit in his boxers and shoving your head down on his cock. "Ahh, fuck." He moans, gripping your hair tightly in his palm.

"She can take it deeper than that. And she likes it fuckin' rough." Negan tells Simon as he finally comes up for air and lines himself up at your entrance, your juices glistening in his stubbly beard.

"Good." Simon answers him before returning his gaze to your mouth wrapped around him. "Cause we are going to ruin you, sweetheart." Without warning, he shoves your head completely down his length and you immediately gag around him but he doesn't let you come up. Instead, he holds your head down until tears fill your eyes and you desperately struggle to breath. Your palms push desperately against his thighs as you fight to come up.

"Don't you dare pass out on us." Simon says, finally letting you come up for air for a moment before repeating the process. You're even more out of breath this time and can feel yourself growing weaker. "Pathetic little slut." He chuckles.

Just when you feel like you might actually pass out, Negan shoves himself deep inside of you, hitting your cervix. Simon finally lets you come up for air and you inhale a deep breath, followed by an embarrassing moan.

"Breathe, baby." Negan says from behind you. "You tell daddy the safe word if it's too much. Understood?"

"Yes sir." You whimper as Negan cock fills your hole and your head drops down. Without missing a beat, Negan reaches forward to wrap his fingers around your hair as he pulls your head up like a puppet. "Let him see your face when I fuck you, baby. Show him how good daddy makes you feel."

Negan pounds into you unforgivably, hitting a spot deeper than you ever thought possible as animalistic sounds flow from his mouth. Seems like you're not the only one who likes extra company in the bedroom.

You moan with him, not taking your eyes off Simon's until your gaze flashes to his mouth, daring him to kiss you. You know it's against Negan's rule, which only makes you want it more. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you boldly lean forward, attempting to press your lips to Simon's but he quickly grabs your throat, stopping you before you reach them.

"Oh you better be fuckin' jokin'." Negan says, his voice dripping with anger as he pulls out of you and roughly flips your body over. You look up at him with innocent eyes as you lay on your back between Simon's legs.

"S-sorry daddy."

"That was a big fuckin' mistake. You know I simply can't let that slide, right?" He asks, leaning over and squeezing his hand around your throat.

"C'mon man." Simon interrupts. "She can't help it.. she's just a desperate little whore. Aren't you sweetheart?" He asks, looking down at you. "You wanna fuckin' taste me? Open up." Simon squeezes your jaw before open before spitting directly into your mouth.

Negan's eyes glaze over with lust and pure darkness, scarier than anything you've seen before. "I think she fuckin' likes it." Negan says, squeezing your throat tighter and leaning directly over you, letting his own saliva drip into your mouth. You moan as your swallow the mix of their spit and they both grin down at you proudly. "Didn't realize what a total slut my wife was.. think you need to be punished." Negan's eyes dart back and forth between yours as he hovers above you. "I am going to fucking break you, sweetheart." He grins devilishly before letting go of your throat and pushing three of his fingers inside of you without giving you time to adjust. You cry out as his digits rip through you before he inserts another.

"Negan... it hurts." You whimper truthfully, but the pain turns you on even more and Negan knows it.

He chuckles as he pushes his hand into you, groaning at how wide he's stretching you. While Negan fists your pussy relentlessly as Simon positions himself on his knees beside you, shoving his cock in your mouth as he roughly turns your head to the side. "Gonna put these holes to use, babygirl." He grunts, filling the back of your throat as you whimper around him and struggle to breathe.

Tears flow from your eyes when Negan's hand pulls out of you and he grabs your throat, pulling you to your knees in front of them. Both men's cocks stand proud and leaking precum right in your face and you practically moan at the sight of them.

Simon's hand grips the back of your hair, angling your head back as you look up at them. Negan wipes the mascara running down your face with his thumb as he smirks. "So pretty like this.. On your knees and ready for us."

You look up at Negan innocently before turning your attention to Simon as he chimes in. "Open that pretty little mouth, sweetheart." He guides his length towards your mouth again and you open, taking him down your throat. Before you can adjust to the size of him again, Negan's thumb hooks on the inside of your cheek, widening your mouth as he shoves his own dick inside. You open wide, allowing them to use your mouth as they sloppily thrust and groan, letting their cocks rub against each other inside your warm, wet mouth.

You moan at the taste of their salty precum dripping down your throat as you reach your hand between your legs and attempt to rub at your clit but Negan stops you, grabbing your wrist and tossing you on your back.

"Wanna watch you ride his cock, baby. Put on a fucking show for me. Make daddy proud." Negan says before kissing your lips and lightly gripping your throat. "But remember who you fucking belong to."

"Y-yes sir."

Simon lays next to you, urging you to climb on top and straddle him and you let him guide you, hovering yourself over his cock while Negan relaxes his back against the headboard, eager to watch you put on a show for him.

You lock eyes with Negan as you slowly slide down on Simon's cock, making a groan fall from Simon's mouth. "Such a tight little cunt."

Negan watches you with glazed eyes as you bounce up and down on Simon. Your eyes drop to his lap, watching his hand stroke his painfully hard cock. "That's it baby. Take his fuckin' cock, you slut." Negan says through his teeth, leaning his head back against the headboard. "That's my dirty little girl."

"Negan.. I want you too."

"Yeah? Beg for my cock baby."

"Please daddy. Please, please. I need you." You whimper.

"Such a desperate whore. One dick isn't enough for you sweetheart?" Simon chuckles underneath you, tightly gripping your hips as you ride him.

Negan moves from his spot to settle in behind you, sliding his tip through your slippery folds before he sinks inside of you. You cry at the ripping sensation in your cunt as your walls are stretched to the limit with both of them inside of you. "Ohh my god. Fuck.. it hurts."

"Feels pretty good if you ask me." Simon says, thrusting up into you.

"Always about you, selfish little girl. I told you.. we are going to use you. You're nothing but a fucking hole to us, doll." Negan says, pulling you against his chest by your throat. You lean your back against his chest as your head rests against his shoulder. You can't deny that his cruel words sting, but the thought of them using you to get off lights a fire inside of you and you completely succumb to them in that moment, willing to let them have their way with you however they please.

Negan's head falls back at the intense pleasure as his cock slides against Simon's inside you. The veins in Simon's neck protrude as you stare down at him. Between Simon's hand squeezing your neck and Negan's animalistic noises filling the air, you feel your walls tighten as your orgasm approaches quickly. "Fuck.. I'm gonna.."

Before you can come, Negan's hand yanks your hair, making your head fall back and a loud moan escape your throat. Negan pulls out of you and you whine from the loss. "Negan.. please.."

"Only way you're allowed to cum is with my dick in your ass. You ready for me baby?"

Your eyes widen as you hesitantly shake your head no. "I - I don't think -"

"Of course you don't, sweetheart." Simon interjects while chuckling from underneath you. "Dumb little slut."

Negan smirks, releasing his grip on your hair and guiding the tip of his cock to your tighter hole, rubbing it teasingly in circles. "You like being treated like a whore, baby? Getting goddamn humiliated?"

When you don't answer, Simon grips your throat again, making you look at him. "He asked you a question, sweetheart."

Your eyes squeeze shut as you nod your head embarrassed.

"Good." Negan says from behind you. "Then I won't feel bad when I do this..." And that's all the warning he gives before spreading your cheeks apart and ramming his cock balls deep inside your ass.

You practically scream as he rips you apart. It hurts.. and the your safe word lingers on your tongue but you bite it back, not wanting them to stop.

Negan pumps into you without giving you time to adjust and you bite down on your lip so hard that you eventually taste blood. Tears pour out of your eyes as both men use your holes to feel good. They moan loudly as you sob, starting to feel your orgasm return.

"Oh my goddddd. Fuuuuuuck." You come embarrassingly hard from the pain and pleasure and their own orgasms come close.

"You want me to fill this ass up with my cum sweetheart?" Negan asks, gritting his teeth.

You nod, still riding out your orgasm as Simon lets out a groan from below you, slowing down his thrusts. The moan that escapes his throat tells you that he's about to come and Negan pulls you off of him quickly, not wanting Simon to come inside you. He lays back on the bed and brings you with him, so that you're in reverse cowgirl position on top of him with his dick still impaling your ass. It's painfully uncomfortable, but turns you on more than you thought possible. You ride Negan's cock as you watch the come shoot from Simon's tip, licking your lips at the sight.

"What are you fucking looking at? Clean me up." Simon says, nodding his head towards the ropes of white cum spread across his stomach as he rises to his knees on the bed in front of you.

You lick a line from his pubes to the top of his stomach as you moan at the salty taste of him. "Maybe you are a good girl after all." He says proudly, looking down at you.

Negan slams your hips down on him, halting suddenly to fill you up. He groans loudly when he shoots inside of you. "Godddddamn, Fuck. Fuck."

You fall to the bed, completely spent and out of breath.

"Well that was fun." Simon says, resting his hands on his hips and looking to Negan. "Same time tomorrow, boss?"

"...Don't fucking push it."

[buckyownsmylife]

Memory - Bucky Barnes smut

The one where Bucky's a vampire but still manages to develop a breeding kink

Warnings: smut, breeding kink, vampire!AU, creampie, daddy kink, mention of blood because of biting

A/N: this is for my darling cousin @whisperlullaby​‘s challenge, and also my own! Like I explained here, I’m going to try to fill every single AU I listed with the characters I picked for the challenge, and since the deadline if May 27, these fics will be posted randomly, as I finish them, instead of on Thursdays, which are my usual one-shot posting days. I hope you guys will enjoy this silly idea of a vampire with a breeding kink 💛 I had a blast writing it! Unbeta’ed because I almost died this week and cannot be bothered to stare at my writing for any longer.

Bucky’s P.O.V.

“Okay, let’s play truth or dare!” I groaned as silently as possible at the proposition. One of the downsides of dating someone in college was having to deal with the immaturity of their friends, especially when I was unable to escape yet another invitation for a weekend getaway.

There were only so many encounters a man could refuse before mysterious became annoying, and I knew I was toeing the line, even if my girlfriend never complained.

She understood just how irritating these gatherings could be to me. It would have been easy to imagine if there was a realistic age gap between us, but considering the centuries that separated our birth dates, it was laughable that anyone would entertain the idea of me with a bunch of young adults who only wanted to get laid, smoke some weed and drink their asses off.

Of course, her friends didn’t know my true age, so they only thought I was a little bit irked by their behavior. Y/N knew the truth, and so evidently she tried to get me out of it, but I resisted.

I wanted her to take part in the normal experiences people her age were having. There was already so much that she was missing out on just by being with me - and I wasn’t even referring to the blood that she granted me every night.

I’d accepted to be there with her that evening. I was going to immerse myself in the full experience, if only to learn a bit more about her and those she surrounded herself with.

Her best friend let out a little excited yell when she noticed that we were joining the circle and I forced myself to smile at her. “Alright, let’s do this.” One of the male friends rubbed his hands before reaching for the bottle, making it spin as I frowned. I thought that was a different game, but apparently I was mistaken.

It landed on a girl I had yet to get acquainted with, and so I disconnected myself from the conversation as I watched my beloved laugh and have fun with her friends. It made me feel warm. It made me grateful I had decided to join.

A few more rounds went by without anything of essence actually happening. I was about to excuse myself when the bottle surprisingly stopped while pointing at Y/N.

She gasped as she stared at the man who was responsible for deciding her fate, and I already knew I wouldn’t like what was coming next. But she was smart, so she avoided the dare that would undoubtedly enrage me, leaving her to answer a question that I also would have preferred not to hear.

“So… Y/N…” He began, taking far too much pleasure at the situation, and by the way she rolled her eyes, I knew she was thinking the same.

“Yes, Simon.” He opened his mouth to say something, but instinctively looked my way. I was trying my best not to let any emotion slip through the cracks of my perfectly constructed mask, but whatever it was that he saw seemed to make him change his mind.

He closed his mouth and frowned, for a second deep in thought, before he sighed and finally voiced his question. “Just tell us one of your kinks.”

It sounded like he was trying to get this over with, and although Y/N seemed just as confused, she cleared her throat and gave him an answer.

“Oh, I don’t know… I guess.. Creampie?” Little giggles and comments rose around the circle, but nothing really stuck out and they were quick to motion her to spin the bottle so another person could have a turn.

It was a different reaction that I was expecting, especially considering what everyone did for much tamer answers, but the explanation for the lukewarm crowd was made clear by a groaned comment from Simon to the man beside him.

“This is no fun now that she isn’t single.” A small giggle resonated by my side, and I turned in the direction it came from to find my girlfriend trying to suppress her amusement behind her palm.

“Something funny, little one?” I knew they’d take notice of the pet name, but I honestly couldn’t be bothered to even pretend to care, and the fact that she smiled openly up at me showed me that she didn’t, either.

“Not at all.” She pulled me closer to deposit a quick peck on my lips and I was sure if my heart was still beating, it would have fluttered at the way she looked at me. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Of course.” Thankfully, the game didn’t last much longer - for us, at least. Somehow, the bottle didn’t land on me once, and Y/N started to yawn, her head resting against my shoulder after the third consecutive “Who would you rather bang?” question.

“I think we’re gonna leave for the night,” she excused us even though I knew she wasn’t really sleepy. She really could be an excellent actress when she wanted to.

We walked up the stairs to where the bedrooms were located, quickly getting in what had been assigned as ours for the weekend. She smiled softly at me as she reached for her backpack, no doubt looking for the one shirt of mine she always slept in, but I had a few things in my mind I wanted to ask her about.

“Why do you like creampies to much?” The words spilled out at me so unusually, considering the silence in the room, it didn’t surprise me that it took her a while to answer. When she did though, I was surprised to find her biting her lip, a look between amused and horny in her eyes when she approached me.

“Dunno.” She shrugged, taking my hands in her and playing with my fingers. I knew it was a way to avoid my intense gaze. “Guess I have a bit of a breeding kink, actually. It just felt too personal to share with those guys.”

The answer took me by surprise as I stared down at her, blinking a couple of times as I made sure to really process what she had said.

“A breeding kink?” I confirmed, and she rolled her eyes in that way I knew she did when she was embarrassed but trying to play it off as annoyed.

“Yeah, you know.” She pulled away from me to sit on the bed, legs dangling off of it almost like a child. “I like the idea of being bred. Even though I’m in no way ready to become a mother,” she added in a serious tone, making sure I understood what she meant.

But I didn’t. I didn’t and I guess it was clear in my face, because she quirked an eyebrow and jumped out of the bed, coming to stand before me once more.

“Why is this so weird to you?” She inquired, head tilted in amusement. “You’re over a century old, I’m sure your expectations regarding sexual relationships were related to impregnation for most of your life.”

And I mean… she wasn’t wrong. But I hadn’t thought about that for so long, I guess it didn’t occur to me that there was an actual term for it these days.

“There’s no way you don’t have a breeding kink.” The affirmation sounded almost like a dare, so my instinct was to fight it, wrap my arms around her torso so I’d keep her close to me, but deny it.

“You know I can’t ‘breed’ anyone anymore, darling.” But she wasn’t giving up. Her fingers softly traced my jawline, eyes sparkling with a dangerous glint as she countered, “Doesn’t mean you can’t like the idea of it.”

Even though I didn’t need the oxygen, I inhaled sharply, suddenly fascinated by her every movement, the way she gently unwrapped herself from my arms to slowly unbutton her simple dress, the one she made it look like a fucking gown.

“Think about it, Buck…” Every inch of skin that became exposed to my eyes still had my mouth watering, desperate to taste her all over.

“Wouldn’t you want to see me round with your child?” The question provoked my imagination, playing with her features as I thought about what she proposed. Her breasts fuller, stomach protuberant, and maybe a little feet rubbing against the skin, something I could kiss.

“See me carry your genes, continue your lineage… Wouldn’t you want that?” Her innocent eyes spelled trouble when she stood before me again, close enough to touch.

And I couldn’t deny that the idea did something to my heart - even though it didn’t beat anymore. Most undeniably, it definitely did something to my cock, which now strained against my pants, the arousal that the image of her impregnated by me provoked bursting as I looked at the creature that I loved in wonder and fascination.

“Are you trying to tempt me, doll?” She bit on her lower lip to stop herself from giggling before I pulled it away from her teeth when I took her in my arms again, naked breasts rubbing against my shirt.

“Is it working?” She breathed out, eyes connected to mine while she tried to gather my feelings about her attempt. I pressed her body closer, making sure she’d feel the hardness in my pants before I even voiced it.

“Very well,” I whispered in her ear, enjoying the way my cold breath awakened goosebumps all over her warm skin. She never complained about the difference in temperature, something that I was profoundly grateful for, since I loved to feel her hot blood pumping underneath my fingertips whenever I trailed my digits over her flesh.

“So tell me,” she pressed, still going for seductive even though she sounded slightly out of breath, her desire evident in the way her pupils had dilated. “Would you like to breed me, James?”

A shiver went down my spine at the question and I closed my eyes for just one second, just to relish in this sensation before I opened them to confess, “You have no idea how much I’d like that.”

My hand easily spread her lower lips, middle finger running between them to test her wetness and finding her soaked, like she always seemed to be for me. The knowledge had me smiling as I lifted my hand to taste her before making quick work of my belt, observing her slowly walking backwards towards the bed as I followed, almost like there was a thread connecting us, keeping us close.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned against my ear as he buried himself inside of me and I clutched at his shoulders, desperate to feel every part of him connected to every part of me.

Only he could get me this way. Chest heaving, mouth open just from the simple act of feeling him stretching me open. It didn’t matter how many times he took me, it still burned the same - and I loved it.

“Tell me, doll,” he panted, hypnotizing eyes connected to mine, unwilling to let my gaze escape his hold. “Tell me you’d want to have my child. You’d look so beautiful with your body changing because of me, wouldn’t you want that?”

I groaned, throwing my head back as James fucked me senseless, his cock ramming against my sweet spot over and over again. He knew no mercy, I knew that. I just never anticipated to have such an overwhelming reaction to a silly little kink I never even thought I’d ever get to explore.

“Answer me, little one.” His fangs came into play then, piercing around the nipple that he sucked, galvanizing me into actually responding, “I would, I would, daddy,” while pulling on his hair without even realizing.

He let go of my breasts to look at me with dark eyes - not because he had come in contact with my blood, oh no. It was clear that this was the reaction to the name that escaped me so easily, waving its way into him until it broke the last bit of his control and left him completely undone, only determined to fuck me.

I watched him lick his lips before he ordered, “tell daddy you want his cum inside of you.” Hearing him acknowledge this other secret kink, refer to himself as it had me delirious, unable to formulate any words to obey him, so I opted to hide my face in the crook of his neck, hoping the feeling of my burning cheeks would satiate him.

What a mistake.

“Oh, so now you’re shy?” He mocked, rubbing his jaw against my cheek as I whined against him. “Want daddy’s cum so much but can’t be a good girl and beg for it?”

I came with a long drawn-out gasp right then, my body twitching underneath his as his cock dragged along my walls once, twice, a third time until it spilled his cum inside of my channel. The act was so hot to me that it had me pulling on his hair, whispers of “I love you, I love you,” tumbling out of my lips.

He silenced me with a kiss, still managing to keep on thrusting until I had to push him away because of my sensitivity.

“Spread your legs for me, little one…” He ordered, brushing his tongue over his lower lip in contemplation. “Let me see the mess I left there.”

I was still a bit nervous about the whole ordeal now that the wave of horniness had left me, but I did eventually spread my legs for him, whimpering as he bit down on his own lip at the sight of his spent dripping from my abused pussy.

“Oh, you look so good like that, darling.” I could barely contain my giddiness as he laid down by my side and pulled me to rest on his chest, pressing a kiss to my temple while he caressed my arm. “But one question remains unanswered.” To my almost sleepy hum, he proceeded, “Why do you like the idea of breeding so much?”

That got me thinking, wiping the tiredness off of my muscles like a bucket of cold water. It felt weird to admit it, but at the same time, I wanted nothing more than to bare my soul to the man I loved, to have him aware of every little thing about me…

So I admitted, “I like the idea of being yours… in this very scary, slightly territorial way.” At his silence, I giggled, hiding my face on his chest as I waited for his response.

“But you are mine,” he reminded me, and even as I rolled my eyes, a silly smile painted my lips, loving that he felt like he needed to tell me that.

“I know I am,” I recognized. “It’s just another way I’d like to be claimed by you. Besides, I can just imagine how well you’d take care of me…”

Silence filled the room as we both got lost in the images of what could never be. Me with a fully-grown belly, walking like a penguin as he held up tiny onesies that looked ridiculous in his huge hands.

My heart ached for what could never be, surely, but I couldn’t really grieve a future I’d never have while I was so happy with the man who wanted to give me one.

“I’ll always take care of you.” He kissed the back of my hand, and even though he knew it wasn’t exactly what I meant, it was just enough. “I’m sorry that I can’t ever give you children.”

The guilt in his tone was almost palpable, and I wanted to do anything in my power to make it disappear. This wasn’t what I intended when I shared my sexual fantasies with him. They were just that - fantasies. I wouldn’t trade my reality for any alternative version the universe could offer me.

“It’s alright, babe,” I assured him, depositing a kiss on his chest, right where his heart would be beating for me if it could. “I think the way you want to claim me is just as territorial… and much more final.”

Bucky held me close, breathing me in - even if he didn’t need to do that to survive - before he asked me the last doubt that still hovered in his mind.

“Aren’t you scared?” And as I laid there in his embrace, feeling loved and cared for, I knew the only acceptable answer that I could give him was, “It’ll be worth it.”

[forabeatofadrum]

Last Line Tag Game

Look at that, I am creating a tag game! It’s honestly not that groundbreaking, but I was once again in tears over Aristotle and Dante Discover The Secrets of the Universe’s last line and I also remembered having a lot of fun with the First Line Tag Game, so here goes.

Rules: List the last lines of the last twenty (20) stories you published. Look to see any patterns you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any. Then tag some friends.

The Naked Truth (art student!Baz and art model!Simon)

I put my pencil on the paper, I look over to Simon who’s already flexing his upper body, and I start to draw.

Wielded by the righteous (Simon and Jamie bonding post-AWTWB)

I wield it with pride.

e pare stella che tramuti loco (part 3 in the Snowbaz Paradiso series)

We wouldn’t have it any other way.

At last (Klaine canon-divergence drabble)

It’s the perfect wedding.

che col tuo lume mi levasti (part 2 in the Snowbaz Paradiso series)

I can’t wait.

Zimbits April Updates (this is actually a collection of five standalone drabbles, hence the 5 sentences)

“I can accept this.” - Meat

Eric nods eagerly. - Bay

Samwell lives on without them, and they live on without Samwell. - Memory

Jack turns off the light and the two of them fall asleep. - Thinker

That’s why being short has its advantages. - Tiptoe

A rip in time (my ultimate Doctor Who crossover clusterfuck, I’m using a sentence from the last actual chapter, not the bonus chapter)

Right now, the entire universe is waiting for them.

Learn to let go (a CrisTales oneshot)

One day, the world will make peace with that.

I’d cry a river just for you (the Klaine Advent 2021 fic)

There’s a new beginning for the two of them and it’s off to a great start.

l'amor che move (il sole e l'altre stelle) (part 1 in the Snowbaz Paradiso series)

Our place forever.

Mr. Grimm-Pitch and Mr. Snow, In The Library, With a Snog (Snowbaz canon-divergence oneshot)

I sit back and I let myself enjoy our day.

Any way the wind blows (Zelda: Breath of the Wild oneshot)

Kiana watches them go with a smile.

Mendacious (the Klaine Tan Hands 2021 fic)

Blaine Anderson: I love you too.

Seal the darkness (Mitali finds out about Lucy by recognising the sword)

“Come along, Snow,” Baz says as we walk towards the front door, “My rosebud boy.”

God, this feels good (A Love, Simon/Love, Victor fic)

He’s sure of that.

I ain’t gon’ smile if I don’t want to (part 4 of an Agatha Wellbelove centered series)

Here I come.

March 15th 2021 (Klaine short story)

“For all of eternity.”

The draft of the proposal speech (Zimbits, the SMH reacts to Jack’s plans)

He’s ready.

Just let me cry a little bit longer (part 3 of an Agatha Wellbelove centered series)

We’re going to have fun.

The Master Sword (Baz and Penny have a gift for Simon)

This is the best birthday gift ever.

Anyway, I’m not surprised that many of these need context. They’re last lines for a reason. If I see this list, I am actually quite happy. I hate writing endings, but these all seem all right. Most of them wrap the story up nicely. Most, I say, because the Zimbits Updates ones are all loose drabbles, so I didn’t feel the need to create a big ending for some of them.

The other thing I notice is that all of them are short, but that’s because I tend to end my fics with a couple of short sentence that could easily be one sentence (see The Naked Truth. If I had used a period (.) instead of “, and I start to draw”, then “I start to draw” fits right into this list.)

Well, this is fun.

Tagging @quizasvivamos @blurglesmurfklaine @coffeegleek @redheadgleek @urban-sith @mostlymaudlin @captain-aralias @dragoneggo @otherworldsivelivedin @bookish-bogwitch​ @caramelcoffeeaddict​ @thnxforknowingme @sillyunicorn​ @ivelovedhimthroughworse​ @wellbelesbian @cutestkilla @urban-sith​ @excalisbury​ @facewithoutheart @martsonmars @takitalks

[spooky-space-kook]

Goddammit. Okay. Things I am obsessed with from In The Flesh. (NOTE: I am a dumbass who knows jackall about anything I'm talking about. If I'm ever insensitive about a topic, please just tell me. I only do my best, ok?)

Amy is a gift and every moment she's on screen I fall in love that little bit more. This isn't a deep assessment I just fucking love Amy.

I could be completely off base, but each of our main "PDS Sufferers" feel as though they represent different ways mental illness is expressed. I know fuckall about most mental illnesses and so will leave it at that. I just think it's interesting.

I also like how they use characters to show the many different responses to oppression. Keiran's initial go-along-to-get-along becoming awareness and resentment. Freddy insisting he's not like the others. Simon finding purpose. Keiran's parent's blind ignorance and total faith in the system. Ken Burton becoming fervently anti-undead to hide the fact his wife is undead and returned home. Bill and Rick acting as though it isn't real, and crumbling the moment the thin veil is torn away. And Amy being the treasure she is and just leaning way the fuck in.

Everyone dressed in Amy's style at the end. Especially Sue and Shirley. Even more that Keiran's idea of "moregeous" is Old Man Hat.

The contrast between Rick and Simon's room. The former clearly hiding under so much masculine hooplah. Sexy half naked women, army crap. And at odds with the character we get glimpses of when in Keiren's presence. The latter's room is very much... well, gay. And young. Walls covered in boyband posters and race car drivers. I know the director said he left home as a teen, and honestly I'm surprised it wasn't earlier. The space is very much a pre-teen's. It says so much about Simon's character. That even if he left in his mid-teens, he must've started drifting away much earlier.

Simon's many, many layers and huge shirts. To me it ties strongly with what we learn in s2 ep5. It comes off as dressing to hide oneself.

The village's characters all interact like people who have known one another for years. Even the bad guys. When Keiran is in a very dire situation and being threatened by Gary in the last episode, he still talks to him like you would any schmuck you've known since elementary days. And all the interactions are this way. Personal and understanding in a way that's specific to a community where everyone has always known everyone. Fuck I love it so much.

I just appreciate the consistent characterization so much. It's so fucking good. Even when they started having to rush things along, they did it well. Characters grew without becoming totally different people.

S2 Ep5. Ignoring revoked consent. It was a very interesting moment to me. The whole episode made me re-evaluate a lot of aspects of the character, but this in particular stood out as impactful.

Even through it all, I sympathize with Jem and Gary and every other poor soul who lived through the Rising. I don't know if I'm supposed to, but I do. What they went through was awful. And traumatizing. They have every reason to be afraid. It is not an invalid fear. I love that they never showed us the human's experiences, because we've likely seen it enough times to understand and sympathize.

AND FURTHERMORE every PDS Sufferer is as much a victim! Because they really weren't in control, and had no way to be besides.

And along with that note, I love the moment when Jem makes The Big Mistake. Because I agreed with her. I thought she should go to the authorities. It was an accident, but the consequences were huge. And immediately after thinking this, I asked myself why I feel our PDS souls should get a pass due to trauma and lack of control, when Jem essentially had the same experience as a result of PTSD. I love that so much. The show constantly has me comparing and contrasting the experiences of the living and undead.

The very deliberate staging of Weston and Halperin. First working together, eventually split, and finally... no Weston at all. The moment where they are standing separate, Halperin with their benefactor on one side, Weston on the other, divided by a column, is very interesting. Halperin is friendly and welcoming to Weir, the representative of their funding source. Weston is clearly hostile. After that moment, we never see Weston again. So much said with so little! Ugh! So good! I want to know more about that divide. What it lead to. Why was Weston gone later?

I like Gary. There I said it. He's a horrible person but a damn good character. I simultaneously sympathize with him and want to slap the absolute shit out of him. We get glimpses into his total inability to cope (the story at lunch, coping with humor. Terrorizing people. Refusing to move on.) But it's interesting. When we see him with the living he seems like a fairlu nice, empathetic person. Were this the Walking Dead, Gary would be the Good Guy. He'd maybe even be our protagonist. And in a lot of ways the show treats him appropriately. We see many facets to his personality, both good and bad. We see him in a sympathetic light occassionally. He's never quite a 2 dimensional nut job or monster. It's great.

Every shot in Simon's former home. Every. Single. Shot where they are together? Empty chair. The emphasis on a missing figure is so lovely and clever. And sad.

This is the world's smallest thing but no two actors look more like mother and son than Sue and Keiran. Same big fuck-off doe eyes.

There'll be more, just you fuckin' wait. I've been rewatching the shit out of this show and need to get my thoughts out.

ADDITIONALLY. SPOILERS BTW.

.

.

.

If Keiran is the first risen I will eat every left sock I fucking own. I went back to s1 ep2 and there were about a zillion other legs walking around when he crawled his lazy ass out of that coffin! Which is even more infuriatingly intriguing.

I'm also not surprised that literally zero fic can imagine our main pair being together outside of small moments near the show's timeline. Simon has an addictive personality and only just found purpose. I think domesticity wouldn't suit him. Meanwhile Keiran craves it. That and normalcy, simplicity... I wish there had been more time to see that conflict.

I wish we could've seen more of Gary. I want to know if they ever planned redemption for him. The way they treat him, it feels like they were going to. His portrayal felt too sympathetic, otherwise.

I wish we could have seen Jem grow. She was such a good character and I genuinely felt for her. Simultaneously called a badass and a coward. Maybe feeling that way too. She deserved the rest of the arc she never got.

ALSO. I NEED TO KNOW. WHO THE LEADER OF THE ULA IS. I NEED TO. My suspicions: John Weston. But we'll never know now T_T

[sweetwriting]

TimKon Week 2020 - Day 1: What’s Going On?

Category: Gen or Pre-slash

Genre: Angst/Friendship

Fandoms: DC Comics, Superverse, Teamverse

Continuity: Post-Crisis/Pre-Flashpoint & Rebirth

Summary:  Iris Force didn't really have visions, she just knew things. But tonight, for the first time, she had one. And it was about somebody who shouldn't be there. The TimKon part isn’t that big even if it hints at how bit it could be. As of this story they’re still just friends so it can be seen as platonic or romantic

Word Count: 3356

AN: A part of this is a WIP I had already posted here : https://sweetwriting.tumblr.com/post/165029401671/hello-this-is-a-snippet-for-a-fic-ive-always but to which I was never able to find fitting parts. This part stayed at least as an inspiration of the Vibe I wanted to give but ended up being put to the side. However this Prompt gave me an idea so I’ll try to see where it goes and if it does’n work well…It will be considered as a bonus :D There’s also a reference to Ruelle’s song “I will Find You” as this song is kinda linked to most of the TimKon Angst and general New Rebirth Plot.

Prompt:  Under Lock & Key - Future 

Can be read on AO3

A breath. 

Everything was dark. Were his eyes even open?  

Another breath. 

What was he feeling around him? It felt like a liquid. But how could he possibly breathe in a liquid?  

Another one. He extended his arms. Glass. Surrounding him.  

And another. Faster. 

He didn’t have enough place to extend them completely.  

Another breath. Panic. 

Who was he? Another one. 

How did he know he was a “he”.  

And another. 

What was going on?  

And another. 

Where was he? 

And another. 

Why. 

Another. 

How.

Another. 

Where. 

Another. 

Superman. 

That was his name. But it wasn’t. It was supposed to be his name. But it wasn’t. Why. Who was he? 

Paul Westfield.

That was his father? No. 

Alexander Luthor. Was he his father? No. Disgusting. 

Who? 

Why? 

How? 

Where? 

Was Superman his father? No. Brother. Clark Kent? Same. 

Names. 

So many names. 

Robin, Impulse, Wonder Girl, Roxy, Rex Leech, Dubbilex, Tana Moon, Sam Makoa, Guardian, Hero, Matrix, Aura, Half-Life, Sparx, Empress, Arrowette, Secret, Red Tornado, Traya, Speedy, Green Lantern, Ravager, Starfire, Beast Boy, Cyborg, Nightwing, Flash, Max Mercury, Wonder Woman, Troia, Agent A, Batman, Not Robin, Red Hood, Spoiler, Batgirl, Knockout, Lori, Simon, Ma Kent. Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Donna Troy, Diana Prince, Wally West, Dick Grayson, Jim Harper, Victor Stone, Garfield Logan, Koriand’r, Rose Wilson,,Sterling, Kyle Rainer, Mia Dearden, Victoria no Greta Hayes, Cissie King-Jones, Anita Fite, Donna Carol Force, Byron Stark, Lindsey Wah, Hero Cruz, Cassandra Sandsmark, Bart Allen.

Tim. 

Tim Drake.

He remembers. 

Names. 

His best friends. 

Bart and Tim. 

This is a pod or a tube or whatever.

He’s Superboy, Kon-El, Conner Kent. The Metropolis Kid, The Boy of Steel.

And he has to find his friends. To make sure Ma is okay.  He can’t abandon them again. He can’t abandon Tim again. How long was he in there? 

Panic.  

Everything goes completely white. 

- - - - -

Shortly before Flashpoint happened.

Timberton, British Columbia, Canada.

Iris Force woke up with a gasp. It was the first time she saw what felt so far off in the future and felt so entwined with the recipient of her vision. It was that boy, Superboy who had been one of her dear D.C’s friends back when she went to that horrible party place.

She suddenly heard her door open and the voice of her granddaughter, Anastasia, come to her.

“Granny Iris, I’ve felt you panic, are you alright?”

Iris felt her dear Anastasia settle next to her and help her sit by pulling her elbow.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” She answered, leaving herself time to try and sort out what could be happening.

Anastasia’s hands came to take her own in them in a reassuring gesture.

“Don’t worry, I’m honestly more concerned by the strangely strong reaction you showed to one of you visions. And especially since I’ve never known you to have prophetic dreams”.

Iris turned her head toward her granddaughter. She might not be able to see but she wasn’t going to be impolite.

“This is a problem, It didn’t seem to be a prophetic dreams yet it still was. It seemed to be happening in a far-off future but in the past at the same time. Distant and close at once. I’ve been trying to make sense of it but I can’t seem to be able to do that. And it’s something I’d rather have sorted out before I talk to Donna Carol.”

Anastasia startled and asked in a tiny voice why her sister was concerned.

“It’s about the Superboy. You remember, they were friends a few years ago. Even if they lost touch his death and resurrection had deeply affected her and I think this might too.”

- - - - - -

Prime Earth. Around the Time Red Robin’s future self came to the present.

Timberton, British Columbia, Canada.

Iris Force woke up with a gasp. It was the first time she saw what felt so far off in the future and felt so entwined with the recipient of her vision. It was that boy, Superboy who had been one of her dear D.C’s friends back when she went to that horrible party place.

She suddenly heard her door open and the voice of her granddaughter, Anastasia, come to her.

“Granny Iris, I’ve felt you panic, are you alright?”

Iris felt her dear Anastasia settle next to her and help her sit by pulling her elbow.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” She answered, leaving herself time to try and sort out what could be happening.

Anastasia’s hands came to take her own in them in a reassuring gesture.

“Don’t worry, I’m honestly more concerned by the strangely strong reaction you showed to one of you visions. And especially since I’ve never known you to have prophetic dreams”.

Iris turned her head toward her granddaughter. She might not be able to see but she wasn’t going to be impolite.

“This is a problem, It didn’t seem to be a prophetic dreams yet it still was. It seemed to be happening in the near future but in the past at the same time. Distant and close at once. I’ve been trying to make sense of it but I can’t seem to be able to do that. And it’s something I’d rather have sorted out before I talk to Donna Carol.”

Anastasia startled and asked in a tiny voice why her sister was concerned.

“I do not know, I just know it concerns a Superboy. They were friends a few years ago. No. They were not. I know the universe had changed but I don’t exactly know how. This is one of these changes.”

She knew Anastasia was frowning. She could not blame her as it was confusing even for her. She had told her family the universe had changed but since most of those changes were unknown even to her, and since their family didn’t seem in any immediate danger, they let it be and almost never thought of it again. Except for Donna Carol. She wanted to act. To become a hero. It was obvious but she had never acted on it. Probably due to the knowledge that a past she had lived had been erased. While it fueled her desire to help as a hero more than before it also scared her. The fact that her aunt had not left the family and as such making sure Donna Carol did not have an example to follow might have also helped.

Because yes, Iris knew Donna Carol had been a hero and Allure had left. But that was only because she saw the shift between then and now within the family. She could only see the very big changes when she met people concerned by them.

Just like she knew this conversation had happened before the shift. Maybe not the exact same but her other/past self had the same vision.

What was happening?

- - - - - - -

Conner awoke to a dark room. Or was it a cave? It was too dark to tell but he could not hear the telltale sign of machinery. No sound, no light. Nothing

He wasn’t sure. What he knew was that he was in a pod, in a liquid. That he had woken up some time before and gotten most of his memory back. The pod had fallen sideways on the ground and was the glass was cracking. He tried to push against it but he couldn’t.

Why? Why couldn’t he just burst though? Why wasn’t his TTK working? Where was he? What was going on?

So he screamed.

“HELP! SOMEONE HELP! BART! TIM! CLARK! CA…”

He was interrupted by crackling. And a sudden burst of blue light.

Right in front of him was electricity in the shape of a woman. He smiled in relief. He knew her after all, she was an old friend of his.

“D.C! Boy am I glad to see you! It’s been a while!”

The girl however didn’t seem to show the same joy.

“Wow Granny said I knew a Superboy in the old world but I half believed her. But you actually look that other Superboy who disappeared, and you seem to know me.”

Now Conner was confused. What old world? Why would she need Granny Iris to tell her they were friends? Why was he still in this thing?

“Whatever! Can you help me get out? I can’t seem to be able to use any of my powers.”

D.C shrugged and agreed. She fried the commands and opened the lid of the pod before lifting him then she promptly let him fall as she covered her eyes and turned around.

Conner fell on his butt, the floor was made of wood so he didn’t hurt himself much, but apparently he hadn’t retained his invulnerability.

“Hey! Why did you drop me DC?!”

D.C. had curled up in the air, her back still to him. She answered him in a small voice.

“You’re naked”

Conner looked down. She was right. It was luck then that the floor was made of wood and not a less smooth surface. He looked around. There wasn’t anything to cover himself as he was in a bare rectangular room only filled with cables. The door DC had opened seemed to show water as he could see the ripples reflecting the moon and stars in what would be a rather bleak night otherwise.

D.C ran toward the door with her eyes closed.

“I’m gonna go try and find you something more decent. Wait here!”

And she left him there. Well he didn’t have much shame but even he knew better than to walk around naked -if only to avoid unwanted attention when he was already so confused. In the meantime he would try to see what he could still do. So he tried to get up, and promptly fell down again.

“OK so baby steps…literally.”

Two hours later and he could finally walk almost normally. However he really couldn’t use any of his powers. He also wasn’t anywhere close to knowing what was going on. That’s when he heard the telltale sound of Sparx’s powers nearby.

She came in with her eyes closed and two pieces of cloth in her arms.

“OK so pants are harder to fit especially since I don’t know your size so I found a hoodie and a skirt, hope you don’t mind”.

She threw the clothes n the room and turned around. Conner Started putting them on as he answered.

“They definitely wouldn’t be my first choice but I don’t mind. At least the skirt is nicer than the dress I had to wear last time”.

“Wait.You really wore a dress?”

“Yeah, it was to be used as a distraction. Honestly it was fun even if I had my costume underneath. All right, I’m all done.”

D.C turned toward him.

“Hey it’s actually not that bad. Though the fact that it’s night and we can’t really see the colors probably help.”

Conner rolled his eyes. Of course he looked good in it. He looked good in almost everything. Granted he wasn’t sure what he looked like right now. Sparx coughed and he brought his attention back on her.

“OK so…this isn’t the most comfortable place to talk and I’m honestly not the best person to talk world heroics with so I’m gonna bring you to my family and especially my granny Iris. Don’t worry though they all…”

“Have powers, yeah I know I already met them, you brought us there remember?”

“That’s the thing actually, I don’t. I’m only here because of granny Iris”

“Oh.”

There was a slight lull before D.C started again.

“Anyway we should go, you can fly right?”

Conner shifted slightly.

“Yeah, actually, no. I seem to have lost my powers actually”

“Well it’s okay, I’ll just have to fly you there. We might have to take a few breaks though because while I’m not slow, I’m also not strong enough to go all the way there while holding you in one go”

Conner nodded and they left. As Sparx got high up in the sky, he noticed that what they left wasn’t a room but actually one of several train cars left on the side of a river bank. It seemed to have been separated from another part which was nowhere to be found. Moss had started to grow on it so it had been there for a while. He had been there for a while.

- - - - - - - -

It took them six hours to get to the Force family and they mostly spoke about the new tv shows that D.C. had found interesting lately so they would avoid any topic too heavy (apparently he had missed out on a hilarious cop show). Also Smartphones were so much more advanced as they were the last time he saw them.

- - - - - - -

Timberton, British Columbia, Canada.

As they landed in front of a house in a clearing surrounded by woods, a young brown-haired teenager came to greet them.

“D.C ! Mom said that you would probably need to rest when arriving so you need to show Superboy the guest room.”

D.C. undid her transformation and turned into a cute girl with short brown hair and dressed in a baseball shirt and jeans.

“No way! I’m not tired and I wanna know what’s going on!”

Ana smiled at her big sister and turned toward the house.

“Granny Iris said you’d say that and is waiting for you both in the living room”.

D.C rolled her eyes and grumbled a short “then why not invite us there directly?” before going after her sister followed by a nostalgia filled hero.

Iris Force looked as dignified as ever when, putting the cup of tea she was sipping back on the teacup in her hand, she greeted her granddaughter and her friend from another life.

“Hello Superboy, it has been a while. Though I believe you did get a few name since we last saw each other.”

“Hi Mrs Force. I go by Conner as a civilian and Kon El among other heroes now. Though you already knew that. It’s nice to see you again”.

The older woman kept her eyes closed as she smiled at him. He and D.C sat down on the couch next to Granny Iris’ armchair. Both had a teacup waiting in front of them on the table, filled with warm tea.

“You’re much more subdued than I remember young man. I would like to say it is nice to see you have grown up but as I know what some of it implies I’m afraid I am just saddened for you”.

Conner flinched at the bluntness and D.C almost got up to yell at her grandmother before changing her mind as Conner nodded at Granny. The older woman started talking again.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to fill in most gaps, you know our family doesn’t really get involved in heroics so we don’t have the same kinds of information you could get from those people. All I know is that a few years ago, I woke up with the distinct feeling that things had changed. I didn’t know what but when I saw Allure and D.C. I immediately knew what had changed for them. For you….I can see what you where but I’m not sure what you are right now. Do you have any idea what happened to you?”

Conner stared at the teapot in the middle of the table for a few minutes.

“I don’t remember how I got there to be honest. The last thing I remember clearly was being with my best friends, Tim and Bart. I’m…I’m pretty sure I was with Tim for a while but I don’t know where or what happened.”

There was a pause.

“Oh my God! I don’t know where he is! I don’t have my powers I can’t make sure he’s okay! What do I do?”

“Maybe just google his name, whoever “he” is.”

Conner turned to D.C who showed him her phone already put on a google page. He tapped Tim’s name in the search bar and found pictures of the Wayne family with basic information. He frowned. Something was definitely wrong and it was not just because of Tim’s height…Wait.

“That’s not Tim!”

D.C Looked on her phone and almost screamed.

“You know the Waynes? Wait. Why do you say it’s not him?”

Kon turned the phone fully toward her.

“Look he reaches Bruce Wayne’s ear and it say he’s 5’10” and that’s just wrong. Tim’s tiny. He barely reached 5’6” and his hair here is way too short so that can’t be him.”

D.C. looked at him with an unimpressed look.

“Seriously, that’s what you’re basing this on? The Tim Drake from this world could have simply eaten better food that helped him grow up or there was a light alteration to his genes that made him taller and maybe he just got used to having short hair.”

“Well it also says he just turned 17 and I remember celebrating his 18th birthday.”

“This could simply be a timeline issue”

“He’s just weird okay! And not just him. This picture kinda creeps me out actually”.

Conner gave D.C her phone back as he started pouting. He wasn’t good with words but he knew something was wrong. It was in the attitude displayed. There had always been a level of fakeness in these kinds of pictures if only because of Brucie Wayne’s character, but the affection never felt as fake or distant as it did in this picture. DC played with her phone for a few seconds before giving it back to him.

“Maybe it was just that picture, look here are some other ones”.

So Conner tried. He looked at them all but they all gave him the same vibe. He tried to look for Bart too but nothing came up. There was only Barry Allen. He gave D.C her phone back and shook his head while trying to stifle a yawn. He would look for Cassie and the others later. He wasn’t sure he could take another disappointment right now.

It’s at this point that Granny Iris intervened.

“I think it’s time for you both to go to bed. Donna Carol you’ve flown for a while you should rest. Conner will try to get in touch with other heroes later on. I believe the Wally West you know is around somewhere. But you need to rest a little.”

Both D.C and Conner nodded and D.C lead the not-so-much Boy of Steel to the guest bedroom for the night. Before they parted ways, she informed him there should be clothes for him there and that he better explain how they knew each other after breakfast.

There was a small bathroom linked to the room and Conner used the opportunity to take himself in. He was tiny. Well not really but compared to how buff he had gotten in recent times he was closer to how he was when he was born at first. He even had his hair back. Even though he had cut it short to try and avoid looking like Superman, he had to admit that he missed having longer hair.

As he settled in his bed the only thing he could only think of one thing. He would find them no matter where they were. He was not going to lose Tim and Bart. They could probably handle themselves but he didn’t want them to have to. He didn’t want Tim to be on his own again. He just wanted to be with him right now.

- - - - - - - -

Somewhere in Metropolis

“CLARK!”

Clark Kent woke up with a start. He tried to focus on a voice he thought he heard. But when he tried to focus on it he couldn’t seem to remember what it had been.

Maybe it was just a dream. He wouldn’t have lost it if it had been real after all.

He went back to bed.

[fell-in-love-didnt-you]

Five Times I Wanted to Kiss You, and One Time You Did, Too

Oh, my god. I spent actual hours on this, It's a 26 page word doc. Word count of 10k +. Holy shit. 

My friend will anonymously say “fic waz good” and I will tell theme tickety boo bebop. If you’re reading this, you know. 

Okay, enjoy about six hours of my life poured into a fic I love more than anything I’ve ever written ever even outside the wonderful carry on fandom. 

Oh, also, basically Chapter 61 happened but no kissing. Basically, all kissing that is canon has been taken out unless it happened between Agatha and simon. okay enjoy (putting a read more cuz it’s fucking long)

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20051074

Baz figures it out fifth year, but he knows it has festered in the back of his brain long before this point. Maybe it has even been there since the first time they met. Being raised to hate the Chosen One doesn’t exactly mean you’re going to comply. 

And he certainly does hate Snow. Stupid fucking hair, stupid fucking walk, and stupid fucking everything and anything else Baz can think of. He can’t even hold a wand right unless Bunce shows him first. Pathetic choice for a Chosen One. 

And the whole “I’m going to follow you around until I finally catch you draining rats and defiling virgins” act also doesn’t let Baz sit on these confusing emotions for more than three seconds alone. Seriously, is it all some cosmic joke? Is some long-forgotten enemy of the Pitches sitting Upstairs somewhere, laughing until they cry, and also making sure Baz doesn’t have a fucking second alone?  

If so, fuck you, Baz thinks. Fuck you and your whole lineage, if someone ever felt bad enough to sleep with you. 

That is another thing: the wanting to sleep with Simon Snow, Mage’s heir, resident Good Boy, and savior of the magical world. Also, the boyfriend to the stunningly gorgeous Agatha Wellbelove, who also may have a thing for Baz, too. And Baz is flattered, honestly. He and Wellbelove would make some beautiful children that would dominate the magical world. Hell, maybe he’d name them all Simon Snow Pitch just to piss off the Golden Boy. 

He wants so bad to feel anything else for anyone else. He’d fuck a chimera if he thought for one second it would clear this blinding, aching need to touch and be touched by the one person most disgusted by his presence. Anyone else. He’d marry Bunce, or a second cousin, or a tree. 

But that feeling, that “It’s you; it’s going to be you” has sat in the pit of Baz’s stomach for five years before deciding to take root at the base of his brain stem and prick and demand attention from both. A torturous cycle akin to being stuffed in the ground alive with a straw poking though the earth. Never satisfied, but still hopeful like a fucking moron. 

Baz climbs the stairs to the turret. If his mum was still headmistress, maybe lifts would have been incorporated sometime, or even just escalators. Everyone calls the Mage the ‘Great Reformer’, but Baz puts that on the far end of his list of names for that fuckweed. Far behind prick, narcissistic bitch, and crazy fucking lunatic, which all rank well within the top ten. But Snow would argue that the Mage is really the ‘Great Reformer’ everyone calls him. 

Baz’s calf muscles and back disagree heartily. 

Even though the basic unsaid rules of their room declared that Snow takes showers in the evening, Baz can’t stand the way his clothes stick to him like they’re a second skin. He thought last year he was finally done growing, but the Grimms are a tall folk, and it seems he’s inherited that (and maybe, like, four other things) from his father. Any walking makes him sweat when it’s this early into the year, and the added bonus of not fitting into custom clothing makes it all the more awful. 

So Baz breaks tradition and grabs a towel from his wardrobe. They’re supposed to share one, but Simon decidedly moved his things away from anything resembling Baz about three seconds into this year’s term, and Baz actually doesn’t give a shit. If anything, he’s happy. Now, no lingering scent of Simon can be on his clothes anymore than it usually is. 

Sharing a room with the person you want more than actual life makes him hyper-aware of what Snow smells like: brimstone, green fire, and burned foodstuffs. Makes sense. 

Despite the building being old, the water pressure is wonderful. Baz maybe thinks someone has spelled it this way because there’s no way a place as old as Watford had this wonderful a plumbing system when it was made. Just as Baz is wondering who may have upgraded this integral part of the school, a loud, obnoxious knock on the bathroom door jolts him from his thoughts. 

“We need to talk,” says a muffled voice on the other side of the dark wood door. Simon Snow has never been great at yelling, even in the best of times. Baz accidentally pushed him down the stairs once, and the only noise he made the entire time was a surprised little, “oh” just before he went down. 

“I need to get clean,” Baz replies, hoping that will shove off any response for a few minutes. 

The knock sounds again, though this time it’s louder. “Now!” Simon yells. He thumps even harder against the door, and Baz sighs as he rests his head against the cool tile of the shower. Never a dull moment when you know the Chosen One, he thinks to himself. 

Baz really should be thinking about the structural integrity of a door that was made centuries before him. It’s got a cheap little doorknob from when the other fell out two years into their time at Watford. (Baz blames Simon, but he knows it was himself that did it; slamming a door closed will do that.) The thing hardly locks half the time, and Baz was so tired after a day of classes and scouring the Catacombs that he just didn’t think about locking the door. 

So when Simon’s incessant thumping gets harder, the door gives. The knob, thanks to its cheapness, breaks, and the door swings in to reveal Baz, naked, actually in the shower and not plotting, because that’s what Snow always thinks he’s doing. 

Baz’s first instinct is to cover himself up. Fling a towel around his lower half and cower in a distant corner until Snow decides that looking at a pale, naked vampire isn’t worth his time anymore. His second instinct is to shout. Because his towel is one the counter outside of the shower, his second instinct will have to do. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” he demands, and if there’d been any magic in his voice, Snow would be spilling secrets from his childhood like a broken dam. But Baz doesn’t need magic to make Snow become flustered or spill his secrets. All he needs is a hiss in the back of his throat and a lethal glare. 

Snow looks like a deer caught in the headlights of a semi-truck. The most logical thing he can do at this point is close the door, walk out of the room, and not show up for a few hours so Baz can have a bit to think about this. But all Snow does do is stare, and stare, and stare, and stare some more. It’s like he’s trying to bore holes into Baz’s brain with just his eyes. 

And then Baz watches those unextraordinary blue eyes creep from his face to where he’s trying desperately to cover up. And damnit, Baz thinks, that shouldn’t be doing the things it’s doing to me. It shouldn’t be setting him on fire all over like he’s not flammable to the largest extent, and it damn sure shouldn’t be making all the blood from the rats rush south like a freight train. 

Snow comes to his senses finally (if he’s really got any) and slams the door shut. Baz can feel his face becoming redder. He likes the water hot, but this isn’t a temperature-related heat. This isn’t even the heat of arousal. It’s the heat of shame. Because while Snow was staring down where Baz’s hands are still covering, he was only thinking about one thing: snogging the daylights out of the Mage’s heir. 

Shit.

 …

 The end of fifth year isn’t nearly as exciting as the previous ones: Simon slayed a dragon first year, and the Humdrum’s sent something equally as lethal (if not, more so) every year. However, for the first time in five terms, the last weeks are uneventful. Baz takes his exams in relative silence, though Snow’s tapping feet never stop. 

However, if that’s the only upset they’ll have during exams, he can take. 

It’s been about six months since Snow walking in on him in the shower, and they haven’t spoken about it. To be fair, they also didn’t speak about whatever it was that had been so pressing in Snow’s mind that day. It just didn’t seem as important as seeing your arch-nemesis stark naked. 

Maybe he’d seen the long scar that ran down Baz’s legs. It wasn’t from whatever Snow was thinking it were from. It was years old from when the wraiths had thought it fun to mess with a Pitch. Live and learn, Baz thought. The wraiths hadn’t touched him since then. 

Or maybe Snow was really just freaked out about the sight of another man’s prick. If he thought that only he had stones or some stupid shit, anatomy next year was going to fuck him over really well. 

Whatever it had been, it’s gone and passed. Baz has shelved it away for the day he’ll finally get a good wank in, which will be only a few days from now. The last days of term always feel the longest, though, and even just remembering that is making his skin itch. 

He’s forgotten it long enough, though, to begin packing his wardrobe. It’s not like Baz has a sizeable amount of clothing or anything, but compared to Snow’s, it’s massive. The winter coats alone outnumber all of Snow’s non-school clothing. 

Just as Baz begins to take down the few frayed tees he’s ever owned, the door to the room opens. He doesn’t need to look up to know it’s Snow; the clambering of feet up the stairs always tells him enough. Apparently, Snow shares the same sentiment about stairs. Baz looks up to see Snow’s face flushed and his mouth open. (Though that shouldn’t surprise Baz anymore. Snow’s mouth is always open, like an obnoxious trout.) 

“Haven’t suggested a lift to your Jedi master, then?” Baz asks, returning his attention to the remaining clothes in the wardrobe. “Or haven’t you mastered Up, up, and away?” 

Simon’s glare reverberates through the room, and Baz drops the tie in his hand. The unmistakable scent of Snow’s magic is pouring into the air. Could what Baz just said really set him off that easily? It isn’t even comparable to their normal insults. Nothing this year has been comparable to the previous ones. Baz is too wrapped up in himself lately to really think of any good zingers. 

Baz turns sharply from the wardrobe and says, “Calm down, Snow. You don’t want the Anathema killing you for maiming me.” Maybe in some distant world, that could be true. 

Snow takes one large step forward and is up in Baz’s space. He’s not close enough to get a good punch in, but Baz knows that Simon doesn’t judge distance very well when it comes to physical altercations. As long as he even scrapes Baz, Snow counts it as a win. 

“Stay the fuck away from my girlfriend,” Snow spits at him, hands live like a wire in the air. He always does this when they fight: the spitting of words, the gritting of teeth, and the pointing of hands. However, the actual flames that lick the insides of his eyes give way to let Baz know he’s probably as serious right now as he’s ever been. “I mean it, you fucking creep!” 

Baz is just confused. Of course, he won’t let that show. A sly smirk paints its way across his face and he asks, “Trouble in paradise, Snow?” 

More magic is exuded. More of the air feels alive with electricity. Snow’s magic has always felt like this: alive, alive, alive. There’s nothing about Simon Snow that isn’t alive. Baz wishes he could be jealous. 

“Calm down, Snow,” Baz murmurs, bending over to pick up his tie. It helps to ease the shaking in his hands. Snow could quite literally explode all of Mummer’s right now, and Baz could go up with it. That’s not how he’s supposed to die.

Well, sort of. Simon Snow will do the right thing and kill him once and for all one day, far away from this day, when they stand on opposite sides of the battlefield. 

But dying as a fifth year in the top of Mummer’s because Snow’s girl has obviously upset him is not the way Simon is going to kill him. 

Snow’s jaw clenches, and he steps back from Baz. Thank Merlin for Anathema, Baz thinks, whoever you were. 

Finally, the static in the air calms to the low buzz that always accompanies Snow, and Baz feels like he can breathe again. He can smell a hell of a lot more than most people, and maybe that’s why being around Simon has always made him feel like he’s suffocating. Or maybe it’s because he just wants to pin the Chosen One down on a bed and kiss him ‘til they both die. 

That’s what Baz is thinking as Snow loosens his jaw and opens his mouth like the damned trout again. He’s thinking about stepping closer and filling a gaping hole in his chest that aches more and more every passing second. He’s thinking about just coming out with it, no matter the repercussions from his family or the Coven or even Snow himself. He’s thinking about twisting his hands into that perfect golden hair and touching the moles he’s longed to touch since they first met at the Crucible. 

But all Baz does is think. 

So, instead of pulling Snow in for a maddening and passionate kiss, he turns to his wardrobe and says, “Try not to blow Wellbelove up next time you see her. I still haven’t gotten my fill.”

 …

 Christmas at Watford is always bittersweet. Baz loves the turkey that’s served the night before the official end of the term, and he’s obsessed with the holly hung up just about everywhere it can be. Miss Possibelf always teaches them little Christmas spells like Merry and bright (obviously for lighting fairy lights) and talks about where the myth of Father Christmas really came from. 

But it also makes Baz long for his mother. Sixth year isn’t easy. It’s the year before the technical last year one is required to take. Baz can stop coming after seventh year if he chooses, though he knows he will come back. He’s not going to be the first Pitch to ever drop out of Watford. Plus, Aunt Fiona’s threatened him with a silver cross branding over the heart if he decides to leave. 

His mum loved Christmas much more than any other Pitch. She’d set up a big tree in the sitting room and physically place the ornaments on instead of spelling them up like every other magical family. When Baz once asked why, she gave him a look like he’d just asked her why she was breathing. After all, everyone does need to breathe. 

So, yeah, the holidays simultaneously suck and rock. Aunt Fiona always brings down the shitty handmade bobbles from when Baz was, like, two and places them on the tree where everyone can see them. His dad mixes up basically all the top shelf alcohol into a cocktail and lets Baz have several glasses. Even Daphne gets in the spirit and throws a mini party with some more liberal members of the Old Families. It’s a good time to be a Grimm-Pitch. 

Baz doesn’t entirely pack away his things. He just takes his coats, trousers, socks, and boots. He has more than enough clothing at his house. If he even so much as mentioned a sweater he thought was cool enough to look at for more than two seconds, it would be on his bed by the time he got home. He didn’t want or need anything from his school wardrobe. Just enough to get him to the train and back. 

Snow kept the window open, and the breeze blows Baz out of his memories and right back into the chilly air of the room. Simon would keep that damned thing open all the time if Baz didn’t put his foot down. It was like that the first few months of the first year, but after he complained to Fiona about it enough times, she encouraged him to yell at Snow until he submitted to whatever whim was plaguing him. 

Now, though… After last year’s revelations and midnight wanks, he can’t so much as snarl at Snow without feeling like he’s an utter arse. Hating Snow used to be as easy as breathing, even though vampires breathe far less often than humans. They do still need to breathe. Snow asked that once in fifth year. What a dunce. 

You’ve fallen for a dunce, Baz thinks. A complete fucking dunce. 

The cold gets to be too much. Snow isn’t even in the room. He’s probably off with Bunce trying to coerce cook Pritchard into giving him more scones or butter or something. As Baz is about to slam the window down and watch the snow fall from the sill, his eye catches on white blond hair that’s a stark contrast to the dark yew tree behind it. 

Wellbelove is an objectively attractive person, and Baz can definitely admit that to anyone asking. She’s standing down against the yew tree, earmuffs protecting what Baz knows are tiny, pale ears that turn the lightest shade of pink when you compliment her. She’s got a light blue coat wrapped around her, and even though the weather definitely doesn’t call for it, she’s wearing a skirt and some tights that tuck away neatly into boots. 

That’s another thing about being a vampire: the vision is impeccable. 

As impeccable as it is, Baz wants to turn around at the next sight. Snow walks up to Agatha and wraps his arms tightly around her waist before kissing her. It’s so hetero that Baz thinks he might throw up. He would if it was anyone else. Just thinking about people like Dev and Niall actually getting their hands on a woman long enough to kiss her makes Baz’s stomach do summersaults and backflips. 

But it’s Snow. His golden hair sticks out in every which way and demands attention in the flapping of the wind. He’s laughing loud enough that it trails up the room where Baz has his hands clenched on the window, nearly splintering it into thousands of pieces. Maybe the Anathema would hurt him for hurting the window. Then he wouldn’t feel so much. 

It’s been easy to ignore them. It looked like they’d gone through a rocky patch there, and Baz let himself hope for just one second that it might be over. Of course, even if they were over, there was no way in heaven, hell, or the Veil that Simon Snow would fall in love with the evil gay vampire. 

No way. 

Baz wants to scream and rage and throw things around the room until his hands go numb and his fangs drop and he can taste blood in his mouth, which hasn’t happened in a long time. He wants to kill Snow and kiss him and throw him to a merwolf and take him so far away from the Humdrum and Watford and everything that’s been hurting him his entire life. 

But Baz just slams the window down loud enough for Snow to look up and see Baz glowering down at the pair of them. 

Whatever. Baz will just make Agatha love him instead. Shouldn’t be too hard.

 …

 Watching Snow get yanked out of thin air with Bunce on his arm feels like some weird fever dream Baz has made to cope with every stupid argument they’ve had this year. Even today, Snow came into the room just to get into a petty argument about the window again. 

Snow’s just popped around the corner into the Wavering Wood. Baz mentally curses himself. Why does everyone try to follow him when he just wants food? (Blood? Same difference.) First Wellbelove, and then Simon motherfucking Snow and Bunce. Can a man have no privacy?

Of course, the second he realizes Snow’s in the vicinity of him and Wellbelove, Baz takes her hands into his, and it looks like they’re going to kiss. Of course, Baz isn’t going to waste his first kiss on a girl, but if it makes Snow mad, he’ll make that stupid sacrifice. 

However, the sucking feeling of the Humdrum creeps into the air just as Snow comes to the clearing. Baz can only describe it as being dry. The air gets tight around him, and he can feel his lungs contracting like a heart that’s finally puttering out. However, his heart is beating what would be considered for normal for a human and erratic for a vampire. Snow asked once if he had any blood in his body. Why the fuck do you think I need it? Baz wanted to ask him back. He scowled instead. 

Just as suddenly as Snow and that feeling appears, they both go away. Baz lets go of Wellbelove’s hands and stands in shock and awe. There’s no spell that can make oneself invisible, though one ancestral Grimms did try to use Out, out, damned spot for that. He accidentally discorporated himself to another dimension. Baz says a silent prayer for William Malcolm Grimm before turning to Agatha and basically screaming, “Where the fuck did Snow go?” 

If Baz was thinking or was at all competent, he would track Snow using Come out, come out wherever you are, but Baz isn’t thinking. He knows Fiona will have his head on the pyre after she finds out, but Baz agrees with Wellbelove and goes to the Mage with her. They both saw it, and they both need the affirmation that they’re not crazy. 

The Mage seems almost uninterested. It’s the last day of term for the eighth years, and he somehow thinks that’s more important than saving his literal heir. While Baz wants to punch the Mage on the best of days for what he’s done to the Old Families, he’d probably dig his fangs into the Great Prick’s neck if Wellbelove wasn’t there.

She’s an absolute wreck. Her best friend and boyfriend just got sucked out of thin air to Crowley knows where, and no one is trying to go find them. At least, no one skilled. The Mage sends his personal army after them, but Baz knows it’s just for show. The Mage’s army couldn’t find an apple on top of a bowl of bananas even if there was a bright neon arrow pointing to it. 

So he and Wellbelove wait. Wellbelove is utterly inconsolable, but she does rest her head on Baz’s shoulder after a little bit. If Baz wasn’t so busy actively trying to take down her boyfriend and make him miserable, maybe they’d be friends. She’s a bright girl even with as little magic as she’s got, and she’s quippier than most people in their year. Her only real contender is Bunce, but she’s too busy worrying over Snow to be in any competitions. 

Baz eventually gets the news that his family’s arrived for the ceremony. All the Old Families come for the Leaving Ceremony even if they have no one graduating. Baz will be up on that stage in the White Chapel next year, and while he can’t get the image of Snow and Bunce being sucked out of existence before his very eyes, the least he can do is distract himself by watching his predecessors leave. 

Fiona is looking around, and it takes only three guesses for Baz to realize she’s trying to find the Chosen One. She’s hexed him at enough of these ceremonies to know he’d be here, and when she asks Baz where he is, all he can do is shrug. It’s not exactly lying; he really doesn’t know where Simon went. Baz looks over and sees the Bunces looking around just like Fiona, although they’re more worried. 

It’s their daughter missing, after all. The brightest child they’ll ever put out hasn’t shown up to a ceremony she’s gone to since before she enrolled in Watford. Baz almost feels like he should go over and explain. He knows something, even if it’s not the whole story. 

Just as he’s rising to his feet, the doors bang open. The light from outside nearly blinds Baz as he turns to stare at the two figures in the doorway. He already knows Simon is one of them. The brimstone and burning smell are in the air, and his magic is pouring out of him and tearing at the seams. After adjusting to the light, Baz can see Bunce’s bright hair and the glint of her ring. 

There’s a moment of silence before chaos erupts. The blood hits Baz’s nose last. Somehow, even he thinks that’s wrong. The blood should have alerted him long before the doors flew open, but here he is, gaping open-mouthed at the two figures in the doorway. Simon is covered in blood from head to toe, and Penny is only cleaner by a fraction. It looks like it’s being sucked out of their pores. It looks like they’re going to die right there on the floor of the White Chapel. 

Baz is stuck in place, and he silently thanks whatever Pitch ancestor is keeping him there. It would be even more of a scandal if he ran to his enemies and cried over their corpses. That’s to be done in private. 

However, two hours later, a group of magical nurses and doctors have been called, and they all gather in Baz’s room, waiting for Simon to exit the shower. 

Baz feels awkward. Should he be pouring tea? Would that be too domestic? He doesn’t have to wait much longer. 

Snow steps out of the washroom like a zombie in a low-budget film. Even though it’s obvious by the smell that he’s scrubbed every surface of his body, dried blood flecks are still speckled here and there like the moles already present. If given enough time, Baz could find nearly every one of them. He knows every mole that litters Snow’s body and how large it is and where it’s located. 

He’s a man who can’t swim that’s been cast out to sea. 

Baz watches as the doctors perform vitals on Snow and check his skin to make sure the bleeding won’t start again by the simple pressure of fingers or clothing. They poke and prod until the Mage enters and watches himself. Then, they’re sent back to whatever corners of the world they crawled out of. Baz is pretty sure one came from New Zealand. 

Simon looks like a stress ball squeezed one too many times. His hair has gone flat for once, the telltale buzz in the air that marks his presence is gone, and he doesn’t say anything he doesn’t have to. It’s the first time Baz has seen him not stutter out every other word. 

It would be impressive if it wasn’t so fucking scary. 

Then the Mage leaves, and it feels awkward between the two of them for the first time in six years. Even the Crucible wasn’t this bad. Simon seems to stare straight past anyone who looks at him. Wellbelove had been in here before Simon showered, just to see if he was alive, but he’d looked through her like she was a window. Baz had never seen Snow look at her like that. Even when he’d first noticed the two, Simon looked at her like she hung the moon, stars, and other planets. 

So why does he suddenly straighten when Baz shifts? 

In this state, Baz can do anything. He can sacrifice a virgin right in front of Simon, and Baz doesn’t know if Simon would scream or laugh or do nothing at all. He doesn’t know which of the three would be worse. 

“What happened?” It’s the only thing Baz can think to ask. Maybe he should be demanding it, or maybe he should be taunting Snow for being sucked away in the first place, but even though he’s toed at some of the most untouchable of subjects, this feels like a new territory. 

Simon takes a minute before he slowly turns his head to look at Baz. He looks gaunt. He looks like he does whenever term starts up: his face has gone sallow all over, his cheekbones stick out like he’s been starved, and his eyes sit just far back enough in his skull to be unnerving. Baz hates the beginning of term for that reason.

The smile Simon dawns then cracks his lips, and a small dot of blood bubbles up. Baz doesn’t even have the fiendish sense to want to pop his fangs and kill the Chosen One right there. It’s not like the Anathema would let him, but thoughts have to count for something, right? 

“The Humdrum,” Simon murmurs, like that’s supposed to explain what’s happened in the last six hours. Simon says it like he’s praying to it, and that makes a chill run through Baz’s back. 

“Can he even do that?” It comes out as a whisper, and Baz wishes he had the bravado to ask again, but the Humdrum makes him have a headache and the urge to throw up all at once. It’s fear in its primal stages, but Baz won’t admit that. 

“He can now,” Simon replies, breaking eye contact and looking down at his hands. One thumb and forefinger rub at his wrist, which have both gone boney. “He took something from me today.” 

“Fifteen pounds.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but neither Baz nor Simon laugh. 

“There’s a new hole in the atmosphere,” Simon adds, like an afterthought. The holes in the atmosphere scare Baz, too. They always seem to open when Simon and the Humdrum meet. It can’t be a coincidence. Nothing with the Chosen One is coincidence. 

Baz then crouches down in front of Simon like he’s about to give him a scolding. However, Baz just loosely takes Snow’s hand in his own. The finger bones feel too big in the skin that contains them, but they’re still warm. They still have a pulse in the wrist, and they are still tanned and freckled and have moles scattered across them. 

“He won’t win,” Baz says to the floor. It’s cowardly not to meet Simon’s eyes, but it would take much more of Baz than he’s capable of giving right not. “You won’t let him.” 

Simon nods, but it’s empty. Whenever something like this happens, Simon seems like he’s just going through the heroic motions. He’s read the fairytales and knows his role well enough to play it with few hiccups. 

“I’ll die trying,” Simon whispers. Baz wishes he wouldn’t say that, but they both know how this story ends. The Humdrum will die or disappear or do whatever entities like that do when they’re defeated, but that won’t be the end of Simon’s trials and tribulations. He’ll be hunted by the vampires and the goblins and any other magic-hating creature. 

And one day, something will kill him. Baz hopes to Merlin that the Old Families don’t want it to be him. He’d die, too if he had to kill the Chosen One. His last deed would be to kill the man that did Simon Snow in, and his family would never forgive him for it. 

The urge to kiss Simon’s forehead takes over Baz’s mind, just to let Snow know that he’s so alive. That people love him and that people will protect him and that there are people who would kill and be killed for him. 

And Baz is one of those stupid people. 

Baz can’t kiss the Chosen One. Maybe he will, before Simon puts the stake through his heart. Maybe he’ll stop fighting for ten seconds to tell Snow how he’s in love with him, how he’ll always be in love with him, and how nothing Simon could do would change that. And then Simon would stab him or hex him or go off and not protect him, and it would be over. 

That night is not tonight.

 …

 The earthy smell of wet dirt and rotting wood makes Baz gag again. The wood began to rot a week ago. There’s no plush velvet interior like a coffin for a real dead person. This is one of those cartoony coffins Baz would see in reruns of Scooby-Doo when he was young. 

Perhaps the Numpties think they’re doing him a favor. Maybe they get all their information on vampires from cartoons. It would explain why he hasn’t been given food or water or been exposed to the sun in the last five weeks. However, he was kidnapped in broad daylight, so…

At first, Baz thought someone would come for him. Maybe the Numpties sent ransom. But after he scratched a sixteenth dash into the wood, he knew he’d die here. 

It’s a pretty shitty way to die. No ventilation, surrounded by earthworms to pick the bones left behind, and with Numpties blabbering right on the other side of the wooden coffin. To think, the last thing he’d eaten was a fucking pasty from the country club.

The blood they were giving him tastes like none he’d had before. What if he died with another human’s blood in his system? Whose blood? Someone he knew? A father? A mother? Sister? Son? 

After the third day of refusing blood, Baz gives in. 

Today, they give him another 32 oz. Styrofoam cup filled with blood, and no food or water. Maybe he should demand it. Would they actually listen to him? Maybe they’d think it was a trap. There’s no way Baz can trap them. He’s too weak to move. The first few days, he had promise, but they hit him over the head with a rock when they gave him the blood, and he woke up hours later in the dark again. 

There’s no difference between light or dark here. The only indication Baz has as to the passage of days is the giving of blood. It’s possible they give him blood every other day and it’s really been ten weeks. It feels longer than five weeks, but that could be the fatigue. Vampires can go longer than humans without food or water, and the blood counts for the barely-there amount of water he is getting. 

However, they need that holy trifecta to live: food, water, and blood. 

Baz has two-thirds. 

He’ll die here. 

The first time Baz thought that, he let himself cry in the most cramped and crumpled position possible. (Coffins are decidedly not spacious.)  The second time he thought about his death, he laughed and laughed and laughed until a Numpty came in with a rock and gave him a good thump behind the ear. 

The third time was now. Day thirty-seven (by best estimates). No one is coming for him. 

Baz doesn’t cry or laugh. He just sighs through his nose and takes a sip of blood. If he doesn’t drink it fast, it gets congealed at the bottom, and even though he’s going to die in a Numpty den in a coffin in the ground, he won’t die on an empty circulatory system. 

His stomach will just have to deal. 

The darkness used to play with eyes. Now it just dances like the elephants in Dumbo until Baz gets bored. Then it settles back to darkness. Sometimes the Numpties go away to talk, and the silence talks to Baz until they get back. 

Surprisingly, the silence sounds like an angry David Tennant. Maybe that’s just how every angry Scottish person sounds, but silence might be inherently Scottish. 

But when the Numpties eventually come back, Baz breathes more deeply and closes his eyes. And he sees it. 

The bronze curls always come to him first. Then the unextraordinary blue eyes take formation, and the moles follow. Baz allows himself to focus on that mole just beneath the left side of the jaw. The smile comes last. It’s a smile Baz has saved in his memories by countless times witnessing it from countless angles. The mole to the right of that mouth makes Baz’s eyes water. 

Those eyes shine down at him. For some reason, he’s taller in Baz’s memories than in real life. Maybe he’s grown since seventh year. Probably not, though. Neither of them have grown much since sixth year. They both just filled out in the shoulders and got squared away in the face. No more pockmarks. 

Baz can hear the laugh that emits from that mouth. It’s a sound he knows the angels crafted for ears of the damned to hear. Maybe they thought the damned would think twice about falling if they heard that laugh. It was made to be the first glorious sound deaf people here and for blind people to try to put a face to. It was made for people like Baz, whose souls were up in the air and just needed to be caught and nurtured. 

Those lips were made to be chapped in the cold wind but warm to the touch. The moles and freckles were made to be dreamed of and painted. Those eyes…those unextraordinary but beautiful eyes were made to make women swoon. They certainly made Baz swoon. 

His last thoughts would be of Simon Snow’s lips and moles and eyes. Baz knew this is how it would end. With one of them in tears, professing love, and the other driving a blade into a damned heart. 

However, the one that’s supposed to end him is probably having tea right about now at Watford. Hundreds of miles away. Not knowing that the one he has to kill is being killed by someone else. 

Simon Snow is alive, Baz thinks. 

And I’m hopelessly in love with him.

 …

 “What do we do now?” Penny asks. Simon looks up from the ground. The dead birds are starting to get to Baz. There’s blood everywhere: spilling from the Mage’s ears, drying around Ebb’s corpse, and from the birds that were near enough to Simon’s explosion. 

Baz can’t help it. He hasn’t fed since two days ago in the woods right before a hole opened above his house. He goes to a corner and feeds on a few birds. Penny and Simon should be reprimanding him for doing that, but they’re all so drained that they don’t stop him. 

Eventually, Simon tears his suit jacket off and lays it over the Mage’s body. Even though Snow technically killed him, Baz knows this will tear him up inside. He’s probably the only one that ever loved the Mage properly. Some loved the man for his power, and others for his influence, but Simon loved him because that’s all he could do. 

Baz lays down on the ground away from the bodies and tries to go to sleep. It’s not hard. The last few hours have been more draining than a marathon. In a way, it was a marathon to save Simon Snow. 

A scream interrupts Baz’s nice dream about a hill far away where the sun shines down on the grass and birds are singing in the trees. Simon’s there, too, laying beside him and resting in the shade. It’s the best dream Baz has ever had. 

It’s Bunce’s mum that screams. Baz thinks that maybe having two dead bodies surrounding three (nearly) alive kids could probably give someone the wrong impression, and he rises to see Bunce hugging her mum and Simon hugging himself. Those stupid wings are still spread out, and his cartoonish tail even whips around on the ground. 

Eventually, they leave the White Chapel and go to Mummer’s. The Mage’s army has been summoned, and the Coven and Old Families also arrive. Baz almost flinches when Snow’s hand grabs ahold of his and Bunce takes the other. If anything, he’s at least gained two friends from this miserable experience. 

They wait in the bedroom in the turret for what seems like hours. About five different people of five different ranks from five different groups ask them what happened, and they tell the same story separately five times. However, Simon always comes back to Baz’s bed and grabs ahold of his hand again. It’s a good balance because Baz is shivering, and Snow is a personal furnace. 

Finally, they all leave, and Bunce leaves with her mum. No one comes to get Snow, and Baz refuses to leave until tomorrow unless Snow wants to come with. He doesn’t, so Baz doesn’t go. It feels wrong to leave him in this place when there’s nowhere else to go. Bunce’s mum wasn’t in the right place of mind when she left, so Baz is sure that’s why she forgot to ask Simon with them. Baz isn’t sure Simon would’ve gone anyway. Why does it feel so appropriate to be in this room of all places on Earth? 

“What do we do now?” Baz echoes Penny from hours before. It had been a good question at the time. Two dead bodies, a missing Wellbelove, and no cellphones to call anyone on. This was similar to that. No one left to tell them what to say or do. No one peering in from the outside to get the scoop. No one trying to get evidence to blame either side for the deaths. 

They’d track Wellbelove down soon enough and get her side. Then everything would be clear. 

Simon rests his head against Baz’s shoulder. Baz rests his head against the tuft of curls that tickle his neck. They’re still holding hands. It’s not awkward. It should be. 

A lot of things should be awkward right now. Snow spent Christmas with Baz. They had (still kinda do have) an alliance. They know the Mage succeeded in having Natasha Grimm-Pitch killed all those years ago. Inadvertently, he also caused Baz to be Turned into a vampire. 

So many new pieces of trivia. So much to sort through. So much to strike and add to the Record. So much that they should want to forget. 

But Baz just keeps holding onto Simon’s hand and brushing his face against those bronze curls. It’s a good dream come true that he’s allowed to do this, but Baz doesn’t have the mental capacity at the moment to think about how his fifth year-self is hooping and hollering inside of his heart. He’s too tired to want more than is being given.

Baz would be content if this is all Simon Snow ever gave him. 

A few months later, Baz stands at a punch bowl while the people he’s known for eight years dance and cry behind him. The punch isn’t even spiked. They’re all still too wrung-out from trying to understand what happened in the White Chapel that night. Dev and Niall wanted to know why Baz hadn’t killed or at least seriously maimed Simon that night. 

How does one explain homosexuality for the arch nemesis to two duds like Dev and Niall? 

Simon doesn’t know, though, so neither should Dev and Niall. Or maybe he does, and he just won’t say so. It would make sense. Baz has been trying to kill Simon since they were eleven, so the revelation of love would either shock him or make him laugh so hard he would piss himself. 

Simon didn’t come back, and neither did Bunce, but after Bunce’s mum became Headmistress, she let all of them have cellphones on campus, and Baz had stayed in near-constant contact with the two of them. He tried to reach out to Wellbelove, but she explained she just wanted to run from it all. 

If that was an option for Baz, he would still be running. 

But there’s a Leavers Ball and ceremony to attend to, and if the Chosen One and his insanely smart friend aren’t going to show, he kinda has to. It’s an unwritten contract that at least one of them has to show up to these kinds of things, even if it’s just to let people know all three of them are alive. 

Simon hasn’t gotten in touch tonight, and Baz thinks about texting him just to make sure he’s still kicking it. However, Simon might be sleeping. These Leavers Balls take place at night, and even though it’s only nine, Baz would like to be in bed, too, preferably with the Chosen One tucked against his side. 

Baz scans the room for anyone worth talking to. It’s strange how his best friends have alternated from Dev and Niall (Niall being his literal cousin) to Penny and Snow. (Baz has decided Penny’s name is worth saying every once in a while.) It just goes to show…something. Baz’s brain is spent from exams and that speech he gave a few hours ago. 

His eyes lock on a figure entering the small procession that is the Leavers Ball. No one at Watford is late, so who would be walking in nearly an hour after the Ball’s started? 

The boy who’s loved making entrances since he was born, apparently. The Golden Boy, the former Mage’s heir, the Chosen One, Simon Snow makes his way over to where Baz is standing. It’s like a reverse of what happened halfway through the first term this year. 

Baz stands so still a stray tumbleweed could blow him over, even though Miss Possibelf spelled the tumbleweeds away hours ago. 

Simon runs a hand through his hair, a little nervous trait Baz has picked up on these last few months. Simon has a few of them, the newest being tugging on his little devil’s tail, though that changed after he got it surgically removed a few weeks ago. The wings were gone sooner because Simon kept knocking people and things over, and Penny and Baz both breathed a sigh of relief when Simon could walk through a hallway without knocking over a vase or painting. 

Someone’s given him a proper suit, and he looks like a cardboard cutout model with a few extra moles here and there. 

Baz feels a genuine smile (not a smirk) tugging at his lips. To see Simon Snow in a proper suit with his hair somewhat tamed feels like seeing a unicorn, though he’s been told that a couple hundred live in a sanctuary in Switzerland. 

“Didn’t think I’d be here so soon after…” Simon leaves it open-ended. Baz doesn’t need the end of that sentence. He didn’t personally know if he’d come back after that Christmas break, but Fiona’s threats about the cross still ran around his brain all these years later, and he didn’t want to disappoint his mum. She valued education more than the person who created it. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Baz replied, setting his little glass of punch back down and adding, “Party was dull without you, Snow.” Simon grins over at him and bites at his bottom lip. It’s something cheeky Baz has only ever seen him do around Wellbelove, but she’s been well and truly gone for a long time now. 

“I guess the last few months were pretty dull, then?” Simon asks. Baz smiles and nods. It was nice not being threatened with dragons and flying monkeys every couple of weeks, but not having Snow even as a presence was unsettling, and after Bunce left, there was no real competition anymore. 

“Ah, Snow, you were gone but not forgotten,” Baz replies, walking away from the table and closer to Snow. It’s the closest they’ve been since right after whatever happened in the White Chapel. Even then, it’s not very close. Baz is about a foot and a half away from Snow. 

Simon’s only a little bit shorter than him (give or take three inches), but he seems so much older than he was a few months ago. He’s by no means a man. In Baz’s eyes, maybe Snow will always be a boy (the boy), but there’s no denying that something has fundamentally changed about the way Snow carries himself. 

Maybe it’s the shared trauma. 

“Have you danced?” Snow asks. It’s an odd question, but Baz really doesn’t think anything can be that odd between them anymore. They nearly died together on multiple occasions last December, and it’s foolish to believe they could ever be what they were before. They’re not enemies, and they share a side now, though it’s not either side they were on before. It’s all their own, now. 

“No one to dance with, Simon,” Baz says, and the exasperation is overshadowed by the stirrings of those fifth-year feelings. All the songs they play at the Leavers Ball tonight are slow and meant for couples and sentimental friends. It’s meant to be a celebration, but there’s nothing to celebrate this year except maybe that Headmistress Bunce has brought back end of year books filled with photos. (Even though Simon, Penny, and Agatha left, they were still featured throughout the book.) 

“Any girl here would have danced with you if you asked,” Simon mutters, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. Baz quietly thinks to himself that suit pockets are not meant for hands or anything, really, but Simon makes pouting look good when he’s dressed up. 

“Come on, Snow, you know I’m not looking for a girl to dance with,” Baz replies, toeing at the ground with his expensive dress shoes. Fiona presented them to him a few days before, and even though Baz tried to insist he had enough dress shoes for a thousand different balls, she won. 

Simon huffs, and a loose piece of hair falls into his eyes. He hasn’t cut it in a while. “I’m sure more than a few blokes would dance with you, too.” 

Baz rolls his eyes and feels a blush creeping onto his cheeks. He’s had enough blood tonight for more than a few types of blushes. “I’m not looking for more than a few blokes.” 

“What are you looking for?” 

The way Simon poses that question makes Baz want to reach out and snog him in front of everyone watching. Everyone already is watching. Baz is surprised, but he shouldn’t be. Even though he and Bunce know about this weird friendship that’s blossomed, it doesn’t mean everyone else was clued in. Baz didn’t want anyone else clued in. 

Baz looks up from where he is tracing the line of grout between the tiles, and he feels like he’s fifteen again, just trying to simultaneously please and displease Simon. He feels like they’re back in that blazing forest again where Simon talked him down from a suicidal rampage and walked him back to the car. He feels like the flames that existed in Simon’s eyes until his magic left have now planted themselves right at the base of his spine and are tickling his back. 

Simon’s got his mouth quirked to the side, and a little dimple appears there. He’s still got his hands shoved in his pockets, but he seems more tense than before, like he’s holding something back. In these last few months of three-way Skype sessions and phone calls and group chats, it’s never felt like Simon’s tried to hold back. The three of them have something not a lot people can say they do: shared trauma. 

And Simon and Baz have more. They have the forest fire and the Humdrum setting Baz off like a killing machine. They have years of sitting in that room at the top of the turret and bickering over a window and bathroom schedules and posh soaps. They have a rivalry that’s morphed into this friendship that still feels like it’s morphing even as the silence stretches between them. 

“I want you to dance with me tonight.” It’s simple. It isn’t a confession of anything, but Simon smiles anyway. He outstretches a freckled hand, and Baz takes it. Now all those who were staring are gaping openly, but the song that plays is nice, and Baz has heard it before. 

It’s a slow rhythm meant for only two people to hear together. It’s meant for them, even if it really isn’t. 

Simon’s not the nervous wreck he once was. Baz once watched him at a special ball the school held for a blood moon, and the stiff way he danced with Wellbelove made Baz spit out his punch and laugh. Now, though, he’s the one that’s stiff. His dark blue suit feels too heavy and hot now that Snow is within inches of him. It’s the closest they’ve ever been, including after the mess in the White Chapel. 

It’s closer than two platonic blokes get. It’s closer than a lot of romantic blokes get. 

Snow must have been taught to dance before tonight and after than disastrous ball so many years ago. Baz thinks about him practicing with Wellbelove, and a small flame of jealousy glows in his mind. Then he remembers Wellbelove is in America, and the glow subsides to a flicker. 

Maybe Simon just doesn’t realize how close they’ve gotten. Maybe he’s about to trample on Baz’s toes and knock his forehead into Baz’s chin. Maybe he thinks two blokes can dance like this and just be friends. 

If this is all Baz ever gets from Simon, he can die happy and sated. He feels fuller than after he’s drained a deer. He feels like his feet aren’t nearly as heavy as they have been the past few hours. Simon’s got his arm behind Baz’s back, and Baz can feel the muscle of Simon’s shoulder through the suit jacket. Baz’s hand, eternally cold, feels comfortably toasty in Simon’s. 

It’s a strange feeling to be dancing with Simon Snow at a Leavers Ball. Baz never thought he’d make it this far. He knew he’d go to the Leavers Ball, but he thought he’d spend the entire night at the punch bowl, shooting glares at Wellbelove and Simon and nearly crushing glasses in his fist. Maybe people would assume he was mad about Agathe making up her mind once and for all about the good guy, and maybe some astute pixie would feel the jealousy and properly place it. 

Baz never thought he’d share a dance with Simon Snow at their Leavers Ball.

He never thought they’d both make it this far. He never thought there’d be a time when they could look each other in the eye, let alone be dancing at a Leavers Ball together instead of at each other’s throats the entire night. 

It would be easier if they were at each other’s throats. They’ve been there so many times that they could do the motions in their sleep. Baz is quite sure Simon already has. He’s slept close enough to the Golden Boy for the last seven and a half years to know they’re both plagued by nightmares that are too scary to mention in the morning. 

This feels like one of those dreams that Baz wouldn’t let himself think of. If he dwelled on the good dreams he had of Simon, he’d never stop. There are so many he can’t remember because he’s forced them out of his brain, but they come back now. 

There’s the one about sleeping under the sun for hours with Simon next to him, and the sun doesn’t burn them and ants don’t bother them. It’s free of bugs and sunburns and evil. That’s one of Baz’s favorites. There’s another where he’s just woken up and can feel Simon breath against the back of his neck, and he doesn’t need to look to know it’s him. And the one where they’re just kissing for hours on Baz’s bed, not moving or noticing the world crumbling away around them.

But this is so much realer than all of those dreams combined. The hand grasping Baz’s is real and warm and calloused from calling and holding a heavy sword for years. The occasional brush of dress shoes on the floor sends vibrations through Baz’s legs, and they threaten to buckle right underneath him. He knows now that Simon would catch him. No matter what, Simon has always caught him. 

“Why are you here?” Baz asks. It’s been bothering him. Without needing to say it, Simon basically swore off ever returning to Watford after December, and Baz understood. He swore off that nursery before he knew what swearing things off really meant. Baz wasn’t even irritated when neither Penny nor Simon showed up to hear his speech. People would record it, and he’d get a copy and show them if they really wanted to see it. 

Baz would swear Watford off, too if it had broken as many promises as it had with Simon. Watford promised to keep him safe. Watford promised to always be a home for him. Watford promised so many things that couldn’t have ever been promised.

Life hasn’t kept its promises to Simon Snow. 

Baz will. He’s broken the necessary ones, like the ones about killing him and smiting everything Simon loves. Coincidentally, a lot of the things he loves are now things Baz does, too. He likes Penny a lot, and sour cherry scones aren’t bad. Baz will never wrap his head around Simon’s fascination with butter, but it’s probably rooted in not being fed properly for eleven years and then suddenly getting as much food as one could want. 

Baz has promised himself to Simon Snow, in whatever way the Chosen One will have him. Baz supposed now he’ll have to stop calling him that, but now is not that time for large shifts in character. There’s been too much of that as of late. 

Simon shrugs and looks down at the floor. “I guess…I didn’t want to think about you alone here.” 

“I’m not alone,” Baz rationalizes, looking around. “There’re loads of people here. The teachers, for one, and people we’ve grown up with, and…” He wants to go on, but that obviously isn’t what Simon was getting at. Simon’s been seeing a magical therapist (one of three in the world), and while they’re working on Simon voicing his opinion, it’s not always easy. 

“Why are you here, Simon?” Baz asks again, this time with a tenderness in his voice Baz hasn’t used since Mordelia was a baby, back before she was a terror. “It’s fine to not want to be here, you know, I wouldn’t have ever made you come back.”  

Simon huffs out a laugh and looks up just as the song’s changing. The fairy lights catch the curls in his hair in brilliant flashes of light. If Baz was more of a dreamer and less of a realist, he’d call Simon Snow an angel or the closest thing to it. 

Simon smiles and says, “I know you wouldn’t.” The hold on Baz’s hand gets stronger, and the arm across his back bring him closer to Simon. “I love it when you call me Simon,” he adds, finally looking around the room and seeing everyone staring. 

“They’re all looking at you,” he mutters, his face suddenly aflame in a blush Baz will remember until his dying breath. 

“They’re looking at two blokes dancing,” Baz replies, deciding to tighten his hold on Simon as well. “Two blokes dancing who they used to have to split up before a fight broke out.” 

Simon does let out a genuine laugh at that, even if it is small. It’s a start. Baz loves to see him smile like this. The tension eases out of Simon’s back, and his arm doesn’t feel like a steel rod against Baz’s back. It just feels like the reassuring touch you’d give to someone who desperately needs it. Does Baz desperately need it? He desperately needs something from Simon Snow. 

“All that fighting,” Simon practically whispers, “and we ended up on the same side after it all.” Baz guesses that Simon can’t believe it either. Who would?

“I was always on your side,” Baz says. It’s true. Even though they fought enough for five different arch enemies, Baz was never completely on the side of the Old Families. He was also never completely on the side of the Coven. He was on a side made for him and Simon and whoever else he deemed worthy. (Penelope Bunce was more than worthy. She actually probably made the side herself, and Baz just climbed on board before he knew it truly existed.) 

Simon looks at Baz, truly, truly looks at him then. It’s the kind of look someone gives another person when they want to see if there’s a hidden intention or just true sincerity. Baz feels like he’s laid himself out time and again these past months. He’d go through it all again a million times if it got him here. He’d fight two-hundred chimeras and one-thousand dragons to be here. 

Simon’s the one that gets to decide what happens next. Baz has always been deciding what’s gone on between them. He’s chosen where they go and who they talk to and what they bicker about. It’s Simon’s turn. The ball is in his court. In a way, it’s always been, and Baz has just been playing with that stupid, red ball Simon carried all first year. 

Baz, honest-to-Merlin, doesn’t expect Simon to drop his hand and cup it around the side of Baz’s neck, just above two pin-prick sized holes that drained him of life all those years ago. He doesn’t expect Simon Snow to lean in and smile like he’s going to tell a secret, and then kiss him. 

It’s just a kiss. It’s small. It’s Baz’s first. It’s not Simon’s. Simon’s lips are chapped (like always), and his hand is calloused and tickles Baz but not enough to make him giggle. Baz doesn’t expect the kiss, so his feet move for a millisecond longer than Simon’s, and he nearly falls over. Simon leans back and lets out a single huff of laughter. His smile is genuine, and he just picks up Baz’s hand like it’s nothing. 

Baz will fall asleep that night with Simon pressed against his back in a pair of Baz’s silk pajamas. It’s a déjà vu that’s so much better than the dream. Baz will dream of that sunny hill where bugs don’t exist and birds chirp happy songs. Baz will wake up tomorrow and leave the grounds of Watford the last time for a very long time. 

But right now, they sway back and forth to a tune unfamiliar to both of them, and the world looks on at the Chosen One and his former enemy. 

Keris hands Trixie five pounds.

[jamesandkeith]

Angsty fic-ish thought (set after Team Voltron comes back from Earth)

As a treat and for an opportunity to get to know them better, the mfe’s invite team voltron out. They end up going to a karaoke bar.

As you would expect, mostly everyone is only there for the chatting and drinks. No one really goes up to sing (except lance, hunk and nadia because of course they would)

For most of the night, James is siting idly, just staring at Keith. Even though them going out with team voltron was supposed to be a chance for them all to bond, that was actually a cover up Nadia invented. She’s noticed how James stares at Keith all the time and decided it was time for James to do something about it.

James initially refused her plan of them all going out together but she told him it was either this or she would try at the garrison to get them alone together. The choice was obvious.

The bar didn’t help though. James’ tolerance to alcohol was average but only if he didn’t have many. But with Keith around, he couldn’t help but keep downing shot after shot. Trying to talk to Keith while sober was impossible but maybe the liquor would help. It didn’t.

By the end of the night, James is wasted. Not enough to make an ass of himself, just yet, but enough that it’s clearly visible.

James intoxicated or “drunk james” as Nadia called him lacked any of the logical thinking he possessed as his sober self. Give him the right kind of motive and you could persuade him to do anything. How does he know this? Well besides Nadia’s stories about him, which he is sure are slightly over-exaggerated, Ryan made sure to record all of his crazy antics. 

Being convinced to ride in his mfe jet naked has to be the most embarrassing thing he’s done but what Nadia convinced him to do tonight easily tops it.

Nadia, taking advantage of James’ drunken state convinces him to try his hand, or technically voice, at the karaoke machine. Initially, in his more sober state, he refused. He doesn’t have the best voice and no way was he singing or rather, doing anything potentially embarrassing, in front of Keith.

But he’s not sober anymore and all Nadia had to do was utter the words “keith” and “you might impress him” for James to be the next one on stage.

He honestly had no idea what song to pick. Nadia said to impress Keith. What would impress Keith? He knows that Keith’s choice of music is mostly rock and alternative. That could be a good start. But then again, he’s not sure if he could hit those notes right. What if he picks a song Keith likes and he butchers it? What kind of impression would that leave?

Aware of how long he’s been on stage, James starts to scroll faster. He’s skimming and skimming until his eyes land on one song in particular.

The screen reads “Demon by Simon Curtis”

James knows this song all too well. He’ll remember this song for as long as he lives. 

When Keith broke up with him and left, it took James a long time to get over him. Well, not completely over him. Just over him enough that he could actually function again. One of the ways he “got over him” was listening to break-up songs on repeat and this song, this damn song, was his choice of poison. 

It articulated everything about his relationship with Keith perfectly. It’s like it was written just for him and him alone. And sometimes when he listened to it, he imagined that all the words being sung were coming out of his mouth and that he was singing them to Keith. They were words he wish he could say to Keith.

That’s why listening to this song was always the easiest way to bring him to tears and just looking at the title on the screen was enough to make him tear up.

Suddenly aware of his surroundings, James looked around the room. Most of the patrons were busy doing their own thing, not even noticing the drunk out of his mind man standing on stage. The rest had their eyes trained on him, waiting and none more so than his own table. He saw Nadia making pushy gestures with her hands, signalling him to get on with it already and right next to her was Ryan, holding up the camera to film his next embarrassing stunt.

His eyes then fell to Keith. Keith looked right back at him for a bit before Pidge whispered something to him, causing Keith to chuckle.

It was probably something about how stupid James looked right now, standing still like a dumbstruck fool. Embarrassment flushed his cheeks. What was he doing up here? Did he really think a song was enough to impress Keith? Was enough to jump-start a four year old relationship?

This was stupid. He was stupid. James was about put the microphone back on it’s stand and admit defeat but then that song caught his eye again.

“He imagined that all the words being sung were coming out of his mouth and that he was singing them to Keith” 

Those words kept replaying in his mind over and over again.

Maybe this was his chance. His chance to finally say it all. To say everything that he’d been holding in for so long. 

It’s not like Keith would actually figure out why he’s singing that song. It could just be random song choice for all he knows. This actually could be some kind of messed up catharsis for James. Some stupid but relieving way to release everything.

Besides, considering Keith hasn’t even talked to him since he returned, he doubts that Keith even remembers their relationship enough to put two and two together. Also, if he does end up fucking up in some way, he can just blame it on the beer.

Clutching the microphone, James pressed play. 

This was really happening. He’s doing this. He’s going to lay his heart out for all the bar, and Keith, to see and he doesn’t give a flying fuck. He’s pretty sure he’ll never tell Keith how he feels anyway so doing it in song form and intoxicated isn’t such a bad way to go. At least when he wakes up tomorrow, he won’t remember most of it.

The music began and now all eyes were on him. 

Everyday's like something died.  Every night there's a battle inside. Tried letting you go. Goddamn I tried. Really thought that I found love

As soon as those few words were uttered, Keith’s head shot up, in a way that read “did I hear that right?”. So he did remember. Well then. He was definitely never going to live this down.

Bury me down in the sands of time Cover it up till it leaves my mind Take me to the water. Get me baptised I don't know where to find love

Keith was focused on him now. The look Keith has reminds him of when Keith first saw him again after four years. He was so surprised like he didn’t think he’d ever see James again. Did Keith honestly think that when he came back to the garrison, he’d never see James again? Maybe while in the vastness of space he’d forgotten about him and when he returned he remembered that “oh shit. I had a boyfriend which I dumped and then left without a word”.

The thought alone was enough to bring some rage to James’ heart. Did Keith really have the audacity to be confused? To wonder why James was still around? What did he think that he would do? Just abandon the place like Keith did?

Feeling pissed, James pushed away from the machine. He wasn’t going to cower this time. If Keith was beginning to get some of the message than he would make sure that Keith would get the whole thing.

I try to run But I know that I'll never get away I try to hide But it follows me around Like a Demon Like a Demon Like a Demon

James kept his eyes on Keith and Keith only. Keith was going to listen to him this time, even if he had to die of embarrassment later to make it happen.

It follows me around Like a Demon Like a Demon Like a Demon My love for you will never go away

The rest of Keith’s team were starting to catch on now. They could see who the song was directed at but were still confused. Well most of them except for Shiro. Of course Shiro knew. While he and Keith did keep their relationship private, it only made sense that Keith would tell Shiro. He told Shiro everything. But the rest didn’t know. 

Even though he knew that Keith liked to keep personal stuff to himself, if he didn’t even tell his own teammates, the people he has spent years with, just how meaningful was their relationship to him?

It didn’t matter now because now he’d have to tell them. They weren’t stupid. it was obvious exactly what was happening. 

James didn’t really think about the repercussions of his actions when he decided to do this. Didn’t think about how Keith would feel or how he would look to everyone else. He’s realised now that because of this Keith would have to talk about something personal. He knows that Keith despises being forced to do that but in this moment, he couldn’t really care less. He drunk, he’s miserable and he’s hurt.

Keith can try to hide it all he wants but their relationship happened and if James has to remember it than so does he.

I was a fool. I gave you my heart I succumb to your magic art Made a deal with the devil inside I didn't know where to find love You tore me up, ripped me apart Left me abandoned in the dark But writing letters on a ouiji board Was not a way to invite love

James started to use more of his body now. His legs stayed relatively still but his arm started to add to his emotional performance. He trailed to his heart and then to his collar, ripping open some of his shirt when he sang “ripped me apart”

That movement made Keith flinch. At least he knew that these were getting through to him.

I try to run But I know that I'll never get away I try to hide But it follows me around Like a Demon Like a Demon Like a Demon It follows me around Like a Demon Like a Demon Like a Demon My love for you will never go away

Keeping himself from crying while singing this song had been challenging but he was doing a good job so far. That was until he remembered what part was coming up next. This was it. The part where be broke down. He remembers these lyrics so vividly. These were the lyrics that made him cry the most because they fit so well. These were the lyrics, the words, that he wanted to say to Keith the most. 

He should stop. Throw the microphone away and leave. Singing and ripping his shirt off he can live with but Keith seeing him cry is a shame he’d rather die with than ever endure.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t stop. Something in his brain wouldn’t let him. It just kept saying “do it” “do it”. It kept screaming “tell him!” “tell him the truth!” “If you don’t do this, you’ll never be able to do it again”

Clutching the microphone even harder, he continued

How will I ever be free again? How will I ever escape you? How will I ever know love again? People lead obsessions I can make possession I need a savior Someone to come and rescue me And chase this Demon away

James’ was definitely crying now. The raw emotion he put into those words were two much for this mental state to bear but yet he kept going. Why? Because the look on Keith’s eyes were something that he would carry with him for the rest of his life.

It’s like he finally understood. Like he finally put the pieces together. Keith hurt him. While Keith wasn’t his first crush, he was his first partner. His first experience with actual love. It’s nothing something that you can forget so easily.

James loved Keith. He still does and he’s sure that he’ll never be able to stop.

Channelling all of his frustration and pain, James nailed the high note and sang the rest of the song for all he was worth.

I try to run But I know that I'll never get away I try to hide But it follows me around Like a Demon Like a Demon Like a Demon It follows me around Like a Demon Like a Demon Like a Demon My love for you will never go away I try to run But I know that I'll never get away I try to hide But it follows me around Like a Demon Like a Demon Like a Demon It follows me around Like a Demon Like a Demon Like a Demon My love for you will never go away

James dropped to his knees, panting. He really did that. That really happened. James should feel ashamed and embarrassed but instead he finally felt free. All of the feelings he’d been bottling up inside had finally came out. It felt so relieving.

He wanted to look at Keith. Wanted to memorise that look of bewilderment. Wanted to remember the face Keith made as he finally took in all of James’ pain. But he didn’t. He was too scared. He was scared that the look of bewilderment he’d be hoping for would instead be a look of pity and that’s something he couldn’t handle right now. 

Instead James kept his head hung low, slowly standing up and running out of the bar. 

As James ran out he could hear the cry of his friends but he ignored them and kept running. He couldn’t handle it right now. Talking about what happened. He just wanted to forget. 

But he wouldn’t. No not wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t forget. When it came to Keith, he never forgot. 

Their first fight, their first conversation, their first night as roommates, the first time they actually bonded, their first kiss and the many other firsts he experienced with Keith were always fresh in his mind, as if they happened yesterday. 

And just like with all those other firsts, the first time he genuinely humiliated himself in front of Keith would not be forgotten either.

[jessethejoyful]

the real super secret chapter

okay here’s the art school au blurb with the link and the whole thing

this isn’t an epilogue so much as it’s a continuing blurb, which I hope to do more of, within the bounds of that fic. I hope to do some featuring penny and agatha as well :)

read it here on ao3

words: 2,040

SIMON

I genuinely don’t know how I let Baz talk me into this. Maybe it’s just because I’m weak. Weak when it comes to him, absolutely. And I’ve never been good at saying no to anyone.

When he asked me, I was actually flattered. He’s always shy with me, especially about this, and I thought it’d be a nice way to maybe make us more comfortable around each other.

“It won’t take that long,” he’d said, looking sheepish as he sat across from me at our table in Penny’s bakery. We were waiting for her to get off, so we could go see a gallery a town over for an artist that she loves. “It might be a little awkward, but I think you’d enjoy it in the long run. Maybe. I understand if you don’t want to though -”

“Baz,” I’d said, cutting him off and reaching across the table to grab his hand. “I’d love to. Just tell me when, and I’ll be there.” He’d smiled, and everything was grand.

So that’s how I find myself, a few days later, completely nude, hunched over in a chair in Baz’s sitting room. I can feel my legs starting to shake, and the crick in my neck is already so sharp I’m worried I’ll never be able to straighten it again. There’s a very bright lamp shining up at me from the floor, which I can’t imagine looks very good but Baz had seemed satisfied when he’d placed it.

He’s a few feet away, perched stiffly on his stool and his hand brushing in quick, constrained strokes across a canvas. It had taken him nearly an hour just to sketch everything in, and we’re already pushing into two.

Every time I try to say something, he shushes me. I want to snap that I can talk without moving the rest of me, but I’m not trying to pick a fight. I’m just antsy. He’s got music playing over his speakers, soft indie music that I don’t know very well, and I’m brimming with pointless chatter. I want to focus a little less on my aching limbs, or the fact that I’m posing naked for my posh painter boyfriend, who’s only been my boyfriend for two months.

It’s been great, don’t get me wrong. He’s pretty fucking singular, and if I’m being honest, I’m a little obsessed with him. I think he knows it. But he eats it right up, smug git that he is. And I think he’s a little obsessed with me too, so it kind of balances out.

His aunt randomly showed up to visit at the end of December, just out of the blue, no warning. He’d decided to stay here with me for Christmas, instead of returning to his family’s manor (that’s what he called it - Pitch manor. I think he’s richer than I realized, considering his career choice), and his family was apparently none too happy about it. So Fiona just appeared, banging on his door on Boxing Day and demanding he visit with her.

As it turned out, he hadn’t actually told his family why he was staying, just told them he wouldn’t be home. Fiona lamented this to me after we were introduced (me as “Simon, my friend from school,”), really laying it on thick (“So ungrateful! We’re his family! What would my poor late sister say?!” - fun way to discover his mother’s dead), but Baz just rolled his eyes.

“For fuck’s sake, Fiona,” he said, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch from me and crossing his legs. I tried to make it look like we hadn’t just been curled up there together, kicking the blankets off and folding my legs beneath me. “Can you blame me for not wanting to deal with Malcolm and Daphne? They’re exhausting at the best of times, and I just didn’t feel like it. Alright?”

Fiona’s eyes moved slowly to me, and I immediately felt a thrill of fear go up my spine, which was ridiculous, but she’s kind of scary, with this mad white streak of hair tucked into her ponytail and a nose bridge piercing. “Oh, no,” she said, smirking and sitting back in her seat, “I can’t blame you at all. Not one bit.”

Baz didn’t seem bothered, unshakeable as he is, but I was quaking. I also didn’t know if his family knew he was gay. Fiona seemed cool, but Baz is cagey at the best of times, and we’d only been together officially for about a week at that point.

“So, Mr. Snow,” Fiona began.

“Just call him Simon,” Baz snapped at the same time that I said, “Yes ma’am!?” He glared at me like it was my fault his aunt looked like she could murder me with her pinky finger.

“Simon,” she simpered, waving a hand in the air and still smirking, and I thought sneers might be hereditary. “What’s your concentration in, Simon?”

I honestly couldn’t tell if she was mocking me or not, but when I glanced at Baz, he gestured at her tiredly and nodded. “Well - my degree’s in digital animation, specifically 2-D. I do a lot of cartoons otherwise, comics and stuff, but I’m planning to work in animation after uni.” She actually seemed pretty interested and asked me some more about my work, and told me she’d love to see something of mine sometime. I agreed happily, and I could tell Baz was kind of impressed we were getting along so well.

She’d brought a Christmas gift with her (a new mug, this one printed with the words ‘Don’t touch me, peasant’ on the side, which I thought was actually fitting), and told me she would’ve brought me something if she’d realized Baz’s new friend was so chill. Baz actually had a gift for her too, a couple of old vinyls wrapped really nicely, and she seemed pretty excited (It took me a while to decide whether or not Baz actually likes his aunt - I finally determined that he does, but it seems like his family doesn’t really know how to express any emotion other than disgust or cruel amusement).

When Fiona finally left, with a few parting jokes and another heavily sarcastic friend comment, Baz slumped down on his couch and groaned very loudly. I dropped down beside him, grinning, and kissed the side of his jaw because I hadn’t touched him once during the hour or so Fiona had been there.

“I take it you didn’t tell your family about me,” I said drily, and he looked at me sideways.

“My family knows I’m queer,” he said slowly, squeezing my hand tightly like he needed an anchor, “but my father isn’t exactly the most accepting. Fiona is, and so is Daphne, for the most part, but I find it easier to just… not bring it up.”

I rested my head against his shoulder, and he leaned his head against mine, and we sat like that for a bit. “I think Fiona figured us out,” I said after a while, and he snorted.

“She’s a Pitch, unfortunately, so she’s sharper than I’d like. All of my mother’s family is.” I nearly started in on him about his mother, curious about what had happened to her, but I decided that was a discussion for another time.

Now, leaning over in my chair, I let out a small whimper as a sudden twinge of pain goes up my arm. The sound startles Baz, who jerks his hand away from the canvas and blinks at me.

“Are you alright, Simon?” he asks, leaning forward on his stool. His eyes flick to the clock, then widen. “Jesus fuck, we’ve been here nearly two hours - you need a break, come on.”

“I can move?”

“Christ, yes, I’m not trying to kill you.” I slowly push myself upright and try not to groan as I let my sore muscles stretch. Baz watches me for a moment, then seems to remember I’m naked and looks away, blushing to the tips of his ears.

He’d been like this earlier, telling me to strip down but staring at his phone until I was seated. He told me to sit leaning over my legs with my elbows resting on my knees, looking down, and it basically concealed everything. We both stopped blushing after the first half hour, at least. I’d thought it would be more embarrassing, but I remembered the live models I’d drawn in my drawing classes - it had just been tiring, not even remotely sexual, and this was much of the same.

“Can I see it so far?” I ask after I put my pants back on, as well as a dressing gown of his, because his apartment is frigid.

“Absolutely not,” he replies, but I walk over anyways, sliding around behind him before he can stop me. I don’t know a lot about oil paints, I only had to take Painting I, but I’ve been slowly relearning everything while I’ve been around Baz more. He hasn’t done much so far, only blocked in a lot of the colors for the backdrop and the base for me, but it still looks amazing. His blending is so smooth, so precise, while still retaining that touch of a deeper feeling. He blows me away.

I loop my arms around his neck, pressing my lips to his cheek and grinning. Baz is grumpy I’m looking at the unfinished painting, but his hands come up and hold my wrists, his thumb passing across the surface of my skin. “It looks amazing so far.”

“You’re supposed to say that,” he grumbles, but I can tell he’s pleased.

“Yes, I am, but it’s also very true,” I say, straightening and stretching again.

He swivels to look at me, tilting his head. “You’re not too sore, are you? We could always stop for the day. It takes so long to dry, we can do more tomorrow.”

I shake my head, dropping my hands to his lap and leaning over him. “I just need a few minutes. I don’t know if I can do a whole lot more, but another hour or two shouldn’t be bad. Maybe another break somewhere in between.”

Baz nods solemnly, and I capture his lips for a quick kiss. I’m getting to know him more and more, and I know that while he likes the kissing, a lot of the time he’s too anxious to in go for one himself. We’re working on that.

“How about some tea?” I ask as I step into his kitchen, fiddling with the kettle without waiting for a response, which is just a soft grunt of approval from the next room. While the water heats, I go back to Baz and crouch in front of him, where he’s still staring at his canvas, a little lost. He usually looks like this when he paints, but it makes him so soft, and I love it.

I gently take his right hand in both of mine and he looks down at me with that little head tilt I associate with him. “Is your hand hurting?” He cramps up a lot, and usually works through it, but I like to help when I can. I press my fingers into his hand, starting at his wrist and working out toward his palm with my thumbs, then slowly up his forearm. His eyes close, a wince now and then, but I know it helps.

“Thank you,” he whispers when we hear the kettle whistling, and I stoop to give him another kiss before hurrying back to the kitchen.

We drink our tea quietly at the table, after I drag him off that damn stool, and I still get a thrill just looking at him. As far as first boyfriends go, I think I sort of hit the jackpot, even if he is a bit of a bristly neurotic a lot of the time.

A few more minutes, and we return to our places. I strip in the most dramatic way possible, basically a strip-tease, and I can see him snickering, even though he’s trying to hide behind his canvas. We settle back into an easier silence, his music filling the space between us.

[femslashy]

2018 fic year in review

thank you so much for tagging me @homosociallyyours !! this was really fun (and also a bit hard haha) to do ^__^

1. number of stories (including drabbles) posted to ao3: 19 (6 100 word seasonal drabbles, and out of the rest 4 are under 1k and 2 are chaptered but one of those is still a WIP)

2. word count posted for the year: 142,383 which is def more than i’ve written in previous years but my initial goal for this year was 200k and then i lowered it to 150k and then decided i should focus less on word count and more on actually finishing the fics lmaooo

3. list of works posted this year in order of posting:

the tesco fic (although i didn’t make the tumblr post until recently)

three spring drabbles (100 words each)

begin again [timestamp] (my only snowbaz fic in 2018)

we’re swimming with the sharks until we drown

SPHERICAL

got me an appetite, now i can taste it

Take a Chance on Me

Getting Naked on Camera (NOT CLICKBAIT)

my favourite colour is you

louis tomlinson’s completely 100% foolproof guide to snagging the fit bloke next door (3 100 word drabbles)

no better place than right by your side

days gone by (WIP)

love the cronch

zero to sixty

where the love light gleams

4. fandoms i wrote for: mostly one direction and by that i mean i posted a timestamp for a carry on fic from 2017 and the rest was one direction lol

5. pairings: harry/louis, simon/baz (ONCE)

6. story with the most hits: Take a Chance on Me with 10975 hits :o

7. story with the most kudos: Take a Chance on Me with 426 kudos

8. story with the most comments: Take a Chance on Me with 52 comments threads

9. work i’m most proud of and why: well Take a Chance on Me was both my first time doing a big bang as well as the longest thing i’ve ever written (twice the length of the previous longest!) and i’m still completely in love with the art for it courtesy of @vulpixlou and i def don’t go back to stare at it ever nope 👀👀

10. work i’m least proud of and why: i mean i could nitpick the hell out of my stuff and i know there are certain bits i would write differently now but at the same time i created something with my brain that didn’t exist before and that’s just too cool not to be proud of ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

11. a favorite excerpt of your writing:

this is from Take a Chance on Me (shocker) and i was having trouble thinking of my fave but then i was skimming through all of my fics and ngl i had forgotten about this bit but y’all i’ve been trying to work a Dramatic Airport Reunion into a fic FOR FUCKING EVER and i finally did it and i actually don’t hate it? (spoiler for the ending of Take a Chance on Me)

“See…” Louis starts. “See, there’s this guy. And, oh god, he’s an absolute twat. Wanna know what he did to me?” Harry nods faintly, and Louis, emboldened now, goes on. “So, I already knew who he was, right? I knew him, because he’d been in this god-awful boy band for years, and even if me bloody sisters hadn’t been so bloody in love with him, I’d still have known him, because he was just that famous.”

“I wasn’t that famous.”

“Don’t interrupt,” Louis chastises, and Harry mimics zipping his lips. “So this guy, I knew him, but he didn’t know me, but, fucking hell, I think someone forgot to tell him that, because there I was, minding my own business, when this kid just…” Louis giggles then, because the memory is just so ridiculous, “he just starts fucking singing to me, can you believe it?”

Harry shakes his head. “What a weirdo.”

“Right? The weirdest.”

“What happened next?”

“I fell in love with him.”

“What? That soon?”

“Of course not, Jesus, Harold. I’m not that pathetic. I waited the appropriate amount of time to fall in love, thank you very much.”

“Is that why you’re here, then?” Harry whispers. “Is it because you love him?”

“That’s part of it, yeah. I love him, and I love the way we just fit, and I adore his daughter, and our pets are friends now, and I think our sisters are best friends now, so they didn’t actually give me a choice, but do you want to know the biggest, most important reason?”

Harry nods quickly, so hard his chin bumps his chest, and Louis’ so fucking in love with him at that moment that these are the easiest words he’s ever said.

“I’m here,” he tells Harry, “because I was lying in my own bed, in my own house, surrounded by all my things, and all I wanted to do was go home.”

He’s yanked forward then, Harry’s fingers digging into his shoulders, and he barely feels the pain because it’s Harry, and everything’s good when it’s Harry. He’s babbling into Louis’ neck, and the only words he can make out are his name and “love you” and he shivers with the feeling.

Harry’s hair has grown out enough since the night Louis snuck in to see him that he can tangle his fingers in the strands. So he does, pulling Harry’s face away from his neck and pressing their lips together. Every kiss feels like an apology. Every kiss feels like home.

12. share or describe a favorite review you recieved: so this miiiiight be cheating but i received two comments on a fic i wrote in 2015 and it was kind of a surprise that something that old still held up and people still enjoy it? def made me feel better about my current writing and also anyone who quotes my fics back to me has earned my undying love and affection

13. a time when writing was really, really hard: i have adhd so p much always ahahaha

14. a scene or character you wrote that most surprised you: the entirety of “we’re swimming with the sharks until we drown” ngl because i struggled with the like… morally gray criminal-y elements? and portraying the two of them in such a different way while still staying in character which i like to think i nailed? hopefully lol

15. how did you grow as a writer this year? i don’t feel like a i have? but i’m also bias and hypercritical so maybe i did and just didn’t realize ahaha

16. how do you hope to grow next (this?) year: i want to enjoy writing again and i want to finish more fics and not let them rot in my docs because of self-doubt

who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer: okay so first @amandaisnotwriting is the real MVP as she bears the brunt of my whining/complaining/drama queen moments as well as the fact that she listens (some would argue is forced to :p) and reads over fic for a pairing she doesn’t ship for a fandom she doesn’t care about 😂😂😂

@rainbowbaz always makes time to look over my fics even when she’s crazy busy and is honestly amazing and saves my fics from americanisms ahahaha

and FINALLY we met p late in the year but but @livingatthelairport ‘s comment on “the tesco fic” helped me out of a writing slump and now she’s become my cheerleader (and friend 💜) and that’s make a huge difference in my attitude towards writing! it’s also easier to write a fic for a specific person than worry about the opinion of a crowd which is def something i’ve been missing in this fandom rip

also to everyone else who has read my fics, listened to me rant about them or just helped the process along in any way at all this is a GIANT thank you!!

18. anything from your real life show up in your writing this year? i mean i can’t think of anything off the top of my head but a lot of my inspo comes from the world around me so probably lol

19. any wisdom you can share with other writers: there’s nothing wrong with feeling jealous of other writers because i’m not a fan of hiding feelings just because they’re ugly as long as you don’t let it fester and turn into resentment or make you bitter. there are a lot of factors that go into a fic becoming “big” in a fandom but honestly most of it is just random chance so don’t beat yourself up because someone else’s success is not your failure and it’s nice to get recognition for your hard work but if you’re writing solely for the feedback then you’re writing for the wrong reason and that will lead to the resentment and bitterness mentioned earlier

also if you compliment someone you say you like their outfit but if you complement someone then you complete them

20. any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

I’M GLAD YOU ASKED

these are all the things i didn’t start and/or finish in 2018 that WILL be completed this year

the cat fic

the doctor fic

the final three chapters of days gone by

penpal AU

Space. Florist.

teenage fanboys who are also best friends

baking blog fic

a short follow up to tacom

twitter drama fic

80’s/’high school’/secret admirer!AU

something based on yawning grave by lord huron

part three of the alien harry series

chocolate orange holiday fic

LA fic (wtwm)

70’s fic

monkey fic

i’m also planning to do the @larryabroad challenge again because i had so much fun with it last time :D

21. tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read:

p sure everyone has done this but if you haven’t then do it now! and also tagging @cosyblack k bc you’ve had a really good year even if i have beta bias 😂

this took waaay longer than i thought it would omg but it was nice to take a look back!!

[fibula-rasa]

August 2018 in Review

I have a weird memory. It’s highly pattern-driven and very visual. This means that my memory of films I’ve watched is based on images and series of images that made an impression instead of plot points. It’s why I rewatch movies so often. Even though I’ve been tracking my movie viewing habits for two and a half years, that doesn’t mean I’ve created strong memories for all those movies. That’s why I’m gonna start doing monthly roundups of the new-to-me films that struck me, one way or the other.

[If you wanna know all the films I’m watching, I keep full lists on letterboxd and imdb.]

The reviews below are essentially transcriptions of the notes I took right after watching the films. Because of Summer Under the Stars and my cosplay challenge, this month was pretty TCM heavy for me.

Full Roundup BELOW THE JUMP!

Teen Titans Go to the Movies (2018)

27 July 2018 | 84 min. | Color

Directed and Written by Aaron Horvath and Peter Rida Michail

Starring Greg Cipes, Scott Menville, Khary Payton, Tara Strong, and Hynden Walch

I’m already a fan of the show and the movie kicks it up a notch with its humor and style. [If you liked the original series, give TTG a chance already.] TTG to the Movies is a great superhero movie for anyone who’s down for superhero stories but is fatigued by the current spate of offerings. Grain-of-Salt warning here because I think Superman III (1983) is great.  

Fun that they included some gags here and there for the parents out there who’ve had to hear the Waffles song a few too many times. Also, one of the best ending gags for a kid’s movie ever.

Where to Watch: Still in theaters, but I’d imagine Cartoon Network will be playing it soon.

Doctor X (1932)

27 August 1932 | 76 min. | 2-strip Technicolor

Directed by Michael Curtiz

Written by Earl Baldwin and Robert Tasker

Starring Lionel Atwill, Lee Tracy, and Fay Wray

I made the statement that Darkman (1990) is the most comic-book movie that isn’t adapted from a comic book. I hadn’t seen Doctor X yet though.

The set pieces are phenomenal. Each shot is artfully constructed and the way the shots are strung together makes the most of the production design. If one were to do a comic adaptation, it would take some imaginative work to not just mimic the film. The 2-strip technicolor is particularly effective in the laboratory scenes in creating an eerie aura. Sensational.

Lee Tracy is playing, as usual, a press man and he’s doing so perfectly. Tracy is so underrated.

Where to Watch: Looks like the DVD is out of print, so maybe check your local library or video store. TCM plays it every once and a while and, since Warner Bros has a deal with Filmstruck, I wouldn’t be surprised to see it pop up there eventually.

The Half-Naked Truth (1932)

16 December 1932 | 77 min. | B&W

Directed by Gregory La Cava

Written by Corey Ford and Gregory La Cava

Starring Frank Morgan, Eugene Pallette, Lee Tracy, and Lupe Velez

You might very well think Lee Tracy was a featured TCM star this month. (Maybe next SUTS? Pretty please.)

Lupe Velez is so talented and natural it was nice to see her in a film where her wits were matched. I’ll be honest, I’m a big Lupe fan but, for most of her films, she’s the only good reason to watch them. This wasn’t the case here! There are a lot of wonderful moments with small movements and gestures that make Velez and Tracy’s relationship feel very real, as if they’re actually that caught up in one another. Eugene Pallette, Franklin Pangborn, and Frank Morgan round out the ensemble. The running eunuch joke might not be all that funny, but it’s a masterclass in not saying what you mean. Also, very cute chihuahua.

Where to Watch: The DVD is available from the Warner Archive. (So, once again, local library or video store might have a copy.)

The Cuban Love Song (1931)

5 December 1931 | 86 min. | B&W

Directed by W.S. Van Dyke

Written by John Lynch, Bess Meredith, and C. Gardener Sullivan

Starring Jimmy Durante, Lawrence Tibbett, Ernest Torrance, and Lupe Velez

Lupe is wonderful in this. She plays a Cuban woman who sounds an awful lot like a Mexican woman--which might be something you have to overlook to enjoy the film FYI. Lawrence Tibbett has a shocking dearth of charisma in the lead, but Jimmy Durante, Ernest Torrence, and Louise Fazenda take the heat off him well. It’s a little hard to root for Tibbett’s character and the ending is disappointing. (Spoiler: privileging of the affluent “white” couple.)

The songs are great. I love the habit of placing people in musicals so that they are singing full force directly into each other’s faces. I don’t know why I find it so funny, but it’s not a mood ruiner for Cuban Love Song. The editing is fun and energetic. Until the war breaks out, there’s a lot of solid humor.

After watching so many Lupe films this month, I’d love to sit down with people who do and don’t know Spanish to talk about her films. There seem to be some divisions on social media and across blogs about Lupe’s films that might be attributable to whether or not one understands Spanish. I myself understand Spanish reasonably well and I think knowing what Lupe and others are saying makes almost all of her films funnier. And boy, does Lupe like calling men stupid animals.

Where to Watch: This one seems kinda rare. Looks like there may have been a VHS release, but you may just have to wait for TCM to play it again!

The Night Stalker (1972)

11 January 1972 | 74 min. | Color

Directed by John Llewellyn Moxey

Written by Jeffrey Grant Rice and Richard Matheson

Starring Carol Lynley, Darren McGavin, and Simon Oakland

and

The Night Strangler (1973)

16 January 1973 | 74 min. | Color

Directed by Dan Curtis

Written by Jeffrey Grant Rice and Richard Matheson

Starring Darren McGavin, Simon Oakland, and Jo Ann Pflug

I loved that these films are exactly like the Kolchak TV series. My SO and I have been watching the show weekly as it airs on MeTV and so he surprised me by renting the movies that kicked off the series. Honestly, watching backwards may have made the movies even more entertaining. How is Kolchak still working for Vincenzo in Las Vegas?? The answer is in Seattle.

The TV movies were intended as a trilogy, but after the success of the first two films, it was developed into a series instead. It’s cool to see how every piece of the Kolchak formula was in place immediately and how firmly Darren McGavin had a hold on the character. His chemistry with Simon Oakland (Vincenzo) is spectacular--a great comedy duo TBH. If you like their shouting matches on the show, Night Strangler has a humdinger to offer you.

Night Stalker is a pretty straight-forward vampire story, written by Richard Matheson, one of the great spec-fic writers of the 1960s and 1970s. Matheson also wrote one of the best undead novels of all time, I am Legend. What elevates the film over the basic mythology, aside from the great performances, pacing, and editing, is that the story’s really about how suppression actually goes down--how mundane and frustrating it can be even in the face of the supernatural.

Night Strangler is a little more creative with its monster. They integrate the nature and landmarks of Seattle in fun ways. The stripper characters are delightful. Jo Ann Pflug gives a truly funny performance and feels like a natural contender for Kolchak. Even his romantic relationships should be affectionately combative. The ditzy lesbian, Charisma Beauty (Nina Wayne) is hilarious and Wayne’s timing is impeccable. (BTW: they don’t explicitly call her a lesbian but it’s still made very overt.) There’s also a wonderful cameo by Margaret Hamilton.

As far as I can tell, it’s easier to get access to these films than the series. They’re worth seeing even if you haven’t seen the Kolchak TV show. They’re also a good pick if you’re a fan of X-Files, as Kolchak is the mother of that show. Even though I’m an X-Files fan and grew up watching it, Kolchak is edging it out for me lately. Maybe because if you’re telling a story about fighting for truth against the suppression of information, you undercut yourself by making the protagonist a fed.

Where to Watch: Kino Lorber is releasing restored editions of the films on Blu-ray and DVD in October!

The Mask of Dimitrios (1944)

1 July 1944 | 95 min. | B&W

Directed by Jean Negulesco

Written by Frank Gruber

Starring Sydney Greenstreet, Peter Lorre, and Zachary Scott

This was great! I loved Peter Lorre and Sydney Greenstreet together. If you’re looking for a mystery story that flows and escalates well and presents a parade of interesting characters and locales, Dimitrios is for you. It’s also always nice to see Lorre in the lead.

Where to Watch: The DVD is available from the Warner Archive. (So, once again, local library or video store might have  copy.)

Strait-Jacket (1964)

19 January 1964 | 93 min. | B&W

Directed by William Castle

Written by Robert Bloch

Starring Diane Baker and Joan Crawford

I mentioned in my Joan Crawford CUTS post that I’d been meaning to see this for years. My enjoyment of the film didn’t suffer a bit from that length of anticipation.

I like William Castle’s movies a lot. I like the campy humor and quirky stories. This one is campy still, but not as heavy on the humor--unless you have a real weird sense of humor. That’s not a strike against Strait-Jacket though. Castle builds so much tension that by the end of the film, you feel like anyone could be axe-murdered at any moment, which becomes absurdly fun. The ending might be a little predictable, but it’s fun to go along for the ride. I didn’t particularly like the tacked on ending but I guess every JC movie needs to end on JC?

Largely unrelated, but if you’re a Castle fan, have you checked out his TV show Ghost Story/Circle of Fear? The first episode, The New House, in particular is top notch.

Where to Watch: It’s on Blu-ray and DVD from Sony (your local library or video store might have a copy) and it’s for rent on Amazon Prime. It’s also still on-demand via TCM for another few days.

One I didn’t write up: Cairo (1942). I brought up in my Jeanette MacDonald post that I was hoping to find a MacDonald film I enjoyed watching on her Summer Under the Stars day and I did!

[onceabluemoonwrites]

KHR girls: Where Canon Went Wrong

Hey guys! As a writer of fanfiction and someone who loves writing female characters, I’ve been trying to narrow down just why even the not-blatantly-sexualised female characters in KHR leave such a bad aftertaste. In canon, mind you, not fanon. I’m shocked by the magnitude of what I found, actually. It’s… So incredibly BIG.

Every time I write a KHR woman for the first time, I… Flounder, and feel lost. And they often have this bad aftertaste when reading canon material, and I wanted to know WHY so I could narrow it down and know EXACTLY what to fix in my fix-canon fics. 

The parts in italics are by @i-w-p-chan .

Buckle up, this is a long post!

Fighting

Bianchi & I-Pin both use food (more on the women & the kitchen association under Kitchen). Bianchi is one of the most dangerous assassins in the world, so that’s a pro. Sadly, it’s one of the few pros.

I-Pin has stepped out of the mafia/triads by the time she’s fifteen, as shown by her TYL version. While this is a very sensible choice and obviously what Fon wanted for her, this makes her another female character who technically stopped fighting while all the males around her kept fighting on.  Kyoko, Haru, Hana and Nana are the most featured non-mafia characters. All female, decidedly not fighters. 

Chrome should be commended for her skills- she was able to impersonate Yamamoto perfectly. That takes an enormous amount of practice and eye for details. More on Chrome: See Kitchen.

M.M. fought and was defeated by the only other girl fighting.

Bluebell. Bluebell DIDN’T participate in choice. Zakuro didn’t either, but Bluebell was the only female funeral wreath.

Yuni only wins from Byakuran by self-sacrifice in the Future Arc.

She was scared of actually dying until Gamma came over to her. so she didn’t even get to do THAT by herself.

On Pantera: She’s obviously deadly, but Longchamp keeps LAUGHING at her assassination attempts like they’re nothing!

Introductions

Kyoko and Hana’s ‘’generic conversation about a guy’’. (Chapter 1) (See me fixing this conversation here)

Nana putting Tsuna down like he has no future? This doesn’t fit with EVERYTHING we later learn about her! (Chapter 1)

Haru ends up saying she wants to MARRY Tsuna by the end of her introductory chapter.

Bianchi’s ‘’Reborn, Reborn, Reborn!’’ and just… Trying to kill Tsuna because he’s just an obstacle between her and her boyfriend? See me when I’m done screaming out of frustration for this abomination of an introduction done to a woman that should, by all means, be one of the most deadly assassins in the world.

Longchamp’s ‘’Ugly girlfriends’’. (More about this under Because All Women Care About Are Men (and Family))

Chapter 227, the first image of the real six funeral wraths! Everybody looks freakin’ terrifying EXCEPT BLUEBELL, SHE’S JUST SLEEPING??!!

Shittopi-chan. Okay. The second female member of the Simon. That’s more women than the other sets of Elements have! I’m happy with that, but I would have been happier if they hadn’t sexualised Adel so much. And while I love Shittopi and her amazing steadfast belief in herself and her great confidence and wouldn’t have her any other way, it stands out to me that well… The first thing that happens after her introduction is Gokudera calling her a U.M.A. A freaking Unidentified Mysterious Animal.  

Handled well: Adel (chapter 283), Oregano (Chapter 112, reasonable), Lal Mirch (Chapter 112), Daniela (Chapter 158), Chrome (Chapter 113- Her entrance was fabulous).

The Kitchen

There’s nothing wrong with the kitchen. That’s where the knives are, after all! *grins* But sadly, as a woman, I know more than a thing or two about ‘’women belonging in the kitchen,’’ and ‘’make me a sandwich, woman.’’

This is the shit I’m talking about: 

Kyoko & Hana: Cooking class. Only girls. Ew. No. 

Also, in the future arc Kyoko, Haru, Bianchi and even CHROME were on kitchen duty. Kyoko and Haru were “doing what they could,” as is said in canon, but with how much time Bianchi spends with them, couldn’t they have learned how to sharpen knives or something? Besides, it was vital for them to know how to protect themselves in order not to be a liability.

Pretty much, I wanted to see Kyoko and Haru do ANYTHING besides cooking and doing the laundry!

And CHROME?! Sure, she was sick, but what a mighty coincidence! The only female guardian ending up in the kitchen while the rest of them trains and powers up!

And what was especially f*** awful about the future arc was that it TRIED TO JUSTIFY it by “we are doing what we can.’’

I love the bonding moments between the girls in the future arc, BUT WHAT WAS BIANCHI DOING THERE? EVERYBODY WAS BUSY! FUUTA WAS ALMOST NEVER THERE! FUUTA IS A TOO-TALL 18-YEAR-OLD BABY WHO NEEDS TO BE PROTECTED, WHY BE YOU OUT THERE WHILE THE EXPERIENCED HITMAN IS IN THE FREAKING KITCHEN?!!

There is another thing about the girls being put on kitchen duty: you realize how many people they’ll be cooking for and cleaning after? And how many of them are growing teenagers constantly training? That’s not something any 14-year-old girl would know how to do just by virtue of being a girl.

Consider: if Kyoko ever cooked meals at home, it would be just for her parents and Ryohei and herself. That’s four. Haru is a lone child, that’s three. The situation just doesn’t make any sense! Why couldn’t they have like, had a rotating schedule for cleaning and cooking shifts alongside training? Or heck, why isn’t there any worker tasked with the kitchen duty?

Kept in the Dark

Excerpt from Bianchi’s wiki page:

’‘Bianchi again comes to the foreground as a tutor right before Choice, but this time to Chrome. They train in hand-to-hand combat, with I-Pin to help out. During the girls’ strike, she supports Haru and Kyoko’s decision to stop doing housework until the boys tell them what’s going on. However, she also tells them what the boys are most likely thinking, and convinces them to call the strike off.”

She was Gokudera’s tutor before. But Bianchi convincing them to put the strike off? That was a slap in my face, lady! They’ve got a RIGHT to be pissed off, they’re far away from home, in the middle of a war, and you keep them in the dark! They don’t know what’s going on at all! AND THIS:

“Bianchi is first briefly seen watching Reborn worriedly when he awoke from his dream, and later seen again observing while Nana is angered at Tsuna for badmouthing Iemitsu, his father. Later, she was seen carrying an unconscious Nana who fainted after being hit by Iemitsu’s blood while wondering why Nana had to go through such an ordeal. She then requests that they make it so that when Nana wakes up, she will think it was a dream.”

Nana- seemingly obvious, has an overseas husband, “airheaded”? My God. No. Not to mention what the freakin’ anime did with her. All expressions GONE like that! Lal’s place as one of the strongest seven in the world was stolen by Colonello, no matter how well-meant it was.

Sexualization

Adel’s ZIPPER.

Iris Hepburn seduced a couple of scientists to do what she wanted- not manipulated, they say she “charmed and seduced”. Ugh. 

Also, not truly sexualized, but definitely need to be noted: Bluebell’s nudity (See Young girls, old men, nudity and being creeped on) and that one scene in the anime (I can’t quite recall if it was in the manga too) in which Gamma remembers Aria.

How? Oh, just, you know, him crawling through her open window shirtless, and her sitting up in bed, clutching the bedding to her obviously naked front while aiming a gun at him.

Also, what is it with Chrome and being attacked by tentacles? First Mammon with the tentacle illusion, then Glo Xinia!

Also, the nude shots of the girls in some very pin-up girl poses in the bathroom scene of the Future Arc (chapter 237) were horrible!

Young girls, old men, nudity and being creeped on

The KHR thing with young girls just… *shiver* For a show about fourteen-year-old kids, there are a LOT of creepers.

Chrome is the biggest victim of it, though sadly, not the only one. Glo Xinia made me so f*** uncomfortable- honestly, he was creeping on Chrome too. The Simon arc and Chrome with Daemon sends my skin crawling every time.

Also, the Byakuran hypnotizing Yuni? Yeah. Older guy controlling younger girl, the whole thing giving you the creeps? Chrome and Daemon, anyone?

Also, you remember Bluebell’s introduction? When she was climbing out of the water and one of the other Funeral Wreaths (I don’t remember which one) telling her something about proper lady manners or something along those lines? 

On Bluebell: I checked (chapter 239) and not only does Zakuro comment on her flat chest! Bluebell gets angry at him in a rather childish manner, but when she calls out Kikyo to defend her, he goes: “Zakuro’s just lashing out because he’s jealous of how cute you are.”

Zakuro: “Not likely.”

And then KIKYO SAYS: “Now, Bluebell, you are a girl, so how about you stop spreading your legs in that unsightly manner?”

And Bluebell’s only reaction to this is to close her legs (she was naked, but if she’s already naked in their vicinity, then what? It’s obviously normal for her? Not to mention that’s she’s naked during her INTRODUCTION SCENE?

And the weird thing is, while I’m happy they do treat her like a child, she’s fifteen! They make comments about her chest! And the “treating her like a child” thing is mostly not seeing her as a woman from Kikyo’s standpoint- aka, she’s not sexualized entirely.

It just f*** me up because they still make comments that are really sexist and could be seen as sexualization- not to mention that it’s that kind of freaking patriarchy superior bullshit that KEEPS her from growing up! My gosh) and complaining more about Zakuro!

Also, was it just me or were the Gamma and Yuni overtones rather romantic? Because they felt like it. And Yuni’s what? Fourteen? Thirteen? Fifteen if we’re pushing it? That’s ANOTHER young girl and an older man.

Yeeppppp. from A-Z from their ‘I feel about you the same way my mother did’ (which??? is big ?????????) until Yuni sacrifices herself.

Disease and Disability

Sick characters? Injuries, disease and mental illnesses not caused by battle wounds? Here’s a list:

Yamamoto (broken arm, depression)

Gokudera (trauma)

Hibari (though technically Sakura kura was administered by a weapon too)

Tsuna (skull disease- caused, once again, by weapons- the dying will bullets)

Ryohei (ADHD heavily implied)

Byakuran (What’s happening in his head? I don’t know, but it certainly wasn’t good for his mental health)

Chrome (no organs, repeatedly a problem when Mukuro does not come to the rescue)

Bluebell (parental abuse through neglect, paralyzed legs and trauma from seeing the car accident that ended her brother’s life)

 Luce, Aria, Yuni (Arcobaleno curse, results in early death)

 Lal Mirch (the only Arcobaleno visibly seen suffering the effects of Byakuran’s anti-Arcobaleno gass or whatever it was)

Lavina (fatal disease).

I love representation of disease and disability if done right, but looking at the list and the topic of this post, I’d say my point has been made. Also, an interesting observation: While the men do seem to deal with mental illnesses, the rest seem to be solely resting on the shoulders of the women.

Because All Women Care About Are Men (and Family)

Bianchi’s few star moments were mostly dominated by statements about love and her ex-boyfriend- though the future arc had her being AWESOME!

Akiko Irie- Shoichi’s sister. Wanna know what her wiki article says? This is under “History” :

“Not much is known about her but it is known that she has a boyfriend.”

Because that’s obviously all we need to know! Don’t even get me STARTED on Longchamp’s girlfriends- 'cause that’s their role! Girlfriend only! (Not to mention the “oh he falls for ugly girls,” thing. Like, seriously?)

Elena is near perfect- great ideals, hints at layered character- but even she is in the end almost solely remembered for the fact that she was Daemon’s wife/lover. She was clearly a vital member of the Primo generation, yet no guardian and completely forgotten because nobody recognized her? Tsuna must have been vetted extensively on the past bosses and their family as the Vonogola heir, yet he didn’t recognize her or had any idea about her existence.

Magi- the Simon child in the last Cozart memory in the Simon arc- Cozart stated that he and Giotto believed that Magi’s descendants would someday be able to laugh together with the Vongola descendants.  He and Giotto talked about this? Why not their own descendants (besides the fact that Cozart is obviously gay for Giotto, but that’s never confirmed)? Why think about Magi’s descendants? She’s a child! Once again: are you going to start this early with “that’s the only thing we need to know about this female side character”? 

Major pet peeve: MM being pitted against female characters. I still loathe the MM-Chrome interaction in the future arc where she slaps Chrome with all of my being.

YES! Like, the only interaction we’ve seen from MM is her swooning over Mukuro, her fighting Bianchi, her threatening and/or slapping Chrome OVER MUKURO and her complaining to Fran about him pronouncing her name wrong.

M.M.’s wiki entry personality summary: 

‘’She cares a lot about fashion and money, and prefers to date rich men. M.M. can be blunt and has a short temper. Despite this, she does have a caring side. She clearly has an interest in music.’’

Curse of the Rainbow arc? Oh, she’s there! But what a surprise- Levi’s interested in her and she’s all like: I’ll go on a date with you, but you’ll have to pay me for it!

Levi: The price is too high! 

There’s nothing wrong with hookers, it’s an honest profession, but as far as we know M.M. isn’t one!

Adel’s canon relationship with Julie. While Julie’s appearances have been mostly Daemon in disguise and therefore not actually good source material, the way she was reduced to a blushy mess, losing all composure suddenly over him… It felt like they took away a part of her.

Adel should be the one to have people being reduced into blushy messes and composure-losses over her. 

Chrome is subject to Mukuro’s whims. For the clearest example: Mukuro’s behaviour in the future arc. However, this eventually does lead to Chrome learning to stand in her own power in the Inheritance Arc. However, on the Inheritance arc: Chrome is the one abducted. Chrome is the one creeped on by Daemon.

There are things that I have a bone to pick with, the first one that pops into my head is how the girls are just there to cook and clean in the future arc. and then the part when the girls are in the bath and they see the wound Chrome has from training, I don’t remember the exact wording of the dialogue at that moment, but I remember that it made me want to punch something.

I found the accompanying scene:

Mochida treating Kyoko like a freaking prize and Kyoko never getting to punch him for it.

The list is endless.

Saviors

Kyoko gets rescued by Tsuna from Mochida. TYL!Kyoko gets rescued by Tsuna!

Haru is saved from drowning by Tsuna!

Chrome is constantly being saved by Mukuro, Ken and Chikusa. Her very life depends on this. Next to her organs, see Glo Xinia and many other instances.

This list would be VERY long if I went after every single instance in the manga.

Character Development

Where is my female character development? 'Cause I’m only seeing it in Bianchi, Chrome, Adel and Shittopi!

Conclusion

The Cervello are one of the few where little is to be said about. Daniela is the only non-villain(like appearance) besides Mami. Mami, who is one of the only female side characters that’s actually handled well. She’s believable, she’s the traumatic nightmare haunting Enma.

Oregano is also handled reasonably well (though I have to say, people, PLEASE stop making her the woman Iemitsu cheats on Nana within fanfiction). Sepira is good!

But the rest? The headlines in this post speak for themselves.

What I need, my friends, is for Operation: KHR Fix It Female to start Right. Now.

If I’m wrong on any of these points, guys, please tell me, because I’d LOVE to be wrong! To quote @i-w-p-chan: I need my fucking war axe.

[yaz-the-spaz]

WIP MEME

was tagged by the lovely @beautifulkingzayn -- can’t wait to read all the things you’re working on! (that stripper!zayn fic and the blue is warmest color au sound especially interesting!)

the rules are thus: list all the things you’re currently working on in as much or little detail as you’d like, then tag some friends to see what they’re working on. This can be writing, art, vids, gifsets, whatever.

oh god.

so. i have a shit ton of things i’m working on simultaneously... 

(it’s a tiny part of the reason, among many others, that i take such long breaks from the twelve fic cause half the time i get caught up working on other shit and then i’m like wait no gotta get back to twelve it’s been way too long lol smh)

but anyway the main thing at the moment, as many of you all know and as i’ll probably ramble on about for way too long is the twelve fic, which is sort of a winter soldier au, or at least that’s what it was inspired by anyway but it’s kind of deviated so much from that and taken on such a life of its own at this point that idk if it can even really still be considered an au of that verse anymore but it features zayn as a brainwashed assassin who goes by the name twelve after being kidnapped and having all of his memories wiped when he was a kid. it’s super triggery and basically involves every bad or horrible thing you could imagine happening to a person happening to zayn at some point until (by chance) he encounters liam, his childhood best friend, who he doesn’t remember in the middle of a bank heist and then later gets assigned to monitor liam b/c the person behind the whole brainwashing child assassin program, aka the director, is a sick fuck. cue liam freaking out and trying to do everything he can to help zayn but having no clue what he’s doing and the other boys finding out and pitching in to help too, along with some interesting side characters both original and non-original. okay i’ve gone on about this fic long enough, onward to the mountain of other ficlets i’m working on smdh…

a sex pollen fic set in 2015 (shortly after zayn left the band) wherein liam gets drugged (sort of) by a fan while out and about in LA with zayn and thinks he’s just coming down with something/getting sick till they get back to zayn’s house and liam ends up begging zayn to fuck him while zayn tries to be the good guy and resist and not take advantage of a naked, drugged out liam

a peter pan ziam/ot5 au featuring zayn as peter, liam as wendy, harry, louis & niall as the lost boys, little mix as fairies, simon as captain hook, and dan wooton (ugh sorry i fucking hate his name so much) as smee (also a name i hate so it works lol), still debating on the mermaids…might make one of them t-swift and maybe throw kendall and gigi in too (and possibly throw in cheryl as part of hook/simon’s pirate crew idk?)…and i also haven’t settled on anyone for tiger lily yet either but i’m open to suggestions for that too if anyone wants to throw someone’s name in the hat. anyway it should be a wild ride if i ever finish it, but got writer’s block shortly after writing the first few scenes and tried to come back to it twice but just couldn’t figure out where to go from where i left off so we shall see…

what else? um…a super angsty bottom liam bdsm ziam fic set during the wwa tour

a drabble wherein liam has a secret voice kink and gets off to zayn’s m.o.m album when he’s home alone

a weird ass fairly oddparents inspired au where liam is basically timmy and zayn keeps coming home to find new stuff in their house and vague explanations as to where they came from (should be posted soon i think)

part three of my outlaws series, which is a ziam prohibition era au series with lots of friendly ot5 feels and some struggles with period-typical homophobia and racism, featuring zayn as a bad boy bootlegger, liam as a good church-going small town boy (at first anyway), louis as a pimp, and niall and harry as his rent boys; in the part i’m currently working, part three, zayn and liam end up going back to liam’s hometown and liam has to grapple with the demons he left behind, including facing his parents (mainly just his mom) who he hasn’t seen in over two years and some of the shitty townsfolk he used to be friends with

there’s also a half-finished ziam five times plus one drabble that got shortened to a four times plus one (and honestly may end up getting shortened to three plus one just so I can get off my ass and finish it because it’s been half done for going on like eight months now and it’s honestly ridiculous smh) but anyway it was originally supposed be the five/four times zayn and liam woke up in bed together and it didn’t mean anything/was just friendly (supposedly) and the one time it meant more

and then there’s the main one that’s taking up my time lately (besides the twelve fic) and that i’m hoping to be ready to start posting soon as well, a slave!liam ot5 fic where the other four come home to their shared flat to find a box with a live boy inside (liam) sent to them by way of a secret organization that calls themselves modest and deals in underground human trafficking, training people to be servants and then shipping them off to groups of people/families whose needs they feel the slave’s skills would match best…it shares a lot of similarities with my twelve fic (in terms of the whole forced servitude thing, brainwashing, and a secret underground org that deals in kidnapping and human trafficking and monitoring people and all that) which was completely unintentional because i actually started writing it around like three years ago now and had completely forgotten about it up until a few months ago when i found it again at the bottom of one of my folders while in the middle of working on twelve and was like holy shit why do i keep writing things like this lmao but then decided to continue it anyway and i’ve been working on it piecemeal ever since and not sure when it’ll be ready to post cause the beginning still needs a lot of work, but hopefully it won’t be too much longer cause I’m really curious and excited to see what people think of it and am kind of anxious/antsy to post it lol

oh and i also have an original fic i’ve been working on kind of piecemeal too, a super angsty fic about an incubus who hates being an incubus and basically tortures himself with sleep deprivation to keep himself from using his powers while also trying to deal with the trials of high school, his abusive father, his asshole of a step-brother (who’s also a siren) and being gay, but ends up falling in love and being forced to kind of come to terms with himself…also kind of delves into what makes someone a monster and how we perceive and define ourselves, and the whole monsters vs. humans debate and which ones are the “real” monsters, etc.

so yeah that’s pretty much it for the most part but i do also have a whole doc full of plot bunnies for like a million other fics (mostly ziam and ot5, but also a few original ones) that may at some point in the future get fleshed out and posted…if i ever get around to finishing the ones i listed here first…le sigh i am a problem child...so sorry this dragged on as long as it did but hopefully out there finds these at least mildly interesting and isn’t completely put off by the fucking dissertation i just wrote about my stupid wip’s

anyway, thanks again @beautifulkingzayn for the tag! tagging @doveziam, @zipplekink, @wlwharrie, and @ohthathurt and i know there’s probably a bunch of other people i could tag but my brain is farting at the moment and i can’t think of anyone else, if anyone sees this though (if anyone even bothers to read it lol) and feels up to joining in even if you weren’t tagged, feel free to participate! i’d love to see what everyone else is working on! (and apologies if you’ve already been tagged or just don’t feel up to doing this)

[captain-aralias]

today i have done very very little. i certainly haven’t started my COTTA but ask me tomorrow, and hopefully i will have because october is already half way done... 

for now, i thought i’d post all the bits i deleted from Greener Grass, so they’re out of my head. i’ve just re-read them and i think all of them make the story worse, so it’s good they’re gone! but interesting. 

plus, it’s no longer so incredibly painful for me to think about how i deleted 6,000 words from my 40,000 word fic because it’s done. so - now’s the time to share.

if you haven’t read Greener Grass, perhaps you’d like to! it’s a Wayward Son bodyswap.

here’s the stuff i wrote but didn’t use

Deleted scenes:

actually, to be honest, these are less deleted scenes, and more - alternate scenes. in most cases you can see where they came from/what they turned into.

from chapter 1: 

(Baz POV) 

When I get out, Simon is standing in front of the mirror trying to flatten my hair, even though I definitely told him not to.

“It’s all right, Snow – I can deal with it.”

“You didn’t bring a hairdryer,” he says defensively as I start pulling the kinks out with my wand.

I sigh, although I’m not actually angry about this. It’s just hair – it’s not as if he got it cut without asking me. That I really would have found hard to forgive.

“Do you even know what a hairdryer looks like?”

“Yes.”

“Because there’s one in the wall.”

“Oh.”

Snow’s eyes meet mine in the mirror (which is surreal, for obvious reasons) and then travel down the rest of my body.

“What the hell are you wearing? I look like I work in a bank.”

He looks horrified. As though the sight of himself in trousers that actually fit and a neatly pressed white cotton shirt is one of the worst things he’s ever seen. It really isn’t. He looks lovely.

I frown. “You needed some new clothes.” I lower my voice. “I didn’t look, if that’s what you’re worried about. I changed with my eyes closed.”

“Oh,” Simon says. “Er. You didn’t?”

“No.”

“I looked,” Simon says after a moment. “Twice.”

I stare at him and he shifts uneasily.

“I mean, did you not want to?”

“What?”

I’m not sure if my brain has shorted out from the knowledge that Simon has seen me naked, or from the clear invitation to go and look at him in the same state. Both, probably.

I can feel myself blushing. And see it in the mirror – Simon blushes easily, unlike me. It’s charming. And I can’t help but notice that the flush is spreading below the collar of the shirt I’ve put him in. (Crowley, I wonder how far down it goes.)

“It’s fine if you don’t,” Simon says hurriedly. “I know it’s a bit weird––”

“Simon,” I say firmly, “

reason for change: 

i cut this back in february, so i’m not entirely sure - but basically i think it had to go because i knew i switched too early to simon’s POV because baz leaving to go to the bathroom felt so final (people leaving a room? it’s how you know the scene is over. no - that’s lazy). staying with simon meant i could write some of my favourite stuff in this chapter about him looking at baz and wanting him. 

--

(Simon POV)

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Baz said to me as I tried to leave . “There will be a lot of vampires in there––”

I shrug. “I know how to handle vampires.”

“You certainly do,” Baz said. Then I think he realised he’d said that out loud and grimaced. “Please pretend I didn’t say that.”

“Done,” Shepard says.

“Speak for yourself,” Penelope says. “It’ll be burned into my brain forever.”

reason for change:

i mean, i kept most of this. i think i probably cut too harshly, and then missed the ‘handle vampires’ joke and put it back in in a different format. 

--

Chapter 2

i hope you like... hundreds of version of exactly the same fucking scene. 

--

BAZ

Lamb blinks. Whatever he was expecting, that wasn’t it.

It wasn’t what I was expecting, either. I suppose Simon has to say something. (And admitting that he’s the former Chosen One, and we want to see whether the Next Blood can give him his magic back, is unlikely to go down well.) But I’m not sure what he’s getting at with this particular avenue. And clearly, neither does Lamb.

“You do know what the Next Blood are, don’t you?” he says. “They’re like us, physically.”

“You mean, they’re vampires?” Simon says. “Yeah. I mean, I know. But they’re not vampire-vampires, are they? They don’t drink blood.”

I notice Lamb is wincing every time Simon says ‘vampire’. (As am I. Although I’m still invisible so it doesn’t count.) It’s at odds with the confidence that he’s been projecting so far. Which is a relief, actually. It’s good to know that the vampires here are still afraid of discovery. From everything Shepard said about them, I imagined they must be running this entire city. But this one at least still has some fear.

I can use that – if I have to.

I’m sitting in the booth opposite the two of them, on a fur-lined stool (most impractical). As long as no one tries to sit here, I have a clean shot at Lamb, if he tries anything. Although he hasn’t yet. I think he’s genuinely interested in us. (In me? In Simon? In whatever we’re doing here.)

“Would you mind not using that word?” he says now.

Simon looks confused. “What. Blood?”

“No. Although why not stop using that as well? For consistency.”    

“Sorry.”

Lamb waves the apology off, gracefully. “But that’s it, is it? The feeding? That’s the thing you don’t like about being … one of us.”

“Yes,” Simon says. “I mean, no. It’s one of the things I don’t like.”

“Strange,” Lamb says. “I’ve always found it rather enjoyable, myself.”

I’m horrified (I knew we were sending Simon out to talk to murderers – but I didn’t expect them to brag about it over milkshakes.) Simon looks horrified too. That’s not usually a good sign for the people he’s horrified about. If he still had his sword, it would be drawn by now.

“Killing people?” he demands.  

I grip my wand more tightly, but Lamb only laughs.

“No. That’s not much fun at all, is it? But it’s hardly necessary.”

“It’s not?” Simon says. Then I think he remembers the phone (although obviously, I’m right here. And I don’t think I would have missed this, even if I wasn’t). He says very clearly: “You’re saying vampires don’t kill everyone they bite?”

Lamb sighs. “Simon. You don’t mean to tell me you’ve been draining everyone you bite? No wonder you hate yourself.”

reason for change: 

pass. (maybe i should remove this commentary portion.) i know i was having big problems with this scene. as you’re about to find out. 

i think i probably cut this because i was struggling, and then i re-wrote it in simon’s POV, which you can see below, and then re-wrote again very similar to what we have here. 

--

(Baz POV)

“Then don’t,” Lamb says. “Honestly, Simon, it’s not as if it’s compulsory.”

My wand clatters to the floor. Lamb’s head jerks towards where I’m sitting, but Simon is completely focused on him.

“What do you mean, it’s not compulsory?”

Lamb’s head twists back. He tuts. “Have you really been draining everyone dry? It’s really not necessary.”

reason for change: 

a different version of the above? still not really working.

--

(Simon’s POV)

“Because I don’t like being a vampire,” I say. 

Lamb blinks. Whatever he was expecting, that wasn’t it.

Even I wasn’t expecting it, but I don’t think it’s the worst lie I could have come up with.

Anyway, Lamb seems to be buying this, so I’m safe for now. In fact, he’s more interested in me than ever. He leans slowly forward in his seat, but I can tell he’s just pretending to be casual. He’s really paying attention.

“And you think the Next Blood can help you?”

I shrug. “Yeah?”

Lamb’s eyebrows are right down. “I haven’t heard anything about this.”

I shrug again. “Maybe you don’t move in the same circles.”

“I try not to,” Lamb says. “Perhaps that was a mistake.”

reason for change: 

ok, this is an interesting one. here Lamb mistakenly believes that simon’s telling him that the next blood can change people back from being a vampire - and that’s why he’d team up with them to destroy the next blood. which i thought was cool and fun, and made sense of lamb being an ally. but ... it opens too many doors i’m not interested in and it’s a stupid misunderstanding where a few words could clear it up. so - i ditched this. 

--

(Simon POV again)

“Because I don’t like being a vampire,” I say. 

Lamb blinks. Whatever he was expecting, that wasn’t it.

Even I wasn’t expecting it, but I don’t think it’s the worst lie I could have come up with.

Baz does resent being a vampire. (Even if, so far, it actually seems all right to me.) I don’t think he’d love it even if the Next Blood taught him how to survive on transfusion, rather than rats. But it’d be a something. He wouldn’t have had to eat that squirrel, the other day. Or that dog I stole for him, which even I feel a bit guilty about and I didn’t have to eat it.

Lamb is still frowning. “You do know what the Next Blood are, don’t you?” he says. “They’re like us. Physically.”

“You mean, they’re vampires?” I say. “Yeah. I mean, I know. But they’re not vampire-vampires, are they? They don’t drink blood.”

Lamb grimaces. “Would you mind not using that word?”

“Vampires?” I say and Lamb sighs.

. “You mean, eternal life, not aging. Being stronger and faster than everyone else – none of that’s for you?”

I shake my head. I’m trying not to look surprised, even though Lamb’s just told me my boyfriend’s immortal. (I mean, Baz and I always knew it was a possibility. Frankly it’s a bit of a relief to have it confirmed – now he can make plans.)

“So, what?” Lamb says. “Are you just tired of life? Is that it?”

“No,” I say.

Because I’m Baz right now and Baz isn’t. He’s thriving.

Even I’m not tired of life. (At least, I don’t think I am.) Although I am tired of my life – all the sitting around. All the waiting for something to happen. Because it doesn’t.

Or it didn’t – I suppose things have been happening again, since we got to America. I’m being interviewed by a vampire (ha) about being a vampire. That’s different. Not good-different. But different.

“I don’t think I’d want to live forever, though, either,” I say.

“You don’t have to,” Lamb says. “You’ve been given the gift of choice.”  

reason for change:

in this scene i was thinking a lot about rainbow saying that she likes to position scenes in the head of the person who cares about it the least. i think that’s why i was trying to force simon’s POV for so long. that and the fact that i thought it was cool, that the reader has this secret which is that Baz is there, and that in the version i eventually went with baz is passive and gets no chance to say anything - he just has to keep reacting. 

i think i switched it back to Baz because i felt he deserved to be able to react, though. and you do kind of forget that baz is there, watching thsi scene, if it’s not his POV. 

it has some of my favourite lines i cut though, particularly this bit: Even I’m not tired of life. (At least, I don’t think I am.) Although I am tired of my life – all the sitting around. All the waiting for something to happen. Because it doesn’t.

never mind! 

--

(Simon POV)

“I don’t like hiding who I am,” I tell Lamb, because I know that’s what gets Baz down the most. It’s not that he has to eat rats – or it’s not just that. It’s that he has to sneak around, so no one knows he has to eat rats. It’s that his own family won’t even say the word ‘vampire’ out loud. “I’m sick of lying to everyone. And eating rats – I don’t like eating rats.”

Lamb makes a face. “Why are you eating rats?”

“Because I don’t want to kill people,” I say, even though it’s obvious.

Or at least, I thought it was obvious. Lamb looks surprised.

“It’s not compulsory,” he says.

reason for change:

we know this one now - this is simon’s POV, and i’d switched back to baz. this is quite good, though, re baz’s family. 

--

(Simon POV) 

“Aren’t you going to get that?” Lamb says.

He must have heard it vibrating (vampire hearing – I can hear it too, if I concentrate. Not just feel it.) Something must have gone wrong. I don’t want to draw attention to the fact that my friends have been listening in on our whole conversation. But just ignoring the call now he’s pointed out is probably even more suspicious. And if something has gone wrong, I should probably find out what it is.

“Yeah,” I say. “Hang on.”

“Take your time,” Lamb says smoothly.

I slide out of the booth, pulling the phone from my pocket. It’s definitely ringing, but the screen says Fiona Pitch rather than Penelope. Which is good, I think. It means nothing’s wrong. I reject Fiona’s call and there’s Penny’s call – still connected.

“Is everything all right

“Simon? Is Baz with you?” Penny’s voice says.

“What?” I say. “I thought he was with you.”

“He––”

“How dare you hang up on,” another voice says, cutting in over the line. (It must have been magic – I think, even on a posh new iPhone like this one is, you still have to choose to change the line). And I might not have recognised it, but I’ve just seen the owner’s name on my phone. i

When I look back over at Lamb, I see Baz taking a seat opposite him.

BAZ

Baz, right?”

I’m not sure what gave it away.

I’ve been here the entire time, and Simon hasn’t described me – himself – to Lamb. I would have noticed. And it’s not like Simon and I have matching terrible-boyfriend rings or bracelets (I’m not that pathetic.)

Perhaps it’s the look of cold fury I’m giving him. I know this look well – from the other side. I know Simon’s good at fury, that it looks good on him. Like he means it.

Whenever he used to direct that look at me, I knew I was going to have to duck. Or spell him first. It’s not an unattractive look, but I never got distracted when I saw it. I knew  

So right now, I think I probably look like the sort of man who’s probably thinking seriously about ripping this Lamb’s throat out. The sort of man who’s just had to spend the last half an hour listening to Lamb trying to tempt my boyfriend into destroying me, like a sort of second-rate American Mephistopheles.

But Lamb doesn’t seem intimated by Simon’s scowl. He still seems delighted.

reason for change: 

this is all victim of the POV swap. i knew i was struggling writing simon and lamb’s conversation so skipped ahead to him leaving to talk to fiona, and then back to baz.... some nice stuff here, probably, but ultimately it’s just slowing the action down. baz going right up to lamb is more dramatic. 

--

(Simon POV)

And now I’m stuck trying to explain why I called her earlier today (I didn’t – Baz must have done it while he was out shopping) because Baz never calls, apparently, unless things are bad. Or he’s broken something in the flat and doesn’t know how to fix it with magic.

I mean, they are bad. (Maybe.) But I don’t think that they’ll get any better if I tell Fiona the truth.

So far, I’ve reassured her that Baz’s siblings are all fine. (“Just as annoying as ever, unfortunately.”) And his parents are fine. (“Both in the peak of health.”) And that his exams were fine.

“I’m going to be the top of my class,” I tell Fiona confidently because Baz is. “I’m a complete genius.”

“Hm,” Fiona says, unconvinced. “Tell me – how do you set the thermostat again?”

“Trick question,” I say. “I’d get you to do it.”

Fiona laughs – and it’s nice, I think. A real laugh. I think she does actually like Baz

reason for change:

i had the whatsapp group idea and it was better. this is me leaning into the idea of simon having to pretend to be baz. 

--

(Simon POV)

“Let’s go, Simon,” Baz says.

He stands up next to me. He’s trapped by the booth and the table and me, so even if I wanted to stay (which I definitely don’t, if Baz is leaving), I’d have to stand to let him out. I do and Baz pushes past me, so he’s on my other side – with me and the table between him and Lamb.

“And I haven’t even told you about the Next Blood,” Lamb says.

I shake my head. “You’re right – it was a stupid idea. They’re not going to fix my problems.”

“I can, though,” Lamb says as Baz turns on his heel and I go after him.  

“Well. You know where to find me,” Lamb calls, even though I don’t. I don’t think it matters though.

reason for change:

i wrote them a conversation with Lamb instead - here baz is just horrified by whatever it is he’s heard (who knows? i didn’t write it) 

--

(Simon POV) 

I stand up to let him pass and Baz practically drags me out of the restaurant by the hand. Out onto the strip where music is still playing and the lights are so bright it might as well be daytime.

Once we get there, though, he freezes.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Vampires,” he says. “Everywhere. Can’t you see them?”

and another version of this...

I pull Baz’s phone out of my pocket, tell Penny we’re heading back, and hang up.

Baz turns to me as I catch up to him. He has his wand out and flicks it, casting Nothing to see here over both of us.

“There are vampires everywhere

reason for change:

this is here because i wanted to write baz seizing simon and flying him up to their room, so he has to cast nothing to see here. also, he’s freaked out about vampires. but baz flying simon up to their room is insanity, so he shouldn’t do that, and baz can be freaked out about vampires because simon is kissing him and we don’t need anyone else. 

--

Chapter 3

thank goodness we’re out of that shitty chapter (shitty from a writing perspective. as a chapter, it works ok! but i still resent it for the problems it caused me.)

it’s highly relevant that mid-chapter 3 is where i took a break and wrote my remix - which is also about wayward son and these themes (and just forced me to stop forcing myself miserably through this chapter). by the time i had to take a break, i’d written most of the flying and the biting, but not the end of simon’s first section in this chapter, or the ending. 

--

(Simon POV) 

Last night he found out that his body was different than he’s always thought it was. That’s something I know a lot about. I also now know something about what it’s like to be a vampire. But I’m not sure that helps. I think that’s just making it about me again.

Right now, my part of the story is just to be there for him, the way he’s always been there for me. Or maybe it would be if we weren’t in each other’s bodies right now. As it is, I think I can do a bit better than that.

I’ve dragged Baz out of the hotel (not physically, although he is stronger than me, so I could have done it.) (I just gave him a hand up out of the bath.) I wasn’t sure he’d agree to come with me, but I told him we were going to pick up a burger on the way, and that seemed to do the trick.

“A full sized one?”

“Remember, you’re meeting Lamb at two,” Penny called after us. “And you have to come back here first to pick us up first. Back by lunchtime, Simon.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Now we’re speeding out of the city in Shepard’s truck. (The cab this time, not the back. But this is pretty good, too.) I’m driving. Baz is leaning against the window

Although it might also have helped that I let him wear the floral jacket from yesterday (he spelled it bigger), even though I don’t wear patterns and it’s about a million degrees outside.

It’s only fair – I couldn’t face putting a shirt back on, so today I’m in Baz’s jeans, my t-shirt and I’m wearing my own jacket because I know Baz gets burned easily. Also, I asked room service to bring me a hat with a brim when they brought us breakfast and they did. A cowboy hat. Which is

“Eat,” I tell him now, passing him a bag full of

reason for change: 

i was planning to just start this chapter with them driving out to go flying. but then i wanted to write more baz angst... so all this gets cut. 

also, this explains why baz thinks that simon is going to get him a burger in the draft i posted, even though simon does not ever say that ;) 

--

(Baz POV)

Even if it would take the pressure off a bit, perhaps. I know what I like, and presumably Simon knows what he likes – but it’s far too weird. (And it’s not the same as kissing. We’ve kissed before, in our actual bodies. This is just an admittedly bizarre continuation of that.) And anyway, it’s Simon I’m desperate to sleep with. Simon who I’ve always wanted.

Simon who is still talking.

reason for change: 

i gave this to simon instead!

--

(Baz POV)

“And you should bite me,” he says breathlessly.

I swallow. (Although honestly, it’s not as if I haven’t thought it).

“All right.”

“You’ll like it,” Simon assures me.

“Well, you’ll like it too.”

Simon groans and presses his forehead into mine.

“Fucking pukwudgie,” he says as I laugh.

...

I never thought I’d be desperate to be back in my own skin, just that I wanted Simon out of it, but I need to be myself if I’m going to be able to do any of the things I’ve always wanted to do to him.

reason for change: 

no idea. maybe because it’s too much like the mage’s heir. 

--

(Simon POV)

He doesn’t start the ignition.

“I should have thought of this sooner,” he says instead. “But I could try spelling your wings away properly. While I’m in your body.”

“Huh?” I say.

My wings are definitely already gone. We wouldn’t fit in the cab, otherwise.

“Your wings,” Baz says. “I know no one’s been able to properly remove them before – even Doctor Wellbelove was talking about surgery. But I’ve always assumed it was because you were the one who cast the spell. So it’s possible that, now I’m in your body, I’d be able to get rid of them for you.” I’m staring at him. “I know we both hope that you’re going to get your own magic back,” he continues carefully. “But in case that doesn’t work – or in case you can’t control it …”

reason for change: 

i tried to write this baz-magic wings thing in a few times, because i wanted simon to be able to tell baz that he likes his wings now (and it makes sense that baz would think of this). but ultimately it didn’t flow, that’s the reason i never managed to put it in. i gave baz the revelation instead of simon, re his fangs. so simon doesn’t get this big thing about his wings not being that bad - which obviously leads into what i eventually wrote for the ending which is that simon still.... isn’t completely comfortable in his body, he didn’t have exactly the same revelation that baz did. this is me trying to give him that, though. 

--

(Simon POV)

“Do you want to see Lamb?” I say.

Baz makes a face. “Not particularly. It’s more of a necessary evil.”

“Because he can tell you lots of vampire things?” I ask. “Or because of me? Because if it’s the latter––”

“Of course it’s the latter,” Baz says.

“Then I don’t think we should go,”

“I don’t need my magic back.”

“Are you sure?” Baz whispers.  

reason for change:

i probably cut it in favour of what i wrote below. 

but essentially it’s all cut because i stopped writing this fic for a month and when i came back i realised that it was still chapter 3 and they couldn’t have this revelation yet!

--

(Simon POV)

Today, I’m even less keen on seeing Lamb again than I was yesterday. It just seems so pointless. And since Baz barely eats, and I am Baz at the moment, I’m not even that excited to go to a restaurant. (Besides, my mouth still tastes of him. However good this place is, it’s not exactly going to measure up, is it?) But I suppose we do have to go, don’t we?

Because Lamb’s still got lots to tell us. And it’s clear, Penny will kill me if we don’t get to try the food.

It’s just – Baz really doesn’t need transfusion if he can just keep drinking from me. And I can’t help thinking I should really have a better excuse to be tangling with possibly hostile vampires than a curry and maybe getting my magic back.  

“Do you really think magic will make your life better?” Lamb asked me yesterday. And I said no.

Baz is already climbing out of the truck-bed and casting “Every time a bell rings” on his wings.  I follow him, taking the driver’s seat. After a while he joins me in the cab of the truck and straps on his seltbelt.  

I still don’t start the engine.

“Snow?” Baz prompts. “Do you need me to drive?”

I shake my head.

“I’m thinking.”

“Unusual,” Baz says – which is shitty of him, but I think I like that he’s being shitty. He stopped for a while, like how he stopped touching me. It feels like good sign that he’s started again.

“About going to see Lamb.”

“We’re already going to be late,” Baz says.

“I know,” I say. “But. The thing is. You’d still love me, even if I never got my magic back.”

Baz’s eyes flick to his trousers. He smooths down the fabric, even though there’s nothing wrong with it as far as I can see.

“Yes,” he says, without looking at me.

“Right,” I say, relieved. “So, I don’t need my magic back. Which means I only think we should talk to Lamb if you want to.”

Baz’s eyes flick back to my face. “How–?”

“Fiona told me,” I say. “On the phone last night.” I’m just going to say it – it’d be weird not to say it. “And it’s mutual, by the way. In case you’re wondering.”

Baz raises an eyebrow.

“Right.” He looks out the window for a moment and then back to me. “Needless to say, this is not how I imagined this moment going.”

That’s an understatement – he’s in my body, I’m in his. I’ve got at least a pint of Baz’s blood in my stomach and we’re in a truck in the middle of a desert. (I didn’t exactly plan this.)

“What I was actually going to say,” Baz says, “is: How can that possibly be your only consideration?”

“Because it is,” I say. “Before, I thought I needed magic to keep you––”

“You don’t,” Baz says quickly.

I nod. “So, fuck it. I’d only be shit at it again, anyway. I’m not going to risk you and Penny just so I can go back to being terrible at magic.” I don’t say that this would probably make me even more depressed, but I can tell we’re both thinking it. “I shouldn’t have even made you come on this trip. But I don’t mind speaking to Lamb again. If you want to. He seems all right.”

He doesn’t really. It’s just Lamb’s never tried to kill us, which makes him among the nicest vampires I’ve ever met. It’s still a relief when Baz shakes his head.

“I’m getting older. Frankly, it’s a relief. The only normal thing about me. And if I am immortal, I’d rather not think about it.”

That sounds about right. It’s what I’d do.

“Let’s not go then.”

Baz nods. “Just to be clear – you did say you were in love with me?”

“Yeah,” I say, grinning. “Yeah, I am.”

I take his hand and squeeze. This time Baz does smile. He pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket with his other hand and dials a number.

“Bunce – order takeaway. Simon and I have better things to do than talk to more vampires.”

Then he leans over (he gets caught in his seatbelt – I unbuckle it for him) and climbs into my lap.

reason for change:

as above - it’s the wrong time in the narrative for this confession, even though they’re mostly past their shit. and i thought i wanted to write this slightly withdrawn confession where it’s not overblown and we use the confessions they already got from other people, but... i think it’s wrong for this story. 

AND.... because i wrote my remix of bazzybelle, i wrote this thing where simon says ‘i love you’ in the middle of a sentence and baz almost doesn’t notice. so that’s good - i got it out of my system there in a much better place - and when i came back to this one, i was like... right... i mean, they can miss lamb because they were kissing, not because they just didn’t want to see him. that makes sense. 

--

(Baz POV)

It’s not long before Simon gets hungry again. By which I mean, I get hungry again. I make Simon drive us back to the centre of Vegas where we can pick up a burrito and a milkshake.

“I’ve wanted one since last night,” Simon tells me, although I notice he still leaves most of it to me.

Last night feels so long ago.

Last FINISH

I can’t believe he loves me. (I can’t believe I didn’t cry when he said it. Although it probably helped that Simon managed to make the declaration so confusing that I wasn’t entirely sure I’d heard him correctly.)

FINISH

Bunce’s idea from earlier that we get other

“I should have thought of this sooner. I could probably spell your wings off permanently.”

I’ve tried before – so has Bunce. It hasn’t worked. Doctor Wellbelove has talked about surgery because nothing he knows has been at all effective. But I’ve always assumed the reason no spells have worked is that Simon wasn’t the one casting them. While it’s clear that’s never going to happen now, there is still this small window of opportunity where Simon’s body at least does have magic. My magic.

I thought Simon would be pleased with this suggestion, but he looks positively alarmed.

“But we already have a spell to hide them.”

“I know.” But it’s extremely inconvenient.

“I can ask Doctor Wellbelove if I change my mind,” Simon says – but I can’t  

reason for change: 

i’m leaving these weird half sentences and notes to myself in because a) that’s how i’ve stored them and b) i think it’s interesting to see where the thought processes dropped. this is another shot at the wings conversation. also - it picks up the milkshake thing from chapter 2. 

i don’t seem to have kept it, but i wrote something where simon kept comparing baz’s fangs dropping to an inappropriate erection. (it seemed funny at the time)

and i never wrote it, but i think the reason i wrote that was because i was planning a version of this restaurant scene where they go to a bathroom and simon bites baz again and it’s just silly and playful after the intense stuff out in the desert. anyway - the low key version is better.

plus - the other thing to say about this chapter, i guess, is that about this time the thing about minors happened in thsi fandom. and i think i was trying to keep this chapter teen-rated so that no one would get upset. i wrote a much more sexual version of the bite. (which is still pretty sexual - i couldn’t get rid of it all) but i stripped back as much as i could and left a content warning at the top of the chapter.

--

Chapter 4

--

(Baz POV)

They’re Lamb’s people, right? Highly flammable.”

He makes a call from his watch. Tells whoever is on the other end to, “Let them get inside the house and light it up.”

“You got it, boss,” the person on the other end of the line says before hanging up. Braden grins at me as I stare at him in horror.

“What?” he says. “You think I wasn’t prepared for this?”

He wants to me to know what he’s done – because it’s clever. Because he’s that kind of supervillain. He tells me everything.

He had a truce with Lamb, but he wasn’t stupid enough to trust him. He always knew Lamb might turn on him – when Braden was close to his answers. When the time was right. That’s why the Next Blood has flamethrowers built into the ceiling of this house, the same way other homeowners might have sprinklers. It’s why the walls are lined with stainless steel, so the building doesn’t burn – only the carpets. Only the people.

I don’t even know what happens if Simon dies in my body.

Not that it matters that he’s in my body, because if Simon’s dies, however Simon dies, I’m done. My life is over. My life is Simon.

I have to stop this.

And I can.

I feel the fire crackling to life in my palms. (I was waiting for the right moment to try and escape. This is definitely the right moment.) I see Braden’s eyes widen. But before I can thrust the fire into his face, everything goes dark.

Not completely, dark, though. Just darker.

I’m outside. And it’s dark outside. It’s after midnight. Two days must have passed.

I pull fire into my hand again and throw it at the nearest vampire.

“What was that?” Penelope shrieks behind me. “That wasn’t me.”

She turns towards me and I grin. “Hello Bunce.”

“Baz?”

“Did you miss me?”

reason for change: 

oh hey, did you think that the bit where shepard says - why does everyone have machine guns that are no use against vampires?? might be setting something up. well - it wasn’t initially. and then i thought - oh, it could be a sign it’s a trap and wrote this. 

but my plan had always been to have baz confront lamb inside the house, pretty much exactly what happens in the fic, and for it to be a short-ish distance to simon. creating this fucking death trap inside the house means that all the bits with the gang and lamb have to be outside the house - and it just made the action really weird. also, it meant that baz - a vampire - literally has to run into a burning house to save his BF. who - as we know - is already saving himself. 

--

(Baz POV)

Everything’s on fire.

Penelope Bunce cast a bubble around me with what I think was the last of her magic and I ran straight into this house, even knowing what Braden was going to do when I got here. (She tried to tell me she’d go instead, but she was clearly exhausted. Anyway, she’s not the one who knows where Simon is. And she’s not his boyfriend, I am.) (I told her to get back to the truck – and then I told Shepard to make sure she actually went. I also told both of them not to trust Lamb, even though apparently he’s been helpful so far. Fortunately I didn’t see him, so I didn’t have to choose between rescuing Simon, and setting my kidnapper on fire.)

It’s hot. And there’s smoke everywhere. Even though I was only led down these corridors a few hours ago, I can barely see where I’m going. I’m just stumbling on

reason for change:

because i realised this made no sense.

--

(Baz POV)

Fortunately, Simon seems to agree.

He kicks out at the window over the golf course. It cracks loudly. He kicks it again and this time the glass shatters. Falling in jagged pieces to the floor. Letting the night air in.  

I cross over to him and look down. It’s only a few stories, I should be able to “Float like a butterfly” although it’s going to need a lot of magic. Magic I might need when we get down.

But Simon Snow doesn’t need magic to fly.

His wings are outstretched behind him, filling the room. He offers me a hand. “Come here?”

I know what he’s planning. I also know he can’t lift me. Not easily.

But making yourself weightless isn’t as difficult as a controlled fall. I cast “Light as a feather” and let him pull me in by the waist.

“Cheat,” Simon says as I wrap my arms round his neck. “I could have done it.”

I hang on as his wings I wrap my arms around his neck.

Tighter, as I feel my feet lift off the floor. As Simon carries me out and up, his wings beating powerfully behind him. I hold on to dear life, to Simon.

I shut my eyes

“I love you,” he says. Clearly. Easily. As though he’s thought about it and he doesn’t have any more doubts.  

reason for change:

i wanted the i love you to be in baz’s POV, which is why i wrote this for baz - but it made this final baz section super long, leading into the prologue that also starts with baz. the weightless magic is nonsense and had to go. otherwise, i think i just wanted simon back in the story again. and the flight is his victory. 

also - i tried to play myself again and put the ‘i love you’ before the end. KEEP IT TO YOURSELF, SIMON, FOR GOD’S SAKE.

--

Prologue

--

(Simon POV) 

I’m sitting out on the sand, with my boots off and my jeans rolled up. It’s still early, so it’s quiet. No one else is on the beach besides a few dog walkers. Agatha says the taco-stands are amazing but they don’t open until later. 

I can just hear the waves and the birds. I can hear myself think.

I’ve been to the sea before, but not like this. I was always there because I had to do something. Rescue Agatha. Find an underwater city. Try and convince the selkies to give back the ancient totem they’d borrowed from the Mage.

I’ve never just been on holiday. Even this trip turned into a quest almost immediately.

It makes me think maybe I should talk to Fiona about joining the WhatsApp group. Even though I would have to keep dealing with Fiona. (She’s sent someone to deal with Braden. I told her to leave Lamb alone for now, as I don’t think he’s hurting anyone. She said I should mind my own fucking business.)  

Maybe I should try and actually go on holiday.

Somewhere quiet.

Somewhere peaceful. (Baz would like that.)

Somewhere with a double bed. (Baz would definitely like that.) (I reminded him I’d seen him naked earlier, while he was in the shower, and I’m pretty sure I heard him destroy Agatha’s shampoo rack by mistake.)  

reason for change:

i was really struggling with simon’s bit of the prologue. i wrote most of baz’s final section (as well as the first baz section, which was easy) before i came back and wrote this. 

this is me trying to work out what simon might be thinking about. again, i wondered if i’d blown all the revelations simon needed to have about himself in the previous chapters - but i worked it out. 

then, after i’d written almost everything, i remembered the rock (it probably feels like i wrote that in just so simon could throw it away in this scene, but i literally thought of that an hour before posting. i wrote the rock so that braden would say ‘your magic’s gone!!’ originally he was going to be looking at simon’s blood, but then baz pointed out in his POV section that his blood wasn’t magic ... so... magic rock).

--

(Baz POV)

Simon’s eyes are still damp, but he’s smiling. “I don’t know why.”

Crowley, I think I’m crying now.

“That’s because you’re an idiot. Why wouldn’t I?” I wipe my face with the back of my hand. “Listen, I admit I saw this on Oprah, but Maya Angelou once said––”

“When someone shows you who they are, believe them,” Simon says quietly.

Strange. He must have seen that episode too. Not impossible (demonstrably) but I didn’t think it was his kind of thing.

I nod. “I know who you are, Simon Snow. You’re the bravest person I know. The most extraordinary.” Now I’ve started, the words are easier. “You’re the love of my life.”

I have more to say. I could probably talk about Simon’s virtues for hours, if I properly thought about it, but he tackles me before I can. Pressing me down into the sand. The ocean laps at our ankles as Simon kisses me.

“Shit. I’m getting sand in your hair,” he says after a while.

“I don’t care,” I tell him, even though I’ve just blowdryed it.

He doesn’t believe me. (I suppose Simon knows who I am, too.) When Penelope Bunce runs down the beach towards us, Simon is holding my hand and watching me trying to spell grit out of my hair.

reason for change: 

i love a cyclical narrative - and although my story doesn’t begin with this quote, wayward son does. plus, greener grass is about showing someone who you are, so i thought it was appropriate. but i also knew it was cheap for baz to have seen the same show, even as i was writing it. and i think the nail in the coffin is that i struggle not to think of ‘you’re the fucking love of my life’ without thinking about the bill nighy storyline from ‘love actually’. would anyone else have thought of that? i doubt it. but it was there for me.  

and this kissing scene is just so me - i find it embarrassing how typical it is. anyway, it went to be replaced by a slightly different kiss scene. 

--

and that’s all i have! except that i struggled with the final ending. i sent it to giishu, who sensibly suggested i just leave them on the beach (which was everything i’d written so would totally have worked) (arguably better? we will never know). 

but i really wanted this ‘troubles at watford’ ending - to show that they’d learned enough that they could handle anything now, as they were together.

i don’t know how obvious it is, but this is the feeling i was going for -

there’s still something in that, i think. might keep hold of it and think about it a bit more. we know seuss is important to the world of mages. 

thanks for reading the fic! and all these bad bits.

[graveltotempomp3]

me, holding a pile of shit: i maked this.

apparently someone actually cared about my fraybane oneshot? so here we go,,, its probably nothing you guys expected but.... i thrive off validation... so pls tell me what you think..... and if u got any fraybane content tag it or tag me ill read it....

also to avoid any further misunderstandings (shout out to @baneseelie) fraybane is a BROTP, my fic is on their BROTP, and i love my babies v v v much

There was blood on his hands, but no matter how hard he washed, how fast he rubbed them, not a single droplet fell on the sink. He could feel the smell of it clinging to his skin, could feel the weight of the live he most likely just took away heaving on his back.

It wasn’t the first time Magnus had all but killed someone, but this time it was different. This time it really felt like he had been yielding a sword against someone’s throat and that he had been the one to swing it.

All he had known was that Raphael needed him, that the vampires needed him to take her down. His family needed her gone, and he had aided them.

And now she- Camille Belcourt- was gone., and it was on Magnus. Her death, her pain, her torture… it was all on Magnus. The Clave might kill her, but it had been Magnus who signed her death sentence.

“Magnus?”

The familiar voice somehow reached him through the sound of the water and his own thoughts, and he latched to it like a life saver. He shook his head at his reflection and smiling brightly as he left the bathroom, opening the door with a single snap of his fingers.

He had expected it to be Lily complaining about Raphael, maybe Izzy- he really was not ready for Clary Fray, standing at the door with visible gashes on her naked arms and her hair plastered all over her face because of the heavy rain.

She blinked at him for a second, and crossed her arms around her chest, shaking a little in the doorway. “Simon said something along the lines of you being a dad and a shadow doctor, and I forgot my stele at the Institute.”

Magnus didn’t answer at that just stepped out of the doorway, a silent invitation to come in.

All he knew was that Clary was hurting and he needed to be there for her.

The first thought Magnus had when he met Clary Fray for the first time was something along the lines of ‘why does Valentine’s daughter look adorable even though her father is a monster and I, a good warlock, can’t even have children?’

Not very flattering for either of the two women standing at the door, but honest. He probably would have smacked the door in their faces too, if it hadn’t been for Clary. Yes, Jocelyn Fairchild didn’t deserve his empathy, but what had the little girl done, except being born? She hadn’t asked for it.

So against his better judgement, he had allowed the two shadowhunters to come into his house and had listened to Jocelyn beggings and pleas, ready to refuse her. Ready to make her leave with nothing, the way her and the Circle had left many Downworlders and families with nothing too.

But then Clary had spoken, saying the first words since she had come in through the door with her mother.

“You have eyes like a cat.” Both Magnus and Jocelyn had looked at her at that, sitting in the corner of a soft sofa with a plushie in her hands and a thumb in her mouth. She had smiled at Magnus, with the innocence only children had. “I really really like them, Doctor Bane.”

Simple words, spoken by a child who was as much of a victim as him in a way, that had him smile honestly for the first time in years.

“These are some nasty scratches.” Commented Magnus, almost touching the scars, but stopping himself just in time.

Clary shrugged a little, refusing to meet his eyes, and Magnus sighed. She had been mostly quiet throughout it all, not really telling him anything and he was starting to get worried. Something serious had happened and he wanted to know what was it.

“How did you do it? How did you let go of Camille?”

It shouldn’t surprise him the fact that she knew. Of course Simon had told her. No, what surprised him was the fact that she cared at all about the person she blamed for Simon becoming a vampire.

He concentrated on the bandage he was applying on her arm for a few moments, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know if I let go.” He answered in the end. He looked up at her with a small smile, talking as he finished the bandage. “I did it for Raphael, you see. And for Simon and the vampires, and I feel like it was the right thing to do. She made mistakes, and in a way, she deserved it.

But she wasn’t meant to die. Not now, not this soon. She was supposed to live forever. Even if everyone left, I always knew I’d have her. She hasn’t been my lover in decades, but she has always been my companion, dare I say, my friend.”

“But she did bad things. She hurt you. You should hate her, right?” asked him Clary, her fingers curling tightly around the arm of the chair.

“There is a thin line between love and hate, biscuit. And for that, I will never hate Camille Belcourt.” He let go of the bandage and held her hands in his. “And the only person I know that you might feel resentment towards but not fully hate, is your mother.” Clary blinked quickly, a small tear still rolling down her cheek. Magnus didn’t wipe it away. 

“What happened, Clarissa?”

“Mister Magnus, did I make this?” asked Clary, frowning at the small painting framed on the wall in the living room. It definitely looked like her style, but she didn’t recall ever drawing it, let alone Magnus hanging it up.

The warlock looked up from where he was brewing his new potion, and shrugged. “… depends? If I can keep it then yes, if you want it back then no, it’s mine.” He answered, grinning at her.

Instead of answering him, Clary gasped, pointing her paint brush at his face. “Where did the glitter go?” she asked, looking at him in totally genuine shock.

Magnus would have laughed if she hadn’t been so completely serious. He snorted. “Contrarily to popular belief, I don’t wake up flawless. I am not Queen Bey.”

“Can I make you sparkly then?” she asked, and this time Magnus stopped, looking at her in surprise. She looked down at her feet. “You always say you like my art, so… can I make art with your face? Even though you’re already very beautiful?”

Simple question of a simple child. And yet, it was in that moment that Magnus decided that he would never let anything happen to Clary Fray. It was in that moment that he realised he would do anything to keep that baby safe.

“There is this room,” started Magnus, looking away from Clary, “that I made when you were younger.”

“You mean when m- mom came to wipe my memories?” asked the younger girl, tripping over the word mom. Magnus could relate.

“It was your room.” He explained, smiling at her confused expression. “I called it your ideas room. You drew all over the walls, on the carpets, everywhere. And every drawing you did, I hung it in that room. Pictures that I have of you and your mother, and Luke. They’re all in there.”

Clary stared at him for a couple of seconds, standing up on her feet. “Why did you keep them?” she asked him, a hand going to her bandaged arms for a moment.

Magnus just held out his hand for her. “Because I care for you.”

And you were an important part of my life. Because you are the sun, Clary, and you shone through my life with your kindness and your innocence, so rare in a Shadowhunter.

Because for many years, I thought of you as my younger sister, as someone I looked after.

Because you’re special.

“Like you care for Alec?” asked Clary and this time Magnus snorted.

“Like Izzy cares for Alec.” He corrected, and she relaxed at this.

“Show me.”

It’s been months since the last time Magnus saw her. Months since she last drew in her art room. Months since he took every last memory she had of him and the shadow world and erased it for ever.

And now Clary Fray was standing in front of him, every bit the woman he had watched her grow into, standing next to some shadowhunters like a queen reclaiming her throne.

“Clary Fairchild. You've grown into a beautiful young woman.” Its all he can say. He knows it’s foolish, because his magic is powerful. But he wants her to remember. He wants her to know him again.

But of course she doesn’t. Magnus is the best warlock in the entire Brooklyn.

“Magnus Bane. So you’re the one who took my memories.”

And like this, his heart breaks.

Clary stands in the middle of the room, watching everything with rapt eyes and unshed tears, and Magnus wants to comfort her, wants to reach out for her. But he can’t and it hurts more than it should.

“Do you want to be left alone?” asked Magnus, ready to leave the room. Clary wasn’t crying anymore anyway, and she seemed tired as she laid on the huge pouf in the room. But at his words she jerked up on her feet, shaking her head.

“No. Please.”

I don’t know why I care so much for someone I don’t even know.

You are important to me.

I need a friend.

Please?

“Stay with me. Until I fall asleep?” she asked, her nails digging into her own palms again.

Magnus nodded, holding onto her hand like she did with him when Alec had woken up the other day. “I’ll stay with you. Until you need me.”

“I don’t know what relationship we had before,” started Clary, settling back down on the pouf without letting go of Magnus. “And I don’t remember it. But I missed you, Magnus.”

The older man smiled, the weight of his years and memories suddenly feeling lighter than they had in years. “I never left.”