#i’m at the end of my fucking tether lads

[peter-weir]

just got notified my rent will be increasing in the new year so now almost 40% of my weekly income will be going towards rent 🙃 i truly fucking despise the housing crisis in this country and the governments that have, term after term, allowed it to fester unchecked. i hate that australia views housing as assets and vehicles for growth and profit instead of a basic human right that should be accessible and comfortable and attainable for all. i hate that there are no caps on rents in nsw. i hate that i will never own a house. i hate that i’m 30 and that, when my parents were my age, the economy was such that they could afford to own a property but that my generation will never ever know that kind of privilege unless their folks are rich and give them money for a deposit. (related, i so desperately want to start establishing a beautiful garden that will grow old with me and i can be proud of but nope! i don’t own ground to grow things!) i hate the prime minister and his stupid fucking 4 million dollar beachfront house. i hate that whenever i’m debited my rent they charge an extra 80c processing fee and i hate that i’m too lazy to find another avenue of payment that’s free. i hate rental payment apps. I hate that i have to pay money to just exist in my place of residence (not bills, not council fees, just to fucking live there). i fucking cried in the car on the way home

[feeder86]

Billy’s Bad Boy

“Good morning, Rob. The usual?” Billy asked with a smile, as his favourite customer waddled in: a giant, 450lb burly and handsome guy in his mid fifties, with a particular love of all Billy’s tasty treats.

“Yes please!” the greedy guy grinned, swallowing back saliva as he glanced at everything on offer. 

If Rob had been gay and twenty years younger, Billy would have been after him for sure. The guy was so friendly and charismatic; supporting Billy as he worked his way up from owning a little mobile take-out truck, to the large premises he now inhabited in the middle of town. It hadn’t been easy to get the business up and running, but there was clearly a gap in the market for tasty snacks in this town, and Billy was sure going to fill it. 

“Are you working out in this hot sun today, Rob?” Billy asked as he plated up Rob’s usual selection of cream-filled donuts. “You’d best have another one of these - on the house,” he winked flirtatiously at him as he put out another donut on the man’s loaded tray of food. “You’re going to need your energy!”

Rob smiled back, always enjoying the way Billy playfully flirted with him, despite Rob being happily married for thirty years. “You know, my pants don’t quite fit like they used to since I started coming here every day,” the big man joked, rubbing his large, deliciously rounded gut.

“Good! That’s exactly what I like to hear!” Billy nodded back. “You can buy new pants, but you can’t get donuts like mine anywhere else!”

Rob chuckled and mumbled in agreement. “Quite right,” he replied, handing over his card to pay.

“YOU NEED TO KEEP CONTROL OF THAT BOY OF YOURS, ROB PARRY!” shouted a sudden angry voice. “How can you live with yourselves? You need to put him on a fucking leash! He’s an animal! My husband’s car is a fucking wreck because of him!”

Billy turned and looked frantically at Fran, stood behind him, pointing an angry finger at Rob. “Fran!” he shouted, mortified that one of his employees was screaming at a customer. “Get back in the kitchen area, now!” he ordered.

Fran exchanged a few more bitter words at the man before she finally followed her instruction and slid back into the kitchen, every bit as angry as she had been when she burst out. 

“I’m so sorry about that, Rob. I’ll be having a word with Fran. There’s no charge today,” he offered apologetically, handing back the payment card. 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Rob countered, passing back his card to be charged. “My son’s been in trouble with the police again. I know he has a lot to answer for around here. He’s slowly becoming ‘Public Enemy Number One.’ Smashing up that car the other day is the least of it. Trust me, I’ve heard a lot worse than what Fran had to say in the last couple of years. I just don’t know what to do with him. I’m at the end of my tether.”

“Who is your son?” Billy asked, wondering why this was the first he’d heard about the renegade offspring. After all, Rob had been coming for donuts from him for a couple of years by now.

“Jensen Parry,” Rob sighed. “I’m sure you’ve heard the name about town before.”

“Jensen is your son?” Billy asked, hardly believing it. He certainly knew the name. Jensen had earned a somewhat notorious reputation for troublemaking, fighting and joyriding. Billy had been in the year below him in high school, before Jensen had been expelled in his final year, without graduating. There really was nothing about him that seemed in any way connected to Rob. Jensen was a smart-mouthed, arrogant jerk who worked his way from one bed to another with his pretty face and large-framed, overly muscular body; the bad boy that girls knew they should avoid, but never could; even if it was obvious to everyone that he was holding a one-way ticket to prison through all his wild antics.

“He’s not a bad lad,” Rob sighed. “He’s just a little lost. He hangs out with a rough crowd; guys he knows through his gym. But he’s always been easily led and he thinks his ridiculous behaviour is incredibly hilarious. I was exactly the same when I was younger; before I met my wife. I fell in love with her cooking and that was it for me!” he joked with a forced smile, whilst patting his oversized belly. “That’s all my Jensen needs; someone to love and calm him down a bit, in the same way my wife did with me.”

Billy nodded sympathetically at Rob. He couldn’t imagine how much stress it must have caused being the father of Jensen Parry. Despite Rob’s optimism, Billy was inclined to share the opinion of the rest of the town: Jensen was a lost cause.

A few weeks later, Billy was enjoying the opening night of the brand new bar across the street from his store. As a local entrepreneur, he was often invited along to events such as these, and he was more than happy to support local businesses where he could. The bar looked great, although the selection of alcohol on offer was perhaps a little mismatched with the clientele here in town.

“Jensen Parry has just barged his way in,” fretted the girl behind the bar, looking over Billy’s shoulder. “That’s the last thing we need on our opening night! I knew we should have hired someone on the door. He’s going to ruin everything!”

Billy looked back and saw the man they were so worried about, sneering as he looked around, knowing that he wasn’t invited. “Leave him to me,” Billy sighed after downing the last of his beer and standing up. Perhaps something was missing in Billy’s brain, but guys like Jensen didn’t intimidate him like they did most people. His parents had never been much use to him and so he’d learned the fine arts of charm and tact could get him a lot further in life than anything else could. It was how he had survived high school completely unscathed by guys like Jensen, and the reason why so many people came into his store on a regular basis. “Jensen! Hey, buddy!” he called out with his hand outstretched and ready to shake. “Long time, no see!”

“Do I know you?” Jensen asked; a little caught off guard by Billy’s friendliness; seemingly insulted by it perhaps.

“I was in the year below you in high school. But, trust me, buddy, everyone knew who you were!” he chuckled, patting Jensen on his broad back, as if congratulating him on a job well done. “You know, I was telling a friend of mine about the cafeteria stunt you pulled back in the day. She thought I was making it up! She didn’t believe a word of it!”

Jensen’s smirk was full of nostalgia and his suspicion of Billy seemed to be dissipating.

“Care for drink?” Billy asked. “I’d love to know how you did it.”

Jensen looked around, as if searching for a better offer, and finding none. “Sure. Why not?” he nodded, starting to head to the bar when Billy politely stopped him.

“Not here,” Billy whispered. “Shitty, overpriced cocktails are not really my thing. Let’s go somewhere we can get a proper beer.”

Clearly already a little intoxicated, Jensen nodded and started to leave the building, fine to go wherever in order to get a free drink. Billy looked back to see the girl behind the counter mouthing ‘thank you’ to him across the room; clasping her hands as if she had been praying.

Billy’s satisfaction at having lured Jensen out of the bar was soon spoiled by the fact that the security standing outside the next bar simply raised their hands and barred Jensen from entering. “You know you’re not allowed in here,” they explained gruffly. “Beat it!” 

Jensen hurled back a barrage of expletives and on they walked to the next place, where, unfortunately, the same thing happened once again. Billy cringed to be seen with such a loud and openly aggressive guy; no less than two hundred and twenty pounds of giant muscle and taller than any of the security folks. More than once he thought Jensen might start using his fists to get what he wanted. But, even so, Billy still wanted to play his part and keep Jensen from going back to the cocktail bar and spoiling their opening night.

“I know somewhere we can go,” Billy stated, forcing a smile onto his face. He led Jensen back along the street to the front of his store and opened the door. 

“This is your place?” Jensen asked, obviously surprised. 

“It sure is,” Billy nodded. “Take a seat.”

“My dad talks about this place all the time,” Jensen mumbled, taking his seat as instructed. “I think your donuts are the reason why he’s so fucking fat!” he laughed.

“I know your dad,” Billy smiled, heading into the back for a couple of beers. “He’s a funny guy. And as much as I would love to take credit for how big your dad is, I’m pretty sure he was already enormous, even before he started coming in here every day!”

Jensen accepted his beer and chuckled back. “Yeah, dad’s always had a sweet tooth!” There was a warmth in his eyes, as if he truly did love and admire his dad, despite everything he was putting him through. “Mom overfeeds him. He’s like one of those fat, spoiled house cats to her!”

“Well, thanks in part to your dad’s sweet tooth, this place is turning into a little goldmine,” Billy joked, clinking his beer bottle with Jensen’s as if making a toast. “I’m looking into opening another store a few miles away. Then I’ll be able to fatten up a whole load of other folks, just like your dad!” he chuckled.

Jensen seemed a little restless and he was taking his beer down in long, gulping strides. Before Billy would know it, he’d be finished and out that door; back harassing the rest of the town in no time at all.

“You want to try some of the stuff I sell?” Billy asked, trying to hide his desperation to keep Jensen where he was. He didn’t wait for a response before he got up and headed to the kitchen area. “These are the ones your dad likes best,” he explained, returning at lightning speed, holding a plateful of donuts. 

Jensen reached and took one, stuffing it into his mouth in the same way his father did. It was the first similarity between the pair of them that Billy had ever noticed. “So, how many calories are in these things?” Jensen asked suspiciously, taking his second helping.

Billy laughed to himself. “Oh… these things are absolutely PACKED full of calories!” he replied wickedly. “How else do you think I get them to taste so good? Just, keep it to yourself… I don’t want folks getting put off coming here! If they all gain a few pounds, that’s just too bad!” he teased.

“So you really weren’t kidding when you said you were fattening everyone up around here,” Jensen nodded with strange approval. Undeterred, he picked up the next donut and fed it into his mouth. Now that Billy was looking properly, the similarities between Jensen and his father really were quite striking.

Despite everything, Billy found that he had quite enjoyed his conversation with Jensen that night. After discussing school days, the conversation had turned to Jensen’s dad, since that was the only other connection they shared. It really seemed to Billy that Jensen looked up to his father in ways that most people wouldn’t be able to identify. And for that, Billy found that he actually quite liked the town’s ‘bad boy’ after all.

“How did Jensen’s court case go?” Billy asked a couple of months later as Rob came in for his morning coffee and donut.

“A suspended sentence with community service,” Rob sighed with relief. “We’re all so relieved the judge went so easy on him. Now he’s just got to keep his nose clean for two years,” he grumbled pessimistically.

“That’s excellent news!” Billy beamed, surprising himself with how much better he felt, knowing that Jensen wasn’t sitting in a prison cell right now.

“You’ve been a great help these last few weeks, you know,” Rob went on, looking with the utmost sincerity into Billy’s eyes. “He likes coming in here and having a chat with you. You’re one of the few people in town who actually bothers with him. It’s what he needs, you know; a level-headed friend. Not one of those stupid gym buddies of his. A bunch of jerks, every one of them!”

“Jensen’s a nice guy,” Billy nodded. “Sure, he’s made mistakes. But who hasn’t?”

“I’m glad you think so,” Rob smiled, looking around to see if anyone else was listening in. “Because I think you might be the key to keeping him out of trouble for the next few months.” With that, he reached into his deep pocket and brought out a thick wad of rolled up notes, passing them to Billy.

“Rob? What the hell is this?” Billy gasped, wanting to pass it back immediately.

“I know you give him free donuts and coffees when he comes in. You don’t have to do that and you shouldn’t be out of pocket because of it.”

“Well… that’s just… me being nice,” Billy mumbled. “But this is…” His eyes boggled at how much cash was in his hand still. “Rob, there’s no way he’s eaten enough for this amount of money.”

“No, I know that,” Rob admitted. “But the more time he’s in here with you, the less time he has out there, getting himself into trouble with the scum that he hangs around with.”

Billy tried to protest, but Rob was having none of it. And, not wanting to argue with his favourite customer, Billy eventually slipped the bundle of notes into his pocket with an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. Rob really was counting on him to help keep Jensen on the straight and narrow. However, that was probably going to take a lot more than just a few donuts and coffees.

“If I get this job, I’ll be able to start paying you back for all these snacks and coffees you give me,” Jensen smiled as he bit into his third donut of the day.

“If you get that job, you’re going to start paying back your mom for trashing her car first!” Billy laughed. “I love that you thought about giving me something, but these donuts cost almost nothing to make. You don’t need to feel guilty about having a few lousy treats.” 

The guilt of having so much money handed to him still weighed heavily on Billy’s mind. Two or three donuts a day didn’t seem enough to cover it all and he found himself upping his game on a daily basis; an extra coffee here, a milkshake there, with more added whipped cream,. But just the fact that Jensen was talking about the idea of holding down a steady job was such a huge step for him. Before, he had crashed from one employment to another, exhausting his dad’s many contacts within the construction industry until he was no longer welcome anywhere.

“How’re things going with that second store you wanted to open?” Jensen asked. “You’ll have a whole new town to fatten up with your treats soon!”

Billy smirked. He’d only been joking when he’d said that he was fattening up the neighbourhood, but Jensen had seemed to hang onto that idea as if Billy really was that wicked. Then again, perhaps he was, Billy chuckled to himself. “I’m still looking for the right premises,” he explained. “So, for now, I’m just going to focus on fattening up everyone in this town first,” he winked.

“That’s fine by me!” Jensen nodded. “One of the guys my dad works with says he’s gained thirty pounds since you opened up here.”

“Which one is that?” Billy asked, trying to think of the many construction guys he’d seen with Jensen’s dad.

“Steve. The younger one with short brown hair.”

“Oh, yes! I know who you mean,” Billy laughed to himself. “Yeah, that one is getting proper little man boobs and everything! He clearly doesn’t work out in a gym like you do and I get the impression that he’s fairly lazy in work; so of course it’s going to stick. But he orders the orange cream donuts and they really are VERY fattening indeed! Plus, I may occasionally slip him a couple of free ones, which partly explains why his ass has got a bit of width to it recently,” he joked. “I’m sure his wife wouldn't thank me!”

“The orange cream one? I don’t think I’ve ever tried that,” Jensen pondered cheekily.

“Coming right up!” Billy smiled with delight, pleased to offload as much as he could to relieve his conscience for all the money he had taken off Rob.

The more Billy’s business brain thought about the town, the more he realised that there were loads of opportunities for extending his menu with things that you couldn’t really get anywhere else: waffles, local ice creams, pancakes. There were so many ways he could expand his operation. He spoke at length about the ideas to Jensen who really was nothing if not encouraging.

“Are you still seeing that Bethany girl behind your friend’s back?” Billy asked disapprovingly. “You know it’s only going to cause a whole load of shit when he finds out?”

“She’s the one who always comes on to me!” Jensen smirked indignantly, thinking himself blameless. “Like I’m going to say no to a free blowjob?”

“She’s bad news!” Billy cautioned. “When it all comes out, there’s going to be a massive fight and her boyfriend is going to do his best to make you break your probation and have you sent off to prison. You know none of those guys from the gym really care about you. Is a quick fuck with Bethany really worth going to prison for?”

“You really don’t like my gym friends, do you?” Jensen laughed.

“Not one bit,” Billy replied honestly. “If I had one wish, it would be for you to walk away from those jerks down at the gym and never look back. It would be the best move you could ever make.”

Jensen sat back a little in his chair, raising his eyebrows at the idea of giving up his whole social group. “You really do give a fuck about me, don’t you?” he asked, a little thrown by how the conversation had turned.

“You know I do,” Billy nodded sincerely. “I just want the best for you.”

A small, playful grin came to Jensen’s face and he sat up again, as if he had had the most marvellous idea. “Tell me to quit the gym and I’ll do it,” he stated with a sudden rush of enthusiasm.

“Just like that?” Billy laughed sceptically.

“Yeah. Just like that!” Jensen nodded. “Go on. Tell me to quit!” he insisted, as if daring or seducing Billy in some way.

“Quit the gym then,” Billy relented. “Cut up your membership card and never see those meat heat buddies of yours again.”

Jensen sat back, looking pleased with himself. “Your wish… is my command!”

With the introduction of Billy’s new expanded menu over the coming weeks, Billy found he was playing host to Jensen more than ever before. It seemed, rather remarkably, that Jensen had been true to his word. He’d not been down to see his old friends at the gym once and there hadn’t been a single complaint about him in town.

“Whatever you’re doing, just keep on doing it,” Jensen’s father smiled, passing over far too much cash for his impromptu evening visit and spotting his son in the corner; his back turned and watching videos on his cell phone while nibbling on things that Billy had brought over.

“Rob, not that I don’t love having Jensen here, but is there anything you could do to help him find some work? He just sort of hangs around all day and I’m a bit worried that all this food is…” He looked across at Jensen just as he scratched his side, lifting his shirt and giving a glimpse of a fleshy, budding love handle.

“People won’t hire him because of how much he’s dicked around in his jobs in the past. It’s his own fault,” Rob grumbled unsympathetically. “And if you’re worried that he’s getting a little chubby - good! Just let him. His mother and I have no intentions of becoming grandparents anytime soon, so the fewer chances he has to get some crazy girl pregnant, the better!”

“But…” Billy tried, looking over again as Jensen started a fresh plate of food, biting in with as much gusto as his father.

Rob went back into his wallet and pulled out a few more notes of cash, stuffing them into Billy’s shirt pocket. “Trust me,” he whispered. “Just let this play out…”

Jensen’s body was changing. It was obvious to anyone that the guy had done steroids in the past to get his body so packed with muscle, but now that his gym had been taken away from him, he seemed to be softening up with quite remarkable speed. Billy had noticed the little love handles starting to sprout and the way his pecs were beginning to look ‘full’ rather than pumped. But there was also the slight puffiness to his face and the softening of his jawline and buttocks to think about too.

“How was that? Do you think it would work on the regular menu?”  Billy asked as he picked up Jensen’s plate.

“Very nice!” Jensen beamed. “I think it worked really well. Maybe just add a little more cream at the side though.”

“More cream?” Billy asked in surprise. Jensen really had inherited his father’s sweet tooth. “Okay, good suggestion,” he nodded unconvinced. “Do you want to try something a little more savoury now?”

“I’d love to,” Jensen nodded, going straight back to playing a game on his phone.

“He’s getting fat, that one,” Fran grumbled as she looked over at Billy bringing back Jensen’s plate. “Look at him! Sat there all day on his cell phone, stuffing his face. It couldn’t happen to a nicer person!” she sneered sarcastically. Billy could tell from her tone that she still couldn’t bear the sight of him, much like the rest of the town. “He’s going to end up just like his idiot father in no time.”

Billy tried to breathe a little deeper and calm himself down. He’d always loved chubby guys and hearing Fran comment on Jensen’s changing appearance, like she was doing, only seemed to be arousing a strange desire within him. “Bacon and cheese waffle for table eight, please” he ordered simply.

Fran looked straight over to Jensen again, sat on table eight. “Fuck me! Not more food? Hasn’t he got somewhere else to be?”

“Bacon and cheese waffle for table eight,” Billy repeated, not wanting to engage in any sort of conversation with her right then.

“Fine!” Fran grumbled, knowing that she and her boss would never agree when it came to Jensen. “I’ll feed the fatso!” she complained, starting to walk back to the kitchen area. “I’ll pile it up with that really greasy cheese; see how the pig likes that!”

Billy closed his eyes and took a second to breathe behind the counter. He was supposed to be helping Jensen turn his life around,and yet, his boner for him seemed impossible to quash of late. The guilt of taking money from Jensen’s dad and now these feelings of arousal; Billy started to feel like the most morally corrupt person on the planet. His eyes popped open as he heard Jensen’s chair scrape along the floor and he watched as the town’s bad boy took himself off to the bathroom; leading with a stout little paunch and displaying his wider, overly padded rear as the door closed behind him. He didn’t know where all this was going, but he suddenly felt like he had lost control of it entirely.

“How would you like a job in the kitchen of my new store?” Billy asked triumphantly. It was the perfect solution. Jensen needed a job, Billy wanted to help him, and it was the best way to keep the guy busy all day without overloading him on fat and calories. Getting him out of town was also bound to help the guy find himself again; away from the scornful faces and shady characters he had mixed with in the past.

“Seriously?” Jensen asked; his face lighting up. “You want to give me a job?”

“It’s yours if you want it?” Billy smiled.

“Yes! Absolutely!” Jensen beamed, suddenly getting up and enveloping Billy in a massive hug that quietly made Billy flush bright red with unwanted lust.

“It’s in Clinton though. You think you could make it there for your shifts? I know you’re not allowed to drive for quite a while still.”

“I’ll get the bus. And I’m sure my dad will help me out every now and then.” He was beaming from ear to ear and pulled Billy in for yet another hug. “I’m so glad I met you!” he smiled, never using his gruffer, defensive tone around Billy anymore.

“Well, I’m very glad I met you too,” Billy nodded, not making eye contact and looking for a way to retreat back to the kitchen before his erection pressed too firmly against his pants.

There was one major flaw in Billy’s plan. Outraged by the idea of Jensen working in the new store, Fran declared that she would have nothing to do with training him up to work in the kitchen. If Billy was going to put everything he’d worked so hard for at risk, she wasn’t going to be a part of it. And so, in the hours after the store closed, Billy had no choice but to invite Jensen in to show him how to prepare all of the deliciously fattening treats he had gorged on for the last few months. But if Billy had found himself aroused by Jensen as he simply sat down at the table to be served, having to stand beside him and see him from all those different angles was even more of a challenge. Perhaps it was because Billy knew Jensen’s father’s shape so well, he could see how Jensen’s body was swelling in an all too similar fashion. The extreme height, the awkward way his pants were starting to fit across his broad butt which had always been so tight and athletic looking up until a few months ago. Under his broad chest, it was undeniable that a firm-looking, rounded pot belly was beginning to push its way out, just like it must have done all those years ago on his father, before that monstrous ball gut had finally taken hold of him.

Jensen was a good student, listening carefully and taking it all in as Billy demonstrated some of the dishes. He completed one and Jensen would greedily offer to consume it while watching the next. Even the sound of his chewing and swallowing was getting to Billy as he tried his hardest to stay focused. Jensen had always been a large man, but it was so incredibly arousing to know that with each bite, the greedy boy was just going to get bigger… and bigger.

“Jensen is really excited about his new job,” Rob smiled the next day as he came in to order even more snacks than usual for all the guys working on a job not too far away. Billy knew that such a spending spree was the guy’s way of showing his appreciation.

“I think he’ll be great at it,” Billy replied. “And, hopefully it will get him up on his feet a little more than he has been recently.”

“Yeah, he’s starting to take after his old man!” Rob chuckled, rubbing his enormous gut as if he was proud of it.

“Well, maybe just a little bit,” Billy conceded, wondering why even this conversation was getting him aroused.

“His mom is worried about how fast he’s piling on the pounds, but I say leave him to it. I remember how exciting it was for me, back in the day, getting a belly for the first time. Jensen is just the same, I’m absolutely positive.”

“Exciting?” Billy asked, captivated by Rob’s use of the word.

“Oh, absolutely!” Rob nodded, passing over his payment card. “I think we’re just wired differently in our family. My father was the same, my two brothers, a few of Jensen’s cousins, his older brother. Let’s just say, he’s been around a lot of extremely fat guys his entire life.It’s not hard to feel a little envious at times.”

Billy had always wondered about his strange fascination in watching his customers slowly pile on a few pounds. He’d made a joke of it to Jensen more than once. But was it possible that someone could appreciate it from the other perspective as well. Was Jensen’s father right? Was gaining weight something that Jensen actively… enjoyed? 

Watching from a distance, Billy studied Jensen keenly in a way that he hadn’t allowed himself to in the past. He’d never noticed how often the guy’s hand reached down to rub his little tummy, or the way his face only seemed to get more and more excited with each item he ate. It also appeared, judging by the heavy sighing and strained pauses that came later on, that Jensen was in some way forcing himself to eat; as if the act of eating was no longer about the enjoyment of the taste, but a task that had to be completed at all costs.

“It looks like we’ve already got a good bunch of regulars,” Billy smiled after their first two weeks in the new store. “I think we’re a hit!” he declared, looking at the sales for the week whilst Jensen boxed up the last few items left over from the day. “Take those home with you,” Billy pointed at the leftover raspberry cream donuts which had not sold well all week. “They obviously don’t like them so much here. I’m taking them off the menu.”

Jensen’s piggish eyes lit up and he immediately grabbed one to take a large bite, nodding his head in appreciation, like he hadn’t eaten all day long. In truth, Billy had allowed him to consume as much as he wanted all day long; remembering the additional large bundle of notes the guy’s father had given him not so long ago. He’d ordered Jensen an extra-large work shirt with the company logo on, but already it was looking overly stretched across the almost constantly bloated stomach.

“Did you notice that blonde girl came in twice today? You know, the one I said was checking you out yesterday,” Billy teased playfully. She;d seemed like a nice girl: pleasant, well spoken and together; exactly the sort of girl Jensen needed. “I think she has a bit of a crush on you…”

Jensen shook his head. “No chance!” he chuckled between bites. “I have other priorities at the moment.” With that, he pushed the remainder of his donut into his mouth and prepared the next one ready, while his other hand gently rubbed his stomach, as if soothing it. 

“Oh yeah?” Billy asked curiously. “And what priorities are these?”

There were a few moments of quiet as Jensen chewed and swallowed the oversized piece that he had put into his mouth. “I’m just focusing on improving myself at the moment,” he answered.

“Does that include giving yourself a sixty-five inch gut like your dad?” Billy asked, his eyes popping open with shock the second the words left his mouth. For the briefest moment, his tongue had simply run away with itself.

Jensen simply smirked and looked across at Billy as if he was impressed by the comment. “What do you expect when your boss insists that you eat the leftovers every night after work?”

“I hardly insisted…” Billy chuckled, enjoying the playful way he and Jensen had become accustomed to speaking to each other.

“You just told me to finish all the donuts or I’m fired!” Jensen teased, pushing the next one, almost whole, into his mouth.

“You’re ridiculous!” Billy laughed, watching the guy’s puffed up and bulging cheeks and he tried to chew the massive quantity of donut. “All right then!” he chuckled. “If that’s how you want to play it… those chocolate brownies need to go as well tonight. Eat them up, or you’re fired,” he joked.

Jensen grabbed the leftovers as well as the large carton of whole milk they had been using that day, taking a long long swig to stop his mouth from getting dry. Then he burped, loud and long, like a man more than double his size. “No worries, boss!” he declared; enjoying their game. “I’ll have them all cleared away within the next five minutes!”

Over the coming weeks, Billy found that he had never threatened to fire an employee more than he had with Billy. It was their own private code; their way of playing. Billy would come over at the end of the shift to help close up and then he’d watch as Jensen stuffed himself as if his job really did depend on it. But the results of their little game? Well, those were truly the best part of all. Billy’s butt had ballooned out, along with his thighs, and he often arrived to work looking a little underdressed in sweatpants that were more accommodating to his developing shape. Some might have said he was less striking without that strong jawline, but Billy simply adored the way his employee was getting such a double chin and puffier, rounder cheeks on his face. The outrageous muscular definition gained from years at the gym had slowly been masked by a creeping layer of fat, settling all over Jensen’s body. As that layer thickened, it was increasingly difficult to tell that the guy had ever been anything but doughy. Billy could see the blubber ripple in his love handles as he trotted about, and the depth of Jensen’s belly button was a constant presence, visible through the way his undersized and poorly shaped shirts fitted across his torso.

“How would you feel about staying in the little apartment above the store here?” Billy asked the large, remarkably altered man that stood before him a few months later. “It would save you having to get a bus here, or dragging your dad out to pick you up. You’d be doing me a favour, having someone here at night. I wouldn’t charge you.”

“Seriously?” Jensen asked in disbelief. “You’d just let me just have it?”

“Sure,” Billy smiled, finding a true joy came to him whenever he spoiled Jensen in any way that he could. “I think it would be good for you.”

“My own place…” Jensen murmured, picturing it in his head. It had been just over eighteen months since he’d been on the edge of going to prison, and now here he was, holding down a steady job and about to have his own place. “You are like my guardian angel,” he smiled.

“I’m glad you think so,” Billy chuckled, feeling suddenly embarrassed by Jensen’s sincerity. “Now, there are a load of cream cakes over there that I can’t refrigerate tonight. Get them down… or you’re fired,” he teased.

 “We’re not used to seeing you in our store these days,” Rob smiled a few weeks later, surprised to witness Billy behind the counter and not in his new store with Jensen. “I’m used to the ever delightful Fran serving me these days, and she’s not so generous with the freebies,” he whispered so that the grumpy woman wouldn’t hear him.

“Oh, well, we’ll have to sort that out!” Billy beamed, already thinking what he should give to Jensen’s oversized father. “Are you enjoying the peace and quiet now that Jensen’s moved out?”

“Very much so!” Rob nodded; his piggy eyes watching keenly as Billy picked out his complimentary offerings. “Joyce and I finally have the house to ourselves again for the first time in thirty years! It’s like we’re newlyweds again! She’s giving me all her attention like she never could once the boys were born. I’ve gained twenty-five pounds in two months!” he laughed at himself, patting his enormous gut.

“Lucky you!” Billy grinned, deciding to give the man two free extra helpings instead. “I’m sure you’re having the time of your life.”

“After all Jensen’s put us through over the years, I never thought we’d get to this point where we could just sit back and relax like this. And I know Jensen is having just as much fun being away from us.”

Billy smiled and couldn’t help but agree with Rob. Judging by how round Jensen’s stomach had been getting in the last couple of weeks, Jensen was enjoying himself immensely.

It was gone midnight when the alert came on to Billy’s cell phone. Something had tripped the alarm in Jensen’s store and a message had automatically been sent to him. He got up and tried to call his live-in tenant to investigate whether it was the system playing up again, but when there was no answer and Billy knew he’d have to drive over to see for himself.

Pulling up, Billy could see the lights still on in Jensen’s apartment and he tutted to himself that the guy hadn’t answered his phone and saved Billy the trouble of having to come over here so late at night. The shutters were down on the store and there was no obvious sign that anyone had broken in, so Billy simply rolled up the shutters and opened the door to head in and reset the system. He punched in a couple of numbers and the software was reset. The clunky old thing needed changing if it was going to keep playing up like this, Billy grumbled to himself. But as Billy looked around, he saw that the door to the hallway leading upstairs, the one that was usually locked, had been left open, triggering the alarm. Had Jensen come down and carelessly set off the alarm himself?

“Jensen?” Billy called up the stairs, seeing that the lights were on and, as he got closer, the door to the apartment upstairs was wide open. “Is everything all right?”

Billy hadn’t been up here since he’d handed the space over to Jensen, and it surprised him how awkward he felt walking in. The television was on, and as Billy turned the corner, he saw the shape of Jensen sat up in a kitchen chair with his back to Billy. “There you are!” Billy sighed in relief. “I’m sorry to pop in, it’s just the alarm system…”

Billy stopped talking the moment his eyes took in the vision of Jensen before him: completely naked, the man sat, tied to the chair with leather straps. A kinky gag was resting between his teeth to prevent him from speaking and, even more bizarrely, a plastic pig snout was resting over his nose. Without his clothes on, the evidence of how much weight Jensen had gained was all too clear. Billy had no idea that his nipples had grown so pointed, nor that his fat belly could cover up his crotch as much as it was doing now; slowly becoming every bit of the ball gut his father had. People might have been surprised to learn that Jensen was well over four hundred pounds, but it really was obvious once all those concealing clothes were stripped from him. He was so tall, so broad and large-chested, yet he had still amassed the most shocking of bellies.

Jensen’s eyes were wide with alarm at having been caught as he was right now. Billy stuttered, wondering what to say, when his composure faltered and the urge to laugh became all too much for him, “Jensen Parry, you bad boy!” he teased. “Just what have you been up to now?”

As Billy went to unclip the gag, he noticed a tattoo on Jensen’s shoulder; that of a pink, round and plump pig. Jensen had many tattoos on his body, but this one had to be new, for Billy had never seen it on any of the shirtless gym selfies Jensen used to post. Billy was sensing a theme…

“I’m so sorry!” Jensen gasped the moment his gag was off. “I was with a girl and she… well, she thought she was being funny and kinky, leaving me here like this. I knew the moment I heard her open the wrong door downstairs that she was going to set off the alarm.”

Still strapped by his ankles, knees and wrists to the chair, Billy didn’t rush to remove the pig snout. It was far too amusing and entertaining seeing Jensen trying to explain himself whilst wearing it. “She sounds charming!” Billy chuckled, seeing the predicament Jensen had been left in. “Have you known her long?” he asked, enjoying seeing Jensen squirm as he tried to engage in simple chit chat, dressed, or rather, undressed, as he was.

“I met her on an app,” Jensen mumbled, trying to gently shake the straps on his wrists. “We’ve only met up a couple of times. She’s kinda into bondage,” he explained sheepishly.

“That’s not all you’ve been up to!” Billy grinned, looking around the space surrounding Jensen. Wrappers and soda cans were discarded on the floor, while a gallon of full fat milk sat, half-finished on the table, next to a strange looking funnel. He bent down and picked up Jensen’s t-shirt, surprised by the weight of it, given how much material was becoming necessary to cover the man’s swollen form.

Jensen blushed. “It was nothing,” he mumbled, clearly embarrassed. “She wasn’t very good at it anyway.”

“Is there a key for the straps?” Billy asked, deciding that Jensen had suffered enough.

“Over there, on the counter,” Jensen motioned with his head. 

Billy collected the small key, wondering how on earth the girl had ever expected Jensen to free himself without help. As he bent down to unlock the ankle lock, he tried wedging the key in to find that it wouldn’t even sit properly inside. And, upon further inspection, the same was true of the other side. “You’ve busted it when you tried to free yourself,” he sighed, looking up and suddenly catching an eyeful of Jensen’s erection, visible as Billy crouched down; the added ropes around the man’s knees preventing him from hiding anything.

“Sorry!” Jensen shot, mortified that Billy had seen his boner. “I just wasn’t expecting you to… I’m not…” he faltered. “Try the wrist straps!” he finally insisted, in an attempt to change the subject altogether.

Billy half-heartedly tried to unlock the wrists, before he declared that the key simply wasn’t going to work. “I think you might be stuck like this for a while,” he teased.

“You’re enjoying this!” Jensen complained, starting to realise that his saviour wasn’t about to free him anytime soon.

“And you’re not?” Billy chuckled, stepping back and deciding to crouch down with his knees outstretched, back at a level where he could see Jensen’s hardness again. He heard the guy squirm, but under such scrutiny, it was obvious that the man’s dick was only filling with more and more blood. “So, what was the deal? She came over and indulged her bondage kink, and in return, you got her to feed you all this stuff?” Billy asked, picking up a selection of empty wrappers that littered the floor.

Seeming to accept his situation more, Jensen nodded.

Billy smirked, pleased that he had guessed correctly first time. He really did know Jensen inside and out by now. Maybe even enough to push their invisible boundaries just a little more…  “But, you said she wasn’t very good at it. So, I’m guessing you’re still hungry?” he smiled, finding a few still wrapped Twinkies on the floor and starting to get one of them out.

Jensen swallowed back saliva and he nodded with his greedy eyes fixed on the sugary snack. Without prompting, he opened his mouth once Billy’s hand drew nearer. As Billy sat the edge of the Twinkie on the guy’s tongue, he noticed that Jensen wasn’t biting into it. He pushed it in a little further, but still the guy left his mouth wide open. Finally with the tips of his fingers, Billy crammed the entire thing in until Jensen’s mouth was completely filled and he began chewing at last. Then he moaned, as deeply and passionately as if they were having sex; gazing up into Billy’s eyes.

“Careful, buddy!” Billy chuckled, starting to sense that something deeply sexual was happening between himself and Jensen now. “If you keep eating like that, you’re going to get absolutely enormous.”

Jensen chewed faster and swallowed. “That’s exactly what I want to happen,” he moaned. His gluttonous eyes looked down at the next Twinkie in Billy’s hand, but seeing that it wasn’t so forthcoming, he carried on explaining himself. “Do you know how much it fucks you over when you grow up knowing that all you really want in life is to become a gigantic ball of lard? I tried so hard to fight it. I wanted to find my thrills in other ways: stealing cars, getting into fights and not giving a shit. I got involved with the wrong crowds and I pushed myself to get massive in the gym instead, but…”

Billy grinned wickedly, feeling more aroused than he had ever been in his life. “But, you’re just a fat pig!” he finished with a smirk, prodding a finger into the shelf of belly fat that had formed under Jensen’s broad and increasingly fleshy chest.

Jensen moaned louder than ever as his fat was pressed and poked. “Oh, I want to be!” he insisted. “I want to be taken and fattened. I want to be someone’s gigantic, greedy pig!” He looked into Billy’s eyes again, as if searching for that connection he knew they both shared. “I wanted it to be you, so badly!” he insisted once more. “I wanted you to order me to stop going to the gym and stuff me full of all your most fattening treats. I wanted you to get hard as you watched my body transform for you; as you saw me grow fat and soft.”

“Trust me, that’s definitely been happening,” Billy grunted as he tried to adjust the thick boner that had swollen down one side of his pants. His body tingled with energy, his brain lighting up with arousal. It seemed to build into a crescendo, until his hands gently ripped open the next Twinkie and stuffed it into Jensen’s mouth whole. With one hand, he steadied the back of Jensen’s head, and with the other, he pressed it over the guy’s mouth, not allowing a single crumb to escape as he chewed. “Come on then, Piggy!” he breathed, giving himself over entirely to the lust inside of him. “Let’s do it! Let’s turn you into the fattest pig out there!” 

When Jensen had swallowed enough of the large Twibkie in his mouth, Billy took his hand down to rub the amazing, sweaty gut that was taking over Jensen’s form. It had always looked so firm and packed, but up close like this, it was clear how blubbery and lardy it was beneath the skin. He grabbed at it, finding that it rolled easily into a pinchable handful and used his grip to gently rock the entire mass of fat. Then, out of curiosity, he reached under Jenen’s fat gut and grabbed at the exposed hardness between his enormous thighs. It was so hard and only started to pulse further as Billy began stroking it. “Oh, yes!” Jensen encouraged him. “Yes!”

Billy grabbed at the key again and forced it into the locks on Jensen’s wrists. With enough brute force, the click finally came and they released. With their freedom, Jensen’s fascinated hands immediately began rubbing Billy’s hardness over the material of his pants as Billy leaned over him, untying the ropes across Jensen’s knees. Once they were free, Jensen stood and the legs of the chair were lifted easily from the shackles, though the leather straps remained wrapped loosely around the fat man’s ankles. He pulled off the little pig snout and threw it onto the floor.

“I love you,” Jensen whispered passionately after the pair of them fell into their first kiss. “I’ve loved you since the first night we met. I just knew that you were the most special person I would ever meet in my life. I just never dreamed that I could be good enough for you.”

Billy shook his head in sadness at hearing that Jensen saw himself as being unworthy. “I love you too,” he shot back, realising that he had been feeling this way for quite some time. “I just want to give you everything I possibly can. The best of everything!”

Jensen sighed in happiness. “Make me enormous then!” he whispered. “Don’t stop until I’m completely unrecognisable! Until I’m nothing but a big, fat pig!”

The pair fell into another, even more passionate kiss, and gently slid backwards into the bedroom area as Billy felt his clothes being pulled off him. He wondered what people would think once they knew he was with Jensen Parry, the bad boy that they had once so despised. 

But Jensen hadn’t been a bad boy in quite some time now. Quietly, and at his own pace, he’d been transforming himself into what he’d really needed to be all along: the biggest, fattest pig in town. Now Jensen wouldn’t have to make that journey alone anymore. For, as they both came that night, Billy knew that he was going to be there for every delicious, blubbery step of the way.

[wyn-n-tonic]

It’s me, the 30 day sex challenge anon, back with another thought...on the complete opposite end of the spectrum...how would the lads handle an abstinence challenge (a la 40 Days and Nights—a Josh Hartnett masterpiece)? Like, who’s cool as a cucumber and who is a horny hot mess by day three?

Oh. Oh. Oh no. 

We'll go with my same five babies from before, just to make this easy.

Francisco Morales: You approach him carefully about it, not wanting to hurt his feelings. Sex has always been great but, lately, you're just feeling exhausted with life and work and house and kids. When you fall into bed and your passionate, amazing wife guy of a husband wants to eat you out or help you relax, you let him and you love it because you love him... But you've been thinking lately that you don't necessarily enjoy it anymore because you always get it. You tell him it's not him, genuinely, that it's you. That it's life, that it's everything and you're afraid you're numb to the passion and sensations you felt and you want to detox and reset. He's sad, because he thinks that it is something he did but he understands. 

You make it almost a whole month when you come home one day and find him there, cooking dinner while your babies sit at the kitchen table having an animated conversation with him. Arousal pools within you immediately, you are absolutely feral for this man--your husband, the father of your babies. "Baby," he greets you, "come taste this and tell me if it needs anything." He holds his finger out with a bit of sauce on it like he normally does but instead of just licking it clean, you swirl your tongue around the tip a few times, doe eyes up at him never breaking eye contact. You rush through dinner and bed time routines so you can get to the bedroom faster. You both swear it's the best sex you've ever had and resolve to put distance between your escapades in order to achieve this high again.

Din Djarin: You brought it up because your relationship has been constant sex since you crossed that bridge and you don't want him to become desensitized to touch the way he was touch starved for so long. You fall back to the quiet intimacies you shared in the beginning of your relationship. He loves your soft hands so much and he gets hard every time you touch him, no matter where you touch him, but he's a good boy. You make it the forty days but only barely as a particularly heavy make out session on the 39th day turns into foreplay turns into sex. You only notice the day the next morning when you wake up, him completely bare, chest pressed to your back on the tiny cot of the living quarters. 

Javier Peña: He hates this. What the fuck are you guys doing? This is is something you picked up from one of those fucking magazines and he's livid. He's gone to type out a strongly worded to the editor of Cosmo or Vogue or some shit every goddamn day. He threw the nicorette out, he's mainlining packs of Marlboro Lights like they're the only things tethering him to this life and they are. Because he can't even touch himself according to the rules of this stupid fucking challenge. Challenge? Against who? If he finds out Steve had anything to do with this, he's putting a bullet in that man's dick. He counts the days down on the calendar. When he gets home on the fortieth day, he's takes you on the kitchen floor, eating you like a man starved and he has been. He's determined to pull at least three orgasms out of you with his mouth because he knows the moment you touch him, he's going to blow and he can't leave you unsatisfied too.

Marcus Pike: It was his idea! He thinks that your relationship can benefit from pursuing other hobbies with one another and not just sex. You take cooking classes, dancing lessons, fucking wood working tutorials. You're stuck at home with canceled plans one night because the beer garden got rained out so you decide to cook one of those fancy dishes you learned together. It's been a month and you're losing it, breaking down with wine soaked sobs asking if you did something wrong that made him want to do this. The smoke alarm goes off as he's reassuring you. Once dinner is sufficiently ruined, he pulls you into his chest and tells you that you did nothing wrong, it was just something stupid he read online and thought it would be an interesting experiment. He takes you to bed and makes love to you while holding your hand so that you know he has nothing but love for you. Your stomach growls against his hand in the shared shower half an hour later and he pops out to order a pizza for you both.

Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels: "Oh, Sugar, I don't think I'm going to be able to keep my hands off of you for more than forty seconds." You tell him to figure it out so he takes every out of town mission that Champ will give him.

[adamarks]

simon snow has fucking dragon powers or some shit and this is my goddamn proof

Whilst you people were having a meltdown over Baz and Simon not hashing it out (Simon’s not in a place of understanding his self worth enough for that yet.), I was having a meltdown about Simon Snow The Literal Fucking Dragon. 

Now, this is obviously going to have major spoilers for Wayward Son. I’m going to assume you’ve read it if you’re reading this. I’ve put a lot of thought into this theory and this is a long ass post so I’m putting it under the cut. Now. Let’s go, lesbians!

First and foremost, let’s start with the wings and tail. 

Simon’s wings are established at the very beginning of Wayward Son to represent something. We don’t really get to quite know what that something is until they start referring to Simon’s wings the same way they used to refer to his magic. 

The most direct reference to Simon’s wings symbolizing his magic is in Simon’s section of the prologue at the very end of the book:

“It’s time for me to stop pretending I’m some sort of superhero. I was that-- I really was-- but I’m not anymore. I don’t belong in the same world as sorcerers and vampires. That’s not my story.

Dr. Wellbelove said he could remove the wings. And the tail. Whenever I’m ready. I could go back to school then, or get a job...”

This section directly confirms that yes, these wings are a metaphor for Simon’s magic. They’re all he has left connect him to the world of magic. They’re the only thing still making him feel even remotely on the same level as Baz and Penelope. (This book really was all about the concept of self-worth and how completely lacking it affects not only us but those we love. Phew, talk about a doozy. No wonder we’re all crying.)

Now that we’ve established that Simon’s wings, at the very least, are his one tether to magic, let’s drive the nail into the coffin of the wings and tail being absolutely, 100% symbolic of his magic. 

As I mentioned earlier, the book starts treating the wings exactly the same as it treated his magic. This even starts before Wayward Son. The first mention of Simon’s emotions relating to his wings and tail is in the first book. In the epilogue, in Baz’s section, during the dance scene. 

“His tail whips out of my hand. It tends to slash around when he’s upset.”

This really starts to come out in the last fourth of Wayward when he’s “itching for a fight.”

His wings constantly poke, prod, and generally annoy Baz and Penny because he refuses to put them away. Almost.... like... how his magic..... felt suffocating.... and too much... and he couldn’t push it back... or tamp it down. *cough*

Okay, so that was all pretty basic, boring, base-building stuff, yeah?  Pretty “whatever we get it.” 

Well, here’s where it starts to get fun. 

Let’s talk about Simon’s Mirrors.

Lemme just explain what the hell a mirror is, first. In case we all flunked our high school Lit classes. 

A mirror character is, in simple terms, a character that acts, looks like, or reminds you of one of the main characters. Through these “mirror characters” some important information about the main character is revealed to us subtextually. 

Let’s name our Simon mirrors:

Ebb 

Agatha (she’s being developed as her own character but that’s not stopping her from mirroring our good lad.)

Aunt Fiona (to some extent anyway. she doesn’t really factor here.) 

There might be some minor ones I’m forgetting (I’m not including foils) but these are our main guys. 

I put Ebb on the list first, but let’s start with Agatha, the cranky heroine of our dreams. 

Throughout the whole first book, Agatha is shown to be Simon’s mirror. Them both mooning over Baz in almost the exact same way. (Jesus Christ they’re embarrassing to watch.) The waiting on rooftops, the handkerchief. (Don’t get me started on Simon carrying around Baz’s scarf in Wayward. I’m soft and everything hurts. Our poor, stupid, stupid boys.) It’s not exactly subtle. 

In Carry On, Agatha reveals just how much Simon also resents his fate. He never really expresses it, but Agatha is reflecting to us how he’s feeling. They both get progressively less resigned to the bullshit “Chosen One” fate as the book goes on. They both make it out alive. Maybe everything will be okay. 

But then Rainbow rolls up with a Sex On The Beach and Gucci sunglasses to tell us that “fuck no everything’s not okay.” (She’s right. God, I could go on a rant about how no one ever talks about how you feel when you’ve defeated the villain. When you’ve escaped the dungeon. Hhhhh)

Wayward Son immediately sets Agatha up as even more of a mirror than she was in the first book. We’re shown right away that the two of them are both in a depressed funk. They’re both at “15%” and miserable. These two are echoing each other like NEVER before and I am LIVING for it. 

Like, we even get this amazing bit in Chapter Four:

“That would feel like an answer to... the question of me. Then I could say, ‘Oh, that’s who I am. That’s why I’ve been so confused.’”

They! Are! Struggling!

Now, how does this relate to Simon having literal fucking dragon powers? Good question, thank you for asking. 

In Chapter Fifty-Six, when Pen and Agatha are stuck in the back of Fuckwad Vampire #3′s car, Agatha says this:

“I honestly thought I could walk away from it all-- like magic was a place. Like magic was a person. Or a habit I could break.

When Simon first came to Watford, he couldn’t make his wand work. He could barely cast a spell. He thought they were going to kick him out, that he wasn’t magic enough. 

“You don’t do magic,” Penelope told him. “You are magic.”

I... am magic. 

Whether I like it or not, whether or not I claim it. Whether or not I carry my wand. 

It’s in me, somehow. Blood, water, bone.”

They!! Are!! Both!! Magic!! 

Magic is in them! Magic is with them! They’re made of the stuff! They can’t cut off this part of them, no matter how much they want to. (lmao. talk about good old internalized homophobia. I don’t really have an opinion on what Agatha’s sexuality is, btw. I’m using homophobia as a blanket term because I have no clue what’s up on that front.)

Simon is made of magic. He doesn’t want to remove his wings. Even though he has to hide them. Even though he thinks he’s a Normal now. Like Penny said, “an aeroplane is still an aeroplane even if it’s on the ground.” (I’m not sure that’s verbatim, apologies.)

Simon still has magic. We just can’t see it. He’s made of magic. He is magic. He was literally conceived during a spell. Bitch is as magical as you can get. 

But where is the magic???? Where’d it go???? Hello????

I’m getting there. I promise. First, we need to talk about Ebb. 

Ebb wasn’t only Simon’s weird Aunt figure; she was his mirror. Ebb was what would’ve happened to Simon if he hadn’t rejected the mage at the end of Carry On. Ebb just gave in. She didn’t want to fight anymore, and she figured Shithead The Great knew more than she did. 

God I just fucking hate Mage so much like holy shit. Anyway, anyway. 

Ebb was the strongest magician next to Simon. She didn’t want to fight. She didn’t want to use her magic for any great purpose. She just wanted to be. Agatha even reiterates this in the epilogue of Carry On.

 “Like, they couldn’t just let her be.”

(No, Simon doesn’t miss killing things in Wayward. He misses excitement and having a purpose. He mainly misses having a purpose. Not having one of those fucking sucks.)

What the fuck does Ebb have to do with this? Why can’t I just get to the point?

My point is!

My Point IS!

That goddamn dragon with the sheep was supposed to remind you of Ebb.

So, let’s do the math. If 1=1x1= 1 then...

Ebb = Margaret = Simon

Sure, sure we had Simon screeching that he wasn’t a dragon. But Margaret was immediately like, 

“Not yet.” She pets his wing. “Are kitten. Someday dragon. Someday ferocious.”

Simon smells like a dragon, but also apparently “smells like iron.” Whatever the fuck that means. I mean I guess it means that Baz could still sippy sippy. (Which is gonna happen or I’ll eat my own toe.) 

One more thing: 

“I wanted wings,” he says. “I wanted to fly.”

“Why tail?”

“I wanted to be free!”

Gee, that sure sounds like what Agatha was saying earlier, huh?

YEAH OKAY HE’S HALF DRAGON!! WE’VE ESTABLISHED THAT!!! WHAT THE FUCK AM I ON ABOUT!!!!

Omg thank you for asking. I’m going to blow your mind with my final point. 

The Final Point: The Baz Problem.

Wayward Son is, by all accounts, Baz’s book. It develops everyone beautifully and everyone has an arc, but this book is where Baz gets to shine. 

We found out in this book that vampires are immortal.

This introduced a whole new issue, an issue that surfaces every time immortality is introduced as a possibility for one character but not the rest. 

Someday, Baz will be left alone.

He’ll inevitably outlive everyone he cares about. We all know our poor, beautiful, delicate bastard boy couldn’t take it. How deeply he cares is his most beautiful and wonderful trait, and this could break him. 

I wonder, how long does a dragon live?

Penny talks about the improbability of Simon and Baz in Chapter Three. 

“Star-cross’d lovers. ‘From forth the fatal loins of these two foes.’ The whole shebang.”

Simon’s magic was always described as smoke and fire. The first creature we learn about Simon fighting was a dragon. (Chapter 1, first page of Carry On)

“You’ve slain a dragon, Simon. Surely you can manage a long walk and a few buses.”

 God, I just really hate Bitchface the Mage. Anywho.

Simon. The One Who Came to End Us. Simon. The One To Save Us All. Simon is the dragon and the knight. He’s his own worst enemy. His arc will be completed once he accepts the “dragon” part of himself. It’s poetic as fuck, I must admit. 

Simon has to find love and care for himself, and then this baby dragon will be grown. He’ll be “on top” as Margaret had said. (God, could you imagine all the dragons waking up? How fucking epic would THAT be? Fingers crossed.)

The monster that drains living things and the monster that burns all in its wake. These losers are starcrossed, but they complete each other. Dumbasses. I just love them so much why can’t they get their shit together. 

Simon and Baz’s storylines are utterly intertwined. They’re perfectly matched. Simon might not know it, but their hearts are already tied together; they beat in sync. They’re two stars orbiting each other. And, if we’re all very lucky, maybe they won’t crash. Maybe this story won’t end in flames. 

So, in conclusion, I really really really want Simon to breathe fire. The only other way I could see this twisting is the wings somehow going away and Simon getting a regular-magician amount of magic. That’s kinda lame tho and doesn’t complete his arc correctly. This dumb boy is a dragon now and there’s nothing we can do about it. (EDIT: actually yeah simon’s not gonna lose his wings no way in fuck. check out my meta.)  Also? I would sell my soul to see Simon getting really possessive over really weird objects for his hoard. 

Thank you for sticking with me this far, dear reader. I’ll leave you with this thought: Baz is Donkey and Simon is the dragon from Shrek. 

Check out my other meta on the future of simon and baz’s relationship and how penny and agatha relate 

scarf meta as well check it

Gonna be tagging peeps so this can circulate better. 

@carrybits @neck-mole @watfordwallflower

[scapegrace74-blog]

Satellite Mind

A/N  I can’t stop myself.  I’m weak!  Weak!  The Saorsa-sequel is coming along, but the Metric universe just won’t leave me alone.  This story takes place just after Lost Kitten and Gimme Sympathy.  Previous fics are available on my AO3 page.

Oh, and mild warning for foul language, if that’s not your thing.

The song by Metric that inspired the title and a few lines is here.

January 14, 2017, Spittalfields, England

“I’m happy for you, Geillis, really.  I mean... Cartagena, wow.  You can, what?  Dabble in the emerald market?”

Her friend saw right through Claire’s glass face to her latent fear of abandonment.  Fiercely independent, a precious handful of friendships and habits anchored her in the world.  Without those tethers, she lived with a nameless dread that she might spin off into the void, lost in a great emptiness.

“Dinna lie tae me, Claire Beauchamp.  Ye havna left yer bed in the twenty-four hours since I told ye.  Ye’re jus’ starin’ up at the ceiling.  Ye ken I wouldna ever want tae leave ya were it no’ for someone truly special.  Juan Carlos, he’s...”

“Built like a stevedore and hung like a stallion, I believe were your exact words,” she interrupted, smiling despite herself at Geillis’ moonstruck infatuation.  The redhead had met the Columbian businessman at a New Year’s celebration and now, two weeks’ later, had dropped the bombshell that she was planning on following him back across the Atlantic in the spring, leaving Claire without a roommate just as her income was nearly halved by the commencement of her medical studies.

“Aye, he is that.  Everyone thinks I’m mad, but it’s the real thing between he and I.  I jus’ feel it.  Ye’ll ken the feeling yerself one day.  But I willna leave ye high an’ dry.  I’ll see ye settled, a��fore I go.”

Claire doubted that very much.  It was Geillis’ name on the lease, which meant that as soon as she gave notice their landlord was free to increase the rent.   Spittalfields was moving upmarket as one dilapidated industrial building after another was converted into lofts and chic office space for the urban gentry.  There was no way she’d be able to afford the new payment at their current flat, even if she could find another roommate she could stomach.  And moving out on her own was equally out of the question.   The ghost of her past mistakes haunted her most when she was alone.

***

February 2, 2017, Royal London Hospital, England

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”  A metal spoon clattered into the break-room sink and a few other nurses glanced over, trying to decide if bloodshed between the two was imminent.

“Tis is a matter of some debate,” Geillis replied, undaunted.  She’d expected this reaction, which was why she’d cornered Claire during the short overlap between their shifts when she couldn’t run away.  At least the British Army had left Afghanistan, although South Sudan was still a possibility.

“James Fraser.  You approached Jamie Fraser, without my permission I might add, to find out whether he still had a room to let.  I cannot fucking believe you, Geillis Duncan!   Where do you get off...”

“First,” Geillis interrupted the predicted tirade by holding up her index finger, “you yerself remarked on his lovely flat, and how fastidious he was.  Second, tis in the neighbourhood an’ right around the corner from tha’ chipstand ye love.  Third, ye’re both shift workers and will hardly see each other.  Fourth, if ye do bump inta the wee fox cub when he’s runnin’ about in his skivvies, weel, thas a hardship many a lass would be willing tae face in yer place.  And fifth,” here Geillis raised her palm and outstretched fingers right in front of Claire’s nose, “ye can afford it.”

Claire huffed, but was otherwise silent.  She couldn’t deny that Geillis’ points were mostly valid, but she hated the idea of accepting charity from Jamie, of being seen as a burden.  If she’d approached him herself, perhaps...

“Wait a second.  How did you even know Jamie still had a room to let?  Have you been in contact with him?”  Something toxic simmered in her belly.   Geillis and Jamie texting each other.   Talking about her behind her back.  Sharing intimacies from which she was excluded.   It was a flashback of a feeling that hit too close to home for comfort.

“Och, no.  Didna I tell ya?  I ken the lad’s uncle, Dougal Mackenzie.  Bald as a billiard cue, but tha’ man can fuck for hours.  I remember one time, we were...”

“Oh my god, Geillis, please tell me you didn’t cheat on Jamie with his uncle!”

“It canna be cheatin’ if ye were ne’er together tae begin wi’,” Geillis pronounced.  “Ye’re too ecclesiastical by half, Beauchamp.  T’anyway, I hadna met Dougal when yon lad and I had our... dalliance.  But imagine ma surprise when I showed up tae meet Dougal at Bethall Fire Station in a wee red dress tighter than a nun’s chuff, an’ standin’ right next tae him is the fox cub, face turning bright as a forge.  Twas an awkward moment tae be sure, even measurin’ by my very high standards.”

***

February 13, 2017, Spittalfields, England

“Ye’ll be wantin’ tae look about the kitchen, I reckon.  Twas the only room ye didna really see, when ye were here last.  An’ the storage locker, but there’s nought down there but sportin’ equipment tha’ reeks tae high heaven.  No’ that I dinna try tae wash out the stench, mind you.”  

Jamie resolved to limit himself to two word sentences for the rest of the tour.   Anything more was too great a risk to his dignity.

“It’s lovely, especially with the morning sunlight streaming through the windows.  How much is the monthly heating bill again?”

It was almost Valentine’s Day and Claire still didn’t know where she was going to live come March.  She’d flipped through free rental magazines and scrolled a few message boards, but hadn’t made any serious efforts to secure a new home.   She told herself she was too busy preparing for medical school and working full-time, but in the back closet of her mind she allowed the idea of moving in with Jamie to take root.   

Then, last night while drifting through the deep fog just before sleep she’d had a thought.   Living with Jamie would finally put an end to all of Geillis’ awkward match-making efforts.  If they were roommates, they couldn’t be anything else besides.  Rolling over and grabbing for her phone before she could second-guess herself, she fired off a quick text to the number Geillis had added to her Contacts under Wee Fox Cub.   Despite the late hour, two minutes later he texted back.   And now here she was, seriously contemplating the impossible.

They were sitting across from each other on the couch, negotiating terms.  Claire found herself making ridiculous demands, somehow hoping that Jamie would balk at the last minute and this perilous adventure would come to its natural end.

“I’ll be studying when I’m not on shift, so loud noise and music is a deal breaker for me,” she listed while eyeing the bowl of trail mix set out on the coffee table.

“I own a good pair o’ headphones, and my sister would tell ye there’s a reason I dinna sing outside o’ the shower.   Did ye want some?”  Jamie extended the bowl in her direction, but she shook her head.

“If I’m to live here, the flat will need to be ours equally.  I know you lived here first, but I’d be paying half the rent.  That means we share common elements down the middle.  Half the cabinet space, half of the refrigerator and freezer.”  She looked around the main room, where it was obvious Jamie did most of his living.  “I’d want to put my desk below the window there, where there’s lots of natural light.  I don’t want to always be hidden in my bedroom like some low-rent AirBnB guest.”

“O’ course,” Jamie quickly agreed.  “I can clear out some of my books and such from the shelves as weel.  And I was thinkin’ of movin’ the Xbox inta my room.  There’s ano’er TV in there, ye ken, so ye won’t be exposed tae my tears while I’m watchin’ Six Nations matches.”

“That won’t be necessary, Jamie.  I really don’t have many things.  Some holdover to my years living out of a suitcase with my uncle, I suppose.”

He was being altogether too agreeable.  It was time to break out the big guns.

“We need to talk about one last thing.  Some might think it usual for a young woman who is single, living with a young man who is single to feel a certain...”

“Wha’ makes ye think I’m single?” Jamie interrupted, and she snapped her mouth shut in surprise.

“Well, with your history with Geillis, and I’ve never seen you with someone, I just assumed...” she trailed off, fighting down the urge to bolt.

Jamie laughed.  “I’m teasin’ ye, Claire.  O’ course I’m single.  Do ye think I’d be contemplating inviting a bonnie lass tae share my flat if I were spoken for?”

“Well, that’s just the thing, isn’t it?  People might make assumptions.  One of us might do so as well.   Feelings would get hurt.  So I think it’s important to be very clear at the outset.  You seem like a lovely man, but there will never be anything between us.”

“Because of my history wi’ Geillis, y’mean?” Jamie asked.

“Well, that as well.  But also because I’ll be far too busy with work and my studies to sustain any kind of relationship, least of all with someone who, when things fall apart, would be in a position to leave me without a roof over my head.  I’ve been there before, and I don’t intend to ever go back.”

“Aye, I see.” Jamie nodded absently, obviously digesting this large morsel of information and not finding it entirely to his taste.

“So that’s my final stipulation.  I don’t mind if you have overnight visitors. You’re a grown man, and you can act as you please.  But we need to agree that any kind of romantic relationship between us is off-limits.”

Claire grabbed a handful of snacks and popped them into her mouth.  She observed Jamie as she chewed.  In retrospect, this was a brilliant move on her part.  If Jamie accepted, she would have solved for both her housing crisis and her ambivalent feelings towards the Scot.  And if he declined, well, that would tell her something too.

Squaring his shoulders, Jamie extended his hand.

“We’re agreed.”

And that was how Jamie and Claire became just roommates.

[theoverlyenthusiasticwriter]

Music

Welcome to my poorly written siren au after binge watching Pirates of the Caribbean.  Feel free to like, comment, and reblog. Feedback feed my weary soul.

After getting in trouble with their captain, Cassian and his brothers get their punishment in the form of a small, lonely boat trailing after their ship. Hours pass and day turns to night. When Rhys and Azriel are sound asleep, Cassian is greeted by a beauty in the waves with such a lovely voice.

Next Chapter

Cassian listened to the gentle song of the waves, lying on his back to watch the stars up ahead. The boat beneath him rocked gently, tethered to the ship, Velaris, so they wouldn’t be lost at sea.

He and his brothers had pissed off the captain, Amren, for the third time this week, earning them all a toss overboard. Amren liked them enough, however, to also let down one of the boats used to take them to land. Cassian didn’t mind. It was quieter down here. The only thing he wished for now was a bit of rum and a lady in his lap.

His brothers, however, clearly did not have the same opinion.

Rhys kicked the bench Cassian was lying on. “We’ve been stuck out here for hours.”

At the stern, Azriel rolled his eyes. “She’ll reel us back some time.”

“You were the one that got us into this mess,” Rhys snarled at Cassian, who was pretending not to listen.

Indeed, it had been Cassian’s idea to change course while the captain slept, which had brought them within a hundred miles of the British navy. Then, when they pulled starboard to a smaller ship, it had also been Cassian’s idea to leap over the rail and onto the deck. He and his brothers had brought back rum, rather than gold or prisoners. It was only when the British ship was driftwood beneath the waves that Amren noticed the overly flushed faces of her three favorite, yet least favorite, pirates.

Then, like a good drunk lad, Cassian had spilled the reason they’d run into a British ship in the first place.

The alcohol had worn off with his dastardly plunge into the sea before he heaved himself onto the boat to find his brothers glaring at him.

“Man,” Rhys said, slumping down on another bench, “I’d kill to have Feyre with me right now.”

This time, both Az and Cassian rolled their eyes.

Feyre was the girl he’d left at the last port. Cassian had always thought she was a little out there after learning she thought sirens existed. It was the whole reason she and her older sister, Elain, refused to join the crew.

Cassian stood, going to sit at the opposite end from Azriel so he could peer into the dark water. “If Feyre were here, we’d all have to deal with even more creaky hammocks, which is something I can live without.”

“I don’t know, Elain wasn’t bad looking. Maybe you could make some creaking of your own.” He could hear the grin in Rhys’s voice.

Azriel snarled softly. It was no mistake that if Rhysand was in love, Az was so smitten with Elain he wasn’t too far off. 

Cassian faced his brothers, leaning against the bow behind him. “You both can stick with your cheap romances. I’m a pirate, through and through, and now pretty ankle is going to tie me down.”

“What about a pretty thigh?” Az teased.

“Or, help us all, a pretty breast?” Rhys laughed. 

Cassian threw his brothers a middle finger. “You’ll both be laughing when your stuck on land with three kids each to boot and I’m captaining the Velaris.”

“In your dreams, jackass.” 

“You think Amren will outlive me?”

“Oh, I know Amren will outlive you,” Rhys purred.

“Either way, you two will be playing Daddy and not in the fun way.”

Rhys threw a boot at him.

It landed in the water with a splash. Cassian cursed. “Those are expensive, dumbass.” He leaned over the rail, snatching up the boot before it could get swallowed by the sea, and paused. In the water, there was a glimmer of gold. Just a flash.

He blinked and it was gone, likely nothing more than a trick of the light.

More hours passed, the rocking of the waves gently lulling his brothers to sleep.

Cassian hummed out a tune, leaning against the bow to watch the stars above. He closed his eyes and the sea breeze brushed his face.

Then he heard it.

Softly, no more than wind against the waves, came a voice, singing the same song he had been.

He blinked at the sky, trying to decide if he was hallucinating or caught in a dream he hadn’t known he’d slipped into.

But… there. It was louder, coming closer.

He sat up so quickly the boat rocked. His brothers grumbled but neither awoke fully.

The singing… Oh, gods and ocean and sky, it was beautiful. High and sweet, the voice turned a rowdy sailor’s song into something too good for this world.

He scanned the horizon looking for the source. Dark waves greeted him.

The singing stopped, making him nearly sob at the silence. 

It began again right beside him, making him start. He whipped his head around and found himself face-to-face with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

She had her pale arms propped on the rail and was laying her head on them. Framed  by dry, golden brown locks, her face was stunning, perfectly arched brows, high cheekbones, steely blue eyes, and full lips parted in song.

She paused again, lifting herself onto braced arms. “Do you like it?”

With her lifted like that, he could very clearly see that she wore no clothes, her breasts peaked and magnificent.

His pants suddenly became tight. “Yeah. I like it. Please, never stop.”

She smiled a dazzling grin, pushing up even more to sit on the rail. Her legs were long and creamy, the product of every fantasy he’d ever had. 

He must of been drooling as he looked upon the gem between them. She was naked and gorgeous and so… so close.

She stroked his arm, leaning closer and letting out a soft, musical laugh. “What’s your name, sailor?”

“Pirate.”

“What’s your name pirate?”

“Cass--Cassian.” He reached out as if in a daze, putting a hand atop one of those breasts. Gods, it was so soft, fitting perfectly into his palm. Gaping, he squeezed slightly, rubbing a pink nipple.

She laughed again and it was the most harmonic sound he’d ever heard. “I���m a little cold, Cassian, maybe you could warm me up?” He scrambled to strip of his jacket but she stopped him, putting a hand on his chest. “Not like that, silly.”

“Will you sing again?”

“I don’t think I have to,” she whispered, that hand on his chest pulling him towards her.

He shuddered. “Please. Oh gods, I’d kill to hear it.”

She sighed and let go of him. 

He cried out as she slipped back into the water, latching onto her hands. “What--what are you doing? Come back here.”

“Why don’t you swim with me? We can sing together.”

He stood, stripping off his jacket, shirt, and boots faster than he ever had before. With no hesitation, he dived into the water, wrapping his arms around her. “Sing. Sing again.” The water was frozen and she wasn’t much warmer, but he didn’t mind at all.

She smiled and opened her mouth.

Cassian fell into a daze, ignoring the feeling of something wrapping around his legs, binding them together. He leaned in, kissing her throat to feel the vibrations of her voice through his lips. His hand went back to her breast, the other snaking down her back. Soft scales met his fingers where her ass should be, surprising him, but she kept singing, drawing him from his thoughts.

Her nails scratched lightly through his hair as he sucked on her neck, tasting salt water. She tugged his hair lightly, bidding him to pull back.

When he did, her eyes were brighter than the stars, hair fanned around her. She’d closed her mouth but the song was still going, leaving him heavy-lidded with lust.

“Kiss me,” she said over the music.

He leaned in, feeling the muscle binding his legs together contract, keeping him from kicking himself afloat. He didn’t mind, though, as his lips closed over hers--

“Cassian!” someone roared and he was yanked away.

He hadn’t even realized he’d gone under until air hit his face as his brothers grabbed at his shoulders, his hair.

The girl screamed, such a wrenching and ugly sound that it snapped him from his daze. He dared a glance down, finding a golden tail wrapped around his legs.

He thrashed, sputtering as he tried to free himself.

Around them, more sirens were screaming.

The one in front of him smashed his mouth into hers and he felt razor sharp teeth but thoughts flew from his mind at her kiss. He sank beneath the waves.

Another second and he was back up again, Rhysand’s saber cleaving into the flesh of the siren’s arm, while Azriel, appearing in the water beside him, waved a torch to fend off the others.

The siren snarled, her nails--claws--digging into Cassian’s arm. He ripped her hand off him and snatched the saber from Rhys. He plunged it beneath the waves, sinking it deep into her tail.

She unwound herself with a cry and disappeared.

“Get in the boat,” Rhys snarled, helping Az back up. 

Cassian scrambled in after him, panting hard through his teeth. He lay on the deck and tried to shake away the feeling that tasted something like betrayal.

“What,” Az said softly, “the fuck was that?”

Cassian looked down at his chest, finding claw marks where she’d touched him. He cursed vividly. “I thought she was a woman, I swear. She had legs.”

“It was an illusion,” Rhys snapped, dropping his head into his hands. “Shit, I should have believed Feyre.”

Cassian, shaken and soaked, silently agreed.

*****

Tags:

@sannelovesreading @ribhinnog @awesomelena555 @azriel-archeronn @imlumpingamazingstuff @nestaarxheron @gendryaforthemasses @just-me-too @catita09 @wanderlustlastsforever @samuelcasera-blog @pixelatedpebble @h-a-p-p-i-e-s @sarahjmaasslave @feyrheart @dotmccarthy @ourbooksuniverse

[faunusrights]

OFFAL HUNT REMASTERED LIVEBLOG // CHAPTER 21

IN THIS EPISODE OF MURPHY IS SO VERY SLEEPY BUT THE UPDATE SCHEDULE TAKES NO PRISONERS (FOR THE MOMENT):

“So it’s true,” she wheezed between grit fangs—“that bitch really does have you on a leash.”

KINKY,

me: okay lemme refresh on what happened last chapter-- me: /remembers me: oh yeah! yeah that SUCKED,

lets us continue on the journey of deep and immense sadness with glynda ‘clown shoes’ goodwitch!!!!!!!! here we go here we go

It took a while to pry back the jaws of her soul and wrench herself out of them.

ooh i rly like the context change here. before glynda was kinda falling back into her soul as a way of just Getting On With Shit or protecting herself, but now it’s framed in a fun new way of please can i get out of here now. good job glynda. look at u GROUNDING YRSELF like a CHAMP who should have been in a TKO LIKE FIVE ROUNDS AGO--

What did that mean? Had she asked Cinder about Ochre? Glynda struggled to recall, but the memories swirled like clouded ink in her skull.

i still love the continuation of glynda’s Mysterious Messages To Herself. she leads such a thrilling life of ‘did i write that’ and ‘did i do that’ and ‘what does any of this mean’

Hating herself, Glynda found she couldn’t remember.

and also a less thrilling life of the squeaky clown shoes variety. glynda PLEASE

She had to know: was anything Cinder had given her real?

the YOU and the US,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, the DESTINY. dw babe im sure cinder Has Never Told A Lie, Even Once In Her Life, On Account Of Being A Very Open And Honest Person,

Had she been abandoned? Cinder had been unhappy when she left. Angry, maybe. Angry enough to take her leave for good? Or had she always planned to?

i love watching glynda slowly become kind of,,,,,,,,,,,, more aware of herself in relation to other people? sometimes she still Moves or Does w/o rly thinking it thru, but we’ve got quite a change from, like, early chapters of glynda where she was barrelling along with VERY little disregard for both actions AND consequences,,, but look at her now!!!!!!! using her whole ass BRAIN. im proud of her. 

When she tried to dismiss this first fear, another one was waiting underneath: had something happened to Cinder?

In her attempts to keep Glynda’s soul from smothering them both, Cinder had been quite willing to converse over the phone with her—even if her texts were short and snippy, she usually at least responded, to avoid backlash. Did she not care anymore? Or—

Or was she unable to?

/leans in, like, uncomfortably close to the microphone

glynda darling i do Not mean 2 worry u but yr (future) gf is currently grieving, pissed beyond belief, and also

/checks notes

failing her way into becoming strawberry jam

But, surprisingly, there was another half to Glynda now: one that worried, despite facts, that Cinder was in danger. That Cinder might need her.

GO AND GET THE GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The light caught in every golden thread of her crown emblem, embroidered with diligent precision. But something else caught her eye: the midnight black surrounding it had a sheen to it. Subtle red ducked through the fabric, glittering like burnished stars in a distant night sky: fire Dust.

The flash of a memory: Cinder’s face when Glynda had complained that her last cape had been burned.

This cape would not burn.

okay so no lie i cant read this bit without my eyes starting to water abt just how GOOD this section is and i have cried TOO MANY TIMES over this fic ALREADY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! but GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! T H A N K Y O U F O R T H E F O O D !

CINDER MADE IT FIREPROOF. SHE DIDNT HAVE TO. SHE DIDNT NEED TO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BUT THE SYMBOLISM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IS U N R E A L. I AM CRYING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

GO GET THE GIRL YOU MORON

Glynda didn’t know what to do.

Glynda dialed Winter.

and i am INSTANTLY launched back into the comedy that is glynda goodwitch’s life at large THANKS FOR THE WHIPLASH

“No, I mean… I was awful to you the last time we spoke. I know I was. I keep thinking about it. I’m so sorry, I just… Don’t have anyone else to go to right now. I don’t know who else I’d call.” It was horrible to admit. Loneliness had never shamed her before because her soul had held it at bay. Now it made her sick. “I’m safe. If you don’t want to talk to me…”

LOOK AT THIS CHARACTER GROWTH,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, GLYNDA!!!!!!!! YR DOIN SO WELL BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! EVERYONE COME LOOK AT HER THINKING WITH HER M I N D.

“I lashed out at you, Professor Goodwitch. That wasn’t right of me. I should have known that you weren’t truly to blame for what you said. I know Cinder. She’s manipulative. She twists the world and makes you think she’s a different person than who she really is. I blamed you in the moment, but Cinder Fall is truly the person at fault for making you believe that I would try to hurt you. I shouldn’t have raised my voice or said the things I did.”

/rubs face

like winter needs to be in this fic and og was bereft not having her actually take up 30% of the space as she DESERVES, but god i forgot that shes a whole Thing and winter please just. shush. for a moment. for a second. ilusm. but please shut up.

Glynda was pacing, her Scroll levitating near her.

side note but casual uses of glyndas semblance is one of my fav things i love seeing it. glynda ‘look mom no hands’ goodwitch out here,

Glynda closed her eyes. The tactile recollection of cats arching, bristling, and spitting. Backed into corners. “Maybe she was panicking. I don’t know.”

i dont rly have much to say here other than continuing to enjoy Cinder As Cat, the ongoing metaphor. glyndas just gonna pick her up the scruff of the neck eventually and we will ALL b thankful.

ughghghgb im not gonna copy paste this whole convo w/ winter because this is a liveblog not a shitty projection of the fic on the side wall of a bowling alley, BUT GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD glynda is so WORRIED,,,,,,,,,,, past glynda is befuddled. bemused. why does future glynda Feel so much. but future glynda is FEELING and i love her. das yr gf yr worried abt. DAS HER,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, and also yr other gf winter too but like that’s a long-con sort of egg to hatch,

While it had been some time now since Glynda had been in a proper fight, she expected no trouble. This wasn’t Cinder—ergo: this wasn’t a real threat to her. Still, she would bide her time and hold her silence, if only for the chance of getting a hint of what was going on.

This wasn’t Cinder—ergo: this wasn’t a real threat to her.

LADS,,,, LADIES,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, BEANS,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, IS IT GAY,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, TO SEE YR RIVAL AS YR ONLY REAL THREAT,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

The group crossed the room as one unit, guns aloft and eyes peeled, determined to not be ambushed.

Glynda intended to ambush them regardless.

i dont like 2 say when an au gets a character so right that all other interpretations aren’t valid, but.......................... offal hunt gets glynda so right that all other interpretations aren’t valid, and thats that, on that,

One left. Glynda didn’t hesitate. She had been built to fight Grimm; far stronger, far quicker, far more bestial foes than these. She was herself a blade, sharpened far too fine for these intruders.

sounds hot

“Are they...alive?”

Glynda didn’t pause to check.

“Professor? Are they alive?”

glynda: fuck them kids

“How will you get to her?” Winter asked.

“I always find her in the end,” Glynda answered.

hrm,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, i wonder if that’s foreshadowing something

Her soul was churning inside her, longing for solace, for Cinder. She could picture the way like a burning trail in her mind’s eye; that bright-yellow tether between herself and Cinder, that pathway between their souls that she had tread so many times before. It always led her to Cinder.

HRM,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, I WONDER,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

“Good luck, Glynda.”

“Thank you,” she said again, pausing under the streetlights. “But I won’t need luck. I’ll find her.”

FELLAS,

what a good chapter!!!!!!!!!!! also i cried. BUT I HAD A REAL GOOD TIME. I CAN IMAGINE THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE LESS OF A GOOD TIME, BUT FOR NOW, I WILL ENJOY THE MENTAL IMAGE OF GLYNDA’S BICEPS AND HER FUTURE WEDDING ALSO,

[mymelodyheart]

Forget Me Not Chapter 16 ~Love Complex~

Claire stirred to the sound of pan hitting the hob, followed by Louise's voice asking how the coffee machine works. A door closing and mugs clacking on a surface followed, permeating her consciousness. Still half asleep, she turned on her side and took a deep inhale of Jamie's masculine scent, letting it carry her to a sensual daydream. His groans against the crook of her neck bombarded her mind, memories of his arousal sliding home inside her one inch at a time. She thought of how he had lost control in the end, while saying crude things in her ear. Just like a man at the end of his tether.

Images of their lovemaking sensitised her skin, enveloping her in static electricity and rousing her to sudden alertness.  Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, what time is it?  Claire sat up and looked around, fanning her heated face with her hands. She was about to get out of bed when the door swung open, revealing a barefoot Jamie wearing jeans that hung low on his hips and a worn-in black t-shirt. A dishcloth was tossed carelessly over one shoulder and on one large hand, he balanced a tray of what seemed like breakfast. With finger touseled hair and a lopsided smile, he leaned against the doorjamb and looked at her thoughtfully.

"Oh! You're still here! I thought you'd be at work by now." He didn't reply, the weight of his stare making her self-conscious. "What?" She squashed the urge to fidget.

"I'm trying to decide whether to feed ye or eat ye. The original plan was to kiss ye on your cheek and serve ye muffins and coffee. But that was before, and this is now."

"Oh!" She licked suddenly dry lips. "A-And? Have you decided yet?"

"I can't tell ye, Sassenach, or else I'll have to do it."

She wrapped the bedsheet around her chest, looking for any piece of clothing to wear. "Well, you certainly set the tone," she said, glad that her voice didn't wobble. If she stood up right now, her knees would be another story. "How about some water for a start, huh? I'm parched."

Pushing away from the doorframe, he straightened, kicked the door shut and sauntered to her bedside. After placing the breakfast tray on the bedside table, he sat down next to her. He brought his fingers under her chin and tilted her head up, watching her reaction like a hawk.

"Good morning," he said softly.

"Good morning." Shyly, she slid her hand up his biceps. "What time is it?"

"Seven. Plenty of time." His thumb tugged her lower lip down, looking at it in fascination.

Claire's brain threatened to short-circuit. "Ah, yes. Well, I don't need to be in early." The sexual energy seemed to be sidling around them, and although she wanted to act on it, she knew she needed to get her alcohol-fuzzed bearings first.  Look away from his lips...there's work!  "I only need to run things over with the service staff and some other finishing touches for tomorrow night and then we're ready to go."

"Sassenach?"

"Hmmm."

"You're pinching my arm."

"Oh! Right. Sorry." Snatching her hand away, she clutched the bedsheet around her and attempted to get out of bed, but he grabbed her by the waist and hauled her onto his lap like she weighed nothing. "I was just going to put something on," she explained, as he settled her against him.

After taking a moment to squeeze her hips, he reached out for a small bottle of water from the breakfast tray, opened it and handed it to her. "Drink," he said hoarsely. He had a crease between his eyebrows that hadn't been there before as he watched her drink greedily. "I know ye'll go out with friends once in a while, Sassenach and I want ye to. But I dinna liked the way those lads at the pub were leering at ye last night. So I'm going to be a bastard about this." He rolled his lips inward, and when he released them, he drew out a heavy sigh. "Can ye save performances like ye did last night for night outs with me? Or at least when yer clothes aren't showing yer knickers."

His possessiveness should have irked her, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes of something more than mere proprietorial behaviour. Understanding that Jamie's tone begged her to agree without equivocation, Claire nodded. "Right, no singing in front of men when my knickers are showing or when I'm not with you," she hiccupped, trying to suppress a smile. His serious expression didn't budge, so she ran a finger over the valley between his eyebrows. "After last night's performance, I'd probably be barred from the pub anyway."

Instead of responding, he reached out for a piece of muffin from the breakfast tray and fed it to her. As if her jaw were on a string, it dropped. Looking at him, she took a bite off the freshly baked sponge cake as she watched him centre his focus absentmindedly on her lips while she chewed.

"Another thing," Jamie said slowly as if he didn't understand the words coming out of his own mouth. "No more flirting with Frank. I know I sound like an ass making these demands of ye. It's not that I don't trust ye. It's just that ... it's ... I see how the other lads look at ye, and I ken what they're thinking because I'm thinking of it too. And..."

Claire placed a hand on Jamie's lips and looked at his confused expression. Or is it pained? This beautiful man, who always seemed to ooze self-confidence, looked shattered and appeared to be struggling with insecurities. She couldn't believe she was the reason for it. "This isn't about Frank, is it? And this isn't about last night?" Placing the bottle of water by the bedside table, she turned to face him. "Speak to me, Jamie."

He brushed her hair over her shoulder. "I ken when ye look at me, ye see a man that Annalise already had, and that she may be carrying my child, is not easy for ye. Ye probably think I have nothing left to offer ye that I haven't given away already." Exhaling on shaky breath, he started to massage the nape of her neck. "Believe me when I tell ye, that no one has touched what I've got inside of me for ye, Sassenach. My heart. It is yers. Always has been and always will be." He reached down and took her hand, placing it in the centre of his chest. "Sometimes, I think of all those wasted years when we could have been together. Still, we were young, and most probably, ma and da wouldn't have approved. But ye waited for me even if ye dinna ken it was us ye were waiting for. And I regret that I didn't wait for ye, knowing already then that I was in love with ye. If there was something I could do to change that, I would try my most damn even if it killed me." He brought his mouth over to her ear, breathing against it. "I still cannae believe ye're with me like this. Us. That I can touch ye and know that ye're mine."  

Her chest felt like a dam about to give way, but she quickly sealed the cracks. So many things were going through her head, but clear, honest words were all she could process at the moment. "Jamie, if you think I would leave you because of Annalise, you're wrong. I understand, believe me."

In one lithe movement, he turned her on his lap so that she was straddling him, his big warm hands resting possessively on her backside. "No, I dinna think that. What I'm trying my hardest to say is, I want ye for keeps, Sassenach. Before I even had ye, no one compared. Now that I have, the thought of being with someone else and ye being with someone else makes me insane. Stupid insane. And unless I can wake up and see ye beside me, I don't want to be there. So I want ye to get it through yer head that I mean business, alright?"

Claire's mouth sought his as she leaned forward to reply with a kiss, rubbing circles on his back. "My mixed feelings about Annalise must have been quite obvious, huh?"

Jamie nodded with a smile. "Speaking of Annalise, I received a text from Ned last night. He wants to speak to Willie and me as soon as he arrives from London. I dinna ken for sure if it's anything..." Jamie trailed off when the door suddenly opened. Of their own accord, Jamie's hands immediately pulled up the bedsheet around Claire's half-naked body.

They both turned to see a nonplussed looking Willie standing at the doorway.

"Oh, sorry! Bad time?" 

Jamie's body coiled in tension as he pulled the sheets further up around Claire. "Fuck sake, Willie! You can't barge in here whenever ye feel like it. Ye're no' in Lallybroch."

"Hey, sorry, ok? Won't happen again." Willie's face was inscrutable, as he continued. "Listen, just had a phone call from Ned. He is on his way to see us, but he is slightly delayed. And Claire, please stay away from Lallybroch. I dinna ken why Ned said that but he was too much in a hurry to explain, so we just have to trust his words. And Jamie, Annalise's documents are all fake. She doesn't have cancer, but she is ill. Very ill. The swelling in her belly is not pregnancy. It's liver cirrhosis. So when ye see her later to check up on her, act normal. We don't want her suspecting anything."

"Oh, my God!" Claire breathed. "But she is ill, Willie. She still needs medical attention, doesn't she?" Claire couldn't believe what she was hearing. She tried to turn around, but Jamie kept her still.

Tightening his hold on her, he held her gaze. "Sassenach, we'll worry about that and please do as Willie says. Don't go near Lallybroch. Ned must have found something, so please, stay away from there. Promise me, please?"

"How about ma and da?"

"I'll give them a call now. Promise me, Sassenach, ye will no' go anywhere Lallybroch. Please?" 

The brothers were holding their breath as they waited for Claire's reply, determined to secure an agreement from her. They knew her too well as she was likely to be too stubborn to heed their advice. 

"I promise, ok? Happy now? But please, let me know what's happening. I don't want to be left in the dark, especially if this concerns me."

Jamie nodded to Willie, who then left without saying another word, leaving them alone once again. "I promise I won't leave ye in the dark, Sassenach. As soon as I know something, I will let ye know." Standing up, he lifted her by the waist, so they were stood facing each other. "And I meant what I said earlier. This. Us. For keeps. Tell me that ye want that too."

"For keeps," Claire repeated, her heart lodged in her throat. "I want that too, Jamie."

Oddly her assurance didn't make him any less troubled as he kissed her forehead and left to go to work.

..........

Despite the mild hangover and her sleep-deprived state, Claire felt refreshed after the shower. The brothers have long gone to work, leaving the girls behind. Walking into the kitchen, she was faced with a glum Geillis' sat on kitchen barstool nursing a mug of milky tea, and Louise, chipper like a bird in spring, pottering about the kitchen. Pushing thoughts of Annalise away from her mind, Claire put on her best smile. She didn't want to be consumed with worry when she had enough to fret about with the opening party for tomorrow night.

"Morning, ladies!"

Geillis grunted shoving her long strawberry blond hair away from her face.

" Bonjour,  Claire! Coffee?"

Claire nodded with a smile and a  thank you before sitting opposite Geillis. "Hey, chick! Your hangover that bad?"

Before Geillis could say a word, Louise, plonked a mug of coffee in front of her. "I'm off. You look like you had your breakfast already, Claire, and whatever it was, I want what you had." The French girl gave her a wicked wink and pretended to slither to the floor in a mock swoon. "Anyway, I'm off to get my car and freshen up at home. See you both later at work?" Not waiting for any of them to answer, she was already grabbing her bag and coat.

Good God, did everyone know what Jamie and I were up to this morning?

"By the way, the muffins were gorgeous. Thank you! Drive safe!" Claire called after her before she could make it out the door.

Louise laughed. "It was no bother. I bought it from the bakery earlier. Byeee!"

Once the door closed, she glanced at Geillis, who still hadn't said a word. Usually, a morning person, hanged over or not, Claire knew something was wrong. Fetching a small bottle of mineral water from the fridge, she placed it in front of her friend. "Here, drink this. You need to hydrate after last night. Did you have a rough night?"

Geillis popped the lid off from the bottle and gulped half the water down. "Is it obvious?"

"Yes, quite frankly. You look like you spent the night exorcising a horde of demons."

Geillis winced. "I might need to borrow a concealer from ye. I've run out. It's bad enough I have a naturally pasty complexion."

"I wasn't talking about your skin. Your face looks like thunder, and it's not your nature to sulk. I'm the sulker around here. So, I'm guessing the lousy night had nothing to do with the alcohol. Bad news at home?"

Groaning dramatically, Geillis let her head fall on her arms. "I wouldn't know where to begin."

"Not this again, Geillis. Just start anywhere, and I'll ask questions later if there are holes in your story. And be quick about it. We're both needed at work."

"This is bad, Claire. Really bad. I'm a big girl with a realist's outlook, and because of that, I know how to act accordingly and how to deal with tricky situations when it presents itself ..."

Claire gave her a warning look. "You're stalling. Get to the point."

"So last night." Geillis cleared her throat. "I had sex."

Claire frowned. "Oh!" She started to think back to the night before, but anything she could manage to remember was all a jumble of blurry images.  Geillis and Louise?

"Aye ... oh!" she replied flinching.

"Well?" She waited for Geillis to say more, but she remained silent. "I guess I have to draw it out from you. So, did you sneak out after you came home from the pub or you snuck someone in and did it in the bathroom?"

"Aye, I did some sneaking about." Geillis covered her face, not wanting to look at her. "I snuck into Willie's room to get an extra blanket in the guest room. I thought he was asleep. Then we talked about where I could buy second-hand cars and then one thing led to another. Oh God, Claire, I'm so sorry, but he was just this gorgeous specimen of a man. And he was sat there with no shirt on."

"Sorry?" A grin started to spread on Claire's face. "Why are you, sorry? Are you asking me for permission? Christ, chick! You're both adults, and he's not my brother. And even if he was, it would have been none of my business. This is a great thing, isn't it?"

"No, it isn't great!" Geillis wailed as she closed her eyes, looking very miserable.

"I thought you fancied him. What's wrong with Willie? Was the sex that bad? Oh...oh, wait. I know. He's not a cuddler. Is that it?"

"Sex was great, and it's the best I've ever had. Willie was sweet and caring and all. And aye, I fancy him," Geillis said, opening her tired eyes. "I dinna ken if I want to reveal the next part though..."

Claire cringed. Talking about Willie and the subject sex was just altogether too weird for her. "Well, what the fuck is the problem then?" she asked in an exasperated tone. 

Geillis looked up to the ceiling and everywhere, except at Claire. "Weel, everything was fine until the end... weel until he came in the end..."

"Geillis!" Suddenly, for some reason, Claire had an odd feeling that she wasn't going to like what Geillis was about to say.

"This isn't going to be easy for me to say because Willie really dented my already damaged self-esteem. And it's not bloody fair!" she wailed, her expression a mix of frustration and resentment. "And when he finished in the end, he said your name Claire and twice into my ears as he held me! Jesus, he wasn't making love to me. He was making love to ye. Nae wonder he had his eyes closed the whole time."

"What?!?" Claire was shell-shocked, and it took a moment to focus on a brain freeze. When she finally regained composure, she tried to rationalise with the best plausible answer she could think of. "Geillis, you shouldn't put too much thought into that. He had a bit to drink, and it was probably an honest mistake. He's always having a go at me...you know, Claire this, and Claire that. So, that's probably the reason why he said my name." Although Claire didn't falter as she spoke, her explanation didn't sound convincing at all to her ears. It must sound pretty lame to Geillis.

"Ye've got to be fucking kidding me, Claire. Come on! Even ye're not that naive. He said yer name in the throes of passion, for fuck sake. I appreciate the pep talk and all, but I'm a big girl, and I totally get it when a guy is not on to me, aye?" 

"Listen, Geillis. I can talk to him."   And tell him what wiseass?

Geillis groaned as she lifted herself from the barstool. "Don't bother, Claire. It is what it is. I ken ye're trying to help, and that's really sweet but talking to him will not help at all. It was great sex, and I'm happy with that. End of story. Let's just drop it, ok?" 

No, she couldn't drop it. It was the first time ever, Claire saw her best friend look defeated and discouraged. And she didn't like it at all. The Geillis Claire knew always had solutions and answers to everything even if sometimes, it was a tad bit fantastical and wacky. Her friend had lifted her up so many times, and she wasn't about to let Willie get away with this. Not if she can help it.

..........

At work, Claire immediately headed to the Fraser Manor Inn's kitchen. She hadn't thought much of what she planned to say to Willie as she was too focused on Geillis' hurting. And the last thing she needed was getting Jamie involved.  What are you doing Beauchamp? This is none of your business. Geillis never agreed to this!

As soon as she arrived in the kitchen, she saw Willie preoccupied with the trainees, directing them on how to use the giant rotisserie grill. Summoning all the courage she could muster, she approached him. "Willie, a word please, in my office."

[promiseimnotacop]

let's go about this a different way: pick your fave ten questions from the trans journey ask game and answer them!

bold of you to assume I’ve ever managed to make a decision in my life. also warning this gonna be looooooong

from this ask game

1. How did you choose your name? 

so I’ve always been interested in names and a couple years before i ever came out to anyone I asked my mum casually if there were any other names she’d considered giving me. She said that Finn or Finnbar were up there had I “”been born a boy”” and so I latched on to that. It worked pretty well for me because I wanted something that felt like an equivalent exchange for my birthname and that I didn’t associate strongly with a particular individual and I’d never had a Finn in my year at school so that was all hunky dory. Took me a while longer to figure out middle names (because my birthname has two middle names and it’s sort of a tradition on my dad’s side so I wanted to have those). 

There was a hot minute when I considered calling myself “Hugo Finn” which I’m so glad I didn’t, not that it is objectively a bad name, but because my reasoning was erm....bad. It was at a time when I had a lot of internalised self hatred/disgust and the name Hugo I first came across and associated heavily with the morally ambiguous “freak” from ASOUE. At the time I thought using a name I associated so heavily with the word freak was a way of subverting negative feelings but tbh it wasn’t. I’m so glad I didn’t tether myself that negativity. 

Also fun fact, my birthname is Shakespearean protagonist who spends most of the play dressed as a boy so again for a hot second I considered using the name she does, Fidele, but I wasn’t about having a super conspicuously uncommon name. 

For middle names in the end I went for James Lee (though nothing is legal or set in stone feedback and opinions are welcome lol). Lee came first, after the river in my village that I have a lot of postive memories associated with, outside of all the gender bullshit. The problem then became that the name “Finn Lee” would sound like/get mistaken for “Finley” and “Finnbar Lee” would sound like “Finn Barley” which would be eccentric and confusing. So it needed a buffer. In the end I went for James, partly because the first middle name of my given name is a saint, but mostly because James can be Jim and that allows for some of my childhood nicknames (im jim jam, imbo jimbo) to sort of still apply. that was a long answer to a short question lol but I spent a lot of time thinking about this because for some reason I felt  like I couldn’t come out until I’d already settled on a full name. 

3. Do you have more physical dysphoria or more social dysphoria?

I don’t think they’re separable. I have dysphoria about my body but it is because of societal perceptions of my body

8. How would you explain your gender identity to others?

depends on how savvy that person is to trans jargon honestly. The best, if clunky, label I’ve found for my gender is “transmasculine non-binary” which is two different quite broad umbrella terms lol. I like the looseness of it. For me personally, it means that the framework of masculinity and maleness is not an exact fit and does not cover some of the complexities of my gender but, in my daily interactions it is a close enough approximation and I do desire to pursue parts of what might be considered a “trans masculine” medical transition. For the most part masculine coded language (including he/him pronouns) is what suits me the best, with only a few particular exceptions. So, for most of the world I am functionally “a man” (even though that is one of the few bits of masculine coded language I don’t gel with), or maybe “a gender non-conforming man” and I am not gonna split hairs about that if we aren’t close. 

But if we’re seriously getting into a chat about gender there’s a lot more to be said. If drawing a diagram of my gender I would say I’m about 55% male, 30% “other”/third gender/maverique/genderqueer/whatever you want to call a gender identity autonomous and seperate from male or female, and 15% nothing/void. And all of that is subject to fluctuate a bit and which parts I might connect with most can be slightly contextual. I am more “a man” than anything else but also pretending to be a binary man is cutting out a significant part. 

12. Do you pass?

Let’s unpack the most Problematique question lol. Just kidding. It is important to acknowledge how “passing” or not effects daily safety/experiences but....god can we not use that word? Can that not be the agreed upon term? The implication that you are otherwise “failing”? The way in which it is incredibly difficult to apply to no-binary people? The way it does not acknowledge the nuances and the way that being read as a certain gender can be conditional? 

I prefer to use the terms “read as” because it allows for more nuanced discussion, does not have moralistic implications, puts the onus on the people viewing - not the individual being viewed and is kinda intuitive to understand.

To answer the question though? For the most part (like maybe 80% of the time) I am read as male. By no means always, and it is conditional on me following a certain level of gender conformity, but for the most part I interact with the world being addressed as a guy. As someone who is very much pre-t it seems that this alone subverts the standard “trans narrative”. Hell I was mostly read as male for a while before I ever came out. I’ve been corrected and laughed at in the women’s bathrooms. I’ve been harassed for gender nonconformity not in spite of but because I was wearing “girl’s” uniform. I have had fellow trans people assume I was a cis man (on more than one occasion) even when I introduced myself by my very much feminine birthname. I have little kids point blank refuse to believe I am “a girl”. I have had strangers confront and correct my mum for addressing me with she/her pronouns (before I was out). I have had kids yell the T slur at me (before I had begun to learn the invisible rules - which to be totally clear are bullshit -that need to be followed in order to be more consistently and unerringly read as male). I’ve been read as male occasionally in contexts where it was impossible for me to be out (near strangers on holiday whilst using birthname, new teachers and students at a school i’d been at since I was 11 and worn “girl’s uniform” until 16, etc).

It’s by no means always though. Which makes the times I don’t difficult and awkward. The technician on my course refers to me with feminine language but none of my tutors. The other day I tried out wearing eye shadow to class and I guy I bumped into later said that he hadn’t recognised me because it made me look like a girl (cringe). etc.

17. What do you do when you have to go to the bathroom in public?

haha i don’t go. I literally haven’t been to the men’s bathroom (apart from once on holiday) but also i get harassed in the women’s/get directed towards the men’s so.....here’s to hoping I don’t get a UTI lads. Literally been in a public loos once since June (not including holiday abroad) and then i nipped into the disabled one during shark week. 

19. Would you ever go stealth, and if you are stealth, why do you choose to be stealth?

so at the beginning of uni I sort of tried to go stealth to see if I could/if it was comfortable (and by go stealth I mostly mean I just didn’t openly talk about my trans-ness for a while). I didn’t wanna be known as ‘the trans one’ and so i didn’t want to introduce myself with that fact. It fucking sucked would not recommend 0/10. It’s incredibly lonely-making to try and filter your experiences and to not be able to discuss certain issues with anyone irl. 

32. How do you see yourself identifying and presenting in 5 years?

I used to do this thing when I was feeling particularly dysphoric/hopeless where I would draw myself now, and myself in 5 years time. Help construct something to look forward to, and work out what I would sincerely like to wear/express but don’t due to dysphoria. For me I really want to get to a place where I am comfortable in androgyny. I want to grow my hair out without sacrificing being read as male. I want to wear long skirts and crop tops whilst still being read and understood as a guy. I’ve done a lot of self reflection and I don’t think I can get to the place of being comfortable until I have had top surgery and I might also require T (though top surgery is really the necessity for my day to day life). Fingers crossed that will be possible and slightly healed within 5 years but given the NHS it really is not certain. 

39. Is your ideal partner also trans, or do you not have a preference?

T4T is self care. Jk. Honestly probably but that’s not to say a cis person couldn’t be my ideal partner? like at any rate it’s fucking necessary that my partner fully understands/perceives me to not be a woman. They could just be cis and no. 1 ally but in all likeliness they’re probably gonna be trans (particularly given the number trans and/or nb cuties out there)

40. How did/do you manage waiting to transition?

I’m not managing. Send help.

seriously every week I have a break down about how long NHS wait times are.

42. Do you interact with other trans people IRL?

I’m an art student in Brighton. Yes. 

(Also my sibling Sumner is an NB lesbian, and my childhood best friend Hunter is NB). 

Literally going to be one cis person in my house of six next year. 

[evcryopeneye]

@mcckingbvrd​​ is getting a starter

The fucking bird was getting it. Feng Wu was at the end of her tether with the damn thing, “come here! I’m going to cook you if you don’t behave,” an empty threat, but one that sent the small bird into a tizzy. Flying around the mans head like she’d just shot it full of amphetamines. Bumbling flight, lopsided, buffeting the lads head before deciding to dive bomb the side of his head in a frantic attempt to gather attention and help. Not that it needed help, the over dramatic little shit brought it on itself.

Managing to finally catch the creature, she could restrain it, hands wrapped around it, keeping wings folded in so it couldn’t fly off. “Keep behaving like this and I will roast you, understand me?” The bird wasn’t the only one that was dramatic, all Feng Wu could do was offer the lad a smile, sheepish, “eh -” honestly this situation didn’t make her look great but well, she had got herself into this. “I swear, the bird is just badly behaved.” A squeaky, ‘rude’ from the feathered spirit animal just made Feng Wu scowl.

She was about to jump into another spiel when she heard her name yelled from the market street, “oh shit.” For a moment she paused, eyes flickered between the bird and the stranger, fuck it. Her hand reached for his wrist, seemingly uncaring about politeness, nor how it was improper, her only concern right now was out running the Mayors son’s security. “C’mon, we gotta go.” This lump had gotten himself entangled in it, the mere act of running into her would put him in their firing line too.

Releasing the bird, she hoped it would come through for them, “find us a path little phoenix.” Following the animal, Feng Wu was well aware dragging a stranger around was probably going to get her shanked one way or another, but it was the safest escape she could think of. Through the other side of the market street, she let go, turned to him and offered an apology, “sorry, but the Mayors son’s security team are something. They saw you with me, they’ll have wanted to ta-” her face deadpanned, the bird hovering around his shoulder. “I’m sorry about my dumb bird. It seems to like you.”

[angryhausfrau-writes]

Something Old and Something New - Chapter 2: California Dreaming

“Letter for you dear – it's from Hawkeye.”

BJ rushes to collect the letter from the kitchen table.

He and Hawkeye have been writing back and forth since they got home – Hawkeye since literally the day after he landed stateside – and they average several letters a month. Simple letters about simple lives. But each letter is a precious connection to the man he'd been best friends with in Korea – and BJ still feels the same fluttering excitement at this letter as he did the first.

He kisses Peg on the cheek, pours himself a drink, and retreats to his office. This is something to be savored.

And of course he'll tell Peg everything in the letter – Hawkeye always includes plenty of amusing gossip – but BJ likes that first read through or five to be his alone. Likes to let the rest of the world fall away, let the sounds of his wife and children and the steady thrum of the washing machine be muffled by the closed door and the haze of memory and pretend it's just him and Hawkeye alone in the Swamp again.

BJ settles back in his chair and lets the sense of anticipation build as he slides the letter opener between the flaps of the envelope. He's taken to keeping all of Hawkeye's letters in a box in his office and he likes to keep everything intact, just the way Hawkeye sent it. Trying to hold as much of Hawkeye here with him as he can.

But it's difficult, what with hundreds of miles between them. With lives and jobs and responsibilities.

With families.

BJ had spent all of his time in Korea hoping and dreaming and aching to be back with his family. Back with Peg, the love of his life. Back with Erin, who he hardly knew – who he'd been torn away from. Kept from watching and helping through all those firsts – first word, first step, first tooth.

They've made up for it since then, BJ being there for a whole new slew of firsts – first day at preschool, first ride on the Ferris wheel, first time going swimming. And with another baby in the house, he'd more than made up for all the diapers he'd missed changing, all the waking in the middle of the night for episodes of colic, all the messy terrible wonder of it all.

He wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

And that's saying nothing of Peg - his wife, his partner, the woman he loves to death. The woman who'd kept him afloat through the worst parts of his life. Been a buoy through the overwhelming deluge of residency. Been a tether to home through the turbulence of the Korean war.

BJ loves her so much it hurts.

But he finds himself missing Hawkeye, too. In the quiet of the evening, when Peg and the kids have gone up to bed and BJ's had a few drinks and he's just the right side of sloppily nostalgic, he lets himself ache for the breathless Korean summer nights when it was so hot you were glued to your cot but too warm to even think about sleeping. Nights when he'd lain awake with Hawkeye awake across the tent from him. Not talking, not even looking at each other. But BJ so, so aware of Hawkeye laying there – shirtless and gleaming in the moonlight that filtered in through the open sides of the tent.

He aches for those nights, and for Hawkeye's uncomplicated presence in his life.

Not much about Hawkeye can be considered uncomplicated. But in those moments, when there were no expectations of each other, nothing voiced aloud – when they could just be with one another. BJ misses that. Misses that sense of peace, of understanding.

So each letter from Hawkeye – each line of connection stretching out between them – is precious. A reminder that their friendship is special. Something to be kept locked in BJ's heart alongside his love for Peg and his kids.

Don't get him wrong, BJ has plenty of other friends – fellow professors at Stanford, old college buddies. His motorcycle club. And there's a few guys in the club who remind him of Hawkeye, actually. But it's not the same. And when BJ gets drunk enough to turn maudlin – the kind of drunk that sees him sleeping in the guest bedroom instead of with Peg – he can admit to himself that he wishes Hawkeye was here with him.

They'd been such a large part of each other's lives – practically joined at the hip twenty-four seven for over a year. And then Hawkeye had just been gone. On the opposite side of the country and living his own life.

His life without BJ. And with Trapper.

So many of Hawkeye's early letters talked incessantly about that smarmy bastard. And, BJ knows logically, it makes sense that Hawkeye would talk about him. After all, they live together.

 Trapper   gets to be in Hawkeye's life everyday.  Trapper   doesn't have to communicate solely through letters for over a year – with only one too short, too confusing visit to tide him over until the next time he can plausibly go see Hawkeye.  Trapper   gets to have some weird domestic little setup with Hawkeye – like they're fucking married or something. Cooking for each other and keeping house together and-.

BJ is jealous as hell.

And it had bled into his letters to Hawkeye. All BJ's jealousy and resentment and longing had been too much to hide. And it had come out in angry, snide little jabs at Trapper - at Trapper's character and opinions and abilities as a surgeon.

 Eventually, Hawkeye must have gotten sick of it because he'd stopped writing about Trapper at all. There's holes now in all his letters where Trapper used to live. It's not exactly better – BJ knows Trapper is still in Hawkeye's life. But the childish, jealous,  mean   part of him is glad he doesn't have it shoved in his face anymore.

Until now, anyway. Because Trapper's all over Hawkeye's latest letter.

--

Trapper gets all the way through his letters to Max and Radar and Father Mulcahy by the time Hawkeye finishes his letter to BJ.

And part of it is that Hawkeye's just more verbose than Trapper – both out loud and in writing. Trapper's letters during the war were always pretty short and not overly flowery. Whereas Hawkeye can spin a yarn to rival the Homeric epics – and enjoys doing so when he's got an appreciative audience. Trapper's girls, for instance.

But part of it is that writing to BJ takes careful thought. Strategy. An intimate knowledge of all of BJ's sore spots – and how to avoid them.

And BJ's biggest sore spot is Trapper. Which is unfortunate, because Trapper features pretty prominently in Hawkeye's life, for some reason. Like, oh, they're living together.

Sure, Hawkeye has other friends. And Trapper does too. But at the end of the day, they're in each other's lives nearly constantly. Trapper's family is Hawkeye's family and Hawkeye's is Trapper's. They spend an awful lot of time together, even without their relationship coming into things. And it gets pretty difficult writing about his life without mentioning Trapper at all.

But if Hawkeye mentions Trapper, then BJ gets huffy. And it's no fun writing a guy who makes the rude kind of sarcastic comments about your lover best friend partner. So Hawkeye's taken to editing him out. Explicit mentions, anyway – cuz there's no real way to completely remove Trapper from his life, they're just too intertwined for that to be possible.

And it's not like Hawkeye really wants to try that hard, anyway. It's BJ's problem that he can't handle Hawkeye having another “best friend.” But still, tact is required – so he starts the letter kind of easing into things.

 Dear BJ,

 I hope you and Peg and the kids are well.

 From you last letter, it sounds like Peg's keeping you plenty busy getting ready for Christmas – including getting you to buy a flocking gun. BJ, I thought you were a pacifist! All those months in Korea and you never touched a gun. And you get back home and what do you do? Open fire on a bunch of defenseless palm trees. (I'm joking, I know you're too far north for that. You live in the land of towering pines, as you keep reminding me with photos of your new house. It sure looks nice – maybe someday I'll even get to see it in person. It'd be nice to get a look at it without your thumb covering half the view.) At any rate, you made a great Father Christmas for all the orphanage kids, so you shouldn't disappoint at the Church pageant. Even if you are handicapped by your lack of mustache.

There, that ought to put BJ in a good mood. He loves talking about his family.

Unfortunately for BJ's equanimity, most of what Hawkeye's been up to this past week has involved Trapper and the girls. Still, a little careful editing of events (and pronouns) and Trapper's name doesn't need to be mentioned. After all, Hawkeye's trying to butter BJ up here, get him to go along with Trapper's gift idea, not put him in a snit.

Speaking of flocking - get your mind out of the gutter Beej, I know what jokes you're making to yourself - it's strange for this New England lad to imagine having to make fake snow. We've got enough of the real stuff around here to last until July. We were planning to go up to visit Dad around Thanksgiving like we did last year, since the kids enjoyed it so much, but a storm blew in and they closed the Boston to Maine line and we had to stay home. Still, the girls had a good time making snow forts in the back yard. And all of Kathy's experience as a softball champ really helped her whup our butts in a snowball fight – I don't think I've ever faced such a resounding defeat sportswise.

And then we made cookies to send to my dad to make up for not visiting. I've sent along a few for you and the family.  Because a little bribery never hurt anyone. Becky made one special for Peg on account of the new baby – it's the sort of oval one that's meant to be a baby in a manger. I hope you enjoy them. I had absolutely nothing to do with their creation – other than drinking hot chocolate and kibitzing while they were getting made – so they turned out pretty edible. The girls have really improved on their cookies since those first ones they shipped me in Korea. I think most of those ended up in the rock-skipping competition.

BJ must think Hawkeye's awfully full of himself, using the royal we so frequently. That or he realizes that Hawkeye actually means him and Trapper when he uses it but has decided it's not worth getting angry about that as long as Trapper's name goes unmentioned. BJ's drawn stranger lines in the sand.

So has Hawkeye, come to think of it. But it's frustrating to have to edit his life so much. He's already lying by omission to so many people about the truth of his relationship with Trapper. And it's not like Hawkeye doesn't understand the necessity of discretion – he doesn't actually want to get arrested – but to have to hide the truth of himself from his own best friend is hard.

But Hawkeye doesn't know how to broach the subject. Particularly when BJ's so touchy about everything Trapper. Maybe he'll have a chance to talk things through if he sees BJ in person – or at least ask why he's got his shirt in a knot ever since his visit last spring. Because he wasn't nearly so weird about things before then – content to ignore Hawkeye's mentions of Trapper rather than make snide comments about him. But Hawkeye can't interrogate him unless he actually shows up, so he'd better get to that part of the letter.

Speaking of terrible things from Korea, Charles's wedding is coming up in just six short months. Why we need that long of a heads up about it I'm sure I don't know – but then again, I'm not a beacon of class and taste. Or ridiculously loaded – whatever the impetus is there. Regardless, I heard through the grapevine that you've been invited to the wedding. Since I miraculously made the cut - along with several other members of the 4077 – I wanted to see if you'd planned on attending. I think the whole deal will be much more fun with as many of us miscreants as possible in attendance to balance out the stuffed shirts.

Anyway, if you're planning on going, we've got a little scheme you might be interested in. Charles is richer than rich and a snob to boot so we can't all get him something that he'd want individually – not without breaking the bank. But we – all us MASH guys - could all pitch in on something and get him a present he actually likes. And I had the idea of doing something sentimental, to really make sure he appreciates the gift and doesn't just open it right into the garbage can. And the idea of doing a quilt got suggested - and Margaret and Sidney and Steve are all for it - so I'm asking around to see if anyone else wants in. We're petitioning Max to take charge of the project – so expect a letter from Toledo. I don't know if you've already got a gift idea – or if you're planning on attending the wedding at all - but if you want in, the offer's open.

This next part, Hawkeye isn't one-hundred percent sure about. But when he'd asked Trapper what he thought of the idea, he'd just shrugged and said he's fine with whatever. Sometimes Hawkeye gets a little aggravated by how easy-going Trapper can be.

It's not that Hawkeye wants him to be jealous. Or for him to start a fight with BJ – the fight that BJ himself is clearly gunning for. But when he asks for Trapper's opinion, he honestly wants to hear it.

“C'mon, Trapper. I honestly want to hear your opinion.”

Trapper sighs. “Ok, fine. I just – I know BJ's your friend and I don't wanna badmouth him, you know? But I'm getting kinda tired of him getting all up-in-arms every time you so much as mention me. I tried to get along with him when he visited - and I thought I did a pretty good job of it - so I got no idea what I did to make him hate me so much. But I think it's pretty damn petty of him to make you kinda tip toe around him when you write.”

Trapper pauses. He could say more here – more about his impression of BJ's character and his friendship with Hawkeye - but he ain't trying to start a fight. Just avoid one with BJ.

“So anyway. I don't mind if you invite him to stay an extra day – he's your friend and you don't get a lot of chances to see him. But I don't know that I'll want to stick around for it.”

Having said his piece, Trapper heads off to make dinner while Hawkeye mulls all that over. He knows Trapper's right about the way BJ's been acting – it's petty and silly and Hawkeye's been getting kind of tired of it himself, to be honest. But Hawkeye's always been one to try and keep the peace, the one to try to keep everyone together and afloat through tough times.

And it's difficult – painful – the idea of losing BJ's friendship. He means so much to Hawkeye. They'd been through so much together. When he'd told BJ he'd never be able to shake him, Hawkeye had meant it. There's a big old BJ shaped place in Hawkeye's life that he doesn't want to have to try and fill over.

But BJ could be making a little bit more of an effort here, too. Profess an interest in Hawkeye's life – all the parts of Hawkeye's life – the way Hawkeye had listened to BJ's endless chatter about his wife and daughter and all the minutia of their lives. Even though Hawkeye had no frame of reference for raising a kid or having a wife, no real interest in the topic outside of BJ wanting to talk about it.

And Hawkeye's maybe feeling a little petty himself. A little annoyed at BJ's insistence that Hawkeye bend over backwards for him without really reciprocating. So he goes back and rewrites the letter to explicitly mention Trapper where before there had just been euphemism. Even if it means BJ won't go along with the gift idea.

But Hawkeye does value BJ's friendship. Does want to see him. So he adds on the extra part inviting him and Peg to visit.

Speaking of offers, I was wondering if you and Peg wanted to stay over an extra couple of days in Boston after the wedding (assuming you're going.) I've never met Peg, but I'd really like a chance to get to know her. And I don't see you nearly often enough. We have a bunch of time before anything needs to be settled, but I'd love to see you for more than just a wedding reception – particularly one that's being run by Charles Winchester. I hope to hear from you soon (and maybe see you in half a year.) Your friend, Hawkeye

There, that ought to do it.

--

Peg looks up from her book as BJ emerges from his office. His face is a thundercloud and Hawkeye's letter is crumpled in his fist.

Peg sighs.

Letters from Hawkeye usually leave BJ floating on air – his face alight with joy and his gestures expansive as he recounts the latest news from Boston. But when things swing the other way – when the letters contain something that reminds BJ of the bad parts of the war, of all the things he's lost – he gets angry like Peg's never seen.

It's like something came back with him from Korea – something deep and angry and wild riding her husband. Peg doesn't know where it came from, or what causes it to come out, most of the time. She doesn't know how to make it go away.

But when BJ gets the bottle of bottom-shelf gin out of the liquor cabinet – the one he says almost tastes like the homemade hooch that came out of Hawkeye's still in Korea – Peg knows she's in for a long night.

So she calls up her mother-in-law, asks if she can keep the kids overnight. Puts away anything she doesn't want to see broken – all the nick-knacks and souvenirs of her and BJ's life together tucked safely away in the cabinets experience has taught her he won't try to open. Peg battens down the hatches and waits for the storm to blow over.

Eventually, BJ reaches the stage of drunk where he's wrecked his office and yelled himself out and he's just sitting drunkenly at the kitchen table, staring at the bottom of his empty glass. Peg sits down across from him. Watches him pour another measure from a new bottle and drink that too. Waits for him to tell her what's wrong.

“Hawkeye's asking if we're planning to be at Charles's wedding,” BJ starts with a vehemence the statement really doesn't warrant, as far as Peg can tell. “Wants to know if he'll see us there.”

“He's going, then?” Peg asks delicately. Trying to figure out what's bothering her husband without getting him any more upset than he already is.

“Yep.” BJ bits out. “He and Trapper will both be there.”

Ah. There it is. If anything is guaranteed to put BJ in a less than charitable mood, it's mentions of Trapper John McIntyre.

“That doesn't mean you need to interact with Trapper, dear. It's not like you'll be forced to spend time with him.”

BJ snorts derisively. “Trapper hangs off Hawkeye like they're joined together surgically. There's no way I'll get to see one without the other.”

And that's to say nothing of Hawkeye's regard for Trapper. Trapper, Trapper, Trapper. The whole fucking letter was full of Trapper. Trapper did this, Trapper thinks that, Trapper had this idea. Hawkeye couldn't go a sentence without mentioning Trapper. It makes BJ sick to his stomach, so he drinks another glass of gin.

“And apparently, Trapper had some big idea about us MASH docs all making Charles a wedding present together. Like we're all some big, happy family. And Hawkeye wants to do it, so that means I have to too.”

Never mind that Max is the one actually running things. And that BJ probably won't have to have anything to do with Trapper or his dumb stupid self. It's the principle of the matter.

“And if that wasn't enough, we got invited to stay over at Hawkeye's house an extra couple of days.”

“That sounds nice,” Peg says encouragingly. BJ's calmed down enough to have a coherent conversation at this point and she'd like to keep as positive a spin on things as she can. “I'd sure like to spend some time getting to know Hawkeye after hearing so much about him from you.”

“You don't understand,” BJ interrupts sharply. “If we visit for longer, then we'll stay overnight at Hawkeye's house. And that means that Hawkeye will give up his room. And that means he and Trapper will sleep together.”

“I know you think Hawkeye and Trapper are... together,” Peg says gently, placatingly. “But you can't think they'd do anything untoward with us right next door.”

BJ does think that, though. He thinks about it a lot.

About that night he'd stayed over at Hawkeye's house, in Hawkeye's bedroom – leaving Hawkeye to sleep with Trapper. About Hawkeye – beautiful, unreal, gorgeous Hawkeye – and Trapper – with his stupid muscles and his stupid smirk and his stupid everything – laying together in the dark. About them kissing each other. Cuz BJ may hate the guy, but he has to admit that Trapper's attractive – just objectively speaking. Anyone would be attracted to him. And Hawkeye's beautiful and so passionate and-. There's no way they wouldn't kiss one another. And BJ can imagine it so clearly – their mouths slick and panting, tongues sliding against each other.

Hips grinding.

And that leads BJ to thinking about Hawkeye and Trapper having sex. Trapper taking Hawkeye while BJ's right next door – rough and hard and loud enough there's no mistaking what's happening. All the little sounds he's heard Hawkeye make from across the Swamp in the middle of the night – all those little sighs and moans of pleasure – being caused by Trapper while BJ's forced to just lay there and listen to it through the wall. Forced to imagine what Hawkeye looks like when he's being taken by another man, forced to imagine what Hawkeye looks like when he orgasms. Forced to imagine Hawkeye and Trapper look like all cuddled up together in the afterglow.

 Anger – it's anger, it  has   to be anger – squirms in BJ's guts. He drinks another glass of gin.

“I'm not putting up with that shit,” BJ mumbles. “Not again.”

 Because however bad imagining it is,  knowing   would be worse.

 BJ lapses back into silence. And he's clearly still angry, but he seems to have moved past the more explosive sort of anger and into something a little less disruptive. And if he's just going to stare at the bottom of a glass all night, she's going to bed.

“Maybe just sleep on it, dear, before you make any decisions,” Peg says gently. “I'm going to bed now. We can talk about this more in the morning.”

 BJ looks blearily up at her, almost like he'd forgotten she was there. Definitely time for her to go to bed. She pours BJ a glass of water and kisses him gently on the forehead before she heads upstairs - and through it all, he just sits there, staring down at his empty glass.

 Peg vows that she's going to get to the bottom of all of this, even if she has to use a team of wild horses to drag the truth out of BJ.

[joemuggs]

Oggy Oggy Oggy - my Glastonbury story

In 2013, I went to Glastonbury for the first time in, I think, 14 years. I was invited down by my friends who run the Beat Hotel cafe-bar-dance-tent as I'd done some work for them. I got down Wednesday, reeled at the scale and organisation of the place compared to my scrambled nineties memories, had a riot hanging out with the old convoy survivors over in the Shangri La field, then Richie from the Beat Hotel crew and I were set up to do a two-hour Thursday afternoon DJ slot.

It was a good slot to have – the Hotel was one of the very few places on the whole site with music playing on Thursday – and for once in my shambolic DJing life, I stepped up to the mark. Richie and I play a style we like to call “Slugrave”: slow and steady chuggers, built to get people going gradually, and this time round we really had the confidence to let it work, draw people in one at a time and then get them in the palm of our hands. This set I did much later contains a lot of the tracks I played that day:

The bar staff kept the cocktails coming, we were DJing in Beat Hotel bath robes and slippers on the hotel-room styled stage, and I danced like an idiot – or at least like a fat Bez – the whole set long. Within about 20 minutes we knew the 1,000-plus strong crowd was all ours, and from there on in we could take sharp left turns, take long and strange excursions, and ended up with people absolutely bellowing for “one more tune”... which ended up being the Greg Wilson re-edit of “Psycho Killer”.

When we came off, we got high fives, handshakes or hugs off every single person we passed as we left through the crowd. It's the sort of thing some DJs get every weekend, but I've never experienced the likes before or since, so I was properly on a high, and right in the mood to get stuck into everything the festival had to offer. It's a really, really good job I didn't, as just as we were working out where to go next, I got a call from my brother to say my dad was in hospital after a stroke.

Obviously I wasn't going to stick around at a festival in those circumstances so in drunk, shocked autopilot mode I gathered my stuff, and headed back towards Castle Cary station, hoping to get a train back to London. There was no way I was going to get direct to Norfolk, where my dad, mum and brother all live, in one go, so I let homing instinct take over.

It took a while to get to Castle Carey, including a lot of painful lurking around coach stops, and eventually a lift with the two most comically lovely yokel coppers, one of whom had an ill dad too. When I got there, about 9.15pm, two separate staff told me that no, there weren't actually any more London trains and that my only options if I wanted to get back were a £75 cab to Bath, or get on the train to Plymouth, then on the sleeper train back from there.

OK, I thought, well I'm here now, and at least if I get the sleeper, well, I'll get some sleep and be a bit more compos mentis in the morning than if I got home in the middle of the night. I was at this point surviving entirely on neat Laphroaig I'd decanted into an Evian bottle and was having little nips of to stave off going into shock.

I got to Plymouth a couple of hours later, and there were no trains and the station appeared to be about to be shut down. The train I had just been on looked like it was being cleaned, so I thought, oh maybe that is the one that'll go back to London. I asked one of the guards, and when he said “no, that's it, no more trains 'til 6am” and told me I should've changed at Exeter to get the sleeper, I'm afraid that being really pretty drunk and at the end of my tether, I let loose at some length about the “fucking cunts” at Castle Cary.

He looked at me intently. “What did you say?” I repeated it exactly – then calmed down a little and explained my situation and just why I was upset. “Well, that's not right, is it?” he said. “You go and sit down there.” Three minutes later, he and two other young guys came over. At this stage, I was pretty much drained and without a clue what would happen; however the guard said “well someone made a real mistake there, so what we'll do is put you in a taxi.” “Where to?” “Well, what's your postcode?” “At home?” “At home.” “......”

So then a proper tousle haired wurzel of a driver called Oggy – I mean, of COURSE he was called Oggy, right? – rocked up in his black cab, signed off the paperwork, during which time one of the younger lads ran off then came back with two doughnuts for me, going “bet you haven't eaten for ages eh mate?” Still completely reeling, I got in the cab, as Oggy went “yeah you don't mind if I put my foot down do you? I likes to go fast. Oh, hang on, though, I've got to go by my place to get my credit cards.”

So he parked up in a pretty Plymouth street, then went “doughnuts won't really do for dinner will it though? Here, let me make you a sandwich – what do you like?” “Uhh...” I stammered, “I, uh, I like cheese and pickle?” Ten minutes later he was back out. “You're in luck, my wife's been baking, it's fresh bread. I got you cheese and pickle, and we got some nice ham, so there's ham sandwich too. And a banana. And a beer... for your nerves, I bet you need it, right?”

I ate my feast more than half convinced I was dreaming – god, it tasted good – then passed out on the back seat, and found myself at home at 5.30am Friday morning, fumbling for a key and watching Oggy disappear into the drizzle. By that evening, I was by my dad's bedside – more or less rested, more or less sober, but still not quite sure what I'd dreamed and what I hadn't. It was terrifying, and touch and go for some time, but my dad has improved in microscopic steps over two years: the latest being that he can now bomb around country lanes in a mobility scooter. And I am left with some of the most intense memories of my life, still dream-like, yet made razor sharp by the stark reminders I had that week of how shit and how great life can be at the very same time.

[ohstardust]

Pretty Women

Request: from  @dreamingincastles

Hi!! Can I put in a request? One with JACK PLEASEEEEE omg maybe like you're out to dinner with him and you're dating and the waiter doesn't realize that Jack's your boyfriend and starts flirting with you? And Jack gets all jealous? 😍

A/N: I’m so into this prompt, give me all the jealous Jack pls. Also, this is not my best work because it’s 1am and apparently I can’t write short blurbs and make it seem fully cohesive. Oh well.

Title credit: Pretty Women by Michael Ball (Sweeney Todd cast)

“And what can I get for this dazzling woman?” You blushed a little at the constant comments, not used to hearing such compliments from anyone besides Jack, but you smiled nonetheless and placed your main course order.

“Is he actually fucking joking?” Jack muttered lowly, his jaw squared and his eyes starting to darken.

“Who, him?” You questioned pointing your thumb behind you to the waiter, “Oh babe, he’s harmless, don’t let it affect you.”

“How can I not, he’s doing it right in front of me!” He hissed.

You both hushed as the offending waiter swung by your table to remove your plates. You could see Jack itching to say something to the young chap so you lightly toed him in the shin hoping it would silence him but you should have known it would do little to stop his frustration.

The waiter cleared your table before quickly returning with a fresh glass of wine for you, eyeing you as he placed it down and smirking as your gaze met his, “I thought the beautiful lady here would like a refill, on the house.”

You could see Jack at the end of his tether as he cleared his throat. Don’t say anything, for the love of god keep your mouth shut, Lowden.

Or not.

“Mate, I think you’ve misinterpreted this whole situation so I thought you ought to know that this stunning woman here is actually my girlfriend, and we’d both really appreciate it if you stopped making any advances or comments towards her.” Jack glared, his eyes starting to rage, “I really don’t appreciate employees, or anyone for that matter, hitting on my girl when we’re in the middle of a date.”

“I- shit - I’m sorry. You both seemed so casual with each other that I thought you were friends, plus she wasn’t exactly stopping me.”

“Don’t test my patience mate, I think you ought to walk away and leave us alone to finish our date.” Jack’s teeth were clenched, mostly at the offhand comment the guy has made about you keeping quiet.

The waiter looked at you both sheepishly before retreating from the table.

“We’ll have the bill please.” You called out to him before turning back to your boyfriend.

“Really, Jack? You had to embarrass the poor lad?” You looked at him with flushed cheeks.

“Y’know Y/N, one of these days you’re gonna get yourself in a bit of bother being that naive around men.”He shook his head and raised his hands to his temples.

“That’s why I’ve got you right?” You softly spoke, taking one of his hands into yours and pressing a light kiss to it.

Jack pulled back his chair before taking a booth seat next to you. He pulled your head towards his and didn’t hesitate to kiss you. 

“Everyone. Needs. To. Know. You’re. Mine.” He spoke in between kisses, the air thick with sexual desire. 

“Fuck, I’d make you jealous more often if it gains this much of a reaction.” You grinned, licking his bottom lip.

“Don’t even think about it, angel.” He growled against your ear, placing his hand on your mid-thigh.

The waiter returned with the cheque and hastily left before you could acknowledge him.

Jack pulled out his wallet as you read the receipt, “I’m really sorry for the misunderstanding, the bill has been taken care of, Alex.”

“Okay hotshot, take me home and let the whole town know I’m yours.” 

[cartoonbeatleskilledme]

Hello I'm new to this whole lore thing and it looks REALLY confusing, can you give me a summary of what's happened?

aLRIGHT lads strap in cos this is gonna be long as shit. before i get into this i want to give a disclaimer, theres a 100% chance i’m going to miss at least one thing and i can’t give you a definitive timeline, so i encourage other people to reblog this and add anything i’ve forgotten/overlooked. im gonna put this under a read more, cos like i said, this is gonna be long

so the name “beatles cartoon lore” popped up a little bit after everything started - it was either an anon (as i remember getting an anon using the phrase for the first time that i personally saw it) or @icasms​ used it first, as they’ve stated such. either way, the actual storyline starts before that point. I am 99% sure @beebleborps​ is the root cause of all this, and I wasn’t actually there for the very start, but I was there before everything exploded. I’m not sure exactly what happened before I dove headfirst into the void, but I know that the castle from the first episode was already the main scene, and that Beebs had already been dragged into the cartoon beatles’ universe, was forced into occupying dead George’s body and became a vampire during the process. You see, at the end of the very first episode, the Beatles all die, for no reason. So at this point, there were four ghost Beatles, four dead Beatle bodies, and the characters in play at this point were Beebs, @beatles-fan-13​ , and possibly others. I’m not sure, but I know there were far fewer cartoon beatles blogs back then, and most of them weren’t part of this (at the time) little storyline.

still pre-lore, I made my blog and beeble sent me an ask on how i’d died (see my username for reference) and I detailed that I’d been brought to the cartoon beatles universe by force, had witnessed the cartoon beatles’ final form, and that they’d killed me for it by inviting me to a concert, bringing me backstage, and dismembering me using George’s chin like a knife. Since there were mainly the ghost beatles at this point, that brought more attention to a second set of Living Beatles that were in the castle, which were also keeping beatles-fan-13 stuck in the dungeon. So right now, as far as I remember, it was me, them, and Beeble in the storyline, with two sets of Beatles - ghost Beatles and living, second generation Beatles. These aren’t the Eldritch Beatles, but are instead basically the same characters from the cartoon post episode 1, but crueler. A lot of the characterisation and early inspiration comes from @wtfbeatlescartoon​ , who often points out how needlessly cruel a lot of the Beatles are in the episodes. The lore has mostly spun away into its own beast at this point though. 

so pretty soon after I made my blog, like within a few days, other beatles cartoon blogs began popping up to join in on the fun. around this same time, i’m fairly sure @spookycryptidgeorge​ aka Grey began to get in on the story, and that’s when I got the ask/icasms coined the phrase, “beatles cartoon lore”. (In case you are curious, here is the ask, dated July 8th) Now around here I’m likely going to become more of an unreliable narrator, because a lot of things were happening at once. @cursedbeatlescartoon​ and @crypticbeatlescartoon​ came into inception, with the latter joining the madness of the story, and not long after that, @vampiregeorgeharrison​ and @eldritchgeorgeharrison​ appeared and the eldritch beatles became part of the story. It was also around this time that everything started to get more crazy and everyone was becoming a cryptid/inhuman/etc. The main players at this point that were making most of the threads were me, Grey, George, and Beeble, but the others were also contributing, and I might have missed some other story points.

The story so far here was that it started with Beeble (?) when he was transported to the Transylvanian castle in the first episode by the ghost Beatles, also known as the original Beatles. They were trying to recruit him to join the band, and George was trying to teach him the guitar, but Beebs refused cos they were forcing him into it. Eventually, George shoved Beeble’s ghost into his dead body (the other corpses are still in the same place and haven’t decayed at all) which caused him to forcibly possess George’s corpse, which also became vampiric, probably because he was dead for so long. Beatles-fan-13 was brought to the castle somehow and ended up trapped in the dungeon, was subjected to experimentation, and Beebs was trying to get them back when I became part of the story. I was a ghost which, story-wise, had been wandering the castle, but was mostly tethered to the Beatles and couldn’t go far. I met Beeble first, I believe, and relayed my story, as well as the fact that the second generation Beatles had tethered my spirit to them so that I would preform menial tasks for them, and that one of the experimentation processes they had people undergo was cartoonisation, and that they’d done as such to me, which was a process that allowed someone from outside of the cartoon beatles universe to assume a cartoon form in their universe and switch out of it when leaving. (it was later discovered that only I would need to go through this process, since it was not a Roger Rabbit situation and everyone else turned into a cartoon automatically. I was a special case because of what species I am, which was not known at this point and assumed to be human) Most of our time was spent trying to find the dungeons and get beatles-fan-13 out of there, and at some point they’d stolen some of Beeble’s blood and given it to beatles-fan-13? I’m not entirely clear on if that worked, but I know soon after they became a ghost and now reside in Beeble’s tophat.

When Eldritch George appeared, we all learned that there were an even higher class of beatles, and the second generation beatles were more or less pushed to the side story-wise. The most powerful beatles are the True/Eldritch Beatles, but there were only two True Beatles - John and Paul. They had converted Eldritch George and an (unseen) Eldritch Ringo to become like them, but they weren’t truly like them, which was why they were defecting. the True Beatles were waiting for True George and True Ringo, who at this point have not shown up yet. Soon after Eldritch George appeared, @eldritchpaulmccartney​ , the first True Beatle, came into existence and began to pull the strings. Nobody’s sure exactly what their plan is, but Paul (typically referred to as Luap so as not to “summon” him, in a voldemort-esque situation) revealed that most of the people in the story aren’t human. Me, Serena, was never human to begin with and is instead some sort of powerful being called a Star Child, but events I’m not aware of resulted in me losing my memory and assuming that I was a human. I’m not even actually a ghost, but assume the form and abilities of a ghost because I thought I was dead. Grey was human at some point I believe, but they became corrupted by the True Beatles and the Cartoon Beatles Universe itself, which slowly corrupts anyone who doesn’t belong. Grey has mostly unseen powers/abilities, and so far, True Paul has let slip that he and True John need me and Grey for some sort of ultimate plan because of the power output we can give.Vampire George (separate from Beeble, who is also, somewhat confusingly, a vampiric George in appearance) is typically seen doing True Paul’s bidding and trying to find the full extent of Grey’s abilities and keep me/Serena in check.

Other parts of the story that didn’t really fit into that summary are that icasms can be possessed by a John, not sure which, and she stays away from the castle for that exact purpose. There’s some sort of rune on her arm(?) that allows John to possess her more easily, and keeps other ghosts/beings from being able to take her over. Beeble, after a while of keeping in George’s body, became unstable, and Eldritch George “fixed” this by merging Beeble with George’s ghost, so now only three ghost Beatles roam the castle. Ghost Paul typically hangs around Beeble and will sometimes possess him in order to get attention, though i’m not sure if there are any other reasons for this. More recently, @elemental-icee-cattt​ , some sort of doctor who may or may not be from the cartoon beatles’ universe itself showed up and has been helping keep Grey and me from basically dying, since certain events (like Grey somehow becoming irradiated after being possessed by Vampire George and Eldritch George letting me/Serena read from the book on Star Children in the Eldritch Library) almost led to our deaths and, due to our abilities, possibly the destruction of the castle and/or universe. 

NOW, that’s the story��part of the Lore. The other half of the Lore has to do with the Cryptids, which are born from finding screenshots where the animators fucked up and everyone spins a story from it. I already made a post on the origin of the First Cryptid, Glitch John, and there’s a whole blog dedicated to the cryptids that’ll tell you their history, @glitch-john-and-friemds​ . At the mo, there’s Glitch John, Glitch Paul, Glow George, Octoringo, Eyeless John, Supereye John, and I’m sure there are others I’m missing. People who contribute to this part of the lore include @abandonedstage , @404bot , @lenshitposting , @beatles-cartoon-analysis , @constantcascades , @ringodidnothingwrongo , @foolishgrippy , @agesnotyetwritten and anyone else who produces art and fics for it, as I’m sure I’m missing people and I’m sorry if I missed you!!! If you’re curious, yes, the cryptids ARE technically part of the lore story, but none of them have really appeared (aside from a few asks from Glow George) so they don’t play much of a main part.

SO that is a Quick and Probably Incomplete summary of The Lore, and it’s really long but here it is and I hope you can understand it! if i’ve missed anything, again, feel free to reblog this post and add things, and if you have any further questions, just ask beeble or anyone else you see contributing a lot!!! :::)

[sorcererinthestars]

Astroneer au. Ryan goes missing and the boys are freaking out.

Combining this with @miss-ingno‘s ask: astroneer au: ryan can’t sleep. gavin is watching the stars pass by. the next ‘morning’ the others find them huddled together under a blanket, fast asleep. Taking some liberties with these prompts because I had an idea on the plane. I hope this is okay.

I also didn’t remember all the technical little things from Star’s gorgeous astroneer AU but here’s my attempt at writing in the ‘verse.

- 

It isn’t uncommon to return to the base after a scouting trip or whatever and find Ryan gone. The Lads know by now that Ryan can get a bit… overstimulated … with their company after too long in the same place. He would normally slip out when he was feeling trapped and go for walks. He was the safest one of all of them and this normally wasn’t any cause for alarm. He’d stay close to the tethers and oftentimes would come back with a little specimen for Gavin to look at or a piece of scrap for Michael as a wordless apology for vanishing. But when it was nearing ten in the evening and Ryan still wasn’t back, they tended to worry. They had enough batteries and generators to keep the power and air supply running through the tethers at night, so it wasn’t awful if he was still making his way home, but they couldn’t help but consider him being in trouble.By eleven, they had enough. “…should we go look?” Gavin asked for what had to be the fourteenth or fifteenth time. Michael just sighed and tapped his coffee cup exasperatedly. They had made coffee (normally forbidden after five due to the insanity of the Lads on any form of caffeine) when it seemed like Ryan wasn’t going to return home. “… I don’t know, Gav,” he replied. “You know Ryan doesn’t like being interrupted when he’s away from us. That’s the point of him leaving, after all.”

Jeremy nodded. “And the last thing we need is ol’ Haywood being grumpy with us.”Gavin frowned. “But what if he’s hurt?”And wasn’t that the damn question. They hadn’t been on the base too long by this point. A few months. If they left the base at night, normally, Ryan would be fucking furious. But now…. 

Standing up, Michael grumbled exasperatedly. “Fine. Gather your suits. We’ll go out and look for him. But if we don’t find him by the end of the tenth tether, we come back. And keep your fucking coms open.”They suit up and it isn’t long before they’re outside, combing their way across the terrain. They each take a different cardinal direction from the base. They call Ryan’s name as best they can, but if his com is too far out of range or off, he can’t hear them.The night is placid and full of stars. It’s really fucking beautiful, Michael thinks. But even beautiful nights can be deathly on Sorola. It’s about half an hour later and Michael’s ready to call them in when Gavin finds him. He crests a ridge and sees a figure sitting on top of a boulder. “Ryan!!”The figure startles and turns quickly, almost knocking his tether off the port on the back of his backpack before raising a hand. Gavin can see Ryan messing with something on his helmet and suddenly he’s asking “Gavin?” just as Gavin collides into him with a huge, low-gravity jump.They both fall, Ryan taken right off the boulder with the force of Gavin’s mighty leap, ending up sprawled on the ground. Ryan lets out a huff as all the air gets knocked out of him and breathes frantically for a few seconds before he gasps out “what the hell???”.“You were missing!” Gavin replies. “We were all so worried about you, you mong! And you were just sitting on top of this boulder? Where were you?!”Ryan blinks and his visor goes transparent so Gavin can see his face - perfectly unharmed. “…I was just charting the stars. There’s a good view from around here. You - you were worried about me?”Michael’s voice bursts over the intercom and mixes with Jeremy. It takes a few seconds before they could distinguish the voice of their fierce little engineer. “Yes, you fuck! We’ve been looking for you! Why didn’t you keep your coms on, you bloody idiot?! You could have been dead for all we know!”Ryan turns bright red. “I - I didn’t realize I didn’t have them on,” he admits. “I was just looking at the stars. I have plenty of air. I didn’t think you’d check when you returned from your scouting mission and I - well. I think I dozed off for a bit. I’m sorry, all.”Jeremy’s voice - nearly out of range - is obvious as he swears. Michael just grumbles. “We’re going back to the base, Haywood. You better be fucking sorry.”

Ryan’s voice is genuinely apologetic. “I’m so sorry, boys. Yeah, head back to bed. Check in when you get back. And if you want, I’ll take whatever creative punishment you want to dole out.”They both mutter something but the coms click out before Ryan and Gavin can make out what they say. Gavin just lets out a bit of a chuckle and shakes his head. “…so what’s so good about these damn stars?”

Ryan just shakes his head and gives a little grin, climbing back up on his boulder and patting the area next to him. “You ever do astrology? I’m talking myths and legends, not science and facts.”Gavin blinks. “…no. Have you?”Grinning, Ryan nods. “We have a bit of time before we have to get home. Look, that one up there, that’s Cerebus. Humans used to see it from Old Earth, when the time is right. Legend says….”Gavin tunes out his voice but leans against Ryan’s voice as he talks, the anxiety softly dripping away and his helmet filled with the soothing sounds of Ryan’s voice and his own breathing. As Ryan goes on, he finds his eyes slowly sinking closed.Goodnight, Solora-6.

[nevillelongsbottom]

Could you write fredlee with the Yule ball please?

I enjoyed this one a lot - it’s probably not the most eloquent thing I’ve ever written, because I wrote it in between revising the UK government, but I really liked writing it!

-

George beats Fred to the punch, and asks Angelina out to theYule Ball.

This annoys Fred a little, because he was going to ask her, but it’s not as if he’s lacking in peopleto ask. He could ask anyone. He’s popular, and of course he is extremelyattractive, and anyone would beflattered to be asked out by him.

And yet he finds himself not asking anyone; the weeks pass quietlyon the romance front. Other people sweep up dates and, before he knows what’shappened, everyone from Beauxbatons is spoken for (he curses himself; there wasa very cute blond-haired Portuguese boy among their number who he’d had half amind to ask out, and probably should’ve). He has no interest in any of thelumps from Durmstrang, and when he considers his options from Hogwarts, nothingreally appeals to him.

Maybe he shouldn’t go – but he’s Fred Weasley! He can’t passup a chance to embarrass Ron and Ginny and show them his incredible dancingskills.

He’d tell George, but George is likely to just make fun ofhim, so instead he tells Lee, while the two of them are up in the Quidditchstands, watching some of the students play in lieu of the official Cup; it’snice, he thinks, that they can play without the radical competition of theusual matches, students from all over just playing for the fun of it, and he’splayed a few matches himself. It’s been much better without Oliver breathingdown his neck every two minutes.

“So,” Fred asks, popping an Every Flavour Bean into hismouth (cat food; he grimaces). “Who are you going with? Someone fromBeauxbatons, I bet? Or are you out there for those Durmstrang lads? They’ve gotlovely buff arms, them, even the girls…” He watches as whoever’s playingChaser makes a beautiful goal right over the Keeper’s head before gettingbeaten in the head by a Bludger that isn’t under control. He winces; he’d havebeaten that away, for sure.

“Nah, I haven’t got anyone either,” Lee replies, stealingone of Fred’s sweets. “Maybe we should go together. I mean, look at us. We’d begreat. Your amazing dancing skills, my attractiveness…”

“My attractiveness,you mean,” Fred butts in.

“What? I’m the hotter of the two of us!” Lee argues,crossing his arms and pouting.

“Yeah, yeah, my butt.”

-

Fred’s lounging in the common room, like he does, ignoringthe textbook in front of him in favour of picking the dirt out from under hisnails when Ginny comes storming up to him like a tiny terror. He raises aneyebrow; she’s never intimidated him before, and she’s not going to start now. “Andwhat, dear sister, do you want?”

“You can’t go to the Yule Ball looking like that,” she says,pointing to his hair. Okay, it’s true: it’s in dire need of some kind of cut,but he had successfully managed to go the entire summer without frustrating hismother with the length of his hair and therefore hadn’t had it cut at all. “Especiallynot with Lee. He looks great.”

“There is nothing wrong with the way I look,” Fred says.

“Except your face,” Ginny retorts, pulling Fred’s hair outof his face and tying it up, trying not to tug on it too much despite the factthat it clearly hasn’t been brushed in what must be several millennia. “There.Now you can be cool, like Bill.”

“I am cool.”

“Nobody who says they’re cool is cool.”

Fred makes a partial attempt to try and read the textbook,but the words are just so boring andmeaningless that, when Lee comes to sit down next to him, he almost flings itaway, careful not to because Pince is already at the end of her tether withhim. Really, most of the teachers are at the end of their tether with him;Pince just makes it clear.

“Nice hair,” says Lee.

“Shut up,” Fred grumbles.

“I mean it,” Lee replies, picking up the textbook andflicking through it. It’s about Charms. He has a funny feeling that Fredprobably knows everything about practical charms that the textbook could teachhim anyway; anything about the history of charms, Fred will know fuck allabout. “You look nice. But really, you should just cut it. I could try using aSevering Charm…”

“Not with your success rate, mate,” Fred scoffs. “You’d havemy head off.”

“Yeah, true. I didbutcher a Tentacula the other day in Herbology.”

“Save your talents, Jordan.”

“I will. I’ll save them for all those beauty spells I’llhave to cast on you at the Ball.”

Fred grins. “Piss off.”

“Never,” Lee replies heartily.

-

Fred and George are two of the first people outside theHall, surprisingly distinguishable thanks to Ginny’s putting Fred’s hair upagain (“you look like a hobo,” she insists). They have better dress robes thanRon’s, too, theirs hand-me-downs from Bill and Charlie, who have significantlygood taste. Fred’s are bright velvet cobalt, and George’s are emerald green,and they look like a strange not-quite-matching pair, like they wouldn’t quitework on a game of Exploding Snap.

“So,” says George. “How are you feeling that you’re going tobe one-upped by me on this wonderful evening?”

“Excuse me,” Fred replies, “I think you’ve got it the wrongway round.” He catches a glimpse of some very familiar robes and elbows George.“Smiles on, Georgie, it’s McGonagall…” He beams like he’s the best student inthe world as she passes by; she gives them a warning glare, suspecting thatthey’re up to something, though for once, they’re not. They’re just waiting fortheir dates and being perfectly normal.

Angelina arrives first, looking (to Fred’s joke) angelic. Hekisses her on both cheeks, as respectfully as possible, and she and George headinto the Hall first as he waits for Lee. The Beauxbatons boy walks past, too,giving Fred a sympathetic smile – not that Fred needs his sympathy. He’s got adate, after all, and he can put aside the fact that the boy is a lot cuter thanLee for the fact that Lee is probably much more fun to spend time with, and isn’tgoing to leave after the tournament is done.

Lee is one of the last to arrive, like a storm of chaos,half his dreads pulled up into a bun and the other cascading down his shoulderslike a static waterfall. “Hey!” he grins, walking over to Fred. “You look good.”

“You too,” Fred says, honestly, admiring Lee’s patchworkdress robes – they’re definitely not like anything anyone else is wearing, butLee’s mother has been a hippie since birth and she wasn’t going to let him skipout on the style. “Well, are you ready to go and destroy everyone else on thedancefloor?”

“Absolutely,” Lee grins, taking Fred’s hand as they walk in,filing into the crowds like there’s nothing noticeable about them, though ofcourse, everybody’s eyes follow them. Everyone had wanted to know who FredWeasley was taking to the Yule Ball, and now they do. Ron’s jaw drops from thecrowd, and Ginny elbows him – she, of course, is entirely unsurprised, havingmanaged to notice, unlike Ron, that Fred had just as much an eye for boys as hedid for girls. Harry seems too busy panicking to notice, and if Hermione isruffled, she doesn’t let it show, though Ginny has to turn to the other side ofher and elbow Neville, whose eyes are wide, before directing a glare at Draco,who has doubtless just made a derogatory comment.

Unsurprisingly, though, they make a popular couple,receiving compliments here and there from anyone and everyone. Even McGonagallstops to tell them they’re a “perfectly matched” couple, though the tone of hervoice suggests to Lee that she might not be particularly pleased with that. Whenthey meet with George and Angelina during a period of relative quiet, wheremost people are in need of some of the punch and a good sit down, Georgeadmonishes them entirely for making a more popular couple.

Fred pokes his tongue out. “Told you so.”

George sighs. “I admit defeat. You two are very lovely andwill grow up to have many children who will all drive Mum and McGonagalldemented. Or, because I wouldn’t put it past either of you, you’ll probably adoptsome of Charlie’s dragons and dress them up and pose them as your children.”

“I like this idea,” Lee says, nudging Fred. “How far away isRomania again?”

They’re a little too wiped out by the force of their owndancing and don’t take part in the first slow dance, sitting at some of thetables, Fred nursing a cup of punch like it’s wine (there were too manyteachers standing by the bowl for him to even bother trying to spike it, andthey’d had it monitored since it was made, giving him no opportunitywhatsoever; not that he minds much, since he can laugh soberly at everythingand remember it all for the next day). “Well, Lee,” he says, “you’ve given me alovely Yule Ball.”

“Oh, mate, you too. Who knew we’d end up in a dance-off withthe Slytherins?”

“They were abysmal.”

“Tell me about it.” Lee shakes his head, grinning, takingthe glass of punch from Fred’s hands and taking a sip of it himself. “Youbetter kiss me goodnight, by the way.”

“I’ll kiss you before goodnight,” Fred says, leaning forwardand letting his lips brush against Lee’s; Lee had always expected Fred to be a littlebit more of a violent kisser, but he’s never seen Fred kiss anyone, and he’ssurprisingly gentle (but maybe that’s because he’s kissing Lee goodnight, in away).

“Next time there’s a party,” says Lee, “you better inviteme.”

Fred laughs. “Wouldn’t invite anybody else.”

-

When George gets back to the common room with Angelina, Fredis sprawled out on the couch, snoring, Lee leaned up against it, fast asleep ina less obnoxious way. George holds in his laughter.

“Merlin,” says Angelina, “and you’re telling me this is thefirst time those two have realised that they like each other? Idiots.”

-

I’m also now extremely tempted to write something with Fred and that random Beauxbatons boy I made up?? It seems cute too? ? but ofc lee is the og