#if this is indeed where we're going

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

fantasy laughingstock mawwiage but make it potc3 Flavor-

[north-wilkesboro-moonshine-cave]

congratulations to Mme. Pascale Leclerc, who has surely just experienced both the funniest and most unhinged weekend a mother could ever have. Dear fucking christ, I hope your middlest son brought you a bottle of champagne for yourself, ma'am.

[redeemed-wren]

Is there any point in praying and hoping for good things when they haven't been promised in this life?

Is it not better to focus on trusting God and being content in the mediocrity than to pray for something that won't be given and become bitter about it?

[shallowrambles]

So I've been thinking. It's funny how enjoying meta is somewhat embedded with trust.

Like, if you're "friends" and have followed a person for a long time, you have more a sense of their values, and it's easier to read their difficult meta because you trust more that they're being charitable/nuanced.

If you don't know them, it's harder to trust that they're not funneling difficult topics into rationalization of liking/supporting gross shit.

[inniave]

every once in awhile i have a flashback so bad it triggers a seizure & nobody really knows why

[mantisgodsdomain]

Apparently there's a fic reading challenge thing this year, but after doing a quick skim of the goals... we don't think we'll be touching it with a ten-foot stick. Some of these goals put a VERY bad taste in our mouth. The idea of a "diversity checklist" isn't supposed to be... literal, we don't think? No? We're remembering that one quote about "listening to people of color being like eating your vegetables for white activists" and we're feeling like it may actually have been understating whatever the hell is going on here.

[slippery-minghus]

dunno if i'm gonna rally the spoons and nerve to apply to some new jobs (i suppose we'll see how this week's vibe goes) but i updated my resume and i'm feeling pretty good about it 💪

[vyragosa]

idk if you’ve already read the 7.2 chapter but is there any info about Marisbury or/and Chaldean? people on reddit say Marisbury is actually a mastermind and basically U-Olga was a red-herring but idk if it’s really true

.

[osterby]

The incest mpreg she's seeing is her own. She literally invented AO3 so we would all have a place to put incest mpreg without it getting deleted by the latest whims of the Poiwers That Be.

Do you think Naomi Novik ever looks at AO3

sees some incest mpreg

and whispers to herself “I never wanted this.”

[tkbrokkoli]

need to vent in the tags a little :(

[alittlebitofrainbyyourside]

Fopps was like 'why have you removed yourself from 90% of your social spaces' and I do not know how to explain that like... it's not that anyone has upset me or that like- Okay, there is an element of like 'the way I care about people is wrong and I am a terrible human being for leading everyone on' but that's like- complicated and more fleeting. 90% of it is absolutely just 'if you give me a captive audience, I will trauma dump rn.' tumblr is mostly safe rn because I frequently forget that I have the ability to make posts and not just reblog things.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

58 / 2.2k / shapeshifter familiars 141 tormenting witch reader for Halloween c:

...

You hum a song to yourself as you pull herbs from your garden and pile them into the crook of your arm. The sun sets rosy this evening; the sky is clear and the moon will be new.

You turn to go in, brushing off your black skirts with your free hand. But a familiar face darken your doorway. Nobody was there a moment ago. Your serene face falls into a sour frown.

"Soap."

Soap gives you a cocky grin. He hasn't lost that insufferable arrogance. "Evenin', witch."

You approach him with your herbs in tow. "What sad state of affairs brings you to my doorstep?"

"Aw, no warm welcome for your favorite scoundrel?"

"I favor you more as a crow."

"Handsome in all my forms, then."

You stop in front of him. It's clear you're going to have to wait for him to move or else squeeze past him. You plant your feet and wait, squaring your sight with his. "Where are the other two?"

Soap plucks one of the flowering herbs with his fingers to inspect it, then twirls it between his fingers. "About somewhere, likely causing the usual mayhem. They'll be right on my heels."

Your frown deepens. This is the fourth impossible quest you've sent them on. And they keep coming back. "Did you fetch what I asked?"

Soap raises an eyebrow as he moves closer to you, his eyes fixed on yours. He raises the plucked flower to his lips. There's an edge of challenge in his voice as he answers. "We did indeed." He gently sets the flower back on top of the pile. The he pulls out a small vial and dangles it in front of you. "And a little extra somethin' for you."

You reach for the vial only for him to pull it back.

Soap's smirk widens. "Pay up first."

Cold irritation spikes through you. You know just how he'd prefer to be paid. You shoulder past him and into your cottage with a scowl.

Soap, of course, follows you in, saunters through your front door, and kicks it shut behind him. He's not the least bit deterred by your annoyance. In fact, he quite likes it. He runs his fingers along the various bottles and implements on the shelves with idle interest. "Oh, come now. You ought to be glad we're back."

You cast your herbs into a basket near the sink. Then you stand at your scrying table, flensing knife in hand, and carve a niche into your palm. The pain is nothing. Not even when you squeeze your hand into a fist to force more blood out. It drips into the wooden bowl underneath.

Payment is payment.

Soap's breath hitches. He's watching you with keen interest. He likes watching you work, your precise, calculated movements and your confident touch with the knife.

The sight of your fresh blood only makes his smirk wider. He takes a step closer behind you to get a better view. "There are easier ways to pay your dues," he says. His hands come around to rest on the countertop on either side of you. "More pleasurable ways. Other, ah, fluids with which to slake thirst."

"Keep your distance, shapeshifter," you tell him. "Or you get nothing."

Soap rests his chin on your shoulder. The touch is far too familiar. His fingers twitch with anticipation, as if the blood on your hand tempts him forward. He's always been a touch perverse, anyway, about you wounding yourself to feed him. This is all your fault isn't it? Sending them quest after impossible quest. They only demand payment because you insist upon such extremes, naively thinking it will kill them.

"You think you have enough blood for all of us? There's an easier way. Just think," Soap murmurs in your ear. "My lips on your neck. My fingers inside you."

His words sends heat unbidden into your core. Unnaturally so. Immediately, your eyes flash, and an unseen force pushes him away from you.

Soap stumbles backwards from you, his body slamming into the nearby shelf. His shoulders heave, and he breathes heavier. Still smirking, but also looking a little more interested.

You see it in his eyes, what he doesn't say or acknowledge: he likes when you push back. He craves it. He likes to see you assert yourself.

"No need to be so inhospitable." That insufferable grin, cocky and smug again. "Just thought you might want to save your bleeding for more important things."

You ignore this. He takes a seat in your chair, and you resume your work. Another cut. Something brushes at your ankles--something purring and black.

"Gaz."

He purrs, deceptively soft and sweet as he twines around your feet. More blood from your palm hits the bowl. Gaz's nose twitches. He turns his intense cat-gaze upward to watch you from the ground. You ignore it.

Gaz is a more patient man than Soap. He knows exactly what effect Soap's words had on you. He can smell your response on the air, and it entices him. But he knows not to press.

Still, after a stretch of silence watching your blood pool, Gaz grates out a low meow as a bid for your attention. Then he jumps up onto the counter and pushes his kitty face into the blood bowl.

Soap clicks his tongue. "Jealous."

You push Gaz away just as his whiskers start to tremble. "Stop that."

Gaz gives a dissatisfied meow. He sits back on his haunches. With a glare, he licks one of his paws in distaste for your scolding.

You deposit him on the floor. Then you get back to work. Quickly, as you hear the distant call of a screech owl. Gaz saunters away with a languid stretch of his back legs.

The owl's cry echoes again. Louder now. And in reply, a dog outside your window howls.

Your heart thumps. Faster, you bid yourself. You dig your fingertips into the gash in your palm just to draw out thicker clots. Faster. No, there's no time. Casting the flensing knife aside with a clatter, you take the bowl in your uninjured hand and turn, hurrying to stand in the doorway. Two of them inside is enough. You don't want any more in your home. No more. It's all you can do to protect your home from what you brought upon yourself.

The dog howls again. Right outside. Then there's the sound of animal shifting to man, and an enormous shadow darkens your doorway before you can reach it. Ghost. He fills the door frame, towering over you and blocking your path. He's so tall and broad that, deliberate or not, every move feels like a challenge to your authority over him. He's on your side, you remind yourself. His size makes him a formidable ally. And a devastating foe, when he wants to be. He's looking at you like he's contemplating being just that.

He doesn't need to announce why he's here, and he doesn't need to say anything else. He's come for payment just as Soap and Gaz have. He'll take it from you one way or another.

Ghost's expression remains inscrutable. But he burns with an emotion you sense and he carefully hides.

"What's the hurry?" The words are low and gravelly.

You stare up at him as you force your nerves to steady. "Must you transgress into my home?"

Ghost's broad shoulders bunch beneath his tattered cloak. His dark eyes take in the scene before him, the way Gaz and Soap make themselves too comfortable in your home. Then they flicker down to the blood. He doesn't have much patience for these games of push and pull. "You expect us to drink from a bowl? Like swine at a trough?"

You cock your head. "Shall I fetch you all soup spoons?"

Ghost's scowl deepens. "Smartass witch. Be grateful we've been lenient with you."

"Have you?"

It's either amusement or contempt that flashes across Ghost's face. You're not sure which. "Do you need me to demonstrate what it means to not be lenient?" He shifts his weight, his shadow stretching and darkening the room around him. "With your insults and feeble scraps?"

"Payment is payment. Whether or not the blood comes in a bowl shouldn't matter. The source is the same."

He doesn't appreciate mind games. And he definitely doesn't appreciate when you, his witch, are the one playing them. You shouldn't play with him when he's already on edge. "Spoken like a woman who's never known how to starve." He strides closer. The sound of the floor shifts under his weight. He only stops when he's close enough to make you feel like the walls are closing in on you. He reaches forward, and with his forefinger, wipes one of the droplets from the rim of the bowl. He brings it to his lips and licks it off his finger. "The blood doesn't matter."

"The blood doesn't matter?" you echo, doubtful. "That doesn’t seem to be the case."

Ghost's eyes flicker with something. Hunger. "No," he murmurs. "You could fill the bowl with anyone's blood. It's you that makes the difference. You spill it. You offer it. That vulnerability is… personal. Better than blood. Fresh. Warm. A piece of you."

He runs his finger along the edge of the bowl and leaves a wet streak along the rim. He's watching you watch him. "You and your foolish demands. Your workarounds. Blood in a bowl isn't real vulnerability."

He takes a step closer and towers over you. "You think we don't notice how you go out of your way to make it as impersonal as possible? You're meant to give us something we want for our services. You'd be better off bleeding someone else dry and offering that up." He leans in closer and runs his gaze over you with a subtle tilt of his head. "But you would never try that, would you?"

"I told you I won't hurt other people for you. The contract is with me and me only."

Foolish promises. "That doesn't mean you get to cheat us."

You offer the bowl with more force. "Drink."

His annoyance flares. Your stubbornness, your arrogance--qualities that both make you a desirable object of focus and chip away at the shapeshifters' patience.

But they’ll be able to teach you a lesson for it sooner or later.

Ghost reaches forward, grabs your wrist, and raises the bowl to his lips. He looks you dead in the eye as he drinks.

Soap is at his side instantly. His pale eyes fix on the bowl.

You hear Gaz shift from feline to human behind you. He draws up until you feel his body heat.

"Now isn't that much nicer?" Gaz says, his voice just as cocky and insufferable as ever. "Nothing wrong with making it personal once in a while. No need to be so stingy."

You watch Ghost, eyes still locked on you, as he swipes his sleeve across his mouth and hands Soap the bowl without looking.

Soap gulps down two mouthfuls with an orgasmic growl.

Gaz chuckles as he brings it to his lips, drinking until it's empty. Then he lets the wooden bowl clatter to the floor. His mouth twitches up into a lazy smirk.

You pull your wrist free from Ghost’s grasp. "You got what you needed. Give me what you brought me and get out."

"Oh, don't be like that," Soap purrs as he prowls towards you. "You enjoy our company."

"Such poor manners," Gaz says mildly. "Seems we've still got to teach you what your responsibilities are. Price won't like hearing that."

You slow, lowering the bloodied bowl into your washbasin. "Price won't come. It's not time yet."

Ghost scoffs. "Price will do whatever he damn well pleases." He prowls closer as well, the predatory sound in his voice more obvious now, like a beast preparing to sink his teeth in. "And he won't like hearing how his second-favorite witch is a lousy hostess."

"He's not coming," you snap. A tinge of fear crawls up your spine.

"Price comes when he wants," Ghost snarls. "You should remember that before you act so foolish."

You hear the screech owl again. Closer this time. The bowl clangs against the bottom of the basin and dread churns deep in your gut.

"Do you hear that?" Gaz asks softly.

"You drank all the blood," you mutter. "You didn't leave any for him. This is your fault."

Soap smiles, but he’s not meeting your eyes. "We left him plenty."

You're helpless to do anything but watch as the sound of beating wings turns to boots falling on the undergrowth outside your open door.

He stands tall, his form blocking the moonlight and shadowing the already dim room. His dark eyes land on you, and he takes in your blood-stained hand and bloodied bowl with a hard frown. What a mess you've made.

"Witch."

He crosses the room to you and takes your jaw in his rough hand. His gaze drives ice into the blood still roaring hot through your veins.

"We're going to have a chat."

...

more Soap / more Gaz / more Ghost / more Price / masterlist

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

#when they’re hunting before bran gets swarmed by wildlings and Robb just #carries a full grown deer around to take back home (via @15-lizards)

As ably illustrated by @lycorim:

And she has this one too, where Jon scruffs a direwolf the size of a pony in ADWD:

rip Robb and Jon, you should've been decathletes in the Westeros Olympics

one of the first physical descriptors given of jon snow is in the comparison between him and robb, wherein robb is singled out as being the stronger (and is later called "strong" again when carrying bran up some stairs). so if jon is out here casually pulling giant spears out of the frozen ground which other men struggled to handle in teams…what incredible feats could robb stark have been capable of. why didn't he standing long jump across the hall at the red wedding to beat up walder frey

ned who was raised alongside child robert baratheon watching robb and jon throw theon clear across the yard during a snowball fight: yea thats about how strong a child should be this checks out

[twitchytwitchtwitch]

.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

An end to the climate emergency is in our grasp

On June 20, I'm keynoting the LOCUS AWARDS in OAKLAND.

The problem with good news in the real world is that it's messy. Neat happy endings are for novels, not the real world, and that goes double for the climate emergency. But even though good climate news is complicated and nuanced, that doesn't mean it shouldn't buoy our spirits and fill our hearts with hope.

The big climate news this past week is the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration's clarion call about surging CO2 levels – the highest ever – amid a year that is on track to have the largest and most extreme series of weather events in human history:

https://www.noaa.gov/news-release/during-year-of-extremes-carbon-dioxide-levels-surge-faster-than-ever

This is genuinely alarming and you – like me – have probably experienced it as a kind of increase in your background radiation of climate anxiety. Perhaps you – like me – even experienced some acute, sit-bolt-upright-in-bed-at-2AM anxiety as a result. That's totally justifiable. This is very real, very bad news.

And yet…

The news isn't all bad, and even this terrible dispatch from the NOAA is best understood in context, which Bill McKibben provides in his latest newsletter post, "What You Want is an S Curve":

https://billmckibben.substack.com/p/what-you-want-is-an-s-curve

Financier and their critics should all be familiar with Stein's Law: "anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop." This is true outside of finance as well. One of the reasons that we're seeing such autophagic panic from the tech companies is that their period of explosive growth is at an end.

For years, they told themselves that they were experiencing double-digit annual growth because they were "creating value" and "innovating" but the majority of their growth was just a side-effect of the growth of the internet itself. When hundreds of millions of people get online every year, the dominant online services will, on average, gain hundreds of millions of new users.

But when you run out of people who don't have internet access, your growth is going to slow. How can it not? Indeed, at that point, the only ways to grow are to either poach users from your rivals (through the very expensive tactics of massive advertising and sales-support investments, on top of discounts and freebies as switching enticements), or to squeeze your own users for more.

That's why the number of laptops sold in America slowed down. It's why the number of cellphones sold in America slowed down. It's why the number of "smart home" gizmos slowed down.

Even the steepest hockey-stick-shaped exponential growth curve eventually levels off and becomes an S-curve, because anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop.

One way or another, the world's carbon emissions will eventually level off. Even if we drive ourselves to (or over) the brink of extinction and set up the conditions for wildfires that release all the carbon stored in all the Earth's plants, the amount of carbon we pump into the atmosphere has to level off.

Rendering the Earth incapable of sustaining human civilization (or life) is the ultimate carbon reduction method – but it's not my first choice.

That's where McKibben's latest newsletter comes in. He cites a new report from the Rocky Mountain Institute, which shows a major reversal in our energy sources, a shift that will see our energy primarily provided by renewables, with minimal dependence on fossil fuels:

https://rmi.org/insight/the-cleantech-revolution/

The RMI team says that in this year or next, we'll have hit peak demand for fossil fuels (a fact that is consistent with NOAA's finding that we're emitting more CO2 than ever). The reason for this is that so much renewable energy is about to come online, and it is so goddamned cheap, that we are about to undergo a huge shift in our energy consumption patterns.

This past decade saw a 12-fold increase in solar capacity, a 180-fold increase in battery storage, and a 100-fold increase in EV sales. China is leading the world in a cleantech transition, with the EU in close second. Cleantech is surging in places where energy demand is also still growing, like India and Vietnam. Fossil fuel use has already peaked in Thailand, South Africa and every country in Latin America.

We're on the verge of solar constituting an absolute majority of all the world's energy generation. This year, batteries will overtake pumped hydro for energy storage. Every cleantech metric is growing the way that fossil fuels did in previous centuries: investment, patents, energy density, wind turbine rotor size. The price of solar is on track to halve (again) in the next decade.

In short, cleantech growth looks like the growth of other technologies that were once rarities and then became ubiquitous overnight: TV, cellphones, etc. That growth isn't merely being driven by the urgency of the climate emergency: it's primarily a factor of how fucking great cleantech is:

https://rmi.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/the_incredible_inefficiency_of_fossils.pdf

Fossil fuels suck. It's not just that they wreck the planet, or that their extraction is both politically and environmentally disastrous. They just aren't a good way to make energy. About a third of fossil fuel energy is wasted in production and transportation. A third! Another third is wasted turning fossil fuels into energy. Two thirds! The net energy efficiency of fossil fuels is about 37%.

Compare that with cleantech. EVs convert electricity to movement with 80-90% efficiency. Heat pumps are 300% efficient (the main fuel for your heat pump is the heat in the atmosphere, not the electricity it draws).

Cleantech is just getting started – it's still in the hockey-stick phase. That means those efficiency numbers are only going up. Rivian just figured out how to remove 1.6 miles of copper wire from each vehicle. That's just one rev – there's doubtless lots of room for more redesigns that will further dematerialize EVs:

https://insideevs.com/news/722265/rivian-r1s-r1t-wiring/

As McKibben points out, there's been a lot of justifiable concern that electrification will eventually use up all our available copper, but copper demand has remained flat even as electrification has soared – and this is why. We keep figuring out new ways to electrify with fewer materials:

https://www.chemanalyst.com/NewsAndDeals/NewsDetails/copper-wire-price-remains-stable-amidst-surplus-supply-and-expanding-mining-25416#:~:text=Global%20Copper%20wire%20Price%20Remains%20Stable%20Amidst%20Surplus%20Supply%20and%20Expanding%20Mining%20Activities

This is exactly what happened with previous iterations of tech. The material, energy and labor budgets of cars, buildings, furniture, etc all fell precipitously every time there was a new technique for manufacturing them. Renewables are at the start of that process. There's going to be a lot of this dematerialization in cleantech. Calculating the bill of materials for a planetary energy transition isn't a matter of multiplying the materials in current tech by the amount of new systems we'll need – as we create those new systems, we will constantly whittle down their materials.

What's more, global instability drives cleantech uptake. The Russian invasion of Ukraine caused a surge in European renewables. The story that energy prices are rising due to renewables (or carbon taxes) is a total lie. Fossil fuels are getting much more expensive, thanks to both war and rampant, illegal price-fixing:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/an-oil-price-fixing-conspiracy-caused

If not for renewables, the incredible energy shocks of the recent years would be far more severe.

The renewables story is very good and it should bring you some comfort. But as McKibben points out, it's still not enough – yet. The examples of rapid tech uptake had big business on their side. America's living rooms filled with TV because America's largest businesses pulled out all the stops to convince everyone to buy a TV. By contrast, today's largest businesses – banks, oil companies and car companies – are working around the clock to stop cleantech adoption.

We're on track to double our use of renewables before the decade is over. But to hold to the (already recklessly high) targets from the Paris Accord, we need to triple our renewables usage. As McKibben says, the difference between doubling and tripling our renewables by 2030 is the difference between "survivable trouble" and something much scarier.

The US is experiencing a welcome surge in utility scale solar, but residential solar is stalling out as governments withdraw subsidies or even begin policies that actively restrict rooftop solar:

https://twitter.com/curious_founder/status/1798049929082097842?s=51

McKibben says the difference between where we are now and bringing back the push for home solar generation is the difference between "fast" and "faster" – that is the difference between tripling renewables by 2030 (survivable) and doubling (eek).

Capitalism stans who argue that we can survive the climate emergency with market tools will point to the good news on renewable and say that the market is the only way to transition to renewables. It's true that market forces are partly responsible for this fast transition. But the market is also the barrier to a faster (and thus survivable) transition. The oil companies, the banks who are so invested in fossil fuels, the petrostates who distort the world's politics – they're why we're not much farther along.

The climate emergency was never going to be neatly solved. We weren't going to get a neat novelistic climax that saw our problems sorted out in a single fell swoop. We're going to be fighting all the way to net zero, and after that, we'll still have decades of climate debt to pay down: fires, floods, habitat loss, zoonotic plagues, refugee crises.

But we should take our wins. Even if we're far from where we need to be on renewables, we're much farther along on renewables than we had any business hoping for, just a few years ago. The momentum is on our side. It's up to us to use that momentum and grow it. We're riding the hockey-stick, they're on that long, flat, static top of the S-curve. Their curve is leveling off and will start falling, ours will grow like crazy for the rest of our lives.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/12/s-curve/#anything-that-cant-go-on-forever-eventually-stops

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (38/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Merry Christmas - *narrator voice* and there was only one bed.

Warnings: fluff, mentions of sex

Word Count: 3.2k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: HE WON IN MONACO - HE WINS IN MONZA. CHARLES LECLERC IS THE WINNER OF THE 2024 ITALIAN GRAND PRIX!!!

You purse your lips. “Bed - singular. Indeed.”

Charles and you stand in the doorway of his room. On the left wall next to a chest of drawers is a door that leads into a small bathroom, while on the right wall is a double bed, freshly made up. Several pillows are neatly arranged at the headboard, the bedside tables have been dusted and the room generally looks very tidy and well-kept. At the foot of the bed are your bags, which Pascale has just put there. Your bags - because you have to share the bed tonight.

“Yep,” replies Charles, who is standing behind you. 

You nod slightly before entering the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. “What makes your mom think we're sharing a bed?” 

Your roommate shrugs. “Do you remember the first morning in our apartment? When mom surprised us and invited us over for dinner?” He raises one of his arms, puts his hand on the upper door frame and leans against it. 

You nod. “I remember.”

“And do you also remember Maman saying that, as my new girlfriend, you get to choose what's for dinner?” When you look at him with wide eyes, he purses his lips into a thin line. "I'm afraid we never set the record straight. Not even when Arthur called you my girlfriend.”

He's right. There have been several opportunities to clear this up. Charles could have called his mother or spoken to her at dinner. And you could have cleared things up too - but neither of you actually did. 

You push the thought that you didn't clear it up because you inwardly wish that you were actually Charles' girlfriend to the back of your mind. 

“Shouldn't we tell her?” you ask hesitantly. “After all, we're lying to your family.”

Charles shrugs his shoulders. “We certainly should,” he replies, but he doesn't sound convincing. “But not today. Not at Christmas. Maman loves you so much that I don't want to do this to her at Christmas. If that's all right with you.”

Pretending you two are a happy couple is certainly the last thing you should do - after all, being affectionate in such close quarters isn't particularly conducive to keeping your feelings in check. But you have no choice - after all, you don't want to spoil Pascale's Christmas. 

“I'll sleep on the floor,” Charles snaps you out of your thoughts and points to the space between the foot of the bed and the dresser facing the bed. “I'll just take a few pillows off the bed and one of the thick blankets from the wardrobe and that should be enough for one night.”

You shake your head. “Absolutely not. You're going to training camp soon and you certainly can't go there with back pain,” you remind him, planning his days ahead. “I think Andrea would kill you if you didn't show up in top shape.”

The Monegasque sighs. “And how are we supposed to handle this?” 

The look on his face is the same as when you were standing opposite each other in the living room. When he said that he didn't want you to feel uncomfortable around him. When he suggested you go back to being friends. 

You miss him so much that it hurts. You'd love to get up and wrap your arms around him and never let go, but that's where the problem lies. His “mon ami” draws a clear line between what you want and what he wants. And you have to accept that, even if it breaks your heart. 

But that doesn't mean he has to pull his back out just because he thinks his closeness makes you uncomfortable. 

“We could share the bed,” you suggest as nonchalantly as possible. When he gives you a puzzled look, you shrug. “It's only for one night. And the bed is big enough for both of us. Then nobody has to sleep on the floor and Andrea won't kill you because you're going to camp with back pain.”

Charles raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure?” He takes his hand off the doorframe and walks towards you to sit on the edge of the bed next to you. “I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. I really don't mind sleeping on the floor.”

You smile at him. “It's okay,” you reply, "we're adults. We can share a bed quite reasonably. And it's only for one night. We should be able to manage that.” You look down at your hands in your lap before looking your roommate in the eye again. “I would have rather expected that we'd still have to sleep in separate rooms, even though your mom thinks we're a couple.”

Charles leans backwards, propping himself up on the bed with his elbows. “Why is that?” 

“Well - some moms don't like their sons' girlfriends because they're afraid they'll take them away from them. Their little boy.” You can't suppress a grin. “And I don't think many would want their little boy to share a bed with their girlfriend either - even if they're all grown up.”

“That would imply that my maman can't stand you,” he replies and tilts his head back. As he swallows, his Adam's apple bounces up and down. “Besides, even if we were really together, I wouldn't have sex with you in my maman's house. I have that much decency - for now,” he grins and looks at you again. “And she knows that too. That's why she allows us to share a bed.”

As he talks about sex with you, heat shoots up your face and your hands get sweaty. Hopefully he doesn't notice you wiping them on your dress. “I like your mom,” you deflect from the topic. 

“She likes you too,” he replies and sits up straight again. “Then let's not keep her and the others waiting any longer. After all, Christmas is a family holiday." He slowly gets up from the bed and turns to face you as he stands in the doorway. “Let's go, mon ami. Otherwise we'll get into trouble because she'll think we're getting it on like two teenagers who can't keep their hands off each other."

Thank God he leaves the room so that you can wave your hand in your face. His words make your pulse quicken so that you can almost hear your heart beating in your ears. Images appear in your head of his hands gliding over your body and his lips kissing your neck. 

Before your thoughts take over, you jump up from the bed and smooth down your dress to follow your roommate back downstairs, where the rest of the family is already waiting for you. You enter the living room, where the youngest Leclerc puts his arm around your shoulder. 

“Listen, when we play Monopoly later, the others will insist that you take the bank,” Arthur whispers in your ear. “If you'd be kind enough to slip me more money than I'm entitled from time to time, then -”

“Arthur! Are you trying to bribe my girl?” Charles calls over to you from the kitchen. The 'my girl' makes your knees go weak. 

“I would never do that,” Arthur tries to defend himself and pulls you a little closer to him. “I'm just talking about how nice it is that your girlfriend is spending Christmas with us.”

“You're a bad liar,” Charles grins, leaning against the worktop. “Besides - do you really think she should help you cheat if I'm playing as well?”

“No one cheats at Monopoly here, otherwise I'll throw the game away and we'll never play it again,” Pascale interjects. “I don't want my sons to get nasty again just because they can't behave in a board game.” She joins her middle child in the kitchen to take two bottles of wine from the fridge and put them in his hand. 

“Hey!” Arthur lets his arm slide off your shoulder to embrace his mom. He rests his cheek against the top of her head. “You're acting like we're cavemen.”

Pascale rolls her eyes. “Then don't act like one just because you can't keep it together in a board game. Now set the table, dinner will be ready soon.”

Together, you place plates and cutlery on the dining table as Enzo and Charlotte join you. The young woman hugs you tightly, while the eldest of the Leclerc brothers waves hello.

“It's nice to see you again,” she smiles and hugs you tightly. “You'll be the bank later - and my partner in crime, yes?” she whispers, before letting you go again. 

Charles laughs out loud. “I heard that, Charlotte,” he warns her with a grin and stands next to you. “I think it's funny that you all think she'd associate with you when she's my girl.”

Charlotte winks at you. “It was worth a try.”

As you all sit together at the table and eat, you look around the room. There are Christmas decorations everywhere that weren't there a few days ago. There's even a Christmas tree in the living room, but there are no presents underneath it. When Pascale notices your gaze, she smiles at you and puts her hand on yours. 

“We don't give each other presents at Christmas anymore,” she says, looking around. “Since -” Charles clears his throat as she swallows hard. 

“After my father died, we decided that there would be no more presents at Christmas because family is the greatest gift you can get,” he explains, pursing his lips. “Dad always gave the best presents and when he was gone, it was different for us.”

You smile at him before squeezing Pascale's hand. “Thank you for letting me be here. It really means a lot to me.”

“You're always welcome here,” she replies. “I'm glad Charles met you. You can almost see how good you are for him and how much he loves you.”

“Maman.” Charles rolls his eyes and a blush shoots into his cheeks. “This is totally embarrassing.”

“I'm just telling it like it is,” she smiles, leaning over to whisper something in your ear while the others continue to talk. “But don't you dare help him with Monopoly later. After all, I invited you here and cooked the meal. I guess I deserve a few extra bucks,” she winks, before turning her attention back to the others' conversation. 

You look at Charles, who smiles at you expectantly. “Everything all right?” he asks you. His hand, which is resting on his leg, twitches as if he wants to reach for yours. 

You look around for a moment, watching the family members interacting lovingly and celebrating Christmas together, before turning back to him. “It couldn't be better.”

-

“You're taking the piss,” Arthur complains, jumping up from his chair with such a jerk that it tips backwards. “You'll never have enough money to buy the fourth station from Charlotte!”

You raise an eyebrow and hand Charlotte the banknotes as she slides the playing card over to you. "Do you really think I'd cheat on you guys? This is my first time playing with you!”

Pascale shakes her head. “Think about it, Arthur. She's simply done well. Look at how many streets - “ she starts to defend you, but falls silent before looking at you with her head tilted back. “Where did you get the money to afford so many streets?”

“Maman!” Charles interjects. “You can't just accuse my girlfriend of stealing money from the bank just because you're losing. That's not nice. Especially not at Christmas.”

Enzo rolls his eyes. “You're only saying that because she's your girlfriend. Love has made you blind, little brother.”

Charles smiles lovingly at you. “I guess it has. But that's okay. I don't mind losing to you.”

You return his smile sweetly. “That's good,” you reply and take a look at the pitch. “Because I've won.”

The Leclercs stare at the table, puzzled and amazed, as if you've shown them a magic trick. But really - there's no way they could beat you now. 

Charlotte laughs. “I didn't even know you could actually win Monopoly. I thought it was a myth.”

Enzo takes a sip of his wine and nods at her. “You usually stop the game after three hours because you either don't feel like playing anymore or someone knocks over the board.”

“And it's usually you,” laughs Pascale and gets up from the table. “Very well. I declare the evening over for me. I'll see you in the morning,” she smiles at you before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I'm very glad you're here.”

“Me too,” you smile at her and look after her as she leaves the room. 

The five of you tidy up the room and put everything neatly away in the cupboards before you say goodbye to each other as well. In the bathroom of your room, Charles and you get ready for bed and change into your sleeping clothes before standing in front of the bed that you have to share. 

“Is it really okay for you if I sleep in the bed too?” Charles asks uncertainly as you sit down on the bed and slip under the covers. 

“I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't,” you smile, patting his side of the bed. “We're both adults. And as long as it's okay for you, it's okay for me.”

Charles nods and scratches the back of his neck. “I really wouldn't mind sleeping on the floor.”

“I do.”

He can't say anything in reply. He slowly walks around the bed and slips under the covers as well. He turns off the light and lies down on his back. 

The silence between you is strange and the physical distance doesn't make it any better. You can feel Charles' body heat through your shirt and shorts and it almost feels like the last few days haven't happened. You'd love to snuggle up to him and fall asleep by his side. 

“Be honest,” Charles breaks the silence. “Did you steal money from the bank in Monopoly?”

You giggle briefly. “I did.”

Your roommate's laughter booms through the room. “I knew it! Oh my God!” You feel him turn to his side. “Welcome to the family. You're a real Leclerc now!” he laughs, barely able to contain himself. 

“Psht!” you hiss at him. “Stop laughing! Otherwise you'll give me away and I'll lose my honorable Monopoly victory!”

“Honorable?” he asks and continues to snort. “You cheated!”

“And your family asked me to take money out of the bank for them so they could win,” you grin. “They're the worst family when it comes to Monopoly!”

Charles slowly gets himself under control again. “But otherwise we're a nice family, aren't we? Otherwise you wouldn't have spent Christmas with us.”

You nod, even though he can't see you. “I love your family.”

“And they love you. Especially Maman.”

You turn on your side too, in his direction. Apparently you're closer together than you expected, because you can feel his breath on your face. 

“Is everything okay?” Charles asks quietly. “I mean - I don't want you to feel uncomfortable around me. I - I can still sleep on the floor if you want.”

“Charles,” you exhale, but before you can say anything, he continues speaking. 

“I meant what I said to you on the boat. I can't be without you anymore and I'll do everything I can to make sure you don't turn your back on me. Nothing in this world is as important to me as you.” He takes a deep breath and exhales. “I can't describe it. You're my best friend - but so much more.”

As he moves, you feel the blanket slip over your body. You want to reach for his hand, to reassure him that you will never turn your back on him, but the words stick in your throat. Not because they're not true, but because they don't cover the whole truth that's inside you. 

You love him. With every fiber of your being. 

“You're the person I think of first thing in the morning. The person I look forward to the most when I get home. When you're with me, it's - I don't know - like we're permanently out on the open sea and the sun is shining down on us,” he confesses, without even thinking about what that might do to you. 

“And I can't stop thinking about how you felt. How warm your skin is, how soft you feel under my hands. How the heat spreads through me when you touch me. It's like touching the sun and burning myself - but I can't stop thinking about how good it feels. You're my best friend,” he breathes out. “But fuck - if I said I didn't actually crave you, that would be an outright lie.”

You can feel the arousal gathering in your shorts, goosebumps spreading across your skin and heat rising in your face. When Charles suddenly moves and turns on the little light on the bedside table, you look at him. 

“I can't share the bed with you if - if you -” he stammers, before taking a deep breath to sort out his thoughts. The comforter that was covering you a moment ago has slipped so far down due to his movements that it's below his hips - revealing his shorts and the bulge underneath. 

“Charles,” you breathe, but you don't know how to answer him without telling him directly that you love him. You have to pull yourself together. 

“I can't just lie next to you because it's tearing me up inside that I can't touch you, because I make you feel so uncomfortable that you don't want to share a bed with me in our apartment anymore.” His voice trembles, as does his hand, which is resting on his thigh. 

You don't know what makes you do it, but apparently your brain goes blank and throws all doubts overboard as you lean over to him. His eyes are glued to you as you carefully place your hand on his and your fingertips touch the soft skin of his thigh. A lightning bolt twitches through your veins at the touch - nothing has ever felt as good as he does at this moment. “I never said I was uncomfortable, Charles.” You shake your head slightly. “Quite the opposite.”

Charles looks into your eyes, trying to see anything in them, hesitation or uncertainty, but the only thing he sees is warmth and a longing he knows all too well. 

He squeezes your hand twice, and when you return his squeeze and squeeze his hand twice too - he snaps.