#it's not long it's just spaced out sort of awkwardly so i put it under the cut

[drop--pop--candy]

excerpt from haruka5 if you even care

(There's breathing coming from this side of the door...)

(Oh.)

(Chika's sleeping in Kohina's bed.)

(She looks so small, under the covers like this...)

(I know I came all this way but... I should let her sleep. It's probably the first good sleep she's had since.)

(Should I make something for when she wakes up?)

(...all I can think to make is what Kohina always made when she was feeling down.)

(Kohina taught me how to make that right before she...)

(... I should try at least. I don't really know how to help, but I need to try.)

[taelophone]

Strings° . ° .

Guitar Player Joost Klein x Reader TWs: Penetration, Oral (r receiving), Joost is kinda a bully, overstimulation, sliiiiight hand kink it’s barely there, RPF!! W/C: 2684 A/N: First time writing smut, idk if I liked doing it😭 I feel a little bit embarrassed? Or maybe it’s shame, i am NOT sure but ill still probably write it for you guys

“So when you go to play, you put your fingers on the fretboard…and these strings. Like this.”

For the last 50 minutes or so, Joost had been trying to teach you the guitar basics. You sat together on your shared bed, with your legs crossed around one another as he explained a guitar's different parts and components, making sure you knew what he was referring to when he said certain pieces of info.

You watched his fingers closely, admiring the way they bent and pressed on each string. His blue-green tattooed knuckles caught your attention more than the lesson ever could, reading the same numbers you had seen every single day.

“Like…this?” You murmured, copying his hand placement on your brand new electric.

“Yeah, like that.” He nodded, strumming his fingers along the steel wire, creating a light and lively sound from the strings. “That’s an A chord.”

You nodded, holding your pick a little awkwardly before plucking the same chord, being a little bit more gentle with your strings. “Like that?” You asked, glancing up at him for approval.

“Very good, that was great schatje.” He beamed,  giving you a quiet round of applause. “Alright, now let me show you uhh…D chord. Yes.” He nodded, immediately diving into an explanation of the chord.

Unfortunately for Joost, his voice fell on very deaf ears.

All you were focusing on was his face. The pretty mole at the bottom of his lip seemed to speak right over his voice. It commanded your attention like some sort of ray of light, begging you to stagger towards it like a moth to the moon.

And then his hair, oh dear god don’t even get me started. It sat so perfectly on his head, his bangs messily clipped away with one of your pink flower clips. He had long since dropped his attention back to his star-shaped guitar, trying to demonstrate where to put your fingers.

But all you could think about was where he could put his fingers.

“You’re not watching.” He murmured, catching on to how spaced out you were.

It didn’t take him long to glance at you, tilting his head in faux curiosity. He left out a soft chuckle that almost sounded like a scoff, giving you the faintest smirk ever.

“You’re not watching.” He repeated, gripping your jaw firmly and lowering your gaze so it stared at the guitar stationed in his lap.

“Sorry sorry sorry, what were you saying?”  You murmured, feeling the apples of your cheeks grow flush with fever.

“Put your fingers here,” he murmured, waiting for you to mirror his hands with a smug smile.

You nodded, copying his hands and then nodding.

“And then you skip these two…and strum from the third.” He nodded, running his finger along the strings.

You nodded again, this time a little slower as your brows furrowed in concentration. You copied exactly what he did, but for some reason, your chord sounded unstable; almost like it was vibrating against the wood of the fretboard.

“Ah. That’ll happen.” He nodded. “Push down harder with your ring finger.” He muttered, poking your knuckle playfully.

“Mhm…” you hummed, pushing down a little more but still yielding the same sound.

You frowned, rolling your eyes before taking a deep sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!” You huffed, immediately sensing yourself losing motivation little by little.

“Don’t stress about it, schatje. Guitar is…not easy.” He giggled, immediately remembering all the many times he had been so desperate to break his guitar and never return.

“You just have to learn what works best…C’mere.” He murmured, setting his guitar on the floor and reaching over to you, lifting you up from under your shoulders.

“Oh. Okay.” You snickered, letting him place you in his lap.

“Alright, so,” he began, propping your guitar back up in your lap, and placing his hands over yours.

His hands were soft, but the pads of his fingers were rough and calloused due to years of practice.  The very definition of rough around the edges, and every second you spent with him felt like heaven.

“Alright, back to D chord, ja?” He smiled, resting his chin on top of your head. He placed your fingers in the appropriate place, keeping his firmly on yours.

“Your ring finger. It’s not pressing hard enough.” He rasped, pressing your smaller digit on top of the wire. Not enough to hurt, but enough to hold it still.

“If you can’t keep it still, it‘s gonna move.” He reminded. “That’s what’s making that weird noise.”

“But that’s uncomfortable…do I have to press that hard?” You asked, furrowing your brows in slight annoyance. 

“Guitar is uncomfortable.” He smiled. “So yeah, you do.”

“I’m about to drop this guitar, I swear to god.” You huffed, strumming the chord again, noticing how much better it immediately sounded. 

“See? Much better.” Joost smiled, patting the side of your leg. “Just when you were about to quit. Look, you’re getting better.”

You had to admit, you almost laughed at how quickly you had calmed down when you heard the correct note and not that nonsense you played earlier.

“Alright, we’re gonna do it over again.” Joost giggled, releasing your hands but keeping you in his lap. He leaned back slightly, propping himself up on the palms of his hands.

“Start from E. I’ll help you if you mess up.” He smiled.

“Wait…E was this one?” You murmured, placing your pointer on the 4th string, middle on the third, and ring on the second.

You glided your pick across the strings, nodding when you yielded a bright and fun-sounding strum. 

“Good job!” Joost smiled, giving you another quiet applause. “It’s not so hard, see?” He murmured, wrapping his arms around your midriff.

“You literally just said it was hard earlier?” You chuckled, rolling your eyes.

“I lied.” He giggled. “Guitar isn’t really hard, but I am.”

“Oh wow.” You giggled, maneuvering your hands around the guitar to pluck different chords experimentally.

“Now do C7.” He giggled.

“No, I hate you, and I hate C7.” You groaned, rolling your eyes. 

It wasn’t really a hard chord, considering he was still showing you the basics, but it was annoying. Your fingers didn’t like positioning themselves so awkwardly.

“C’mon, you can do it. Learning is a process.” He assured, resting his chin on your shoulder instead so he could monitor your hands.

You sighed, fighting the urge to throw the guitar and play the little game of finger crochet you had been playing for almost an hour now.

“Nope…this finger goes here,” he corrected, immediately moving your hand. “Try again liefje.”

“Nope. I quit.” You huffed, letting go of the guitar completely.

“No, don’t do that.” He laughed, raising his eyebrows with slight shock. “Giving up isn’t good, you’ll never learn. Just try again.” He urged, fiddling with the bottom of your shirt.

“Maybe I’m overreacting…” you sighed, picking up the guitar and assuming the proper position again.

You played the chord over and over again, pressing and tweaking with the wires repeatedly to try and get it right but it was impossible to focus.

“Joost, move your hands, I can’t play like this.” You giggled, rolling your eyes.

“What? I’m not doing anything.” He teased, gently squishing and prodding at the fat of your breasts. “You can play just fine, I’m not blocking your hands.”

“I’m not blocking your hands!!” You mirrored in an exaggerated high-pitched voice, intending to mock him but giggling through your words.

“You can play just fine, look!” He protested with a wide grin before pinching your nipple between his fingers gently, earning him a small whine.

“Close enough, sounds like B major.” He giggled, sticking his tongue out impishly.

“Y’so mean, feeling on me while I’m trying to…learn guitar..” you muttered, still trying to pluck your notes as he attacked your neck and chest.

Your breathing grew labored, and your focus flew out the window. You had always admired Joost’s hands, but there was nothing better in the world than to have them on you.

“Can I take this off?” He asked, lifting the bottom of your shirt slightly.

What a blessing.

“Yes.” You said, a little quicker than you would have liked to admit. But shame is just a social construct.

“Thank you,” he purred, lifting your shirt up in the same breath.

Joost’s hands squished and prodded your delicate and sensitive skin, being as gentle as possible as if you were the softest of angels.

“You poor thing…can’t even concentrate on playing…” he cooed, grinning evilly as your guitar slid out of your lap and onto the floor below with a sharp thud. “I’ll help you, don’t worry.”

His small, patronizing tone and soft smile would have been annoying if it was anybody else, but it was hard for it to be anything but attractive when both of your heartbeats drowned out the afterthought of shame.

“You’re beautiful” he murmured, sucking purple and blue hickeys on your neck, holding your head still by placing his hand firmly on your jaw.

“Lay down, baby. Let me help you” he urged, slowly lifting you from off of his lap and setting you down on your sheets.

Joost was a gentle man, no doubt about it. No, probably not a gentleman, but a gentle man. He took his time with you, running his hands up and down the plush of your thighs.

“I love you” he reminded, pulling down the waistband of your sweatpants.

He leaned down, trailing kisses from your sternum to your lower stomach. He was so slow; his pace was killing you with how feather-light and leisurely it was.

“Joost, c’mon, please..” you whined, reaching your hand down to tangle your hand in his hair.

“Be patient…” he smiled, leaning his cheek against your inner thigh. “Good things come to those who wait.”

He kissed the soft skin of your womb before flattening his warm tongue against the fabric of your panties, relishing in the way you twitched at the contact.

“Don’t run,” he chuckled, holding you by your thighs.

“I’m not running…” you snickered, rolling your eyes at him as you ruffled his hair a bit.

“Not now,” he smiled, pulling your simplistic panties down with his canines. “But you probably will.”

And without any warning or signal whatsoever, Joost latched onto your cunt, lapping and sucking your poor and achy clit.

The sounds were filthy; wet and slick slurps mingling with your pants and moans. You tugged at his hair, making any sort of effort you could to ground yourself.

“I know, I knowww.” He hummed, sending vibrations straight to your sensitive core as he held your free hand.

He was so persistent, his head not disappearing from between your thighs even once. He tugged you closer to him, wincing a little as you kept a vice grip on his hair.

He peers up at you, his two-toned brows furrowed slightly as his eyes gaze into yours with heavy lust and admiration. 

His tongue feels delicious against your weeping folds, his other hand leaving your thigh to bully your sensitive bud.

The room around you was fading to white; your senses became overcrowded with the many factors screaming in the room.

The sinful sounds of Joost eating you alive like he was a starved man, your tiny tears that pricked your waterline, the whines of Joost’s name filling the little amount of empty space left between you and the 4 walls of your room, all of it.

“Joost—! Please, 'm gonna-“

“I know.” He murmured, giggling into your cunt as he pried your entrance open with his two fingers, which was more than easy due to how wet and pent-up you were.

Your breath caught in the back of your throat and the world faded into a blank slate of white, a loud and abrupt whine ripping through your vocal cords. But that didn’t stop your boyfriend, no! Never.

Even after your orgasm had crashed against you like a tidal wave, Joost didn’t even slow down. Not one bit.

He continued to suck and tease your now overstimulated clit, giggling subtly at your little cries of pleasure.

“You can take it, I’m not done” He mumbled against your entrance. 

He was so hard it hurt; at some point, he was beginning to wonder if he was just eating you to try and alleviate the ache in his boxers. But it didn’t matter, you tasted too good for him to even think about prying his mouth away from you.

“Mmh, je smaakt lekker” He hummed, working his fingers in and out of you, abusing the spongy spot against your walls that had you crying for more.

He knew your body like he knew his guitar; what keys to press, where his hands should go, and how to keep himself from breaking anything that shouldn’t be broken. 

“Joost—! Can’t…Can’t, ‘s too much!” You stammered, laying your hand flat on his head as you tried to push him away.

“It’s too much!” He mocked, coaxing you into one more orgasm on his tongue before giggling and kissing your trembling thighs.

“Het spijt me, vergeef me alsjeblieft.” He smiled, pulling your pink flower clip off his head so he could take himself seriously before pulling down his sweatpants.

“You wanna hold my hand?” He offered, letting you weakly find purchase in his larger palm.

Everything about Joost was big, which is funny enough considering his name meant small. His hands, his legs, his height.

And that large size carried through EVERYWHERE, making sex a tight squeeze.

He slid his boxers down, just enough to let his light blush-pink tip spring free, angry and neglected as pearls of clear dribbled down onto the sheets.

“You okay?” He asked, swiping his length across your shiny and sensitive folds. “I won’t do anything until you’re ready…”

You nodded, lacing his fingers gently between yours. “Yeah, you can, it’s ok” you nodded, smiling at him softly.

Joost nodded, lining himself up with your entrance.

He squeezed your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles as he pushed into you, whining quietly as he buried himself in your welcoming warmth.

You don’t even recognize your sounds as your lips part to make way for broken and breathy moans. 

He gave you slow but deep thrusts, not wanting to accidentally hurt you. His right hand found purchase under your hip, holding you steady as his hips met yours again and again.

“Just like that…there you go.” Joost huffed, picking up the pace with his hips.

His dick bullied its way through your entrance, intimidating and prodding that spongy spot up against your walls over and over again.

Breathy moans and low groans fell from you and Joost’s lips. His fingers holding your hip pressed into your skin were sure to leave little bruises in the shape of the pads of his fingers.

“I love you…” He rasped, staring down at where you connected.

It was a sinful sight; a murky white ring around his glistening dick. He smiled, biting down on his lip before leaning down to kiss you.

You were so close— just teetering on the edge as your tongue danced with Joost’s. He swallowed your moans like they were liquor, throwing back shots that burned down and kept him giddy and satisfied.

“Almost there, baby…” he murmured, letting go of your sore and barely-bruised thigh to rub small and tight circles on your clit.

Oh, it was so over for you.

With one loud screech of Joost’s name, he clasped his hand over your mouth to save you a noise complaint as you painted him white with your release.

Joost let out a heavy, guttural moan as he shot hearty splurges of white right through your womb before collapsing on top of you, panting right next to your ear.

“You’re so pretty, I love you so much.” He slurred, kissing your cheek.

“I love you, too.”

Your guitar lay forgotten on the floor, counting the beats of silence per minute as the pair of you drifted off to sleep.

[writingjourney]

a message from the bulletin board | cardinal copia x gn!reader

summary: the ministry’s bulletin board, ordinarily used for missing items or party announcements, contains a particularly interesting request this week – a lonely hearts ad.

content: 9k words, gn!reader, slightly suggestive at times, first date/first kiss shenanigans, sad lonely awkward cardinal fluff, you know the drill

Masterlist – Ao3 link

You ignore the knot of people in front of the bulletin board.

As much as the whispers and giggles garner your attention, someone else attracts it even more. Cardinal Copia, red cassock, red biretta, arms filled with two boxes worth of files and papers, is trying to push the door to his office open with his hip under a swell of Italian curses. Certainly, his hip swing is impressive on most days, especially on stage, but today it seems more like a helpless, uncoordinated bumping that the door is fighting with every ounce of its wooden strength.

Evidently, he’s struggling.

“Good morning, Cardinal, do you need a hand?”

His eyebrows shoot up when he hears your voice and he stops dead in his tracks, slowly turning his head until he catches you standing right behind him. Despite your announcement, he visibly startles, nearly dropping the boxes in his arms.

“Oh, eh… yes, if you could open the door for me, Sibling?”

“Of course.”

With your hand on the knob, you watch as he hurries inside of his office, wheezing under the weight and dropping the boxes onto his desk with a dull thud that echoes loudly in his mostly bare working space. Apart from books upon books strewn across and around his desk as well as an old weathered couch, there hasn’t been any love put into decorating the space. You wait patiently for him to turn back around to you, a hint of red dusting his cheeks when he finally does.

“Thank you,” he squeezes out, trying very hard to swallow his heavy exhales. “I carried them here all the way from the archives. Long way, you know, even for my…” He holds up his arm, flexing it exaggeratedly. “My strong, powerful muscles.”

You giggle and he perks up in delight, eyes wide and shiny. “No problem, Cardinal, I can imagine they’re very heavy.” 

You smile at him and he smiles back, so sweetly, and you’re momentarily at an equal loss for words. A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead, down the prominent bridge of his nose. He brushes it away with a leather-gloved hand and you can’t help but stare as he wipes it clean on the heavy fabric of his vestments, shaking out his fingers once he’s done. You can’t look away as they flex and release, flex and release. They’re surprisingly long and so… nimble.

Copia’s violent cough startles you awake and you’re not sure if it’s his own nerves that make him clear his throat, if his overexerted lungs are protesting or if he caught you staring. Either way, you feel your own cheeks getting hot now, the moment of hesitant silence slowly transitioning into a gooey sort of awkwardness.

“So, ugh… I better get back to my own duties,” you say. “Lots to do, spring cleaning and all that.”

He nods. “Yes, yes, you are busy, of course. Such a busy little bee. Bzz bzz. Hehe.”

You awkwardly giggle back, trying hard to think of a clever joke. Maybe something that has to do with stinging? But before you can settle on one, the time for a witty come-back has stretched thin and so you just awkwardly wave at him, mutter a “see you later” and close the door.

With your back pressed to the wood, you let out a deep exhale, the butterflies – or bees – in your stomach making it very hard to breathe at a normal pace. Once you’ve recollected your wits, you notice that the hallway is still as busy as before, maybe even busier.

Like lions gathering around an animal carcass after days of starvation, what feels like half the abbey has been flocking to the big rectangular corkboard. You cannot possibly imagine what would warrant such intense interest. The most exciting messages on any given day are unusual sex requests, the invitation to a weirdly themed party or a call for applications to a particularly intricate sex ritual to honour the Dark One.

You push through the crowd to check what’s causing the repeated giggling and excited whispers amongst your peers when you spot a pristine piece of paper on the board. It’s thick, stark-white, shaped like a heart at the top and with pieces to rip off at the bottom that contain a phone number. You squint, move in even closer until you can make out the text – hand-written and in cursive.

I (m, 50) am looking for a partner to spend the rest of my life with. I don’t have any preferences but it would be coolio if we had similar interests, so we can have some fun together.

I like: watching movies, playing video games, going on walks, rigatoni, juice, small animals

I don’t like: coconut flavour, being barefoot, swimming, touching wet dishes, bullies, dentist appointments

If you think we are a good match I would like to take you on a romantic date. Please call or text me.  Bye bye!

You smile at the note but quickly find back down to earth when someone rams their elbow into your side. No one has taken one of the numbers yet, so you assume the excitement is more about the fact that there is a lonely hearts ad on the bulletin board at all than any actual interest in the person. You have to admit, it is a bit odd. Most younger clergy members just use dating apps these days or social media. But the lonely heart in question is fifty, so they may not be familiar with modern methods, and it’s oddly endearing that anyone would go through the trouble of creating such an ad. At the same time, it breaks your heart that someone in the abbey is so lonely that they risk the ridicule of half of the clergy members just to have a chance at finding love.

“Well, there are a bunch of people who it could be,” you overhear someone say. “Maybe one of the older Brothers, a bunch of them are single. Could also be that new bishop who just arrived, I heard he’s a cinephile and walks around the gardens quite often.”

You ignore the whispers of speculation, making your way back through the crowd to return to your duties. It’s almost dinner time by now and you need to get two more loads of laundry done before then. But even as you sort through piles of habits, cassocks and veils… you can’t stop thinking about the ad. You sincerely hope the person receives a few serious and not just prank calls. The note did sound endearing and you definitely see similarities. At the same time you’re far too busy nursing your hopeless crush on the Cardinal to actually entertain the thought of dating someone else. 

You decide to check on the ad again tomorrow, see if anyone took a number, and if not, you could at least save it to your phone… just in case.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

Two birds land on his window sill, rubbing their beaks together in a kiss before happily chirping at each other. They’re in love, literal love birds, building a nest on the little protrusion in the wall right below his window. He’s been watching them occasionally, unreasonably envious, as they bring in twig after twig, ready to start their family. From the same window, Copia can make out the spring-filled gardens with their colourful patches of pink and red tulips, bumblebees hurrying from blossom to blossom, drunk on pollen and greedy for more. He can overlook the bright green meadow leading down to the pond, speckled with lush, budding trees. At this time of the day, after everyone finished their daily duties, the grass has almost completely disappeared under a plethora of picnic blankets.

Spring fever, he assumes, has to be the reason why everyone seems to be in love. Couples dozing in each other’s arms in the shade of the trees, feeding their lovers berries or grapes, taking a stroll down to the pond with their joined hands dangling between them, kissing without pause in the archways of the cool stone walkways leading outside. Just now he spots two Sisters rubbing sunscreen on each other’s bare shoulders, one of them kissing the other's head before they fall back onto their blanket, giggling happily at each other.

He feels so incredibly lonely.

This has been going on for weeks now and he’s tired of feeling so shamefully worthless of affection. Instead of the arms of his lover, he sinks into his tattered old desk chair and drowns his sorrows in boring paperwork. Not that that’s going well, but for lack of alternatives, he’d rather do budget calculations than sit in his quarters all alone. Every evening, the spring breeze carries the sound of happy laughter through his windows, usually while he’s playing video games all by himself, but he can’t keep them closed if he doesn’t want to sweat to death. Besides… that same gentle breeze is the only thing caressing his skin as he tries to fall asleep at night and if he closes his eyes, the wind almost feels like fingertips ghosting over his arms.

As he leaves his office that night, he receives another heavy but sadly much expected blow. Almost a week now and still no one has taken one of the numbers from his lonely hearts ad. Of course it doesn’t mean no one saved it to his phone, he tells himself, people are shy or they just don’t want to date an anonymous person. It has nothing to do with him, they don’t even know it’s him. And yet… if his dating streak continues so poorly, he’s not sure if he can stay sane for much longer. There are only so many tears you can cry in bed at night before it starts to take a toll on you.

His heart is especially heavy as he makes his way to his lonely quarters. One more day and then he’s taking it down, he decides. No use in waiting any longer now that surely everyone in the abbey has seen his request and the last thing he wants are pity calls.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

“So, are you going to call the Cardinal?”

You look up from your breakfast plate. Your friend Lily is sitting opposite of you, chewing on a blueberry muffin, and you narrow your eyes at her. “The Cardinal?”

“The number in the lonely hearts ad,” she says. “It’s still there, I checked earlier.”

“It’s the Cardinal?”

She nods, popping another piece of muffin into her mouth. “Duh.”

You feel your cheeks heating up and set your fork down to hide the sudden tremor in your fingers. “Which Cardinal?”

She gives a soft groan of annoyance. “Babe, there is only one of the Cardinals who would ever hang up such a goofy thing. Now, will you call him?”

Copia. She knows about your… slight infatuation with him. And despite being kind and not teasing you too much, it was just a matter of time until the occasion popped up. If he is looking for a serious partner… maybe it’s too late for you soon. The ad has been up for days and while you’ve been toying with the idea of calling, you just haven’t found the courage yet.

You continue eating, trying to act casual, but it takes you three attempts to pick up a stray piece of cucumber from your plate. “How do you even know it’s his number?”

Lily takes a deep breath, setting the muffin down to ready herself. “Sooo, Michael wanted to call the number to check who it is, right? Well, turns out his girlfriend already knew it’s the Cardinal’s number and his girlfriend is Sister Jill who knows it from Sister Mary who is roommates with Sibling Jessie who works with the treasury and their colleague Brother Paul works as the Cardinal’s assistant two times a week and that’s how he has the Cardinal’s number for emergencies.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Now, will you?”

Eyes on your empty plate, you bite your lip until you can taste blood. It’s Copia’s number, the number of your crush of about six months now, and he’s looking for a partner, unspecified. That’s… big news, intimidating news, news that calls to an action you’re not sure you’re prepared for.

Glancing at Lily, you catch her smirking at you and promptly give her a scowl. “I don’t know. What if he already got better options?”

She cocks her head to the side. “Better than you? I doubt it.”

“You’re biased because you’re my friend.”

A shrug. “You should try. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“He could be disappointed.”

“He’s more disappointed if no one calls,” she counters.

“Yeah but–”

You stop yourself when you see Nora, Lily’s girlfriend, approaching the table. Her arms wrap around Lily from behind as she presses a loud, lingering kiss to her cheek, both of them giggling.

“You scared me,” Lily says, turning around for a proper kiss.

“Sorry, love, but I can’t leave breakfast without my sweet treat.”

You avert your gaze, involuntarily feeling like an intruder. They’ve been together for a few weeks now, sickeningly adorable. Lily had been pining after Nora for months, a little bit like you with the Cardinal, only that she eventually found the courage to ask her out. To see her bravery being rewarded like that makes you incredibly happy for both of them. But at the same time… you have rarely ever felt your loneliness so sharply, the heaviness of your unreciprocated crush such a weight on your shoulders.

You know that if you want this to be you and the Cardinal, then there’s only one real answer to her question: You have to reach out to him.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

He’s ready to toss this day into the trash bin already and he only just got up. 

Last night, after tossing and turning for hours, Copia fell asleep only to promptly land in a hysterically embarrassing dream that made him jolt up whimpering like a kicked dog and hiding his face in the pillow. Bringing himself close to suffocation, he finally realised that he had not actually stumbled right in front of you, spilling juice all over his robes, scrambling to get up only to slip in the puddle by his feet, falling onto his butt with a high-pitched cry. You had been standing there motionless, watching the spectacle unfold until you turned around to leave.

This is the reaction he would expect, should he ever actually find the courage to ask you out. However, this is highly doubtful, because upon walking to his office half an hour later, he catches you with a group of friends. He often sees you with them – attractive young Siblings, evident chemistry between all of you, and every week he suspects a different one to be in love with you. He recognizes the two Sisters he saw from his window earlier this week. One of them presses a loving kiss to the other’s cheek and he wishes he could just walk up to you and do the same.

His heart hurts. No matter how much kindness you extend to him, you’re a beautiful young soul who could never be romantically interested in an aging loner. Copia is not disliked per se, he gets along with pretty much everyone, but he struggles to build meaningful connections. Between working his butt off to satisfy the clergy and spending time on his mostly solitary hobbies, it’s hard to meet people. He had to actively put himself out there but neither online dating nor any of the singles’ events Terzo sent him on brought any results – only what the young Siblings call getting “ghosted” or “benched”.

His ad is his last chance. And even that failed miserably.

As he ponders his options, your eyes suddenly meet his and he swears you’re smiling. Then you lift your hand in a cautious wave. For a second, he’s too scared to wave back because there are people around him, all of which could be your target. Your hand sinks after a moment as your smile slowly straightens and he suddenly knows that you do mean him. He lifts his hand far too excitedly in a reciprocative wave. Your smile returns, a shy one, but before he can even think about possibly approaching you, his knees suddenly give out.

No, they don’t give out, someone rams a trolly filled with supplies for Black Mass into him. Some of the tall candles roll off the top and clatter to the floor, breaking in half just like his dignity. 

“Oops, sorry, Cardinal,” the Sibling says, scrambling to help him up. “It’s so hard to steer this thing.”

“It’s fine,” he chokes out, the pain in his knees anything but fine. “It happens.”

“I’m truly so sorry.”

He smiles, a hand on their shoulder now that he’s on his feet again. “It is okay, eh? No worries.”

When his eyes try to find you again, you’re not there anymore and he can’t decide if he’s relieved or sad. He prays to Satan that you didn’t see him fall but there is no way you missed it. His dream, if slightly watered-down, did come true after all and perhaps now you won’t want to–

“Cardinal, are you alright?” 

Copia, still dizzy and skittish, spins around so hard he nearly stumbles again. He smooths out his now crumpled cassock, the dust he collected on the floor even more visible on today’s black vestments. In an attempt to retain his dignity, he straightens his spine and looks right into your beautiful eyes. You have a tendency to startle him like that and he wishes he could be more smooth about these encounters.

“Yes, yes, Sibling, thank you. It was… it was nothing, just a little stumble, eh?”

“Are you sure?” You inspect him from head to toe, your brow creased in concern. “It looked painful. Your knees…”

“Oh, my knees are fine!” he lies. “I kneel all the time, Sibling. You know this.” Your eyes widen and he continues to stammer. “I mean in prayer. I pray a lot. On my knees. I am a Cardinal, yes? It’s my job.”

 You nod heavily. “Yes, of course.”

“So, ugh… I better just fuck off.” He presses his lips together to keep more silly words from coming out. “I mean I’ll go back to work. ”

As he tries to leave, your hand shoots up, squeezing the muscles in his forearm. He’s not as much startled as enthralled by your touch, so unexpected that he has no time to feel insecure but so welcome that it almost feels natural to have your fingers on his arm. He swears there is a hint of nervousness in your eyes now and despite knowing it’s silly, his heart wants to interpret it as bashfulness.

“Cardinal, please. I… ugh…” 

You look beautiful from up close. Even if you weren’t stuttering he’d have a hard time listening to your words. It seems like you stopped breathing, your cheeks now a sweet shade of rosy, and you open your mouth to speak but no words come out. Eventually, you shake your head and run your fingers over the fabric of his sleeve. He thinks he’s about to pass out, his nerves rising until he can feel his heartbeat all the way up to his neck. Your hand is so gentle, so… affectionate.

“I’m sorry, Cardinal. I don’t mean to keep you. I was just thinking that I really like the black cassock. It suits you.”

A compliment. His mind is racing. This is not what you really wanted to say, he can tell, but he grins anyway. You like his cassock? Well, you should wait until you see him in a suit. Maybe on a date. He should ask, he realises. This is the moment he’s been waiting for for months now. But as he continues to stare at you his tongue becomes too heavy to form the words, and then your hand is suddenly gone and takes his courage right with it.

“Thank you, Sibling,” he says instead. “I also really like your ugh… your outfit.”

Only when the words leave his mouth does he realise it’s the same everyday habit you’re wearing all the time. Somehow, the silly compliment still manages to conjure a smile onto your face and so he stops berating himself because he made you smile. The sight stuns him, butterflies erupting in his already nervous stomach.

“I’ll see you later, Cardinal,” you say then, your eyes leaving his to glance down the hallway where your friends are waiting, beckoning for you to hurry.

Copia nods and he looks down at your hand in silent fascination, staring at your fingers that are dangling by your thigh without any use as if he could magically make them touch his arm again. “Yes, yes. See you,” he mumbles. “Bye bye.”

When he looks back up, you’re already hurrying off. Copia stays frozen, his gaze trailing after you as though his eyes are glued to your form. Even when you’re out of sight it takes him a while to start moving, to start breathing again.

Around him, the hallway slowly empties as everyone starts to tend to their respective duties. Copia can’t help but feel the nagging disappointment about not asking you out. A chance like this won’t suddenly appear again and even if you refused him it would still be less humiliating than the untouched ad at the bulletin board. He should take it off right now, he figures.

Only when he enters the hallway leading to his office, something looks off about the postings. He notices the change from the corner of his eye at first as he walks past the large corkboard. More party flyers have appeared, someone took down the “diamond butt plug set missing” request that had been hanging there since an orgy in the Siblings’ wing went wrong last month. Instead, Copia notices a large poster promoting condom usage that partly covers the request underneath. Which is how he recognises it.

His ad. 

And one of the numbers is missing.

Copia nearly lets out a loud squeal as realisation dawns on him like the gentle spring sun rising over the hills every morning, bringing warmth and happiness after a cold, dark night. It seems like Cupid finally answered his prayers, like Aphrodite found sweet mercy for him.

Someone took his number. Someone wants to reach out to him.

For the rest of the day, he feels like he swallowed a swarm of bees, staring at his phone like it’s going to light up any second. Which it could. He could receive the message or call that changes his life any second now. Any second. Any… any second.

Nothing happens. Not in the next hour, not in the next two hours. All day, in fact, his phone stays quiet. His initial happiness deflates like a balloon. As he heads towards his quarters that evening, he observes how everyone piles into the dining hall, their happy laughter and cheerful spirits spoiling his usually solid appetite. He hates the sour feeling of envy in his stomach but he can’t help but suspect that everyone conspired against him.

Copia decides to skip dinner in order to cry into a big bowl of gelato. His nightmare might not have come true but his brain tortures him with pictures of your smiling face instead, with the phantom feeling of your warm hand lingering on his arm, and he can’t help but feel crushed anyway. He’d sell his soul to come home to you, to eat with you, sit with you, watch silly movies with you, fall asleep with you in his arms and wake up with your smile as the first thing he gets to see every day. It becomes increasingly clear to him that every day he misses out on being with you is a day tragically lost.

If only he was brave enough to change that.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

You’ve been pacing your bedroom for the better part of the evening now, back and forth and back and forth to the point where you’re seriously concerned about wearing down your carpet. The day passed uneventfully apart from your encounter with Copia in the hallway where you made a complete fool of yourself. You would have loved to skip all of the unnecessary fuss of texting back and forth but you barely spoke more than two words to him before you chickened out. Surely, if his interest in you was romantic, he could just ask you out instead of advertising himself on a public corkboard?

In any case, you’ve been typing out messages for over an hour now, deleting every single one of them only to throw your phone onto the bed multiple times before picking it back up to risk another attempt.

The reason you haven’t given up yet is that Lily knows you have his number now. Last night, when you thought everyone was asleep, you snuck out of your dorm feeling like James Bond with your torch and black clothing, tiptoeing down the empty corridors of the abbey. You didn’t want anyone spreading any premature rumors but a part of you was hesitant to take one of the numbers at all. Even if you called him, it wasn’t certain that he’d want to go on a date with you.

Still, you ripped off one of the thumb-sized pieces of paper and headed back – only to promptly run into Lily as she snuck out to meet Nora. You’re never going to forget her self-satisfied grin as she spotted you with the crumpled number between your fingers.

Begging your creative juices to start flowing, you stare at the empty message box. Perhaps you should be funny. You wonder if he knows the Piña Colada song. It is about a lonely hearts ad after all and he’s a musician. You type and type, delete and retype until you end on a rough draft to show Lily when she gets home. But no, upon rethinking, the joke is too silly even for you and there’s probably a better way to phrase this–

“Hey, have you called him yet?”

You jump, your heart rate doubling in shock. Lily appears in the open doorway and her voice startles you so fiercely that you clutch your phone to your chest. To your utter horror, the swishing sound of a sent message reaches your ear as your palm connects with the touchscreen, and when you glance down, the bubble with your typed out message sits at the top of your chat history.

“Oh no,” you whisper.

“What?”

“I sent my stupid silly joke message to him.”

Lily picks your phone from your hands, reading the solitary message from the display. “Well, at least now you’ll know if he shares your weird sense of humour?”

You grasp her shoulder and release a deep, throaty groan. Her words don’t calm you in the slightest, if anything, they only make it worse.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

Driving Miss Daisy can’t distract him anymore.

Every two minutes Copia reaches for his phone to check for any missed texts or calls only to have the gapingly empty home screen staring back at him. He never figured out how to change the pre-set wallpaper. Perhaps he could try again when he has a cute couple picture of him and his future partner. The thought makes him smile. It’s one of many little things he would change – if they only called.

Despite putting it on vibrate, he doesn’t trust the device to inform him of any news. He even carried it to the toilet twice already, just in case something happens while he’s gone. His ice cream doesn’t satisfy him tonight, everything feels bland and devoid of flavour, but he refills his bowl anyway. One big spoon and a bit of spray cream… and as he walks back over to his bed, he realises that he should definitely check his phone again because this took way longer than two minutes.

Right as he pulls the device out his pocket, it vibrates violently in his hand. For a moment he is so shocked to see a message pop up that he throws it away. It lands on his bed, bouncing a few times, display still lit up with one new notification glaring at him from the centre of his screen.

He takes a deep breath. This is real. He got a message.

No, he can’t look at it, he’s going to lose his nerves. A few more deep inhales and slow exhales, then he can’t fight the suspension any longer. 

Hey, stranger :) You don’t like coconut, so you probably don’t like Piña Coladas, but maybe I’m still the love that you look for?  I would love to go on a date with you, if you are still looking for one. 

It takes him a second, then another one. The ice cream melts in his bowl as it sits forgotten on the floor next to his bed. Suddenly it clicks and he chuckles, in relief as well as amusement, thinking that he knows that song, that he gets the reference. That means this person is funny. They made a joke. He smiles to himself. A funny person wants to go on a date with him.

He types back, deleting, typing again. After five minutes, he comes up with a reply.

Hello, stranger! 👋🏼 I do not like Piña Coladas 🍹 but I have many better things to offer if you want to go on a picnic 🧺 with me tomorrow? I will bring food 🥪 and drinks 🧃 of course. Hopefully we do not get caught in the rain 💦😀

He thinks about how he could sign the message but then his nerves start to kick in. If he tells the person who he is, they may reconsider their choice to go out with him and that’s the last thing he wants. Even if the date doesn’t go well, he wants to try his best, so he shoots another message after the first: 

Oh. It will be a blind date, if that is okay with you?

The next minute is the longest of his life. An eternity passes. He thinks he might have stopped breathing with how tight his chest feels. That is, until his phone lights up and shows the same number again, wringing a deep sigh of relief from him.

That’s fine with me. Where do we meet?

The squeal he lets out vibrates in his chest and bounces off the walls.

He’s got a date. Finally.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

Copia hears his bad conscience somewhere in the back of his mind whispering that blocking the best spot in the gardens all day is selfish. Perhaps it is true, perhaps he feels a little selfish today. And yes, besides feeling selfish he also feels a little guilty. Is it fair to go on a date when he has such a horrible crush on someone else? No. No, it’s not fair. But he can’t let another chance at love run through his fingers like sand on the beach. He simply has to grasp this opportunity.

His red-checked blanket lays untouched underneath the tall chestnut tree, its big, hand-shaped leaves rustling in the soft breeze as he approaches. The head of a rat is stitched into all four corners  of the fabric – a gift from Sister for his latest birthday – and it’s been sitting here since nine o’clock when he took the liberty of… reserving… the spot. He picked the north-side of the tree so that the shade falls exactly where he’s going to be sitting with his date in approximately fifteen minutes. If they prefer the sun, he can just pull the blanket over a little, but he’d never forgive himself if they got sunburn because of him.

Copia took the day off, his first day off all year in fact, risking his next employee of the month award to spend all morning in town, running errands. With the end of May and strawberry season starting, he visited every grocery store within walking distance to find the ripest, juiciest ones they offered. He was lucky enough to obtain a small basket filled with the most delicious-looking red fruits and some additional fresh ingredients for his sandwiches. While he was quick-witted enough to ask about his date’s allergies yesterday, he completely forgot to ask them about their favorite snacks and so he’s decided to just bring anything he could think of that wouldn’t melt in the sun.

The basket he packed feels heavy in his hand for that exact reason and when he sets it down on the blanket, he can feel the strain in his arm. The past hour was spent obsessing over his outfit until he decided to just go for the white suit combo. Yes, white fabric near grass and juicy red fruits is not the most brilliant idea, but he wants to look his best and that means going the extra mile, even if he has to wear the tiny, itchy underwear underneath.

His heartbeat is going a mile a minute now. He can’t unpack yet, he doesn’t want the food to be out for too long, and so he sits and waits, his hands sweaty under his black and white leather gloves. The fact that the gardens around him slowly become crowded as the afternoon rolls around does nothing for his nerves. He can feel the curious glances, can hear the hushed whispers, and as the hour nears, he starts sweating even more despite the shade. If the unanswered ad had been embarrassing, being stood up so publicly would be even worse. 

And then the most horrifying thing ever happens.

Copia sees you walking along the path, wearing a weather-appropriate, slightly dressed-up outfit that makes his eyes involuntarily roam your whole form. But he can’t fully focus on your loveliness. At first, he’s panicking that you’re meeting your friends somewhere close by where you could see him with his date. He would be so embarrassed, so distracted, so uncomfortable. But you walk straight towards him and that’s even worse. If he has to tell you that he’s busy meeting someone else he might spontaneously combust, explode into tiny particles of humiliation. It would ruin everything, his date and his crush on you. What if his date shows up and sees you with him? What if–

Oh no, you don’t stop approaching, you don’t take a turn, you walk up straight to where he’s waiting – with a hint of hesitation, yes, but very directed steps. Copia jumps up immediately, his black hat nearly falling from his head.

“Oh, Sibling,” he stammers, lifting a trembling hand to adjust his fedora. “Hello, hi. Are you spending some time outside today as well?”

Your mouth opens and you wring your hands before hiding them behind your back. “Hello, Cardinal. I ugh… I’m supposed to meet someone here under the chestnut tree.”

Copia furrows his brow, slowly registering your words. “Meet someone. Under the chestnut tree.” 

“Yes.”

“Oh, Satan. It’s you?” He stops, stares, comprehends. He sounds incredulous, his voice a higher pitch than usual. “You’re my stranger?”

You nod, big eyes staring into his mismatched ones in silent expectation, hope and fear muddled together in the crease of your brow. He doesn’t know how to react, just rubs his thumb and index finger together as his mind races faster than speed limit.

“Is this… is this bad?” you finally ask, breaking the awkward silence.

“No!” Copia exclaims. “No, no, no. Please, please sit.”

You do, kneeling down on the blanket a little hesitantly. Copia joins you, still not fully trusting his senses. This feels like a hallucination. His disbelief has to be the only reason he hasn’t passed out yet. Is he really on a date with you right now?

After another moment of silence, Copia notices you eyeing the basket and snaps back into reality. His plans, his very detailed plans for how this date is supposed to go, flood his mind and he remembers the first step now. Swallowing his shock, he sits up a little straighter.

“Ah, eh… yes, I got you something.” He reaches behind the basket and procures three deep red roses he stole from Primo’s rose garden on the way here. Their intense smell hits his nose as he whips them past his face and hands them over. “These are for you. I hope you like roses. I know it is a bit cliché but also a classic, no?”

“I love them,” you assure him, holding them up to your nose with a smile. “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

He smiles. “Good, good. Yes. So… I thought about what we could do and–”

“Cardinal,” you interrupt then. 

“Oh, no. No, call me Copia. Please.” He gives you a shaky smile. “We’re on a date, no?”

“Copia,” you try but feeling his name on your tongue doesn’t make you feel any better. Ever since getting here your bad conscience made it hard to fully settle into this date and with his visible distress upon discovering it’s you, you feel like now is the time to address it. “Before… before we do this, I have a confession to make…” 

He hums and wriggles his eyebrows. “Oh, really? Well, I would love to see you in confession soon…”

You blush furiously. “Oh, no. No, that’s not what I meant.”

A flash of concern and you can practically see all of his insecurities mirrored in his eyes. You’re both tiptoeing around the same question, you assume, but it’s on you to take the plunge.

“What… what do you mean then?” he asks.

“About this date…” His lightheartedness completely disappears. You feel bad for ruining the mood but it’s too late now and you need to get it out, you owe him that much. “Copia… It wasn’t a blind date on my part. I… I knew it was you.”

“You knew it was me?” he asks and again his features change, eyes wide now. He really had no idea that people knew the ad was his and suddenly he feels like a fool.

“I’m so sorry, I should have been honest from the start.” You stare at his gloved hand but you’re too scared to take it. “I hope you can forgive me for keeping this from you.”

“You knew it was me and you still… you still wrote to me? You still came?”

You furrow your brow. “I didn’t tell you because then I would have had to admit that it’s me and I was scared that maybe you wouldn’t want to go anymore.”

“Me? Not… not…” He shakes his head so fast that his fedora once again threatens to fly off. “Oh, tesoro, I would have… I would have been on the moon with joy, as they say. Yes, yes, I would have.”

You don’t correct him. Instead, an insecure smile settles on your face. “You know you don’t have to say that, Copia, it’s okay if you were hoping for someone else… That’s the risk of going on a blind date, right?”

He yanks your hand out of your lap, wrapping it up in both of his gloved ones. “Tesoro, can I be very honest with you?”

You nod. “Of course you can. Always.”

“I was hoping it was you.”

Your breath catches and steals your next words. The same incredulity that hit him earlier now settles in your chest and you can’t find it in you to question him.

Copia immediately fills the silence. “I never… I never thought…” You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down, a nervous swallow, before he wets his lips. “Tesoro, you were always very good to me. I always saw your kindness, you understand this, yes? Don’t get me wrong, I just… I never thought you were interested in me like this. In such a silly old man.”

You have to giggle through your nerves. “I love that you’re a silly old man.”

He smiles shyly. “You are very sweet, tesoro.”

“I’ve actually had this crush for a few months now,” you admit, encouraged by his positive reaction. “And I want you to know that when I saw your ad I thought about calling even before I knew it was you.”

His smile grows impossibly bigger at that. “Did you?”

A nod. Copia squeezes your hand, then brings it to his face for a kiss. You feel his wet lips on your skin and they’re so soft, so gentle. When he sets your hand back down you see a trace of black lipstick on its back and instantly feel warm and fuzzy inside.

“Should we start then?” he asks. “I brought a lot of things, let me show you.”

The basket opens to reveal a plethora of food and drink options. Copia sets down a foil-wrapped plate with sandwiches that look a little wonky so you assume he made them himself, then some juice boxes, apple and orange, a box of fresh, delicious-looking strawberries, two bottles of water, reusable plastic cups and plates. At last, he hands you one of many different muffins he must have stolen from the kitchens.

“For my dolcezza,” he says with a smile.

More heat spreads in your cheeks as you take the little treat from him with a thanks. You’re both visibly losing your nervousness now, your postures less cramped, stretching out your limbs on the blanket with your bodies angled towards each other.

“Maybe we should… talk a bit about us?” Copia proposes. “To get to know each other, sì? I would like to learn about you.”

“Oh, yes, that sounds good. Do you want to start?”

He thinks on a good starter question, the pressure clouding his thoughts for a moment but then his silence grows thick and he has to say something. “So, ugh… do you like Star Wars?”

This is not one of the questions on his list of conversation starters. For some reason, every single meaningful thought suddenly leaves him. Luckily, this simple, safe question seems to put you at ease and you relax even more.

“I do,” you say. “I watched all the movies.”

“Oh, good! And what is your favorite?”

You pluck a piece from your muffin, popping it into your mouth. “Hmm… The Empire Strikes Back, I think.”

“Hehehe, sì, sì, I am your daddy.” His eyes widen. “Not that I’m… I don’t mean… you know, the scene with Luke… ugh. So, anyway, yes, that is my favorite as well.”

You giggle and he lights up, smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt. You reach for one of the sandwiches then. Copia helps, holding the plate up for you.

“So, these are all inspired by Italian foods. I have ugh… caprese. Mozzarella and tomato?”

You reach for the one he showed you. “That sounds great, thank you.”

Copia can’t help but stare as he awaits your reaction. You hum in delight and immediately take another bite of the soft bread. Satisfied, Copia allows himself to grab one as well now. Conversation slows down as you eat but you continue to talk about your interests between bites, finding more and more similarities as the minutes pass. 

Your little spot is beautiful, cool enough to sit comfortably but warm enough to feel the reviving effects of spring. The leaves above you rustle every now and then, birds and bees flying past, the odd ant crawling over your blanket in search of some crumbs. Neither one of you is bothered as you sip on your juice boxes in tandem and intuitively increase your proximity.

With your bodies gravitating towards each other like that, you end up sitting very close after a while. Copia reclines against the tree trunk, pulling his hat down to grant him more shade, a little bit like a cowboy leaning against the walls of a saloon. His white suit is an odd contrast to his relaxed pose, not the most comfortable outfit to lounge in. Without thinking too much about it, he pulls you close to him and angles you so you can rest your head in his lap. 

You’re only tense for a short moment. Copia gets rid of his gloves and you can feel his bare fingers running over your scalp. The steady pattern he draws calms you and you sigh, closing your eyes for a few minutes as a warm feeling of safety spreads out in you.

Copia can’t help but stare. Despite the initial hiccup, you’re so comfortable around each other that he feels like he’s known you forever. This is a dream come true for him, all his fantasies, his wishes, his longings, they all seem to come together in the lovely face dozing in his lap. You’re the most stunning sight he ever had the pleasure to behold. Every line, every hair, every mole, blemish or scar combines into the most beautifully painted canvas – and to him, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.

“Do you want a strawberry, tesorino?” he asks then.

You open your sparkly eyes and they reflect a speck of sunlight breaking through the canopy. Blinking a few times, you shift in his lap to avoid being blinded. He tenses as your cheek narrowly misses his groin, but then you nod and he distracts himself by reaching for the box of strawberries. 

With careful fingers, he grabs one of the shiny heart-shaped fruits, making sure to touch the stem to avoid any stains, and then guides it to your mouth. He can’t help but stare as he sees your lips part for him, the tip of your tongue peeking out to welcome the sweetness. You sink your teeth into the red flesh, so eager, and spatters of juice stain your lips. They appear even more saturated as you lick them clean, wetting them with your tongue, and he so desperately wants to kiss you.

“They’re so sweet already,” you say, taking the rest of the fruit from his hand.

“Yes, I agree.”

You giggle. “Copia, you haven’t even tried one yet.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean the strawberries.”

You huff out a flustered breath, fighting the still evident smile on your face, and hold the half-eaten strawberry up to his mouth. “Try.”

He lets you feed him with burning cheeks, keeping his eyes locked on yours. As his teeth meet the flesh, a few droplets of juice fall astray but he doesn’t even care if they ruin his suit anymore. He can’t stop looking at you, thinking about your soft hand so close to his mouth. He wants to kiss it again, desperately, and so he traps it with his when you try to pull away. With his lips pressed to your palm, he closes his eyes, kissing all the way down to your wrist where he lingers.

You gasp softly, lips parting as Copia continues to drag his lips over the delicate skin. Your reaction brings a smirk to his face, another moment that he’s going to think about for days to come.

“I tried, dolcezza,” he says. “And I think you’re still sweeter.”

You blush so prettily at that. Flustering you is easier than he expected and he takes notes of every little thing that draws a reaction from you. You spend another hour like this, eating fruit, drinking juice, chatting about all sorts of things while you exchange soft touches and words of your blossoming affection. At some point, the gentle breeze that carries on throughout the afternoon becomes stronger, and more and more people head back inside to escape a possible weather change.

Neither one of you wants to leave but as you start to shiver more violently, Copia’s worry about you catching a cold wins over his desire to prolong your date. He proposes to head inside as well, running his hands over the goosebumps on your bare arms to warm you up.

When you reluctantly agree, he starts to pile your dishes and the leftover food into the basket. You move to help but he stops you with a tut. “I will pack this up, eh? Don’t worry about it.”

“I could help you, you know.”

“Ah, no no. I invited you, yes? It is my pleasure.”

It only takes him a few minutes to pack everything up. You grab your flowers in the meantime and he watches from the corner of his eye as you sniff them with a growing smile on your face, swaying slightly from left to right. As Copia shakes out the blanket, folding it messily in the middle, you hesitate by the edge of your little picnic spot.

“So, do you want to walk back together?” you ask.

Copia smiles, glad that you don’t want to leave him quite yet. “I would like that a lot, tesoro. Should I carry the roses for you?”

You hand them over and he places them on the lid of the basket before he carefully picks it up. When he’s by your side again, you stop him with a hand on his forearm, the same gentle squeeze you gave him the last time. Only this time you don’t leave. Instead you lean in and press a soft kiss to his reddened cheek, your lips lingering for a few seconds longer than necessary. Copia opens his mouth but he can’t think of anything to say. Instead he uses his unoccupied hand to fish for yours.

Hand in hand, palm against palm, you walk past the leftover groups of Siblings that make use of the last few moments of sun. Neither of you spares anyone else even a glance. Whenever your eyes aren’t focused on the path ahead, they meet each other, giddy, love-sick smiles gracing your lips.

As you finally pass the first archway and enter the cool stone corridors of the abbey, Copia suddenly stops. Your arms slowly extend as you take a few more steps but before your hand can slip from his, he pulls you back. Maybe he used a little bit too much force or maybe he just caught you by surprise, but you practically stumble into his arms. A gasp falls from your lips. You make no attempt at breaking away and so Copia gently guides you against the frame of the archway, setting down the basket in the process so he can place his other hand on your hip.

Big eyes look up into his. He leans in slowly. The rim of his hat catches the stone and it finally slips from his head, dropping somewhere. Copia doesn’t care because he can already feel your sweet strawberry breath on his lips and nothing could stop him from getting a taste. Your hands impatiently grab at his lapels, then, pulling him even closer, and he gasps at the force of your need. With your eyes falling closed, lips slightly parted and your chin tilted up, Copia feels like he’s in a dream.

“Please,” you whisper.

He has to fight a moan, the word resonating somewhere deep inside his belly. Still, he draws out  the moment for as long as he can, stalling as the tension crackles in the tiny space that separates you. He starts by nuzzling your nose while he pushes his hand upwards until he can grasp your jaw. As he angles your head just right, he feels your lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He fights off a giggle as they continue to tickle his skin and you shift slightly against him, growing impatient.

“Co–”

His mouth swallows your next syllable. You hum against him as his lips capture yours with gentle adoration. The grip on your waist tightens at the same time as his thumb presses into your cheek. Want, need, trickles into your belly and Copia feels the same way, moving his mouth against yours with slightly more pressure. The kiss is still slow, still tame, but it’s unmistakable how much stowed up desire for the other you both hold inside.

For a while you continue like this, your body trapped between Copia and the cool stone and the world around you a mere shadow. You open your mouth for air and that’s when you can feel his tongue cautiously pushing against yours. The sensation makes you feel even more fuzzy, the need for oxygen forgotten as you tangle your tongue with his. The taste is sweet, residues of fruit and juice, and underneath it all you feel Copia. Copia.

You only break away when you’re both struggling to keep up the pace. He’s a mess, his lipstick gone, black smears covering his chin and cheeks where his eye make-up rubbed off. You lift your hand to wipe some of your mingled spit off of his chin and the blissful expression on his face makes you smile. You love to see his face ruined like this, you decide. And Copia, seeing the lipstick-smears all over your kiss-swollen mouth, unknowingly thinks the same.

“We should do this again sometime,” you say. “The date but also… this. Actually, I think we should do it again right now.”

Copia chuckles, resting his forehead against yours. “How about we never stop doing it?”

You nod your approval, wrapping your arms around him to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s soft, if a little bit sweaty, messy from the loss of his hat. “I would like that a lot, Copia.”

“I mean it, tesoro,” he whispers with a hint of insecurity. “I don’t want to stop spending time with you. Ever. We already wasted enough of it.”

A big smile breaks out on your face. Copia can’t help but return it, squeezing you a little tighter to his body, and you giggle happily as he kisses your nose.

“You’re right,” you finally say. “Let’s not waste another moment.”

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this silly little story – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Masterlist – My Ao3

[murmaiderii]

A BETTER WORLD CHAPTER 2: MABEL'S NONDENOMINATIONAL HOLIDAY BASH

NSFW, MDNI, also available on ao3

Dipper and Mabel's parents' names courtesy of @lomy-bloom

Ford packs the last of his shirts for his trip away. He was only planning on taking two outfits, one to sleep in and one to wear through the day. Odyssey, his girlfriend of just under a year, refused to let him wear the same unwashed outfit three days in a row. He insisted it was a more efficient use of space. She insisted that that was ridiculous. He looks at his girlfriend’s much larger suitcase on the bed and wonders how she can go through so many clothes in such a short trip.

“Honey, are you done packing?” Ford yells.

“One more thing!” She rushes into their shared bedroom and stuffs a toiletry bag in a suitcase pocket.

“I’ll pack up the car. Can you grab some snacks for us?”

“Gotcha.” Odyssey darts to the kitchen. Ford goes outside and drops their suitcases in the trunk. He waits for her in the driver’s seat. After a longer wait than he was expecting, she stumbles into the passenger seat and lets out a shuddering breath.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Ford takes her hand and rubs it with his thumb.

“Just… Jesus, I just know your family is gonna hate me,” she sighs. 

“That’s not true. Mabel and Dipper already like you,” he reassures her.

“Yeah, but they’re kids. It’s the adults I’m worried about. Everyone’s gonna accuse me of being a gold digger.”

“Let them think what they want. All that matters is what we think of each other.”

“They’re gonna call you a dirty old man, you know. People get super judgemental about age gaps.” Ford sighs.

“I admit, that has been on my mind. But we can’t hide from my family forever. Mabel would never forgive me if I missed one of her nondenominational holiday bashes.” Odyssey giggles at the name of the party. That niece of his sure has a flair for the dramatic. 

“Do we really have to stay at the house with everyone?”

“Mabel insists.”

“We won’t have any privacy. I dunno how I’m supposed to keep my hands off of you for three days,” she complains.

“We’ll just have to sneak out when we can,” Ford says with a blush.

“That’s kinda hot, actually. It’s like forbidden romance. Wanna get some practice fucking in the car before we go?” Ford chuckles.

“Odyssey, we’re already running late,” he reminds her.

“Fine, we’ll sneak out in the middle of the night. I guess let’s get this over with.” Ford gives her a kiss on the knuckles and starts the car for the seven hour drive.

“God, my ass is sore,” Odyssey complains. Ford parks on the crowded street outside of his nephew’s house. They get out of the car and unload their luggage. Despite her full bladder, Odyssey hesitates to go into the lively home. Ford puts a hand on the small of her back.

“Come on, honey. Stalling won’t make this any easier.” She groans and drops her head.

“Right, let’s rip the bandaid.” Ford slips his hand from her back to hold Odyssey’s. They approach the door. Ford squeezes Odyssey’s hand and knocks on the door. Ford and Odyssey are both relieved to be greeted by Mabel.

“Great uncle Ford!” She launches herself into Ford’s arms. He fondly laughs. “It’s been too long!”

“Good to see you again, Mabel. Now, I know you’ve been eager to meet Odyssey.” Mabel lets go of her uncle to give Odyssey a big hug.

“Heya, Mabel. Thanks for inviting me to your party,” Odyssey says. 

“Pfft, don’t mention it. I’ve been waiting my whole life to be able to invite one of Fordsy’s girlfriends.” Mabel leans into Odyssey’s ear to whisper. “There haven’t been any until now.”

“Mabel!” Ford whines.

“It’s okay, babe. She’s not telling me anything I didn’t know.”

“Wow, ‘babe.’ You guys are the cutest.” Mabel flicks her wrist and guides the couple inside. All sorts of family members whose identities Odyssey doesn’t know mingle through the house. 

“Uncle Ford, you’re finally here!” Mabel’s father, Ford’s nephew, walks through the foyer and gives his uncle a quick hug. “I see you brought your… friend.” Odyssey smiles awkwardly at her boyfriend’s nephew, who is more than a decade older than her.

“Nice to meet you…” She extends a hand for him. He curtly shakes it and proceeds to act like she isn’t there. Mabel kicks her dad in the shin.

“Dad, be nice,” she says through gritted teeth.

“I am being nice. Why don’t you take your great uncle’s friend to their room while I catch up with him.” Mabel rolls her eyes.

“His girlfriend , dad. She’s his girlfriend .” Mabel grabs Ford’s suitcase from him. “Follow me, Odyssey.” Mabel brings Odyssey to an upstairs bedroom. There are two blow up mattresses on the floor, along with an actual bed. “It’s a good thing you’re with Ford. It means you get an actual bed.”

“My boy is that much of a VIP, huh?”

“No, it’s because he’s old. All the older guests get actual beds,” she explains.

“Hah! Don’t tell him you said that. He’s already a little embarrassed to be dating someone so much younger.” Odyssey lines the suitcases up to the side of the bed. Sharing the room with several strangers is one of the top things she was dreading about this trip, but she’ll suck it up for Ford. She’s taking the side of the bed against the wall, though. “Now, onto the most pressing issue; where is the bathroom?”

“Down the hall and to the left,” Mabel instructs. “Hey, if anyone says anything all dumb and judgemental to you and my great uncle, just find me. I’ll give them a piece of my mind.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks, Mabel. You’re a real one.” Odyssey and Mabel fistbump.

“You know it, dawg.” Mabel goes back downstairs to socialize while Odyssey uses the bathroom. The relief she feels in there is intense, not just because she’s needed to pee for an hour, but because this is the only room where she’s alone. She’s only met Mabel and Ford’s nephew so far, and she’s already worn out. If Mabel’s dad is a sign of things to come, she’s in for a very long vacation. At least with this many people around, no one will notice if she sneaks out to the car with her laptop a few times a day. She can lounge in the backseat and write up a short horror story about a family gathering when she needs a moment away.

When exiting the bathroom, her head kept down, she collides with another woman. “Crap! Sorry!” She apologizes. She looks up at the woman, who shares some features with Mabel, but not with Ford. “You, uh, must be Dipper and Mabel’s mom.”

“And you must be uncle Ford’s… friend…” She says with a sneer.

“His girlfriend, yeah,” she corrects. “I’m Odyssey.” She extends a hand. Mabel's mother shakes it in the same manner as her husband did. She knew the adults wouldn’t like her.

“Right, nice to meet you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Mabel’s mother goes into the bathroom, freeing Odyssey. Now she needs to find Ford and not leave his side all night. People might at least pretend to not be disgusted by her if he’s around. 

Downstairs, she finds her boyfriend talking with his nephew and great-nephew, who is the only person she’s excited to see other than Mabel. Dipper looks at his great uncle with an adorable adoration in his eyes. From what she’s heard, Dipper has always idolized Ford. Ford has confided in her that he feels guilty for not being able to see Dipper more, having rejected several invitations to family functions, as well as limiting visitation from Dipper and Mabel. He’s a busy man, sometimes not even having time for his own girlfriend, so it’s to be expected. That doesn’t mean he can’t feel bad about it.

“Odyssey! Hey!” Dipper walks up to Odyssey and gives her the first proper handshake she’s gotten tonight.

“‘Sup, Dipper!” She gives him a friendly smack on the arm. 

“Honey, Dipper was just asking me about my recent research on banshees. Odyssey is the one that edited the article you read.” She walks over to her boyfriend and wraps an arm around his waist.

“Reading that thing nigh on gave me a heart attack. Do you know what your crazy uncle had to do to get those banshee tonsils?” Odyssey asks Dipper. Dipper grins widely.

“What did he do? Tell me!” Dipper’s father clears his throat.

“I hope this story is appropriate for kids, Uncle Ford.” Dipper frowns at his dad’s killjoy attitude.

“Come on, dad, I know that his work is a little dangerous. Let me at least hear the story since he won’t let me go on expeditions with him anyway,” Dipper rants.

“It’s for your own good, my boy. I won’t even bring Odyssey out on most research trips, and she’s a grown woman,” Ford tells Dipper. Dipper’s father scoffs.

“Is she, though?” He says under his breath.

“Dad!” Dipper chastises his father for being rude.

“You know what, babe, why don’t we go get some food?” Odyssey drags Ford to the kitchen, gripping his side. She pours glasses of wine for her and her boyfriend and guzzles it down. Ford rubs her shoulder. “Jesus fucking Christ…”

“I’m sorry, dear. I wasn’t expecting him to be that bad.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” She rubs her temples. “I just needed to get out of there before I started getting mean in front of his kid.” Ford plants a kiss on her jaw. A few other people in the kitchen gawk at them. She takes another glass of wine and pops a piece of cheese in her mouth.

“You have exceptional judgment, my dear. You would have absolutely humiliated him if you ‘got mean’ with him.” Ford chuckles in her ear.

“It would’ve been a bloodbath. Why don’t I just… stay in our room before I do something rash? I’m sure your nephew won’t be the only one who has something to say to me.”

“I don’t want to be away from you. Let’s just grab a plate of brownies and sneak off somewhere until someone notices,” He suggests. She shakes her head.

“You should be spending time with your family. Mabel wouldn’t be happy if you hid away all night.”

“She wouldn’t want you hiding away, either.”

“She’d prefer it to me giving someone a verbal beatdown in the middle of her party. Go, socialize for a change. I’ll abscond with this bottle of wine and calm myself down enough that I might be able to play it nice tomorrow.” She gives him a quick peck on the lips and makes her way through the crowd. Ford sighs as he watches his girlfriend leave him to fend for himself tonight. Now it’s his sole responsibility to defend his relationship. Odyssey is certainly right that she can’t be unleashed when she’s mad. He’s still traumatized from the time he watched her dismantle the matriarch of the Northwest family for implying Ford was a cradle robber.

No one notices Odyssey’s absence, other than Ford and Dipper. Dipper is pretty understanding of Odyssey’s need for isolation. He would much rather be playing video games in his room than be passed around from distant family member to distant family member. He wanders into her room a couple of times with some snacks and some questions about the previously discussed banshee research.

“He should’ve been bed bound for a week after that, but the maniac refused to stay put for more than three days. He would’ve been back at work the day after if I hadn’t forced him back into bed.”

“I wish he’d let me come to help. I could’ve distracted the banshee before it hit him.” Dipper puffs out his chest. 

“I’m sure you would,” Odyssey giggles. “Don’t tell your parents I told you this, alright?”

“Yeah. Sorry they’re being such dicks to you. Don’t tell them I said dicks.”

“Our little secret,” she promises.

“Dipper! Come help me with the music!” Mabel shouts from the bottom of the stairs.

“Ugh, I gotta go before I blow both of our covers.” Dipper runs off, waving to Odyssey. At least she has a couple allies here. She sits back and relaxes until people start turning in.

“Baby, remind me I hid the empty wine bottle under the bed,” Odyssey whispers to Ford as he gets into bed. “I don’t need them thinking I have a drinking problem on top of everything else.

“Of course, dear.” Ford wraps his arm around Odyssey from behind and nuzzles his head into her back. They lie awake in bed, occasionally sneaking quick kisses, both stressing about the coming days. She could get away with hiding for one night, but she’s going to be expected to participate in the daytime events. One of the men staying in the same room starts snoring violently.

“Oh my god, that’s so bad,” Odyssey quietly cringes.

“It puts mine to shame.”

“Your snoring is cute. His is ear shattering. What the hell? How do you not wake yourself up with that?”

“Do you want to… sneak out to the car for a little while?” Ford asks, tracing circles in Odyssey’s skin.

“God, yes.” They get out from under the blanket and creep through the room, down the stairs, and out the door. No one seems to wake up. Ford unlocks the car as silently as possible, and they both slip into the backseat. Odyssey rubs her man’s upper thigh. “I’ve been wanting to touch you all night.” Ford pulls Odyssey into his lap. They share passionate kisses. Odyssey grinds into Ford’s lap.

“Ohh, my love. I missed you tonight,” Ford moans into her mouth. “All I could think about was joining you in bed.” Odyssey reaches down and tugs the waistband of Ford’s pants down enough for his dick to spring out. She contorts to pull her shorts and panties off. “My Odyssey…” He rubs circles into her clit.

“Yeah, Ford… god, you’re so good, baby.” She lifts herself up to sit on his dick, bringing erotic groans out of both of them. He grips her hips roughly. “Wanna savor the moment, but… not very comfortable in here. Gotta make this quick.” She rocks on his lap. He gives her those sad little whimpers of his that she loves so much.

“Won’t be a problem,” he pants. He erratically massages her clit as she bounces on him. He buries his face in her clothed breasts. “Yes… Odyssey… my—” He lets out a loud groan. “My beautiful Odyssey.” His fingers work faster, bringing her over the edge. She buries her face in his shoulder to muffle her screams as she comes.

“Ford!” She shouts into the fabric of his shirt. The force of her walls clenching around him brings him to his own orgasm. With a heavy grunt, he finishes inside her. They relax all of their muscles and sit in each other’s arms while they come down from their highs. “Tissue, tissue…” She feels around on the ground for the packet of tissues she always leaves there specifically for moments like this. She awkwardly maneuvers off of his dick and cleans up his semen.

“God, I really needed that.” She slips her panties and shorts back on. Ford lies down, resting his head in her lap. She snakes her fingers through his hair.

“So did I. Seeing my family… it’s always stressful.” He sighs heavily into her stomach. “You’re really getting along with Dipper, aren’t you.”

“He’s a great kid. They’re both great.”

“Yeah, they are,” he says quietly. Being around them must remind him of his own twin brother. Ford never spoke much of him. All that Odyssey knows is that he exists and they’re estranged. She never pushed him to reveal more. God knows she doesn’t want to talk about her family either. 

“The rest of your family I could do without. No offense,” she says in an attempt to lighten the mood. His chuckles vibrate through her stomach.

“I mostly stay in contact with them for the kids. I don’t think I saw any of them for years before the twins were born. I’m sure you’ve noticed why.”

“Yeah, I was ready to fight within minutes of meeting them. Still better than my family, though.” They bask in the comfort of each other for a few minutes, Odyssey gently stroking his gray hair and scratching his scalp. “I guess we should go back to bed.” Ford sits up and pulls Odyssey in for a romantic kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers into her mouth.

“I love you, too.” They stumble out of the car on numb legs and try to go back through the front door without alerting anyone.

“Is everything alright?” A female voice startles them both. It’s Dipper and Mabel’s mom, dressed in a pink robe, staring the two of them down. Luckily, Odyssey can lie on her feet.

“One of our roommates was snoring like a jackhammer. We needed to get away from the noise.” It’s a half truth.

“And what were you doing out there?” She scrutinizes Odyssey and Ford with her eyes.

“We just went for a little walk, Betty. I don’t know how we’re expected to sleep in the same room as whoever that is,” Ford says.

“That’s my cousin. I’ll see about changing the sleeping arrangements for tomorrow night.” They can tell she doesn’t believe them. “Do you need anything, or will you be going back to bed?”

“Back to bed. I think I’m tired enough now to sleep through the sound. Goodnight, um, Betty.” She takes Ford’s hand and drags him back to the room. The room hasn’t quieted down at all. “Aaand he’s still going,” she sighs. They crawl back into bed for a night of awful sleep.

[mcytadventevent]

apologies for the delayed posting! we’ve been having some technical difficulties.

For the 23rd, @v1neyy created for the prompt “mistletoe.”

their piece is written, and features Impulse/skizz, with hermit cameos.

Credit links: ao3 || tumblr

the piece is under the cut.

Impulse knocks on the wooden door with one hand, caught in a balancing act with multiple wrapped gifts in the other. He nearly falls over when the door opens to reveal a pesky bird. 

“Impulse!”

“Hi G!” Impulse fixes his grip on the presents and steps inside the house, Grian giving him space. “Am I late?”

The shorter man shakes his head. “Nope. Everyone else is just early.”

He carefully slips his shoes off and follows Grian to the living room, his large red wing almost knocking his gift tower over twice. Quiet Christmas music plays behind lots of voices, all happy and filled with cheer. The room has one big tree in the corner decorated with homemade ornaments, below filled with wrapped boxes. 

“Impulse is here!” Grian announces, making everyone’s heads snap towards the two. It makes Impulse self conscious but he ignores the feeling in favor of getting his presents out of his arms. 

The hermits greet him as he passes by with smiles. It warms his heart to see everyone so happy. 

Kneeling down, he finally starts carefully setting his own gifts with the rest of them. Tango appears next to him and begins helping. Impulse turns to look at the blaze. “Where’s Skizz? Is he late?”

Tango raises an eyebrow. “He’s in the kitchen. Why?”

“Just wanted to know.” Impulse turns his focus back to sorting out his presents, pretending the blush on his cheeks is from the lighting. 

Rolling his eyes, Tango places the last gift and stands back up. “Mhm, sure.” 

He walks away before Impulse can defend himself. He just wants to know where his buddy is! That’s not a crime!

Despite Tango’s teasing, Impulse gets up and walks towards the kitchen. Unfortunately, he gets stopped along the way. “Impy!”

Gem appears in front of him, blocking the exit. “Hi! Merry Christmas!” She wraps her arms around him in a tight hug that the demon gladly reciprocates. He laughs at her antics. “This way! Pearl and I made soup you have to try!”

Impulse allows himself to be dragged to another room, pretending to be annoyed. He can survive a little longer without Skizz, and besides, he likes soup. 

“Impulse! C’mere, you’re gonna like this soup.” Pearl greets him with a spoonful of the liquid shoved in his face. He tastes it with no further complaints and makes a small noise of approval. 

Swallowing, Impulse smiles. “This is good! You two really made this?”

Both girls nod excitedly and give each other a high five. “Hell yeah we did!” Gem shouts, then is shushed by Pearl. 

He snorts at the two, tail swaying back and forth. “How long did it take to make this?” Impulse asks, attempting to take the spoon for another sip but gets whacked by Pearl. 

“Longer than it should have!” Gem says proudly. She also whacks Impulse, giggling. 

“Hey!” He glares at them, though there’s no actual heat behind it. 

Pearl taps him on the head with the spoon. “No more until it’s dinner time, mate!” She puts a lid over the container, successfully preventing anymore soup theft.

Impulse rolls his eyes playfully. “Fine. I’ve gotta go talk to Skizz anyway.”

Gem gives Pearl some kind of look with a hidden message that she seems to understand, Pearl then scurrying off without any warning. Impulse is about to ask what that was about when he’s interrupted. “How has your day been?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Uh… fine?”

“Good, good. That’s good.” Gem nods slowly. He’s very confused by the sudden change in demeanor but is interrupted yet again before he can ask. 

“Impulse!”

Turning around, he knows that voice before he even sees the speaker. A masked man with white hair stands in the doorway, holding what looks to be a small blue lightbulb; the kind that goes with Christmas lights. 

“Hi Etho,” Impulse waves, “What’s up buddy?”

The man awkwardly shuffles closer. “We broke the tree and need you to fix it.”

Impulse eyes him suspiciously. Etho’s good at redstone, why can’t he do it himself?

“Why can’t you do it yourself?”

Etho looks behind him where Gem is, who he can hear moving around behind him. “Uhh… stumped. We’re stumped, me and Zed, I mean.”

“Okay?” He doesn’t understand why two perfectly capable redstoners can’t fix a simple lightbulb, but who is he to judge? Maybe the stress of the holidays has been getting to them. “Lead the way.”

He follows the man down a hallway back to the living room, where Zed stands impatiently tapping his foot next to the tree. He looks relieved when he spots the two, smiling. “Finally! We don’t have all day, y’know!” The sheep hybrid points at the tree, “Fix it, Impulse!”

Impulse stands there, examining the string of lights. “Where exactly is it broken?” 

There doesn’t seem to be anywhere missing a functioning bulb, at least not to Impulse’s eye. Zed huffs and pushes down one of the branches, pointing to a spot where a bulb should be that instead only has a few small wires. “Right here!”

“How badly do you need this fixed? Nobody will notice. This isn’t even your house.”

“Very badly.” Zed says, Etho nodding alongside him. Impulse struggles to believe they’re being serious, but they don’t lighten up on it (pun intended) so he gets to work. 

Etho hands him the small blue bulb before running off to void knows where. Zed watches him work intensely, not taking his eyes off the demon for a second. It’s very easy to fix, Impulse doing so rather quickly. 

“You guys really were stumped on that?”

“Yes.” Zed leans in, inspecting his work. “Looks good to me!”

“No problem.” Impulse says, attempting a smile. “Have you seen Skizz? I haven’t gotten a chance to say hi to him yet.”

Zed’s face droops, eyes widening. “Uhh- nope! Not at all! Who’s Skizz?”

Impulse squints at the man, trying to figure out what’s going on. Zed waves an arm at someone behind him, Impulse turning around to see Scar. Scar looks just as confused as Impulse feels. 

“Scar! Didn’t you need help with something?” Zed asks. 

“No?” Scar leans on his cane, raising an eyebrow. 

“Y’know the… thing?” Zed’s voice is strained, like he’s trying to telepathically tell Scar something. Everything just keeps getting more confusing for Impulse. 

Scar takes a moment to think before he lights up with realization. “Why, yes, of course! How could I forget? Impulse, follow me.”

He looks back at Zed who lightly pushes him towards Scar with a sly smile; Impulse taking that as his cue to leave. He follows Scar down a different hallway, leading into a room covered in discarded wrapping paper and general Christmas mess. 

“You see, I’m trying to wrap this gift for Mumbo, but I just can’t get it!” Scar gestures to a cardboard box sitting on a table with his cane, “You’re good at this stuff!”

“I guess so?” Impulse steps up to the box. It seems normal, so he’s unsure why it would be giving Scar so much trouble, considering the man always goes all out with Christmas. Everything about this evening has just been more and more confusing to Impulse and he doesn’t like it. “What wrapping paper do you want me to use?”

Scar tosses him a roll of red wrapping paper with a multitude of cats as its pattern. 

“How’s the party been so far? I thought I got here on time, but everyone seems to have gotten here early.”

Impulse attempts to make small talk as he measures out how much of the paper he’ll need. He’s about to ask Scar for scissors to cut it but he is already holding out a hand with the tool. Impulse takes the scissors as Scar starts to speak. “It’s been very good! Lots of yummy food, lots of holiday cheer!”

Beginning to fold the wrapping paper, Impulse glances up at Scar. “That’s good. Oh yeah- Skizz helped with the food, didn’t he?”

“Uh- well yes, he did!” Scar’s voice suddenly comes out strained, “Yes, he’s a good cook for sure.”

Impulse is handed tape before he can even ask for it. “What’s up with Skizz, anyway?” He asks, “I can’t seem to get a hold of him tonight.”

“Nothing, nothing! You know Skizz, always talking to everyone, that rapscallion.” Scar chuckles nervously, waving his hand in Impulse’s peripheral vision. 

What is up with everyone today?

“…Sure.” Impulse tapes down the final piece, completing the job. He hands Scar the now wrapped box and sets the scissors in a drawer along with the tape. “You’re all set, buddy.”

Scar takes the gift with one hand, the other gripping his cane. “Now, I’m gonna go find Skizz.”

The man’s face drops, eyes growing wider than usual. He quickly shuffles over to block the exit, nearly tripping over his own feet. 

“Nope! Uh, Cleo- Cleo needs you. So just wait here while I get her! Gotta go bye!” Scar speeds off, leaving Impulse standing there dumbfounded. He didn’t even get a chance to ask why before Scar was gone. Why would Cleo need him?

He’s starting to get a little annoyed by all of this strange behavior. All he wants to do is talk to his buddy Skizz, is that too much to ask? 

Speaking of Skizz, Impulse notices a pattern; the hermits start acting odd whenever he mentions the angel or going to find him. Has this got something to do with him? Did something happen to him?

This is awful for his anxiety. 

Thoughts of everything that could be wrong speed through his mind. Is it all just a bunch of coincidences, or had Skizz decided he hates Impulse and doesn’t want to see him ever again, therefore recruiting the others to keep them separated? If once is happenstance, twice is a coincidence, and three times is a pattern, what does that make four times?

Impulse takes a deep breath. Worrying will not give him an answer. 

Once Cleo gets here, he’ll ask them what’s been going on. She probably just needs help with some miniscule problem anyways. 

As if on cue, the zombie appears in the doorway. 

“Impulse! Hi!” Cleo’s voice is high pitched and excited as she throws herself at the demon for a hug that he happily returns. They pull away a few seconds after, Impulse speaking first. 

“What do you need?”

“I have a surprise for you.” She grins mischievously, the look in her eyes the same as when she’s scheming. 

Raising an eyebrow, Impulse eyes her. “What shenanigans have you been up to?”

They roll their eyes and pull a bandana out of their pocket. “Nothing. Now, put this on.” Cleo reaches up to start wrapping it around his eyes before Impulse has a chance to respond to that. He takes a step back, dodging them. 

“Um, why?”

She narrows her eyes. “It’s a surprise, you gotta put it on.”

Impulse sighs, relenting. This night has already been odd, what’s one more strange event? “Fine. If you… dunk water on me or something, I’ll ground you!”

He lets Cleo wrap the blindfold around his eyes, making his world dark. She links their elbows together and starts to lead him out of the room and down the hallway, making twists and turns that get Impulse completely disoriented. “You can’t ground me, you’re not my dad!”

“I’ll find a way.” Impulse mumbles under his breath, huffing and puffing. 

The zombie chuckles in reply. The two continue going to who knows where for a little longer before Cleo abruptly stops. 

“Alright, you stay here. And don’t take the blindfold off until I’m back!” They unlink arms, Cleo ignoring all protests and running away. Impulse stands there, contemplating taking off the bandana but deciding against it. 

A small draft flows through the room, making him shiver. 

Is the floor going to open up and drop him somewhere? Are the walls going to squish him into a pancake? Are they going to murder him?

He hears footsteps arriving from somewhere near, cutting his spiraling thoughts off. Cleo’s voice echoes towards him. “Can’t you walk like a normal person?”

“No! That would be lame. Do you think I’m lame, Clebert?”

That voice. 

The voice he’s been trying to get to all evening, the voice of an angel. Literally, an angel. Skizz.

Now that he knows who it is, he can make sense of the footsteps. The steps he assumes to be Skizz’s are the staggered ones, fumbling around like he’s going to tip over at any moment, which is likely. He can hear Cleo guiding the man over right in front of himself. “Yes, very.”

Skizz gasps, offended. “I’ll have you know I’m the least lame person here! Ow! Watch the wings!” Something bangs against the wall, which Impulse assumes is the wing Skizz is referring to. 

“I am. Skizz, you stand here.”

Impulse turns his head to where he guesses Cleo is. “Why are we here?”

“Impulse!” Skizz shouts excitedly, his smile evident in his words despite Impulse’s inability to see it himself. 

“Hi, buddy.”

“Where are you?” He hears the angel fumbling around, then a smack. 

“Hands to yourself!” Cleo speaks with annoyance clear in her tone. “Now, I’m leaving you two here. In thirty seconds you two will take off your blindfolds and look up, got it?”

Impulse nods. He’d guess that Skizz is probably giving the zombie a salut. “Yes ma’am!”

“Alright. Time starts now!”

Cleo’s footsteps fade away quickly, leaving only Impulse and Skizz. He’s tempted to take off the blindfold now, but Skizz stops him before he even gets the chance to. “Don’t you take that blindfold off yet! I know you’re thinking about it, Dippledop.”

“Whatever.” Impulse rolls his eyes with a huff. “Do you know why we’ve been dragged here against our wills?”

“Nope! Seems like we’ve both been kidnapped.”

“Dang it. Has everyone been acting strange to you too?” Impulse is pretty sure he’s facing Skizz. He has no idea which way he was looking when Cleo originally placed him here. 

Skizz shakes his wings out, Impulse able to tell from the wind they cause. “Yes! Man, I thought I was going crazy! I kept asking where you were but they just kept dodging the question or changing the subject.”

Impulse chuckles in solidarity. “Yeah, they kept making me fix problems that should’ve been simple for them to fix.”

“These guys are weird, man.”

“But you love ‘em!” Impulse reaches out and waves his arm around in an attempt to find Skizz. When he finally reaches the angel, he makes sure to give him a big punch. “Speaking of them, do you think it’s been thirty seconds?”

He can hear Skizz shrug with a hum. “I dunno, I haven’t been counting.”

“How about we take them off on the count of three?”

“On three or after three?”

“Uh… after?”

“Alright. One, two… three!”

Impulse carefully removes his own bandana, making sure to not damage it. Skizz, on the other hand, tears it off with no care for its well being. He winces at the angel's disregard but doesn’t bother stopping him. 

Blinking to adjust his eyes, Impulse takes a look at their surroundings. They’re in a dimly lit hallway with minimal Christmas decor scattered around, small white fairy lights lining the bottom of the walls on either side. The two are standing under a door frame that juts out slightly from the rest of the wall. 

Skizz smiles at him, filling Impulse’s chest with warmth. “Good to see you, buddy!”

“You too. Cleo said to look up, right?” Impulse laughs quietly. He notices Skizz’s wings have red and green lights strung around them, adding to the holiday feel. 

“Mhm!” Skizz nods. They both look up in sync.

A small cluster of green hangs just above them, right in the middle. A red ribbon is tied into a bow, holding the leaves together. 

Impulse’s heart immediately beats faster. 

Mistletoe.

Of course it’s mistletoe.

Why did he trust the hermits? All they do is meddle! 

Surely his small, miniscule, tiny crush wasn’t that noticeable. 

“Impulse?”

He looks back down, meeting Skizz’s eyes. He is absolutely done for. 

The angel has a curious look, filled with concern and love and everything that makes butterflies start a rebellion in his stomach. His wings twitch slightly, a nervous tick Impulse has noticed he does. He can feel his own tail start swaying back and forth quicker. 

“Y- yeah?” He squeaks out, sounding much less confident than he had hoped. 

Skizz looks him up and down, studying him. “We don’t- we don’t have to, if you don’t want.” 

Impulse takes a moment to contemplate. Of course he wants to kiss Skizz, for void’s sake. But does Skizz want to as well? What if Skizz is uncomfortable? What if he gets weirded out, or-

A warm hand rests on his shoulder, making the demon jump. 

“Stop thinking so much.”

“Sorry,” Impulse attempts to swallow his nerves, “Yes. I mean, if you also want to, because you don’t have to! I just-“

His nervous rambling is cut off by lips on his own. 

He freezes for a few seconds before relaxing. Skizz’s lips are chapped, but feel like heaven. His eyes close as Impulse allows himself to get lost in the moment. He fidgets for a moment, unsure what to do with his hands, but Skizz already has that covered. 

The hand that was on his shoulder slides up to cup his cheek, making Impulse shudder. Skizz’s other hand places itself lightly on his waist and draws him closer. 

Impulse wraps his arms around Skizz’s neck, lightly brushing the small feathers that reside there, making the man shiver. One good thing about kissing his best friend: he knows what Skizz likes. 

Skizz has always been a fan of physical touch, while Impulse not so much. Though any touch from Skizz never seems to bother him. He runs his hands through the feathers again, making the angel press into Impulse even further. Impulse smiles against Skizz’s lips, now chest to chest. 

His tail mindlessly curls itself around Skizz’s ankle, making sure he can’t get away. Although he doubts the man would try. 

The two part for a moment to catch their breaths, staring at each other through half lidded eyes. 

White encloses the two in their own world, red and green light bouncing off the feathers and decorating Skizz in a glow. It makes him look even more ethereal than he already does. 

He smiles, and Impulse smirks back. 

Skizz’s thumb rubs back and forth against his cheek, Impulse well aware he must be blushing bright pink at this point. He gets up on his toes to give the angel another kiss, this one much quicker but still filled with love and adoration. 

Sighing happily, Skizz rests his forehead against Impulse’s. They get lost in each other’s eyes, absorbed in a world of their own. 

They start to sway back and forth lightly. Impulse whispers, not wanting to break the atmosphere. “We’re getting them back for this, right?”

“Of course. They can’t get away with their shenanigans!” Skizz giggles, flicking one of his wings towards the hallway Cleo had disappeared in. One of the green bulbs nearly falls off, but Impulse catches it and nestles it back into the feathers. 

Impulse kisses the side of Skizz’s mouth quickly. “Oh, they won’t.”

The angel narrows his eyes playfully before dragging Impulse into yet another kiss. The demon doesn’t fight it. 

—

Peeking in from a window, multiple hermits gather. They watch what goes down, Gem taking a few pictures of the two in blindfolds for the future. 

“It’s cold out here!” Tango whines, shivering. 

“Then leave!” Pearl sighs, exasperated. “You’re a blaze, mate, you should be fine!”

Tango frowns. “I’m sensitive to the cold…”

Zed shushes them all. “Look! It’s happening!” He points at the window, all heads immediately whipping towards the scene. Skizz and Impulse are both looking up, finally spotting the mistletoe. 

“Do you guys think they’ll be mad we schemed against them?” Mumbo asks, wrapped in Grian’s wing with Scar enveloped by the other. 

Rolling their eyes, Cleo waves at them all. “We didn’t scheme! We helped! They’ll thank us for this.”

“Their pining was getting to wet cat levels.” 

Etho speaks up from behind them, making just about everyone in the group jump. 

“When did you get out here? You just gave me a heart attack!” Grian screeches, clutching his imaginary pearls. Etho only shrugs in reply. 

The bickering continues, only stopping when Gem shushes them all. Everyone cheers once the two idiots inside kiss, Grian gagging at the display of affection. Scar gives the bird a smack. “Look, our dads are in love!”

Gem takes another picture, sending it to the hermit group chat. 

Good thing Cleo pocketed their phones.

[morganski-19]

The One with Taking Risks

Ten Years Ago

Jonathan turns the key to his freshman dorm room, a burst of hot air hitting him in the face as he does. The shitty, non airconditioned dorm already making him miserable. He struggles through the doorway, a box pressed against his side. Finding his roommate unpacking on the other side of the room.

“Dude,” his voice echoes against the walls. Hair in a messy braid down his back. “Welcome home.”

Argyle, his randomly assigned roommate, pulls him into a bear hug. Jonathan stiffening, not returning the gesture. They’ve only talked a few times, he wasn’t expecting a hug so early.

Argyle realizes this, pulling back. “Sorry, my sisters say that I come on pretty strong when I shouldn’t. Something I’m working on.”

Jonathan places the box on the vinyl covered mattress. “It’s fine.”

“Do you need any help?” Argyle asks awkwardly behind him. “My folks already helped me get all my stuff in the room, so I don’t mind lending a hand.”

“Thanks, but I’m good. My mom and stepdad are coming up soon with more of my things. They’re just finding parking.”

Argyle nods. “Cool. I’ll, uh, just be over on my side of the room then. Let me know if you want to rearrange the layout or anything. I’m not particular about anything.”

From their first interaction, Jonathan wouldn’t have guessed that his roommate would soon become the best friend he’s ever had.

It wasn’t until months later that he really started to open up to Argyle. Until the homesickness really hit him hard and Will had to spend a few nights in the hospital again. Being so far from home, he couldn’t be there for him. Felt like he failed.

Argyle had come back into the room after his class. Jonathan rubbing his eyes, trying to hide the fact he was crying. Pulling the blanket up under his chin, faking sleep.

For a while, Argyle doesn’t say anything. He just goes to his side of the room and puts in his earbuds in. Doing some homework and giving Jonathan space.

When Will calls him later, Jonathan can’t hide how he’s feeling anymore. As soon as the phone call hangs up, he starts to break down again.

His phone pings.

Argyle: I’m here if you want to talk about it, or I can leave the room to give you some space

There’s something about kindness from a sort of stranger that makes tears flow harder. He types out a reply.

Argyle gets up from his bed and walks over to the door. Shutting it gently behind him, giving Jonathan the space he asked for. When the tears dry up, Jonathan lets Argyle know he can come back. Wiping his cheeks, calmed down.

“Thank you,” he says softly when the door shuts behind him. “I appreciate you doing that.”

Argyle shrugs, like this was nothing. “Life is tough when you move away from home. I should know, my home is halfway across the country. Do you want a hug or are we not at that level yet?”

“A hug would be kind of nice.”

Argyle silently asks to sit on Jonathan’s bed. He nods in conformation, accepting Argyle’s open arms. Pulling back after a few seconds.

“I’m not going to force you to talk about it or anything, but I’m here if you want to.”

“My, uh.” Jonathan struggles to find the words. Argyle waits for him, making Jonathan feel like he can tell him anything. “That call was from my brother, he’s in the hospital right now.”

“Shit,” Argyle says bluntly. “Is he ok?”

Jonathan nods. “Yeah. It’s just a bad flare up. He went through a really bad accident when he was in middle school, has chronic pain because of it. Other lingering health issues. But he’s fine. Just wish I was there, you know.”

“Yeah. It sucks being away from family. Especially when something’s going on.”

“It does. You said you were from California, right?” Jonathan changes the subject. “What’s it like out there, I’ve never been.”

Argyle lights up as soon as Jonathan asks. “Oh, it’s great dude.” He goes on a long tangent about his hometown, his family. Being close enough to the ocean for day trips but not directly close to it at all. Anything and everything.

They talk for hours after that. The conversation finding itself during the slower breaks. Just sharing their lives. Complaining about classes. Learning about each other in ways not many people ever tried.

That day, they both made a friend.

Present Day

Argyle checks his phone for the millionth time. Pressing it down in frustration against the couch when the notification screen continues to be blank. Jonathan hasn’t messaged him back yet. Hasn’t texted him since he left to visit home a week ago.

It’s fine, he tells himself. He’s just busy at home. Spending time with family.

Except it isn’t. They haven’t not talked this long since the awkward first weeks of college. When they hadn’t found the right rhythm yet. This was unlike them. Unlike Jonathan.

Argyle busies himself, trying to keep his mind off it. Stop him from sending another text asking if Jonathan’s ok. He cleans, unmakes and remakes his bed. Cooks and does the dishes. Until the door opens and Jonathan’s standing in front of him, duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hi,” he pants. Like he just ran here from the train.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until Wednesday.” Argyle sets down the dish he was drying. Wiping the excess water from his hands.

Jonathan tries to catch his breath. “I wasn’t. Came back early.” He set the duffel bag on the ground, stepping closer to Argyle.

“Something happen?” Argyle’s trying to read Jonathan’s actions, but he’s never seen him act quite like this before.

“I love you,” he blurts out.

Argyle doesn’t believe him. “Yeah, dude. Love you too.”

Jonathan shakes his head, stepping closer to Argyle again. “No, not like that. Well, yes like that but not all like that. I’m in love with you.”

“What,” Argyle exhales in disbelief.

Jonathan brushes the hair out of his face. Hand resting on the back of his neck. “I know it’s random and probably doesn’t make a lot of sense. But when I was home, seeing Will with Mike together and hearing these constant comments from my mom. How great it is that two best friends fell in love. And then asking me about you. How you were doing and how we were doing. Like we were some unit. Together. It just hit me.”

He continues, starting to pace. “I knew I liked you, for a long time now, but I didn’t realize how much. Always told myself that I wasn’t going to say anything because this friendship meant the world to me, and I couldn’t imagine my life without you in it. Then Will said something to me, and it made me want to just say fuck it. So, I took the next train and now I’m here.”

Argyle is speechless. Trying to keep up with Jonathan’s rambling while also trying to calm the beating of his own heart.

He never thought that this would happen.

Jonathan stops pacing, fear hitting his face. Everything that he just said coming back to him in slow motion. The frantic energy fades, the tension setting in.

“Are you going to say anything?” Jonathan stares at Argyle.

Argyle barrels towards Jonathan, pulling him into the tightest hug of his life. A happy smile forming as Jonathan hugs him back. Both of them too afraid to let go.

“I love you, too,” Argyle whispers after a long silence. “I have for so long.” He pulls back from the hug, grazing his thumb against Jonathan’s cheek. Reveling in the fact that he can. “I was just so scared. I couldn’t lose you, not because of this.”

Jonathan presses their foreheads together. “You didn’t.” He uses both his hands to brace Argyle’s face, bringing their lips together.

Argyle did the exact opposite of losing him.

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low,

@thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady,

@apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic,

@fearieshadow, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging,

@potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug, @estrellami-1, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @gregre369

@my2amgaythoughts

[explainslowly]

Get your transfem Dean season 10 au here!! Get yourself a girl who has so many problems!!

This started by me kicking around a little idea in a chat with @autisticandroids - what if Demon Dean just started taking estrogen? Like where would that lead...

The other idea behind these fics was to write short episode reactions, see how much stuff I could fit into something only a few hundreds words long... and to make pushing through season 10 less of a slog...

The series can be found here (I definitely want to continue through season 11 and perhaps longer, I've just been busy with other stuff):

Links to each story with excerpts under the cut:

Even animals suffer - demon Dean in her own words

The number one unpleasant discovery I have made in my time here, is how much of a bleeding sentimental heart Crowley has. It’s pathetic.

Now the guys that stare in bars, those are a different story.

They lead and I follow, behind the building or into their trucks and I bend over easy, let them take me rough, smelling the sweet smell of rotting garbage in damp hot weather. They like to lean on me hard and grab a boob harder, an endless parade of older guys whose failing livers you can smell on their breaths. The pain is sweet.

I don’t need no rising moon - Dean puts himself back together

He examines his naked chest - he wonders what happens next? It’s not like he did much research as a demon - he was just eyeballing the amounts. Maybe the fat will just… reabsorb itself or something. He grabs the small mounds of protruding flesh - the sight of his large hands engulfing them completely gives him a sense of vertigo, or like he’s looking down from a great height, so he closes his eyes and just concentrates on the sensation. They lack the heft of a larger cup, the satisfying weight, but it feels so soothing to hold them nevertheless.

About a girl - Dean has a little thought experiment

It’s kind of funny - Dean forgot how he used to look. That he shot up tall before he got broad, was lanky in a funny way, like an unfinished human. And doe-eyed and soft featured… it makes his mind go in all the wrong directions. Makes him think about possibilities, before testosterone takes hold - a body that hasn’t become yet and is sort of shapeless in a way that makes his head spin.

It’s just idle daydreams.

Lana del Rey croons on the radio and Dean indulges, really gives himself permission to think about it.

What do teen girls even look like these days? He’s out of the loop on it all… Probably something like... thick eyeliner? Lot of makeup… awkwardly applied, but that’s ok. It wouldn’t look out of place on a fifteen year old. That kind of clumsiness is all within reason at that age. You get space to find yourself, that's kind of what being a teen is about, he thinks.

Dirge - a little Drowley interlude

Crowley lays his palms on Dean’s ribcage, framing his chest.

“Hello ladies.”

The embarrassment burns Deam up - he feels his face flame red. “Fucking hell, Crowley…”

“Just getting reacquainted,” Crowley sounds amused, but he doesn’t keep his distance long, dives in, licking Dean’s breast, the beard scratching at sensitive skin, sending electricity down his spine. Crowley is thumping at the nipple not in his mouth and his other hand is unbuttoning Dean’s jeans.

[dollsahoy]

Silly little victory: Years ago, I put a set of screws on the inside of the apron of the table I use for my sewing machines, to hang a power strip horizontally from the keyholes in the back of it.

I had seen the "put a long strip of masking tape across both the holes, mark the hole centers, then use that piece of masking tape to mark exactly where the holes should be on the wall" tip for how to get the screws spaced just right, so that part was no problem.

It turned out, though, that the power strip was really easy to accidentally knock off, and it was so frustrating to try to align those two keyholes with the screws to hang it back up that I eventually stopped trying and let the power strip rest awkwardly on the things under the table.

I decided this morning that I would try hanging it again, and, once I got it in place, I realized that I could sort of lock it in if I put a nail just past one end, to keep it from moving that direction and sliding the screws back out of the large parts of the keyholes. This is incredibly obvious in hindsight, but I'm happy to have figured it out and now that power strip is not moving. Ha ha I win.

[brekwrites]

Please Brek, if you feel inspired to write something about Eclipse x Dark Sun, don't hesitate to publish and share it. I'm excited to read content from that new ship and if it's written by someone who can write as well as you, I think might faint in a good way.

Fantastic news for you, my friend. I’ve been thinking about them. I need some time to stew with my thoughts, to sus out the vibes and what not, but here are my preliminary thoughts under the cut bc I love to yap:

I’m thinking maybe while Dark Sun is messing around in the back of Eclipse’s head, he notices something. Yeah, Eclipse is screaming, because it hurts, but he’s also leaning into the contact. Turns out he’s so starved for touch and connection that anything will do, even he’s seeking comfort from the person that’s inflicting the pain in the first place.

That hits home for Dark Sun, because it reminds him of how he used to be with his Moon in their mindscape. But he’s got a plan and he’s going to carry it out, so he finishes his work and sends Eclipse back with the information he wanted.

As Eclipse works to bring Solar back, Dark Sun shows up every once in a while to make “adjustments” to whatever he put in the back of Eclipse’s head, and keeps pulling him to the side for check ups. He goes quietly because he’s terrified that someone will see them together and accuse him of working with the villain without giving him a chance to explain. And during the check ups, if Dark Sun doesn’t actually hurt him, and ends up touching him surprisingly gently, who is he to question why?

Eventually he does end up bringing back Solar, though it requires a pretty big sacrifice on his end (not to the point of death tho, in this case). Everyone is so excited to see Solar again, though, that in the commotion they sort of just… forget Eclipse? They don’t ignore him or anything, and Earth even makes a point to talk to him after and thank him, but he realizes that Solar sort of fills the space he could have occupied once upon a time. There isn’t really room for him anymore.

He needs repairs afterwards, and Moon promises to get to them first thing tomorrow, but he clearly wants to spend time with Solar just like the rest of the family, and Eclipse, even though it hurts and he hurts and it should be him not Solar this is HIS dimension not Solar’s, lets him go, lets them all go, and goes back to the Fazcade alone.

And if he cries a bit, no one will know because no one is there. He’s alone.

Until he isn’t. Dark Sun shows up because he lost signal from whatever he put in Eclipse. Turns out the strain of bringing Solar back fried it (or so he says). He sees the state Eclipse is in, mentally and physically, and it’s worse than he thought. He’s going to have to bring him back to his dimension for this (wink, wink).

Eclipse goes without protest. He’s on the tail end of a meltdown and just feels numb. Dark Sun takes him into the heart of his fortress, to his workshop, and carefully repairs him. It takes hours, but he doesn’t stop for more than a quick 5-10 minute break and he never leaves him once. And he’s so gentle and careful as he fixes him up. It’s that Sun instinct, to care and help and dote, mixed with Moon’s project-oriented focus and skill. He has a wayward thought that Dark Sun is all the best parts of Sun and Moon, where he got all their worst tendencies, the things they shoved aside because they didn’t want anymore.

And maybe he cries again. And Dark Sun, surprisingly, doesn’t laugh at him or tell him to stop. He holds him carefully, if a bit awkwardly, like he hasn’t used that part of his programming in a long time, and keeps fixing him. At some point, Eclipse slips into rest mode, exhausted from the whole ordeal.

When he wakes up, he’s in a bed he doesn’t recognize somewhere in Dark Sun’s fortress. He gets up, has a look around, wonders the halls a bit, and eventually finds his way back to the workshop, where Sun is working on his star prototype.

Eclipse very awkwardly thanks him, then asks why he fixed him in the first place. And they go back and forth for a bit until Dark Sun asks him if he wants to stay with him. It turns out he’s a been lonely, too. And Eclipse… realizes that he wouldn’t mind that. Reviving Solar had been his goal for a so long, and he doesn’t really know what to do now, and the thought of having to find a new purpose is incredibly stressful.

It would be nice if someone else could make the decisions for a while.

So, eventually they end up in a sort of parallel to the Lord Eclipse and Servant Sun dimension. They’re Dark Lord Sun and Knight Eclipse, or something like that. Sun eventually finishes the star, though its probably based on negative energy, which maybe Eclipse had to harness to bring Solar back anyway, so Eclipse maybe actually helps him make it. And then there’s a star right there in front of him, and it’d be so easy to try to take it, but…

He doesn’t want it. He’s not a servant to Dark Sun, but he is in service to him, and he kind of prefers it that way. And somewhere along the way they get together, though I’m not really sure where, and they live in their pocket dimension and do dimension-related things and surveillance and occasionally visit the home dimension (mostly for Eclipse to see Earth), and this isn’t something Eclipse ever could have predicted he’d have, but it’s good. Life is good.

(And maybe Dark Sun, Solar, and Moon (and then occasionally Eclipse) hang out sometimes and work on joint projects together and are sort of a team that tries to handle dimensional anomalies to keep something like what happened with Ruin from happening again. And puppet helps as well or something idk I haven’t thought this far. Maybe Moon and Solar are in a qpr and puppet and solar are dating 🤷🏻‍♀️)

So anyway that’s how I think it’d go, and this is a pretty decent outline, so you can probably look forward to a fic about this in the future lmfao. Thanks for the ask!

[tragicallybeautiful97]

Just For The Summer - Steve Harrington x Reader (Chapter Two)

Steve Harrington x reader. Camp Counsellors AU. `lovers x enemies x lovers again. Pining, so much pining. Sexual tension. Stranger Things AU. Multi-chapter story. Eventual smut. 

word count: 1,494

Read Chapter One here

Chapter Two

7 years ago…

I was nervous. The kind of nervousness you can only be when you’re freshly seventeen and thrown into an unfamiliar place filled with equally nervous teenagers. 

I clutched at my duffle bag as I waded through the crowd of people. I had set off to Camp Lake Haven early this morning; deciding that taking the bus would be too overwhelming and choosing instead to drive my beat up car down the twisting country paths before I finally found the camp. 

My Mum and Dad had said goodbye to me awkwardly at the door; both of them evidently feeling guilty that I was desperate enough to leave the toxic household to spend six weeks in the middle of nowhere with a group of strangers. Will had been standing beside them; seven at the time, his face round but body gangly. He had wrapped his arms around me in a big hug before they had waved me off as I drove down the road; roadtrip snacks already sat on the dash ready and music blaring obnoxiously from my rusty speaker. 

I popped one of the fizzy sweets I had leftover into my mouth as I made my way towards a man holding a clipboard. He was shouting numbers, his fingers running through his curly, sweaty hair. 

“Hello, welcome to Camp Lake Haven!” The man greeted me excitedly in a thick Russian accent, “My name is Alexei and I am one of the camp coordinators.” 

“Y/N.” I nodded in greeting. “It’s my first time.” 

“How exciting!” Alexei exclaimed. “Let’s find out which cabin you’re in this summer.” He glanced down at this clipboard, his glasses hanging precariously at the edge of his nose as he looked down. “Ah, there you are Y/N. You are in cabin twelve.” 

Alexei handed over a keycard and a cute hand-drawn map before he pointed me towards the left of the forest. 

“Get settled into your cabin and then food is served at six-thirty in the mess hall.” He pointed towards the green coloured building on my map. “Enjoy!” 

I smiled at him and offered my thanks before I headed in the direction he had pointed. The trees were a thick green canopy above my head, engulfing me in the scent of pine and greenery. I felt pleasant shivers run up my spine at the thought of spending all summer here - bonfires at night, making friends with my bunkmates (hopefully) and spending long warm evenings submerged in the lake I had seen on Camp Havens brochure. 

I continued walking deeper into the forest; passing various wooden cabins on my way. They looked run down but clean, the wear and tear giving a cosy effect that the cabins had been lived in, enjoyed by the campers over the years. I paused briefly when I heard a high-pitched yowling.

I twirled around in confusion when the yowling grew louder yet I couldn’t see the source of the sound - it sounded like some sort of animal.  I dropped my duffel bag hesitantly, wondering if I should go back and tell Alexei about the noise. The yowling became more panicked and despite my better judgement and ignoring all horror movie advice, I followed the sound towards the porch of the cabin in front of me. 

I searched around the cabin, the yowling becoming louder as I stood directly on the porch. It sounded as if something were stuck under the porch. I took a shaky sigh; praying that my curiosity would not cause me to fall into the clutches of a flesh eating clown that lived under the porch - I really needed to stop watching IT. 

I set myself on my hands and knees, my arse wiggling in the air as I tried to look under the dark porch. I pulled out my phone from my back pocket and quickly put the flash on so I could inspect the dark space. 

My heart melted at the sight. 

“Hey little one,” I cooed softly. 

A pair of large green eyes stared back at me. A small black kitten was yowling under the porch. It’s collar snagged on a loose piece of wood that jutted out of the porch. The poor thing was struggling to free itself, its yowls increasing now that it knew it had someone's attention. 

“It’s ok baby, I’m gonna help you.”I reassured the small kitten. I went lower on my forearms so that I could crawl deeper into the space. I reached out an arm to the poor kitten, huffing in frustration as I willed my arms to be longer. I felt the mud sink into my bare knees as I tried to stretch further, the kitten appearing to be meowing encouragingly at me. 

“Wow, well this is some welcome.” A voice drawled behind me. 

I squealed at the sound of the male voice, my head smacking the roof of the wooden porch as I jumped. I glanced behind me; seeing a pair of jean clad legs and a muddy pair of green red converse. 

“I’ll be back, baby, I promise.” I promised fiercely as I shuffled backwards and out from under the porch. 

“What are you doing under there? Talking to monsters?” 

I blinked up at the boy who was grinning down at me. He was unfortunately gorgeous, unfortunate because he had just caught me with my arse in the air under the porch and I no doubt was covered in mud and dust. 

He was tall and lean; exuding an air of confidence that only came from being some sort of athlete. His face was all sharp curves and high cheekbones; his skin bronzed and a mole kissed the corner of his full lips. His hair was long but styled perfectly in swept back waves; the length of it brushing the collar of his denim jacket. 

He quirked a brow at me, his smile growing larger as he noticed my obvious ogling. 

I cleared my throat quickly, feeling heat rise up my chest and cheeks. 

“There’s a kitten stuck under there.” I explained quickly; hoping that I didn’t appear like a complete crazy person. 

“Oh,” The boy frowned, quickly dropping his own duffel bag to kneel beside me. “I must say I’m relieved that you're not talking to some sort of dark entity that lives under there.” 

“Sadly not, just a small innocent kitten.”  I smirked slightly, “Or this could all just be a tactic to feed you to the dark entity under there.” 

The boy laughed, the sound made my toes curl. I silently scolded myself; I knew I was a hormonal teenage girl and I often found boys cute - but Jesus christ, pull it together. 

I went back on my hands and knees and flashed my phone torch under the porch once again. I pointed towards the little kitten who was staring miserably back at us. 

“I tried to reach him but my arms weren't long enough.” I explained. 

The boy beside me nodded, “Well I shouldn’t have that problem.” 

He mimicked my position and pushed himself towards the kitten. His large hands swiped through a cobweb as he inched closer to the kitten as I watched anxiously. He finally got close enough and managed to snag his fingers around the kitten’s collar, tugging them free. The kitten immediately ran out from the porch, releasing a large yowl that sounded like a freedom battle cry. 

I quickly scooped the kitten up in my arms, her black fur matted with cobwebs under my fingers. I brushed her off, pausing to read the name tag on her little purple collar - Binx. I smiled at the name; someone was clearly a Hocus Pocus fan. I stroked under her chin and an easy purr sounded out of her. 

“Well she clearly isn’t traumatised.” The boy laughed as he brushed his jeans off. He came to crouch beside me, his hand brushing mine as he also stroked Binx under her chin. 

I smiled up at him, “Thanks for helping me.” 

“No problem,” He smiled easily at me, “I have a talent for helping pretty girls with cat rescue missions.” 

“Is that so?” I asked coyly. 

“My name's Steve,” Steve introduced himself. 

His dark eyes sparkled down at me; a promise of possibilities in his eyes and I felt a pleasurable heat fill me. We were flirting - and it felt amazing. Those possibilities washed over me; the promise of a summer fling - excited whispers and laughs around the campfire, stolen kisses in the woods and horror movie nights snuggled up against each other. I felt excitement thrum through me, excitement at the promise of fun; fun after all the hardships this year, fun after all the loneliness, fun after watching my parents fall out of love with each other in front of mine and Will’s eyes. 

I gazed at Steve, hoping my eyes reflected those possibilities back at him. 

“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.” 

Steve grinned.

[latmwdcore]

Hesperides station whirls to life right around the eighth to tenth system hour, as is customary onboard. Astra, however, has yet to integrate herself into this routine; back in her home system, Helios, the fifth or sixth hour ante meridiem was more familiar- or perhaps, that is just how the Collins family operated.

It was one of many culture shocks she had experienced while aboard- far too accustomed to early opening hours of storefronts, it took around a week or two for Astra to realize that she got no customers before eight- save for Setteth, who was also an anomaly by station standards- so it was pointless to get up at five and prep the diner. a tough lesson learned.

Another thing she hadn't accounted for was just how differently late " Aunt Cassie " ran the diner. She left big shoes to fill, no doubt, Astra was ready to stuff tissue into the toe box in need be- but she hadn't prepared herself for the legacy Cassiopeia Collins had left on the deep space station. 

Not one meal served could end without a passing mention of her name, and every time, Astra felt an estranged feeling of longing. She and Cassie had never been close, barely met, and her family would not spare a single credit towards visits to where she had settled- she was rarely ever discussed in a setting that wasn't Astra being told to shape up, or she'd end up like Cassiopeia, the one who cracked under the pressure.

Because of that, Astra did not feel very connected to her memory of Aunt Cassie, if at all. In truth, it was hard not to see her as another expectation set by others; be like Aunt Cassie, fulfill every role she took up, honor her memory. And Astra is nothing if not the dedication she puts into her responsibilities. 

That brings us to today, Astra's first day off since she opened the Milky Way Diner back up. She and Ka'el's schedules lined up just perfectly for this moment- it was as if the black holes right outside the station had aligned just for them. Though, as Ka'el stood in front of Astra's door on the block, something felt off.

" Sugar- are you just about done getting dolled up ? As much as i- and believe me I do- love seeing you with your hair up all nice, it's been an hour since we were supposed to go out "

There's a teasing lilt to her voice- honeyed words from a practiced tongue. Ka'el leaned on the wall besides Astra's accommodations, arms crossed across her chest and broad shoulders strained against her casual attire. Despite her words, there's no real rush- besides her own, eager to spend every moment she could with her partner. 

" i'm almost ready- just. Just give me a second! " 

Before Ka'el could ( rightfully ) respond that this had been the nth time she'd asked for a second, Astra was hurrying out of the door and straightening out her apron. Ka'el's good-humored expression twisted into one of confusion as she looked Astra up and down, an eyebrow raised as she moved her hand to her hip with a flourish.

" Your diner uniform ? Didn't we agree today was your day off- not to mention, our date ? "

A second passed, before Astra fully registered the words, and awkwardly laughed off the ( mild ) glare from her girlfriend. Suddenly very aware of what she was wearing, she patted down her attire, stuffing her hands in the front pocket of her apron, before pulling out all sorts of paper receipts, sauce packets, and napkins, in a frantic search for something-

" Don't be too alarmed- I did not forget our date ! I just promised the elderly naru two blocks down i'd whip her up a quick something before I clocked out for the day- it'll be quick, promise "

Finally fishing out the diner keyset, she gives them a quick toss before catching them in the palm of her hands and jingling them in an attempt to grab the correct one. 

" You've gotta learn how to say no- folks here are so busy when they're up and about, they rarely notice they're taking advantage of you. "

Ka'el chastises lovingly, as her free hand reaches up and brushes her cheek with her knuckles tenderly, the gesture reciprocated as Astra gingerly leans into her touch. 

" I know- I know. Just this once "

With a small plea, a pout, and a gaze from under her eyelashes is all it takes for a small, playful groan to pass through Ka'el as her fanged grin makes an appearance

" You know for a fact I can never say no to you, sugar... but make it snappy, you hear ? Can't be queuing up at the diner every time I want to take my girlfriend out on a date " 

Ka'el tuts, pressing her lips to her forehead with a slight grin drawn on her lips as they both make their way to the diner, Ka'el's tail wrapped Astra's waist as she took confident, graceful strides, though shortened to match Astra's pace.

The same old song and dance of opening up the diner and starting on the pre-work ensued- with Ka'el resting her elbows on the countertop and her head in her hands, observing Astra's efficient movements. She was a wonder to witness when prepping dishes- even more when she could take her time catering the meal for the individual. 

But there was an undeniable exhaustion in her eyes, poorly concealed eye bags she assured were just the poor lighting casting shadows on her face, even if it was perfectly lit in the kitchen. her usual motions were slower, more calculated, when she usually already had it incorporated, second nature practically. What tipped Ka'el off that something really was wrong was the recipe book Aunt Cassie stored in a cabinet.

" Taking a page out of your auntie's book ? "

Ka'el calls out, tapping Astra's forearm, as she hadn't given a response straight away. Usually, she always had a witty response locked and loaded for her every teasing, playful remark- something Ka'el found endearing.

" Mmm... something like that "

She responded noncommittally, stirring the ladle with some difficulty- the strain of her muscles evident as Astra struggled. At this, Ka'el took initiative, standing behind her as she gripped the ladle and her hand with her own, while turning the heat to low with the other. 

" Sugar- you're exhausted. You haven't had a break in weeks, and I know you're just settling in but- "

Astra cuts Ka'el off, twisting her body around to face her. Ka'el's expression softens at the sight of her saddened features, placing her palms against her hips.

" I'm- I'm fine, Ka'el. It has just been- a bit tough settling into the new lifestyle, is all "

Ka'el frowns, her thumbs drawing comforting patterns on her clothed hips as she urges her to continue. If only she wasn't so easy to talk to, Astra laments internally. She sighs, resting her head on Ka'el chest, almost as if hiding her shameful expression.

" I- I cannot be what my aunt was to this place, this diner- I cannot be her to them, and I never will be. I mourn her death like a stranger- I cannot help but lament what could've been, if she had survived that stroke- perhaps the community would not have taken such a big loss, and I wouldn't have been a crude replacement so soon after her passing " 

The words from her lips fall as freely as the tears that had been bottled up, Ka'el maneuvering Astra's arms to wrap around her firm figure, as she rests a hand on her head, lightly scratching at her scalp.

" These people- this community needed someone like my aunt, not like me. I am an ill-fitting replacement- one who cannot meet their expectations "

Her sobs and hiccups are met with Ka'el's comforting hum as she allows the poor girl to vent out her feelings. Once she'd cried out all her sorrows, the ka'ettri pulled away, resting her clawed hands on her cheeks tenderly, a stern but loving look swimming in her honey eyes.

" Astra- you do not have to replace your aunt, or meet anyone's expectations- you do not have to be anyone you are not, the folks here are enamored by you, and your habits, and your way of showing care not only for the community, but for this diner- you run a tight ship at that, sugar "

The last comment is made with playful undertones, a giggle drawn out of Astra as Ka'el leans in and places a chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth.

" We all mourn the loss of Aunt Cassie, but it's undeniable that you were the right person to take over- we do not expect you to continue in Cassie's footsteps- what you make of this diner is your choice and yours alone. You are not a replacement- you are your own person, free of the weight of expectations other than your own. Let yourself live a little, indulge yourself "

As she speaks, Ka'el presses her forehead to Astra's, holding her tender gaze.

" You got that, sugar ? "

A small nod comes from a flushed Astra, as Ka'el smiles triumphantly, leaning in and stealing a kiss from her cushioned lips.

" Atta girl- now, let's get this soup to that elderly woman, so I can take my sweet girl on a date, hm ? "

She teases, beginning to stir the ladle and scooping some of the delicious, if lukewarm soup into a takeout container. The smile on Astra's face is contagious, as she wipes her tears in a swift motion.

" Of course. "

+ ASTRA HEADCANONS !!

- brings her own kitchenware to cook in people's kitchenettes when they're sick ( particular about her tools )

- hosts potlucks / cookie exchanges, and just community events- speed dining, or ice cream social type stuff

- too lenient on substitutions- sometimes ends up making an entirely different dish in no time whatsoever.

- keeps the menu short with handy recipes that she's mastered but caters to different alien's dietary restrictions.

- has multiple things stored in her apron front pocket and uniform folds, including but not limited to :

* cake testers and tongs

* sauce packets, napkins, paper receipts written over with pen.

* plating spoons

* a small contraption that sort of looks like a swiss army knife, with a hand thermometer and a precision scale tied into one ( roswell's invention, made special just for astra )

[thisworldisablackhole]

A Memory Called Empire, by Arkady Martine - 4.5/5

Turns out I fucking love space operas. My god. I wish I had discovered this book so much earlier in my reading journey. I feel like this is the book I've always wanted to read, the one that finally takes all my favourite pieces of the stories I love and puts them together the right way. It's taken me a long time to sit down and write about it, because I barely know where to start, the story was just so intoxicating and personal that I almost feel like just keeping this one to myself, close to the heart. But I'll try anyway...

Right off the bat, I got big The Left Hand Of Darkness (Ursula K. Le Guin) vibes from this story. It has a similar premise, and explores similar themes; An ambassador is sent from a different planet with some sort of goal in mind, and they get embroiled in a mess of political intrigue as they struggle to grasp for familiarity in a strange new culture. Themes of duality in identity are explored as well, although this is a VASTLY different take than Le Guin's and it is damn brilliant. But A Memory Called Empire, despite mostly taking place in one city, also has the massive scale of a world spanning sci-fi epic such as Fall Of Hyperion, in the way that the actions of our main character trigger a cascade of events that ripple throughout the universe (there are also frequent mentions of "jumpgates" that remind me a lot of Hyperion's farcaster portals). So it truly has the best of both worlds; the deeply intricate (and often confusing) personal relationships—and when you zoom out—the space battles, the crusading empire and it's mass planetary colonization efforts.

A Memory Called Empire is home to some of the best worldbuilding and character work I've ever had the pleasure of reading. Martine just pays so much attention to the minute details of everything. She is truly an observer of humanity, and it shines in her writing. Every gesture, every facial expression, every subtle difference in the phrasings of different cultures are put under the magnifying glass. Every character has such a unique and believable personality, and I really felt like I was beside Mahit Dzmare the whole time as she tries to navigate and understand the differences between herself and the citizens of Teixcalaan. This book also made me realize just how important colour is in worldbuilding. This is easy to do poorly (for example, how Dan Simmons' heedless overuse of "lapis lazuli" basically turned into a inside joke amongst readers), but everything in Teixcalaan is bathed in rose quartz and gold and silver whites, a really flowery language that is befitting of a place nicknamed the "Jewel of the World". Martine brings a sense of soft elegance to the empire and it's technological marvels that was utterly engrossing, and a stark contrast to the insidious nature of the Empire.

A lot of this story revolves around understanding the nuances of language. The people of Teixcalaan often speak in poetry and even encrypt their political discourse with poems and fancy glyphs, but this sense of poetry and decryption is also present directly in Martine's prose. There are a lot of reflections of our modern society to be found in here, some of which are implemented beautifully, some of them a little awkwardly. My only real criticism of the book is that there are a few moments where the metaphors became almost too clear. It's not that I didn't appreciate the underlying meaning, it just sort of took me out of the story and ruined my immersion. Fortunately it doesn't take long for Martine to get the story back on track and stop indulging in poetic double entendres, and these moments sort of just become little hiccups in an otherwise beautiful journey.

A Memory Called Empire was just so refreshing. This is the tale that contemporary readers of science fiction deserve. It's sensitive, it's aware, it turns the social norms of modern society upside down and completely normalizes things such as same-sex relations, ambiguous identities and our deep internal conflicts without lowering any of the stakes of the plot or deterring the average reader. We need more writers like Martine in this world. I wish I could have read this slower, but thankfully there's a sequel that I'm already about 60 pages into and holy shit, it's already just as good.

[rollercoasterwords]

Hi! I found your blog through the female rage substack article that you posted and I’m curious about a couple things (so I hope the tone of this ask will read as genuine/non-confrontational etc).

I really liked the article and the anti-gender essentialist content, so I looked through the others and eventually found your jegulus article (which I read and also liked) but I was sort of surprised to see that you are a part of the hp/marauders fandom. For me personally, everything related to that franchise has just been tainted since the whole jkr terf debacle really took off. I was big on hp when I was younger and wolfstar is a ship/dynamic that I enjoyed back then, so I’d probably like your stuff if I were to read it. But I decided some time ago to give any and all hp content the chop, because to me it didn’t feel right to engage with it anymore. So I was just wondering how you feel in that regard, if you don’t mind sharing. I don’t have anyone in my internet content circle that still actively posts about hp and if irl friends still enjoy it then it’s not something we talk about, so I’d just like to know how you juggle the ‘two sides’ in that sense of your trans-positive/anti-essentialist beliefs and fandom content that’s still so intrinsically connected to jkr and her politics. (Also, sorry if you’ve answered a question like this before. I scrolled through your blog a bit, but if yes then not far enough.)

Anyway, hope you’re well and I’ll probably keep an eye out for any future essays on your substack even if I don’t follow you on here. cheers! (and thanks for the “playing the whore” book rec, I’ll be looking into that. a rec from my end would be paul b. preciado's "can the monster speak". it's the written version of a speech he tried to give at a Freudian psychoanalysis conference about the position trans people occupy in psychoanalysis before being booed off stage. it was short and pretty intriguing, in case you're interested/haven't heard of it yet.)

hi! happy 2 hear u enjoyed the female rage essay--i wasn't expecting it to spread as much as it did + had to turn off reblogs for my own peace of mind 2 keep terfs away from my blog, but it's nice to know there are still people getting something out of it. also appreciate the book rec--that definitely sounds up my alley + i'm excited to check it out!

and i'll do my best to answer your question about hp, but i'm gonna put it under a cut because i know this is a contentious topic + i have a feeling my answer's gonna get long--so if anyone doesn't want 2 read abt my conflicting hp-fandom thoughts, just scroll away please xx

so, quite honestly, i'm in agreement with you that the entire franchise is tainted by jkr. the truth is that it was never really my intention to join the fandom--i read a single fic because it went viral on tiktok, then decided to rewrite the fic from another character's pov just for fun. at that point, i hadn't read any other hp fic and had never been involved in any kind of online fandom space, and although i'd read the hp books + watched the movies growing up i hadn't touched them in years + was so far removed from the franchise that i vaguely remembered hearing jkr had said some terfy stuff, but wasn't aware of the extent to which her politics were like. actively and significantly causing real-life harm.

anyway, i'd done a rewrite for fun of another story i liked and had posted it on ao3, and that had received a handful of people commenting + talking about the story with me as i wrote but had remained pretty self-contained + small. i was expecting the same sort of thing with the hp fic i rewrote, but instead someone posted about it on tiktok and it went viral, and then suddenly there were thousands of people reading every ch update and hundreds of comments. like i said, i had never been involved in an online fandom space before, so i sort of awkwardly stumbled into it and tried to figure out what i was doing as i finished up writing the fic. this was at a point in my life where i'd recently moved to a different country and had to go back in the closet after being publicly out for years, and this online fandom space became my only queer community and a bit of a lifeline in that way. i started making actual friends and talking to people + getting more deeply involved in the community aspect of things.

at the same time, i started actually educating myself on jkr + her politics + her impact, and the more i learned the more uncomfortable i became with being part of anything hp-related. now, i've been writing hp fic for almost two years and 'active' in the fandom for ~one and a half, and despite being grateful for the friends i've made and treasuring the space i've been able to cultivate, i've become increasingly disenchanted with 'the fandom' as a whole and have increasingly found it to be a hostile space, so i've sort of taken a step back from broader engagement and more + more have limited my interaction to just my mutuals here on tumblr. unfortunately, i think many of the 'bad parts' of this fandom are somewhat built-in because of the source material; there are a lot of people who agree with jkr's politics to varying extents and that can make it kind of a miserable place to be sometimes. i know many people insist that hp can be completely removed from jkr, but i don't think that's the case, and i've talked on my blog before about the fact that her politics are built into the very foundations of the text, so i think it's necessary to acknowledge her influence if we want to actually engage with hp at all in a way that isn't just perpetuating her politics.

all that being said, the point i'm at currently is that i'm not really sure that this fandom is a space i want to be a part of forever. again--i understand how it can be lifeline for some people and a queer community they might not have elsewhere, because that's been the case for me. but for me personally, as much as i value my own carved-out space, it doesn't completely outweigh the negatives that i have found myself coming into contact with more and more in this fandom. writing hp fic is also something that i keep strictly separate from 'real life,' contained solely in this online space, because i know that any engagement with hp is a red flag for many, many trans people and i don't want to bring it outside of this space. within this online space, i don't keep it a secret that i write hp fic; it's right at the top of my blog so that anyone who wants to can easily block and unfollow me. i only post my fics on ao3, where they are clearly tagged as harry potter fanfiction, and i only post about hp fic + fandom stuff on this blog, which was specifically created for that purpose. i've requested that people no longer post about my hp fics on platforms like tiktok where the algorithm could send it out onto anyone's fyp, and that request is also in my pinned faq. keeping my hp fic as contained as possible to only people who are already engaging with hp fic is one way that i try to mitigate any harm that might be caused by my fics contributing to hp's ongoing popularity.

the other ways i try to mitigate potential harm are by actively discouraging people from giving any financial support to hp + jkr and by being very vocal about my politics on this page, so that anyone who is following me will be getting pro-trans and anti-gender essentialism politics along with any hp engagement. i also don't engage with hp uncritically; i am specifically critical of the shitty politics in the books both in my posts on this blog and my fics themselves. i don't make it a secret that i think the books are politically rotten all the way down through to the foundations.

none of this is to say that there's, like...a Right Way to engage with this content or a set of rules that, if followed, Absolve All Shittiness. this is just an explanation of the personal evaluations i've had to weigh when it comes to deciding how i'm going to interact with content that is fundamentally opposed to my own politics. and again, i don't blame people who think that any amount of engagement is morally untenable and completely block it out. this is a growing source of cognitive dissonance in my own life, and i'm increasingly considering whether/for how much longer i want to continue to write fic + be involved in hp fandom. but for the time being, i'm still here + still writing fic, and i guess my feeling is that any harm that fic causes is a drop in the bucket, and even if i were to stop writing it wouldn't necessarily have a huge impact either way. i'm just some random guy online like everyone else; even though i talk about politics, that doesn't mean that i'm asking to be held up as some sort of moral standard, nor do i think anyone should be expected to be 100% politically perfect in every action they take--like, for me, writing hp fic kind of falls into the same category as like...eating mcdonalds even though i think factory farming is fucked, or buying + wearing makeup sometimes even though i think the beauty industry is fundamentally corrupt, or paying to see the new guardians of the galaxy movie in theaters even though i think marvel movies are us military propaganda. i don't think "no ethical consumption under capitalism" is an excuse to completely abandon any attempt to mitigate the harm our actions might cause, but it does matter to me the way in which someone is engaging with a fundamentally broken/corrupt piece of media beyond simply whether or not they're engaging at all. at the end of the day, it's up to everyone on their own to evaluate where they draw the line on hp, and i am not looking to make that judgment for anybody else considering that my own thoughts + feeling about it are still changing.

[nik-knight]

Chapter 1: Angel Cat Chapter 2: Tracy’s House Chapter 3: Their First Rain Chapter 4: A Dulled Discovery Chapter 5: Somebody to Hold Chapter 6: A Touch Too Much Chapter 7: The Cracks in Your Frame [WARNING: There are mentions of sexual and domestic abuse in this chapter. (It's more of a near-miss and very little of it is described in detail.) These mentions are written in italicized paragraphs and can be skipped without missing the plot. Please take caution when reading.] It hadn’t taken him long to pack his bags the following morning. He had a few flashy outfits left over from… before, but otherwise, he wasn’t a cat of great fortune. The few possessions he had to his name were just the collar around his neck and a singular red fishy kick toy. His one duffel bag fit everything he owned, and although it was convenient when one always needed to be ready to get up and run, he still wished he had somewhere to put his meager possessions and leave them there, yet Crowley still had nothing close to what he could call home.

He wouldn’t find a home here, either.

Although he was still upset about what he’d heard the previous night, he could not truly be angry. Anathema was a good person. She was smart and confident and even offered Crowley a place to stay during his fostering. He had no right to blame Anathema for his own shortcomings as a housecat. Still, she had been kind to him during his time in Tadfield, and he would not repay her kindness by taking up more of her time and space when he was obviously not wanted here. 

He also did not want her to fret and worry when she would find that Crowley was nowhere to be found while he was under her care. So he placed his duffel bag carefully at the foot of the bed and headed out to tell Anathema that he would spare her the trouble of fostering him any longer. Then he would take the nearest bus back into the city and pray that the shelter hadn’t already given away his room.

He took a deep breath and left the guest bedroom.

And then there was a loud crash and the sound of Anathema shouting from the kitchen.

Ana! 

Crowley was already running to the kitchen. What happened? Was Anathema hurt? Did she burn herself, or– or did something fall on her? He needed to check and make sure she was all right. Crowley rushed into the kitchen’s doorway and saw Anathema pressing herself against the cupboards with her hands braced on the kitchen counter as a little mouse scampered across the kitchen floor. He didn’t hesitate even a moment. 

“I’ve got it!” After finding the source of Anathema’s distress, Crowley leapt forward and grabbed the offending rodent in his hands, holding it tight so that it couldn’t wriggle away. He stood and lifted the little mouse in triumph. 

Anathema breathed a heavy woosh in a relieved sigh.

“Oh, thank god. Thanks, Crowley.” She visibly relaxed when she saw him get up with the mouse in hand. “I was having a stressful enough morning without a mouse running across the tabletop as I was working.” She gestured to the table where she had more of her witch knick-knacks, an open laptop, her phone, and that one big old book she took everywhere with her.

“Oh, um, what’s been stressing you out?” Crowley tentatively asked. Maybe if he could get her to bring up the issue first, he could simply ease her worries with the news that he was leaving instead of awkwardly exiling himself.

Anathema rubbed at her temple and sighed again with the sound of exhaustion. “A lot’s been going on recently between all the prophecies I’ve been trying to decipher and everything that’s been going on with Newt…” She waved her hand at her phone on the table, indicating that she’d been talking with someone.

Newt? Who the hell was Newt?

“Newt? Do you have some sort of other lizard pet that I don’t know about?” He thumbed the top of the captive mouse’s head idly as he spoke.

That at least got a chuckle out of her. “No, Newt is my, er, boyfriend? We haven’t officially given it a name but, yeah, we’re kind of together.” She took this moment to return to her seat at the table. “He’s gone back to university to study computer science, but he’s having a hard time, and he’s pretty much been messaging me every minute of the day.”

With perfect timing, her phone buzzed with yet another text message. Anathema just grunted and flipped her phone over on its screen.

��See what I mean?” She took her glasses off to rub at the bridge of her nose. “I have to tell him that I need a bit of space, just a little bit of a break from all the chaos while I’m working. At least that’s what Eve thought was a good idea.”

Oh.

Was that who Ana and Eve were talking about yesterday? Perhaps it wasn’t Crowley who was upsetting Anathema after all…

But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t also adding stress to her life.

“Sorry, Ana…” Crowley began, keeping his eyes down, glad he still kept his sunglasses on. He felt his ears fold back on his head. “I must not be making it any easier with me being here.” Crowley honestly didn’t expect her to simply give him a smile and a good-natured chuckle, but she did.

“Well, you keeping the houseplants and garden in check for me has certainly made things a little easier. Not to mention having a mouser in the house is a nice perk.” She gestured at the little mouse in Crowley’s hands as an example.

The hope that Crowley had been trying to keep dammed up suddenly burst back into his chest and filled his heart, leaving that terrible empty feeling he held last night behind. He did his best to keep his face from heating up, not used to being praised.

“Er, yeah. ‘S no problem, ya know.” He looked down at the mouse in his hands and quickly found a way to restore his reputation as the not-at-all-good-or-nice cat before things got too mushy. He lifted the mouse up towards his face so he could snarl at it. “That reminds me… I haven’t had any breakfast yet, and it looks like I’ve just caught myself a juicy little morsel.” His threatening must have worked, for the little mouse was now covering its eyes with its tiny paws, and Anathema was making a slightly concerned face.

“Maybe you could get rid of the mouse… outside? I’d rather not have to see that if I’m being honest.”

“Right, right, fine,” He mockedly groused. “As my human wishes. Can’t have her esteemed witchiness bear witness to nature’s most base atrocity.” With this, he did an over-the-top dramatic bow before slipping out of the kitchen and through the door to the back garden. 

Turning back to her work in the kitchen with a heavy eye roll at the cat’s dramatics, Anathema wondered when Crowley had begun to consider her as his human.

***

Crowley shut the back door to the garden behind him and sat down in a patch of grass to think.

So, Anathema didn’t hate him. Or, at least, she probably didn’t hate him. If nothing else, she found him useful in his ability to tend to the garden and keep pests out. That was definitely a good thing. Even if he were a less-than-perfect companion, he could still be useful to her as a gardener and a mouser, and that was good.

Maybe there was still a sliver of hope for him after all. It was a better plan than fleeing, at least. If he couldn’t be a good companion, he might at least be able to earn his keep. It could work if he played his cards right, he could make this work. He just had to—

Squeak!

“Oi!” Crowley glared down at the mouse he was holding in his fist. “I’m trying to think here! What the hell do you want?”

The little brown mouse grappled at Crowley’s hand where he was squeezing the thing a little tighter than what would have been comfortable for it. Crowley quickly eased his grip so that it could breathe again, but then took the mouse in his other hand by grabbing it by its scruff and holding it in front of his face so he could properly growl at it.

“All right, here’s the deal,” he snarled with as much menace as he could muster, making sure his sunglasses slid down his nose just enough so that the mouse could see his slitted yellow eyes. “I’ve got plenty of food inside the cottage that doesn’t require me spitting out bones and fur to eat. So, since I’m feeling generous today, I’m going to let you live as long as you don’t come scampering back into the cottage uninvited. Undersssstood?” He hissed out the last bit, showing off his sharp canines for dramatic effect.

The mouse hanging by its scruff just blinked at him with his beady little eyes, then turned its head to the side, seeming much more interested in something just behind Crowley’s shoulder.

“Oi, pay attention when I’m threatening you! What’s got you so distracted?” Crowley looked over his shoulder and only saw one of the blackberry bushes that was kept in the garden. With autumn in full swing, the blackberries were ripe and ready to pick. Crowley turned back to see the rodent reaching out with a mouse’s equivalent of grabby-hands.

“Really?” Crowley growled. “I decide, with the kindness from my blackened heart, to spare you, and you’re asking to eat from my blackberry bush?” The bush was Anathema’s, not his, but he wasn’t up to explaining to the mouse his current housing predicament.

The mouse replied by pitifully rubbing its tummy with its paws and letting out the tiniest little squeak that sounded a lot like it was saying, “Please?”

This brought out a long deep growl from within Crowley’s throat as he fully bared his teeth. The little mouse covered his eyes with his paws again, not wanting to see its own imminent demise.

Crowley continued to growl until the mouse seemed rightfully terrified. Only after the little bugger started trembling did Crowley finally cave.

“...One.”

The mouse moved one paw from its eye to peek at Crowley in confusion. It gave a curious tiny little squeak in question.

“One,” Crowley repeated in a growl. “You can have just one blackberry. Only one, understand?” Crowley held up one finger with his other hand to affirm the point. The mouse dropped his paws and nodded eagerly at the cat. Its feet kicked about in fervor for its promised blackberry. It squeaked at Crowley, promising he understood the terms.

“Good,” he nodded once firmly, yet still bared his teeth threateningly. “Because if I find more than one single blackberry missing, I swear that I’ll–”

“Are you talking to that cute little mouse, my dear?” Aziraphale’s voice chimed to the left of Crowley, where the angel cat was suddenly standing from behind the garden’s low wooden fence. He was smiling, and his huge fluffy tail was high and swaying behind him, seeming amused.

Crowley just stared at the angel cat’s sudden appearance for a moment, then quickly threw the mouse over his shoulder. There was the very brief sound of a startled squeak whizzing through the air, then silence.

“What mouse.”

The two cats stared at each other (Well, really it was more Crowley staring blankly at Aziraphale, and Aziraphale glancing back and forth between Crowley and the little brown mouse that was currently scarfing down berry after berry in its mouth from the bush it had landed in) in silence for another few moments before Aziraphale eventually cleared his throat and tried to begin another conversation.

“Er, hello, my dear,” Aziraphale began with a kind smile. “Are you having a good morning?”

“Uh-huh,” Crowley replied dumbly, taking in the beautiful scene of the angel cat standing with the morning sun rising behind him in the east. He blinked again, realizing his subpar answer and trying again. “I mean, yeah. Can’t complain. H-how about you, angel? What’re you doing out here on this side of town so early?”

“Oh, yes, well,” Aziraphale stammered, his cheeks turning ever so slightly more pink at the nickname “angel.” Crowley tried not to smile knowing that he was able to fluster the other cat at least a fraction of how he himself was flustered. “Madame has one of her ‘seance’ appointments this morning at the cottage, and I’ve never really fancied sticking around for them. It’s all quite a bit of ruckus, and her patrons usually are confused as to why Madame has a fluffy white cat rather than a spooky black cat that most people would expect to belong to a medium.” It was hardly half a second after he finished speaking that he realized his faux pas. “Oh! Not that black cats are necessarily spooky or frightening, my dear…” The angel cat’s hands began to wring themselves and he began to shuffle about uncomfortably. Crowley couldn’t have an uncomfortable angel, no, not on his watch. 

“Nah, big spooky fan, me,” he said, waving off Aziraphale’s remark, then shrugged. “Besides, technically speaking, I’m not really a black cat.” 

Aziraphale’s head tilted about 30°, the usual angle for a cat trying to aim their ears to take in information easier, and also the perfect angle for making Aziraphale look even more adorable than before. Crowley had to keep himself from wheezing at the sight. 

“You’re not a black cat?” Aziraphale asked, looking befuddled. 

“I mean, I look like I am on the surface, but I’m more of a calico.” He brushed his fingers through his auburn hair to illustrate. “That’s why the hair’s different than the fur, you know?” Next, he reached behind him to gather his tail and held it up a bit. “And even then the fur itself isn’t entirely black, it just seems like it is— whoa!”

Crowley didn’t even have the time to scramble backwards before Aziraphale leapt straight over the fence and landed perfectly on all fours right in front of Crowley, pushing himself towards the startled cat in an effort to get a better look at his tail. The thin tail slipped right out of Crowley’s fingers and whipped around at the sudden startling turn of events, but Aziraphale had no trouble snatching the tail up and delicately handling it so that he could inspect it closer.

“Oh, my dear, you’re right! There’s a little bit of brown and white sprinkled in! How marvelous!” Aziraphale, awed by this new discovery, did not notice Crowley’s brain attempting another hard reboot. The calico simply sat there, dumbfounded, as the angel cat gently petted and marveled at his multi-coloured tail. “A male calico with slit pupils? How incredibly rare! Oh, look at you, you’re just a marvel!” There was now a soft, high-pitched whistling noise coming from Crowley, not unlike a tea kettle. He was sure that if Aziraphale continued praising him like this, he’d never recover.

A few meters away, the backdoor of the cottage swung open. 

“Crowley? I— Oh! Hey, Aziraphale!” Anathema gave a wave to him as she leaned out the door. Aziraphale turned to see her, suddenly dropping Crowley’s tail back in the calico’s lap and sheepishly getting back onto his two feet. 

“Oh, Anathema, hello! Um, sorry to bother, I just wanted to stop by to say hello.” His face was a little flushed after being caught nearly sitting in Crowley’s lap. Luckily this gave Crowley the few extra seconds he needed to get his mind back online. 

“No worries, Aziraphale.” She turned to Crowley who hadn’t even bothered looking away from Aziraphale. “Crowley, I was going to let you know that I’ll be heading into the city for the day to talk to Newt.” She smiled and looked back at Aziraphale. “You two are more than welcome to the cottage while I’m out.”

“Oh, how kind of you, my dear, thank you,” Aziraphale said, his hands now back to wringing and his ears pinned back shyly.

“Muh-huh…” Crowley mumbled, still not entirely back yet.

“All right, then. See you guys later!” Anathema closed the door and left the two cats to their own devices. As soon as Anathema turned and left, Aziraphale crouched down by Crowley and peered at him cautiously.

“I’m so sorry, my dear! I didn’t hurt you when I jumped over here, did I? Did I handle your tail too roughly?”

The rest of Crowley’s scattered brain finally came back to him after seeing the genuine worry on his angel’s face. “No, no, I’m all right, angel! I’m okay, I just didn’t expect it.”

“Then I’m sorry to have frightened you, my dear. You really are a marvel, though. I suppose I just couldn’t help myself.”

Crowley reached up to gently take one of Aziraphale’s hands in his if just to stop them from being wrung raw.    

“How about this? You can marvel at me all you want as long as I get to do the same to you.” He added his devilish smirk to top it off. Seeing his sweet angel blush was more than worth it.

“Well,” Aziraphale huffed primly, though the colour of his cheeks told Crowley that he was quite fond of the idea. “I suppose it’s only fair after all.”

“Yep. Only fair.” With a bit of help from the angel cat, Crowley was up on his feet. “In the meantime, perhaps you’d like to come in, angel? Perhaps for a cup of tea and a squeezy treat?”

Aziraphale’s emerald eyes widened and his face lit up at the mention of a squeezy treat. Crowley also wasn’t sure if the angel’s wiggling hips meant he was excited or that Crowley would be pounced on again. Honestly, Crowley would be happy with either. 

“Oh, that does sound lovely!”

“Then let’s go inside, angel. I’m sure we’ve got some biscuits somewhere as well.”

And Crowley led Aziraphale into the cottage, leaving the autumn chill of the garden behind… along with a very happy, very well-fed mouse whose face and paws were absolutely covered in blackberry juice. 

***

Soon enough the two felines were comfortably tucked away in the living area of Jasmine Cottage. Crowley had meticulously prepared Aziraphale’s tea after asking about his preferences for milk and sugar, then watched rapturously as Aziraphale’s face lit up at the tray of tea, biscuits, and squeezy treats presented to him. Crowley had already enjoyed nearly ten minutes of Aziraphale’s happy supping when Aziraphale finally paused between bites of Jammie Dodgers to give the air a little sniff.

“This room doesn’t smell like you as much as I thought it would. Is this not the room you use as a den?” He peered around the room as if trying to decipher which of the materials in the room were specifically Crowley’s.

“Er, nah, it’s not a den. I just hang out here for the TV, really.” He gestured vaguely to the nice flat screen that Anathema had mounted on the wall. “I have a few streaming services on my phone, so I spend most of my time here or in the guest bedroom.”

“Oh, so the bedroom is where your den is? I suppose that makes more sense now that I think about it.” Aziraphale looked down sheepishly at the cup of tea in his hands, but Crowley could not for the life of him think why.

“Not really, I don’t, ah, have a den here, or anywhere, really.” He shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Oh, no?” Aziraphale was giving him a confused look. “As far as I’m aware, most cats usually set up a den where they’re most comfortable. So you don’t have a den here nor at the shelter?”

“Nah…” He waved the notion off, not yet willing to tell Aziraphale that there wasn’t really any place where he felt truly comfortable. Dens were something cats made in the places they called home, and Crowley had never known such a place. “I’m only here for a couple of weeks, and the shelter is full of kittens who like to knock things over and don’t really know the meaning of personal space, so…” He trailed off, hoping that his lacklustre explanation would suffice.

“Oh, right.” Aziraphale’s ears flattened on his head for a moment as he went back to staring into his tea. Crowley wasn’t sure of what to think of that. Maybe Tracy had taught him how to read tea leaves like Anathema tried to do with his whenever he drank tea. Eventually, after a few contemplative swishes of Aziraphale’s tail (that Crowley definitely hadn’t been staring at for a while now), the angel cat looked back up at him with a bit of a pinched smile. “Perhaps there’s something on that newfangled television set that you’d like to show me?”

Now this, Crowley could work with.

“So,” he began, eager to impress his mate (his wot???) with this random trivial knowledge. “You know the mastermind behind the 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery, right?”

“Erm…” Aziraphale was now looking at Crowley like he had two heads. “No, I don’t think I’m familiar with their work…?”

“Really? Because she wrote some very popular books I thought you would’ve heard of.” He fished his phone out of one of his incredibly small pockets to try and pull something up on the Amazon Prime app. 

“Oh? Who was she? What did she write?” Aziraphale, to Crowley’s silent delight, was now leaning forward with great interest now that he brought books into the mix. 

“Novels, apparently. And movies! Or maybe they were turned into movies?” He continued to tap at his phone, but for the life of him couldn’t remember the title of the damned movie he was trying to find, and the guesses he was putting in weren’t getting any results.

“Right, yes, but what were the novels she wrote?” 

“I think it was something like…” Crowley paused in his fruitless typing to try and think of the title he saw when he was going down that long Reddit thread about master spies. “Primed Pear Juice…? Her name was Austin or something–”

“Jane Austen’s Prime and Prejudice?” Aziraphale nearly shouted, sounding aghast and exasperated for some reason.

“Yeah, yeah, tha’s what I said, didn’t I?” He quickly typed in ‘Pride and’ before the rest of the title thankfully popped into the recommendations.

“You most certainly did not! You said Primed Pear Ju–”      

“Found it!” Crowley exclaimed, cutting the flustered angel cat off. “I think you’ll like this one.” He quickly turned on the TV and got his phone to cast the movie on it.

“I think I’d like you to explain how you thought that Jane Austen was a–” He flinched back when the TV suddenly came to life. There was suddenly a black-and-white movie playing. The film’s title flashed on the screen followed by the subtitle, ‘Based on the dramatization of Jane Auten’s novel.’ 

Suddenly the angel cat’s attention was fully taken by regency-dressed characters on the screen. Aziraphale’s tail, which had previously been lazily swishing back and forth, was now stood straight up at attention as the cat leaned forward, closer to the TV.

Crowley smiled at his handiwork and settled comfortably back on the couch, content to watch his angel become fully enraptured by the film.

***

The rain stung against the shallow cut by his temple. When had he even been struck there? He didn’t know; he didn’t have time to think about it. 

He had to run.

He didn’t know if he was being followed, but he wasn’t going to take the chance by looking back now. He weaved through the passing humans as well as he could. He kept his ears flat on his head and his tail wrapped around his left leg to try and have it blend in with the dark fabric of his pants. If someone saw him running out here, a cat without their human… It would be bad. Someone could call animal control, and if they caught him they’d scan his collar’s tag and send him right back to–

The collar.

Crowley grappled at his throat and fumbled for the clasp on the back of his neck, but his hands were slippery from the rain (hopefully only the rain), and his hands kept slipping off of it. Desperate, he dug his finger between the collar and his neck, unleashed a claw, and tore through the expensive material. He tossed it into the nearest rubbish bin and kept running, diving into any back alley he could to stay out of sight.

He couldn’t be caught. He couldn’t.

If he were caught, it’d be all over.

He might not even make it out alive, and if he did… he would wish he wouldn’t have. Not if he was sent back to him. 

The shelter couldn’t be too much further, though. Just a few more streets, maybe. He just had to dive out of this alley and into the next. If he crossed the street fast enough, no one would have time to look at him. He could do this, he just had to keep running.

He leapt out of the alley, ready to sprint across the street–

The asphalt gave out under him, and the city, the whole world, fell away. Or maybe he was the one falling away? He couldn’t tell, everything was– everything was…

Soft…?

He fell into a cloud, this much he could tell. The roaring, thunderous rainclouds above turned into beige puffs of fluff, and the thunder turned into soft, delicate purrs. Everything turned into fuzzy puffs of white, cream, and beige. There were no buildings, no busy city streets, no humans… Just soft clouds and gentle purrs. Everything was so peaceful. So calm and homely… 

And everything smelt just like…

***

“Aziraphale…?” Crowley asked groggily. He was gently pulled from his dream by the sound and scent of his angel so close, but how…?

Crowley’s eyes snapped open and his heart began to race when he realized Aziraphale was lying comfortably on top of him with his head resting on Crowley’s chest.

“Oh, hello, dear.” Aziraphale lifted his head and smiled at him. “I’m so glad you’re awake. You really were having quite a bad dream….” His hands went from being folded neatly over Crowley’s chest to pulling and wringing at each other. “You were making such pained noises, so I decided to… rest down here with you so that you wouldn’t feel alone.” The angel cat looked to the side sheepishly.

Crowley now noticed that the TV had been turned off, likely since the movie ended and his phone stopped streaming after that. How long had he been asleep? He supposed it made sense since he hadn’t gotten much sleep the previous night, but it was unusual for him to fall asleep out in the open, and even more unusual with someone else in the room with him. But Aziraphale was nice to have around, and besides the fact that they hadn’t known each other for more than a few days, Crowley felt more comfortable with Aziraphale than he’d ever felt with... Well, anyone. Perhaps it wasn’t so strange that he fell asleep near Aziraphale after all.

Though he was a little embarrassed about being caught having a nightmare, he was so stunned that Aziraphale laid with him so that he wouldn’t feel alone. Crowley had to blink away the little bits of moisture accumulating in the corners of his eyes at the thought of the gesture. It wasn’t until Aziraphale interrupted him with a question that he finally snapped out of his thoughts.

“My dear, you looked as if you were in pain… What on earth were you dreaming about that made you so upset?”

Crowley’s heart sank at the question. How was he supposed to answer that? Of course, he could come up with something other than what he actually dreamt of, but with his angel giving him that sweet, concerned look with those big stormy eyes of his… he couldn’t bear to lie to him.

Seeming to see the distress on Crowley’s face, Aziraphale folded his ears back and lowered his head the tiniest bit. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to press. Of course, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to…”

Seeing his angel trying to make himself look smaller stirred up something strange in Crowley’s gut. He certainly wasn’t going to lie to his angel, and he definitely wasn’t going to let him continue to look all small and unsure. Besides, Aziraphale was… something to Crowley (His angel? His mate?), and he deserved to know just how broken Crowley was. That way, if the angel cat decided he did not want to associate himself with damaged goods, at least it would all be out in the open.

“No, it’s okay, angel. I, uh, I think you should know. If you want to hear about it…”

At this, Aziraphale’s eyes lit up the smallest bit, and his ears popped back up to listen. 

“Of course, my dear. I’ll listen to you.” The angel cat made himself comfortable by resting his chin on his hands, eyes wide and beautiful, waiting to hear Crowley’s story.

Steeling himself to talk about the event that he’d been trying to forget for over a year now, Crowley leaned his head back against the arm of the couch and took a deep breath.

***

“About a year ago, I was adopted by a man… He was handsome, charming, and also very rich. Before he officially adopted me, he would shower me with gifts. He'd give me anything from clothes, tech, food…” Crowley looked down at his own expensive clothing, guilty about still wearing them after everything that happened.   

“He gave me all the things I never had at the shelter. I thought he was the one. I thought after all these decades, I'd finally found someone who really wanted me, someone to finally be a companion to.” Here, he takes another deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut. 

“The night he adopted me and brought me home… It was almost like a switch was flipped. it was like he was a completely different person. His hands were all over me, and he tried to tear my clothes off… I had to claw my way out of there. I had to break the damn window to escape.” The dampness was back in the corners of his eyes returned. He squeezed them tighter, only for a pair of silent tears to run down the sides of his face. He did his best to ignore it because if he stopped now, he’d never be able to get the rest of the story out.

I was only able to get away after I struck him, but he managed to get a few hits on me, too… I ran back to the shelter in the rain that night, and Eve patched up my injuries as best she could. His lawyer called later the next day, and he agreed to nullify the adoption as long as we didn't go public about it…

And I've been at the shelter ever since.”

***

The living room of Jasmine cottage was silent.

Crowley refused to open his eyes. He wasn’t ready to see the disgust on Aziraphale’s face. He wasn’t ready to see the angel get up with the excuse that he had somewhere else to be and disappear from Crowley’s life forever. He wasn’t ready to open his eyes and see pity in the ones looking back at him.

“Oh, my dearest… My dear brave boy…”

There were suddenly very soft hands cradling his face, so Crowley didn’t have much of a choice but to see if what he felt was truly happening. He slowly opened his eyes and saw that his angel had leaned forward on his elbows to hold Crowly’s face in his hands. Aziraphale looked concerned and sad but also the tiniest bit… proud? 

“I’m so sorry that happened to you, my dear, but I’m glad you’re safe now. I really am.”

Crowley, simultaneously relieved and stunned, lifted his hands to press against the ones holding his face. Aziraphale smiled softly then gently took Crowley’s hands in his and held them, resting their entwined hands on Crowly’s chest.

“I’m sorry to press, Crowley, but… you said this person was a human?” Aziraphale looked a little bit confused, but Crowley wasn’t sure what could have confused him.

“Well, yeah. Only humans can adopt cats. Of course, he was a human.”

This only seemed to confuse the angel cat more.

“But that doesn’t make any sense!” he nearly cried out. Crowley could feel a slight tremble in the angel cat’s hands. “Humans are supposed to protect their cats! That’s the whole point! How could a human ever think of hurting a cat in their care?” Aziraphale looked devastated now. He had held himself well enough to praise and comfort Crowley, but it seemed the more he thought about it, the more upset he was getting. “That’s just not right…” 

“Angel,” Crowley began softly, knowing through his many years of dealing with humans that most humans could care less about the cats in their care. Humans saw them as things to own, not as people with fluffy ears and tails. Occasionally a decent human like Eve or Anathema came along, but they must be far and few between if Crowley’s experience said anything about it. “A lot of humans are just like that. I mean, humans were the ones who took your claws.”

Aziraphale’s whole body stiffened on top of Crowley’s and a thin layer of tears began to shine in the angel cat’s eyes.

Oh fuck. Oh shit. Shitshitshitshitfuckingshit!

Crowley opened his mouth to apologize, trying and failing to come up with anything that could smooth over the angel’s metaphorical ruffled feathers.

Luckily the angel cat spoke up first before he could shove his foot further into his mouth.

“No!” He gripped Crowley’s hands tightly. “He shouldn’t have done that to you! It’s not right! You didn’t deserve that! Humans are supposed to take care of their cats! They’re supposed to protect them! You’re a good cat! You’re a wonderful cat that deserves to be protected and cared for, and I’m glad he’s not your human anymore because he doesn’t deserve you!” Aziraphale all but shouted the rest of it, voice only getting slightly louder with each sentence. By the end, he looked winded, as if it had taken everything out of him to get that out.

Crowley, too shocked to do anything but gape at the beautiful thing before him, just sat there while Aziraphale collected himself. When Aziraphale spoke again, it was much softer and calmer.

“I’m sorry for shouting at you, my dear, but thinking about someone trying to hurt you just got me all flustered…”

Crowley frankly was trying very hard to keep his body from getting overly excited about his angel losing his temper in order to defend Crowley. He could already begin to feel his face heat up (among other things).

“No worries, angel,” he paused when he noticed his own tail flailing back and forth behind Aziraphale, obviously not getting the memo that it was supposed to appear unaffected. “I don’t mind. You’re very pretty when you’re flustered.” 

Flirty, yes, flirty was good! Calm, relaxed, and sassy would work here.

It was Aziraphale’s turn to have suddenly pinkening cheeks.

They were just a blushie pair of catboys.

At least most of the tension in the air was now replaced by some very soft and fuzzy feelings that were not at all befitting of a cool hip cat like Crowley… But Aziraphale smiled and rested his head back down against Crowley’s chest with his hands moving back under his cheek, so Crowley didn’t say anything to break the haze of fluff. Instead, he moved his newly freed hands to wrap gently around Aziraphale's back in a ghost of an embrace. Though he missed holding hands with him, the soft purrs emanating from the angel cat when he put his palms flat on Aziraphale's back more than made up for it.

“Crowley, dear?” Aziraphale said softly, finally breaking the silence of their… cuddle?

“Mm?”

“Do you really have to go back to the shelter? I know Tadfield doesn’t have much to offer in the way of excitement, but it’s not a bad place to live, I promise you.” Part of the angel’s voice sounded like he was pleading with Crowley, and it broke his heart that he couldn’t simply say that he would stay.

“I don’t know, angel, it’s not up to me.”

Here, Aziraphale turned his head so his chin was resting on his hands again, looking at Crowley. “What do you mean?”

“Anathema is just doing this foster agreement as a favor to one of the shelter teachers: Eve. I’m not actually sure if Anathema even wants a cat in the first place, let alone a cat like me.”

Aziraphale, looking disheartened if his lowering tail and ears folding to the side were any indication, looked away. He snuggled a little closer to Crowley.

“Oh…”

“I’ve been trying to be a good cat for her,” Crowley admitted. “But after what happened to me… I’ve just been so broken, angel. And no one wants broken goods.” He hadn’t intended on spilling these thoughts out, but he couldn’t just say nothing to Aziraphale’s disheartened face. 

“I don’t think you’re broken, Crowley,” Aziraphale said with firm conviction. “And even if you are, the cracks in your frame are by far the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.”

Crowley really wished his angel would stop making him want to cry today. So, of course, he said something stupid to divert those feelings.

“So you’re saying you want to see my crack?” He cracked a mischievous smirk. “My, my, angel, how forward of you.”

The already pinkish hue the angel had was now taking on a deeper red colour.

“Crowley, you fiend!” He huffed. “There is no need to be so crass. I was just trying to be sweet and romantic!

Romantic?!?!?!    

Crowley immediately sat up enough so that he could rest most of his weight on his elbows without knocking Aziraphale off of him. “Is that something that you want?” He asked way too quickly. “Romance, I mean?”

Aziraphale’s blush didn’t look like it was going down any time soon.

“Well–” He, for once, was the one to fumble his words. “I… I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to it… if you were offering it, anyway. I wouldn’t want to presume…”

“Oh, I’m offering all right!” Crowley wouldn’t let Aziraphale back out of this now that he’d spoken first. “Presume away, angel! I’ll romance you so hard, you’re going to think I’m the cat’s meow.”

A soft, plush hand was gently slapped down over his face. 

“No, I’ve changed my mind. Keep your romance to yourself. That was truly terrible.” Despite the hand on his face, Crowley could tell that Aziraphale was teasing him. He gently peeled the angel’s hand off his face and over-dramatically pleaded with him.

“Aw, come on, angel, gimmie another chance!” he pouted out his lip, but it was no match for the king of pouting himself. Aziraphale other hand plopped down over Crowley’s face right where the other had been. 

“Not a cat’s chance in hell, my dear.”

Oh, so he can make the cat puns, but not me? Right then. Time to break out the big guns.

Crowley once again took Aziraphale’s hand from his face, but this time he slid his hand down so that the angel cat was now holding Crowley’s cheek again. Raising a single salacious eyebrow and smirking once again at his angel, Crowley turned his face into the angel cat’s palm and pressed a delicate kiss to it. When he turned back to Aziraphale, grinning like the cat who got the cream, he saw that the angel cat was now looking more like a tomato than a cat.

“You just don’t play fair, do you, my dear?” Aziraphale said, flustered but undoubtedly happy. 

“Nah,” Crowley shook his head. “Proper demon I am, angel. Maybe my cat’s chance in hell isn’t so bad after all?”

“Hm,” Aziraphale hummed primly, giving Crowley an appraising look now that his face was finally going back to its usual happy pink. “Yes, well. There might be hope for you yet, my dear.”

With this, Aziraphale tucked his hands between Crowley and the couch cushions and settled his head back down onto Crowley’s chest (after, of course, making sure to rub his whiskers against Crowley a little bit to spread his sent there. Fucking tease).

Crowley soon after wrapped his arms back around his angel and rubbed gentle circles on his back until Aziraphale’s sleepy purr came back to coerce Crowley to rest with him. They both settled comfortably into their catnap as Crowley’s final sleepy thoughts rang through his head in Aziraphale’s voice. He hoped the voice was right.

There may be hope for you yet, my dear.

OMG I just saw the ask about the catboys. I have nothing to add. I love your ineffable catboys. 🖤♥️🖤 🤍💙🤍

!!

[dragonspined]

Devani may have been thrilled that the news wasn’t on their ass for once.  Had they not been discussing one James Barnes having been at the scene of some sort of massive attack.  Fire, building coming down, but no actual idea what had happened.  If it was a targeted thing, an accident or something that was better off left to the Avengers.  Whatever was left of them.  She’d paid no attention once the threat to him and the world had passed.  It no longer affected her and she had never had any loyalty to them anyway.  

Never the less, they weren’t about to leave their best friend to his possible death.  Again.  They hadn’t even turned off the tv before springing out a window.  He would owe her a solid steak for this. With the live view from the crew on scene, Devani was able to teleport immediately into the chaos.  Fire sirens blaring, police already swarming. Still, no one who seemed to have any idea what was actually going on. Concerning, but it wouldn’t stop her from charging in.

All she could smell was smoke-nothing indicative of anything more than wood burning. Her natural ability to see heat is useless here. Seeing the wind is more useful. It was shifting to the north, towards the responders and crowds. They roar and listen for any response, remaining in the air long enough to evaluate the best entry location. Wings fold into a dive, talons ripping at concrete and rebar. Some crumbles under the strength of their tearing. It takes some effort, and too much time, to make a hole big enough to fit through. Shifting back isn’t an option. Whatever happened, she’ll likely need the size advantage.

Head snakes through dark halls before approaching on foot. The fire has spread dangerously though it merely warms scales to the touch. Devani stopped being able to be burnt thousands of years ago. “James!” Their call is a warbling ring, loud, both mental and spoken. They shoulder through a wall, third eyelid barely protecting vision from stinging smoke. It already tickles their nose and lungs uncomfortably. “James you rutle bardreg if I find out you aren’t even in here I’m gonna be pissed!” That would be just her luck wouldn’t it.

There. A familiar scent amongst ash and fear. That of gunpowder, metal and sandalwood. Bright eyes glow in the soot ridden gloomy halls. From outside, she can hear water hitting the building. Devani shoves her head through a door, glaring at the man inside near unrecognizable under ash. Otherwise the room is empty. Disconcertingly so-as if it never had a purpose. The floor shifts dangerously under her feet. "Jesus, I'm putting you under house arrest. Are you okay?" Large teeth loom over him as if she would pick him up by the scruff like a hatchling. She should. He deserves it.

He seems okay. They can't see or smell any blood on him. James is probably starting to overheat even with his abilities. They'd estimate the ambient temperature around four hundred and climbing. Even the dragon is getting hot, unable to cool off with only baking air to breathe in. "Come on, dumbass. Before you become even more of a snack." Legs move to herd him toward the door. Devani hears it before registering there's nothing to do. In such a small space there's no room for wings to extend and they aren't about to leave him here. "Fuck." In near perfect comedic timing with the word, they drop, still standing as if the floor was still there. Instinct prompts curling up in a ball, protecting all the vulnerable parts and letting thicker scaled back take any damage. Except for a too sharp bit of metal sticking out of the collapse that promptly catches on thick muscle where left wing connects to body on the way down. The rush of oxygen triggers fire above to charge into the room and from below, where Devani lays rather awkwardly on what might have one been a break room. She keens upward, a wordless sound of pain and concern. There's no exit for James anymore. Not the way she came in at least. And unless she suddenly developed a talent for digging, there was no going down. Devani frantically licks at hot blood pooling around shoulder, trying to get rid of it or stem it lest she become an explosive hazard. Dragon blood had an odd propensity to spontaneously combust when exposed to air. "Stay-are you alive?"

@moonfloret sent: danger

[smol-lydia]

Winterblessed: Viktor xF!Reader, SFW

Happy Secret Santa exchange @shimmerforall !! I hope you enjoy this little bit of tooth rotting fluff I wrote for you for the @therealtendercrisps exchange!

Prompt was Viktor and F!reader dancing awkwardly in the snow.

Word count: 1.3k

You dislike the cold, you’ll be the first to admit that. Winter in Piltover is harsh; and the cold seeps into your bones; you burrow in your coat and wish you could hide until the frost melts. The lab always seems to catch a draft, too—such a large space with those impractically tall ceilings that keep your fingers and toes frozen. 

Does Jayce give you shit for putting a heated brick under your desk, that charming white smile offsetting his gentle teasing? Absolutely. 

Does this stop you in any way? Of course not. 

You don’t know how Viktor isn’t an icicle, given his bony frame, but you wonder if he’s just so focused on work that he simply doesn’t notice. 

That, and the mugs of black coffee he downed by the hour probably make a difference, too. 

Viktor is beautiful when he works, those honey eyes of his half lidded as he ponders thick texts and scribbles notes in his journal, fingertips stained from his fountain pen. 

Those long, elegant fingers that, admittedly, you had daydreamed about: caressing the side of your face, tangled up in your hair while he kissed you, slipping beneath your skirts—

“(y/n)?” 

“Huh?” You startle, feeling warmth creep up your neck. Thank Janna no one could read your thoughts right now. 

Viktor is looking at you with curiosity and you suppose you are a sight to behold. Perched on top of the desk near one of the heating vents, pink fingerless gloves on and a fluffy jumper. 

“Earmuffs? Inside?” He asks, a hint of amusement in his tone. 

You nibble at your lower lip. You had put them on as not to muss up your twin tails—vanity, to be sure, but they did help keep you warm, too. You stop biting and let out a sigh. 

“I get cold easily,” you admit, looking down at your shoes. “You can’t tell me it’s not freezing in here.” 

Viktor raises one dark eyebrow. “I honestly hadn’t considered it.” 

“I have no idea how,” you mutter. You blow on your frozen fingertips, hoping to put some feeling back into them before you returned to your work. 

Viktor regards you with an expression you cannot puzzle out. “(Y/n)…if you’ll allow me… I mean…” he drops his gaze now. “May I?” 

You blink. “What?” 

“Your hands,” he says. Gods, he’s even cuter when he’s shy like this, and your breath catches in your throat. You weren’t expecting this. 

You hold out your hands to him and he takes your small ones between his, fingers long and thin but palms larger than yours. Slowly rubbing warmth back into the chilled digits. It’s deliberate, careful work and surprisingly intimate, leaving you with a flush that starts at the base of your neck and creeks up to your cheeks, while heat pools in the pit of your stomach. 

You’ve seen many sides of Viktor in your work together in the lab: intense concentration, frustration at an equation he couldn’t solve, pride at a job well done, the buzzing excitement at the precipice of discovery. This side of him felt like something you almost shouldn’t have access to, something set aside for a lover, or at least someone he cared for deeply. Not you. 

“Is that better?” He asks after a few minutes, and you can hardly breathe, let alone form words. 

Somehow your brain manages to connect to your tangled tongue and you manage to make words happen. “Yes. Thank you.” 

His mouth curls upwards in a small smile. “Excellent.” He returns to his notebook and you to the thick volume on the desk next to you, now dragged on top of your thighs, the heavy weight of the book a distraction. 

All you want to do is kick Jayce out of the lab, lock the door, and kiss Viktor senseless. But you can’t. You won’t. Such behavior would scare him, certainly, and you have no idea if Viktor feels any sort of way about you other than the cordial relationship you would expect between colleagues. 

So it surprises you, at the end of the day, when Viktor hands you your coat. 

“Oh, thank you,” you say. 

“Wouldn’t want you getting too cold, after all.” There’s a mischievous glint in his amber eyes. 

You shake your head. “Icicles can’t translate runes, after all.” 

You slip the coat on, a soft black wool thing, shoving your hands in the lined pockets. Your heart is in your throat. You don’t know if you can be this brave, with everything to lose. Still, something compels you forward. 

“Maybe you ought to walk me home.” You keep your tone light. “Just to make sure I don’t freeze to death.” 

You don’t expect him to say yes. Viktor keeps to himself—his friendship with Jayce is deep and genuine but he leaves alone, or sleeps in the lab. 

And yet, he does. Your heart is in your throat, pulse thrumming a steady beat at your wrists. Viktor wraps a scarf around his neck and adjusts his crutch and the two of you are off. 

It has snowed, apparently, in the hours that you have been working, and small flurries are still coming down, sticking in your hair and on your coat. Your nose feels chapped and you’re certain it’s a very attractive shade of bright red. 

“It’s almost pretty, if it didn’t feel like my face was being stabbed.” 

“Ah, there lies the trouble I’m afraid.” Viktor looks up at the sky, a riot of blues, greys, and purples as dusk sets in. The cold front has kept people inside, and the usually busy streets are silent. 

“Jayce surprised me, when I first came to know him. He told me when the first snow hits, he goes out and eats ice cream, out in the snow.” Viktor shakes his head and mutters something in his native tongue that you don’t understand. 

You can’t help but smile. “Crazy.” 

“He has his moments of brilliance, but that is not one of them.” Viktor gives you a genuine smile, but when he steps forward his crutch hits what must have been a patch of ice, and slips. 

Without thinking twice you wrap your arms around his waist, steadying him. His wool coat is placed right up against your face and you can smell the fibers as well as the ink—paper—coffee—cotton scent that’s just Viktor. A scent that makes you feel intoxicated. 

You know you should pull away; he’s stable now. Yet your arms and legs simply will not cooperate. You feel Viktor shudder with an intake of breath, and you open your mouth to apologize, this is terribly embarrassing, why has your mouth and limbs and brain just died? 

“Thank you.” His voice is somewhat gruff, as if he’s covering his broken pride. 

“You’re welcome.” There it is. Your tongue unfrozen at least. 

“(y/n).” Viktor tips your chin upward with two fingers so you can look at him. It’s piercing and overwhelming and everything you ever wanted. 

“Yes?” 

“For what it’s worth, you look lovely with the snowflakes in your hair and lashes. Like something out of a fairy story.” 

“I…” You wish you knew what to say.

 It doesn’t seem to matter. Viktor has moved his hands—one on your waist, the other on your lower back. And right there, on an empty Piltover street, you slowly rotate in the snow, an awkward but endearing slow dance. 

That is, until even he begins to shiver from the cold. 

“You promised not to make me an icicle,” you say with a laugh, high on the closeness of him. 

“I did. Would you object very much if I got you some tea, then?” 

“Not at all.” 

This time, as you both walk towards the tea shop, he takes his hand in yours.