#sometimes they stay. it’s not often but it happens

[werevampiwolf]

Yeah. At 19, I was finally diagnosed with autism and as unable to live independently without years of occupational therapy and my mother said "fuck that" and threw me out of the house two days later. She'd fought the doctors my entire life to stopbe from being diagnosed, because then that would mean there was something "wrong" with me.

I was homeless for over a year. I'm no longer homeless, mostly due to getting very very lucky with circumstances outside my control (like the fact that I was young enough and had been homeless long enough while continuing to take classes at the local community college to qualify for a government grant for Unaccompanied Homeless Youth, which allowed me to get an apartment. And i was only able to take classes because I was poor enough that the classes were free, and because i had a broken laptop and it never got stolen AND i already knew how to fix computers so I was about to Franken-Computer it into it being and staying at least slightly usable AND the fact that the nearest Starbucks was understanding and didn't throw me out or call the cops when I spent hours in there to do coursework), so my mother takes this as a win. Obviously, the doctor must have been wrong because when I was forced to sink or swim, I've stayed alive (very literally in this case).

I would argue that even now, going on a decade later, I'm not so much "living on my own" as I am "barely surviving", but I try to make it very clear, both to her and to people I tell this story to, that the problem with "Sink or Swim" is that people who sink fucking DROWN.

Because even as someone who was forced, and who managed to just barely keep my head above the water... I'm a very staunch opponent to the idea of Sink or Swim. What I had to live through was horrible, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone else. But not only that, I was very acutely aware that my only options were to figure it out or to quite literally Die.

As someone who survived the extreme of the other side of this coin that OP is talking about... the idea that I or anyone else could manage to survive such circumstances and then turn around and insist that the ends justify the means is both baffling and appalling to me, though I know that it very much happens. I cannot see it as anything other than "I suffered, so you should have to suffer too." It's awful to be on either side of this coin, and if you think it's okay for force people to Sink or Swim, whether you've been in that situation or not, than you can fuck right off with that shit.

Side note, I'm someone with support needs on the higher end of medium. I still can't manage to brush my teeth independently, and I don't manage to feed myself consistently, though I at least manage to do it often enough to get enough calories in me to stay alive (and that's ignoring anything other than calories that make up a healthy and balanced diet, because that's not an option for me. It's eat whatever junk food I manage to get into my my mouth or starve). I have to rely on schedules, because my brain doesn't really understand what hunger feels like. I just eventually feel like I'm going to throw up, and if I'm lucky, my brain figures out that I haven't eaten in all day and that's probably why. But there are days when, even if you put a plate of food in front of me, it wouldn't occur to me to eat it. I will just sit there and stare at it (or into space) without outside promoting to eat. I maybe manage to take out the trash or do laundry every two weeks if I lucky, and sometimes it's only once a month, or less. I have plastic bottles that haven't been taken out in at least six months, and probably closer to a year. Perhaps the only reason I can see the other side of this coin is because I basically live as close to edge as is physically possible without going over the edge, but I really hope that's not it. I don't think people should have to be constantly teetering on the knife-edge of this reality to understand that It's Really Fucking Bad to force people to Sink or Swim, or as I prefer to call it, Survive Or Die.

I don’t think people understand how it is to have been behind on EVERY milestone. Learning how to walk? Late. Learning to read? Late. Learning to use the bathroom independently? Late. Every single milestone was late.

And when you have this, people ask questions. People bully you. Why can’t you shower by yourself at 9,10,15,20? Why can’t you brush your teeth independently and frequently? Why can’t you tie your shoes? Why can’t you do math? Why can’t you do this, or that.

And then there’s the people on social media. “Well I was forced to.” “Well I didn’t have a choice” and that’s understandable and completely valid, but there are people that no matter how much you force them, or neglect them so they “figure it out” they won’t “figure it out”. They’ll die. They’ll starve. They’ll not bathe and be dirty.

Higher support needs people don’t just “figure it out” our brains are wired differently. Our brains don’t get that we HAVE to do these things just to survive. So we don’t. And that sucks.

It’s disheartening to constantly hear people say “well i was forced to” because so was I!! I was forced to do things too! I was neglected too! And guess what? I still didn’t do those things. I STILL wasn’t able to meet those milestones.

The big one that I see is “well I’m forced to talk.” And I get that, but me, a person that’s nonverbal, can’t be forced to talk. No matter if I’m neglected, no matter if my device is taken away or I have no way of communication. I still wouldn’t be able to talk. I CANNOT force myself to talk. Get that through your heads. This is my reality, and although yours sucked there are still some people who cannot do things, and saying that they could if they were “forced” is invalidating of them.

[artstaeus3600]

I've seen the concept of Kon either having a third parent in his DNA or instead of Lex Luthor it was someone else, so what if we replaced Lex's DNA with Danny's?

Danny's been the Ghost King for hundreds of years now his family has long since passed, Dan isn't around anymore since he's been helping Clockwork with Timeline screwups (something to do with flashes? He wasn't really paying attention) and well Dani's off exploring and discovering places, I mean she comes back occasionally but not as often as Danny would like, so Danny decided why not visit a human realm, and so he does, he explores the cities and stars, he doesn't really hide he's not human looking with his pointed ears, long fangs, and glowing eyes, and while he was there some lucky bastard got some of his DNA. This person also just so happens to be the person to switch Lex's DNA with a much stronger candidate (aka Danny)

Danny hadn't noticed at the moment cause it was a busy train ride, but he did immediately notice when a new life came to be, immediately claiming him as one of the parents, so of course he immediately went to go look and see what that was about cause he doesn't remember sleeping with someone? And he hasn't even been here that long for a baby to be born? And after some searcing he finds a lab and a baby in the tube and we'll, he went completely feral at the sight and destroyed the building, which caught some of the Justice League's attention and all they find is a destroyed building owned by Cadmus.

Danny is now back in the apartment he was renting while he was taking a vacation from being the Ghost King (he was lonely), with his brand new baby he'd guess around 3 months old but he's not an expert, and he just falls in love with him the same way he did with Dani but the thing is the baby isn't a Halfa like him even with his DNA he's more like Jazz with being extremely liminal (so mostly all the instincts of a ghost but none of the powers), and we'll Jazz couldn't ever really stay long in the zone before she'd end up a permanent resident, so taking this baby with him back to the zone was a no go, at least not for long periods of time.

So that's where he's been for the last two months with his baby who he named Conner Nightingale, Nightingale after his fake ID for this human life, and he's just adoring being a father and sure he wonders sometimes who the other parent is but he can't exactly take Conner to a normal hospital, cause of the ghost biology, except the few checkups with Frostbite telling him the other parent isn't human, Dani was also told about her new nephew and loves bringing him new toys to see if he'll like it whenever she comes around.

While Danny has been taking care of Conner the Justice League has been trying to figure out what happened with that Cadmus building was doing before it got destroyed, and found out it was a cloning lab, who they were trying to clone they haven't found yet cause of the scattered/destroyed files...

Edit: Part 2

[bats-and-the-birds]

The Batkids on being mistaken as Bruce's biological children.

Look, the Batkids have all been forced into various social gatherings, and enough of them share vague features with Bruce that some of the older members among Gotham's old money, or the younger ones that are out of the loop, sometimes mix up the facts.

Dick gets it from the very beginning. Old women pinch his cheeks, still tan from a life outside of Gotham's gloom, and tell him, Such a sweet little boy, and just like your father at your age. His hair used to stick up just like yours. Dick didn't like it at all. He bit the first person that told him he had Bruce's eyes, and stomped on the foot of an old politician that told him, With your father's height, I thought you'd be taller by now.

He laughs it off as an adult, but sometimes, it still eats at him. People still tell him that they thought he'd eventually be as tall as Bruce, or that he should be thankful for his inherited jaw line. It's not the comparison to Bruce that bothers him anymore, or even being mistaken as his son, but rather, the fact that he sometimes struggles to remember exactly where his features actually came from; parental faces turning fuzzy in his distant memory.

Jason thinks it's funny, the first time it happens. Mostly because it's his nose of all things. Your nose is bent, grumbled the old man sitting across from him at the gala, Just like your father's. Tough luck on the genetics. The man didn't realize the bent noses were because they'd both been broken in the past. Jason spent days after studying Bruce's face, trying to figure out if their noses really bent in the same way, and eventually came to the conclusion that, yeah, they really did. From that point on, each time either of them broke their nose, Jason would distantly think, Ah, damn, there goes the family resemblance.

As an adult, Jason takes care to make sure people don't often seen his face. The hood does a pretty good job of that. Besides, he doesn't move in circles where the mistake could be made anymore. Still, sometimes he looks in the mirror at the bump in his nose and thinks, Family resemblance. Yeah, right.

It happens less with Tim. Anyone that made the mistake with Jason and Dick also remembered Jack and Janet Drake. It's not until he's almost an adult that a new hire at Wayne Industries, some kid from out of town, sees him and Bruce in the office together and remarks, Oh, you two furrow your eyebrows in the same way when you think. My mom says that my dad and I do that too. We inherited it from my grandpa. Tim feels unsettled all day and makes a conscious effort to not to furrow his eyebrows anymore.

There's no mistake to make with Damian. At least, not the same one that can be made with the others. He's the blood son, and he's a perfect mix between Bruce and Talia. Of course, there's the well-meaning, if confused, adults that assume he's adopted like the others. He corrects them, swiftly, and sometimes aggressively.

There is one incident. It happens while Bruce is gone, after he's been staying with Grayson for a few months. He knew, of course, that people thought that Grayson looked like Bruce. He could even see the similarities. Superficially, of course. However, he never considered that Grayson looking like his father also meant that Grayson looked like him. Not until an old woman leaned over to him at a gala and said, You look just like your father when Mister Wayne first brought him out to these things. The hair, that disgruntled little frown. He hated these parties too. Couldn't ever sit still. Gosh, I really can't believe it's been long enough that he has a child of his own. It took Damian a while to realize what happened, and even then, he couldn't bring himself to tell her that he wasn't actually Grayson's son, or that he and Grayson weren't actually that far apart in age. He felt strangely guilty the rest of the night, and he never dared to tell Grayson about it.

It happened to Steph exactly once. Really, she doesn't look like Bruce at all. It was a man with exceptionally thick glasses, who actually told her that she reminded him of Martha Wayne. She's pretty sure he was just trying to be nice. She tries to forget about it. She never tells Bruce.

You have his eyes, is what Duke gets. Which confuses him, because, uh, no, he doesn't. Not even close like Dick's. He says as much to the woman that said it to him, and she squints her eyes at him and responds, No, you definitely do. Not in the shape or the color, but you look at things the same way he does. Duke thinks about that sometimes, and he swings back and forth between being annoyed and weirdly proud that he apparently looked at the world like Batman did.

People tell Cass that she has his smile. She beams with pride at that. After all, she learned it from him. She studied, closely, the way his mouth ticked up at the corners, both while he stretched the dazzling, fake smile across his face for the public, and the genuine, gentle smiles that he gave her while he helped tie her hair back or slip on her mask, and now she could replicate them both perfectly. She didn't like the fake one, but she knew it was necessary.

[aplaceforhumancorpses]

𓉸⁺‧₊˚ AFFECTION ROTS 𓂃🦇

„⤵ MILD ANGST „⤵ 1 / (?) PARTS „⤵ JASON TODD X READER Highschool sweethearts aren't meant to last, but Jason wants to change that, even after his ressurection.

After April 27th everything that once tasted sweet became bitter. Teenage romance is a ticking time bomb. It's a promise of flesh not made to last— meat rots over time, affection rots over time— and eventually, it all becomes rancid and sour.

Maybe that's what happened when Jason died. When your eyes met, a countdown began, ticking relentlessly toward its end. His time was always borrowed, and the clock, merciless as ever, simply ran out. The world the two of you shared stopped being his, and in the wake of it his memory became merely something to drive the day forward. Everything you couldn't be motivated to do was slapped with the statement "But Jason would've wanted you to" It was like a toxic parasocial relationship. His corpse dragged you in and out of pits of guilt and grief, while your body remained stagnant his ghost became restless inside of your head. Eventually, until you started to lose him in pieces.

Briefly, you would visit the box in your basement that contained some of his things. Hoodies and novels he read. You would smile at the annotations he made with sticky notes. Saving quotes that probably sounded deep and emotional to a teenage boy. A stuffed animal that smelled vaguely like him, or his cologne anyway. That box was where the memories of his existence stayed, buried under the blanket you had placed there. Admittedly sometimes you didn't want to think about him. It felt wrong to think of it that way. Grief is fatal to the mind. It's a disease. And maybe, on the worst days, it’s easier to let the infection run its course than to keep cutting into yourself trying to clean the wound.

You did a lot in the time between his last breath and now. life moved on, whether your sweet innocent Jason was beside you or not. After graduating high school, beginning your freshman year of college, and getting your first apartment it became easier. His cardboard grave sat there untouched, collecting dust, holding pieces of him you didn’t need anymore. Whatever you hadn’t already discarded, you packed away and left in the past.

yes, it still stung. Not like it used to—no longer sharp and unbearable. Instead, it lingered, dull and constant, a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing. Jason became irrelevant, just another detail in your coming-of-age story. Dating other men still felt like cheating. Still felt like betrayal. He'd probably be jealous if he saw you at those college parties. He was the type of boy to fight for you until his knuckles bled. Maybe he didn't have enough time to get the words out, but the sentiment would have been there. Even in death, you were his.

Your room grew up with you. The calendar you'd gotten as a white elephant gift was months behind. Your bedsheets kept the theme you chose for your room years ago. You barely even slept in it properly. There were bookshelves full of classics and poetry that were untouched. It wasn’t a sanctuary. It was a mausoleum. More often than not you would leave empty fountain soda cups on your desk like ornaments of the slump you were in mentally. The only things you'd done in this place were sleep and stare at your phone screen.

You ordered food hours ago. You couldn't be bothered to go and collect it yourself, but your driver never arrived. You took that as a hint. You simply weren't meant to eat tonight. It hurt to know how little you were spending on your own needs and desires. But you could hardly complain when you were living off the kindness of strangers. Your bills were paid by societies focused on providing for low income students. This money didn't come from nowhere. So why did you spend it on fatty junk like fast food? Your appetite was gone by now. But as a heavy thump reverberated through the wooden door on your apartment you shot up in hope of fatty junk fast food. Your hopes fell quickly as soon as the sounds from behind the door faded into nonsense dance of shuffling and pacing. You turned off your lamp. Maybe it was some drunk who had the wrong address. he would obviously realize this wasn't the right crack house, even though the decor suggested otherwise, and he would leave. You were tired and ready to turn in.

You heard it again. It seemed louder this time. You got up, stepping up onto your toes to look through the peephole. You were only met with the chest of this unwelcome visitor. You unlocked the deadbolt and pushed the door open slowly. Whoever it was was clearly out of it and angry. They didn't wait around for you to greet them. They barreled past you, knocking you against the door frame. They crashed into the kitchen counter. Folded over like a crumpled rag doll, holding their ribs.

The figure was large. Tall. Male obviously. Uncanny.

Some kind of muscular walking frankenstein of a human form.

You reached for the house phone. Should you call 911?… was this some kind of botched break in? It didn't look like he had any weapons.. but he probably had enough surface area from the base of his palm to the tips of his fingers to cover the entirety of your neck.

Before you could move, a hand slammed itself onto the table and you flinched away. The stranger looked back into your eyes, the whites of them so bright they nearly glowed like headlights.. the pupils dilated and narrowed.

"Who are you?" you whispered, your throat sore and dry, "What do you want?" You couldn't make out his face in its shadow. But it looked like someone very familiar…. Someone you knew well but couldn't quite remember in your stupor. You shook your head slightly to clear the haze.

He took slow, deliberate steps toward you, dragging his massive body from the kitchen island to where you still stood, frozen in place, pinned against the doorframe. The wind whipped harshly behind you. He closed the door gently, no longer slamming it. No longer banging. His arm went around your shoulders as he pulled you close. His breath warmed your ear.

"You… grew up without me.. You got really pretty. Just like i thought you would.." He breathed out, his lips brushing your hairline. You were still. In shock, you didn't dare react at all. "…I missed you." His grip tightened.

You felt the skin on his fingertips pulling against your arms and shoulder. You were too terrified to make a noise. Almost too terrified.

"You're dead." You said, pushing against his familiar warmth, trying to escape whatever strange force held you there. It didn't budge. "This is a really fucked up dream.. Jason wasn't this tall- or strong-" You broke off, swallowing thickly. Tears blurred your vision. He squeezed you tighter. You couldn't tell if you were imagining it or not. You weren't sure you were awake. "Let go!" you cried out. He frowned.

"Please… let me have this. just for a minute." He pleaded. "It's been too fucking long.." you could hear him begin to sob. There must have been something in the air that made your stomach twist and churn unpleasantly, until you sighed shakily.. giving in and relaxing as best you could against him. You weren't sure what exactly was happening- this wasn't real, right? What were these feelings you were having? Fear? Regret? Anxiety?

As you allowed your head to rest atop of his chest, you stared at the floorboards beneath your feet. You tried to calm yourself down. Your hands were trembling uncontrollably.

It was clear. The affection he held for you had not withered. It was as fresh, as raw, as it had been back in March, before everything fell apart.

Jason couldn't rot. He wasn't meant to.

...

Haha I'm so evil. Comment + Reblog? Where should the story go from here?

[m0nnypie]

02. [IZUKU MIDORIYA]

✿ warnings. To all the boys I've loved before!Au, quirkless!reader, teacher!reader, aged up characters, all the boys are pro-hero (including Deku).

✿ synopsis. Your childhood letters, the ones in which you declare your love for every crush you had, ended up being sent without your permission. What could come of that?

✿ words account. 2.5k

"Argh! Shit..." You thought it was extremely unfair that on your day off, everything went wrong. Starting with the fact that you were supposed to meet up with some friends, but ALL of them canceled. Even though you knew them well enough to know that they just didn't want to go out with you, since going out with everyone but you is normal.

You even thought you could enjoy the night out on your own, but then they spilled drinks on you, your heels broke (you had to break the other one to keep wearing them) and of course you saw your "friends"

But just as you left the club to finally get home and forget everything that had happened today. It started to rain. And obviously you didn't bring an umbrella. How cliché. But honestly, it couldn't get any worse.

You were hurrying to find shelter so you wouldn't get so wet. Although when you arrived, you were drenched. As soon as you picked up your cell phone to check the time, it had died. You took a deep breath to stop yourself from freaking out.

Not in a million years would you have called a cab on your own, with a dead cell phone, in the middle of the night. You could be anything, but crazy and stupid you weren't.

"Do you need help?"

A hoarse, warm voice spoke from beside you. You were ready to scream, but as soon as you turned to look at the owner of the voice, you shut up. Your eyes widened, it was Midoriya. He was smiling sweetly at you, and it made you want to eat. You quickly pulled yourself together.

"No. I don't need it." You turned to walk away through the rain, anything was better than staying there. But you felt him grab you by the wrist. As soon as you turned to him, he had that cynical look on his face, as if he really cared.

"Please (name)- sorry, (L/N)..." You wish you could hit him in the face right now, but you know you'd come off as crazy. "I don't want to leave you alone here, it's late and dangerous..."

"And why do you care?!" You said harshly, if you were a snake right now you could probably be spewing venom out of your mouth.

"Because I care about you!" He said with conviction, and that irritated you. You started to laugh, and you could see out of the corner of your eye that he was a little embarrassed by your reaction, what an idiot.

"Really? You? You care? With me?" You kept laughing, as if it was all just a good joke. It was, but the joke was actually on you. "Are you serious, Midoriya? The last time I remember, you didn't even want to look me in the face."

He looked away from you, swallowing hard and clearly uncomfortable. Not that you minded, he didn't deserve any sympathy from you.

Flashback on -

You remember it all to this day, for many it was just another stupid day at school. But not for you, it was the day you were finally going to propose to Midoriya. A little 9 year old declaring herself, cute isn't it?

You met when you were only 4 years old, which led you to meet Bakugou. But you didn't give a damn about him, not then. You only cared about the boy with the wide green eyes.

Nothing else mattered, even though Bakugou always pestered you, even though your parents fought often, even though sometimes you just wanted to cry, whenever you looked into those eyes, all you felt was peace. Until that ended.

The first person you met (unfortunately) was Bakugou, he was fighting with his friends for some reason you didn't really give a damn about.

"Have you seen Izuku?" You unfortunately had the idea of asking the stupid blond. As soon as he heard your question, he gave you his usual scowl, but the mention of the greenish guy's name seemed to make it worse.

"Why would I know about that stupid nerd? And what the fuck do you want with him?" He shouted, as usual. You just rolled your eyes and walked away, ignoring all the shouting coming from him.

You ended up not seeing Izuku for the rest of the class, for some reason he just disappeared from your sight, you couldn't even find him at break! He even seemed to be avoiding you.

You were about to give up and put it off until you finally spotted a green-haired boy. The smile that appeared on your face was capable of infecting anyone who passed by with how happy you looked.

"IZUKU!!!" You shouted, catching the boy's eye. When you finally reached him, you saw that something was strange. He seemed nervous, and wouldn't even look at you. "Are you okay? You look bad..." you said with real concern.

"I don't want to be your friend anymore" he said quickly and quietly, which confused you because you hadn't understood anything.

"What? Speak up izu! You don't have to be shy around me! You know that!" You tried to give him confidence.

"I DON'T WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND ANYMORE!" Suddenly, all eyes fell on you, and you stared at him in shock.

"W-what?" Hardly anything came out of your mouth, you were so shocked that you couldn't even speak properly. "What do you want to say?" You said it so quietly that if it hadn't been for Izuku being near you, he wouldn't have heard you.

"I-I don't want to be your friend! I'm tired of you!" As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes filled with tears. Why? What had you done to him? What had you done to him? You always supported him, you were always on his side when Bakugou bullied him. "You're so annoying! I don't know why you're still around me, I just want you to stay away!"

A bubbling anger began to fill you, how dare he talk to you like that? What could be wrong with him? You started to feel an urge when you looked at his face again.

"AS IF I WANTED TO BE YOUR FRIEND! I ONLY TALKED TO YOU OUT OF PITY!" You shouted so loudly that the teachers came out of the school to see what was going on.

"YOU'RE JUST ANOTHER LOSER WITH NO QUIRK!"

You didn't even pay attention when you heard Bakugou laughing in the background, or the teachers trying to calm you down, or even the tears welling up in Midoriya's eyes. You pushed him so hard that he fell to the ground.

"IDIOT! DON'T EVER APPEAR IN FRONT OF ME AGAIN! I HATE YOU!"

You ran off before anyone could take in what had just happened. The first thing you did when you got home was run to your room, completely ignoring your fighting parents.

And for the first time in years, your parents stopped fighting. They knew almost nothing about you, but one thing they always remembered, you were always happy, despite their fights, and despite everything. But not today. That day, and the week that followed, there was complete silence inside your house.

After that day, you never looked Midoriya in the face again. You started hanging around Bakugou, always clinging to him. And whenever Bakugou teased the green-haired boy, you pretended not to see.

And as for the letter, you just couldn't throw it away, so you hid it in a box under your bed, and then everything changed.

Flashback off -

"I-I know... I fucked up... but please... it's late and I don't trust leaving you alone at this hour..." You stared into the immensity of those green eyes, and wanted to vomit. "Please (name)... just let me take you home, just one ride! And I'll never bother you again!"

He looked at you with those lost-dog eyes, the ones that whenever he showed you, you did whatever he wanted. But... now it was different. You looked at the rain, it certainly wasn't going to stop now, it was only going to get worse.

"Okay. Just one ride, and no more." He smiled at you, a smile that although you wouldn't admit it, you missed. He walked you to his car, you practically standing under the umbrella so you wouldn't get wet.

As soon as you reached the car, you were surprised. It was one of those expensive cars that you would never be able to afford, I mean, not that you know that much about cars, but you know what you can and can't afford.

He opened the door for you and waved you in. He waited until you were inside and dry, before closing the door and going to the driver's side. As soon as he got in, he realized that his left side was completely soaked, which shouldn't have happened...

"So... where do you live?..." He said almost hopefully, as if you were going to run away from him and get out of his car screaming.

"Oh... I live near the station..." you said quietly, trying your best not to make eye contact with Midoriya. "You don't have to drive me to my house..."

He gave you a big, warm smile. "No problem! I like to help... and it wouldn't be right to leave you alone late at night either..." he shifted his gaze back to the front.

"Right... thanks then..." you looked away to the window. Midoriya finally got out of his seat and started driving. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see that he looked conflicted, as if he was arguing with himself about whether he should say something to you there.

"Um...so...how's your life as a pro-hero? Are you...um, enjoying it?" You tried to lighten the mood, but soon regretted it.

"Ah! Yes! I love it! It's great to always be able to save people when they need it...although sometimes the work gets really tiring..." And before you could even say anything again, Midoriya was already chattering away.

You thought it was cute that, even after years, he was still the same. The same chatty boy who always perked up when he talked about something he liked.

He must have noticed you staring, because he suddenly stopped talking. And he was looking at you out of the corner of his eye. You looked away, your cheeks heating up.

"And you? You became a teacher, didn't you?" He said, trying to distract from the recent event.

"Um... yes, I did" There was an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, and you hoped that you would get home soon. "And Bakugou? I mean..."

"Good! I mean... he's still a bit irritable as usual... but... well" he laughed, and you followed him. It made him smile more. A few minutes later, you finally arrived at his house. "Here we are..."

"Thanks for the ride, I really didn't need it," you said too sweetly, which surprised you, since you did everything you could not to show how you felt beyond your students.

"You're welcome..." he smiled at you. And then everything got weird again, he just started staring at you without saying anything. As if he was hypnotized.

"Um...Midoriya?" He didn't answer. You snapped your fingers in front of him. And then he seemed to come back to life. Instantly, his cheeks turned red, and he looked away.

"I'M SORRY!"

You laughed. "It's okay..." you then smiled at him, and started to get ready to leave.

"Wait!" He quickly got out of the car, running to your side of the door, stumbling halfway. All this to open the door for you. "There!"

He opened the umbrella so you could get out, and you accepted without blinking. You didn't want to get any wetter than you already were. He took you to the door of the building. Then he finally said goodbye.

"Well... thanks again for the ride..." You gave him a small kiss on the cheek as a thank you, it wouldn't be a problem, after all, this would be the last time you'd see each other.

"You're welcome..." he grinned like a fool. You then went inside, leaving him standing there alone. Smiling like a fool who has seen the love of his life for the first time.

Izuku finally got home, and of all the days, today was the worst. Starting with the villains giving him more trouble again, he hadn't had a day off in over three weeks.

But there was one good thing in all this: you. When he met you again for the first time after so long, he didn't even know how to react. Of course, even more so after Kacchan basically shouted at you.

He wished he could have walked you to school, to make sure you got there safely, but you just ignored him, which hurt him a little. But he couldn't blame you, he made a mistake with you when you were younger. He had lost all hope, until he received a letter. A letter from you.

At first, he thought it was a lie, a joke from Denki or Mina, something like that. But as soon as he read the letter, he knew it was from you, the way you spoke matched the letter exactly. And although the letter was apparently a bit old, it still smelled of her peach perfume.

That day, all their hopes came crashing back like a truck. He didn't know how to react. His first instinct was to call Ochako. What he should have known was that it was a bad idea, considering it was midnight and she hated being woken up. At least he got some good advice... which was that he should stop being an idiot and go talk to you. A big help.

But then, one day when he decided to take a walk to cool off, he found you. You were soaking wet, under a store tent. That's when he decided to act. Obviously his first instinct was to offer you a lift. At first, he saw how much you avoided even looking at him.

But in the end, one of his worst days, he got a kiss on the cheek. It sounds silly thinking about it now, but in all honesty he didn't give a damn. Everything that came from you was wonderful, no matter how small. He felt like a teenager at that very moment.

He threw himself down on the sofa, picking up the letter to read again. No matter how many times he read the letter, he would never tire of reading it again. He smiled to himself like an idiot. No matter how long it took, he would make it up to you and he would win you back.

Tag List: @mtsyik @homeless-clown @babylambdietcoke @erisawrites @kryscent @ita606 @aikojwhpa @vanillaicebaby @flilou02 @yuuuumii @angelicpupsblog @ikissfade @mrowwww @tsumuus

[thenewestxmen]

I am convinced that Wade had a really hard adjustment when Logan came into his life.

After I called after Logan when we returned to my home universe, I welcomed him into that shitty apartment. The only thing I regret informing Logan of is that it was a one bed apartment with a pull out couch. The second I got home. I introduced Althea to Logan and Logan, Althea. That night as everyone was welcoming Logan, mini Logan, and I back home, I announced we would in fact be moving out. Al already sometimes pays rent, and her disability insurance and checks should cover her. Logan doesn’t have money so he will stay with me, at least until he scrapes up enough money or sobriety to get his own place. That night, Wolverine takes the floor. 

“You can take the bed, I can take the floor unless you’re feeing a little hot.”

“The floor will do fine.” He says in a firm voice. He’s pretty much too tired to argue or call me a bitch. 

As I lay awake, insomnia slapping me across my ugly nutsack of a face, weirdly the only thing I can think of is what Logan said in the Honda Odyssey. The few hours ago, Vanessa had come over, she started to brag about Dermot or whatever his name was. “You couldn’t save a relationship with a god damn stopper!” His voice rang in my ears. “Gimme the dog and talk to the girl.” He had said. What’s the point? Some boring guy at her workplace was able to land her and I couldn’t. Figures, when I met her I literally paid her to tolerate me. I have no clue why she stayed after that. I attempted to flirt, but honestly… I’m not interested. I know, I know. I was willing to go back in time to get her back when she died, I know I blew myself up too. But honestly, what is so great… not to sound rude, but honestly, I’m a world famous merc and literally unable to die, so messed up I got an amazing sense of humor. And she was a stripper and left me when things got a little rough. I chatted with her a bit at the homecoming party, but after that, my eyes wandered… to Logan. Aw shit. The guys is hot. Come one Wade, pull yourself together!

Now I’m laying on the pull out, he’s three feet from me, sleeping and snoring softly. But still even though I’m just now realizing how incredibly handsome he is, how perfect even, it’s not the first time I’ve felt attracted to him. In the void, he held my hand and decided to die with me to help me. But even after he did so, his hurtful words still ring in my ears. My stomach weirdly hurts, like a cold pit dropped down my throat. That when I realize my face feels hot, and burning teas stream down my face. This doesn’t often happen, or at least not usually when I’m insulted. But Logan’s words really hit me hard I guess, and just now, as the words sink in a bit more, they push and force the salty hot tears out of me.

“Hmm… Wade?” I hear from behind me. Logan woke up and heard me… quickly I wipe the tears and turn to face Logan, resting my head back on the pillow. I hope my face isn’t too red and puffy, even through the darkness and lighting my scars make.

“Sleeping soundly peanut?” I say in a sexual voice. Although my dumbass self forget that little Angelbaby has great senses. I can see it on his face. He smells my salty tears.

“Why the fuck are you crying?” Logan says in tired deep voice.

“Im not crying, it’s just the moonlight reflecting off of your sugary tits into my eyes, so they look all shiny.” I say, half assed excuse. Obviously he doesn’t buy it and gets up, walking over to me, and starts laying on the other side of the pull out. 

“What’s wrong bub.” Why the hell do people ask that question when I’m trying not to cry?! I just burst into tears. 

“You… I… I can’t do anything right… you’re stuck we me, in my own universe! In my shitty apartment, stuck with a nutsack faced fucking failure.” I say in gasps for breath. He just pulls me in, holding me for a moment as my chest hurts and strains. Everything’s a wreck, I don’t want this life. I don’t want to live forever, I don’t want to be a merc or car salesman, I don’t want to be depended on. Logan just hushes me.

“It’s alright…” he says. He’s awful at this comfort shit but his deep smooth voice and warm embrace is rather soothing. He allows me to cry, soaking his shirt. I cry until I’m trembling and my jaw and chest hurts. Even when I stop because of the pain, he holds me. Everything is a mess and I want everything to be all better. I’m moving and the Wolverine is depending on me for a place to live and I am a mess and can’t have a good relationship with anyone… the closest thing to one is with my blind elderly roommate who despises me. Logan rocks back and forth, hushing and humming. He will occasionally say, “it’s ok Wade…” or something. My chest starts to stop aching and I just let him hold me, letting my eyelids close. I don’t know what I’ll do tomorrow, and I’m not looking to finding out. Everything’s a mess, and it’s all my mess.

authors note: should I turn this into another fic series? This is going well, I think I could go off this into a series, idk. Sorry I didn’t post this earlier, it took a while to write this bcs I was busy.

[miss-tc-nova]

With Reckless Choices - Leona Kingscholar x Reader Pt 10

Happy Starlight everyone! My gift to you! We're gonna switch POVs for this one. I just wanted to show a bit of how Leona's handling things.

Premise: Leona after the break up

Words: 729

Music Inspirations: Monsters - All Time Low Feat. Demi Lovato & blackbear

~~~Vices~~~

               Leona glares at the ceiling, his empty chest keeping the lion from escaping the waking world. Cold morning light rains through the window onto his lonely bed. A savanna breeze whispers through, bringing with it hints of the world he never wants to see again.

               Nothing has been the same since the event that led to the biggest blowup of his life. He finds no light anymore and barely finds the motivation to even breathe. Even the naps he used to escape the world bring him no solace. Instead, the world just passes by as he confines himself to his room waiting for the moment all this pain will finally end. Having tasted life, he finds no reason to go on without.

               A jingle pricks at his ear. Lazily, his head lolls to look at the device he’s surprised still has any battery left. Reaching out, his hand acts without his head’s permission.

               That’s Ruggie. Heaven knows how he’s still on the team with how much practice he’s missed.

               Still…

               How dare his heart still hope.

               It’s been nearly a full year since he last saw his love—on the day of the Briar Prince’s wedding. He made the mistake of thinking he found someone that genuinely cared about him. He thought that, for once, he would be the first pick. Leona Kingscholar had fallen so deeply in love that it blinded him to the real world and now he’s paying the price. Reality firmly put him back in his place and snubbed him for even daring to think he could be happy.

               But no, he never had a chance. Instead he was insulted, screamed at, and told to stay away. Right in his face, his heart was torn to pieces and stamped into the ground even though he wore a snarl the entire time. Leona was never meant to win. Especially against that damn dragon. 

               Despite all the pain it caused him, Leona kept his mouth shut about what happened. He could’ve spilled the truth and thrown the illustrious Draconias under the bus for all the heartache caused. Yet every time he so much as considered revenge, his heart quashed the idea. He couldn’t bring himself to destroy their reputation, all because of his stupid feelings. No matter how he cursed himself, there was no changing his decision.

               To make matters worse, his family insists on trying to help him through a problem they’re grasping at straws to understand. He wants none of it and acknowledges no effort—hell, he barely even acknowledges their existence anymore. Leaving his room is a rare occurrence, so they often sit with him. Sometimes they have their own conversations or talk to him without answers, sometimes they simply sit in silence as they go about their own tasks, but the worst of all is when they turn on the television. Oftentimes, it’s his nephew watching some silly show. However, Falena and his wife like to watch the news. The news is always filled with ridiculous stories that are easy to ignore. It’s the ones that mention the Draconias that always stab at his chest. Where they were seen dining, where their honeymoon had been, the event they attended, what they were wearing. Of course he can’t help peeking at the screen when that happens, but even just hearing about them brings fresh lashings against his wavering stability.

               Those are the nights the sand grates against his skin. He doesn’t know any other way to drown out the grief.

               “Unca Leo! Unca Leo!”

               His door bursts open without even a knock. The mattress shifts beneath the excited jumping of the cub despite the lack of response from the elder prince.

               “Guess what?!”

               The family chamberlain is quick to follow.

               “Prince Cheka! Don’t bother your uncle!”

               That does nothing to deter the young lion from shaking his family by the shoulder.

               “Papa says we’re going to a birthday in Briar Valley!”

               Leona’s body tenses.

               No.

               “Cheka!”

               Faster than he has in a long time, the elder lion reaches for his phone. Scrolling through messages he shamefully re-reads, he feels the vice in his chest. His grip creaks around the device as his hand shakes.

               No.

               He knows better. He knows he shouldn’t. But he’s so pathetically helpless.

               “When are we leaving?”

               Fuck.

~~~~~

Part 11 (Coming Soon)

Nova’s Twisted Wonderland Masterlist

[genderqueerdykes]

I’ve been sending a lot of “thank you” asks so don’t feel pressured to get to this immediately, but thanks for talking about being transfemmasc. I’m perisex but I grew up very androgynous and I never really had a boyhood/girlhood, so I feel I’m transitioning to both. This is the first time I’m really telling anyone, but I’m a transmasc drag queen, and my drag is a manifestation of my transfemininity! With all the gender war stuff happening between trans people lately, meeting other transfemmasc people is really comforting :3

hey of course! i'm happy to help!

i felt so seen when i discovered the term transfemasc, so i'm glad to see other people feel the same way!

it's definitely not just intersex people who have these experiences like. we are so strict with gender and gendered presentation and even what hobbies people engage in. sometimes perisex people are misgendered or even degendered as well. like yes this often affects intersex people more, but not always. our society is so strict with how we view gender that i can absolutely see how perisex people would have these experiences too!

that's so cool, i'm glad to hear you've found terms that suit you and your experience! and of course, you're welcome to come back any time! we get lots of transfemasc/transmascfem people here! stay safe, take care of yourself!

[wheels-of-despair]

Home Alone Together Pairing: Ralph Penbury x You Summary: When Ralph's family left to spend Christmas in Paris, they forgot one thing: Ralph! Good thing you're there to take care of him! Words: 12k

Note: As you probably suspected from the title and ripped off tagline, this is inspired by Home Alone. It is a one-shot, and not connected to my Worth It-verse. The reader is an adventurous young lady who happens to be the caretaker's daughter. Don't think too deeply on it. Just have a fun Christmas adventure alone in a big house with a pretty boy and a pair of uninvited guests who deserve what's coming to them.

The Penburys are spending Christmas in Paris.

Once upon a time, the entire family would gather at their country estate for the holidays. Penbury Manor was always beautifully decorated, with red and green and gold and ribbons and bows and countless Christmas trees all throughout the house.

Ralph Penbury quite enjoyed that as a child.

But as Ralph and his twin sister Victoria grew, Penbury Christmases changed. Their father passed away, and their mother began spending most of her time traveling and dallying with much younger men. Their cousins had grown up to have homes and families of their own, and no longer came to visit for the holidays.

You'd think that with the family branching out like that, Penbury Christmases would become smaller and smaller. It was quite the opposite, really. After leaving school, Victoria found that she couldn't function without her ten best girlfriends at her side, and a houseful of strangers to keep them all entertained.

Life was one big never-ending party for Victoria Penbury, but her twin brother Ralph often found himself feeling lonely. There were always loads of people around, sure, but could any of them be truly considered a friend? Did any of them know anything about him, other than the fact that he was a Penbury and would surely foot the bill?

Two weeks ago, Mother sent a telegram inviting the twins to Paris for Christmas, to meet her new beau. Victoria had squealed with joy and rushed out to shop for new dresses. Ralph was hesitant at first, but eventually warmed to the idea. Surely Mother wouldn't allow Victoria to bring her mob of hangers-on. Perhaps they'd have a nice family holiday for a change. Meaningful conversation! People who mattered! And at the very least, delicious buttery croissants!

And then Victoria decided that since she couldn't bring her entire entourage to Paris, she'd take them to Penbury Manor for a few days. Ralph had always liked the country manor where he spent his summers and Christmases as a child, so he piled into a car and joined the caravan headed for the sprawling estate.

On the first day, he had fun.

On the second, Ralph began to wish he'd stayed in London.

On the third, he locked himself in the library.

On the fourth, Victoria berated him for being a horrid host and demanded that he join everyone for the gift exchange. He put aside his book and reluctantly agreed to join them for dinner and a party in the great hall.

Ralph, as always, felt as though Victoria's friends were merely tolerating his presence. What was wrong with him? Did he frown too much? Was he too intense? Was it obvious that he'd rather be elsewhere?

He hadn't always been this way.

Sometimes Ralph grew sad, remembering the happy person he used to be. He used to love parties and fashion and making friends. And then he fell in love with someone who despised him. The words "get fucked, creepy stalker freak" still echoed through his mind when he thought of her.

Ralph Penbury had loved her with his whole heart, and his whole heart had been shattered when she rejected him. He even tried to join the French Foreign Legion as a distraction, but they didn't want him either. He hid in a hotel until the girl whose name he could not speak and her friends vacated his family's London home. And then he returned to it, a changed man. A broken man. A man who would never love again.

But a man who must still do what his sister demanded, or he would never hear the end of it.

He made an effort to look engaged throughout dinner, and joined the party afterwards. He watched Victoria's guests unwrap gorgeous gifts from a sickeningly expensive shopping spree; trinkets and jewelry and cigars and chocolates and liquors. Ralph almost forgot to be cynical for a moment, while he watched people's faces light up during the opening of the presents.

When the fun began to wind down, someone brought Ralph a rather large box. He was confused. He and Victoria had already exchanged gifts; monogrammed pyjamas of the finest silk that they planned to wear tonight, for their final night at Penbury Manor. They had more presents for each other reserved their real Christmas morning in Paris in a few days. What was this?

"Open it, Ralph!" someone exclaimed.

He looked to Victoria.

"Go on!" she encouraged him.

He untied the bow and removed the lid from the box. He stared downward, unsure of what he was looking at.

"Show us, Ralph!" called out a voice from the crowd.

Ralph reached into the box and pinched what he assumed was the edge of the contraption - some sort of harness, maybe? - and lifted it into the air.

Everyone laughed. Ralph didn't understand. He looked up with a furrowed brow, hoping someone would explain. The crowd's laughter intensified, and once again, he looked to his twin.

"It's an electric belt!" she cackled. "It can stimulate you in ways a woman can't!"

"Or won't!" someone chimed in.

Ralph's head whipped toward the crowd, wondering who said that. What would he do if he found them? He felt his eyes fill with angry tears, and he hated his stupid body for cursing him with this ridiculous reaction.

"Oh, Ralph, don't be so bloody sensitive," Victoria scoffed with a roll of her eyes. "It's all in good fun!"

Ralph dropped the electric belt back into the box, trying not to let his tears fall. He felt sick to his stomach.

"Aren't you going to demonstrate for us?" someone called from the crowd.

"Drop your trousers and show us how it fits!"

"It's the closest thing to a woman's touch you'll ever feel!"

"Treat it right and perhaps it'll love you back!"

The laughter got louder after each comment.

Ralph threw the box and the awful gift to the floor and rushed from the room with tears streaming down his red face. He ran until he couldn't hear the laughter anymore.

Was this the only reason Victoria wanted him to join the party? So she could humiliate him in front of all her friends?

He wished all of these horrible people would just disappear. He never wanted to see their stupid, sneering faces ever again.

Ralph is cold.

He pulls his blanket up to cover his frozen nose, and suddenly his feet feel a chill. He cracks an eye open and glares at the plush duvet that's not doing its job…

But it's not the duvet that belongs on his bed.

Because he's not in his bed.

He's on a sofa in the reading room next to the library, and this blanket is not providing the kind of warmth he needs right now. Why is it so bloody cold? Why has no one stoked the fire? It's completely died down!

Ralph sits up and wraps the blanket around himself, trying to soak up all the heat it can offer through yesterday's clothes.

Wait. Why isn't he in pyjamas? Why isn't he in his bedroom?

Memories of the night before come flooding back, and Ralph's heart sinks. Not only did he receive the most humiliating gift ever given, but he cried about it in front of everyone. How is he supposed to face those people now? He covers his burning face with his frozen hands.

At least one part of his body is warm.

Eventually, Ralph accepts that he can't hide forever. Is it too late for breakfast? He glances at the clock and winces. His grandmother would have his hide for sleeping this late. He'll probably have to fight for scraps at the lunch table at this hour.

Ralph slips his shoes on his frozen feet and trudges down the stairs, blanket still around his shoulders, trying to convince himself that last night wasn't that bad. Perhaps he could laugh it off and pretend he'd purposely given them a show. Or maybe something more exciting had happened since, and no one would even remember the electric belt or the crying boy that no one would ever love.

He braces himself and reaches for the double doors leading to the dining hall, taking a deep breath and pulling them open.

The room is empty.

Not one straggler. Not one plate. Not one crumb.

Even the Christmas decorations are gone.

It's like no one has been here at all.

Ralph hurries through the main floor, checking every room for a sign of life. He finds nothing.

Has his wish come true? Has everyone disappeared?

He walks back up the stairs, determined to check everything. The bedrooms, the bathrooms, the study, the library, the drawing rooms, the billiards room, the attic. What sort of prank is Victoria playing on him?

Ralph decides to start on the far end of the hall. Last night, there was a Christmas tree in front of this window. Now, there's not even a stray pine needle. What the devil has happened to his house?

He peeks into every room, finding no evidence that anyone had been in them at all. All the bedrooms look as pristine as they had when the group arrived. The trees are gone. The hanging mistletoe and the holly bouquets. The candles in the windows.

Baffled, Ralph starts the journey up the attic stairs. Victoria knows that he's feared this place since he was a child, so perhaps this is where she told everyone to hide. Would she be surprised that he came looking for her up here?

Last night, Ralph had hoped to never see any of his guests again… but right now, climbing those steep steps to the dark, drafty attic his cousins used to lock him in, he almost wishes he had someone there with him.

Could Ralph Penbury truly be alone for the first time in his life? At his own request, even? The thought sends a terrible chill up his spine, making him squeeze his eyes shut and pause to grasp the handrail out of fear of falling down those awful stairs.

When the chill passes, Ralph wills his legs to take him to the next step.

Where he collides with something that shrieks.

He's falling, falling.

And someone - or something - is falling with him, down those steep attic stairs.

You feel as though you hit every step on the way down those damned stairs. When you finally come to a stop on the landing, you notice the groaning body next to you. You rise to your knees quickly, wincing at what will surely be a bruise, and check on the person.

Your heart stops when you realize who it is.

Ralph Penbury, the young master of this house.

Your employer.

Well, your father's employer.

You've just thrown your dad's boss down the stairs.

"Mr. Penbury, are you alright?" you ask, fearing the worst.

He opens his big brown eyes and stares, and your stomach flips.

"Who are you?" he asks.

You struggle to remember your name. When you tell it to him, he doesn't react. "The caretaker's daughter," you clarify.

Your father has been the caretaker of Penbury Manor since before you were born. He manages the grounds and the house when the family is not present, which is most of the year. He'd gotten a telephone call a week ago telling him to call in the staff and decorate the manor for Christmas. You walked to the main house this morning, wanting to see it one last time before the staff ripped down all the decorations and headed home for Christmas.

You and your father live in a small cottage on the edge of the property, which is your favorite place in the world. Until tomorrow, probably, when your father is given the sack and you're both tossed out into the street for mangling the man of the house.

"Are you alright, sir?" you ask again.

He keeps staring. Does he have a brain injury, you wonder?

"Are you?" he asks, finally.

"A few bruises, but they'll fade," you smile. "Are you hurt? Would you like me to call for a doctor?"

Mr. Penbury shakes his head. You stand, offering him a hand to help him up. He stands without taking it, trying to brush the wrinkles out of his clothes with a rapidly reddening face.

"Where is everyone?" he asks.

"Miss Penbury and her guests left very early this morning," you tell him. "There was a storm, and they didn't want to get snowed in."

"Snow?"

"Lots of it," you confirm.

"When?"

"Now."

"Now?"

You gesture to the window, and he shuffles over to it. Mr. Penbury gasps when he sees everything covered in white. He stays there for a full minute, staring out at rapidly falling flakes. When he turns back around, there's a sad expression on his face.

"They left me?" he asks pitifully.

"I'm sure they didn't mean to," you say quickly. You have no idea if it's true, but the poor man looks utterly heartbroken. "There were a lot of people in your party, getting everyone packed and into cars in the snow was utter chaos."

His brow furrows.

"May I call a car for you?" you offer.

He nods and turns back to the window. You pretend not to hear him sniffle.

You enter the study a few doors down, where the nearest telephone is located, and pick it up. The line is dead. You nearly run into Mr. Penbury again coming out of the room.

"Sorry!" you breathe, narrowly avoiding him. "There's something wrong with the telephone, I'll try downstairs."

Mr. Penbury follows you to the next telephone. After three with no tone, you turn to him with a grimace in the office by the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, sir. The lines must be out of order because of the storm."

What are you supposed to do with him? You can't just leave him here alone. He'd have no idea how to take care of himself. He's probably never stoked his own fire in his life. You also don't really want to walk home in the snow. It's coming down so hard, you couldn't see your hand if you held it out in front of you.

You'll just have to coexist until one - or both of you - can leave.

"The staff cleaned through the night and went home early this morning, while the roads were still passable," you explain. "I stayed behind to finish up a few things, since I live nearby and can walk home when it stops snowing. I'm afraid it's just us, but I can get you anything you need."

An awkward silence fills the room.

And then the lights go out, leaving you in the dark.

You carefully feel your way through the maze of furniture and pull the curtains apart, giving you just enough light to see him hovering by the door.

"What's your favorite room in the house?" you ask, digging through the office in search of a flashlight.

"My what?"

"Your favorite room," you say again, checking the desk drawers. "Your bedroom, a drawing room, one of the lounges?"

"Why?"

"Because that's where you can stay until the storm passes," you explain. He stares at you blankly.

"Why one room?" he asks.

Is it not obvious? You stop your search, gather your thoughts, and explain calmly.

"Mr. Penbury, it takes a full staff to keep all of the fireplaces lit. Since it's just the two of us, we'll stay in one part of the house and focus on keeping it warm there."

He blushes, his face glowing in the gray light.

"The library."

You wince. That's a horrible choice.

"Mr. Penbury, that's a large room with a lot of windows. It'll be quite drafty. Might I suggest something smaller, so it's easier to heat?"

"My bedroom?" he mutters.

"Excellent choice," you smile, resuming your rummaging.

You should've just told him that's where he should go to begin with, but dammit, you can't tell a Penbury what to do. People like this must be gently guided, so they can let themselves believe everything was their idea. You don't spend a lot of time with people like him, but you think you navigated that quite well.

"Aha!" you cry, clicking on a clunky flashlight.

You pull the curtains closed, already feeling the draft from the exposed window, and exit the room. Mr. Penbury follows closely, muttering a "sorry" once or twice when he steps on the back of your heel in the dark. You lead him through the massive estate and into his bedroom. You quickly start a fire, and when it's large enough to provide warmth, you step away and turn around.

He's still hovering by the door.

"I'll take the one next door, if that's alright?" you ask. "So that I'll be near if you need me?"

He nods.

You smile and squeeze by him, lighting another fire in the other bedroom and taking a moment to warm your hands. The staff let the fires die this morning. A chill has crept through the house since, but you haven't really felt it until now.

Tea would be nice.

Your stomach rumbles, and you place a hand on it as if to silence it. You wonder when Mr. Penbury had his last meal… probably dinner last night? You hurry downstairs and fill a basket with food, lugging it back upstairs toward the two warm bedrooms as quickly as you can.

When you reach the last step and move onto the landing, a movement ahead catches your eye. Mr. Penbury has just closed his door. He's been watching for you. You'd hoped to make lunch in your room and present him with something already cooked, but now you're drawn to his door.

"Mr. Penbury?" You knock lightly. "Are you alright? Did you need something?"

The door slowly creaks open to reveal a narrowed eye.

"You left."

"Only briefly," you smile, holding up your basket. "I've brought us lunch. Are you hungry?"

He hesitates, but nods. He steps back and opens the door the rest of the way. Oh? You follow his lead and come into his bedroom, brushing against him when you pass and feeling a blush creep into your cheeks. Stop that. You hurry toward the fire, so you can pretend that's what caused it, busying yourself with the kettle first. Your tea can steep while you cook.

Mr. Penbury sits on the sofa at the foot of his bed and watches your every move. You're annoyingly clumsy under his watchful eye, but you manage to put together a decent meal. Well, at least it's hot. You put the food on plates and hold yours, glancing to the door. Can you go?

Mr. Penbury gets up suddenly, surprising you by clearing off a small bedside table and dragging it toward the fire. He places it between the sofa and the fireplace.

"Please?" he asks, gesturing to the seat next to him.

You smile and rise, putting both plates on your tiny table. You consider sitting on the edge of the sofa and staying as far away as you can, but you don't want to seem rude. You don't want to appear too forward, either. You sit where you can reach the table but not touch him.

You look from your plates to him, and you both hesitate. You feel like something should be said. A prayer? A toast?

You lift your teacup, and he does the same. What do you say?

"To not being alone during the storm of the century?" you smile.

Mr. Penbury smiles back, teacups are sipped from, and lunch is eaten in an almost comfortable silence.

When your plates are empty, you excuse yourself to return them to the kitchen and take care of a few chores. You wind through the house, making sure drapes are closed and doors are locked. The staff goes to great lengths to keep the Penburys warm while they're here, and you worry that he'll find out how drafty this big house really is and think it's your fault.

Your constant movement does little to warm you. When it starts nearing dinnertime, you grab a few extra blankets and bring them to the pair of warm bedrooms who'll have inhabitants. You toss half on the bed you can't wait to fall into tonight, and approach his door.

A knock at the door makes Ralph's heart nearly leap out of his chest. He gets up from the sofa by the fire and drops the blanket he's had on his lap for hours, hurrying toward the door. Things have felt awkward with the caretaker's daughter so far, but Ralph is grateful to have her back. He hates being left alone with his thoughts.

He swings the door open and finds the girl standing there with an armful of blankets.

"I thought you might like a few extra blankets," she smiles. "It's only going to get colder as the evening goes on."

Thank her, his brain screams! Invite her in to warm up! Wrap her in one of those blankets! Make her tea!

"Thank you," Ralph mumbles, reaching for the blankets and promptly dropping one. She leans down to pick it up, re-folds it, and hands it to him. He hugs them to his chest.

"I'm going back to the kitchen to fetch dinner before it gets any darker," she says, her voice like warm honey. "Is there anything particular you'd like tonight? That can be cooked in a bedroom fireplace, I mean?"

He'd watched her create a hot meal out of nothing hours earlier, and been absolutely fascinated. He'd sit quietly and watch her do anything, if she let him.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Ralph shakes his head to clear his thoughts.

"Alright," she smiles. "I'll be back soon."

She turns, and Ralph's spirits sink when he realizes she's leaving him again. He's surprised to find words forming on his tongue.

"C-can I come?" he stutters, mentally kicking himself. He starts to close the door, hoping she hadn't heard, but she turns around and catches him.

"Of course, Mr. Penbury," she smiles. She has the most wonderful smile. Shut up, Ralph! He scurries out of the room and to her side, and she looks down. So does he. He's not wearing shoes. His face burns. "You'll want to dress a bit warmer, Mr. Penbury," she says gently. "It's very cold downstairs."

Ralph returns to his room and contemplates jumping out a window. But he glances back to the girl standing outside, looking kind and understanding and not rolling her eyes or laughing at him. He puts on his shoes and a jumper. He doesn't know what the maid did with his coat when he arrived.

He walks toward her, but before he can exit the room, she enters. He freezes. She shakes out one of the blankets she'd brought him and wraps it around his shoulders. Her scent fills his nostrils. Her hands almost touch him. He has to work to control his breathing. Why is he behaving like a lovesick schoolboy? Or worse… his old self?

"There we go," she smiles. "Are you ready?"

He nods, unable to speak for fear of a marriage proposal rolling off his stupid tongue.

She pulls a flashlight from her pocket, flicks it on, and starts walking. He follows her down the stairs and through the house and into the kitchen. Ralph has only been in here a few times in his life. He gets to hold the flashlight while she works. She grabs the basket from earlier, filling it with this and that. He keeps the flashlight trained on her, trying to anticipate her every move so that she's never left in the dark.

He stays close when they go back upstairs, and enjoys watching her make dinner. In silence, of course. Ralph doesn't think he could make a sound if he wanted to. She serves him excellent, strong tea that warms him inside and out. Dinner is wonderful. He'd seen her hesitate at lunchtime, about sitting next to him on the sofa, but she sits a little closer this time. His heart flutters.

Stop that.

When the plates are empty again, she stacks them and puts them in the basket. Ralph feels a sudden panic when she stands.

"You don't have to go yet!" he says, with a little more force than he meant to. He should go throw himself down the stairs.

She hesitates, then sits back down on the sofa and smiles politely.

Ralph has no idea what to say to her. He wanted her to stay, damn it all, it's his job to give her a reason to! Speak! Ask her questions! Tell her a funny story! Anything!

"Did you find something to do this afternoon?" she asks.

What did Ralph do this afternoon? He thinks… oh. He thought. He thought about his humiliating gift, about everyone laughing at him, about everyone leaving him. Was it on purpose, or did they genuinely forget about him? Which would be worse? He thought about the girl who broke his heart and opened his eyes and changed his life. He thought about the caretaker's daughter, and how kind she's been to him. And how pretty she is when she smiles. And how that stupid lovesick little boy he once was would be planning their wedding by now.

"I read a book," he lies.

"Oh?" she questions. "What did you read?"

Damn.

Ralph Penbury, who's read four books during this trip and thousands of others in his lifetime, cannot name a single title.

"Er… it… it wasn't very good." His face is definitely too red to be just from the fire. She knows he's blushing. She knows he's a liar.

"Would you like to go to the library and pick out another?"

"N-no," Ralph stutters, biting his tongue for failing to cooperate. "Not tonight."

"Alright," she says. "Why is the library your favorite room?"

"Pardon?" he asks, scrunching his eyebrows.

"I asked about your favorite room earlier, and you said the library," she reminds him. "I was just wondering."

"Not the library, exactly," he begins, "the reading room beside it."

"Oh?"

Ralph nods. The library itself is a vast room, but the cozy chamber beside it is packed with comfortable couches and plush chairs and reading lamps. Hardly anyone ever goes in there.

"I quite like that room myself," she admits. "The painting above the fireplace is one of my favorites. If I'd known that's where you meant, we could've set up camp in there."

"This is fine," Ralph says quickly. He can't imagine the torture of trying to sleep in the same room as a woman he can't have.

"I suppose you're right," she smiles. "Sleeping in a bed is surely more comfortable than even those lovely sofas."

"That's where I slept last night," Ralph confesses.

"I can't believe no one spotted you," she says, her face falling. "Were you by the fire?"

Ralph nods.

"Maybe it had gone out by the time someone came to check," she muses.

Ralph shrugs.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Penbury. Things were hectic when your sister decided to leave. It was a flurry of packing and panicking, and after everyone left, frantic cleaning so the staff could leave before the snow got too deep. But I promise, sir, I'll get you out of here and on your way to rejoin your sister as soon as I can."

What if Ralph doesn't want to get out of here? What if he wants to stay with the nicest person he's ever met, and he wants the snow to keep falling so they're trapped in here for months? Is that long enough to make her love him? Would he have a chance if he were the only man in miles? Or would she brave the elements to get away from the creepy stalker freak in under a week?

Ralph Penbury wishes he could manifest a physical version of the person he used to be, so he could beat it to death. That obnoxious, irritating, stupid little boy who used to fall in love with every girl he met is starting to narrate his every thought. He's not that person anymore!

She gets up to stoke his fire. The flames rise, and the room gets warmer, and she turns to him with a comforting smile.

"I suppose we should get to bed," she says. "If you need anything at all, Mr. Penbury, I'm right next door."

How is he supposed to sleep with only a wall separating them?

"You can call me Ralph," he says to her retreating back. She hesitates, hand already on the doorknob, and turns to him.

"Are you sure, Mr. Penbury?"

He nods.

"Alright, then," she says softly, turning the knob. "Good night, Ralph."

Ralph melts at the sound of his name on her lips.

"Wake up!" a voice hisses.

"No," you grumble, snuggling deeper into the magnificent bed you've claimed for the night. You're warm. You're comfortable. You're having a good dream. If you're left alone, you might be able to finish it.

"Miss!"

You sigh, cracking one eye open to see Mr. Penbury standing beside your bed.

"What's wrong?" you mumble, closing your eye. "Did your fire go out?"

"There's someone in the house!" he whispers.

"It's just the wind, Mr. Penbury," you explain, hoping he'll go back to bed and leave you alone to finish your dream.

"It's people," he says, his voice hushed but frantic. "I heard men talking."

Your eyes shoot open.

"Where?" you ask.

"Downstairs," he breathes.

You roll out of bed, into the frigid room whose fire has long died. It must be nearing morning now. You hold out a hand, gesturing for him to stay put, and tiptoe out into the cold hallway. You stop at the top of the stairs, listening close…

Men. Talking loudly in a downstairs room. You creep down the stairs silently, one at a time, hoping to pinpoint which room they're in. A bottle smashes, and a light illuminates the hallway below. The lounge. They're drinking. They've started a fire. They don't know anyone else is here. You come back up the stairs.

"What are you doing?" Ralph hisses, hugging himself for warmth just outside your bedroom doors.

What would those men do if they knew the master of the house they broke into was still here? Unarmed? Unattended? No security, no staff, only you. Ransom? Torture? Murder?

You have to protect him.

You walk to the nearest window and pull the curtain aside. How did those men get here? Surely not by car. The snow has stopped coming down, but it must be knee-deep out there. You can't tell the driveway from the lawn. They must have walked. You could probably make it home in this, but you don't know if Mr. Penbury could. And even if you did, you'd leave a trail directly to your father's cottage. You'd have the same problem with the stable, or one of the outbuildings. Plus, you'd probably freeze to death outside tonight. You cross the floor and approach him.

"Mr. Penbury, I need you to put on warm clothing and come with me. Carry your shoes; we'll make less noise without them."

He nods seriously and returns to his bedroom.

You enter your room, quickly making the bed and gathering the dinner basket and a few blankets and your shoes. You'd slept so hard, you let the fire die; which you now realize is a good thing. When you close the door, the bedroom looks like it hadn't been slept in.

You slip into the room next door and make Ralph's bed too, pulling off the extra blankets and giving them to him. You pick up your basket and gesture for him to follow. You lead him down the hallway and into the study, closing the door quietly behind you and locking it. You approach the second bookcase and feel along the second shelf.

Click.

The hidden door cracks open, and you pull it the rest of the way. It's pitch black inside. You feel for your flashlight, cursing yourself when you realize you left it on the bedside table. You step inside to put your things on the floor, then come back for candles. There's an antique candelabra on a side table that'll do. You light three of the five with a pack of nearby matches, thinking that'll be enough for now.

Mr. Penbury stands frozen, arms full of blankets and mouth gaping.

"It's alright," you whisper, giving his jumper a gentle tug. "Come on." He follows you inside. You latch the door and turn to him.

"We'll be safe in here," you tell him quietly, placing the candelabra on a desk. For how long, you don't know. Surviving tonight is the current priority.

"What is this place?"

"I'm not sure," you whisper, taking the blankets from him. You put them on the ancient moth-eaten sofa, all except one. That one, you wrap around his shoulders. He's shaking. "Well, it's an office, I suppose. I don't know why it needed to be a secret. Come, sit."

You both sit on the small sofa carefully, hoping it doesn't creak too much. It doesn't.

"How did you know it was here?"

You bite your lip, contemplating how much to tell him.

"I just found it one day," you answer. "The house is full of hidden rooms and secret passageways."

"I didn't know that," he says.

"You're only here for a few weeks per year," you remind him. "I've lived here all my life."

"You know my house better than I do," he says, with a hint of embarrassment.

"I could show you," you offer.

You've been obsessed with uncovering the secrets of Penbury Manor since you found that first secret door in a wardrobe when you were twelve. You've always taken great pleasure in knowing more about this house than its owners. Why the hell did you just offer to share your life's work with him?

"Really?" he asks, his eyes sparkling in the flickering light of the candles. You can't stop staring into those black orbs.

"Really," you confirm, feeling oddly calm.

Something crashes from below, and you both jump in surprise. Right. Intruders.

"We'll stay here for tonight," you whisper. "Hopefully, they're just vagrants who will move on after they've raided your liquor cabinet. Let's hope they don't find the key to the wine cellar."

Your attempt a joke does not land.

"If they don't clear out tomorrow, maybe the phone lines will be fixed, and we can call the police."

He rubs his hands across his face.

"Mr. Penbury," you begin.

"Ralph," he reminds you, dropping his hands to his knees.

"Ralph," you repeat, reaching out to place your hand on his. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"This is my house," he argues. "I'm the man. I should be protecting you."

This man is the most adorable thing you've ever seen.

"And I know this house inside and out," you remind him. "Perhaps we can protect each other?"

He considers it.

"Alright," he finally agrees.

"We should rest," you say quietly. There's nothing else to do. "Maybe they'll be gone when we wake up. You take the sofa, I'll take the floor."

"Nonsense," he argues, getting up and moving to the hard wooden floor. You let him lie there for a moment, seeing the regret on his face even in the dim light of the candles.

"Alright," you play along, draping him with one blanket and lying down on the sofa with the rest. When his teeth start to chatter, moments later, you've had enough of your game.

"Given that the situation is possibly life or death and I doubt the usual rules apply, would you mind sharing the floor?" you ask. "The sofa stinks, and the blankets will go farther if we combine them."

"Y-yes," he shivers.

"Rise, Sir Ralph of London," you joke. He does.

You lay half of the blankets down and pull the pillows off of the sofa, dropping them where your heads will go.

"Lie down," you instruct.

He does, and when he's settled on his side, you cover him with the other two blankets. You blow out all but one candle, since it's not providing much warmth anyway, and crawl into the makeshift bed beside him.

He's still shivering. So are you.

"Would you think me unladylike if I came closer?" you ask.

"P-please do," he shudders.

You scoot just a little closer, not quite touching, but very aware of the warm body next to you.

"We're going to be alright, Ralph," you whisper. "Rest."

He falls asleep before you.

Ralph Penbury has never woken up with a girl holding him before.

The candle has burned out, so he can't see her.

But he can feel her.

They're still on their sides, but their bodies are pressed together under the blankets. She's slung an arm across Ralphs ribs. Her cheek rests on his chest, her hand on his back. Would she be angry if he did the same? He eases his arm over her, careful not to touch anything inappropriate, and tests his weight on her side a little bit at a time. She doesn't wake and yell at him or tell him to stop touching her. He can't help but smile.

He should be frightened. Terrified, even. There are intruders inside his house. He doesn't know who they are, or how many there are, or their intentions, or when they plan to vacate the premises.

But how can he worry when there's a beautiful woman holding him?

After Ralph's last misadventure in romance, it had been become abundantly clear to him that no woman would ever love a creepy stalker freak. He'd given up. When he stopped begging for attention, he stopped getting it. Were it not for Victoria needing him to sign an occasional cheque or provide a laugh for her friends, he might be forgotten altogether. Hell, she did forget him. She left him behind on the way to their Christmas vacation with their mother.

The girl with her arms around him nuzzles her face into his chest, and he stops caring about Victoria.

She's taking care of him. She fed him multiple times. Brought him blankets and built him a fire. When there was danger, she brought him to safety. She's keeping him warm right now. She did all these things without being asked. This is not her job. She's not employed by the Penburys, is she? Only her father, Ralph thinks. Perhaps she's taking care of him because she thinks she has to. Or because she's a good person. Or because he's useless and pathetic and she feels sorry for him.

Or maybe… just maybe…

Ralph is cold the next time he wakes. He reaches out for her in the dark, wondering if she'd turned in her sleep, but his hand hits a cold blanket.

She left him.

Even in his half-awake state, Ralph's heart sinks.

He finds her pillow and brings it to his nose, breathing in deep. He can still smell her. He pulls the covers over his head and hugs the pillow to his chest, wishing it were her instead of the faint scent of her mixed with the ancient dusty fabric.

A nearby click makes Ralph's heart pound. He stays under the blankets, frozen in fear, trying to hold his breath so he won't be discovered. Footsteps. A scrape. A sigh.

A soft chuckle?

Ralph pulls the blankets off of his face to see that she has returned, and that the room is no longer a black void. She has a flashlight now, and she's smiling down at him.

"Good afternoon," she whispers.

Ralph sits up in the chilly room, pulling a blanket around himself.

She starts unpacking a sack and her pockets, placing tinned food in a neat row. Ralph watches curiously; how did she carry all that? Where did she get it? Did she really go out there with them?!

When she finishes unloading, she joins Ralph on the makeshift bed, sitting across from him and wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. She's wearing socks; no shoes.

"I have a plan," she whispers.

You wish you could ignore the curiosity eating at you and focus on the warm body holding you tight. But you can't stand not knowing what you're up against. What Ralph is up against. You have to go look. You ease out of his grip and venture out of the hidden room behind the bookcase.

It must be daytime; you're able to see where you're going with the help of dull grey light peeking in from around the curtains. You slip into the secret staircase behind the tapestry and pad quietly down the stairs. Two men, surprisingly well-dressed, are passed out and snoring on the sofas in the lounge. They appear to be traveling light. Perhaps they're not planning on staying long.

You tiptoe to the nearest telephone, hoping for better luck today. On your way, you feel a horrible chill just before finding the broken glass. They'd broken a window to get in. You shiver and check the phone in the hallway, which is still dead. At least there's a flashlight in the table underneath. You pocket it and proceed to a ransacked kitchen. The men had raided it and had themselves a feast. Even after they'd eaten all they could hold, there was still a considerable amount of food. What if they stayed until it was all gone?

You fill an empty flour sack with things that can be eaten without cooking. Is that enough? You add a few tins to your pockets. You and Ralph Penbury may die by these criminals' hands, or freeze to death while trying to escape, but you'll be damned if you let him starve.

You make it back to the hidden stairs without incident, climbing them quietly and re-entering the room behind the bookcase.

You turn on the flashlight so you don't step on him, and find that Ralph has curled up in a ball on the floor and pulled the blankets over his head. You let out an unintentional chuckle at how adorable he is. You hope he hasn't missed you yet. You'd like to crawl right back into bed and not have him notice you left at all.

He pulls the covers off of his head and looks up at you. You've been caught.

"Good afternoon," you whisper.

Ralph sits up, eyes still puffy with sleep, and wraps a blanket around his shoulders. You quickly and quietly unload your pockets, feeling a chill now that the adrenaline of sneaking around is wearing off. You sit across from him on your makeshift bed, covering yourself as well.

"I have a plan."

"Where did you go?" he whispers.

"Downstairs," you answer. "There are only two of them, and the way I see it, we have two options. Would you like to hear them?"

Ralph nods.

"Option One, we leave. We can wait until dark and slip out of here and try to make it to my father's cottage. It'll be cold, and it'll be hard, but we'll be safe there. And it's closer to the road, so it will probably be easier to send for the police." You give Ralph a moment to contemplate before continuing. "Option two, we stay in here for another day or two, and maybe they'll leave after they've filled their bellies. And even if they don't, if I'm not home by Christmas Eve, my father will know something is wrong and come to investigate."

What kind of choice is this? Freeze to death outside, or hide out in this secret room with a girl who makes him feel like his old self? A desperate, puppy-like persona that constantly begged to be loved? Perhaps freezing to death is the more humane choice.

"How about we eat breakfast before we decide?" she prods gently. Ralph nods.

They share a cold breakfast with a single fork. "I swear, I thought I grabbed two," she apologizes. Ralph swoons, and he hates himself for it.

"Have you reached a decision, Mr. Penbury?" she asks, after breakfast is finished.

To freeze to death, or huddle for warmth on the floor with a woman who isn't openly repulsed by him?

"It's too cold out there," he mumbles.

She smiles, and Ralph feels his stomach do a somersault. He wishes someone would punch him there.

And then she gets up and walks toward the entrance, and Ralph panics.

"Where are you going?" he asks. Please don't leave me, he thinks.

"To get us more blankets," she says, like it's obvious.

"It's not safe out there!" he warns in a hushed tone.

"They're asleep," she says gently. "I'm just going to grab a few more from the wardrobe at the end of the hall. I won't be gone long. I promise."

In Penbury Manor, the end of the hall is a long way away.

"I'm coming with you," he insists, rising to his feet.

She looks stunned for a moment, then reaches for the door.

"We must be swift and silent," she whispers. He nods in agreement.

She puts her ear to the door before opening it. And then she cracks it open and peeks outside. When she decides it's clear, she reaches back for Ralph's hand. He takes it and tries not to pass out.

She pulls Ralph out of the secret room behind the bookcase, and they cross the floor and and unlock the study door and enter the hallway in their socks. She's right; they're virtually silent without shoes. They arrive at the wardrobe quickly, and after a heart-stopping creak of its door, she begins piling blankets in Ralph's outstretched arms.

She takes an armload herself and eases the door shut, then leads the way back to the study. When they get near, Ralph hears voices. She stops, panic on her pretty face. He can see her making quick calculations, and she begins to rush toward the study door. Ralph follows as quickly as he can, ducking into the room just in time.

She drops her blankets on the floor and gets the door closed just before the voices get near enough to understand. She winces as the lock clicks, listening closely at the keyhole to see if they heard it.

"You hear somethin'?"

"Only an egghead who won't shut his mouth."

Ralph carefully places his blankets next to hers and joins her at the door, putting his ear to it to better hear the intruders.

"Would you look at the size of this place?"

"Like a royal palace."

"Are those Penny people royal?"

"Nah, just rich."

"And stupid."

Both men laugh. Ralph fumes.

"When do you think they're gonna come back?"

"The floozy said it's a summer house. I bet they don't spend a week a year here."

"You really lucked out with that party invitation, eh?"

"Damn right I did. How long do you think it'll take us to strip the place?"

"Years?"

"Years!"

"I see twenty gold things right here in the hallway! We'd be rich with just what we took from the room we came in!"

"As soon as this snow clears, we'll get Jasper to bring the truck, and we'll all be set for life."

"All thanks to those idiot twins flaunting their fortune!"

The men cackle.

"I'm not sleepin' on a couch tonight, look at the size of them bleedin' beds!"

"These must be the master bedrooms, they had me in some cupboard on the other side of the house. Cheap bastards."

Ralph's face burns. This was a guest. A person Victoria invited to spend Christmas with them. Now he's in their house, planning to rob them blind.

"This one's mine!"

"This was my idea, I get the biggest bed!"

"You don't know that this one's the biggest!"

"Neither do you, now get out and find your own!"

Her hand touches Ralph's shoulder, and he jumps. She puts a finger to her lips, telling him to shush, and gestures to the room behind the bookshelf. They pick up their blankets and tiptoe into the secret room again, latching the door and sighing in relief.

She turns on the flashlight so he can see her face and steps close. Very close. Ralph looks into her eyes, which are full of rage.

"Option Three," she whispers angrily. "We make them leave."

You've always had Penbury Manor to yourself.

You'd explore the house while your father made his weekly inspections or stopped to fix things. When you were twelve, you found a secret door in a wobbly wardrobe. It was the most wonderful discovery an adventurous girl could make, and you immediately became obsessed with finding more. The next was a hidden staircase. You shared your findings with your father, who encouraged you to record everything. Random testing soon turned to careful mapping. And so while he worked near the main house, you were allowed to explore. And explore you did.

You found the hidden room behind the bookcase when you were sixteen. It became your office; the place you stored your maps and diagrams, where no one would ever find them.

The secrets of Penbury Manor have been yours since you were a child. Shouldn't it feel odd to be sharing them with someone now?

You light the candles and spread your maps across the floor to show Ralph Penbury, the man who would one day own this house, its many secrets. How many centuries had Penburys owned this amazing property without knowing the half of its most wonderful features?

The ignorance stops with Ralph.

You show him how to get around the house undetected, explaining how to find and open and close hidden doors. He listens intently, like he's genuinely trying his best to absorb a decade of discoveries in just a few hours.

Because tonight, when those criminals rest in warm and comfortable beds that they were not invited to sleep in, you and Ralph will attack.

You will not tolerate these bastards' disrespect of this house, or its contents, or its owners. Penbury Manor is a work of art, filled with architectural wonders and centuries-old treasures and the memories of generations. Ralph Penbury, who will one day be its master, will have an appreciation of his family home that few of his ancestors have had.

Because this house is going to protect him tonight.

He's surprisingly resourceful for a rich boy who's never had to lift a finger. You go over each section of the house, starting with the wing containing the rooms the intruders are occupying, and come up with a brutal battle plan. You are going to war with these men.

They'll never know what hit them.

Ralph Penbury is in the presence of a genius.

Imagine, exploring and creating maps in your spare time instead of silly things like gossip or shopping. She's nothing like anyone he's ever met. He is fully aware that he is hanging on her every word, but her every word is bloody brilliant. Ralph feels like he's going to war, but he's not frightened, because she's on his side.

He feels alive when they're together.

They spent a long afternoon whispering and planning and taking a break to enjoy a delightful dinner out of a tin with their shared fork. Ralph has never been on such a grand adventure in his life.

"Are you ready for this?" she whispers.

"Yes," he answers.

She leans over the desk and blows out the candles with her perfect mouth. Ralph wishes he could kiss her.

"We're going to be alright," she says, touching his arm softly. "Just stick to the plan."

Ralph nods, afraid that if he opens his mouth, he'll ask her to marry him. What adventures they could have together, with her brilliant mind and his unwavering devotion! Never a dull moment, from the wedding to the day they're both laid to rest beside each other in the Penbury family plot! This could be an epic love, the kind of love people write stories about, the kind of love he's always wanted!

Shut up, Ralph.

She pushes open the door, and they step outside their hiding place to set their diabolical plan in motion.

Ralph may have needed a tiny bit of instruction on the practical side of things, but all in all, he's quite an excellent partner.

The traps are laid. Now you just need to give your uninvited guests a little nudge toward the door.

You stand in the hallway, staring at the two doors to the bedrooms the criminals have claimed. You can see the fireplaces burning in the cracks under the doors. One of them is snoring loudly.

You turn to Ralph, barely a silhouette in the shadows concealing you.

"Count to a hundred," you remind him. He nods and tiptoes toward the hidden stairs that lead to the attic.

You make your way down the hall to enter the room next to the snorer. You push the curtains open. The moon is bright, giving you plenty of light to do what you need to do.

You open the wardrobe. You feel around the back of it, finding the crack and prying it open. The wardrobes of these bedrooms are connected through a hole in the wall. If you're small enough, you can slip from one room to another. But you don't need to get through. You just need to leave a gift. The next layer of wood gets pushed open. And just like that, your hand is inside the wardrobe next door.

You reach into your pocket and extract a music box, winding it quietly. You hold the crank still until you get it in place in the bottom of the wardrobe next door. You let go, and music starts playing. You back out and pull the doors shut quickly, then seal the wardrobe.

On a girl's vanity table, a music box is a sweet and joyful tune.

But echoing in an otherwise empty wardrobe, in the middle of the night, in a house you've broken into? Terrifying, hopefully.

The snoring stops.

You rush from the room and into the hallway, ducking into a dark alcove on the far end of the hall where you can't be seen. The light of the moon seeps in through the windows above the grand staircase, illuminating the hallway outside the bedrooms housing the invaders just enough for you to watch.

But you don't hear movement. Shouldn't he be tearing apart the room by now, trying to find what's making the noise? The door opens, and a man slips into the room next door. You hear yelling, but can't make out the words. The other man, apparently angry about being woken up, throws his partner from the room. He hesitates, but goes back into his own.

And then more noises come from the floor above.

Ralph has done his job of making the ancient rocking horse rock, the tops spin, the balls bounce, and turning on the electric toy train. What good fortune, to have your guests choose rooms just underneath the attic playroom!

Both men run into the hallway, looking all around them for answers. The sound really carries in this big empty house. You enjoy watching their confusion, but wish they'd just get going already.

They start to argue again when the shock of the noise begins to wear off, but a great rumbling sound soon drowns them out.

Marbles. Ralph has dumped a box containing hundreds of marbles down the stairs, and they make an absolutely fantastic racket. They bounce off each step and the walls and each other on their way down those steep attic steps, and it sounds like a train is roaring through the house.

A hand touches your back, and you turn to see an out-of-breath Ralph. He'd slipped down a hidden staircase after releasing the marbles, arriving just in time for the show.

The criminals run for the grand staircase.

Unfortunately for them, you and Ralph have used thread to install a tripwire at the top of it.

The trespassers go airborne when they trip, one of them actually going tail over teakettle in mid-air, then bounce down the stairs, thudding and grunting the whole way.

You and Ralph approach the stairs when it goes quiet, seeing that one of the men has landed on top of his partner in a heap at the bottom. Neither of them move for a moment.

Are they dead? It hadn't been your intention, but that would really simplify things.

They part with a groan. You reach for Ralph's sleeve and tug him backward, into the shadows.

There's grumbling from below, and grunting, and a pained gasp. You get brave and step closer to peek, seeing them both slowly limp toward the front door. The one in better shape goes back to the lounge they stayed in on their first day to fetch their bags full of stolen goods. Can't leave empty-handed, of course.

The pair hobbles out of the doors and toward the front steps.

Which you and Ralph doused with water, which has now turned to ice.

That was his idea.

You hear a scream, and scurry to a window.

"Excellent plan, Mr. Penbury," you admire, watching the two thieves try to separate their tangle of arms and legs at the bottom of the stairs.

"Couldn't have done it without you, darling," he says proudly.

You turn to him in the light of the moon and smile. He really is quite handsome. He meets your eye, but you turn back to the window before you get carried away. The thieves are struggling for each step in that deep snow. You watch them become smaller and smaller.

"Do you think they'll freeze to death?" he asks.

"At least they won't go hungry," you smirk. Ralph snickers.

You'd swapped their sacks full of stolen treasures with tinned food.

"What do we do now?" Ralph wonders.

"Hm…" you hum. "A toast to a job well done?"

"I've got just the thing," Ralph smiles. "If you'll come with me?"

You grab a flashlight and follow him down to the wine cellar, where he selects a bottle. You know nothing of wine, except for the dandelion wine that your father makes once a year. You don't care for it.

Ralph pours two glasses when you return to the kitchen, and you raise them into the air.

"To us?" Ralph asks.

"And a job well done," you smile.

This stuff's not so bad.

Ralph was feeling warm and fuzzy and far too relaxed by the time the second bottle of wine was opened. They'd moved from the kitchen to the reading room, and were happily lazing on the plush couch closest to the fire. It was daylight outside, but their sleep schedules were somewhat off-kilter. He didn't mind.

"What would you be doing right now if you were in Paris?" she asks.

"Wishing I'd stayed in London," he grins, taking a drink.

"And if you'd stayed in London?"

"Wishing I'd gone to Paris."

They make eye contact over their glasses and dissolve into a fit of giggles.

"There's just no making you happy, is there?" she teases.

Ralph stops laughing.

"I am happy," he realizes. "I can't remember the last time I was this happy."

"That's the wine talking," she says, taking another sip.

"No," he argues, feeling shockingly sober. "It's not the wine."

"No electricity, no telephone, a home invasion," she smiles. "What's not to love?"

Love. The word, coming from her perfect mouth, knocks the breath from his lungs.

"Have you ever been in love?" he breathes.

"Have you?" she asks without answering.

"I used to fall in love five times a day," he whispers, feeling hollow inside.

"What happened?"

"Lauren." He hasn't spoken her name since he left her that stupid letter and tried to join the French Foreign Legion. He didn't burst into flames or tears. Her name can't hurt him anymore. "Lauren happened."

"What did she do to you?" she asks sympathetically.

"She opened my eyes."

And closed his heart.

Has it been opened again?

"I fell in love with her the moment I laid eyes on her," he finds himself saying. He's never talked about Lauren with anyone. Not even Victoria. "I would have done anything for her. I would have given her everything she wanted. I would have gone to the ends of the earth to make her love me…"

Get fucked, creepy stalker freak.

"She did not reciprocate."

Is that Ralph's pain reflecting in her eyes, or does she look that sad for him?

"In fact, she openly despised me."

"She was a fool," she whispers.

"It was my fault," Ralph shakes his head. "I was so desperate to be loved, I smothered her. I was unbearable. Any girl would have done the same." His face burns at the memory of how annoying he'd been. How he'd followed Lauren around like a puppy and driven her away by being so pathetic and desperate and disgusting. Get fucked, creepy stalker freak. "Faster, even. I was a stupid, naïve little boy. I know better now."

"Everyone wants to be loved, Ralph," she says softly.

"No one wants to be loved like that," he argues.

"Is that a fact?"

Ralph looks up.

She smiles slyly and empties her glass, leaning forward to put it on the table with a clink. Ralph does the same, although he's not sure why.

He wants desperately to lean in and kiss her, but he doesn't dare.

Or does he?

"You know what we should do?" she asks.

Kiss until they run out of breath? Keep warm with a loving embrace? Grab another bottle of wine and disappear into the bedroom for the rest of the week?

"What's that?" Ralph asks, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers.

"Decorate."

"Pardon?"

"We should re-decorate," she smiles. "There's still a Penbury at Penbury Manor for Christmas, and all the decorations have been put away. It's a disgrace."

Ralph laughs. And then he realizes that he's never decorated for Christmas before. He'd just wake up one morning and find that his home had been transformed into a winter wonderland. The idea of doing it himself, especially with her help, is exciting.

"Let's do it," he grins.

They leave their warm fire behind to climb the grand staircase and the steep steps to the storage room in the attic and rifle through the boxes that the staff had packed up just a few days before.

"These are beautiful," she notes, stopping to admire a bauble with a Victorian scene painted on it. The real beauty is the way she handles everything so carefully. Unremarkable decorations he's walked past a hundred times seem so precious in her hands.

"We'll need a tree," he says.

She puts the ornament down and smiles at him.

"The trees that were taken out are in a pile behind the shed. Perhaps we can brave the snow and rescue one."

"Or cut our own," he says dreamily.

She chuckles.

"You, Ralph Penbury, are going to venture into the forest and chop down your own Christmas tree?" she asks with amusement.

"Why not?" he challenges. "Do you think I can't?"

"I said nothing of the sort," she smiles, standing. "Let's take these downstairs and bundle up. We've got a tree to acquire, Mr. Penbury."

Ralph picks up a box and follows her downstairs with a grin.

They deposit their decorations and find coats. When they're properly bundled, they head out the back door and to the shed for an axe. There's a mountain beside it; the discarded trees, under a heavy blanket of snow.

"Are you sure you don't want to take one of these instead?" she asks. "The ones in the middle are probably dry. All we have to do is get one out and take it inside. We'll be back in front of the fire in no time."

Ralph looks from the pile of trees to the forest in the distance. It's a long way. It's a lot of snow. It would take up a lot of time that he'd rather spend sitting in front of the fire with her. As if to steer him in the right direction, the wind picks up and makes his face sting.

"Alright, fine, you win," he sighs.

She laughs and kisses his cheek.

Suddenly, the wind doesn't bother him so much anymore.

You're so glad you talked Ralph into rescuing one of the old Christmas trees instead of walking all the way through that deep snow to the forest and cutting another one down.

You struggled to liberate a dry one from the middle of the pile, but it was a nice one. Barely damaged in the extraction. You carried it back to the main house together, laughing all the way, and decided to put it in the reading room beside the library.

Ralph seemed clueless when it came to decorating, but once you got the tree on a stand, he picked it up quickly. You hung the ornaments, popped corn and taught him how to string it with a needle, and decorated the mantelpiece.

When the boxes were empty and the room was festive, you collapsed on the big comfortable couch together with two cups of hot tea. You sat quietly and sipped for a while, enjoying the company and the decorations.

Dinner was made over an open fire and eaten in front of it. Another bottle of wine was opened. There were tidings of comfort and joy. This would likely go down in history as the best Christmas you'd ever experienced.

The lack of sleep (or the amount of wine you've consumed today) is starting to catch up with you, but you're not ready to turn in yet. You're not ready for this wonderful day to end.

And then you get a brilliant idea.

"Should we get comfortable down here, or go upstairs to bed?" you ask.

"Bed, I suppose," Ralph yawns.

You tidy your mess and head upstairs. He begins to drag his feet when you reach the second floor, like he isn't really ready to turn in. You enter his bedroom and light his fire, taking your time and making sure it's just right before turning to him.

"What if they come back?" you wonder.

"The burglars?" Ralph asks. You nod.

"What if the snow is too deep or it's too cold and they double back and find us?"

It's a genuine concern that you probably should have considered earlier, but you were busy drinking and decorating and having fun.

"Perhaps we should stay together, so we can protect each other?" he suggests, having fallen into your trap perfectly.

"We can barricade the door," you suggest.

"We'll be safer that way," Ralph agrees.

He looks as happy as you feel.

Ralph Penbury has never been so happy in his life.

He can't believe that it was only a few days ago that his sister humiliated him in front of all their guests and left him behind.

Now, he's lying in a soft bed in front of a crackling fire with a person he can't seem to take his eyes off of.

What a magnificent turn of events.

They'd had a grand adventure. They'd protected each other, and battled villains, and downed a few bottles of wine, and decided that maybe they should stay together tonight, just in case the intruders come back. They'd lit a fire, moved a heavy dresser in front of the bedroom door, and crawled under the covers. Together.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," he mumbles, fighting to keep his eyes open.

"So do I."

Ralph's heart stops.

"I've had the time of my life with you these last few days, Mr. Penbury," she smiles sadly. "I don't know what I'll do with myself when you're gone."

The thought of going back to London and leaving her behind had never crossed his mind. In fact, he hadn't thought about what might happen after this snow melts at all. Ralph hasn't worried about what Victoria might think, or his mother, or her father. Ever since he crashed into her on the attic stairs, he's been completely unbothered by anything that exists outside of this house.

"Do you want to know why I was here when you found me?" she whispers.

Ralph nods, suddenly much more awake.

"I wanted some time alone before seeing my family on Christmas," she explains. "Just a few days to myself, to prepare for the constant barrage of questions about why I'm still unmarried and childless. That's all Christmas is for me anymore. A chance for my relatives to remind me that I'm a disappointment."

Ralph reaches out and wipes a tear from her cheek, letting his hand linger on her smooth skin.

She lets him.

It pains him to see her upset. Physically pains him. He'd do anything to see her smile again.

"What do you want for Christmas?" he asks.

He waits on bated breath while she thinks. He'll buy her anything her heart desires. Take her anywhere she wants to go. Write her a cheque. Anything at all to stop those tears. The corner of her mouth twitches into the tiniest of smiles. Another tear falls. Please darling, Ralph begs on the inside, tell me how to help you.

"All I want for Christmas is a few more days with you," she whispers.

Tears suddenly sting at Ralph's eyes, too.

And then his lips meet hers.

"Ralph," you whisper.

He moans and nuzzles his face into his pillow.

"Ralph," you try again, tracing his ear with your finger.

He shudders and smiles. He's awake, he's just ignoring you. Two can play this game. You lean over and leave a trail of kisses up his jawline.

"I want to show you something," you whisper in his ear.

This gets him to crack an eye open. You grin and stand, pulling the covers off of his bare body and exposing him to the cool morning air. He shrieks and curls into a ball. He's so adorable, you could burst.

"Come on," you urge, holding out a blanket you intend to wrap him in.

Ralph pouts, whines, and then drags himself out of bed trying (and failing) to conceal his smile. You wrap the long, fluffy blanket around his shoulders. He blushes. You put an arm around him and lead him to the window. He shuffles in step with you, his blanket trailing on the floor behind him.

You pull the curtain aside.

"It's snowing again!" Ralph exclaims.

"Looks like I got my Christmas wish," you smile, leaning your head on his blanketed shoulder.

There will be no traveling in this. No cold vehicles, no condescending relatives, no overcooked pudding. It's just the two of you, spending Christmas alone together in the most amazing home ever built. You couldn't have asked for more.

"What about my Christmas wish?" Ralph asks.

You'd gotten so wrapped up in exploring each other, you'd never asked him what he wanted. You lift your head and look at him guiltily.

"What do you want for Christmas, Ralph?" you breathe, absolutely ashamed of yourself for not asking sooner.

Ralph's face splits into a grin.

"You."

Before you can react, Ralph opens his arms and pulls you to him, wrapping you both in the blanket. You laugh, letting your arms circle him to get even closer.

"Looks like you got your Christmas wish, too," you smile, looking up into those beautiful brown eyes.

"Do you think…" he begins, almost fearfully. "Do you think you could learn to love me?"

Ralph Penbury has no business making your heart flutter like this.

"I think I already do," you whisper.

Ralph's eyes fill with tears. His mouth crashes to yours.

Maybe by the New Year, you'll have mastered kissing without crying.

[lostintransist]

You’re writing is amazing you’re amazing and just all the love my goodness I can’t get enough 💕

Oh my goodness! Thank you! I know sometimes (I feel at least about myself) that it reads as just a casual thanks! as if you were passing on the street but I need you to know that this is like caught me in the side of the neck with feels and I will gush about you to my spouse and my soul mate (I am supremely lucky they aren't the same person).

Now I don't know if you are a fan of König (or reading Chiseled Heart) but this has been rattling around my brain like those cans people use to tie to the bumpers of cars for people who got married so I want to share becase we are a long way from it showing up in the fic.

*I like to give people words when they stop by. I treat it the same way sevice people come to my house to fix things. "You want a snack? I got snacks."

I've only had one guy take a snack.

I keep offering.

König freezes, hand on the doorknob, as your voice drifts in from the porch’s open window.

“König? I really like him.”

Your words are full of soft meaning that slaps at him; beating against his skin like the hands of the children who would laugh and pinch him. Even when he was small he had been too big.

“What about him though?” It’s your friend, Tori, “We haven’t seen his face and yes he is built but he doesn’t say much.”

“He seems to treat you well. I guess what we are saying is that we are concerned. He is nothing like your usual type and I want to be sure this isn’t a rebound.” That is Amara, Tori’s girlfriend.

His hand is starting to cramp around the round knob. He relaxes his hold; nothing in life was built with him in mind. König knows he should move, leave, make his presence known, something. The deepest parts of him, those bits hidden that would flourish if only a spare drop of love could find its way down, made him stay silent and still. No one else had been in the house when he came in to use the restroom. The openness of the floorplan would alert him to anyone entering the front door. And so, he stayed.

An annoyed huff leaves your mouth as you must shift in your chair, cloth shifting against wood. He can imagine you, arms folded tight as you force your shoulders down.

“He is kind, and not only to me. Mara, I have seen him pay for a stranger’s tank of gas when we stopped once. I hopped out to use the bathroom. There was a line so I happened to glance outside and see him getting hugged by a sobbing man with his hand still pressing something to the machine. The two receipts for gas confirmed what happened. He buys gift cards every time he goes to the grocery store and often turns around and hands them to moms in line behind him.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath before continuing.

“My usual type is pretty. But pretty men only bring pain. König isn’t pretty.”

König had been stabbed several times, your words punched him with the same force. He shifted his weight to move away, deepest soul shriveling further at the imaginings of your harsh words.

“Have you ever had someone become beautiful before your eyes?”

Your friends must nod or respond in some way he can’t see because you go on.

“He is striking. König’s face is my favorite thing to look at because every time I look he has become more beautiful to me. There is a scar here,” you must be pointing somewhere on your face. Lord knows how many scars he has mapping the landscape of his. It is one of the reasons that he wears a mask even now. “That whites out when he smiles big.”

Something unfurls in his chest, a desert plant tasting rain.

Tori again, “But this isn’t a rebound?”

“I don’t see how it can be? He doesn’t know I like him this much. Honestly, I would be happy being his friend. If he got a girlfriend I would sob myself to sleep for a few weeks as I make friends with her,” you sniff and clear your throat.

“Ah, hun,” Amara croons at you, “You’ve got it bad for him.”

The watery laugh you let out trails König as he slips away to the front door and away from the private conversation.

“God, I’ve got it so bad for him.” The tears in your voice water his broken parts.

Divider

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

@thehoneybeet tagged me to say what my various drarries do to celebrate Christmas/the holidays (tysm I rlly wanted to be tagged 🥹). Read their version here.

Queen of the Weeds - Harry loves to cook and bake and he’s trying to teach Draco to cook, so he probably comes up with some kind of cooking challenge where they have to make something different every day in December. Draco hears a snippet of the Nutcracker over the tannoy in some shop or other, and he is immediately Enchanted. Harry finds a local performance of the ballet to take him to and gives him a recording of the music for Christmas. And obviously they’re furiously recording mixtapes.

If the Fates Allow - I see them hosting! Harry sews them both a new outfit for the occasion, and they invite everyone they can think of. It’s So Loud even before Teddy starts pulling crackers with Victoire. Everybody gets tipsy and they sing wizarding carols together ans half the guests stay over because they’re having such a good time that they stay too late to travel home that night.

A Forgivable Fascination - Way too busy with their research (inventing new forms of magic and doing weird sex about it) to host. They go to Ron and Hermione’s Christmas party and 🫣 they leave early. They have a codeword between them that means they’re leaving to bone, and it’s transparently obvious to all their friends that they’re doing so.

Imperio - They go on like a skiing vacation and have boozy hot chocolate and noisy sex in some chalet.

The Tune Without the Words - If they haven’t gotten back together yet, Harry keeps startling and changing into a dove when Draco accidentally on purpose keeps coming to the same Christmas parties as him.

A Bottomless Well - They’re like stupid ridiculous rich because of Draco’s invention, so they give annoyingly extravagant presents to their friends’ kids AND they get the kids all overexcited by romping with them too hard.

A Gift of True Esteem - Since they’re both Hogwarts professors, they have 2 weeks off, so for the first week, they usually go stay at the Palace of Beauxbatons and go to Madame Maxime’s Christmas party and get drunk with Hagrid and dance like fools. For the second week, they hole up back at Hogwarts for the coziest activities they can think of and probably invite Ash Greengrass to visit (and he’s soooooo smug about them getting married too). Harry also really likes ghost stories for Christmas, so he combs the library for them, and they take turns reading them aloud for each other. At some point, they visit Ron and Hermione, because Harry is doing his best not to be a stranger. They give lavish gifts to Rosie, Hugo, and young Miss Fredericka Faline Weasley.

The Joy of Bleeding - Draco feels Some Type of Way about the holidays after losing his mom. They go to the Burrow and they spend time with Andromeda and Teddy. It’s hard for them, both being orphans. They keep things low key and try to be gentle with themselves and each other.

Homing - Draco’s family doesn’t speak to him anymore, so Harry likes to do the traditions Draco misses from his childhood. They go ice skating on Christmas morning. They sing the songs Draco remembers from his childhood. Harry bravely attempts peacock pie one year. They do have a new tradition of spending Christmas Eve at Fetê.

Names For a House - They like to make a big fuss over Theodore when he comes home from Hogwarts. They plan lots of activities to do together, and they try to make sure that Theo sees lots of Victoire, since she’s at Beauxbatons and they don’t get to spend much time together during the school year. Sometimes the full moon is close to Christmas, and Draco and Theo have to take it easy. Usually when that happens, everyone gets into the same bed (including Shadowfax) and they watch movies together all day. Often a Star Wars marathon bc they all love the original trilogy.

Propinquity - They always have a big party at the Grotto! Pansy sort of took over the planning while they were in Paris, so they barely even have to lift a finger anymore. Their house is simply filled with people. All they have to do is hide the honeymoon box and make sure nobody else makes the same mistake Harry made. Sometimes Draco will play the piano (mostly Britney Spears tbh).

Moonrise - After they leave Grimmauld Place, they don’t host so much because the cottage is too small for any group much larger than the classic gang. But they’ll get everyone to come down to the Three Broomsticks, and there’s always some lovely live entertainment around the holidays. Draco exchanges Christmas cards with his friends from the Citizens Committee for the Ethical Treatment of Lycanthropes. They usually wind up at the Burrow for the day of. Harry helps Molly cook the meal, and Draco sneaks off the get high with Ginny and Fleur. Toad gets underfoot and helpfully licks up any scraps that fall on the floor. If it’s not too cold for the little ones, they go caroling in the village.

ahhhh that was fun! Genuinely do not remember who has already gone and who hasn’t. I’ll tag @drarry (it’ll be Yule tho, right?) and @saintgarbanzo and @skeptiquewrites and @moonmanatee and whoever else wants to play!!

[keepmovinjunior]

i just wanted to talk about something (under a read more bc it is out of character)

everyone is here for their own reasons, and that's cool. i totally get that. i'm not about to tell anyone how to spend their time or operate on their own blog.

i, personally, am here for fun and that's it. i'm here to write. i'm here to ramble about fictional characters and have silly little interactions on the dash / expand on my character's relationship with your character's. my real life has its own stressors (i have a great life but obviously not everything is peachy keen and being someone who is politically informed and inclined, i want to have a safe space in which i am not interacting with that type of content that i can retreat to for my own relaxation). at the end of the day this is, as i said, playing tumblr barbies for me (and most likely for most people). it's a game and it's not that serious. in fact, it's like. not serious at all.

some people are here for community and friendships and that's totally fine. i'm not against making friends, either, and i do really like and appreciate a lot of the people i interact with often and on a daily basis, even if i don't know most of you well at all. we engage in the same hobby and we're all aliases behind a screen but i really do enjoy talking to many of you. however, at the end of the day, if i don't make friends here, that's fine, too. i'm just chilling!

having said that, i've been around for a long time and have, of course, made friendships, had relationships, gone in and out of certain blogs, etc. and this is not a hobby i think i will ever outgrow (probably will just have less time for during certain periods of my life - and most people probably will experience that). i've had falling outs, i've had moments of being uncomfortable with certain people, i have had headcanons and sometimes even some of my own graphics lifted from my blog by others of the same muse, i've even had whole ass relationships with other writers in which i was very hurt. but here's the damn thing, ok: i never, ever, not even once, had a public DNI that other people had to adhere to to write with me, tried to call someone out or incite community wide drama by dragging other unrelated people into what happened over my own personal experiences, or tried to control anyone else over it. i always understood that not everyone is going to feel the same way, or have the same experience, with another person. i understood that dealing with my feelings about the situation was on me, and it was in my own best interest to learn how to move past or live with what happened. if i felt uncomfortable with seeing that other person around, it was my own responsibility to handle my own feelings as i saw fit, and no one else needed to do that for me. this is just good philosophy toward life in general, but, as it applies to tumblr: if i couldn't handle seeing someone on this platform and co-existing in this space, i would leave, sign out, or just. literally do anything else. i knew that my own friends and my own fun is what i should focus on.

there is a feature on tumblr called filtering. you can blacklist tags and users. you can filter things that make you uncomfortable if you want to stay but don't want to see those things. you can unfollow. you can block. you can literally do anything else, and you don't owe explanations for that. or, if you can't handle it even with those things done, you can sign out and leave and invest your time in something healthier and more relaxing. this is a hobby.

by all means, have your DNIs, make your call outs (leave me out of those, though, because i guarantee you that unless this person is a sexual predator, groomer, or scam artist, i am not going to care, especially if i have no relationship with anyone else involved in said drama) and will think you're ridiculous for it. just know that the moment you start to try to control how other people operate, you will lose out on a lot of really good experiences and just make this a more miserable place for you to be.

the best healing is exposure and love and support. it's not focusing on what other people do or seeking out spaces in which you will be triggered because you enjoy being a victim.

take it from me, a 30 year old queer woman who has gone through my fair share of loss in life: it's not that serious. it's really not.

[just-some-friendly-fun]

✦ ꜱᴏɴɢʙɪʀᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇꜱ

: ̗̀➛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1 :ᴀ ɢʟɪɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴜɴʟɪɢʜᴛ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋꜱ

current, next chapt

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: News often travels fast within the energon mines between every miner. It's become a personal community of sorts. So when news catches wind of a new figure in the mines, D-16 ends up being the last to find out about this matter. And much to his surprise, D-16 comes face to face with the new bot!

■ ᴛᴀɢꜱ/ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Cursing, brief mentions of death, pre-exile/pre-canon

✎ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4,972

ׂ╰┈➤ A/N (if needed): Helloo, so with this there might be some inaccuracies? Maybe? It's more of just language-wise and term-usage. I think I might js bounce back and forth with using cybertronian and just standard English-terms for things. I don't want my readers to be bouncing back and forth on the transformers dictionary constantly as much as I did 😭. ALSO, you do NOT understand how many times I had to watch the movie to check how accurate I was on their MINING??? Anyways, enjoy <33

▶︎ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ʟᴏᴠᴇ - ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀᴄᴄᴀʙᴇᴇꜱ

D-16 considered himself to be one of the more well-informed bots down in the lower sectors when it came to information.

Sometimes.

That is, if you consider the conveniency of how close he accidentally ends up being to one of his fellow peer or two when they've begun to spun up a little rumor-- that just happens to catch his interest, even if a little.

Whether it'd be mentions of a collapsed tunnel, the loss of another miner to said-collapsed tunnels, someone getting promoted--fired--hired, anything really. He'll have heard it, just as much as anybody else had in the operations below ground.

Information was as valuable as it was freely given sometimes, unconditionally--to the ones who humbled themselves as the "non-nosy" type and those who drank every word to the slightest sliver of the news temporarily unheard.

Someone would say something and suddenly, everybody down in every sector would know about that--something.

There wasn't really much to blame though with how rapid news spread about down in the mining operations.

None of the miners really went up to the upper levels, much less to be around in Iacon City, if at all--save face for a few, or if special arrangements and events were being taken place that allowed for the low-caste bots and miners to attend too.

But generally, heading up to the upper sectors was... Almost a privilege in a way. Visits up to the top, were rare and few. Some of the miners he'd known for most of his life cycle had only been outside of the mines solely for work-related measures, and even then it was brief--save space for Orion who'd disappear occasionally to chase after something that'd reprieve his boredom.

Naturally, the question on whether--"is this necessary and/or contributing to work?"--was constantly hardwired into their processor to think on every waking act. And if it wasn't?--Whatever action or initiative was going on should be promptly halted, work in the mines must always come first, that was simply just protocol. (Even if unsavory and neglecting of their own personal wishes and wants to see the floors above, ones devoid of the same faces of work peers, rocks, lifeless machines churning away at the belts, and ore-filled carts.)

So to hear of information often revolving around the mining operations was a rather common practice rather than to hear about anything up on the above ground level, lest it came in the form of a live transmission from Sentinel Prime himself.

And besides, whatever happens in the mines usually stayed down in the mines only, for better or for worse.

Not that anybody from the above ground level cared to pay much of a mind what happens down below, so long as every bot got their energon. They don't bother to ask how the process is done, it's only when do they get it and whether they can at all.

D-16 grunted, his tool struck against the stone, and sparks decorated the space that surrounded. His drill began to pummel its way through the stone in search of ore. The chisel of his drill ate away at the rubble, carving into it and demanding for its very own passage around the designated space until all that came loose in the end was am energon ore, raw and yet to be refined. The jackhammer he bore slowly came to a halt, a soft hiss escaping with his sigh of relief. it was slowly resorting to an idle position once his digits came free from the trigger. He reached forth to collect the bounty, nudging aside loose pebbles and dust to pluck up the cube and examine it.

It was fairly sized, small if anything but it would do. Anything to count for his fair share of the workload... And most of Orion's, as D-16 swept his helm left and right and even spun around to search for the bot but when his eyes scanned no sight of the familiar red and blue mech (even under the darkness of the cave). D-16's optics dimmed in realization that his mining buddy had fled off elsewhere for the time being to avoid the work shift for now, making a mental countdown on how long it'd take before he'd get his skid-plate hauled back into line. It'd been the fourth sudden take-off this month alone.

D-16 started to walk back and lazily chucked his ore in with the rest within the cart, an audible clatter resounded before the pile welcomed the new piece. The mech circled on back to where he first found the ore, burrowing through more of the space in hopes that one small pebble could lead to a bigger vein within.

...

Hours had gone by since his grueling search and so far, D-16 had only managed to find two underwhelming veins that lead to a moderate sized deposit. It was easily cleared out and thrown to the rest within the pile, that was now being pushed right back up to the entrance of the opened channel. He grunted and took to the rear position, having denied the initial assistance from most of the other miners to haul the load back to the entry point for refining.

Despite the heavy weight of the energon, there was also the weight of pride that lingered in his chassis somewhere. In his processor, he knew well that the heavier the cart, the more efficient and productive he'd been today! Which... Sparked some form of happiness in his endeavors, a trickling taste of enthusiasm for the day's accomplishment that would lead him to getting promoted, hopefully... One day, but it was a thought, nonetheless.

D-16 would tell himself the same thing day in and day out, punch in, get as much work done, refuel, and then hit recharge, wake up, repeat, and eventually it'll have been all worth it for something. Whether it was a shiny pin and a promotion to the upper levels, or mere praise from his supervisors (which came very rare to nobody's surprise). It gave him something to work hard for--motivation--an incentive, and with Sentinel Prime's constant emphasis in the importance of their work as miners, it gave him a sliver of motivation. (And perhaps it left D-16 exploring on the dream that maybe one day, he'd be able to hear Sentinel Prime say it himself to D-16 on how proud they were, personally, for his work. His efforts alone. It was a far-fetched idea, but an idea he entertained--embarrassingly than once but he'd never let that secret touch daylight).

It was a thankless job, but through the thick of it, D-16 had to persist. For Iacon, he thought, and if not, for Cybertron.

Soon enough, the cart managed to reach the open entry point and he raised his helm once the cart was taken off of his servos to be guided onto the conveyer belt, a quick "thank you" exchanged here and there. Before he turned around, ready to dive back into the channels until the sounds of a virtual beeping came overhead, and an intermission crackled from the speakers, "All mining units, cease operations. You've got an hour of intermission, refuel, recharge, and then return to work," a gruff voice resounded, before a crackle emitted as the intermission promptly ended with no further regard.

A symphony of relieved sighs could be heard once the announcement ended, and then, a steady line of miners began to pour from the open maw of the tunnels, flying on and marching out in rows. Steady and idle chatter began whilst D-16's shoulders drooped, he'd hoped to had gotten in one more round back in the tunnels but, a break was a break and who was he to deny to that?

After all, with the audible creak that came from his stiff joints and the tension in his wires. D-16 thought it would do him some good to begin some self-maintenance, and refueling sounded quite appealing at the moment.

His yellow optics searched for Orion Pax amidst the traveling sea of helms and workers departing as he slowly merged into one of the lanes, loosely calling out in hopes that the mech had returned from his endeavors, "Orion! Orion where are you??"

No response, yet.

Determined, D-16 continued to pass through the walls and lines of moving bodies, "S'cuse me... Pardon me... I'm so sorry-" Left, right, behind, was where he whipped his helm nearly spinning it while, gently pushing his way through to find his companion, monitoring through the waves that slowly diminished and began to sift itself out as workers broke off to go to their recharging stations, refueling hubs, or anywhere else really. He couldn't care less at the moment, more eager to find Orion Pax at the moment, so long as he hadn't already ran off to indulge in another one of his personal escapades.

He carefully navigated his way through the crowd, keeping his audial receptors and optics peeled for just one particular red and blue bot, picking up most of the conversations here and there:

"... Hey did you hear? There's a new bot down in the mines..."

"... Really? Is it a new miner?... Or just some lame old boss bot like Darkwing?..."

"... Shhh, careful. He might j'st be right behind ya..."

"... Heard she's not from Iacon..."

"... I don't even think she's meant to be down here..."

"... Who'd want to come down to a place like this? Must'a gotten some sort of malfunction up in their processor to-"

Suddenly, something clapped onto his shoulder-plates and pulled him back abruptly, the audible clang nearly ringing into his audial receptors, startling D-16 from his focus as he appeared to have gotten himself too focused on the passing current of whispers, reeling back to reality. The catch of rumors stowed away into the back of his processor. D-16 staggered, then twisted around, meeting to a set of familiar blue optics and a brightened grin. D-16 sighed and shook his helm, "Orion..." He began, almost with a breathless sigh from the near spark-attack, a slight chide in his tone far too exhausted to stand alone in his voice, but relief filled his tired gaze.

"Dee! Hey! I've been looking everywhere for you!" Orion Pax exclaimed, throwing an arm over his shoulder-plating and nudging him closer.

"Looking for me? Pff--I've been looking everywhere for you," D-16 insists after rolling his optics, gently pushing him back, "where the hell were you?"

"Ohh, wait until I tell you this!--" He said, holding D-16 by the pauldrons, suddenly guiding him elsewhere once Orion's blue optics spotted something behind D-16. And before the mech himself could catch a glimpse on what his close friend had seen. He was hurried off in another direction towards the refueling hubs, merging with the bundle of bots nearby.

Most of the miners had been used to Orion's antics, D-16 being the most well aware of them all, and like many would suggest.

Trouble always happens to find Orion more than he found it, and now? One could only guess that the trouble was currently sweeping the working grounds for Orion at the moment, leaving D-16 to place an arm around the back of Orion's neck to play his role of getaway, silently ushering him to move faster.

"C'mon! I wanna get some energon first, and then, I'll tell you all about it, It was crazy!" Orion spoke, lowering his voice as if it'd make them any less suspicious.

"Crazy, huh? No less than usual?" D-16 shook his helm and quietly laughed, looking over to the bot, "Got into some trouble again?"

"Ooh!... You bet, and big time," He said.

"I just hope I don't have to bust my skid-plate to pull you out of it this time..." D-16 noted, a slight drag to his tone, mentally counting just how many times he'd already done just that already--within a week or less so far. Orion Pax chuckled on and guided his mining buddy off down the path, offering little to no reassurance that this wouldn't happen again, but for now?

D-16 indulged to it, looking back every now and then to make sure they hadn't been tailed by any angry-looking bots.

...

The intermission came to a close, and eventually each bot was sent back into the mines. So with that, D-16 took to his drill once again and went down with the rest of the mining crew into the newly opened channels. The very minerals that made up the caves parted far them, presenting open pockets of ore that peaked out from the earth between, to which they went at within the first sight of it with starved drills and cutting edges. Buzzing and minerals chipping away filled the atmosphere around, with the occasional shouts and requests here and there for assistance. The hours dragged on, rolling by within the blink of an eye. Every passing minute was punctuated by the clatter of ore filling the cart until the metal wailed along the journey back up to the exiting point again, only for another to replace the cart soon enough.

D-16 was off on his own occupied chase, drilling into the minerals with desperation, a droplet of coolant ran down the side of his face. He had spotted a trace of a vibrant blue glow pulsating between the crevices and struck down with determination, breaking away the minerals as it forced through the stone, gutting and burrowing deep until he had reached the fruits of his labor, a large chunk of energon became exposed to the open air. It was larger than his last initial findings, nearly around half his frame, "This should do..." He sighed, leaning back for a moment to wipe the condensation off of his forehead, before chipping away at the massive chunk down to sizable halves before leaning his drill to the side to haul it back in his arms. He grunted, lowering for a moment before tossing the chunk over the wall of the cart and then repeated with the other. His success coming off in the sound of harsh crash of chunks and rocks, watching the pieces roll to the edge with a dull thud before it settled.

He dusted his servos off and nearly resumed back to work, only pausing as he collected his drill off from the stone wall to look over to the space beside him, "Hm?"

He paused in his work and glanced over, noticing to a bot who'd been struggling for quite some time, using to the same tools he did but with... Less efficiency, and expertise.

He wasn't sure if they had realized it, but they were holding their drill... Upside down, somehow managing regardless to maintain in using it and scoring a few measly pebbles and a few pieces capable of fitting into a servo, out of shear luck or spite somewhere. He was impressed by the odd sight in a way, nearly speechless.

He continued to stare on for a moment longer, merely marveling at how this bot was even managing as he watched them. They stood in the dark, devoid of using their headlamp, but with gritted teeth and determined optics that pierced the dim lighting around. She persisted.

...

The femme pulled back and for a moment, took to a deep sigh, her digits nearly loosening around the trigger from the coolant build-up, making her palms all slick and gross much to her internal protests and grimaces. She loosened her hold on the item and it settled--or rather slipped onto the ground beside her with a gentle "clunk!" and her shoulders drooped, looking to the fruits of her labor.

She nudged a few crumbled bits of rocks with her digits, trying to check whether any was "good enough" but, the femme hadn't really spent enough time before down below, looking at unprocessed energon ore to know a thing or two on what counted as "good" or "bad", nor the worth.

After a minute or two of fishing around between her remains, all she could find was supposedly one light shard of energon ore and a hundred littler... pieces... pebbles? She shortly estimated their worth to be rather appealing enough to skip across an oil stream at best, watching the pieces fall between the gaps of her fingers.

"... Slag," She whispered, so maybe she had bitten off more than she could chew.

Regardless, she threw her pieces up into the cart above, landing one and losing a couple from a few misses (to which she proceeded to chase and pick up again in mild embarrassment) before spending her time pinpointing accuracies on the arch of her throws. Once done, she steadily returned to her work, wiping the coolant off her palms against her skirt-plate, collecting dust and dirt that clung stubbornly. She huffed at the sight but found it to be useful at least, now that her hands were no longer leaving her tools to slip free from her fingers even if it was a little gross...

Okay, maybe not just a little--very, very dirty and gross.

The femme took to the drill and hoisted it up, accidentally pulling down the trigger for a second and scaring herself halfway to death once it struck against the rock and rattled loudly, leaving her to squeak in surprise. She remained frozen and embarrassed herself once again, internally smacking herself in the processor, before fixing her grip on the weapon and then hurriedly looked to her sides in fretting hopes that nobody had noticed her slip-up.

Once safe and certain, she was about to return to the task, sucking in a breath until, a hesitant hand came into her line of sight, followed by a stream of light.

She paused, looking over to follow the white lighting emitted before meeting to the source, standing in silent shock once she met gazes with a pair of bright, yellow--almost orange optics.

The yellow lenses stared back at her and for a moment, the hue deepened and she found herself lost in watching the rings of their optical lense spin slowly--her own silently responding in turn to take in the light.

And for a moment, all she could think of was how pretty they looked, under the dim lighting and soft, contrasting, blue, darkness that surrounded. She could never quite recall the last time when she'd seen a bot outside of her own family, carry optics such as these.

She lingered in her awe, holding her gaze and softly gasping once she realized she'd been staring too long. The monochromatic mech's servo retracted back at her sucked in breath, just as equally fretful of the idea of spooking her.

They both lingered in awkward silence, before he reached out again, keeping his digits distant from her own. The mech pushed his words out first, hastily before he'd become interjected, "Here, uh. Let me help you," He began, and at her tensed silence.

He reached out and carefully laid his servo over her own, guiding it when she had released the death-grip around the handle. He glided his fingertips along the steel and briefly persuaded her into forfeiting the drill on over to D-16 who rotated it around and handed it back to her. She gazed over with confusion riddling across her expression, the inner rings of her optical receptors glowed and rotated to adjust in the sight of the tool's rotation. She held to it and ran her gaze over what she could, squinting and forcing her optics to brighten a little further to see.

At this point, D-16 grew to notice that the femme before him didn't bear any kind of mining light upon her helm, and leaned forward slightly to focus his helm on positioning the lighting over the handle of her drill so she could see. He awkwardly shuffled close to her back and side to help lift the drill up, taking her servo into his own and securing it around the trigger. He made careful gestures to make sure at the very least not to push down the trigger from gripping her servos too hard,

He could feel her frame stiffen briefly against him and with that he tried to reassure her, "I-It's okay, I just... Need you to hold it like..." He trailed off, lifting the end of the drill up over her shoulder and guided the tip to touch into the slight hole she made earlier during her personal scare. He fixed her servos positionings with his own and she watched to him carefully, nodding with every silent lesson he gave and watched every point he gestured with, "This." D-16, now firmly making sure her position was secure, pulled back to give her a bit of room, and pointed to the back of the equipment.

"The end of the drill's gotta... go here, hovering just over your shoulder. I don't recommend resting it completely onto there unless your servo's off the trigger. It sometimes leaves scratches from the impact and from the intense, repetitive motions... a little," He informed, slowly finding his words, and to that she nodded slowly, glancing to her shoulder-plate to make sure she hadn't suffered that mistake yet and resumed to the position he guided her to take, breathing out slowly. She eyed at the placement in the stone, noticing to the bare glow beneath.

D-16 monitored her, and walked back to retrieve his own drill, marching back once she began to carry her drill with confidence, before pulling the trigger and digging back into the earth,

He watched the sparks fly and with that, he pushed for conversation to help loosen the atmosphere even more, "... First time using it?" He asked.

She anxiously shifted between watching where her drill went and to the mech beside her, giving a meek nod before eyeing back to the cracking stone, "... M-mh, yeah, actually." The femme responded.

D-16 nodded and struck to the sight of a glowing energon ore peaking out on his side, letting his own drill bury through and pursuemthe trail. In the meantime, he wanted to at least get to know the new face beside him as recollections of the rumors he had heard before hand began to resurface at the top of his mind. His optics scanned over her for a moment. Her frame was darkened all over, making her nearly one with the underground environments she was within. Her lack of helm-lights was odd initially, but upon further inspection. She bore no jetpack either.

How was she meant to escape a potential tunnel collapse?--maybe she forgot it up at the surface?

But that's dangerous and unaligned from safety protocols!

Nonetheless, he kept calm with a twinge of concern for the newbie, his expression scrunched, "... First time... Down here in... General?" He asked, tilting the word on his glossa slightly, biting back in cautious hopes he hadn't offended the femme if she wasn't new.

The bot paused in her drilling, and looked over, before avoiding his gaze with a slight purse of her lips, "... Is it... that obvious?" She pushed back, almost defeated, as though her act had already crumbled before it could begin.

"Oh no, not at all. It's just--I-I don't think I've ever seen you around down here before," D-16 said, hoping to ease the defeated look in her optics.

Her lowered optical ridges raised up, and lessened into a more understanding expression, bobbing her helm slowly. Her grip on the implement readjusted once again, raising it up, until D-16 held out a servo to stop her. She froze and looked beneath to where her drill pointed to and hurriedly scanned the area for any mistakes. D-16 lowered his drill again and wandered over, guiding the edge of the drill into the ground and gestured her closer, "Here," He advised, before taking to his own drill to provide example.

"You have to hit it at an angle like--this--so it kind of sinks in properly," He informed once more, pulling back and pointing, "there's nothing wrong with the way you're doing it, but if you want it to stay still a little easier and maybe not carry as much of the weight then, it helps." He shrugged, before stepping back once again to give her some space. She nodded and narrowed her optics, searching for a designated spot to test out the method.

"Hit here," D-16 pointed, tapping the front of his drill against the stone to light a few sparks so she could see it, "and try to go for kind of a slightly tilted angle instead of keeping it directly vertical or straight, maybe like a light degree in-between,"

She bobbed her helm lightly, steeling herself once again and struck into the targeted area, pulling the trigger as it began to fill the air between them with an audible "rat-tat-tat!" sending small stars and sparks up from repetitive collision of steel to stone, as well as dust and pebble.

Moments later, the ore loosened from the stone, crumbling away enough for her to scramble and retrieve to the reward of her achievements with brightened optics and a smile that stretched from one audial receptor to the other. She dropped her drill for a moment and reached down to collect the material, curling her arms around the hefty chunk, a soft "hmmf!" escaped her as she strutted back to the cart, dipping into a crouch to amplify her jump and throw, pacing back and forth until all the ore she had mined out was finally cleared.

The femme looked up happily to D-16, the look of gratitude came in the form of her sparkling optics before the words had even yet to settle, a slow smile mirroring onto his lips from her own. He chuckled and reached down to pick up his own finds, wandering over to the cart to dispose it with the rest.

He looked over to the femme beside him and smiled, "see? All you needed was a little help with your technique. Now you don't have to struggle as much and you'll use less energon while at it,"

She hummed in acknowledgement, hastily nodding, “… T-Thank you kindly,” she remarked, a soft accent tucked beneath her words that tried to hide itself. The need for assistance wounded her sense of independency, but it was warmly welcomed nonetheless. She'd have preferred the help over making herself look like an even bigger fool than she was being mere moments ago. She clasped her servos together, digits entwined and folded formally before her, fidgeting “I-I don’t know how to repay you, stranger,” She admitted truthfully, averting her gaze for a moment, only for it to to light up when she noticed D-16's drill drew nearest to her side, retrieving to it and strutting right back to him.

He tilted his head slightly while he watched her return his tool. He chuckled a little more and crossed his arms, amused by the shy gestures, "you're welcome, though you don't need to pay me back really if that was your intention. I just wanted to help. What's your... Designation, anyways?" He asked, taking to his implement from her servos, leaning it on his shoulder for the time being.

“Silversong…” She replied, finally looking back to D-16. Silversong smiled with her optics, the very edges of her eyes slightly raising with the gentlest pull of her cheeks to perform the warm expression, “… And you, stranger?”

He smiled at her in turn, his expression a little worn out but it didn't stop him from offering a gentle expression back. His optics softening at the sight. He then placed his hand to his chassis, introducing himself, "I'm D-16. Nice to meet you, Silversong."

A trickle of humor ran through him and in the moment. He kept his hand to his chest and bowed his helm, nearly dipping the front of his frame in a regal manner.

Out of surprise, Silversong softly chuckled at his little bow, amused by the rather friendly gesture. She raised a servo to conceal her lips and thought for a moment. She wanted to continue talking, maybe longer if she could but the moment was severed into two and the reminder came in the form of another bot who had arrived, clapping D-16 on the shoulder-plate with a loud "clang!".

Silversong had nearly forgotten that there was work to be done, and internally deflated once the moment of reprieve slipped from her. But still, she persisted in her idle expression, watching the interaction. D-16, in his confused state twisted his helm to listen to--who she assumed was a friend of D-16.

"C'mon, Dee! I just found a rich energon vein over here, if we mine this, we'll probably be able to take the rest of our shift off for the day!” Orion Pax exclaimed optimistically, almost dragging D-16 away, unaware that he was talking to someone.

D-16 stiffened and felt his pedes drag a couple inches into the ground as Orion seemed determined to show him this energon vein, looking up to Silversong, who only bid him farewell in the form of a slow wave and a reserved smile. He would've returned the gesture, but by then she had already looked away.

D-16 slowly turned around to right himself back onto his pedes and fell into line beside Orion, looking behind him before, shaking his helm at Orion's blind optimism. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd hope that Silversong didn't think of his sudden departure as rude or anything... Stealing another quick glance back and--she was gone.

His lips pursed and his optics dimmed, sighing. He looked over to Orion and recovered his expression to an exasperated smile, rolling his optics, "Yeah, yeah..." D-16 cracked his knuckles and briefly went back to pick up his drill, dragging it along.

"I hope you're not just lying so we don't have to mine as much. Let's just just hurry and get this done with,"

[honeybea-yaps]

so. I’m in the hospital again. Reasons why below the cut. Tw chronic pain

So for a really long time, for at least as long as I can remember, I’ve just been in constant pain. And it got way way worse after I got pregnant. There were days where I almost couldn’t get out of bed or even sit up before my everything hurt so bad.

well I got pretty used to tripping, sometimes falling, or blacking out. It hadn’t happened in a long time because I’ve been watching myself and trying to stay safe.

well today I stood up a little to fast and blacked out, I hit the ground a little too hard apparently. My boyfriend took me to the emergency room and I woke up in the hospital. I’m not concussed, the baby is fine, and I’m okay. But when I get sent back home I’m on bedrest so I don’t take anymore falls. So this means I’m gonna be online a lot more often because I can’t go anywhere or do anything.

just thought I’d let everyone know about my situation and that I’m safe and okay.

[darkreaderdan]

★·.·⍣·.·★.·★·.·⍣·.·★.·★·.·⍣·.·★.·★·.·⍣·.·★.·★·.·⍣·.·★.·★·.·⍣·.·★.

🇼​​🇪​​🇮​ ​🇼​​🇺​​🇽​​🇮​​🇦​​🇳​

𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘴

✧•〰〰〰•★✧•〰〰〰•★✧•〰〰〰•★✧•〰•★

Personality and Traits ❖ A Charismatic Rebel

Wei Wuxian is untrammeled by conventions of the society or sect traditions and indeed by rigid morality, playful, humorous, or mischievous, one who often uses humor to dissolve or provoke any kind of reaction whatsoever. Despite all that is light-hearted, he happens to be sharp-witted and deep emotionally.

Smooth-tongued and affable, he easily wins people over with his charisma and likability, though his defiance of authority often puts him at odds with traditionalists. Resourceful and imaginative, as a cultivator, he is incredibly intelligent and inventive, creating new techniques such as demonic cultivation in order to challenge convention. Bravery and Self-Sacrifice

Wei Wuxian has lots of principle, sometimes self-destructive. He stands against the cultivation world or against his own sect for the protection of the oppressed.

Protector of the Weak: Wei Wuxian is strongly just, and he constantly puts protection on the front burner, as was taking care of Wen remnants despite their outcast status.

Martyr Complex: Wei Wuxian often takes on blame to save others, which contributes to his tragic downfall.

Background and Motivations

The upbringing of Wei Wuxian plays an important role in the development of his character:

❖ Orphaned Childhood

Orphaned when young, he was then adopted by the Yunmeng Jiang Sect. With such a tragic life, Wei Wuxian grew up optimistic and carefree, and soon became very attached to Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli. These early experiences of loss make him extremely empathetic toward other sufferers, such as the Wen remnants.

❖ Philosophical Beliefs

Wei Wuxian believes that morality is determined by intent and not by tradition or superficial rules. It is for this reason that he invented and practiced demonic cultivation even when he knew it would make him an outcast.

Strengths and Abilities

Wei Wuxian is a genius in cultivation. He had mastered traditional techniques and later pioneered demonic cultivation. Natural Talent: He has expertise in swordplay and is very knowledgeable in talismans and spiritual arts.

His adaptability and innovativeness are unmatched; he even invented the Stygian Tiger Seal.

Demonic Cultivation: After the loss of his golden core, Wei Wuxian developed Demonic Cultivation with the help of resentful energy. Although very controversial, this very ability underlines his genius to be able to go where no one else ever had. He controls the fierce corpses and controls resentful spirits with Chenqing, his flute.

Relationships

Wei Wuxian's relationships highlight his loyalty, empathy, and emotional complexity. ❖ Lan Wangji (Soulmate):

Lan Wangji serves as Wei Wuxian's anchor, offering unconditional love and acceptance. Their relationship evolves from rivalry to profound partnership, with Lan Wangji becoming Wei Wuxian's moral and emotional support. Wei Wuxian deeply admires Lan Wangji’s integrity and steadfastness, even if he often teases him.

❖ Jiang Cheng (Brotherly Bond):

The relationship between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng is quite complicated; their brotherly love is founded on misunderstandings and differing values. Even though they had a falling out, the sacrifice that Wei Wuxian did for the Jiang family proves that his loyalty still stays.   ❖ Jiang Yanli (Sisterly Love):

Jiang Yanli is Wei Wuxian's surrogate sister and one of his biggest emotional anchors; her death was a blow from which he will never recover and has contributed much to his eventual emotional collapse.

❖ Wen Remnants:

In Wei Wuxian's unstoppable protection of the Wen remnants, especially Wen Ning and Wen Qing, lies great justice and compassion.

Weaknesses and Vulnerabilities

Despite his strengths, Wei Wuxian is nowhere near invincible, and his weaknesses make him all the more human:  ❖ Self-Sacrificial Tendencies:

Wei Wuxian often puts others before himself, which leads to his demise. His decision to protect the Wen clan leads to his betrayal and abandonment.

❖ Reckless Idealism:

While his ideals are noble, the fact that he went against the conventions of society and authority makes him an easy target for criticism and persecution.

❖ Guilt and Trauma:

Wei Wuxian carries a lot of guilt for all the deaths and suffering brought about by his actions, especially during the Sunshot Campaign and the fall of the Wen clan.

Symbolism and Themes

Wei Wuxian embodies the spirit of breaking with tradition in order to seek justice and compassion. His character is closely related to the following themes:

Freedom: His whole life is a quest to be free, both in the choices he makes and in the philosophy he holds.

Redemption: His resurrection enables him to confront his past and find peace.

Love and Acceptance: His relationship with Lan Wangji shows the power of unconditional love to change a person.

Character Arc

The story of Wei Wuxian is that of tragedy, resilience, and redemption:

Tragedy: His fall from grace after being labeled the Yiling Patriarch marks his lowest point.

Resilience: Despite losing everything, he remains true to his principles.

His resurrection gives him a second chance in life, to make up misunderstandings with loved ones, and to be with his happiness-Lan Wangji.

To be honest, I have a lot more to write on him, I will continue on another post with the personality and traits as well as some more universal themes such justice, love and self acceptance. Like honestly Wei Wuxian is the reason I'm so obsessed with complex characters and will always defend them. This man is precious and is everything.

[vierandancer]

"Aye, that seems tae be somethin' in common," Meiko nodded. "Not livin' in cities, that is. Most o'Eorzea still dinnae see Viera very often. Othard and Sharlayan, aye, but m'still easier tae spot than most." Which could be both a bad and a good thing, depending on the situation.

Sometimes she wondered what part of her was her nature versus who she was as a person. She didn't mind spending time in cities, but there was something about the open land that made her want to wander about.

Nature versus Azem, I suppose.

Although many Sharlayans (in her opinion, an alarming number) had been privy to the Scions' mission to the Aitascope and Ultima Thule, only a specific few knew of the Ancients' origins. Even fewer of that knew of her and A'kihiko's ties to one in particular. It wasn't needt-to-know information, but occasionally, she wondered how other allies would react to it: Erenville and Lyse and those in Ishgard. There was only so many ways one could shrug and explain their 'ill fortune' as unlucky destiny.

...But seeing as how Erenville had reacted to her vague mention of visiting the First, it was likely best to leave that bit of news unspoken. In truth, she never wanted to have to explain it to anyone new; that often bode ill.

And while the threat of Zoraal Ja's win had loomed over the Rite, Mei and her brother had been fairly confident they could stop it from happening. Even if Wuk Lamat did not win.

"--The women do generally stay an' raise the children, though, aye?" Enough thinking, Meiko. "Do th'lads still visit?"

The actual question was whether or not Erenville knew his father, but she didn't want to be that direct. She had a feeling she already knew, anyway.

The way Meiko's smile turned sunny, one would not have expected the conversation to be headed towards her learning more of the Shetona. After all, she was Viera, they were still her people in part, even if from another part of the world.

He would have been disinclined if he'd had to speak much of his childhood, but he narrowly escaped that to speak of the Shetona culture, even if they were... quite traditional, where such things were concerned.

"Many Shetona men do travel, though we aren't sent away, in that regard," he said, a hum of thought as he considered Meiko's question. "It is true that we're inclined towards nature, however, though I cannot say if it explains my affinity with animals. Many Shetona make use of their surroundings to create their homes. A natural cave, for example."

"'Tis why you see fewer Shetona in Tuliyollal. They do not prefer to live in cities."