made a little zine abt some of my favorite things in my room :]

oct' 07 x chestnuts

Prompt: chestnuts Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Bryony Morgan (OFC) Word Count: 982 Warnings: un-beta'd is the name of the game, barely a mention of the prompt, unabashed hippo content with a touch of spice with the mention of oral sex (f receiving) Summary: no clue how we started at chestnuts, through to hippos, but here we are - I just love these two

x. masterlist

Dieter's office was a paradox in every sense of the word—meticulously disorganized, both casual and sophisticated. A space Bryony had always suspected he rarely worked in, yet one that seemed to capture the essence of him so completely that you couldn't help but think it was an extension of his personality.

Bifold doors filled the back wall of the room that looked out to the garden behind his desk. Built in bookcases framed both sides of the room, all filled with various trinkets outlining both Dieter’s career and interests. His Oscar for ‘Hunger Strike’ stood amongst the trove, topped with a knitted hat Cricket had made a couple Christmases ago. The walls were adorned with paintings of Dieter’s own creations, framed and hung with care by Bryony.

“Conkers.”

“Con-kas?” Dieter repeated, a poor imitation of Bryony’s accent which earned him a pointed stare, “is this one of your weird British-ism things?”

Bryony shot him another glare, “It’s not weird, and it’s legit what they’re called.” she insisted, glancing at a ceramic hippo paperweight on his desk as if to imply that he was no stranger to 'weird.'

“Chestnuts.” Dieter countered.

“Conkers” Bryony reaffirmed, her eyes momentarily landing on the Oscar statue. Despite the hat, it looked oddly dignified.

Dieter chuckled, ripping the foil of a KitKat with a satisfying tear. “And they say I’m the one in this relationship that’s off balance.” 

“Well you are the man who is eating a KitKat, that he had my mother send him from the UK because they taste better than the American ones.” Bryony shot back, smirking as she looked over at the bookshelf nearest the sectional she was lounging on, it was filled with scripts, a mixture of fiction and nonfiction, and, of course, more hippos.

“Because they are,” Dieter said, defending his KitKat as if it were a point of honour. He snapped off a piece, biting into it with a satisfied grin.

“I know,” Bryony smirked.

“Châtaignes,” Dieter pronounced carefully, his mouth full of chocolate and wafer.

“Huh?” Bryony blinked, puzzled.

“Châtaignes,” he repeated again once he’d finished eating, “chestnuts in French, because I know it’s going to be your next question.”

Bryony smiled, because it was going to be her next question - she could listen to the man talk French, and he did at length, all day. He’d perfected his French lilt over the years since he started learning at twelve thinking it would help him with girls. 

His parents, European immigrants to the States well before Dieter was born, had long shed their own individual languages when they’d moved continents in an effort to assimilate to their new home. Though his relationship with his parents taut, he had a distinct memory of his mother talking about a French man who had courted her before his father came along. She still had romantic notions about the man decades later and owed it in part to the language he would speak which left a lasting impression on a young Dieter.

Bryony shook her head, amused. “You're insufferable.”

“And yet you suffer me,” Dieter replied with a cocky grin.

She glanced at the other trinkets around the room, particularly the hippo memorabilia. “Fiona still your muse?”

“My pride and joy,” he said, looking at the framed picture, signed in a childish scrawl as if the six-year-old hippo from Cincinnati Zoo had autographed it herself. “You know, they sent me a video update just last week. She's growing so beautifully.”

“You're the only adult I know who gets this excited about a hippo,” Bryony chuckled, amused.

“Jealous much?” Dieter waggled his brows, standing up to lean against the edge of his antique, walnut desk, which Bryony suspected had never seen a single day's work.

“Jealous of Fiona?” Bryony quirked an eyebrow. “No, although I wish I could get as much attention for just existing.”

“You don't need to be a cute hippo to get my attention,” Dieter said, the playful tone in his voice shifting ever so slightly towards sincere. “You've always had it.”

Bryony felt a warmth in her cheeks but chose to keep the atmosphere light. “Well, as long as I rank higher than a KitKat on your list of priorities, I think we're good.”

“You're definitely higher than a KitKat,” Dieter said, “but let's not get into dangerous territory by discussing where you stand in relation to Fiona.”

“Ah, so it's like that, is it?” She smirked, as she sat up on the sofa..

Dieter took another bite of his KitKat, savoring it. “Mmm, it's exactly like that.”

“This room is a trip, you know.” Bryony tapped the glass top of the surprisingly large coffee table as if to emphasize her point. It was held up by a bronze hippo with its baby underneath, “Only you could make this collection work.”

“You think it works?” He looked genuinely pleased.

“Absolutely. It's you, distilled into a room.”

Dieter chuckled and put down the remains of his KitKat, reaching his hand down to help Bryony stand from the sofa, “Speaking of things that work, I think it's worth noting that you fit pretty well into all of this, don't you think?”

She looked up at him, caught a bit off guard by the sudden change of tone as his arms wrapped around her waist.

Dieter eyed the obnoxious coffee table with a sly raise of his eyebrow, “No, Dieter.”

“What?”

“I’m not having sex with you on that thing.”

“I didn’t say have sex, in fact I didn’t say anything.”

“Dieter I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Well then Daff,” Dieter purred and before Bryony could protest found herself being lowered onto the glass table, the cold sting of the glass quickly replaced by the warmth of Dieter’s hands pushing up the oversized t-shirt she was wearing, the only thing she was wearing. “How about I reacquaint myself with you then?”

𝙸𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝙸𝚜 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝙾𝚏?

Kit x GN!Reader

Rating: General

Word Count: 2848

Warnings: None, just lots of fluff✨

Requested by Anon: Mayhaps prompt 84 (“No, Mom, don’t tell him/her I said that about him/her!”) with Kit Walker, but instead he's talking to Jude, Thomas, and Julia. Kit had been dating you for a while and he accidentally had let it slip that he loves you to his family (they all tease him about it constantly). You were planning on visiting later (so everyone could go to the park together or do some other adorable activity) and Kit just knows that someone is going to tell you, and he is trying desperately to avoid that

A/N: Okay, firstly, anon, thank you so much for your lovely message. I haven't been too kind to myself lately (workin' on it), so I really appreciate you being so understanding💜

I kind of went off the rails with this one, and it doesn't actually include the prompt sentence, and the prompt itself is a lil different, but same basic idea, I think... I really hope you like it!!

Also, Jude is healthy bc I refuse to make this angsty.

The title comes from 'I Think I Love You' by The Partridge Family, and on that note, I'm also dedicating this to one of my favorite humans. She's not really into AHS, but David Cassidy is her mans, so Sierra, this one's for you!! Thank you for always being a wonderful friend💜💕

“Jude, I need your help.”

In general, Kit Walker considers himself to be a pretty easy-going guy; usually, there isn't much that gets to him. But today’s different. There’s something that he’s simultaneously ecstatic about and dreading.

Today's the day you’ll be meeting his family for the first time.

“With?” Jude’s smirking amusedly where she sits across from him at the kitchen table sorting dish ware and arranging it carefully in the picnic basket in front of her. Kit glances at the clock on the wall and sighs; he's got just over an hour before he, Jude and the kids are supposed to meet you at the park, and he couldn’t be much more anxious about it if he tried... Not for nothing, though.

“I just wanna make sure today goes well.” He finishes wrapping the sandwich in his hand, placing it in the basket to join the plates.

“And you don’t think it will?” Jude raises an eyebrow; she may be a particularly perceptive woman, but it isn't very difficult to see that there's something Kit isn't saying.

His mind drifts for a moment to the other night, when he and Jude sat in the living room, chatting quietly after the kids had gone to sleep. She’d asked about you, and before Kit knew it, he was spilling his guts to her, finally speaking the words he’s been unable to say to you. It’d felt amazing to finally get them out... until he noticed Julia peaking around the door frame, brown eyes trained on he and Jude She scurried off, giggling quietly down the hall, and when he asked her about it the next day, it was clear to Kit that his daughter had heard the entire conversation. And it didn’t need to be said that she had told Thomas; the two of them have never kept anything from each other in their lives…

“I hope it does.” Kit replies after several moments of silence. He’s not at all concerned about whether or not you’ll get along with his family. There’s no doubt in his mind that Jude will be taken, and the kids are going to adore you. “I just need help makin’ sure they don’t say anything.” He glances toward the two small figures in the next room where they lie on the floor, markers in hand as they draw colorful pictures and fill out puzzles from the day-old newspaper Jude had provided to keep them occupied.

“About?” Jude's smirk grows into a playful grin. She’s having fun with this; a little too much, in Kit’s opinion. He scowls and she laughs quietly.

“About... y’know?”

“About how you love them?” Jude’s voice carries into the next room a bit too loudly for Kit’s liking, and his eyes go wide. He places a finger to his lips, eyes darting to the children to make sure they’re still distracted; so far, so good.

“Yes.”

“Well, when are you going to tell her? You’re not getting any younger, y’know.” Kit's unable to stop the smile that breaks across his face.

“Soon. I just… need to find the right moment.”

“There’s no such thing as the right moment, Walker," she chortles, rolling a bundle of silverware into a napkin. “But…I’ll do my best.” Kit smiles gratefully, but she shakes her head continuing. “But they’re kids. Kids'll say whatever they want to.” Knowing she's right, Kit groans, running a hand through his hair before feeling around in the pocket of his jeans for his pack of cigarettes.

He's in for an interesting day.

——

The worn wood of the bench feels rough under your fingers as you tap against it anxiously. You take a quick peak to your right again, in search of the vehicle you’re waiting for. It’s a big day. In just- you glance down at your watch for the fifth time – two and a half minutes, your boyfriend is supposed to arrive with his family.

It terrifies you.

It’s not that you have any issues with kids. You love them. Becoming a parent has always been a part of the plan for you. However, you don’t have much experience with them and, this is the first time you’ve ever been with someone with children of their own. It’s... intimidating.

Kit, however, has been nothing but reassuring. A small smile crosses your face, thinking of the last thing he’d said to you when he'd called last night. Don’t worry, babe. They’re gonna love you.

God, you hope he’s right.

Kit’s told you so much about his kids over the last several months the two of you have been together, and you can tell by the warmth in his voice, by the way his eyes light up when he tells you something funny one of them did, that they are his world. As they should be. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

There's absolutely no doubt in your mind that you've fallen head over heels for this man... That’s what's so frightening; you don’t want to screw anything up. For anyone's sake.

You’re in the middle of reciting some of the things Kit had told you about the kids- ‘Julia’s really into football right now, a little chatterbox, and Thomas loves readin’, but he’s pretty shy’- when you hear tires making their way along the narrow dirt road. Turning your head again, your stomach flips when you see the familiar station wagon- much fuller with people than normal- pull into the small parking lot. You smile, raising your hand in a wave when Kit sees you, and swallow hard.

The driver’s door quickly opens, and Kit makes his way over, basket in hand. The passenger, Jude, stays behind to help the kids out of their seats.

“Hey, you.” Kit murmurs, a smile on his face as he leans down to press a tender kiss to your cheek.

“Hi.” With a shaky breath, you take your bottom lip between your teeth when he pulls back. With a sympathetic smile, Kit takes your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“They’re gonna love you,” he reminds, and you huff a laugh. Julia begins speaking excitedly as she hops out of the car; you can’t make out what she’s saying, but she sounds enthusiastic, so you’re taking that as a good sign.

“If you say so.” You grip his hand more tightly and he chuckles as the two of you make your way toward the sound of the animated voice.

Now or never.

“Y/N!” You jump at the sound, completely taken off guard- even more so when something barrels into you, wrapping around your waist. You look down to see the small girl- the one that you recognize from the many pictures Kit has shown you -beaming up at you. Kit laughs, scooping her up into his arms as Jude moves to stand in front of the three of you. Thomas hangs onto her hand, hiding behind her dress.

“Y/N, this is Jude, Thomas, and you’ve already met Julia.” He shakes his head, tickling his daughter’s ribs until she’s leaning into him, in a fit of giggles.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you all,” you say, hoping the smile on your face doesn’t come across as uneasy.

“We could say the same to you. This one,”- she gestures to Kit- “is talking about you constantly.” You smile widely at this, eyes moving to Kit to find his cheeks turning rosy.

“Oh, really?”

“Uh-huh!” Julia chimes in, Thomas slowly nodding his agreement.

“Oh, you.” You nudge Kit’s arm gently, and his eyes shift quickly back and forth between the children. Jude lets out a trill of laughter then, taking Julia’s hand in hers.

“Why don’t we find somewhere to sit? I’m sure we’re all getting hungry.” The kids agree enthusiastically, taking off in a sprint toward a nearby gazebo where several tables sit. “Hey, slow it down, you two!” Jude calls, following them.

You turn to Kit, who brings your hand to his lips, placing a kiss there; there’s something about his expression that you can’t quite place, but he seems happy, so you’re happy. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, letting your hands fall and dangle together as the two of you slowly make your way to the table where the children sit, awaiting their lunch. Julia laughs beckoning the two of you over, and there’s a shy little smile on Thomas’ face. Your nerves are slowly fading, and you let out a breathy sigh, smiling up at him.

“I’m glad I’m here, too.”

--

The meal is fantastic, and by the time you’re wiping your mouth on your napkin and placing it down on the empty plate in front of you, you can hardly remember why you were so panicky about this meeting in the first place. The food is delicious, Jude accepting your compliments on her potato salad graciously. The two of to you discuss your job, her asking about the intricacies of what you do. Not in a prying way, though; she seems genuinely interested.

It’s not long before the kids take to you, either. Julia already has, it seems, as she insists on sitting across from you while you eat. She tells lots of stories; everything from the science project she and Kit have been working on for school, to the time that Jude took her and Thomas to the zoo.; you find out that hippos are her favorite animal. “Isn’t it so cute when they wiggle their ears??” she asks.

Thomas takes a bit more coaxing, but not much; not when you decide to ask him what his favorite book is. His eyes light up and he brings up several, speaking excitedly about a chapter from the one he's currently in the middle of.

“Daddy, can we play now?” Julia asks, setting her fork down; she bounces around like she’s ready to jump out of her seat, and you can’t help but giggle.

“Sure,” Kit chuckles, placing his empty glass of iced tea on the table. I’m just gonna use the bathroom real quick, but go onnahead.” He stands, patting your shoulder. Shooting what he hopes is a discreet glance Jude's way, he moves toward the small bathroom stalls a few yards away.

Jude laughs, a soft smile on her face, watching as Julia moves to cling to your arm. “Alright, Thomas, it. looks like it’s you and me. What do you wanna do first?” She takes the small boy’s hand, and he leads them in the direction of the sandbox.

Julia glances around, and when she sees that everyone’s out of earshot, she leans into you, bringing a hand to her mouth to ask, “Y/N, can I tell you a secret?”

Her over-exaggerated whisper and enthusiasm make you giggle, and you nod. “Sure.”

She climbs into the seat beside you, leaning in closer to speak into your ear. “My daddy loves you.”

You’re quiet for several seconds, having absolutely no idea how to respond. You look down at her, eventually stuttering out, “O-oh… really? How do you know that?” You're half expecting a nonsensical answer, but when she opens her mouth, the young girl is serious.

“I heard him and Nana talking about it the a couple'a nights ago when I got out of bed for a drink of water.” She grins up at you. “…But I can just tell.”

“H-how can you tell?”

She shrugs. "He smiles when he talks about you." Her answer is so simple, so pure, and it holds so much meaning; you're sure there's a dopey grin growing on your face right now.

“Well, your dad’s pretty great. And I think you’re pretty great, Julia.” Her smile grows impossibly wider as she wraps her arms around your neck, pulling you into a tight hug. You hold her tiny frame and are on cloud nine when you spot Kit closing the door to the restroom behind him; when he sees the two of you still sitting there, he makes his way over.

Kit chuckles to himself, overcome with joy when he walks out of the bathroom to see you holding Julia in an embrace, smiles on both of your faces. He walks slowly toward you, silently praying that his daughter hasn’t said anything she shouldn’t have. So much for Jude’s help… Should'a known better. He glances at his friend, sitting on the edge of the sandbox with his son. Jude looks up, smirking, and he rolls his eyes at her.

Nevertheless, he’s decided. It has to be now.

“What’re you two doin’ over here?” He places a warm hand on your arm as he stands behind you, appraising his daughter. “Jules, I thought you wanted to play? You’ve been sayin’ how excited you were for the jungle gym all week.” Julia’s small legs swing back and forth as she watches her father, with a shrug.

“I wanted to talk to Y/N first.”

“Well, we can keep talking while we play, then,” you decide, standing quickly, but Kit grabs your hand, stilling you.

“Actually, I wanna talk to you about somethin’ real quick.” His voice is low in your ear, and he watches his daughter tensely.

“Oh, o-okay.” Your eyes move to Julia and you smile. “Why don’t you go down the slide a few times, and I’ll be over there in a minute?”

“Okay!” The little girl jumps from her spot, sprinting toward concrete of the playground.

“Be careful!” Kit shouts after her. With a chuckle, he takes his previous seat and pats the one beside him. You smile happily, leaning your head on his shoulder when you move next to him.

“They’re really great, Kit. All of them.”

Kit smiles proudly, watching as Jude helps Thomas make some sort of sculpture in the sand. “They are,” he agrees with a nod. “Jude likes you. The kids really like you.”

“I’m so glad.” You sigh in relief, turning to meet his gaze. “I was so worried they’d all hate me.”

“How could they?” he asks, leaning in to place a sweet peck to your lips. You smile against his mouth, your own tingling as he pulls back. You can’t help but glimpse toward playground to see if the kids have noticed. They’re still preoccupied, but Jude’s noticed; she sends you a wink and your cheeks grow warm. Seeing the exchange, Kit scowls playfully, waving a hand at her. She laughs, turning back to the sandy masterpiece Thomas is working diligently on.

“So,” Kit begins... Deep breath. “There’s somethin’ I’ve been wantin’ to talk to you about.”

“Okay.” Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. “What’s up?” …Could it be?

“It’s something I’ve wanted to say for a while, actually. He’s looking at his hands as he says this, biting down on his bottom lip when his gaze finally meets yours. “I haven’t felt this way about anyone in… a long time. Not since...” He trails off, but you know he’s thinking of the kid’s mothers, so you nod in understanding. “Honestly it’s a little scary, but I think I- I mean, I know I-“ He cuts himself off, and takes a deep breath, shaking his head slowly. “Christ. I dunno why this is so hard, I just…” He sighs deeply.

“…Kit?”

“Yeah?”

“…I love you, too.”

“You… you love m- wait, what?” His eyes grow wide, and he groans after a moment, knowing exactly who the culprit is. “Julia told you?” You can't help but laugh quietly, nodding your confirmation. “I shoulda known. My little blabbermouth.” A wistful smile grows on his face, and the amount of adoration you feel for this man in this moment is staggering.

“So… it’s true, then?” you ask, taking one of his hands in both of yours.

He nods, smiling as he leans in to press his forehead to yours. “I love you, Y/N. I do.” His voice is hardly above a whisper, but it feels like a shout; a declaration. Your returning smile is bright, certainly one of the best Kit’s ever seen- one he’s sure he’ll remember for the rest of his life -and when you wrap your arms around his neck, his own widens further, the muscles in his face beginning to ache, but he couldn't care less.

“I love you, Kit Walker. So much.” You move in for a kiss of your own; it’s short, but full of more meaning than any you’ve ever had.

Pulling back, you pat his knee gently. You stand from your seat, offering a hand out to him. “C’mon. Earlier, I promised Julia I’d watch her on the monkey bars.” Kit laughs, taking your hand and slinging an arm around your waist once he’s standing. You make your way to where the girl is currently whizzing down the largest slide in the park, squealing with laughter. Glancing at the sandbox, you see Jude eyeing you, a knowing smirk on her face; you blush, but smile back.

Right here, right now, moving toward the laughter of Kit’s loving family, there isn’t a sliver of doubt in your mind that this is meant to be.

This is where you belong.

taglist: @therenlover, @tatestripedsweater, @kitwalker02, @ladyfogg, @mossybank, @undeadcortez, @sallyscigarettes, @xmaximoffic, @samsassinparvismagna, @liandav, @kitwalkerangel, @elaineygrace, @milly-louise @americxn (please feel free to fill out this form to be added/removed for future fics)

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆  Tom Holland - Just Friends?  ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

A/N - posting for the first time in forever, this time with a Tom Holland imagine that’s already been on my wattpad for a loooong time. Go check that out though, angeli.marco because I have whole ass collections on there rather than just the odd few one shots. 

Warnings - drinking, very light mentions of drugs, swearing. Also its like 5k words so it’s long as well.

Summary - you and tom have been best friends for a long time and inseparable for just as long. The boys welcome you as one of their own, and you’re basically a part of the family. That’s your main issue, because when you begin to harbour feelings for your best friend, you’re not sure if he feels the same.

YOU AND TOM HAVE AN INTENSE FRIENDSHIP, there’s no denying it. In fact, the intensity worries his family, it all happened so fast.

The two of you met about a year and a half ago at your local supermarket. You were just going shopping for some food as you moved to London, and you saw Tom there. You recognised him, but you of course didn’t want to be a bother, so you began to hyperventilate in the bread aisle, thinking you were alone, just when Tom poked his head around the corner. 

“You okay, Miss? You sound like you’re dying.” Those were his very first words to you, and you couldn’t even look him in the eye when responding.

“I-I’m fine, tha-thanks Mr Holland.” Could you have been any more awkward? 

However, Tom, thankfully, found it endearing, and to this day he still does. A day hasn’t gone by for the last 18 months that the two of you haven’t spent together. Within a week of meeting, you were on first name terms with all of his family and friends, and every second of your lives are spent in each other’s company, simply platonic though - at least for him.

He spends his time with you on pranks, swiftly followed by an apology cupcake (never handmade, at least not by him), and in the evening, he hauls you up to the roof of your apartment building or a spot on his house to get drunk and look at the sky. It’s what you love about him, he incorporates everything the both of you enjoy into your daily lives and it creates this brilliant, inescapable routine of happiness and hangovers, and almost every morning that you wake up with him on the other side of his bed or yours, only to find him half hanging off it, you feel this intense happiness in your chest. That feeling is immediately shut down when you realise that to Tom, you’ll be nothing more than his friend. And in a few months, your whirlwind friendship will be over and he’ll be a stranger to you, a big star you stalk on Instagram, he’ll never be your Tom.

Today, you’d planned to go over to his house as soon as you woke up after spending one of your only ever nights apart, since his parents were out with Paddy, meaning it would only be you two and the boys, whom you also got on well with. He left his door unlocked when he knew you were coming over, something else that confused you, and why would he want you over whilst his parents were absent? Yes, he’s a 23 year old actor, but he’s still a mummy’s boy. You trusted that nothing would happen even though you secretly hoped it would.

On your walk to his house, you text him and get a reply almost immediately, though not what you expect.

YOU - Nearly there :)

TOM - I nicked his phone baby, see you at the door. Harry x

You smile in spite of yourself, shutting your phone off and shoving it in your back pocket with the elegance of a hippo, stumbling over his drive before you even reach his front door. You take a heavy sigh while gathering your dignity, looking up at the house. In the attic, Harrison’s sitting in the window seat, his head in his hands while holding his phone between his shoulder and his ear, another fight in paradise apparently, Sam is in the front room, Tom’s in his bedroom (more precisely in his wardrobe), and Harry is nowhere to be seen. That can only mean trouble.

You open the door and kick your shoes off in the porch, closing the front door as you cautiously open the second, only to be tackled and restrained. Your hands are held behind your back with a strong arm winding around your waist and hot breath fanning your ear.

“Surrender your sweets, baby, or I’ll text your mum from Tom’s phone.” Chirps a voice, cracking a little because you know he’s trying to keep a straight face. How does he always know?

“My back right pocket, be careful or Tom will kill you for laying a hand on me.” You say, and the smirk in your voice is obvious. Within seconds, you’re freed but pulled to the ground by a laughing Harry, laughing so hard his cheeks are a magnificent red and his breathing laboured. “Lovely to see you too Harry.” You say, passing him the packet of skittles that you always carry with you. He takes them gratuitously and stands up first, pulling you up off the floor much to the disappointment of a scowling onlooking Sam, and you race up the stairs to Tom's room. 

“Knock knock,” Upon entering, a childish grin is all over your face.

“Did you get my phone off Harry on my way up here?” Tom asks solemnly, not moving from his position virtually inside his man-sized wardrobe. You flop down on his bed which just happens to be far more comfortable than your own, and sigh.

“No, Harry threatened me with it but he loves me enough to hand it over if you want me to get it.” You grin, your eyes glued to him, but he just doesn’t move. “You okay?” You ask and he nods.

“Yeah course baby, why wouldn’t I be?”

There’s something up that you can’t place, so to snap him into action you mention something guaranteed to get Tom riled up. “Your brother trapped me on my way in, if I hadn't made him laugh he would’ve been grabbing my arse to get hold of my sweets.”

Tom spins on his heel, leaping onto the bed beside you. He starts to trace a calloused finger down your face and neck, only stopping at the neckline of your jumper. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

A lump forms in your throat. His touch electrifies your body, making your mind go lax, but you can’t be complacent. You’re just friends, right?

“Of course he didn’t. Now what are we doing today?” You roll off the side of the bed and away from Tom, folding your arms secretively across your chest. You look out the window at the houses across the street, watching cars go by and seeing the leaves flying in the gusts of wind that come every so often, London really can be pretty.

Tom stands up and follows you, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. He places a hand on your shoulder and tilts your chin up to meet his eyes. “Did Harry hurt you? Tell me, please.”

You smile sadly, shaking your head. “He didn’t, he never would, I promise, I just don’t feel great today,” This ends up being the wrong thing to say, because Tom proceeds to place his hand on your forehead and then the sides of your neck, followed by a chaste kiss to your head which makes your whole body feel weightless. His lips are so soft.

“You haven’t got a temperature, maybe Sam’s lunch will make you feel better.”

For the next two hours, the two of you sit a little too much of a respectable distance apart on the sofa while watching your favourite show, LOST. You don’t talk much, but you find his baby brown eyes looking at you and his mouth gaping like a fish every so often, making a fiery blush heat your face and neck. Harry decides to sit in the empty space between the two of you, shortly followed by Harrison who sits on the arm of the sofa with his arm around your shoulders, only leaving when called to help with the lunch by Sam.

“Harry, can you piss off please?” Tom says after a string of continually failing attempts to push his brother from the sofa space between the two of you.

“Why, so you can sit with your girlfriend?” Harry teases, once again making the wrong choice with an already aggravated Tom. The pair leap to their feet, neither wearing slippers, and start legging it around the house.

You can hear the painful thuds of the pair no doubt slamming into walls and leaving dents, the harsh skids of the tiled floor when their socks fall down their heels, the shrieks and yells of disdain between the brothers, and finally the crash, crack and groan sequence of them piled on the floor, with Harrison entangled in them - you can tell from his posh sounding squeak of despair.

Begrudgingly, you stand up and leave the comfort and warmth of your sofa crease and make your way to the kitchen where Sam is blatantly ignoring the existence of his brothers and their imbecility. 

“Smells good Sam, sorry about them, it’s my fault.” You say absently, crouching down to untangle the pile of tangled limbs.

“Yeah,” Sam responds with a snort, “it is your fault, they keep fighting because they’ve fallen so madly in love with you and can’t decide who should have you.”

His words make you stop dead in your movements and cause an eerie silence to settle over everyone. For a solid, lengthy minute that feels like an hour, no one moves or speaks or breathes, and you’ve never been so confused in your life. Slowly, you stop trying to help the boys and you stand up.

“I- um, he was joking baby.” Tom stammers, watching you stand up to leave. What is it with that nickname making you feel things? 

“Yeah, slip of the tongue love.” Sam adds, leaning over the stove to catch your hand on your way out. You turn to face him, only to have him shoot you an apologetic glance.

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll be upstairs, come find me when you’ve grown up.” You say finally, closing the kitchen door on your way out.

As soon as you’re securely in Tom’s room, you clasp your hands together and release a long held groan of desperation, sliding down the back of the door. Circumstance is killing you, why can’t life just be simple? You look around Tom’s room at all of the framed pictures of the two of you hung from his walls, propped up on his window sill, and a special one in a heart on his bedside locker. Since you met, he’s been your one and only. You haven’t even thought about another boy, well, man. What Sam said has to have been a coincidence, Harry can’t like you, or so you tell yourself. It’d be far easier to date Harry than Tom, but it'd ruin your friendship with them both. You let out another groan and sprawl yourself out on Tom's bed. It’s so familiar to you - the duvet, the mattress, the smell that can only be described as Tom, your makeup stains on the pillows, just everything, including a dress of yours in the wardrobe in case you need to get ready at his house. 

Your eyes flutter closed and your mind spirals back to the day you met. Even then you were surprised at how laid back he was, until it came to his brothers.

──⭒─⭑─⭒──

You look all around your new apartment for a snack, but there’s nothing. Literally nothing except for frozen rice. With a disgruntled moan, you grab your coat and walk down the five flights of stairs to get out of your new building, and walk in the cold London weather and wind to the nearest supermarket. You look inside before entering, and it thankfully seems to be relatively empty, so you shrug off your hood and go inside, only to be met with the sight of your favourite actor, the gorgeous new Spider-Man, Tom Holland. You suffer an internal debate of whether to talk to him or not, and decide against it when your lungs and mind decide to conspire against you.

You quickly run into the bread aisle and think of anything possible to calm you down, but your lungs still don’t want to work, causing your every breath to come out as a laboured whistle. You begin to browse the loaves in an attempt at normality - wholemeal to white, rolls to wraps, but your overdriven brain won’t stop reminding you that your celebrity crush is literally feet away, scrap that, about one foot now since he’s come around the corner.

“You okay, Miss? You sound like you’re dying.” he says to you half jokingly, smiling crookedly at you.

“I-I’m fine, tha-thanks Mr Holland.” you stammer back, immediately face palming and turning away from him, but he’s just laughing at you. “I was hyperventilating because I saw you, even more suave and gorgeous in person.” You say as an attempt to recover, and he seems flattered.

“A fan then. Nice to meet you, now let's shop because this place closes early on Sundays. '' he laughs and swoops up your basket that you’d forgotten about and left strewn across the aisle. 

You follow wherever he walks, watching the way his calves tense when he leans up to the top shelves, the way his arse clenches when he’s deep in thought, the way he smiles at you like a newly rehomed puppy whenever you compliment him or try to be humorous.

Towards the end of your shop, you haul him to the alcohol aisle and pile spirits and mixers into your basket by the gallon. “Game recognises game. Wanna get pissed and watch the stars?” He asks, examining a strawberry vodka that you threw into your basket that just so happened to be mainly alcohol with only a couple of essential food items.

You’re more astounded and taken aback than you can ever remember being, but with one look at his beautiful face you agree with a little too much fervour, subsequently knocking your hair free from its bun and making Tom laugh again. You get the urge to elbow him but withhold in order to preserve this new friendship. While you pay, Tom texts his brother who parks outside and collects the shopping from Tom, but not without warning you that he can be a little tactile. You brush him off with a smile and lead Tom back to your apartment.

He insists on carrying all of your shopping bags into your building and convinces you to take the lift up to your flat, wherein you dump everything but three bottles of alcohol before he’s dragging you up the roof and unscrewing a bottle of echo before you even have the door open.

He collapses through the door and out into the fresh air, taking your hand in order for you to follow suit, though a little more gracefully. He passes you the wine and finds a dry piece of roof, upon which he places his jacket down and crashes onto it.

“How come you’re not treating me like a celebrity?” He asks, pulling you down to sit beside him. You think for a moment and eventually shrug, your eyes trailing back to the sky.

“Because you don’t act like a celebrity I suppose.” You respond, taking another swig from the dreadful bottle of wine. “You act like a normal guy, doing grocery shopping, helping me shop, bringing a minging fan such as myself back to my flat and insisting on drinking with me. You act like a nicer version of every other lad our age.”

He leans over you, engulfing you in a hug and grabbing for the vodka and coke. “I think we’re going to be very good friends.”

The next morning, you find the two of you hungover and fully dressed on top of your bed, glass liqueur and wine bottles decorating your floor. All you remember is going shopping, meeting Tom, and getting incredibly drunk while stargazing. Too drunk to viably do anything besides sleep and throw up, the latter of which you hope to god did not happen.

Tom stirs soon after and just hugs your stomach while groaning and rubbing his head, complaining that he’s never going to drink again - which you know will last approximately twelve hours.

You proceed to eat a make-do breakfast, followed by a heavy dose of paracetamol before Tom walks you to his house. He helps you up the step and just shouts, “this is my new best friend, we’ll be in my room!” 

You see his family's scepticism from down the hall, but Tom doesn’t seem bothered about them or calling you his new best friend, and that's how it all begins.

──⭒─⭑─⭒──

“Lunch!” Comes Sam’s voice from outside the door, snapping you out of your reverie, followed by a click and some footsteps. He sits down beside you on the bed, stroking your hair. He doesn’t need to ask if you’re okay or not, he’s just exceptional at reading people, and he really genuinely cares about everyone. He sits you up and hands you a plate with the kindest smile. You don’t need to tell him how you feel, he can tell that you’re confused and tired and in love with his brother - that happened fast.

“They’re locked in the dining room with Harrison. Honestly, forget about them, my brothers are complete dickheads.” He says, sliding you a plate.

“Trust me, I know. They’re worse than that, I think that's why I love you and your family so much.” You sigh deeply, a tear forming in your eye as you rest your head against Sam’s shoulder and he wraps his spare arm around you. He’s a friend to you, one that isn’t messing with your feelings.

A rap on the door breaks your and Sam's discussion, and Tom enters with his back hunched and frowning. “Hug?” Is all he says. Maybe it's best if you don’t discuss it and go back to normal with both your Tom and Harry, maybe the intensity will die down and you’ll be able to go five minutes without each other.

“Hug.” You say, clambering your way off Tom’s bed and subsequently melting into his grip. He hugs you tighter than ever before, borderline crushing your shoulders and temporarily preventing you from breathing, but hearing the steady thrum of his heartbeat inside his chest is enough, feeling his chest and arm muscles tense and release around you makes you forget what this was all about, it just makes you crave his smell to be all over you, makes you crave his kisses on every inch of your body and not just your cheeks; being this close to him makes you crave the parts of him that you’ve been denied, flaws included.

“I’m gonna leave before something worse starts, catch you downstairs baby.” Sam says, collecting your plates and leaving you chuckling into Tom's chest, still reluctant to let go of him, and he seemed to feel the same. You tilt your head up a little so you’re at the perfect angle to examine every feature of Tom’s face - everything from a tiny part of his face that he missed while shaving, the twinkles of his eyes, his decidedly haywire eyebrows. You lose track of the time that you remain in his grip, but it feels right, with this being quite probably the longest you’ve gone without speaking and your first form of disagreement.

“I love you baby.” He murmurs, squeezing you momentarily tighter before holding you at arm's length. Baby, the nickname that all the Hollands and Harrison insist on calling you, but it ignites a raging fire of longing in your veins whenever Tom says it, especially when it follows those three words.

“You too, T” You reply with a faint hint of sadness tugging at your heart, so you jump up when his back is turned and scruff his hair. “Piggyback please.”

Tom proceeds to give you a purposefully bumpy piggyback down the stairs and out to his garden, where the other three are huddled suspiciously close around a collection of golf clubs. You climb down from Tom’s back and glance up at the winter sunshine, making Tom look borderline ethereal with his smile illuminated by Sol, Norse Goddess of sunlight. He looks perfect, and that's what kills you, you wouldn’t deserve that level of perfection anyway.

You waste the afternoon away by playing back garden golf with a twist, if you miss three shots in a row then you take a shot, it does not end well. The boys swiftly get too competitive and have to drink, leaving you the only sober one between four tipsy lads in their early twenties, and their level of intoxication makes it easier for you to continually beat them.

Early evening comes by, and Harrison seems on edge, making him run upstairs to the attic to answer a phone call, no doubt from his girlfriend. The four of you watch him from the garden - his sighs turn to yells, and his yells soon turn to crying into a pillow.

“Who’s turn is it?” Tom asks, and you raise your hand. You turn to take one last look at the three brothers, all with the same sad smiles and fretful eyes, and you run up all the stairs to the attic where Harrison is now just standing blankly, staring at a wall. Instead of asking or making him talk, you do what Sam did for you, just hug him.

──⭒─⭑─⭒──

You wake up in Tom’s arms after a long nap on his sofa post-golf, the other three boys asleep on the sofa beside yours. You smile at the sight, gently nudging Tom awake despite your not wanting to stir him. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps despite his snores. His eyelashes always flutter and his nose twitches while his hair creates all sorts of patterns on the pillows he lies upon.

“Let’s go to the roof, you grab the wine.” you say, watching his perfect brown eyes open and a smile instantly grace his lips upon the sight of you. 

You grab some blankets and make your way to the second floor bathroom window where you leave the window propped open for Tom. Just outside is a patch of flat roof that permits the two of you to sit or lie there, stargazing and getting drunk, you’ve even fallen asleep there once or twice, not to mention the mildly illegal substances that you’ve smuggled in.

Tom arrives minutes after you just as night is properly settling in. The stars twinkle in the sky as far as the eye can see, certain stars shining brighter than others and those are the ones that you and Tom have studied over the past year.

“Nigel’s on fire tonight!” He exclaims, pointing towards a star just south-west of Sirius. You stifle a giggle, looking at Tom who passes you a bottle of nice red wine, a rarity for the two of you. 

“It's Rigel and you know it.” You return, laying your head on his broad shoulders. He lies his head atop yours, placing kisses to your hairline. You involuntarily let out the faintest hum of agreement, turning your focus away from the longing that’s filling every pore of your body and returning it to the stars which you worship so profusely. You take a swig of wine, handing your bottle back to Tom who just places it down and turns to you.

He looks solemn, business like, this is a Tom that you’re not a fan of at all. “What Sam said earlier…” He starts, but you turn away from his gaze to trace the whole Canis Major constellation with your eyes, focusing on Sirius to will yourself away from crying. Just the thought of what Sam said being true makes you simultaneously joyful and sullen, it makes you want to reach for the stars and cry, but most of all, it just makes you sick, and you know it's not the wine talking.

“Don’t say it, Tom.” You begin. “Don’t you dare start to talk to me about that when I’ve been so painfully in love with you since the moment we met, don’t act like you can brush off what he said as a joke, because if you don’t want me then maybe Harry does.” 

You know it’s wrong to be saying all of this, so wrong, but all of a sudden, your mouth stops doing what your brain tells it to, and your heart takes over. 

“God. And for a second there I had hope as well, maybe that's the worst part. Or maybe the worst part is that we haven't been able to spend a second apart, and the only time we did was when you were too embarrassed to follow me after Sam had a slip of the tongue. You can’t blame your brothers, Tom, the same way that I can't blame the alignment of stars and planets for us never being together when it’s my fault for not being enough. But none of that even scrapes the level of longing I have for you when you kiss my cheeks, when you hug me, when we play fight, when we sleep together, when you just do something as simple as calling me baby. I can’t talk about this anymore, so leave or tell me to go, or you can stay here and we really can act like this never happened.”

Unsurprisingly, he chooses the latter, but there’s a certain rigidity and tension in his movements, made worse by the dark cloud looming over the two of you after your unladylike outburst. You want to apologise, go back in time and take it all away, but you surrender in the only way you can, you cry. Just a single tear cascading your cheek before Tom wipes it away and lays his pinky finger just over yours on the roof, pressing down a little to let you know that it's okay and he doesn’t love you any less, at least that’s how you interpret it .

You remain on the roof, unmoving, side by side, staring at the stars for what feels like hours. You finish the wine in silence, barely brushing each other’s fingers with every touch and too full of scepticism and fear to meet each other's eyes despite how much you crave getting lost in Tom’s very own chocolate rivers.

It's getting late now, really late, and no doubt the boys are all awake inside and curious as to where the two of you are hidden, no doubt assuming that you’re up to something forbidden. You dare to turn your neck and look at tom, only to see him staring at you longingly, his lips slightly parted and his cheeks tinted rosy, and that’s not just from the cold night air

You smile in spite of yourself, but it's a shy smile, one full of uncertainty, but nonetheless you take one deep breath, your eyes fluttering shut, and you turn to face him again, only to find his eyes still trained on you.

In a sudden leap of faith, you reach your arm across his body to grasp the side of his stomach and you turn him full bodily facing you. The stars reflect in his eyes, dancing around and twinkling, almost as though they’re cheering you on, so you do it. You tilt your face slightly and lean towards Tom, capturing his lips in the most intense kiss of your life. His hands grip your waist and pull you closer to him, chest to chest so that you can feel the gradual synchronisation of your racing hearts. He only has to nudge your lower lip with his tongue for half a second before he’s granted an enthused access. His tongue sweeps your mouth, dancing with your own in a fight - not of dominance, but of passion. 

Your kiss extends and passes through so many emotions and the pressure and urgency of it changes so often that it's hard to keep track. Lust switches to desperation, then do admiration and candour before returning to a long denied flame of passion, and finally, love. The way his lips massage your own is magical, the way he tastes fills your senses with a satisfaction that gets swiftly replaced with a yearning for more, the way he loves you drives you crazy and relights the longing that you feel in his arms.

His lips slow down and apply less pressure to yours, allowing the two of you to gasp for air however subtly it may be, but only for a second before he kisses you one final time, filled with nothing but a deep and unrequited adoration, until you told him, and it became true.

You stay perfectly still while gathering your bearings and breath, your nose nudging Tom’s and your clammy foreheads pressed together. You daren’t open your eyes for a while, not until his mouth gently ghosts over yours in what can be described as nothing less than an exchange of breath. Now you know what he tastes like, you never want to stop tasting him.

Before you can even open your eyes though, you hear a round of applause and cheers from down below. You look at Tom with terror etched on your every feature until he squeezes your waist a little tighter, and just that gesture screams trust me. So you do. You look down to the garden to find Tom's parents, Sam, Harry, Paddy, and Harrison all applauding the two of you - even Tessa is there, barking and howling at you.

You let another tear escape while a burning blush prickles at your cheeks and ears. You move your hand from Tom's waist to his shirt and pull him closer, one final kiss before you settle your head in his chest.

“You really love me then?” He asks incredulously, though part of you can tell that he’s joking. You nod your head and hear his heartbeat increase in his chest.

“I’m in love with you too, since the day I first laid eyes on you.” he whispers, holding you as close to him as possible. You don’t even need to look around to know that the stars are twinkling in their own form of applause for the two of you, and your instincts tell you that both Harrison and Mrs Holland are both probably crying while the others pretend to be sickened by you, but they’re secretly happy you got together.

“Not just friends?” You ask tiredly. 

“Never just friends. I love you, I promise.” You smile at his words

“I love you, T.”

The Cult of the Saints: An Outline

The Cult of the Saints: Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity, by Peter Brown.

Chapter 2: “A Fine and Private Place”

1. Inscriptions on graves stretching over a millennium are “reminders of the massive stability of the Mediterranean care of the dead.” Funerary customs were simply “part and parcel” of the human condition, and so rituals were surprisingly indifferent to labels like “pagan,” “Christian,” “elite,” or “popular.” They were less a religious experience as they were a human experience, with the central aspect in all cases being the importance of the deceased’s family in taking care of the dead. 2. At the same time, the grave became a flashpoint where tensions between communal and familial loyalties could be expressed and played out. Different societies at different times have attempted to deal with the apparent contradiction of loyalty among its constituencies in different ways; some have been content to allow certain members of the dead “to retain a high profile,” while others have attempted to suppress the power of certain deceased and their families. (x) 3. Though such tensions shift the field of conversation from overt theology to more subtle sociological concerns within the community, the language used to discuss these tensions nonetheless remain religiously charged. Granting ammunition to those scholars who use the two-tier popular religion model, writers of this period like Augustine and Jerome attempted to frame undesirable practices as pagan holdovers. 4. This framing of undesirable practices as pagan holdovers has influenced later historians; by taking such claims at face value, scholars like A.H.M. Jones could later look at texts written by these same authors that speak positively of the cult of the saints and frame these texts as the final victory of the vulgar in pressuring the practices of the elite. But such a view fails to hold up under scrutiny. 5. For example, the elites who decried ‘paganisms’ that had infiltrated Christian practice often blamed a phenomenon of mass conversions that had happened in the century since Constantine’s conversion to Christianity. There are two issues with such reasoning; recent archaeological work at Hippo has failed to find evidence of a sudden mass conversion to Christianity among its 4th Century inhabitants; the growth of the community seems to have come from a rising population occurring within a stable Christian community. Second, the practices being described as pagan in origin were often practiced by the elite Christians themselves, and had been practiced by such Christians for generations before. 6. By looking beyond the writings of a select few elites who lived during the generation of Augustine and Jerome, a different picture starts to be formed; this picture forces us to confront the tensions between the universal Church, which articulated itself as a form of extended spiritual kinship, and the biological kin units that were members of this Church. 7. The increased centralization of the Church in late antiquity, combined with the central ritual meal in which all members would participate, allowed the institution to become a form of “artificial kin group.” This is shown by their funerary practices; by the early third century, the Church in Rome had its own cemetery, and the burial of non-Christians within its territory was seen as a breach in kinship ties. Likewise, the Christian Church prayed for its dead specifically, at the exclusion of heathens, apostates, and excommunicates. Likewise, the dates of the deaths of martyrs and bishops were recorded and memorialized as a form of family history. 8. At the same time, the ‘privatization’ of the cult of the saints threatened the universality of the Church; writers like Augustine and Vigilantius criticized devotions centered on ancestral graves and relics for this very reason. There was an anxiety that the rise of feast days dedicated to localized saints could threaten the importance of Easter, and the holy sites in Jerusalem could be neglected in favor of tombs closer to home. 9. By keeping these conflicting interests in mind, the framing of the controversy changes from a Christian intellectual elite trying to suppress a ‘vulgar’ religious practice to a battle between two different Christian elites attempting to position themselves as the proper patrons of the cult; the bishops representing the universal Church, and the families of the venerated deceased. 10. This conflict can be seen in the creation of shrines and the private possessions of relics by wealthy laypersons. Families would often construct shrines to saints with the intention of burying their own dead in proximity to them, depositio ad sanctos. This led to some resentment; the grave of one poor person located outside a chapel had an inscription which said his position outside the church was a result of his poverty, but quips that he nonetheless is “as warm as they” who were laid to rest by the saint. In another case, a woman named Lucilla was rebuked by a deacon for kissing the bone of a martyr that she owned before receiving the Eucharist in her mouth. 11. In Rome itself, tensions between these groups were less severe; the Christian poet Paulinus praised a Roman senator who held a feast at the grave of an ancestor on his death-day, for example. Pope Damascus, likewise, was able to exert influence on prominent members of wealthy Christian families in order to keep a hold on “cemeteries that could so easily have slipped irrevocably out of their control.” Outside of Rome, Ambrose of Milan would play a prominent role in the cooling of this crisis. After the relics of Saints Gervasius and Protasius were discovered in 385, Ambrose was swift to appropriate them for himself; he collected the corpses and placed them in a basilica of his own creation, “inseparably link[ing them] to the communal liturgy.” 12. Ambrose had neither created the practice of saint veneration, nor did he simply accept cult veneration as something outside his control; by linking relics to particular churches and basilicas throughout his territory, Ambrose had essentially “rewired” the practice by connecting it to places of public worship. Augustine’s writings in favor of the saints would perform a similar function; whereas their intercession was previously a largely private affair, his recording of ‘authentic’ miracles by their intercession made these stories the public domain of all Christians. 13. In the generation directly after Augustine, the ambivalence towards the cult of the saints had shifted; figures like Gregory of Tours and Paulinus were greatly enthusiastic with the celebrations of the saints. Two factors may have played a part in this; first was the economic situation in western Europe; even during Augustine’s term as bishop, his community controlled more wealth than he ever did as an individual, and in fact struggled to find ways to spend it. 14. While much of the Mediterranean struggled with financing its ecclesiastical ambitions, Italy, Gaul, and North Africa seemed to have an abundance of wealth; whereas Alexandria “had to choose between shirts for then poor and the itch to build,” western Europe did not have the surge in population that made it difficult to fund reliefs for the poor and sick. And, without the traditional ways of spending wealth for the community, resentment for their possession of the wealth could fester. The cult of the saints allowed the Church to avoid that; by publicly funding shrines and hosting feasts and ceremonies at them, the money could be funneled back to the community. 15. Furthermore, the cult of the saints helped to redefine urban life in the Roman world. Before, the city was divided into citizens (men belonging to the city) and non-citizens (women, children, the poor, and visitors). Most of the time, these latter two categories were allowed to remain in the city, but at times of war or famine they were forcibly expelled; the line of who belonged was drawn. With the rise of the cult of the saints, both women and the poor were able to participate in public life like never before. 16. The most dramatic expression of women’s involvement would be the processions on feast days, which scandalized even some of the clergy; men and women, married and unmarried, walked and mingled together during these celebrations. Later, under Islamic rule, there are records of young men coming to such festivals specifically to see the women. In some cases, illicit sexual activity did occur - Augustine had one in one of the basilicas of Carthage before his conversion to Christianity. 17. Beyond the physical mixing of the sexes, the cult of the saints allowed women to partake in situations that were not dominating by men in the traditional sense. Most shrines were located in cemeteries, where the regulation between the sexes was more lax. Beyond that, however, the escape from the “rigidities of her urban setting” could mean a complete escape from the masculine presence in its entirety. One account of a pilgrim details her walking a circuit of shrines in which even the male saint being venerated did not act in the traditionally Roman masculine form. (x) 18. The poor, meanwhile, often congregated around shrines, as they were heavily associated with charity and gift-giving. This was part of a larger shift to a postclassical society in which the citizen/non-citizen divide was replaced with the rich and poor as the primary separator; the rich were expected to provide service to the poor through a religiously charged expression of patron-client relationship. The poor were not to be thrown out “at the first touch of famine,” but were essential parts of this system of patronage. 19. The inclusion of the poor as social recipients was mirrored by the inclusion of women as givers. This development allowed women to participate in public life at a time where public laws were still forbidding them to participate in politics; under the Christian worldview, charity was an act of mercy, and not an act of politics. Women could therefore visit the sick, feed the poor, and fully participate as patrons of shrine-based ceremonies without breaching this ban. 20. These developments hopefully show that the development of the cult of the saints was not the result of a “vulgar,” half-pagan majority forcing their will on a reluctant, educated Christian elite. Rather, it was a development within the Christian community that created intracommunal tensions and resulted in a tradition that broke from traditional paganism.

The Photograph

(Cairo - chapter 1/4)

“Okay, Tali, time for bed,” said Tony, kissing her head from where she remained curled up beside him on the couch.

"Abba, movie,” she asked, looking up to him with her big chocolate eyes. He loved those eyes. They reminded him of someone.

“We’ve already watched two, sweet cheeks.”

The snow fell unrelenting outside, covering the dimly lit streets of Paris, but Tali’s sweet giggle warmed the apartment as Tony tickled her sides and raised her in the air.

“Even little ninjas need to go to bed,” Tony declared, as he carried his little girl in his arms to the other room. She smacked his cheek, still laughing.

Tony laid her to her tiny pink bed and kissed her forehead. Tali grabbed her two fuzzy toys tightly, her ritual every night. A little dog Ziva packed with her named Kelev and a worn-out hippo with a gothic collar, which Abby gave her as a welcoming gift, Bert.

Already tightly tucked in bed, Tali gradually opened a smile and sent puppy eyes Tony’s way.

“Pleeease?”

“Okay, T, but only one, alright?” he declared as he laid himself down next to her, pulling her close to his chest.

Tony took the photo from her bedside table and turned on the fairy lights. The room turned into various shades of gold and Tali twinkled her eyes, not showing any sign of tiredness.

"Which one would you like?” he asked her, eyes watering with the sight of his picture with Ziva in Paris. Every time he glanced at it, his chest ached. She looked stunning, just as she did that day, riding that motorcycle, hair unbound.

"Box,” Tali declared, to no surprise to her father. It was one of her favorites.

"The box one, got it. But real quick, okay?”

“Humpf.”

"One cold, but very sunny, afternoon, many years ago, papa Gibbs asked Ima and Abba to go searching for a pirate who worked in the Norfolk Docks, an ugly pirate named… Ray…”

“Ray no.”

“Then what’s his name, princess Tali?”

“Butterfly.”

Tony burst out laughing at that. “Okay, sweet cheeks, let me finish then,” he said. She was just like her mother, always contradicting him.

God, he missed her.

“A ruthless, cruel and a widely famous pirate named… Captain Butterfly… who was smuggling weapons and gold inside his ship, to the faraway and dangerous lands of… Iraq. He stocked his treasures inside a massive box, bigger than you and bigger even than me, and everyone knew it was forbidden to enter it. But Ima and Abba were brave, just like you Tali, and had a job to do for papa Gibbs. So they entered the box to seek the treasures. But… it was a magic box, and just like that,” Tony snapped his fingers, “It locked with them inside it. They were trapped.”

"Hours passed and no one came to their aid, and the magic box started moving! We were trapped inside a moving thing! We had to act quickly, so Ima and I started to put our brilliant minds into action. Well, as you know, she’s way smarter than me, and after much discussion, we came to a solution.”

“As two very special agents trapped inside the cold magic box of Captain Butterfly do, we started to throw his treasure away, for papa Gibbs to find our tracks, just like Hansel and Gretel. It was a brilliant idea, to be honest, but what we didn’t realize was that it was gold we were throwing away! Gold! And civilians walking by started to pick it up and erase our path! We were locked in and now invisible as well.”

“But, as you also know, we had papa Gibbs. And he’s the most perceptive man I know, so he figured it out fast enough. And he soon managed to get us out of the magic box of Captain Butterfly, using his secret password. He never told any of us what that was, though. He’s a man of many secrets. And that was one of the many times Abba fell more in love with Ima.”

“Mooore.”

“I'm sorry, princess, it's time for bed” said Tony, as he kissed the photograph, “now you,” and Tali kissed it too.

“Good night, mon Coeur,” he told her as he kissed her little forehead one more time and turned off the lights.

“Luv you, Abba.”

“Love you too, sweet cheeks.”

Snow continued to fall outside.

That night, Tony didn’t leave the picture on Tali’s bedside table. This story was one of the most difficult to tell. He walked slowly to stand near the fireplace, the photo of his past lover in hand, and let the flames illuminate their smiling faces, a memory he so fondly returned to every now and then.

Ziva loves Paris. He missed her so much, more every day. Her secretive smile to him, her constant bickering, their forbidden love. Tali was growing up too fast and she wasn’t there to witness it. To be by his side. One of the things he thought about most was how good she’d be as a mother. He was so profoundly sorry time didn’t have the best timing for him to see that.

And now he was alone. For good.

Silent tears spilled over his cheeks, as the image of them happy in Paris a lifetime ago burned in his mind.

What.

The flames illuminated the back of the picture, turning it to bright orange.

There was something written in it.

Tony DiNozzo took the frame out as fast as he could, heartbeat racing.

It’s been six months since Tali arrived at the navy yard doors, six months since he started to look for any trace of Ziva like a madman. Six months he bothered McGee everyday, tracing calls and fighting for her, his hope fading with time, but always there. She was always in the back of his head, and their memories blurred his vision wherever he went.

There was indeed a message. He couldn’t think straight.

And here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; that which is essential is invisible to the eye.

November 21st, 2016

That which is essential is invisible to the eye.

That’s her quote, the quote she shared when he was telling her about his mother, years ago. The Little Prince.

God, what did it even mean?

And here is my secret, a very simple secret.

That she was alive? It was too vague, he was seeing things, wishful thinking. Or perhaps…

It is only with the heart that one can see rightly.

Why did she write that? She’d sent that picture with Tali, packed along with all her other things, so the message was surely for him.

She had sent that with Tali. She’d had enough time to do that. How… strange.

That which is essential is invisible to the eye.

"Oh", escaped his lips, out loud.

It was all a decoy, wasn’t it? It was invisible for everyone, they all had believed she was dead, gone with the flames in Israel and leaving only her daughter behind. They stopped looking because they didn’t see anything. They just saw her confirmed dead. Even Gibbs. He didn't go looking for her.

They didn’t know her well, though.

He knew her. He knew what was invisible, the wrongness of it all. Ziva David, former Mossad officer, had enough time to save her daughter with everything essential to her packed and ready to leave but didn’t have time to save herself? Time to go into hiding?

November 21st, 2016.

2016.

Today was November 16th, this date was five days in the future. It still didn’t come to pass.

Why write it like that? Why? Why? Why on the 21st of November?

Important dates, official days, birthdays, everything muddled up inside Tony’s racing mind. Clouded thoughts.

Tali. Tali’s birthday.

Her little sister Tali’s birthday was November 21st. And every year she…

She went to an opera house to honor her sister.

This was a message. This was a message for him.

For him, who knew her, who took care of her many years ago on that same date, blasting music loudly in the bullpen because she had to stay working late.

This was a message for him.

She was alive. She was alive. She was alive.

Anthony DiNozzo let out a harsh chuckle, one he carried with him since he first knew about the fire. Since he started hoping everything was a lie. He was dreaming, he was…

He had to go. Now. This was five days away.

Tony ran to their daughter’s bedroom, not being able to contain his sudden euphoria. He turned the lights on quickly, only to find Tali still up, but pretending to be asleep, as if only to please her father. She was grasping Ziva’s necklace with one of her little hands and the other one was in her mouth as she was sucking her thumb.

“Let’s pack our things, princess,” he said, already grabbing the suitcase from her wardrobe, “we’re going to find Ima.”

"Ima!”, declared Tali with a big smile, quickly dismissing the act of sleeping with the mention of her mother.

Tony looked back at her, beaming widely, the first time he let himself do that freely for ages.

"She's in Cairo.”

chapter 2, chapter 3

                  ❝ in my mind I am eloquent; I can climb intricate scaffolds of                      words. but when I open my mouth, everything collapses. ❞

{ cis man, he/him } ❝ icarus is forever deemed the boy who flew too close to the sun and got burned. to me, he is just a boy too enthralled by beauty to care whether or not it could hurt him. ❞ huh, who’s TAYLOR ZAKHAR PEREZ? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually LEANDER FINNIGAN-THOMAS. he is a 23 year old HALF-BLOOD wizard who is a TATTOO ARTIST. he is known for being RETICENT, SELF-CONSCIOUS, STUBBORN, INARTICULATE, and PERSUADABLE but also TRUSTING, SYMPATHETIC, EARNEST, PERCEPTIVE, and QUICK-THINKING, so that must be why he always reminds me of the song EPITAPH BY HIPPO CAMPUS and THE SMELL OF HOMEMADE BROWNIES BAKING; TECHNICOLOR PAINT STAINS ON EVERYTHING YOU OWN; A SKY GONE GREEN WITH PROMISED RAIN; WORN FLANNELS YOU’RE HAPPY TO LET OTHERS BORROW; A LUMP IN YOUR THROAT FROM THE WORDS YOU SWALLOW. i hear he is aligned with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX, so be sure to keep an eye on him. { zoe, 22, cst, she/her }  [ leander is adopted. ]

ADDITIONAL MATERIALS:   leander’s playlist, stats page, & pinterest board    CHARACTER PARALLELS:   jason mendoza (the good place), chidi anagonye (the good place), ty lee (atla), finn (star wars), troy barnes (community), brittany pierce (glee), ponyboy curtis (the outsiders), aang (atla) 

one.

there was no real doubt in anyone’s mind that leander was his fathers’ son. even the two of them had no trouble seeing bits of the other in him. 

dean could be heard calling leander seamus’ son when he ran into the side table holding lit candles and set several wooden picture frames ablaze. seamus returned the favor and referred to leander as dean’s son when he walked into leander’s room and saw he’d upended several jars of paint on the floor. to this day, none of them could really say if he’d upended the jars on purpose or not.

leander liked to think it was on purpose, even as he proclaimed his innocence every time the family told the story over laughter-filled dinners. proclaiming his innocence was just part of the way that story got told and he couldn’t go breaking tradition. really, he liked the way the rainbow of colors was still burrowed into the grooves of the wood and the slats between floorboards, even after countless attempts at cleaning the last of it. a part of him wondered if that hadn’t been an early sign of magic; he knew that that paint washed easily out of his hair and off his closes, but it stuck stubbornly to the floor right where he liked it. 

the colors on the floor nearly matched the technicolor quilt that lay on top of his bed year-round. he liked when things matched like that, almost by accident; like the world liked when things looked pretty as much as he did. he kinda hoped that was one of his first bits of magic; it felt fitting. he said as much to his gran once and had his hair ruffled for his trouble.

two.

when he was a child, he was always elbow deep in some messy thing. it wasn’t that he had a knack for causing trouble  —  he just had such a hard time saying no to trouble when it came calling. he had a hard time saying no to anything that came calling.

that was probably why trouble was always calling him. it knew he was an easy mark.

he made friends easily as a child, when things were easier and no one seemed to mind or care that he had such a hard time finding the words for things. leander was too polite to voice the blame out loud, but he was convinced that his friends growing up were at least half behind all the messes he got into.

the other kids around him might’ve been better at causing messes, but leander made up for it by being a mess. he was always having a crisis as a kid  —  his stuffed dragons were just ravaging the block city, dad, but what about the finger puppet people formerly houses in that block tower? do they even sell dinosaur insurance?? why didn’t I think of the implications here …

he and his sister played knights a lot, with toy swords and helmets modeled after the suits of armor in hogwarts  (dean asked seamus if that wasn’t a little much, when they bought them; they were a few years out from school, after all, they didn’t care that the helmets were accurate  — )   and leander always wondered about the ramifications of two knights fighting each other. shouldn’t they be friends, he thought? she always took his ensuing rambling full of hypothetical knight-schisms as opportunity to knock him flat backwards.

he was a needy kid  —  he always had questions at his lips, a thousand things he wanted to say. it took him forever to find the way to say them, though; leander hated feeling any negative thing, but he was used to frustration turned inward. it was his least favorite feeling, and one he was all too accustomed to. even now, leander was never quite sure what to do with his words. his mind was an easy enough place for him to navigate, and he loved being there for others when they needed someone to listen.

but whenever he tried talking himself wires got crossed and nothing came out how he wanted it to.

three.

he’d always been more quiet than he’d have liked to be, because he did actually have a lot to say. by the time he was nearly hogwarts-aged, he’d mostly forced himself to get over his hang-ups around his family. they poked good-natured fun at him, but he knew they’d always give him as much time as he needed to phrase a sentence or find a word. he could be assured that some of the other kids he’d grown up around would know that he just took a while to say what he really meant, too.

it was the thought of the castle, so full of strangers and professors he didn’t know, that scared him. getting sorted into ravenclaw scared him even more. he knew he didn’t always sound smart, and it worried him that others would listen to him and decide that he wasn’t, actually, smart enough to be a ravenclaw. he knew that he was smart, that he had things of value to offer to conversations. he was just so bad at getting them out the way he wanted to.

he stayed quiet for a while, even knowing he didn’t actually want to be quiet.

whenever he tried to articulate that point to other people though, it tended not to go as well as it did in his head  —  only proving his point. one of the prefects his first year rolled her eyes, said, ‘if you want to be less quiet, just say more, leander.’ but it wasn’t that easy, for him. he had a lot to say but had trouble finding the words for all those things. he could usually carry polite conversation just fine; fool people into thinking he knew what he was doing. but anything more than that required his total focus, and still was rarely quite right.

he bit down on half-formed questions because he thought it was better to not know some things if it meant he didn’t have to see people grow annoyed at his fumbling words. then that made him feel even more like he was some sort of fraud-ravenclaw  —  what ravenclaw thought they were better off not knowing things?

just like he forced himself to get over his worries to talk to his family and old friends, he forced himself to accept that words were never going to be his specialty. then he forced himself to be fine with that. he worked hard to focus on the things he was good at, that didn’t require him to talk too much  —  he always felt at home in the air on his broom, or with a sketchbook in his lap, or in the kitchen whipping up something that’d make other people happy. those things weren’t nothing. 

four. 

leander was smart, actually; he excelled in herbology and charms and worked hard enough everywhere else to not be singled out during class. he never caused as many explosions as his dad did from simple transfiguration. and he was great with people, for all that he got so in his head sometimes that he felt clumsy with even his dearest friends. but being smart never stopped anyone from being a fool. 

when leander looked back on his childhood, it was as if all of his roiling anxieties melted away. it was like looking in on a world encased in the sun  —  he imagined his memories as some sort of weird, reverse snow globe, where everything shimmered at the edges and only got brighter as you shook it up. 

hindsight made even mundane or negative memories seem golden, to leander. his biggest fault was that he always liked to think things were kinder than they actually were.

leander trusted people to be better than they were  and was bad at saying what he meant, which was, at times an awful combination for him. he trusted the world to treat him better than it did. 

if someone ever tries to convince him that, no, really, that harsh person from a historically bigoted family is not a good person, his stubbornness really came out and saw leander dig his feet in. he never wanted to believe that people had to be truly black or white  —  he was stubbornly convinced that there was good in every person, even when he was told he shouldn’t try so hard to look for it.

leander knew what was it like to feel you stood on the fringes of everybody else’s lives; no amount of forcing himself to be comfortable with the way he was ever took that anxiety away. he tried his hardest to be accommodating and friendly and understanding to everyone he came into contact with, even the people who maybe didn’t deserve his kindness. especially them, sometimes. he didn’t want anyone feeling like he was someone to be wary around. leander was steadfast in his beliefs and knew he wouldn’t change them, but all the same  —  that shouldn’t be a reason for someone to look at him and expect anything less than he gave everyone else.

four.

home never stopped being the most comforting place for leander. not even once he was older, a little more settled, and no longer had such stress over belonging in ravenclaw tower. not even once he had plenty of friends, a spot on the quidditch roster, a place in the castle. he adored not feeling so lost at school the older he got, but it couldn’t compete with home. 

the golden gleam of his memories made everything feel well-worn and well-loved in his head, but home was the biggest victim, and the most deserving of such treatment. leander was stubbornly adamant that there was no better place in the world than the finnigan-thomas’ home in kenmare. holidays at home with his family, extended and sprawling and filled with family friends as much as blood relatives, were leander’s favorite thing. 

he loved his dads so much  —  even as he couldn’t help but wonder, privately, if they wouldn’t have preferred a son who wasn’t such a fuck up sometimes. he’d certainly caused several dinner parties to grind to a halt with a poorly-phrased question directed at the aunt he forgot he wasn’t supposed to sit next to, after the incident over christmas dinner when he was ten. 

leander wondered if his dads wouldn’t want a son who was better at words, because leander always thought there were ways for him to be better. he wondered, privately, because he couldn’t help but worry. but the logical part of his brain knew that there wasn’t a need to worry over them. they loved him, he knew, and didn’t even need his memory to gloss everything over for that to be true.  

five. 

there was always a level of creativity in the house growing up, and leander took to it like a fish to water. he never really let up on his fascination with color and the physicality of paint clinging to his skin and the paintbrush and whatever canvas was in front of him. the permanently-painted floorboards in his room weren’t the only casualty in the house, but that was alright. no one ever gave leander too much grief over tracking paint everywhere.

it was easier for him to take a pencil to page than to find the words, sometimes, and he was so happy his family understood that about him, and let it grow. 

leander couldn’t keep track of how many drawings his dads pinned up to the fridge when he was a kid, or how excited dean had been to lead leander around museums growing up. he cherished every minute seamus spent nodding along as leander rambled about some era in art history seamus knew nothing about. it didn’t matter that leander grew into being comfortable at hogwarts, and around strangers, and people who weren’t so understanding with his fumbled words; it was work, with all of them, even as the work got easier on him. 

nothing about being near his family and feeling that love felt like work. 

leander, even grown out a childhood-self that worried over the ethics of stuffed dragons knocking over block towers, couldn’t help but be dragged down the whirlpool of hypothetical thoughts. he wondered if there was some alternate-universe leander who wasn’t as lucky as he was, who didn’t have his dads and his sister and his friends. maybe there was a leander who had those things but still lived in a world that was altogether harsher than his was. he thanked the universe as often as he remembered to that he was who he was, and that he was where he was. 

leander was bowled over by stress and anxiety and worries more often than he existed in a state of honest chill, but he was still so happy to have the life he did. he didn’t always feel like he deserved it, but he was glad it was his. 

six. 

when leander was sixteen, he dicked around enough on the internet to teach himself how to give magical tattoos and muggle tattoos both. he really thought that it shouldn’t have been so easy to order all the necessary equipment and have it delivered to his house; he really, really thought that the owl that came bearing his enchanted ink should’ve asked for, like, ID or something. it felt like getting away with something, how easy it was. 

leander was well-versed in courting trouble at this point and knew he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. he just thought it was important to note that he worried at it being so easy for people without training to get all that stuff. 

he practiced on himself and his sister, with a little needling and an iron-clad pinkie swear that they’d keep the tattoos a secret from their dads. in hindsight, it was a very stupid decision on leander’s part to start practicing in the summer, when they went to the beach often enough that the two finnigan-thomas kids had to order some fancy witch-owned brand of waterproof concealer to cover the evidence. their dads didn’t notice the tattoos until they came home that winter break and forgot to start hiding them again, though, so leander would take the win. 

he offered tattoos to people at school, and really hoped that some of them also forgot to hide them when they went home for winter hols. it felt only fitting that his not-thought-out plan brought some other people a bit of trouble. he’d call it payback for all that time in their childhoods when he’d been the one getting dragged into problems, but the thought of payback as a concept made leander a little sad, so, whatever. 

seven. 

it felt only fitting that he looked into doing tattoos as a professional once he was out of hogwarts. dean certainly insinuated, when leander mused over the option, that it would make the shock he’d given his dads over the tattoos worth it. leander kind of agreed; he didn’t think the tattoos weren’t worth it, already, but there could be layers to worth. on principle, he loved the idea of practice. he liked to think that everything in life was practice for something to come  —  that nothing happened to you that couldn’t have a use later down the line. 

it had a nice symmetry to it, a circular-ness. it was the sort of lofty thought he’d have an absolute monster of a time voicing out loud, but he felt it, and sometimes that was enough for leander. it was like the paint worn into his floorboards that matched the quilt on his bed; unintentional but fitting anyway. 

leander wondered if maybe he shouldn’t look into going to muggle university to study art, or at least take an apprenticeship under a wizarding artist so he could learn how to paint portraits and landscapes that could move and all. there was still a career in that, people looking to have themselves or their relatives or their homes immortalized in oils even as moving photographs were so much easier these days. 

he was  —  definitely, he was interested in learning that sort of thing. it just felt like too big a goal to have for his life right after school was over. he hadn’t been suspended in a state of constant stress during his time at hogwarts, or anything, but h still felt a strong sort of relief when it was over. 

there were things he’d miss; how easy it was, having so many of his friends all living in the same place, all doing the same things and living such parallel lives. he’d miss quidditch practice now that he knew he’d never make it as a professional  —  and never want to, besides. he’d miss the community of it all, even as he recalled how hard it had been for him to settle into it. he knew that it would only take a year or two, maybe less than that, for him to start romanticizing his time there like nothing had ever hurt in the castle’s walls. 

but the sigh of relief, that was bigger than anything he missed, and it made him sure he wanted to take a step back from school and any formal training or education. he already knew enough about tattooing now that he felt assured it wouldn’t feel so much like starting over to make a job of it.

eight. 

leander was always far better at thinking on his feet than most people would guess from knowing him. it sometimes surprised leander himself, even  —  he knew he had a propensity towards worry, and it seemed like maybe he shouldn’t actually be good in an emergency. maybe it was just that he had an overactive fight or flight instinct that he’d long trained over the years to fight through whatever it could. he might not be the person people in his life wanted around when they were going through a crisis, but he knew how to handle himself in all manner of unexpected situations. leander liked to think he rarely made things worse. 

does he make good choices whilst thinking on his feet? not all the time. but then, who could be relied on to make the perfect decision during every high stress situation they found themselves tossed into? leander made choices, and knew better than to stand idle; leander was of the belief that second guessing things had no value, even as he couldn’t help himself sometimes. he tried his best to face every consequence of every action head on. 

he dug his feet in over stupid, foolish decisions often enough. it was fitting that sometimes when he dug his feet in, it was for a purpose. the best way out is through, and all that  —  maybe he’d get that adage tattooed on him someday, too. 

sometimes it still felt like things happened to him, like he was a less active participant in his life than others were in theirs. he’d always pick fight over flight but not every situation asked that choice of him. it was less because he had a genuine go-with-the-flow personality, and more that he had such a hard time saying no.  

nine. 

when the world around him started turning itself upside down with awfulness and inside out with tragedy, leander knew it wouldn’t do him any good to freeze now. he joined up with the order because he knew there really wasn’t any other option he could take and still look at himself in the mirror. he wasn’t an auror or a healer or anyone that he thought had, like, much of value to offer the cause. but he was asked, and he said yes, because leander always, always said yes when trouble came calling for him. it was instinctive at this point.

leander liked to think he didn’t hate a lot of things. his heart was too open, to full of potential love, for him to like feeling anything harsher than annoyance, frustration. he forced bursts of hurt to come and go in a count of ten, because dwelling on the negative made him feel hollowed out. 

but he stopped laying in bed at night so often, thanking his lucky stars that he was leander in this world over any others; he started, instead, wondering if any generation in this world of theirs would get to be untouched by even the threat of war. he wondered if it was too naive to wish this darkness would fade as quickly as it did when his dads were kids. 

he turned things over in his memory now that some of the worst had come to pass; normally he let everything be painted in shades of gold, but he wondered if that wasn’t part of the problem. maybe too many people had worked too hard to push prison breaks and strange disappearances to the side  —  maybe too many people had had wanted to remember things only as happy and bright. it was such an ingrained part of himself now that leander knew he’d never be able to stop thinking things were better than they were. 

maybe it would be the end of him one day. but at least he’d be himself, at the end. 

Folklore 15 for Oliver and Isaac?

15. But I would die for you in secret

Oliver hates this. He hates, hates, hates this. He hates the way his mom looks at him, like she’s looking right through him. He hates the way her dress makes her look like she’s floating off the floor. He hates the way the photobooth film flits between her cool, pale fingers. It’s his. It’s his memory. She can’t take it, not like she’s taken everything else. He won’t let her.

“Olinsivver,” she says, and though her face is impassive and her tone is neutral, the name drips from her lips like venom. He holds back a grimace that his name always brings. “Who is this?”

He opens his mouth, his throat suddenly constricting around the words that try to come tumbling out. My boyfriend, is on the tip of his tongue, and he catches it a moment before he can say it. He swallows. “A friend,” he says.

The photobooth strip she’s holding is innocent enough. It’s from a fair that they went to at the beginning of the year; the same one the stuffed purple hippo sitting on his desk had come from. In the first frame, he and Isaac are laughing, the hippo in his lap. In the second, they make faces at the camera. The last two have been ripped off, the photos of them kissing left in Isaac’s hands, and thank god, because his mom would... Well, he’s really not sure what his mom would do.

She raises an eyebrow. “A human?”

Hesitantly, he nods. She stares at him, and he stares back, hoping his lie went unnoticed.

He really, really hates this.

She had just stopped in, all of the sudden, like it’s something she does regularly - Oliver can’t remember the last time she entered his room. She had told him that he was expected at the next council meeting, and he had agreed, hurried to escort her out, and then... she picked up the picture. He hates lying about Isaac - he never wants to lie about him. But his mom...

She clicks her tongue. “You know what we do - “

“We don’t get involved,” he says, the words like sandpaper against his tongue.

“Good.” In a movement too quick, too fluid, too off to be human, she makes her way across the room and cups his cheek. “You’re a good boy, Olinsivver,” she says.

I’m sorry, Isaac, he thinks. But I would die for you in secret. ”Thanks, Mom,” he mumbles, impossibly quiet. In a blink, she’s gone. But Oliver finds he’s not any less uncomfortable then, either.

send me folklore prompts!

1:4 – Usagi Will Teach You How To Lose Weight!

[Original Post 19/08/2013]

Alternative Title: Body Issues? LOSE WEIGHT, SAILOR FATTY

First aired: 28th March 1992

Usagi is suffering from severe body dysmorphic disorder. Despite being obviously perfect (physically at least – her brain is another issue), she’s become obsessed her weight. Like most women, she is subject to the unrealistic and harmful expectations of feminine beauty in society. Usagi’s family attempt to help her overcome her imagined weight issues by calling her fat. Upon the advice of her classmates, she visits a brand new totally-not-evil gym. Little does she know Jadeite is now trying to sell his brand new not-evil P90X workout, which is TOTALLY EVIL. How dare you take advantage of women’s image problems, Jadeite!?

The episode opens well enough – Usagi in a bath towel. This is probably the most overtly sexualised Usagi has been up to this point in the series and you know what? It’s a little more awkward now that I’m older and wiser and in my mid-20s. It becomes even more awkward when Usagi has to be given a “talk” in the dining room after she’s worried that she’s fat.

You know what her family says to her? “You’re chubby, but that’s OK” – what a lovely sentiment! Things quickly turn sour when they discuss why she’s so fat – all the eating, they suggest – and poor Usagi is left feeling like a goddamn hippo. It’s not nice.

Great parenting, guys. Really top-notch work here. This is totally normal behaviour

Luna doesn’t help the 14-year-old’s image problems. Although she normally takes the role of guiding-mother, in this episode she frequently reduces Usagi to tears by commenting on how fat she is..

Wow. This episode is a little messed up. Body image problems were becoming a major issue for the health of women, and this episode was obviously trying to discuss the issue. Unfortunately they do this by making everyone fucking crazy, even for Japanese people. It must be an early 90s thing. It’s just not that fun.

Not pictured: a balanced psyche

Aside from the uncomfortable subject matter, the episode was written and drawn by the crappy studio. I’ve decided to give the 3 distinct studios involved in the making of Sailor Moon names, just for parsimony.

1) A-Grade Studio: These guys do the important stories with the best writing, and their episodes are just gorgeous.

2) B-Grade Studio: These episodes are well written on the whole, but the drawing style is obviously different. Not totally bad, but characters tend to look a lot more hastily drawn and a little squished.

3) Ass-Grade Studio: Some animations are only 2 or 3 frames, faces look flat and sharp and the writing BLOWS. This episode is the archetype for this.

“Hey, Yoshi, your shitty 4-year-old slipped a drawing into the episode again”

ANYWAY. Back to the episode. Usagi and Naru are discussing their non-existent weight issues with 2 classmates I don’t think we’ll ever see again. Let’s call them Kermit and Miss Piggy. I think this scene attempts to vocalise the self-conscious worries of teenage girls, but things quickly become sidetracked as Miss Piggy goes on about pineapple and Kermit rambles on about how nice it would be if love made you lose weight.

Yeah, keep dreaming Froggy. Maybe you’ll burn some calories off your brain.

Hey guys, guess what? Miss Sakurada has totally gotten thin by going to this new gym, and Umino has pervert pics to prove it. The eeriest thing about these pictures is not that Umino took them, or that Sakurada clearly didn’t need to lose weight, but that she’s clearly looking into the camera and smiling in one of the photos. Maybe 14-year-old losers with behavioral issues gets her off. Oop, just made myself barf in my mouth a little.

“OK Umino, hand over the roofies and no one has to die”

The girls decide to visit the same gym, in which Jadeite is posing as a fitness instructor called Jed (BRILLIANT!). After a poorly-drawn work out featuring large beefy men instructing little girls in tight bloomers how to sweat more, Usagi decides to get the hell away from Jed’s evil workout regime, opting instead for a nice jacuzzi. Clever girl! It’s this laziness that saves her from the fate that awaits her friends – energy sucking pods in the basement! 

“Don’t worry, these ominous condom-pods definitely won’t kill you”

Quite frankly these pods are amazing. Apparently the pre-cursor state of the “Energy” that Queen Beryl loves so much is human fat. If she’s willing to give me a free liposuction, then I really don’t see the problem of donating a few pounds to the Dark Kingdom.

Unfortunately the pods are killing Ms Sakurada and Usagi’s classmates – they’re too thin! Ahh the evils of self-improvement! The real shame is that if Jadeite took only a bit of energy and kept his shit on the down-low, he’d be a billionaire.

“Billionaire? Do you know how many purple-tinted glasses for that!?”

Usagi, meanwhile, hits rock bottom after drooling after a small child’s dumpling, scaring him so that he runs off crying. She’s so hungry that stupid-lame Motoki has to revive her after she faints. Motoki reveals himself as a perverted feeder who gets off on fat chicks, and Usagi is happy to eat again! 

“I find childhood obesity hilariously attractive. Eat this dumpling.”

…Until the mysterious handsome awesome stranger calls her fat. And then Luna calls her fat. And she goes all diet-crazy AGAIN. This episode is all over the place. Actually this whole middle section is rather fun.

Usagi goes exercise-mad in the evil gym, freaking people out with her zeal. She only comes to her senses after Luna threatens to slice her face to shit – her one weakness! – and finally transforms into Sailor Moon.

“Bitch I will cut yo’ face unless you Moon Prism Power right now.”

The final fight is noteworthy for one reason – the big beefy gym instructors have been brainwashed and attack Sailor Moon when she tries to destroy the miracle thinning pods in the basement, and our heroine must kick the living snot out of them with her bare fists, all the while counting how many calories she’s losing. It’s really rather cool, or at least it would be if the animation wasn’t so crappy. Cheers, Ass-Grade Studio!

The episode ends with Usagi’s little brother Shingo playing a trick on her, leading her to believe she’s gained 300 pounds, and she succumbs to a self-destructive eating disorder. That’s a pretty good joke, Shingo.

Episode Score: 2/5 (It’s pretty bad, you guys.)

Monster Freakishness Level: 0/5 (Eating disorders are the real monsters)

Naru-chan Attack Count: 3 (That girl needs to start carrying a gun or something)

A night with my Japanese class crush

Inspired by these prompts I found here. I love college/university aus, there the ones I tend to default to since I'm in college myself. College

Lance knocked on the door again, hoping someone would answer. This wasn’t happening. He was not locked out of his own dorm room because he forgot his keys in the room when he went to go grab dinner and study. Except, well, he was. He knew Hunk wasn’t there. His high school sweetheart went to a college a few hours from theirs and her extremely over protective brother wasn’t going to be on campus for the weekend. His other suitemates though, James Griffin and Lotor Daibazaal, the assholes, had to of gone out for the night. The most annoying thing was they all hung their keys up on hook by the door, so they knew he didn’t have his keys yet they still locked the door. He groaned, dropping on the door and sliding down to the floor. It was cold outside and he just wanted to go back into his room and put his fuzzy shark onesie on and drink hot chocolate and fall asleep listening to the new Alexander Jean CD he finally got.

Part of him wondered if he’d get in trouble for falling asleep in the dorms’ lounge but he knew the last time someone had done that, they woke up with dicks and curse words drawn on their face. Lance was not risking that. He tried to think, was anyone he knew on campus still awake? Allura? No, she had early morning practise, so she’d be asleep with her earbuds in and he didn’t really know he roommate too well. Adam? He was the RA for a whole other building and if he remembered correctly, his favourite TA was on duty tonight so he couldn’t have guests. Pidge? No to that too, they lived with their brother and Matt loved annoying him by flirting with him and he didn’t have the mental compacity to put up with him right then.

In his frustration, Lance picked up his Japanese text book and threw it down the hall, where it hit the door on the other side. He heard the door opening as he threw his face into his hands.

“What the hell? Lance?”

He looked up and froze when he saw the person at the end of the hall. Shit.

“Keith!” he cried, shooting up and stared the other male. “What, what are you doing here? I thought you lived in Montgomery.”

“I do, but my brother lives here and he’s busy and asked me to watch his cat.”

“Huh?” Cat? Pets weren’t allowed in the building? And what brother? And why was Keith even here?

Keith and Lance were in the same Japanese class. He had noticed him on their first day. There class was set up so the desks were in a circle and Keith was opposite Lance. the first thing he had noticed was his hair was a bit of a mullet but other than the tragic hairstyle, Keith was really good looking. Like drop dead gorgeous, with his dark eyes and obvious muscles. Back when the weather had been hotter, Keith came to class with his bangs clipped back and his hair tied into a messy bun and Lance felt his heart stop. No one should look that good. Didn’t help that he’d been in a tank top and it took everything in him not to get lost during the lesson because he kept staring at Keith. Whenever they stood next to each other when the teach would have them practise writing characters, Lance would control himself not to blush. God, literally last week, they were paired to do a practise conversation and Keith asked him if he was free on Saturday and Lance melted a little before remembering it was a practise conversation.

“What are you doing out here? And throwing your textbook out that hall?”

“Huh?” Lance realised Keith was talking to him. “I left my keys in my room by accident and even though my other roommates so my keys on the hook by the door, they still locked it.”

“I can call security for you?” Keith offered, holding out Lance’s textbook.

“Thanks, but Hunk used the suite’s free passes when he kept forgetting his keys, hence why we hang them up by the door now.”

“Oh. Are any of your roommates coming back?”

Lance shook his head. “Hunk’s gone to see his girlfriend for the weekend and I know my asshole roommates left for the night. Everyone else I know isn’t the best option to stay the night with.”

“Did you want to stay the night with me?”

“What?”

“My brother went to grab something from the student store and his therapy cat keeps meowing if he’s not in the room, so I’m keeping her occupied.” Keith explained.

“That’s what that noise was?” Lance said, thinking back to the times he was so sure he heard a cat meowing. Then he remembered something else. “Wait, the guy who carries the spaceship bag is your brother? I though he was a pre-vet student.”

“Shiro a pre-vet major? No, Shiro studying to be a teacher. He’ll be back soon and my roommate dropped out halfway through the semester so I’ve got a dingle. You can sleep on the extra bed and we can come back the next day to make sure your roommates are back.”

A whole night with Keith, alone? Lance would not make it through the night.

“I, I don’t have anything to wear. I needed a shower.” Lance tried to excuse.

“Most of Shiro’s hand-me-downs I use as pyjamas. I have extra towels too.”

Lance struggled to find another excuse. He didn’t want one because a whole night with Keith, yes please, but it was also Keith.

“Sure.” He agreed in the end.

“Cool, come on. we can wait in Shiro’s room till he gets back.”

Lance slowly followed Keith into the room, which he realised was one of the random singles on the floor. While one wall was taken mostly by a bed, the other had a large cat tree and a steady incline of perches, including a bridge that lead to the dresser. Tangled up in a teasing rope toy was a black cat, with a few patches of white.

“That’s Kuro, Shiro’s therapy cat.” Keith explained as he gently nudged her side, moving when she twisted in attempt to sink her claws into his foot.

“Oh. Ok. Medical issues?”

“Mostly. He has really bad anxiety after this accident he had. He’s much better than he was when he first got her but I guess you can say she’s overprotective. She doesn’t like having him out of her sight.”

“I see.”

The door opened and the guy Lance and Hunk were always so sure was a pre-vet student came in, unzipping his jacket. Most of his black hair was hidden by a beanie, but his white dyed fringe was still in his face.

“Oh, hello?”

“Shiro, this is Lance. He lives across the hall.”

Shiro’s grey eyes lit up with recognition. “Right. You live with Lotor right?”

“Unfortunately.” Lance said. It was no secret he didn’t like Lotor or James.

“Yeah, he makes it a habit to complain about me bringing Kuro to class.” Shiro said.

“I’m sure he does.”

“Lotor and his other roommate locked Lance out so he’s gonna spend the night with me.” Keith said, picking up his jacket from Shiro’s bed.

“Alright.” Shiro pulled out two bowls of instant ramen and gave whatever was left in the bag to Keith. “I’ll see you around Lance.”

“You too.” Lance said following Keith out the door and back into the cold air.

“Are you hungry?” Keith asked, his words slightly muffled with his scarf around his mouth.

“Um a little.” Lance admitted. “I can just grab something from the vending machine when we get to Montgomery.”

“No need, I have food in my room. I hope you don’t mind ramen.”

“Consists of most of my diet.” Lance admitted.

They soon reached the building and Keith tapped his student ID to the card reader, pulling the door open when it let out a beep. He led Lance up two flights of stairs and down the hall where a door covered in a Sherlock door poster hung, making the door look like the door for apartment 221B. According to the old marking on the door jam, it was actually room 221.

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I had gotten the poster for Christmas before I started college and when I saw what my room was, I knew I had to bring it.” Keith unlocked his door and let Lance walk in first before he followed him. one side of the room looked unoccupied while the other was obviously lived in. the bed was covered in red and black sheets, the blanket shoved near the end of the bed, almost covering the large hippo plush. The desk was pushed against the end of the bed and held a large monitor for the desk top computer. Most of the wall was covered in posters of different anime or space related. On the chest of the drawers, acrylic stands and figurines were spread out, picture frames placed in free spaces around them.

Lance dropped his things on the empty bed and glanced over at the pictures. There was one with Keith and an older guy. He almost looked like Shiro but Lance could tell that he resembled Keith more. Another picture held a woman in army fatigues who looked more like Keith. There was one with Shiro and Keith along with a dog, who looked like more fur than anything. He looked over at Keith as he dropped his jacket onto the chair, taking the bag to the microwave that sat on top of the mini fridge. He turned on the kettle sitting on top of it and pulled out the other bowls of ramen.

“You said you didn’t like beef ramen, right?” Lance looked confused, unsure how Keith even knew that. “You mentioned it in class one day, around the food section?”

He had mentioned that, but that had been during a practise conversation that Lance knew he hadn’t been paired with Keith for.

“Um yeah. Don’t really like the taste of it.”

“I have soy sauce udon, is that ok?” Lance nodded and watched Keith pull a container out from the fridge and put it in the microwave. He picked up a mug that seemed to hold all the cutlery Keith owned and held it out for Lance.

Lance smiled at the sight of Studio Ghibli themes chopsticks as he took the Kiki’s Delivery Service ones.

“I didn’t realise you were such an otaku Keith.”

“Have you seen my bookbag?”

He had. It was covered in pins from different animes and the bag itself was Kingdom Hearts themed. “I prefer my pins on an itabag.”

“Oh I have itabags, I just don’t use bags on campus except for my bookbag so there’s no point in bringing them.”

Lance couldn’t help but laugh. He was still nervous about staying the night in Keith’s dorm, especially with his crush on him but he was learning a lot about Keith. It was slowly becoming easier to relax around him. The microwave went off and Keith pulled out the container, a cloud of steam erupting when Keith opened it and offered it to Lance.

“Seafood dumplings. I was going to finish these tonight so feel free.”

“Is it ok?” Lance asked. With Keith’s nod, Lance picked one up between his chopsticks and took a small bite. “These are good.”

“There’s this kinda unknown dim sum place not far from here. It’s pretty good.”

“Sounds like fun. I should check it out.”

The kettle went off next and Keith went to fill the bowls with hot water, keeping the lids down with a chopstick each before sitting next to Lance on the bed. He took Lance’s chopsticks from his hands and used it to pick up his own dumpling.

And there went Lance’s blood pressure, shooting up at the thought of using the same utensils as Keith.

‘Congratulations Lance, you’ve become a complete child with a crush.’

“Were you studying Japanese?” Keith asked.

“Hmm?” Then Lance remembered it had been his Japanese textbook he threw at Shiro’s door. “Yeah. The kanji is really hard.”

“Yeah. I get confused with some of them. I’m not looking forward to when we have to start using them in our writing.”

“I’m still more worried about speaking part of it. When I get nervous, my mind starts switching Spanish and Japanese.”

“Oh yeah, I remember the midterm exam, the speaking portion. You recovered really well though. If you want, I can help you practise your speaking.” Keith offered.

“Oh, you don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Lance couldn’t really answer after that. He wanted to. Keith didn’t have to but he wanted to.

“Sure. If it’s ok with you. Man, you are really doing a lot for me. Letting me stay the night, feeding me, helping me study.”

“I’m sure you can figure out some way to repay me.” Keith said, his voice sounding flirtatious, making Lance’s heart stop again.

‘He isn’t allowed to do this. I’m dying, why is he doing this?’

“You ok?”

“Yep, sure, totally fine.” Lance rushed out. Then Keith gave him this smile. God, he really wasn’t allowed to smile like that!

“Here, I think the ramen is ready.” Lance took his chopsticks back, and stuffed a dumpling into his mouth, trying to organize his thoughts. “Did you want to watch a movie?”

“Sure, you can choose.”

Keith handed Lance his bowl, which he started to dig into then woke his computer up. He put a DVD into the drive and skipped to the main menu.

“Ohh, Kingsman! I love that movie. The second one was really good.” Lance said as he saw the main menu.

“It’s one of my favourite ones. I remember Shiro saw it with his boyfriend and they said Eggsy had gotten married to a blonde chick and my mind went to Roxy.”

“I know, I watched it on the plane ride home but I was half asleep and the person next to me was watching it and was like ‘I can’t believe they shoved those two together! That was one of the stories good points, that Roxy and Eggsy were only best friends, never even hinted to be in a relationship. I was glad we were both wrong.”

“I know. But I guess it speaks to how Eggsy values relationships. He liked Roxy only as a friend and they stayed that way the whole time and even though he only wanted to have sex with the princess, he was able to hold a relationship with her, something he never wanted to risk, even for his job.”

“I kinda hope I can have a relationship like that.” Lance said.

“I’m sure you’ll have no problem.” Keith said, in that same flirtatious voice.

Oh god, Lance didn’t know if he was trying to say something. That was a tomorrow issue. For now, he was going to enjoy watching this movie and ramen with Keith.

Drake's Diary ch.16 - Barns and Bath-houses

The Royal Romance from Drake's POV

Drake x MC (Emma)

Words: 2731

It's time to raise a barn! And then get some relaxation in at the spa.

It’s the day of the barn raising, and Drake and Hana are operating a pulley system. They struggle to lift a beam off the ground

“Pull!” Drake called. Their muscles strain against the weight of the beam.

“Pull pull pull! Maxwell walked over, shouting to them.

“Hey guys.” Emma greeted.

  “Maxwell? Emma?” Distracted, Hana drops the rope and the beam crashes to the ground. “Oops! Sorry, Drake! I was just excited to see our friends. And it looks like Emma came dressed and ready to work.”

“You know it.” Emma winked

Drake slowly drank in the sight of her. She was wearing short jean shorts, a white tank with a red plaid tie up shirt over it. She looked…hot. Realizing he was staring he quickly thought of something to say. “I don’t think we were going to get it all the way up there anyway.”

But now Emma was the one staring at him. “Drake…You’re not wearing a shirt…”

“Oh. Right.” He blushed

“He started off with a shirt…” Hana said

Drake shrugged. “Hey, it’s hot out! A guy’s got to cool off somehow. Maxwell, you’re going to be sweating buckets in that black shirt.”

Hana pointed “There’s a spot over there where many of the nobles are hanging their dress shirts. Or, alternatively, I think Drake chose a spot on the ground for his.”

“Nah, I’ll leave my shirt on. This button down’s made of moisture-wicking fabric. Very breathable.” Maxwell informed.

Drake noticed Emma still watching him. “Drake, you sure you’re not trying to show off for the press?”

He shook his head. “I’m happiest out of frame.”

I only want to be on your radar, Rose, no one else’s.

Maxwell thought a second. “Well, Emma should be giving the press something to shoot. Come on! Let’s lift things and build barns!”

Hana frowned “I think that’s missing a few steps.”

“Details, details.” Maxwell brushed her off. Everyone lined up on the rope.

“Everyone ready?” Drake asked. Everyone grips the pulley’s rope.

“Heave!” Maxwell shouted gleefully.

All together, they manage to lift the beam to the second floor of the barn. Once done, the group discussed their next courses of action. There was painting with Hana, making planks with Maxwell, and continuing to lift beams.

“You’re welcome to stay here.” Drake jumped in eagerly

Please stay here.

Emma pretended to take her time thinking, before smiling and saying, “I’ll stay here with Drake.”

“Suit yourself.” Maxwell muttered.

“Have fun!” Hana told them

Drake looked back at Emma, warmth spreading throughout him. “Well, looks like you’ve chosen to stick with me, Rose.”

“I stand by my decision.”

“Heh, alright.” He looked away quickly as another blush crept up his neck. He was so pleased she chose to stay with him. Always chooses me.

“So, what does big strong Drake need my help with?”

Drake grinned. “Beam lifting, of course. But I’m bringing in some help.” He waves over a few laborers, who attach a beautiful black horse to the pulley system.

“Chica Linda!” Emma exclaimed.

“Liam made sure she was taken care of for you.” Drake told her.

I doubt he would have thought of it on his own, but that’s beside the point.

Emma was still grinning. “Hey, girl. Are you gonna help us build this barn?” Chica Linda nuzzles her, and she lets out a happy sigh.

“I figured some real horsepower would make everything go a lot quicker. But this’ll also make an even better picture for the press. Your outfit next to a horse will complete the look.”

Or maybe I just love seeing you dressed casually with a horse. Two, no three, of my favorite things. Rose, comfy clothes, and horses.

“Aww, thanks Drake. You do care.”

“I never said I didn’t.” Drake held her gaze before she bit her lip, when his eyes dropped down to her lips. If we weren’t in public right now…those lips would be mine.

She cleared her throat. “What do I need to do?”

“Uh…Right. I want you to guide the horse forward, while I direct the beam. I figured you would have the best control since she’s your horse.”

Emma nodded. “Got it.”

Drake moves over to the secured beam. “Okay! Pull!”

She gently leads Chica Lina forward “Easy, girl. Right this way.” Chica Linda marches forward, pulling the beam up. Drake steers it to the second floor, then walks over to Emma. He noticed her eyes were now on his muscled chest, which was practically glistening in the sunlight. He wiped the sweat from his brow.  “Whew, that wasn’t so bad. Good work, Emma.”

“Thanks, but Chica Linda did most of the work.” She pats the horse fondly.

Drake gave a small bow. “Well, thank you, Chica Linda.” As they pet the horse, they notice Kiara struggling to carry a small beam by herself.

“Just…a few more…steps…til I can drop this…stupid plank…Mon Dieu!” Kiara stumbles, twisting an ankle in her heels. The beam falls down on top of her!

“Kiara!” Emma cried.

“Oh, geez.” Drake runs to her side and quickly tosses the beam off of her.

“Oh, merci beaucoup.” Kiara said gratefully.

“You okay?” Emma asked.

“I am now.” She smiled shyly at Drake.

He raised an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t carry this all by yourself.”

“I…uh, you know how it is. Penelope said she was taking a five-minute break thirty minutes ago, and I didn’t want to wait around.”

Drake sighed. “If you’re going to carry a beam, even a small one, at least find someone like me to help you.”

Kiara’s eyes drifted down his torso. “Right, I’ll find someone…like you.” She clears her throat and stands. “Thank you for looking out for me, Drake.”

As Kiara leaves, Emma turns to Drake “Do you think you have an admirer?”

Drake grimaced. “I hope not.”

He notices Kiara by the barn, sneaking a peek back at him.

“I think she might be checking you out.” Emma said.

“That’s not funny.” He snapped.

“I’m not laughing!”

Ugh, please tell me some noble girl isn’t suddenly developing a crush on me. Not now. Not when I have Rose. Hell, maybe even if I never have her.  No one else can ever compare.

He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t want to think about this. Let’s just finish this barn. That’s simple. Just move and build.”

“Right.” Emma looked like she was about to say more, but instead they silently went back to work. Drake was relieved. He definitely did not want to think about Kiara. She was nothing. Emma was everything. End of story. Working through the day they help complete the last of the barn. Everyone gathers to admire their work.

“We did it! And it looks great.” Emma exclaimed, happily.

Drake agreed. “Not bad for bunch of nobles.”

“That was exhausting, but I’m glad we did it.” Hana piped in.

“No more. Can’t…saw…another…plank of wood.”

Drake rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Maxwell. If this was a dance set, you’d still be going.”

Maxwell puts his hand over his heart. “Like a heart, I need a beat to keep going, but all I hear is the angel’s choir. Remember me fondly.” Maxwell collapses and plays dead on the ground

Hana looked at him, confused. “Should we…”

“He’ll be fine.” Drake told her. Liam walks over to the group, wiping the sweat off his own brow with a towel.

“Hello, my lords and ladies.”

“You managed to escape after all.” Drake said, surprised.

Liam nodded. “Until tomorrow at least. It’s been a long day.”

“No kidding. I could really use a bath.” Emma told him. Immediately Drake began envisioning himself bathing her in a lightly scented bubble bath. I’d light some candles, get some lotion, massage her…

“Oh, I know of a spa nearby where we could unwind.” Maxwell stirred from the ground, interrupting his thoughts.

“What happened to being on death’s doorstep?” Drake snapped, annoyed at his wandering thoughts. Or am I annoyed he interrupted them? Hmm…

Maxwell shrugged. “I caught my second wind.”

“I’d love a relaxing spa trip.” Hana said.

“That’d be a nice end to the day.” Liam agreed.

“Then let’s go!” Maxwell leads the group to the limo, where they take a short ride to a nearby spa. After arriving, the girls head to their changing room and the men to theirs. Dressed only in towels, Drake, Liam, and Maxwell sit in the steamy sauna.

“Maxwell, just come out.” Drake said.

“It really can’t be that bad.” Liam told him.

“But…I told you…”

“This was your idea! Get out here!” Drake exclaimed in frustration. Slowly Maxwell stepped out of the steam and close enough for them to see why he never takes off his shirt. Liam bursts out laughing, but in that exact moment, Hana and Emma burst into the room, giggling themselves.

 “Surprise!”

“Hey, guys!”

Liam’s mouth fell open. “Oh! Emma, Hana! Should we…er…cover up more?”

Drake sighed. What are we, 12?  “I think the ladies will be fine.”

“Yes, I’ve seen a man in a towel before.” Hana informed them.

Emma’s eyebrows furrowed. “Wait a second…where’s Maxwell?”

Drake smirked. “Hiding. And that was before you all burst in. Come on out, Maxwell.”

“Yes. You can’t hide forever.” Liam agreed.

Maxwell steps out from the doorway and the steam clears. “Go ahead and laugh if you want. Just don’t tell Bertrand you saw it.”

Hana squinted her eyes, trying to see more clearly at his chest. “Is that a baby hippo?”

“Wow. Maxwell, that tattoo is the best thing I’ve ever seen.” Emma laughed.

“Really? You like it?” Maxwell asked hopefully.

“Love. I love it.” Emma said, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“Aw…heh, now I wish I’d shown it to you sooner!”

Hana was still staring. “Would I be correct in guessing that there’s a story of some sort behind this?”

“Kinda…When I was a kid, my mom would call me her little hippo.”

Emma looked delighted. “I didn’t think it was possible for this moment to get better, but here we are.”

“I was kind of chubby when I was younger, before I got into dancing. My dad was really hard on me about it, but my mom never made me feel bad. She was really smart and funny. She said I was just like a hippo…fun-loving, but tough, and always able to make her smile. And she made them sound really cool and amazing. Anyway, when she passed away, I wanted to get something to commemorate her. I told Bertrand I was going to get something done…I guess he thought I meant like, have some artwork commissioned…So he was pretty surprised when he saw this.”

Emma rose her eyebrows. “I can imagine…”

Hana nodded. “I suppose it doesn’t particularly fit with the image of House Beaumont that Bertrand’s striving to maintain…”

“Yeah, this was more or less his second to worst nightmare. Or so he keeps telling me, anyway…So he said that if we’re ever around nobility or servants, I had to keep it covered up. But…I can trust you, right?”

“Of course! On my honor.” Hana said.

“Maxwell…I want a matching one!” Emma said mischievously

Maxwell gasped. “How awesome would that be?”

“The most awesome.” She returned.

“Maybe one day when this is all over, I can take you to the shop I went to.”

“Count me in.”

I hope she’s joking about that tattoo. Although…on her it might actually be adorable. I wonder if she has any hidden ones I might find when I finally get my hands on her? Aw crap. Now I’m getting hard. Shit! I can’t be erect in front of everyone! What do I do?

Then he remembered something, a perfect way to be rid of his current condition. “As fun as discussing Maxwell’s hippo tattoo has been, I’m going to take a dip in the cold plunge…” He hesitated a moment before adding, “Anyone want to join?”

Liam shook his head. “No, thanks. After today, I’m relaxing in the tub…” Liam left the sauna room and headed towards the hot tub, while Drake walks to the furthest pool across the room. He’s looking down at the icy blue water, trying to psych himself up. He’d always heard of this but had never done it himself.

“Trying to summon your courage?”

Drake jumped at the sound of Emma’s voice. “This I supposed to be good for you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Like most things in life, the best thing is sometimes the most painful. Want to do it with me?”

She let out a laugh. “The cold plunge? I’m in!”

“Really?” Didn’t actually expect her to say that. In fact, I was sure she’d be in the jacuzzi with Liam. No one in their right mind would do this for fun.

“Can’t let you do it alone.” She shrugged.

Drake grinned at her. “That’s the spirit.” She takes Drake’s hand and stands at the edge of the cold plunge, taking a deep breath.

“Here goes…”

Drake started the count. “One…two…three!”

They jump in, the cold water washing over them, their hands never breaking apart. A moment later they surface, gasping.

Emma looked at him “That was…”

“Intense?” He suggested.

“That’s one word for it.”

Drake laughed. “Having trouble keeping up with me, Rose?’

“Me? Never.”

“Heh.” My god her eyes sparkle when she’s full of excitement. They’re so beautiful.

He hefts himself out of the cold plunge and reaches back a hand to help her up.

“Thanks.”

Standing at the edge of the pool, they look around. Everyone is absorbed in their own relaxation and no one is paying them any attention. Suddenly, Emma pulls him into a kiss.

 “Whoa!” He kisses her back…but then pulls away. “You’re full of surprises.”

“Good ones, I hope?”

He smiled softly at her, brushing a strand of her wet hair away from her face. “You know, you can surprise me like that any day…but right now, we should probably…”

“Be sensible and discreet?” She pouted.

“Unfortunately. And believe me when I say that’s very unfortunate.” I can’t wait for things to be different. I really really hope we get there…but I can’t get my hopes up. That’s just setting myself up for disappointment.

Emma looked at him sadly. “I guess we should check out the rest of the spa.”

Suddenly Maxwell shouts, “Hey everyone! Watch this!” He climbs up on one of the chairs and prepares to do a backflip into the water.

“Is that safe?” Hana asked.

“Almost certainly not.” He jumps, flipping through the air and landing with a splash

“Maxwell…I’m next!” Emma called.

“Step right up, step right up…” He announced grandly.

“Be careful” Hana told her worriedly.

“I’ve got this!” She does a back flip, tucking in her feet and landing with a splash in the water.

Drake’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, that was impressive.”

“Very well done, Lady Emma.” Liam agreed.

Maxwell applauds. “Looks like I’ve finally met my match.”

The clock begins to chime, and Liam sighs. “It looks like our time here is at an end.”

Hana smiled. “This has been so fun…I’m so glad we did this!”

“Yeah. This wasn’t so bad, as far as our capers go.” Drake told them

Liam laughed. “Highest of praise from Drake”

Emma smiles at everyone. “I’m glad we got to do this, too.”

The gang separates to the changing rooms before reconvening. Refreshed and ready, the five of them leave the bath house and return to Applewood Manor. When they split to go to their separate rooms, Drake walked Emma back to hers. He was once again in the room next to her.

“Well, Rose. This is our stop.” He paused, debating on kissing her. He started leaning in…then pulled back. “Um, so, goodnight.” He started to turn when Emma caught him by his wrist. He looked back at her in surprise.

“Rose? Everything alright?”

“No.” She replied firmly. “You didn’t kiss me goodnight.”

Drake inhaled sharply. “Rose, we really…”

“Oh, shut up Drake.” She pulled him into her, and his mouth eagerly found hers, kissing her hungrily. He pressed her back into her door, his hands roaming her body, before finally forcing himself to pull away again, trying to catch his breath.

He took a step away. “Goodnight, Rose.” He whispered.

“Goodnight, Drake.”

He quickly shut himself in his room and got ready for bed, the grin never leaving his face.

  @blackwidow2721 @sleepwalkingelite @flowerpowell @agent-bossypants @annekebbphotography @carabeth @gardeningourmet @eileendannie @dancetothestoriesinyoursoul @alesana45 @imaketerriblechoices @zigortega4life​​

@hrhdes @drakewalkerisreal @akrenich @feartheendlesssummer @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction

Playing with fire you’re bound to get burned Chapter 2: Tell me

Summary: Thirsty kids being thirsty. Some EROTIC modelling that wouldn't be erotic if Allura could keep it in her pants. (which is why she's not wearing anyway) - No actual smut this chapter

AN: I was delirious and wrote this too late

The coolness of the apartment was lost as Allura burned under the heat of Keith's gaze and the smouldered within the warm grasp of his hand. He had led her to the couch, after straightening out the white bed sheet thrown over it, he gestured for her to sit down.

“I would like you to lay on your side, facing me.” His hand toyed with the loose strand of hair that had escaped its spot tucked behind her ears. His fingers trailed down to her shoulders, where the shirt sat idly. After a nod urging him to go forward, Keith lifted the fabric delicately off her frame. She let out a gasp as the cool air met her bosom and she felt her nipples stiffen from the exposure. The quiet of the apartment gave this moment an air of intimacy Allura initially wished to shy away from. Keith's gaze remained intense, but his voice had somehow become even softer. “Lay down Allura.”

Ao3 Link

She did just that, resting her head against the armrest of the sofa. She let her own arm lay over her side, hanging nonchalantly, while she let the other one rest just beneath her head. Keith stepped back and examined her. He crossed his arms, thumb touching his lips as he looked at her in profound thought. The intensity from the minutes before remained, but it had changed. Keith looked to be in artist mode and he no longer shied away from staring at her body. “May I touch you Allura.”

“Yes.” She hadn’t even fully processed what he’d asked before she agreed. The thought of his gentle hands touching her body left her stomach fluttering with nerves and her loins aching with want. He made his way to stand before her, and where she expected hesitation she only found persistence. Carefully he took her hand, the one laying below her head, in his own. He cupped it, placing his thumb in the center of her palm and carefully unfurling all of her fingers from the fight they had been in.

He grasped the wrist of her other hand then. It had been laying across her body and he gently transferred it to rest on top of her hip bone, revealing more of her body to him. Keith continued to do this for some time, poking and prodding, adjusting and readjusting. Sometimes he would instruct her on what to correct, but mostly he just silently moved her. Dutifully she obeyed his command, a searing touch to her lower back had her arching her back to his approval. He had touched her nearly everywhere, and she swore she could still feel the scorch of every fingerprint. Occasionally he would step back, admiring her, but he would always come closer once again. The last time he reached for her face.

Tenderly he grasped the right side of her, tilting her face to a position he considered satisfying. His thumb grazed her bottom lip with a touch so light it might as well have been a feather. Keith guided her to part her lips, his own doing the same in imitation. The hand on her face did not move. Allura could tell he had set her in the wanted position. Whenever he moved a body part to his liking, the right side of his mouth, the same side as the scar, would quirk up into the faintest smile. Now he just held her for the sake of holding her. It became hard to breathe as Allura worried that if she made any abrupt movements she would frighten him off.

“You’re beautiful.” Finally, he backed up, withdrawing his hand. Allura almost wanted to weep at the lost contact, the burn had just been too sweet. Before finally turning to his canvas Keith took a hold of the end of her braid. “May I?”

“Anything you ask.” She repeated, granting him permission he had already received. His hand pulled the end slightly closer to his face before he slid off the pink ribbon. Gingerly, he freed her hair. Running his hand through the silvery locks he let the silky strands rest on her body. She noted that he made sure nothing concealed her bosom and she nearly fainted as his hand grazed a nipple as he moved another section. Her eyes had fluttered shut momentarily and she bit her lip to stifle the moan that threatened to spill from her lips. Allura could have sworn she saw Keith tense and his gaze darken momentarily, but perhaps that was just her lust induced state. He made no comment of regret for touching her.

After what seemed like forever, Keith took his position behind the canvas. She couldn’t see what he was doing but she watched him work anyway. The muscles in his arm would ripple as he made broad strokes with the conte to sketch out the rough shape of her form. He was concentrated and his brow remained furrowed. The sun was streaming in through the large window, bathing her body in a warmth that was comforting but lacked the exhilaration Keith's touch gave. She welcomed the heat all the same. Letting out a quiet hum of satisfaction Allura closed her eyes.

This whole situation was strange without a shadow of a doubt. Never in her life would she have had pictured herself lying nude in some man's home as she drowned in the shallows of her own desires. It felt as though she were living out a fantasy and her core throbbed as her mind played out the potentialities. She grew concerned that Keith would notice her arousal if he hadn’t already and decided to strike up a conversation to distract herself.

Their voices remained low as the two of them talked. Allura asked about whatever came to mind and Keith never hesitated to give her an answer. She learned he’d been drawing from a young age, that his father had been a firefighter, how he tried to steal a hippo plushie from the zoo gift shop at the age of four. It was intoxicating hearing him speak and she memorized every answer, locking it in her mind and tucking the key safely away. In return, he asked her just as much, with the same level of interest. She told him she was in law school, how she loved milkshakes and wanted nothing more than to travel the world.

“Why don’t you?” She paused, considering the question.

“I suppose I’m afraid to go off alone.” She’d never thought about it but it made sense once she said it. There were so many people in her life she loved, and the thought of venturing out on adventures without any of them scared her.

“Then bring someone with you.”

“If I had someone to bring I would,” She paused in reflection, letting out a little laugh. “I was actually quite jealous when my boss went off on his honeymoon.”

“Harbouring a crush?” Keith joked, a smile tugging at his lips as he continued to work. Allura let out a snort of laughter. She would have been embarrassed by the noise had Keith's eyes not locked onto hers with such affection upon hearing the sound.

“Oh definitely not, besides I love Curtis and Shiro too much to ever be a homewrecker for that marriage,” Allura noted Keith pausing his work. His attention fully focused on her and a baffled expression on his face.

“Shiro?” Keith questioned, “as in Takashi Shirogane?”

“Do you know him?”

“He’s my brother.” Keith let out a low rumble of laughter at Alluras reaction. She swore her eyes nearly jumped out of her skull. “Well step-brother you could say, it’s complicated.”

“Huh,” Allura pondered allowed, “It’s a small world, isn’t it.”

“I’m grateful for that since it led us here.” Allura hoped Keith didn't notice her cheeks colouring to a soft pink as she averted her gaze, focusing on his arms rather than his dark eyes.

“Do you think we’ve seen each other before, in passing?” She questioned softly.

“No,” Keith's voice was quiet that even within the silence of the home she struggled to hear him.

“How would you know?”

His gaze burned her once again, the heat returning not at all uninvited. She felt herself trembling under his scrutiny, the hand resting on her hip bone beginning to draw lazy circles, a motion that did not go unnoticed to Keith. “I wouldn’t forget your face Allura.”

The spark in his eyes had returned and as he tried to focus on drawing once again Allura noticed how the movement of his arm had become tenser. He was concentrated beyond demand and his tongue continuously darted out to wet his lips. It was as though he was parched and the lines of her body he drew and constructed were the only elements that could quench his thirst.

The intensity did not cease and Allura couldn’t help get swallowed by it. Every movement of his arm and sweep of his tongue nearly sent her over the edge. She couldn’t help it when she began to rub her thighs together ever so slightly. The need for some friction to satisfy her core was so strong she thought she could cry. Keith was no longer drawing, instead, he was watching her as her chest heaved up and down with every breath she was taking.

“What are you drawing Keith?” It was not a question, it was a demand. They both knew he had to give her the answer and he looked to her as he did so.

“Your tits.” His gaze remained steady as he proceeded to talk, his voice deep and guttural with desire. “Those beautiful tits that my art can’t even begin to capture the beauty of.”

“What else are you drawing?” She continued to rub her thighs together, the heat pooling between them. Her center tensed even more as Keith's gaze locked onto her womanhood, his tongue grazing his lips did not go unseen.

“I'm drawing your cunt, Allura.” Placing the conte down he rested his elbows on his knees leaning towards her. “But it’s incredibly hard to draw when it’s glistening like that princess.”

“Why? Tell me why that is?” Her words were coming out in pants as her desire took hold of her, dulling everything in the room to nonsense save Keith. He casually rose from his seat, still not walking to her.

“Because I know what it means, I know what you want.” Almost absentmindedly Keith began to palm the growing bulge in his pants. “And its fucking hard not giving you what we both want.”

“Tell me, tell me what we want.” Allura's breath hitched as Keith began to step towards her, picking up a long clean paintbrush on his way. He twiddled it in his hand as he stood above her quivering form. Slowly he let the brush side slide from her foot to her knee, pausing momentarily before brushing her thighs.

“We both want my hands exploring your legs, touching every part of you,” The brush continued to travel up her body, moving along her hips to her waist and abs. “We want my tongue devouring you, don’t we?”

“Yes,” Allura responded, nearly breathless. One of her hands had finally found its way between her legs, though it only rubbed and circled. Keith's free hand remained on his crotch but he had not slipped it within the depths of his pants yet, Allura thought it only fair that she restrain herself as he was doing now. It was getting harder to keep herself from plunging her fingers within her and losing herself to the feeling of them and the sight of Keith before her. “Where-where do you want to touch me right now.”

The paintbrush grazed just below the swell of her breast. Hesitantly teasing her. Turning his deep stare down to her breasts Keith moved the paintbrush to push up one tit ever so slightly. After a moment he lowered the brush letting her tit bounce down and jiggle from the movement. He did that for some time, alternating between breasts moving them and letting them bounce in an alluring fashion. They were captivating and Keith felt as though he could worship them until his dying day. Finally, Allura grabbed the brush as he tickled her areolas, taking the stick and tossing it onto the floor.

“You have hands,” She broke the quiet with her demanding voiced, deepened with desire and sounding like a growl. “Use them.”

He did not hesitate, She was fire and he wanted nothing more than to burn. With his own predatory grumble of hunger, he pounced upon her, prepared to lose himself fully.

AN: The next chapter is just straight smut which I have no clue how to write tbh

Week 9 Activity 1

What is the photograph of?

The photograph is of a woman who appears to be in some sort of circus. Standing in front of a tent, she has a funky outfit on and is carrying what looks like a circus prop. She is standing next to a hippo who looks terrifying as it opens its mouth wide. Its mouth is almost as large as the woman’s body. There is clearly a large contrast between the hippo and woman.

What is the photograph about?

The photo is about the contrast between the woman and the hippo in dress and manner. The woman looks as if this is a very normal thing for her and does not appear to be scared. Perhaps this picture is expressing how humans are normally afraid of some things, but they do not always have to be- like this woman. At first look, it appears that this can be a dangerous situation, but things are not always how they seem. This woman has clearly trained the hippo, so the hippo opening its mouth like that is normal. She is blasé about it.

AFTER CROPPING:

What is the photograph of?

The photograph is a hippo in front of a circus tent. He looks as if he may attack someone or something by how he’s opening his mouth. The hippo looks scary and threatening. It is harder to tell that this is a circus without the circus woman in the picture because it’s placed out of context. 

What is the photograph about?

We do not know if this hippo is about to attack, if he has escaped the circus, if it is normal, etc. It looks as if he has his eyes and mouth set on something out of frame that he wants to kill/eat. It is a threatening and scary photograph. It is about fear and the unknown (as it’s just out of frame).

Shallurklance head cannons #20

Their photo taking skills have a huge range

• Lance takes great photos, they’re always so nice and perfectly framed, this boy could be a professional tbh he has mastered light composition and knows exactly which filters to use (if needed, he usually believes that his partners don’t need any filters but sometimes he adds them for fun)

He is also selfie master

• Allura loves taking landscape pictures, she’s got an eye for the whole big picture, and often she tries to include her partners. If they’re at the beach she’ll run back at a random point, and before anyone notices she’ll snap a really candid shot of all them splashing and playing in the water. And while Lance is selfie master, Allura is selfie master SUPREME

She also is really good at taking group selfies, sometimes she doesn’t even need a selfie stick

• Shiro isn’t very good at composition, but the pictures are always good quality, with nice focus and stuff. But he doesn’t experiment too much and most pictures of people just have the person in the center and stuff

But v nice, Lance is teaching him about filters

He doesn’t take a lot of pictures tho

• Now Keith Oh boy Keith This boy, this fucking boy

He takes SO MANY PICTURES

Like his camera roll is almost completely pictures of his partners (the rest are either knives or hippos)

BUT

they’re all terrible pictures

They’re either too blurry to really tell what’s going on, or they’re taken at the worst moments possible; midblink, awful angles, mouth hanging open while eating

They’re just So bad

And Lance is always like stOP but Keith refuses cause he loves taking pictures of his babes

DIY Paperlamp Kits That Will Delight Animal Lovers

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$40BUY IT Cachalot – DIY Paperlamp (pre-cut papercraft kit): One of the largest mammals on Earth, this Cachalot –aka Sperm Whale– has been shrunk down to a dainty 38cm x 21cm so that he can swim right into your home.

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$47BUY IT Tortoise – DIY Paperlamp (pre-cut papercraft kit): Slow and steady wins the race, and this trudging tortoise has certainly won our hearts.

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Recommended Reading:  50 Unique Table Lamps 50 Elephant Figurines Beautiful Bird Figurines To Decorate Your Home

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Related Posts:

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Product Of The Week: Ceramic Owl Succulent Planters

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50 Uniquely Cool Bedside Table Lamps That Add Ambience To Your Sleeping Space

DIY Paperlamp Kits That Will Delight Animal Lovers

Handmade in dyed paper, these beautiful DIY paperlamp kits have been designed in the shape of elephants both large and small, hippos in different poses, perched parrots, varieties of owls, poised penguins, shrunken cachalot whales, upright rabbits, and trudging tortoises. Animal decor collectors, animal lovers in general, and crafters will all get a kick out of these unique additions, which bring soft cosy light to the home in a unique way. Whether you want to brighten up a shady corner, add ambient lighting to a wall of shelving, or add interest to an underused side table, perhaps one of these little animals will make the perfect character to adopt to come keep you company.

$32BUY IT Baby Elephant – DIY Paperlamp (pre-cut papercraft kit): Measuring in at 24 cm tall, this little baby elephant is sure to delight all who she greets with her cute upturned trunk.

$32BUY IT Some elephant youngsters roam the dry grassy plains of the African Savanna, but this one looks right at home on a glossy tabletop in a modern living room or a rustic cabinet in a bohemian bedroom.

$70BUY IT Elephant Family – DIY Paperlamp (pre-cut papercraft kit): Mama Elephant and Baby Elephant come together in this kit to create a majestic family unit. Mama measures in at 32 cm tall, next to her 24 cm height baby.

$70BUY IT Mama and baby elephant come in the same colour as standard. However, it is possible to ask for a personalised colour kit, which can be selected from an extensive colour palette.

$70BUY IT The animal models are cut from high quality 160g paper for good resistance and durability. Each arrives with a base complete with E14 light bulb socket (which requires an LED bulb) an electrical cord with switch, and a europlug CEE7 (type C). Other plug options include UK plugs (type G) and EU to US plug adapters (type A).

$70BUY IT Hippo Duo – DIY Paperlamp (pre-cut papercraft kit): No need to decide whether you want a Roaring Hippo or Lazy Hippo, the Hippo Duo pack has both.

$70BUY IT Roaring Hippo measures in at 38cm x 22cm, and Lazy Hippo is just a smidge smaller at 34cm x 18cm. The two new members to your household can be personalised from the online colour palette to suit your own specific decor requirements.

$70BUY IT Not just for hardcore crafters, these kits come with a step by step assembly guide, plus an extra practice model to get you in the swing of things.

$49BUY IT Parrot – DIY Paperlamp (pre-cut papercraft kit): Parrot Alberti has left a distant tropical rainforest to roost in your home.

$49BUY IT Perch the pretty boy on the end of a shelf, or a chunky picture frame for a unique decorative addition in any room of the home.

$49BUY IT Why not couple up with a duo of shades? This 72cm feathered friend comes in a variety of colours, including cotton white, sandy beige, caramel, sienna, cadmium yellow, light grey, soft blue and soft pink.

$41BUY IT Barn Owl – Two DIY Paperlamps (pre-cut papercraft kit): From birds of the tropics to birds of the barn, these two little 15cm tall barn owls make an adorable partnership. This is a great beginner’s papercraft kit that allows you to build two easy and small models. Each one will take around an hour to carefully and comfortably complete.

$51BUY IT Barn Owl – Three DIY Paperlamps (pre-cut papercraft kit): Twit-two owls not enough for you? Then how about the three owls in this trio kit?

$51BUY IT As with the other kits, only one colour is supplied as standard, but alternative choices are welcomed. These simple kits can be used to pass the time alone or to complete with some crafty friends.

$47BUY IT Night Owl – DIY Paperlamp (pre-cut papercraft kit): Are you a night owl? If so, then meet Aurora. WIth her big owl eyes, she will keep watch all night long.

$47BUY IT We think wise old Aurora would make a beautiful addition to a desk, a side table in a study, or standing guard over a library of books.

$47BUY IT Measuring 38.5cm tall, and arriving in 30 pieces, Aurora is more difficult to construct than her smaller Barn Owl companions – but so worth the extra effort.

$44BUY IT Small Penguin – DIY Paperlamp (pre-cut papercraft kit): The next bird in the flock is a fellow from the Antarctic. Measuring 42cm tall, this proud penguin would make a perfect nightlight companion for kids and grown ups alike.

$44BUY IT He’s a friendly looking fellow with a glow in his belly.

$44BUY IT Available in all of the standard shades for this collection, you could team up a few to make a cool colony.

$44BUY IT Fans of origami might find this papercraft to be a brand new obsession!

$40BUY IT Cachalot – DIY Paperlamp (pre-cut papercraft kit): One of the largest mammals on Earth, this Cachalot –aka Sperm Whale– has been shrunk down to a dainty 38cm x 21cm so that he can swim right into your home.

$40BUY IT Laying on his belly with tail swishing, his open mouth and eyes emit slivers of bright light. Softer light emanates from his oversized head.

$40BUY IT The crisp paper folds create geometric pattern that would fit with many modern decor elements of the moment.

$26BUY IT Rabbit – DIY Paperlamp (pre-cut papercraft kit): Enjoy a springtime vibe in your home all year round with Dolores the bunny rabbit.

$26BUY IT Dolores is another basic skill level papercraft kit, consisting of just 10 pieces. With ears pricked up, this curious young rabbit measures 34cm tall.

$26BUY IT Pop her next to a vase of fresh or dried flowers for a charming nature combo.

$26BUY IT Her asymmetrical pricked ear pose give her bags of character.

$26BUY IT The lamps take on a different look by day and night.

$47BUY IT Tortoise – DIY Paperlamp (pre-cut papercraft kit): Slow and steady wins the race, and this trudging tortoise has certainly won our hearts.

$47BUY IT Frida the tortoise lamp could be teamed with Dolores the rabbit to create a magical woodland scene reminiscent of the childhood fable ‘The Tortoise & The Hare”.

$47BUY IT

Recommended Reading:  50 Unique Table Lamps 50 Elephant Figurines Beautiful Bird Figurines To Decorate Your Home

For more regular updates from Home Designing, join us on Facebook.

If you are reading this through e-mail, please consider forwarding this mail to a few of your friends who are into interior design. Come on, you know who they are!

Related Posts:

50 Awesome Animal Sculptures & Figurines For Home Decor

Lighting Inspiration

Product Of The Week: Ceramic Owl Succulent Planters

Remarkably Artistic Lighting Designs

A Set of Extraordinary Lights

50 Uniquely Cool Bedside Table Lamps That Add Ambience To Your Sleeping Space