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#one achilles burrito please
in-a-closet · 2 years
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…and our joy was so bright we could see nothing else but each other. 🌅
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patoslover · 15 days
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Sorry this is kinda long.... I would have liked to share this in the discord server, it's a more private way, but then the lockdown happened and I don't think I can wait any longer to show this.
Ok so.... Yesterday night, I got a bit emotional over my life and a little reflecting on what has happened the past month or so and how it affected me and all [10khaos, maggots discord sv, 15khaos, apocalypselockdown, among others] (as I always do, I'm such a soft-ass (I do hope that made up word doesn't mean anything flirty I'm trying to lowkey insult myself in here tyvm English)) And so as I always do when emotions hit, I wrote a poem-kinda-thing.
I showed it to @lxvenderjewel and @falling-raine and this happened
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And later @the-beard-of-edward-teach saw it and well....
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I made changes to it since I showed it to them, but it's for better, trust me.
(the poem is at the bottom of the post woo)
I think that's enough of a warning for y'all. But just in case, this made people cry, this poem, it's very very dear to me in levels I can't write I can't explain I can't put into poems all the feelings and stuff, but I hope this poem makes up for the most part.
Be careful. I love you.
Thank you @the-beard-of-edward-teach @arkytiorlecter @voids-ideas @orpiknight @cawdra @apollos-dodgeball-target @obsessed-sketches @zonzolik @dashoulinas-fandom-dump @eybefioro @queermarzipan @lxvenderjewel @ivory--raven @styx142 @myfranticscribbles @empressumbreon @frogs-go-ribbit @thearoacemess @goodomensduh @sounds-void-fishy @arkytiorlecter @random-doctor-on-the-internet @apophid-I-eat-everything @achilles-in-a-blanket-burrito @hello-ello-ello @harbinger-of-existential-dread @howmanyholesinswisscheese @an-ace-on-the-case @goblin-named-sam @1800ineedshelp @chaoticgenderflood @ivory--raven @aroaceblackhole @three-smiles-and-a-unicorn @coppicegate @zonzolik @falling-raine @dashoulinas-fandom-dump @koboldkatalyst @arkytiorlecter @friday-im-in-love-with-crowley @good-usernames-were-taken @weirdly-specific-but-ok THANK YOU THANK YOU ILY (oh wow that's a lot of ppl) (PLS PLS tell me if I forgot anyone there's so many of you, SORRY IF I TAGGED YOU TWICE AAA AND I'M SORRY IF YOU WERE TAGGED AND DUNNO WTF I AM I GOT LOST WITH THE TAGS AAAA AND SORRY IF I TAGGED U AND THE TAG DIDN'T WORK)
I love you all so so so so so so so much, you're so dear to me. Thank you. This is a gift for you.
Demons Out.
There's a hell outside,
Demonic screaming,
Trees, fall's leaving.
And I'm just here inside,
In my bubble.
Trapped inside me,
Trapped in myself.
There's demons out,
Asking to come.
But I won't let them,
I'm not alone.
Inside myself,
Inside my world,
I've got most people
Than all of your's.
They're worth more
Than any gold,
And they're far way,
More beautiful
Than any Sun,
Than any Star,
They are right here,
They are right now.
They're my comfort,
And some my loss,
But they're all lovely
Precious along.
They're the most
Amazing
Beings to exist,
And so I'm afraid
That they'll all be missed.
Because I fear
One day they'll go,
That's why I start
To sing a song.
Please let us all
Become real friends,
Please let us all
Reunite again.
There's demons out,
Angels inside.
There's me in-between
Caring for (them) all
Please let us all
Reunite again.
There's demons out.
And I'm in pain,
But not too much,
We'll find a way.
There's demons out,
We are in pain.
But I will start
To sing again.
I care for each
And every of you,
So then I start
To sing a song.
Please let us all
Reunite again.
There's demons out.
We'll try again.
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Dizzump in the Devildom
WARNING: FECES/DEFECATION, NSFW (NO SEX, BUT UTTERLY DISGUSTING), MERIDIA HAS AN ACCIDENT
Let this be the first entry in the Devildom Diary.
My first day in the Devildom was a total ASS DISASTER. Literally. Imagine finding yourself in an unfamiliar world that lacked amenities as basic as toilets. I was horrified and embarrassed when it came time to take my first dizzump in the Devildom. On that first evening I grabbed my demon boyfriend, Mammon, and pinned him against a dark corner to ask him where the toilet was.
“A toy what?” Mammon asked as he characteristically threw up his hands in confusion.
I dumbfoundedly watched him shake his head at me as waves of impeccable white hair grazed his forehead. Why humiliate myself by explaining the concept of human defecation to this shiny, smooth entity? I waved off my question as an exhaustion-induced brain fart and  decided that it was best for me to search for a place to poop that night.
Why doesn't Hell have toilets? I searched the Internet for “demon boy anatomy,” and what I discovered didn’t comfort me. According to AkuWikia, demons lack functional buttholes. Their pink starfishes are only for anal sex and were never an original part of their evolution. The wiki article said the first king of the Devildom spent centuries watching humans procreate and fuck. He saw anal sex as unique and wanted demons to be able to do it. From that day onward, the demon king cast a spell on all his subjects that drilled perfect puckered holes in their anuses. The article made no mention of human defecation.
So there I was, my struggles to contain the doo doo within my donut hole failing me. Touching cloth is what humans call it when you’re desperately trying to keep the turtle’s head in its shell. Prairie dogging. You get it. I bemoaned my choice to wear tight-ass pants. I clenched my cheeks, my hands pushing them together to stall Mr. Hanky for as long as I could. I waddled sideways in the hallway like I had something up my ass. After all, I did.. it was threatening to break free. Why did I have to eat that burrito baby last night? Shit!
Stiffly shuffling against the wall, I opened the bathroom door. No toilets, but a pretty big bathtub. big enough to squat and drop deuce in the drain.
No! Shaking that thought from my mind, I continued searching every closet and room I had access to. Buckets? No. Where would I dump it? Asmo’s underwear drawer? Maybe. Ugh. Behind the bookshelves in the living room? Possibly. Let’s keep that as the number two choice.
I paused mid step in the hallway as my rectum clenched up in painful spasms. You know when the the shit starts coming down the pipe a bit more and holding it in causes painful cramps? That’s a sign you needed to find a toilet yesterday.
Time was running out as I was growing a monkey tail in my underwear. I needed to paint the Oval Office soon. Do I go in the bathtub and try to wash it down the drain? It seemed like the most private option. At this point, I could go outside for all the little D’s to see. What if Caveman Solo spied me dropping anchor in the grass like a dog? He’d probably like that.
I shivered at the thought of that shady fuckboi watching me shooting torpedoes on the side of the House of Lamentation. Why? Why didn’t they prepare this one little detail? Would it hurt these perfect, poopless men to install toilets for the one disgusting poop human?
My ass cheeks squeezed to the maximum when the final cramp hit me with a rumbling so loud it could’ve been Beelzebeef’s stomach. My cheeks gave out, and I went right in the seat of my pants. Staying in the bathroom, I locked the golden doorknob behind me. I dropped my pants, sticky brown separating from the cotton of my dollar store underwear. I glared at the brown curl in the seat of my panties with disgust. "I hate you," I whispered with all my vitriol.
I threw my clothing into a sagging, sad pile in the corner. I stood buck naked with my legs obscenely wide over the drain, squatting as much as my shortened Achilles’ tendons allowed. I inhaled and exhaled slowly to relax my sphincter. Warm ropes slid through my rectum like a monorail. I waited until I heard the soft plop in the drain. Sighing, I was about to stand up when another bout of the shits hit me, and this time it wasn’t as neat as the turd I just birthed. Before I could gather myself and clean my mess, a second violent episode of the shits gripped me. At this point, I was already half standing and no longer perfectly aiming over the drain. A typhoon of liquid ass viciously blasted the white tiles.
I panicked, and the more anxious I got, the worse the diarrhea became. I decided to accept the situation and let it all out.
“It will all be over with soon,” I said out loud. “And then I can clean it.”
With that being said, I pushed like a mother in labor. Pressure built inside my belly and travelled down to my colon until it exited my body in mere seconds. I became lost in the moment. I don’t know how much time passed, but it felt like the best time of life. Being so far gone in my poophoria, a moan escaped my mouth. Oh, the relief I felt in my guts! For hours I had held it inside me until the feces seemed to be sentient. It came out on its own.
My sweet moment was disrupted by a knocking at the door.
“Oi! Meridia!” Knock! Knock! “What’s going on in there? The smell is awful, and I gotta take a piss!”
Oh, fuck! Mammon’s timing couldn’t have been worse! Fuckfuckfuckfuck. I had to squeeze my cheeks together to restrain in the rest of the shitstorm while I looked around for paper towels. What was I supposed to say?
“Uh ... J-just a minute! Just taking an extra long bath!” My voice faltered.
“I gotta pee, so I’m comin’ in,” he answered. “It shouldn’t interrupt your bath!”
Goddammit!
Before I could stop him, Mammon turned the doorknob. The gold knob turned slowly, the door opened the slowest I’ve ever seen a door open. It creaked and squeaked ever so loudly, and I feared it would attract more attention. My stomach dropped again resulting in a tiny spurt of brown goo. White hair and brown skin poked through the door. First his head came through the crack like a little prairie dog. Then the crack opened wider as a RAD uniform appeared. The hands that were on the demon’s hips flew up to his nose as he gagged.
“Ack! What is that sme—” My boyfriend stopped talking as he stared at the Pollock-esque brown masterpiece I made all over the tiles.
“Meridia! What’s that comin’ outta your ass?!” He screamed.
My legs quaked with each spasm of shit I held back. It was useless. My cheeks jiggled with one final effort as a downpour of liquid brown splattered the tiles below me. Mammon was panicking, and I needed to explain this before he called his brothers for an emergency.
“Please calm down!” I begged. “I’m pooping!” My arms waved around agitatedly as I attempted to explain defecation to his confused face. “It’s a human thing. Please, just help me clean this fucking mess!”
Mammon seemed even more confused and distressed. His arms flailed all over the place in confusion. 
“What does this even mean?” His voice cracked out. “Does your shit need to ... go back inside ya ass?!” 
What? Oh, god no. I hope he doesn’t try that!
“No! Just, please don’t call attention to this!” I hissed. “I need you to bring me towels so I can clean this mess up.”
I hoped I could get through to him, because he gazed with a half-mile stare at my brown splattered masterpiece on the walls. 
“Mammon!” I snapped him out of his shock. “Get. Me. Towels!” 
“Yeah, yeah. Sure, thing.” 
Poor little guy. He sounded ill. It wasn’t long before the white-haired tsundere came back with a bunch of white towels. I palmed my face.
“White towels? Human excrement will stain those so much!” I said.
He shrugged. “I guess we’re gonna have brown towels at the end of the night.”
Taking one from the stack to wrap around my body, I was able to set about frantically mopping my midnight regret off the walls and floor. Maybe the most difficult part was scooping my mess out of the bathtub drain. I turned to Mammon and was immediately floored by the sight of the demon with his jacket off, sleeves rolled up, and shirt unbuttoned. Suddenly, for the first time in my life, I think I was freakishly turned on by the smell of shit. His body odor combined with the scent of fecal lasagna twisted something primal inside of my core. I looked down at my hand, remember that I was squeezing an ice cream scoop sized clump of doodoo in my hand. I shook my head to snap out of my arousal before my thoughts went somewhere taboo. 
I hurled the crap clog inside a garbage bag, which reminded me of the lack of a toilet. 
“So, we need to talk to Lucifer rather discreetly about installing a toilet in the house,” I reminded Mammon. “On second thought, let’s just see if Diavolo can put toilets everywhere.”
Mammon shook his head. “Why didn’t ya just say something earlier, human?” he said. “When you asked me about the toilet earlier, ya coulda just explained it to me. I think I heard something about Diavolo having putting those in RAD just for the human students.” 
I froze. “You ... What?!”
He gulped. “Uhh, yeah. How’d ya think Solomon shits?” 
My body began to shake in anger. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
He stopped when my emotions started to show. “Hey, now. I’m sorry. It just slipped our minds.” 
My jaw tensed as vengeful ideas played through my shit-addled brain. Leaning over the tub, I eyed the drain deviously as a new set of spasms wrapped my bowels in their grasp. 
“Mammon,” I eyed him sideways. “We’ve cleaned enough in here, and I need to bathe.” 
He stopped scrubbing to wipe sweat off his sexy forehead. “If ya say so. Call me if ya need me human.” 
Before he left, we made out like teenagers, my soiled hand leaving smudges in his clean, white hair.
When I was finally alone, I dropped my fluffy white, brown smudged towel on the clean tiles. Stepping inside the shower, I marveled at the freshly cleaned tub. Sad I would have to soil it again. 
Once more positioning my legs vulgarly wide over the drain, I unleashed everything. No holding back.
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joaquinbumblebee24 · 4 years
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Onslaught 1/11
Onslaught
Paring: House/Wilson Established
Timeline/Summary:  Alternate timeline  June 2019, A conference and a storm would change the trajectory of House’s life forever. Adventure,  Love,  Autistic!House 
Inspired By: J_Baillier: Where The Streets Has No Name, a Sherlock fanfic
Authors notes
House and Wilson would be of the same age, they would be around 38. Like in the original pitch.
Infarction never happened. Autism is his Achilles heel instead. In this story, House had what you call Hypotonia (low muscle tone.)  He would need a cane for long distances.
The team is Foreman, Cameron, Chase and Hadley.
 I am Filipino, and the place where I would be dropping the boys  is in my father’s hometown, of Liliw  four hours drive from the capital of the country, Manila. Liliw is a third- class municipality in the foot of a mountain called Banahaw. 
I am writing this story, because  I want to practice the descriptive part of  writing. 
11 chapters
Chapter 1
***
Dr. James Evan Wilson, the head of oncology, of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, was called to the office of Dr. Lisa Cuddy. “You called?” He said when he popped his head on the door frame.
“I need to talk to you?” Cuddy said, standing up and crossing her arms.  
“I heard,” Wilson said sardonically, sitting down.
She took a deep breath and sat down herself opposite him. “I need you to convince House to go to this conference in the Philippines on infectious Diseases.”
“No, why not asked Nolo or Jacobson from Infectious Disease, they are the best at what they do.”  
“I might not admit it out loud,” said Cuddy, exasperated. “Gregory House is the best infectious Disease specialist in this whole wide world.”She said the last words with a childish tone.
“No,” Wilson rolled his eyes. “You called. you know why it’s not a very good idea to bring him to another country, Cuddy.”
Cuddy frowned. “Why? Because of autism? He seems fine to me..”
Wilson wanted to smack her, she is so dense sometimes. “Cuddy— You don’t understand. He won’t go.”
“Wilson, He needs to go. If he doesn’t go, I’ll fire him.”
“You can’t do that, Cuddy.” When he looked at Cuddy’s face, he didn’t see a bluff.
“You mean, you're serious.”
Cuddy sighed and fished out papers from the desk and handed it to Wilson. ‘The New Jersey Medical Board would revoke his license because he doesn’t go to conferences. Wilson. He needs to go.”
Wilson knew that because of the autism and House’s social anxiety, His spouse literally felt sick while talking to big groups. However, if it would prevent him from being fired, then he would convince him to go. “Please talk to them, Lisa. Please bumped his schedule speeches to the first day.”
“Deal,” Cuddy said.
Wilson sighed, “Now the hard part.” Wilson muttered under his breath. He stood up and left.
****
House was at his office when Wilson passed just before lunchtime. The diagnostician was playing with his ball, tossing it back and forth. Wilson examined his face for a couple of moments, he looked peaceful. The case was going fine, or as fine as an undiagnosed patient was. “Greg?” Wilson said, and the ball stopped.  
“Uh… Sorry, bit distracted.” House sighed. “How can I help you?” He said, though he couldn’t understand sarcasm, he used it well.
“You need to eat,” Wilson said. He knew that House didn’t eat until forced to. His executive function was nonexistent; his self-preservation gone.  
“Yes, It's lunchtime.” He stood up and walked toward the door. “I want to go to lunch elsewhere.”
“McDonald’s?”House nodded. There was a Mcdonald's outside the hospital, which they often frequented,
They walked from the elevator; and thru the main door. As soon as House ventured to the busy restaurant, it became overwhelming for him. He almost put his hand in his ear. He had forgotten to bring his noise-canceling headphones from the hospital.
The urge for him to flee the area kicked in. “This isn’t very beneficial," House said, Meanwhile, his spouse was ordering their food. House hummed the theme from Star Wars while drumming his fingers on his crossed arm. He was stimming.
A five-year-old boy approached House. “Your weird; what is wrong with you?” The mother chastised the young boy when House’s humming became louder as if he was reaffirming his belief that there was nothing wrong with him.
Beside him, Wilson noticed and paid House no mine. Because he needed to do those things sometimes, hence the ‘thinking ball.’ He finished paying for what they ordered.
House led Wilson out away from the noise of the fast-food joint; luckily for him, there was a small courtyard outside. “Is there something you want to talk to me about?”
“Why would you say that?” Wilson asked. He shouldn’t be surprised, but he was.
House sighed. “You only go to lunch when you want to ask me something or to talk other important reason.” He said picking up a chicken nugget and putting it in his mouth.  
Wilson sighed as well, looking at House. “Lisa called up to her office, and we have…. A chat…”
Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, House said; “I did nothing wrong.” He splayed his hands up in surrender.
“Greg, Your license is due for renewal this year, and you hadn’t gone to a single medical conference….”
House’s breathing picked up. He started to hum and rock back and forth. He was remembering a past that stayed hidden in his life except for Wilson. Growing up with a marine fighter pilot father, every time they would leave one country for another, the change of time zone and weather would be hell on him. As an adult, House hated routine. However, he hated to be apart from his piano, guitars, and his motorbike for even a couple of hours.
“Hey? Greg?” Wilson said, circling the table to come to him. He knew that House loved deep-pressured hugs. “Are you alright?”
House scolds his face to an inscrutable mask. “I am fine. where is it?” The tremble of his hand bellied his panic.
“In the Philippines, I have no details yet, Greg.”
“Okay, I can’t let Father win. If I didn't do this the medical board would revoke my license, right?”
Wilson nodded. “You need to eat more, You just ate a chicken nugget.” Then House’s pager went off. “Who is that?”
“Chase,” House said, moving towards the street.“Tell, Cuddy I want to go there.”
Wilson smiled, but the lingering thoughts were still in his head.
*** Wilson followed his partner out to the hospital. But He went to Cuddy’s office. It was good that she didn’t have a visitor. “Lisa,” Wilson said. “When and where is this conference on?”
“You chat with him. Seat down, James.” Wilson sat down opposite Cuddy’s chair.
Wilson nodded. “Yeah, I want to put on the record; that Greg was on the verge of a panic attack earlier,” Wilson said.
“Yes, You can’t protect him from the world,” Cuddy said sardonically.
Wilson glared at her. “You have no idea how much he'd worked to be ‘normal,’ do you? Cuddy didn’t reply, instead, she handed him an envelope. Wilson opened it. He read the information; it would be for four days in July. However, House needed to acclimatized to his surroundings. “We need to be there a week or two before the conference.”
“James?” Cuddy said, with an angry frown. “You’re not coming.”
“But Why?” Wilson stood up; and began pacing. “Lisa, You know him. He doesn't eat on time. How can I just sent him on a plane; and just hoped that he ate? He has autism.”
Cuddy wanted to argue more with Wilson. However, She knew not to. House’s functioning level is that of a 12-year-old boy. He may be a genius in Music, Medicine, and Motorsports, but in many ways, he was still a child. “Okay, you will be on vacation leave.”
“Fine. Get us first-class seats.”
“Already did, for him. I’ll get you one.”
“Thank you, Lisa.”
***
House was home late, he’d driven his motorbike in to work; It wasn't advisable, because of his issues with inattention associated with the ASD. He could drive for heaven's sake!!. This morning Jimmy informed him that they would be going to the Philippines for a conference, at first he was angry because this was being forced on him; however, He loved the Philippines, being back there with Wilson; it would be a bonus.
His family lived in the country for almost five years, the longest time they had, from when he was nine years old until he was fourteen. They had lived in a base, but because it wasn’t a war zone, he and his mother could go to civilian zones, where he met locals.
House entered their bedroom, he knew that Wilson was already asleep in his side of the bed. He could wake him if he wanted to. He decided not to, they had a tiring day. House sat on the bed, the bed dipped, Jimmy stirred. “Go back to bed.”
Wilson woke up fully. “Greg, What time is it?”
“Eleven. Maybe eleven-thirty.”
“What time did you get home?” Wilson asked, turning on the light.
House rolled his eyes. “I can ride perfectly fine, thank you very much.”
Wilson knew not to dignify that quip. “You eat already?”
“No, nothing since three, I am busy, finishing up the Johnston case.”
“Greg,” Wilson said, swinging his legs up. “You need to eat. I’ll make you something, Burrito?”
House nodded his head. They headed to the kitchen, where Wilson made House dinner. Deciding against drinking coffee, Wilson made a glass of milk instead.
“Still have a beer?”
“We have apple cider.” House nodded, he ate in silence.
Wilson watched him eat. Remembering the conversation with Cuddy earlier, how could she suggest that House can manage the four days; House didn’t eat; if he could help it. He needed to have a reminder constantly to eat or to go drink. One time he had left for a conference, he got home to the apartment a mess. House was spinning on the desk chair. When he approached House, his partner looked annoyed. House hadn’t eaten in two days. Wilson vowed to not leave House alone overnight.
“Jimmy? You okay?” House asked, looking at him thoughtfully.
Wilson nodded. “I have an annoying chat with Cuddy,” He needed tread very carefully here. “I want to accompany you in the Philippines. She said no for some reason.” Wilson didn’t elaborate on what Cuddy told him.
House’s breathing picked up a bit. Wilson hugged him; and kissed him from behind. “Bedroom, now,” House told Wilson, they walked to the bedroom arm over shoulders.
End of chapter 1
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mintdrop · 4 years
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a mun questionaire stolen from @whitherliliesbloom​ and @windupnamazu​ because why not  ∠( ᐛ 」∠)_
NICKNAME. i go by seii mostly now! a lot of my friends from old mmos call me mami though since my character back then was mamisero
REAL NAME. only my family uses my real name (and like one friend when he’s being a shitlord) but otherwise people would refer to me as andy; i like it better because there are five different pronunciations of my real name and nobody uses the correct one  _(:3 」∠)_
ZODIAC. gemini
HEIGHT. 5′7″ or 5′8″ because it depends solely on whether i’m slouching or not
WHAT TIME IS IT? 2am-ish
FAVORITE MUSICIANS / GROUPS. μ’s, aqours, luz, mafumafu, almost every vocaloid/UTAU
FAVORITE SPORTS TEAM.  FOOBAW i know literally nothing about sports
OTHER BLOGS. my old, old dead blog from before tumblr went to garbage is @deatharcana​! i haven’t used it seriously since february of last year aside from a few posts promoing this blog.
DO I GET ASKS? when i share memes! but otherwise no, which isn’t surprising since i rarely exist outside of rbing mutuals posts and posting a screenshot or two before disappearing into the void sdfkjsdf
HOW MANY BLOGS DO I FOLLOW? 8. :D
TUMBLR CRUSHES FRIENDS. all my moots! which are all 6 of the 8 people i follow. i should probably follow some more people eventually
LUCKY NUMBER. i don’t think i have one? i usually just use my birthday if it requires 4 digits or something ending in a 5. it’s usually 15 or 75 i guess
WHAT AM I WEARING RIGHT NOW?  a gray and purple sweatshirt and some monochrome checkered pajama pants.. normally i have on a sweater and some slippers too but it’s incredibly hot today. it is january why is it almost 70 degrees
DREAM VACATION. japan or south korea mostly, but i’d also really like to visit the swiss alps, sweden and italy
DREAM CAR. i can’t drive despite being 20-something and know nothing about cars  _(:3 」∠)_
FAVORITE FOOD. cheese calzones, pork gyoza, and burritos..... i’m really craving some burritos right now actually sdfmhsbd
DRINK OF CHOICE. non-alcoholic, i like vanilla/peppermint teas and carbonated flavored waters.. for alcoholic, i like hard ciders and things that are more flavored than they are boozey. i have a low alcohol tolerance anyway so even the smallest amount of alcohol will get me buzzed
LANGUAGES. english.. i can read the korean alphabet and can recognize most hiragana/katakana but i am very, very bad at vocabulary for foreign languages. even in school i struggled with spanish classes. it’s my achille’s heel but one of my resolutions for 2020 is to actually dedicate myself to becoming conversational in jp
INSTRUMENTS.  i played the clarinet for six years and the flute for two but haven’t played them in a while. i want to learn the piano tho
CELEBRITY CRUSHES. i don’t have any? at least not anymore. when i was a big kpop stan i had a MASSIVE crush on onew and taemin from SHINee though and still get some butterflies when i hear them sing so i guess them.  ∠( ᐛ 」∠)_ if this were a list of 2D characters it would never end but basically i would give up my soul for takeru sasazuka. he’s at the top of my list of favorites outside of idol series and if i ever get the chance to go to japan, i’m coming home with enough merch of him to drown a person
RANDOM FACT. i play a shit ton of rhythm games and if i drop a combo i slowly mutate into a slime creature. also i’m a fiend for jrpgs. please play AI: the somnium files for clear skin
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thewarlocksbitch · 7 years
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Gay Camp ch3
malec gay camp chapter 3
word count - 4k
thank you to Sen for beta editing!
read my other fics here
hope you like it!!
________
 Magnus supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that, excluding Alec, the other boys at football camp had very limited knowledge of classical literature. He had survived the first week of camp by sheer willpower and by staying close to Alec. Alec was an easy person to become close to, he’d realized. Magnus liked how Alec spoke. He liked how he considered his words so carefully before he chose them, and how he was more emotionally observant than any of the other boys. The week before, Magnus had anticipated at every conversation for Alec to say or do something that would force Magnus to acknowledge a brutal truth; that boys who were pretty and interesting and not straight could never be found at a high school football camp. He was amazed that Alec kept him optimistic. Magnus had fewer complaints about camp than he’d expected. The food narrowly toed the line of being edible. Magnus spent more time drenched in sweat than he did dry and he was outdoors more often than in. The camp-issued blankets were thin, scarcely thicker than a sheet of notebook paper. The most glamorous things Magnus had worn since arriving were black nail polish and black grease – the latter of which he painted across his cheeks daily in the name of visibility and manly spirit. Many other travesties occurred daily, though, and Magnus strived to forget them. But what he hated most of all was the siren that he woke to every morning. But on Saturday, instead of waking up to a blaring siren, Magnus was stirred from sleep by Alec’s finger tapping his shoulder. For the second time that week. Alec really needed to learn that some people just weren’t equipped with the skill-set to socialize immediately upon waking. “Hey, good morning,” Alec said, as Magnus tried his best to appear dignified with bed-hair and half-dead eyes. “We’re free until practice tonight. Want to go to the library?” Alec’s eyes were clear and his hair defiantly messy despite its short length; Magnus swore it’d grown an inch out of spite. Alec wore a customary camp hoodie and this close Magnus could smell the forest on him, the dampness of moss and fog. Magnus slowly sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He stole another glance at Alec, peeking through his fingers, and then slumped back down and buried his face in his hands so Alec couldn’t see him blush. This really was ridiculous. Nothing about ugly hoodies or the inability to maintain inch long hair should have been attractive. Magnus needed to get hold of himself, or kiss Alec. Whichever came first. “Did you go running?” Magnus asked.
“Um. Yeah, we did, with some guys Ryan knows.” Alec said, his voice shy. Magnus dropped his hands to look at him as Alec intently wound the string of his hoodie around his finger. “I thought you would want to sleep in.”
Magnus hoped that extra sleep had at least done something for his appearance. The past week had left him feeling much too productive and busy. He wiped at his eyes again and ran his hands through his hair. “My lazy, inactive self thanks you.”
“Show us some of that appreciation and get up,” Colin said behind Alec. He’d been watching Magnus’s sluggish ascent to consciousness and, by the look on his face, was unimpressed. “We’ve been waiting for you to eat.”
Magnus slipped off his bunk and held a hand to his heart. He tried to ignore that he immediately felt lightheaded and sore. “Aw, you guys. You shouldn’t have!” He said.
“Asshole,” said Ryan, rolling his eyes. He was already dressed, his hood pulled up to almost completely cover his wide-awake eyes. He tossed a hoodie at Magnus without looking where it hit. If Magnus were Colin or maybe even Alec, he would have mimed catching a football and said something lame like, “Touchdown!” Since Magnus was not Colin or Alec, he bent down to pick up the hoodie from where it fell on his socked feet and pulled it on. He lethargically began searching for his sneakers.
The second his laces were tied Colin ran for the door, with Ryan on his heels. Alec was slower to get up, and instead he fell into step beside Magnus. “Colin’s just really excited about the microwaved pancakes,” he said.
 ________
 Colin brandished a steaming bag of pancakes at Magnus and let his tray clatter to the table, knocking over Ryan’s orange juice. Ryan’s indignant grumble was drowned out by Colin shouting, “Twelve hot mini pancakes! Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”
“Actually, I have. Many times,” Magnus said, while Alec helped Ryan mop up the collateral damage with their napkins. Ryan continued to grumble, his thin lips turned down in annoyance, though his eyes on Alec were grateful. Magnus stirred his oatmeal, then immediately lost interest and propped his chin in his hands, hoping Alec still had some Oreos hidden away. “For example, one time my cat stole my dad’s burrito and I found it under my bed a few months later. That was much better than this.”
Colin ripped open his pancakes, rolled his eyes, and sighed simultaneously, a feat Magnus could only respect. “Whatever, man. Hey, you know where the syrup is?”
Magnus vaguely waved an arm towards the cafeteria line. “Over there.”
“Get me more orange juice while you’re up there!” Ryan shouted after Colin.
There was a moment of silence before Alec scooted closer to Magnus. “So,” Alec prompted, “Achilles and Patroclus.”
“Yes,” Magnus said. He’d been waiting for Alec to bring them up.
“They were lovers, right?” Alec asked, and Magnus didn’t miss the way he cautiously lowered his voice. “I mean, hearing that Patroclus died is what finally stopped Achilles sulking about Briseis. He cared more about avenging Patroclus’s death than his pride.”
Magnus very suddenly did not care that the other boys seemed to know nothing about classical literature. He turned to Alec fully, straddling the bench they were sitting on. “Yes,” he said again. “And don’t forget them putting their ashes together and Achilles ripping his hair out. It’s obvious-”
A voice across from their table spoke up. “That’s pretty gay, dude.”
Ryan looked up from his cereal. “How? It’s art.”
“Well, I don’t know, Ryan, maybe he has a point.” Colin said. He turned to the boy, brow furrowed. Colin was a short guy – taller than Ryan, but still short – that Magnus had come to think of as the token comedy relief friend of their group, naturally excitable and unable to be in any situation without making it better, but for a quick moment, he looked intimidating. Leaning over the table, Colin went on, “Could you please explain, in detail, why one of the most famous literary works in history is gay?”
“Only chicks and gay guys read that crap,” the boy said, glancing at Magnus. He didn’t seem to realize how quickly Magnus was becoming annoyed. “It makes you-”
“Actually,” Magnus spoke up, “If the Iliad reflects the reader’s sexuality, then my copy would be bisexual crap. Not gay crap. The more you know.”
The boy’s mouth slowly closed and his face went blank. Magnus stared at him, waiting for him to say something that ended up with Magnus possibly punching the ignorance out of him, but the boy just shrugged and turned back to his friends. Huh, Magnus thought. Interesting.
“Woah,” Colin said, reverting to his true self. He made a flailing motion that upset Ryan’s bowl of cereal. Ryan pressed both his palms into his eyes and took in a very large, very loud breath. “Woah,” Colin said again. “You’re bi?”
Now Magnus was waiting for his bunkmate to say something offensive. “Yes. Does that make you uncomfortable?” He was hyper-aware of Alec going still beside him.
“Well, heck,” Colin said in a harassed tone as he tore apart a miniature pancake, “you saying it like that makes me uncomfortable. You sound like my mom. Don’t make it weird, dude.”
Magnus grinned and held his fist out, his annoyance effectively dissipated; Colin was good for weathering things out. “You’re a good straight.” he said.
Colin bumped his fist against Magnus’s triumphantly and went back to his pancakes. Magnus cast a quick glance to Alec; he was sitting very still, and his eyes were averted from the boys sitting across from him. Magnus scooted an inch closer to him as he said to Ryan, “What about you?”
Ryan had stopped trying to push his Colin-shaped headache out with his palms and was contemplating the ghastly remains of his cereal. He rolled his eyes at Magnus. “If Colin is a ‘good straight’, then I’m a great one. Are you going to eat your oatmeal?”
Magnus shook his head and pushed his bowl across the table. Ryan gladly accepted it, and his face fell as he got a closer look at the contents inside.
“Anyways,” Magnus said to Alec, pointedly turning to face him again, “the whole thing with Achilles demanding their ashes be placed together.”
Alec didn’t quite meet Magnus’s eyes. “Let’s just talk about it in the library later.”
 ________
 They did not, in fact, go to the library after breakfast, because it had flooded. Along with the football field and half of the dorm rooms.
“Go get your crap and then come back to the cafeteria,” Boune droned, the better part of his pants soaked and the entirety of his expression something Magnus could only describe as pissed off.
The dread in the air was tangible as Magnus walked with his three roommates and the other camper’s downstairs to their dorm hall. A boy at the front opened the door and leaped back as water rushed out to soak his feet.
“Shit!” he shouted. “It’s like The Titanic in here!”
Ha, Magnus thought dryly, and he bent down to take his shoes and socks off and roll up the pants of his sweats. He looked over to Alec just as water began to creep over his toes; Alec was staring down at his own sneakers as they were soaked, his hands limp at his sides. Sensing Magnus’s gaze, he looked up. “It’s kind of cold,” he said.
Magnus lifted his carefully arranged shoes and socks in a what can you do? gesture and Alec shrugged. His shoes – along with the other campers’ – made disturbing squelching noises all the way down the hall. Magnus had half-feared some boys might take the flood as an opportunity to drown the weaker of the group, but everyone was already wet and miserable enough; Magnus made it to his room almost completely dry.
Colin was the first to enter the room, and he immediately let out a shriek of horror at what he saw. He ran to the side of his bed and dropped to his knees, ignoring Ryan’s hissed, “You’ll get soaked, idiot,” and thrust his arms under the waterlogged bottom bunk.
“What’s he doing?” Alec asked, and Magnus slipped past him to gather his things. Alec continued to mumble worry over Colin as Magnus pulled Alec’s blanket from the lower bunk. He turned back to Alec. What he had intended to be a friendly toss turned into him gently settling it over Alec’s shoulders – Magnus may or may not have let his fingers linger over Alec’s neck a few seconds longer than necessary – and Alec cut off mid-sentence and blushed.
“Why don’t they just let us sleep in here?” Magnus picked up for him, trying not to smile; it was childish, really, this joy over rendering Alec nonverbal. “We could just double on the top bunks; I know we’ll suffer either way” – this was a lie, as Magnus could barely contain himself thinking that he might bunk with Alec – “but it’s stupid to cram us all in the cafeteria.”
“Yeah, but think about it from their perspective,” Ryan said slowly, wringing out an athletic shirt he’d found floating in the water; it didn’t look worth saving to Magnus, but he decided to keep his opinion to himself. Ryan set the shirt over his shoulder and bent down to grab another. “Letting us stay in flooded rooms is probably violating a bunch of health codes and what not. Plus, if we get a cold or foot flu from the water we can’t do shit, and then Coach would cry.”
“Boune would cry.” Colin corrected, finally emerging from under the bed. His dark cheeks were flushed and his clothes were clinging to him in a way that should have been distracting to Magnus, but Magnus found he didn’t really care. He tried to remember if he’d ever felt that way solely because his affection was focused on someone else already.
He quickly tired of thinking and stared at Alec’s profile instead.
Colin thrusted the package of Oreo’s he’d grabbed at Ryan, who immediately let them fall to the water. They made a soft plop and threw droplets of water over his already soaked shoes.
“Why did you drop it?” asked Colin in dismay, though he made no move to retrieve the forsaken cookies.
“They’re all wet.” Ryan said. “Did you think there was any chance they’d still be good?”
Colin’s sad eyes followed the cookies as they sluggishly bobbed to the other side of the room. “No…” He looked unbelievably defeated, more somber than Magnus had ever seen him. Ryan let this go on for another heavy second before slapping Colin on the back almost hard enough to knock him down. Colin made a concerning noise, and Ryan smiled cheerily at him, then at Magnus and Alec.
“You guys got all your stuff?” he asked. The default expression on his face told people that he didn't very well understand what was going on at any given time, and that he very much didn't care to understand anything. For a second, though, his smile erased that.
Magnus held up the few possessions he’d deemed necessary for the night and Alec shrugged under his blanket in answer. “We’re all good,” Magnus said. He turned for the door, then caught himself mid-step and looked back to his roommates. “Make sure you grab some dry socks; you’ve got to protect yourself against the foot flu.”
 ________
 Concerts were crowded. Buses were crowded. Schools, parks, and parades were crowded. Parties were crowded; in general, Magnus was crowded – he never seemed to have enough space to stick his arms out and spin. Magnus didn’t mind it. He loved being surrounded by people, no matter what kind of people they happened to be. Whether Magnus liked them or not, every person had the capacity to be entertaining.
But the cafeteria wasn’t just crowded; it was a mess.
Unlike a concert, there was no music to drown out meaningless conversations. Unlike a school or park or parade, there was no event nor objective to distract everyone from each other. And unlike a party, no one was having any fun.
Alec plopped down beside Magnus, expression miserable.
“Report?” Magnus asked. He’d sat in the middle of four laid-out blankets on the floor while Alec had gone to figure out what was going on. Colin and Ryan had gone with him, but Magnus didn’t know where they were now.
Alec plucked at his hoodie string; it was fraying at the end. “They’re not going to get our mattresses for us and we’re not allowed in the flooded areas, so we can’t go get them. But they are bringing in air mattresses and we have our blankets.”
“And about practice?” Magnus asked anxiously. It was the weekend and there hadn’t been an announcement of the day’s schedule yet, but they’d skipped – or at least Magnus had skipped – their morning run and drills, and he didn’t like the thought that their coach might consider this reason enough to turn night practice into more of a nightmare than it already was.
“Oh,” Alec dropped the string and looked up at Magnus. “Yeah. Practice is still on. It’s a health code violation to sleep in a flooded area, but we’re allowed to run around in one. And Coach is probably going to double the practice time.”
Magnus wiped away imaginary tears that may very soon become real. “These people should all be in jail.”
“’These people’ are going to kill us if we don’t go get ready.” Alec said, standing up. He smiled, and Magnus wasn't sure if he'd meant it to be reassuring or disabling. Alec held out a hand. “Come on, Magnus.”
Magnus was dumbfounded for one moment, and then it took another for him to tell his hand to grasp Alec’s and another after that for his hand to obey. Alec pulled him up, his thumb pressing to Magnus’s, the tap of his pulse going against the tap of Magnus’s, and then Alec let go and Magnus had to relearn how to stand on his own: the physical contact Alec had so surely initiated and the way he said Magnus’s name were getting to his head.
The rest of the campers were filing out through the cafeteria’s double doors to the field. As they joined the crowd, Alec said, unnecessarily, “Ryan and Colin will probably just meet us there.”
Magnus grinned. Now that Alec’s hair was short, there wasn’t enough of it for him to hide under, and his flustered expression was bare to Magnus. Magnus asked, “Did Colin get new Oreo’s?”
Alec shook his head and laughed. His laughs were starting to come easier, Magnus noticed. “The cafeteria doesn’t sell them. I still have mine, though.”
Magnus leaned into him and lowered his tone in secrecy, “Are you going to tell them that?”
Alec looked startled to be so close to Magnus, but he didn’t flinch away. Something like happiness filled Magnus’s chest. “Never.” Alec said.
Practice was as long and as hard as Magnus had dared imagine, and Alec was so exhausted afterwards that he barely took any time to shower before throwing his sleep clothes on and passing out against Magnus. After the coaches took turns lecturing and praising them, Magnus hauled himself and Alec to their feet. He grabbed Alec’s bagged clothes for him and patted his flushed cheek, and Alec laid an arm over his shoulder and muttered something about hell being preferable to this.
Magnus had noticed before how much bigger Alec was than he, but he hadn’t the chance until now to fully realize that Alec was actually a giant. Alec’s weight – all lean muscle and sprawling limbs – and his height – he was half a head shorter than Magnus, but all that height was legs and torso – had Magnus almost buckling under him. Magnus did not think that he was particularly weak, but he was definitely the kind of person that faked sickness during gym class and lifted at most however much the fridge door weighed.
“We made it,” Magnus said when they reached their spot on the floor.  Two air mattresses had been laid out where their blankets and things had been. Alec's and Magnus's were on one. Colin and Ryan's were on the other. “You hungry?”
Alec loosened his grip on Magnus’s shoulder and let himself fall in a controlled tumble onto their mattress. “I hate running.” He said. He arranged himself so that his legs were crossed and his bag was in his lap, then looked up at Magnus. “I’m eating Oreos. You want some?”
Magnus plopped down beside him. “You’re going to run out at the rate you’re going,” he said, but happily took an Oreo anyway.
Alec popped one into his mouth. “Live fast, die young, or something.” He said, voice muffled.
“You traitors!” Magnus heard Colin shriek from behind. Magnus whirled, but Colin was already throwing himself onto the empty mattress across from Alec, though for once he was careful not to sling his dinner everywhere. With less energy, Ryan lowered himself to the spot beside Colin and wrapped his blanket around his shoulders. Colin shook his head to further assert his unhappiness, spraying the others with droplets from his wet hair.
Colin eyed the box of Oreos in Alec’s lap meaningfully as he took an angry bite of soup. “Never, in a million years,” he huffed, “did I expect this from you, Alec.”
“You can have some,” Alec said innocently, at the same time that Magnus said, “We never said we didn’t have any. We just withheld the fact.”
Colin already had multiple cookies stuffed into his mouth. The smile on his face was wide and disturbingly bulgy. Ryan quietly reached over and took one cookie. “Thanks, Alec,” he said.
“Alec’s my favorite,” Colin said. “No offense to the rest of you.”
“Leave me to scatter flowers and weep,” Magnus said unenthusiastically.
Later, after the Oreo's were gone and the lights were off, Magnus laid beside Alec, not touching but close enough that he could feel his body heat. He'd originally been off put by the fact that he'd be cramped into a cafeteria with the rest of the campers, but sharing a bed with Alec definitely wasn't the worst thing that could have happened to him.
Magnus shifted closer to Alec and wrapped his blanket tighter around himself. It was freezing.
Alec's voice, quieter than a whisper, sounded just across from Magnus's face. "Are you awake?"
Magnus opened his eyes. All the lights were off to dissuade the boys from late night shenanigans, but the moonlight flooding in through the few windows was enough for Magnus to make out the lines of Alec's face. He inched closer. "Yeah," he whispered, "I'm awake."
"Ryan stole my blanket," Alec said quietly.
"Ryan did?"
"I think it was sleep-stealing, so I don't blame him."
"Are you cold?"
Alec let out a little huff of breath, the air warming Magnus’s cheeks. “Yeah. A little."
"I can share my blanket," Magnus offered. "I'm not all that cold anyways."
"No, that's okay," Alec said. Magnus could see his eyelids fluttering in the dark.
"Let me see your hands, then," Magnus said. He felt himself flushing. If Alec could see, he was polite enough to not say anything.
Wordlessly, Alec offered his hands.
Magnus found them in the dark and twined their fingers together. His own hands felt like ice, but that couldn't be helped. He pulled them into his chest, and Alec curled a single finger into the collar of his shirt.
"Better?" Magnus asked.
"Better." Alec told him.
Magnus closed his eyes. Maybe he didn’t have much to complain about after all.
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Text
That’s Us: Epilogue
Epilogue: It’s Okay
Word count: 6,186
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Pre-epilogue: translated song-lyrics | Epilogue
Read on AO3
TW:  Simon doesn't feel too good in some parts of this, but it's not even close to the levels of angst of earlier chapters. It's more comparable with the first chapters of Wayward Son. 
Now
“Baz?”
“Yes…” I pause, “Simon.”
His smile is blinding and I can’t look away. I don’t have to. I can look at him as much as I want and he’ll just look back, smiling.
My hand is in his. We’ve been sitting with our backs to the wall for what must be at least an hour now. My eyes feel heavy and tired and the dried-up tears make the skin of the cheeks pull. It’s nice, though. We’ve both been miles away, but feeling his skin against mine helps.
“What you said during your speech… about me… having fallen for someone, do you remember that?”
I nod. It was the most nerve-wrecking thing I’ve ever said. I was so terrified it wouldn’t be enough. Luckily, it was for the Coven. It isn’t for Snow.
“Who did you mean?”
There it is.
“Well, if they had asked, I probably would have said Wellbelove.”
“I don’t love her.”
I smile. He doesn’t hesitate. He sounds just as sure as he used to when he would say he did love her. He was wrong both times.
“You do.” And before Simon can interrupt me, “and you love Bunce. And you love Ebb. And the Mage. And Rhys and Gareth a-“
“And you,” he says and my mind feels empty.
“Baz?”
I take a deep breath.
“Sorry. Just… I don’t think I can let myself believe this is all happening yet? Try again later, yeah?”
Simon smiles softly and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back. We’re silent for a few moments, but then I remember what I was saying.
“My point is that you’ve fallen for all of… us.” Close enough. “You fell for the World of Mages and all its citizens and you loved us more than you did your own magic. You care so much about everyone, of course that would mean your downfall.”
I pause for a second. I hate how his love takes him down, and I hate how I love all the love he carries with him about him the most. So, I add, “But, please, don’t stop.” “It was my destiny.” Simon says.
“No.” I say. “No. You saved us because you are good and because you are brave and a hero and because you are so full of love. Okay?”
It takes him a second, but then he nods.
“Okay.”
- - - - -
One Year Later
“Simon?”
Baz is home. I know I should feel panicked now, because he’ll know I haven’t left my spot on the couch for hours, but it’s hard to feel anything. Besides, he must have expected it. I didn’t expect him to come back today and I certainly didn’t expect him home this early, but those few hours wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. Not on days like these.
A few seconds after his voice sounds, Baz’s face pops around the door to the hallway. I know he tries to hide it, but the look on his face tells me every question he knows not to ask.
Is it still not over? Did you at least call to let them know you’ll be absent? How long will this episode take? When will this ever end?
He doesn’t say anything though. Rather, his look softens and he moves to the kitchen. I know he’s going to make tea, because that’s what he always does. It’s not as much a tradition as that it has become routine. When he returns to the living room, Baz hands me my mug. It’s always the same one. The one I got as a present from him. It’s painted like an ancient Greek vase, because he’s a nerd. The scene on it is the great warrior Achilles, portrayed as a depressed burrito after Patroklos’ death. That’s Baz’s humour for you. He and Penny say I’m like Achilles. Just a bit down now, but heroic all the same. Baz’s mug has Patroklos on it, because, he says, he is the Patroklos to my Achilles. “I’m smarter, you went apeshit when I almost died, and also… I’m literally dead.” And I love him, I'll add in my mind, but of course he won’t say that. I tried to make a case for him actually being the Penthesilea to my Achilles. Because I realised I loved him the second I (almost) killed him. It’s a discussion we’ve been having for over two years now. Penny refuses to take sides.
“What are you watching?” Baz asks as he takes place on the opposite side of the couch. I shrug. It’s one of the countless cooking shows they broadcast during the daytime. I’m supposed to be at my part-time internship at this local restaurant right now. I started working there during my gap year and when the time came for me to go to uni, I convinced the owner to let me do an internship instead. Luckily, -well for me I guess- he has experience with PTSD himself, so he understands when I get like this and don’t show up. He reminds me a bit of Ebb, which makes me feel guilty for never visiting her, but Baz says she probably understands. Anyway, watching cooking shows and pretending I learn something from them helps quashing my feelings of guilt.
We sit together like this for hours. Baz comments on the stupid mistakes the candidates on cooking competitions make. Through the numbness, I can’t help but feel a little bit proud of the monster I’ve turned him into. When our cups are empty, he gets us a refill.
We’ll be alright. I know that. I wish it weren’t so hard, though. It’s been two years. I thought by now there would be times when I’d forget I lost my magic, but instead it’s more like a gaping hole in my gut that I feel every second of every day. Most days, I just let it wash over me and it won’t take hold of me. But sometimes, like now, the need to fill it and sew it shut becomes so overwhelming that I want to rip out my soul.
But then Penny is there or Baz or both. And they’ll hand me my sad-burrito-Achilles mug and remind me that it’s all okay. They remind me that they’ll cover me in blankets whenever I need them to and that when I can’t stand them that close to me, they’ll cover me in love from a distance instead. It doesn’t solve everything. They can ease a bit of the pain, but only I can mend the wounds. Their presence still helps though. Even when I don’t want it to.
Because by now Baz has gotten me through at least three cups of tea and I have to pee like anything and then I have to get up from my spot on the couch and once I’m up anyway, he’ll ask, “fancy a shower?”
And sometimes I’ll ask him, “wash my hair, please?” Other times I’ll ask him, “will you sit on the toilet and tell me about your classes?” But now I ask him, “play for me?”
And while I turn on the shower and get undressed, Baz gets his violin. And as I step into the bathtub, Baz takes up post in the hallway beside the bathroom door. And as he plays, I concentrate on the music and let the water wash me clean.
- - - - -
Now
“Baz?”
“Yes, Simon?” I can’t wait to get used to the feeling of his name on my tongue.
“Will you help me pack my stuff?”
I can’t believe it’s happening. We’re leaving. First-year me wouldn’t believe me if I told him we’d both make it through. Fifth-year me would believe me even less if I told him how.
I squeeze Simon’s hand before disentangling myself from him and standing up. Crowley, it’s cold up here. I offer Simon my hand. “Of course.”
In reality, Simon doesn’t have a lot to pack, so we decide that he will just pack his stuff, while I start packing mine early out of solidarity. Graduation is still a few days away, but it’s not like I will need most of this stuff. Classes are finished, so the students mostly spend their last days at school roaming around and making memories. There have never been this many secret dorm parties in a single week.
As we work, we talk about everything and nothing. I catch Simon up with the latest Watford gossip and Simon tells me something about living with the Bunces and all their children. Although the stories don’t come easily, the kids do seem to have been a good distraction for him.
We also talk about the future. He tells me he and Bunce have found an apartment in London. Bunce is going to study Political Science, while he is taking a gap year to work, both for money and on his mental health. I tell him I’m going to study Classics and I get another blinding smile from him.
“What?” I ask, I feel a smile creeping up my face.
“Nothing,” he’s still smiling. “I’m just glad you’re going to study something you actually like. I always thought your dad would make you do some business-whatever course.”
“Me too. But apparently, once you’ve passed a certain point of disappointing your father, he just gives up trying to micro-manage your life altogether,” I shrug, “apparently saving your family’s political nemesis’ life is way past that point.”
I’m still smiling, but Simon looks sad.
“Are you going to be okay?” He asks. I know that by now I should know he cares, but it still catches me off-guard. I turn away from Snow, back to my closet where I’ve been stuffing clothes in a box.
“We’ll be fine,” I say. “Daphne won’t let him keep me away from my siblings forever.”
I hear Snow stand up and soon his arms are around my waist. He rests his head in the nook of my neck. “I’m sorry, Baz.”
I cover the arms wrapped around my stomach with my own and slip my fingers between his. “Don’t be. I don’t regret it.”
“I know,” Simon murmurs into my skin. “Still sucks, though.”
“Still sucks,” I sigh. For a moment I let myself be held. Then, I turn my face to give him a quick kiss. “Carry on, Simon. Some of us are tired from crying all the time and want to go to sleep.”
“Bossy,” Simon rolls his eyes and lets me go, but not before squeezing me extra tightly and kissing my cheek. My skin burns.
Our conversation turns back to lighter subjects and I tell him I’m going to live in London with my aunt. Neither of us comment on it, but the air feels a bit lighter and a bit tighter with the mutual knowledge that we will be living in the same city.
As I tell Simon all about Keris’ proposal to Trixie last week, I notice he is being remarkably quiet. When I turn around, I see him sitting on his bed, his back turned to me, shoulders slumped. I move around our beds to his side of the room as quietly as I can and hold still at his foot end. At his bedside sit two meagre boxes filled with the few possessions he acquired over the past years. Sitting on the bed, Simon holds a picture frame that is unfamiliar to me. I take a hesitant step forward.
“Can I?” I ask quietly. It puzzles me how he can be so bold in comforting me, while I’m absolutely terrified of coming too close to him.
Simon nods almost unnoticeably and I sit down beside him. He angles the picture towards me. It must have been taken a few years ago. The Simon in the picture looks barely a few years older than the Humdrum did. At his side is Penny, behind them the gates of Watford. He’s smiling. They’re both smiling. Such genuine smiles that it makes my heart ache and I can’t help but smile too. I move to rest my chin on Simon’s shoulder and together we look at the picture.
“I don’t think I’ve seen this one before,” I say quietly.
“I know. I hid it from you and then I forgot about it.”
“Afraid I was going to use it against you?”
“Nah,” Simon says, “afraid you would destroy it.”
Ouch. Fair enough. That does sound like third-year me.
“Sorry.”
Simon lifts his head up and I pull back to watch him smile at me.
“I think maybe we should agree to stop apologizing for the past eight years.”
“Deal,” I say. And we turn back to the smiling faces in the picture. Simon’s thumb softly caresses the frame. I’m not sure he’s aware of doing it.
“I just hope one day we’ll look this happy again,” he says.
“Me too,” I say.
“And that you’ll be in the picture with us then.”
I turn my head and press my lips firmly to his cheek. Suddenly, I’m not too scared of getting too close. I stay right there, just for a few moments, like I’m pausing time. Then I rest my chin back on his shoulder and look at the picture. I imagine myself next to them and I smile.
“Me too."
- - - - -
One Year Later
“Simon?”
“Yes?” I shout back over the sound of the shower. By now, Baz has stopped playing. It’s okay, I’m almost done anyway.
“Do you want me to bring your clean clothes to the bathroom or do you want me to leave them on your bed?”
“You can put them on my bed!” I shout back, and then, “thank you!”
For forcing me into clean clothes and for asking. The shower curtain is opaque, so Baz wouldn’t be able to see me, but I still don’t think I want him that close right now. I’m glad he knows by now how to let me tell him that without actually making me say it.
When Baz passes the door again on his way back, he calls out, “I’m heading back to the living room. Let me know if you need anything.” What he means is: you can go to your room without being scared of running into me, but I’m still here for you.
I don’t answer, but he knows I’ve heard him.
I don’t understand how it is possible to sometimes feel like my body isn’t mine at all and like I’m completely detached from it, while at the same time being so terrified of someone touching me. If the body isn’t mine, why should I care? Maybe that’s what scares me. That if someone were to touch me… if someone were to get that close to me, they’d realise there is nothing inside. A hand glides over skin. They’re both mine, but they’re not.
Feel your body.
A voice pushes through. I hate the voice. It’s my therapist’s and if I could, I’d forget all about the voice, but annoyingly, over the years, it has taken hold of me.
Feel the way the water touches your skin. Feel all the places where it hits your face and your shoulder and your arms and your back. Grab a bottle of shampoo. What does the surface feel like beneath your fingertips? And the material, how would you describe it? Is it hard or soft? Is it supple? Does it feel cold to your skin or warm? Is it wet or dry? Put it down and take something else. What does it feel like…
I hate the voice.
But it does help.
After a few minutes of feeling things, I’m always surprised how calm I have become in the process. Still a bit numb, like there’s a cloud in my head, but at least it’s not as stormy a cloud anymore.
I shut off the shower and wrap myself in a towel. I know Baz said he was in the living room, but that doesn’t stop me from halting at the bathroom door to make sure the coast is clear in the hallway. When I get to my room, the bed is made and the promised clean clothes are neatly folded on top of it. They’re not very different from the ones I wore before: simple trackies and a t-shirt. But they’re clean and they feel fresh against my skin.
As I dress, I can’t stop my eyes from drifting to the far corner of the room. There is a sheet thrown over it, but the shape of my boxes from Watford is still easily distinguishable. Sometimes, I lay awake for hours, looking at them. I couldn’t bear to unpack them when we moved in. What am I supposed to do with all that stuff anyway, I thought. It’s not like I can wear my Watford uniform in the Normal world. But then I got scared of opening them and when I started losing sleep over it, Penny decided to cover them up to get them as out of sight as possible. It helped for a bit and then therapy also helped a bit, but lately I’ve started feeling restless about them again.
“Everything okay?” Baz yells from the living room. I blink a few times, before I yell back, “yes!”
I get finished dressing and walk back to the living room. Baz is on his side of the couch, still dutifully watching people cook on tv. My side of the couch has had a makeover. The cushions have been straightened and there is no sign of my body shape engraved in it. My blanket is folded, but positioned right where I can reach it if I need it. I don’t sit down.
“Baz?”
He looks up and hums.
“Do you think we can unpack my boxes now?” I ask. “The ones from Watford?”
I can see the gears grinding behind his eyes as it takes him a second to catch up. Then he shakes his head as if to wake up from a dream.
“Yes, of course!” He says and he gets up from the couch. “Do you want to do it in your room or here?”
I consider it for a moment. The sound of the television keeps going. He hasn’t shut it off.
“Let’s do it here, yeah?”
“Sure. You want me to help getting them here?”
I almost smile at his awkwardness, but it also makes me sad. It’s like I’ve given him a surprise gift and he doesn’t know if he can accept it or if I’ll take it away from him again if he gets too excited. So, I say, “yeah, sure,” and we walk to my room.
It’s not a big space, so it feels almost dangerous moving around each other to get hold of a box each, but eventually we make it back to the living room. He on his side of the couch, I on mine. The tv is still blaring in the background as we get to work.
“What do I even do with all these old school books?” Why didn’t I think to pack them first, so I wouldn’t have to be confronted with them the second I opened a box? “It’s not like I have any use for them.”
“What do you want to do with them?” Curse Baz for always making me think for myself. I shoot him a look. He’s started folding all the clothes that I just threw in there haphazardly two years ago. I sit back and let myself think about his question.
“I don’t know. Would the school want some extra books for students whose families don’t own a mansion?”
Baz laughs.
“I’m sure they would be very happy with it,” he says with a smile. Then his face turns serious again, “do you really want to give them away?”
I sigh. Damn him.
“No…” I say. “But I don’t want them in sight all the time.”
“Bunce keeps a box with all her schoolwork, you could ask if she could take yours as well?”
“Oh, so, I finally unpack these boxes and then put my stuff in another box?”
“Correct!” Baz says and I can’t help but laugh. Merlin, I feel stupid for procrastinating this for so long. (You weren’t being stupid, I hear a voice say in my head and I can’t decide whether it’s my therapist or Penny or Baz or perhaps all three of them at once. You just weren’t ready.)
I quickly cast aside all books about magic, but I take a moment to flip through my Latin and Greek homework.
“You want this for your studies?” I ask Baz and hold up my translations of Catullus. Baz full-on grins, “I don’t think those should ever see the daylight again.”
I smile and turn back to the papers in my hand. When I read through my translation of the poem on the first page, I can see I didn’t actually do that bad. I just didn’t understand the poem back then. Catullus writes about this girl he calls Lesbia and how in love he is with her. He says that when she smiles at him his voice gets stuck in his throat and his ears ring and his arteries are filled with fire. I think he basically says he dies? It didn’t make sense to me then, but I think it makes sense to me now.
“Simon?” When I turn to Baz, he is smiling and I die a little. It takes me a moment to take my eyes off his face and look at what he’s holding. In his hands is a picture frame that seems familiar. He reaches it out to me and I take it. Two faces, smiling up at me. If there is anything good that could’ve come from these boxes, it’s this.
“You want to put it up somewhere?” Baz asks.
“Yeah,” I nod. “But let’s wait for Penny, yeah?”
“Sounds good,” he says and we sort through the rest of the stuff in silence.
Afterwards, I curl up on my corner of the couch, feet buried in the cushions meeting in the corner. We’re both watching the tv again, but I don’t think either of us is really paying attention.
“Baz?” I ask. He hums. “Why were you home early?”
He looks at me and I reach out across the space between us. He reaches back and I grasp his hand in mine.
I’m not stupid and I’m not that forgetful. There is a reason he came back. I don’t think he was even supposed to come here after class. He does stay over regularly (albeit mostly on the couch), but usually not more than two nights back to back.
Baz watches his thumb stroke mine. “I got a call from Mordie a few days ago,” he says. “Apparently she had an accident a few weeks ago.”
I straighten up, but he squeezes my hand.
“It’s not bad. Just a sprained ankle and what she thinks is going to be a really cool scar.”
I smile.
“But it just makes me so mad that no one told me. And I-“
He pauses for a second. I pull his hand closer to me and press a kiss to it.
“So, I called my dad and then I yelled at him a bunch and he just said he forgot.”
I have to stop myself from squishing Baz’s hand in anger. I know he doesn’t need me to be mad at his dad. I know I could be for the rest of my life, but Penny says my energy is better spent supporting Baz instead.
It’s goddamned hard, though, when there are tears glistening in his eyes. So, I take a breath and I pull on Baz’s hand again, but I don’t reach out to kiss it. Instead I keep pulling until his head is in my lap and my arm is over his chest. It’s remarkable how easy it can be to hold someone when being held is the most terrifying thing in the world.
So, I hold Baz as he tells me about his conversation with his dad and how disappointed he is after all the progress they have made over the past few months. And I hold him as he tells me about Mordelia’s injuries. He tells me about calling Daphne after and crying to her and her apologising and swearing she thought he knew. And then he tells me about Mordie’s latest pranks and how crowded the tube was and how annoying his professor. And we laugh and we cry and we watch people cook on tv.
I hold him through it all.
- - - - -
Now
“Baz?”
“Yes, Simon?” Baz halts on his way to climbing into his bed. He changed in the bathroom while I changed here and now his hair is flowing down his face in waves and it looks softer than ever. I want to smile at his use of my name, but I can’t quite get past the nerves I’m feeling. I’m standing awkwardly in the centre of our room between our beds. I could have climbed into mine before Baz came back and we both know it.
“Could I…” why is this so hard? “Could I stay with you tonight? Just to sleep.”
I know my face must be bright red, but even Baz is looking a bit pink. After a few moments, he recollects himself and he gestures towards the bed. “Yeah,” he says, “yes, of course.”
In a silent dance of unfinished movements and awkward looks, we come to the conclusion that Baz climbs in first and then I join him. Our struggle with blankets and limbs ends with Baz lying on his back and me partly covering his side as I tug my head under his chin. I can feel his heartbeat like this and I’m sure he can feel mine. The covers weigh heavy on us.
“How do you not burn alive with all these layers?” I complain, but at the same time I pull him even closer.
“The window is opened.” I don’t comment on how he could have closed it all this time. “Besides, you know I run cold.”
“Not anymore,” I snuggle closer. “You have me now.”
Baz doesn’t say anything, but I can tell by the way he squeezes my arm that he is smiling.
We lay in silence for a bit, our breaths syncing. Knowing this is probably the last time I’ll ever be in this room is equally crazy to me as the fact that I am here at all. A few months ago, I’m sure no one would have expected I’d ever return. I knew I had to be here, though. Partly for Baz, but in reality, I could have met him anywhere. Mostly, I knew I needed the closure. This is where it all started and I would have regretted it forever if I didn’t finish it here too.
“So, I guess it was you who lost in the end, wasn’t it?” Baz murmurs. And before-Simon would have interpreted it as a boast or a jab, but right now I know exactly what he means.
“I don’t know. I guess?” And then, “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
I try to find the words to explain it. Baz waits patiently.
“It’s just… I mean, obviously I lost a lot. I wouldn’t say I’m not a loser in all this. But it also feels like I won some things?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well… it’s just that I’ve always been so lost in life, yeah? Nobody knew where I came from or what I was supposed to do, least of all me. But I never had a future either. If you wouldn’t kill me in some war, it would have been the Humdrum or some creature the Mage would make me fight. And… sorry, it feels as if I’m rambling.”
Baz chuckles, “I can’t say I’m entirely following, but keep going.”
Use your words, he doesn’t say and I smile.
“Okay, so, I think this is what I mean: I think everyone is lost in life. I mean, we get here and then we just… have to figure it all out or something? And then you lose stuff along the way and you gain some. And sometimes it sucks and sometimes it’s great, but you keep moving forward to fight for what’s to come? A happy life, with more losses and more gains. But I was never allowed to have a future, so then what do you fight for? It was like all my successes wouldn’t mean anything because I’d only get to enjoy them for so long. And, I mean, of course, that goes for everyone, because we all die in the end. But knowing that everything you achieve you’ll only get to enjoy for a few years doesn’t make for a great motivation to keep going. So, I was always searching for reasons to try.”
“That’s why you couldn’t let go of Wellbelove.”
I nod. “Yeah. And I think the reasoning behind that made sense. Because, as I said, we all lose in life. But it’s infinitely more worth it, when we get to share life together. Because then life and everything you win and everything you lose becomes this beautiful path of learning and growing and sharing and loving. And I still want Agatha to be a part of that journey for me, but not in the way I thought I wanted her to. I used her to give myself a sense of purpose and that’s not how it works.”
“What’s the difference?”
I think for a second. “Well… sharing life and learning together and needing other people is different from depending on them and expecting of them that they will make your life worthwhile for you. But anyway, I think all this time I felt like I was inherently robbed of the opportunity to live. So I got all the crappy stuff of life, without also getting the good stuff. And even though my father died and my mum is gone and I lost my magic, I now get to have a future. And I’ll get to lose more and win more and just… live, y’know?”
When I look up at Baz, he looks like a mess.
“And then I also get to share all that with Penny and with Agatha and, if you’ll have me, with you.”
Baz reaches down and strokes my cheek with his thumb.
“I’ll have you.”
I turn my head to kiss the palm of his hand. We look at each other and it feels like time stands still. How could I have ever thought I felt anything towards him that wasn’t love?
“So, yeah,” I continue eventually, “I’d say I did lose. And I’d say you lost too. And I’d say we’re going to lose a whole lot more someday. At the very least death is an inevitable loss, even for immortal vampires -when climate change sets the planet on fire, you’re going down,” I feel Baz chuckle beneath me. “But what we win is that we get to experience it all. The good and the bad and the everything in between. And if we’re lucky, we get to experience it together with people we love.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it is,” I say. “So, really, I’d say that if we are losers at all, then we’re the most beautiful ones out there.”
The smile I receive is blinding.
- - - - -
One Year Later
“Simon?” Bunce yells from the hallway, and then, once she’s burst through the door, “and Baz, apparently!”
My head is still in Simon’s lap, the floor still covered with school books and Watford clothes. She doesn’t comment on the mess on the ground, instead looking to me for an explanation. All I manage is a smile to let her know we’re okay. If it were a good day, she’d come over to give us both a hug. On a bad day, she’ll just smile and keep her distance. Today, Simon reaches out his hand to her and she grasps it, finger slipping between his.
When she lets go, she takes a seat on the floor in front of us and takes another look at Simon’s old stuff.
“So, what is this all about?” She asks. I look up at Simon, but the look he gives me tells me he wants me to respond.
“We figured it was about time we’d unpack those last boxes.”
“About time,” Penny echoes, deep in thought, and she reaches for the framed picture on the floor. Simon and I watch her look at it for a while. From my point of view on Simon’s lap, our eyes are at a similar height and I can see hers trace the faces on the picture on by one. She smiles. After a while, she raises her eyes back to us.
“So, what are you going to do with all this stuff?”
“I don’t know,” I respond and I look at the Simon. “Simon?”
He scans the items on the floor and the picture in Penny’s hands. “I think I’ll keep it. Maybe get some of it out of my sight, though. Baz said you have a box where you keep your old school books?”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Bunce answers, “Do you want to clean it up now?”
“Maybe later,” Simon says, “but I do think we should put that picture somewhere.”
I can’t help but smile and I can see Penny smiling and out of the corner of my eyes I can see Simon smiling and all three of us are smiling and maybe we’re okay.
“Okay then, where do you want to put it?” Bunce gets up and with one hand holding the picture she reaches the other out for Simon to take and pull himself up on. She doesn’t let go of his hand and neither do I, so we wander the apartment, the three of us, hand in hand.
We unanimously decide against either bedroom, as we all want to be able to go see the picture at any time. The bathroom is the next one to go, since that just doesn’t do it any justice at all. We keep wandering the place until we find the right spot. It’s going to take way past dinner time if we do this now, but I still take the time to get the drilling machine and put the photo up.
After, we cook dinner together and eat under candlelight and our awful collective music taste. Even though Simon mostly keeps silent, Bunce and I make jokes about day to day life, about the news, about celebrities, about anything. Simon rolls his eyes at an argument Bunce and I end up having over some random subject and then Bunce and I roll our eyes at Simon when he argues we should just shut up and bake him scones to compensate for boring him to death.
Of course, we do end up making the scones and Simon ends up helping, because Crowley knows he doesn’t trust us with anything in the kitchen. So, while Simon stirs the batter, Bunce and I hold a dancing and singing contest to the music and I can’t help but smile brightly when I notice even Simon slightly nods his head to the beat.
Once the scones are finished, we all collectively decide we deserve to skip our homework for the night and watch some thoughtless movie instead.
I don’t really register much of what’s happening on the screen. I do, however, register the smell of Simon’s freshly washed hair, as he lays with his head on my chest, watching the screen. I do register the sight of Bunce tapping along with the soundtrack of the film on Simon’s legs that he has thrown over her lap. I register the feeling of our chests rising and falling together. And I do register this little taste of happiness that I have right here.
And I think that Simon may be right. I think of the picture, which we decided to hang in the hallway, so that the second you open the door, you’ll be greeted by smiling faces. You’ll be greeted by the people who make this little apartment the home it is. And then I think that that is exactly what this is. Home.
I’m home. In Simon’s home. Simon is home. And Bunce is too.
And I think that I understand what Simon meant. There will always be the inevitability of death and hurt in life. There will always be moments in which we lose. But lying here with Simon’s head on my shoulder, Penny’s legs over mine, and Simon’s over hers, I can see that it’s all worth it.
If we’re always going to be doomed to lose, just because that is the way life is, then this is the most beautiful way to do it. Surrounded by people you love, getting to experience this beautifully broad spectrum that is living and feeling and loving. Together.
If this what losing is, then I can say that we are the most beautiful losers of all.
Yes.
That’s us.
-
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-
-
Thank you for sticking with me through all this. <3
I could write pages on every little thing I put into this story, but I hope most of them have come across without me telling you about any of it. There are, however, still some things I feel I do have to say: 1. I headcanoned Baz with a heartbeat pre-WS and Rainbow can pry it from my cold dead hands :'( 2. You can find a picture of burrito-Achilles right here: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CgRXmuPUkAAsss-.jpg 3. Penthesilea was an Amazonian who fought on the side of the Trojans. When Achilles stabbed her through the heart and pulled off her helmet, they instantly fell in love as they locked eyes, but obviously it was too late. Find a pic here: https://www.ecosia.org/images?q=achilles+and+penthesilea 4. The poem of Catullus quite literally rips my heart out everytime I read it. Even more so because it is based on a poem of Sappho. Wikipedia here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catullus_51 5. I used the word 'loser' here as meaning "a person who lost something/at something". It's the closest translation to 'verliezer' I could find, but in Dutch it doesn't have that additional layer of being a word commonly used to define a person as... 'not cool', I guess? In Dutch we just use the English word for that haha. But anyway, I hope the extra layer in English doesn't make it confusing. 6. It was quite the struggle to convey what the song means in the story and I'm still not 100% sure I got it right, so if you have any questions or just want to talk to me about this whole fic in general, you can always find me here on Tumblr @futuristicallygayduck or @pauladelaula :)
Again, thank you all, you are all angels. <3
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merri46u3641-blog · 6 years
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