“Man fears death and yet, at the same time, man is drawn to death. Death is endlessly consumed by man in cities and in literature. It is a singular event in one’s life that none may reverse. That is what I desire.”
Dazai Osamu for the cutie @dazaiosamu-s ! Happy Birthday Areen! ♥٩(๑˃́ꇴ˂̀๑)۶
Honestly why should I give a fuck about a white actor’s insecurities when his ugly face hasn’t been a hindrance to working with big name directors. You don’t have to be perfect or gorgeous as a white male actor to make it in Hollywood. I’m tired of white fangirls coddling famous white men.
And the BIGGEST shout-out to my support and beta, @baz-n-simon (:
UPDATE: The amazing @dancingwdinosaurs has created a wonderful piece of art inspired by this fic! Go check it and follow her and show her all the amazing love she deserves!
Baz is a sharp bloke, and I don’t mean because of his fangs. He’s smart and studious, values his education, and takes classes at Uni every weekday. He comes over most days, but only after he studies, and he only stays the night when he doesn’t have class the next morning. Which is why I think it’s strange that this morning, a Tuesday, I wake up to find him sleeping peacefully next to me.
“Baz,” I say, rather loudly. I nudge him in the arm, and his skin feels like icicles.
He doesn’t move. If I were anyone else, I would think that he’s dead. Which, I guess, he is. Dead, I mean. Or undead. Or both.
“Baz,” I say again, quieter. “Wake up.” I push him on his shoulder this time. More icicles.
“Hn…” He stirs and groans, but doesn’t open his eyes. “Wha’s it, Simon?”
Baz’s voice in the morning is always deep and raspy, and he calls me Simon instead of Snow. It was like this even when we were at Watford. And I realize that it’s always been something that I liked.
“Don’t you have class, Baz?” I ask, softer than before.
He peeks one eye open, but immediately scrunches it closed it when the sunlight hits him, and he pulls the blanket over his head.
He rolls over to face me and pulls the blanket down just below his eyes.
“I said, I’m skipping.” And then he pulls the blanket right back up again.
I smile. Baz is also very grumpy in the morning, but less like a bridge troll and more like a five-year old child pouting.
“What about your classes?” I try to pull the blanket away from his face, but he holds onto it. “Don’t you have a test today? Won’t you fail?”
He snorts and pulls part of the blanket away from his face, only leaving one eye covered. “I never fail.”
I laugh. “You look like a pirate.”
He smiles briefly, then frowns, and pulls the blanket back over his face again. “I just want to go back to sleep, Snow.”
I roll my eyes and swing my legs off the bed. When I start to get up, I’m startled briefly by Baz’s icy grip around my wrist.
“Where are you going?” His eyes are peeking out from the blanket again.
“You said you wanted to sleep?”
He lets go of my wrist and pats the spot on the bed where I was laying. “Stay.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Why?”
He pats the bed again. “Let’s stay in bed for a few more hours.”
I grin. “The Baz Pitch? Wanting to cuddle?”
Baz furrows his eyebrows and hides his face again. “Nevermind,” he says grumpily, pushing his icy hand at my arm. “Go away.”
I laugh and grab his hand. It’s soft, even with his cold skin.
“I’m going to find a snack,” I say. “And then I’ll come back to bed.”
Baz just groans and rolls over.
When I come back from the kitchen, Baz is already asleep again. The curtains are closed, and his head is peeking out from the blanket. And he’s hogging the entire thing.
I crawl across the bed next to him. I try tugging part of the blanket away, but Baz has a death grip.
“Baz.” I touch his arm gently. “Will you let go of the blanket?”
He shifts slightly and mumbles. “…when I get my cuddles, Snow.”
Guys, I never expected in a million years, not only so much Cresswell in W&N, but SO MANY SHIPPER SCENES. And every single one was perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing! Just when I thought I couldn’t love Cresswell more:
- Cress calling Thorne “Carswell”. ^.^
- Thorne asking if Cress could use her hacking skills to his advantage at one point, and she goes, “I could. But I won’t.” and being all smug about it. Like, Cress wouldn’t do anything illegal just to please Thorne but Thorne isn’t even surprised. I’m sure similar scenes have already occurred before. I don’t know I just loved the whole panel.
- Them bantering about going to the gala. They are so cute and all sorts of adorable. I’m sure they couldn’t be cuter and more adorable if they tried. And it just shows how they interact in their relationship. I NEEDED THIS!!!
- The whole escort droid scene. Thorne going for the one that looks like Cress (because it’s modeled after her) and then totally falls in love … with the one that looks like him, haha. :D
- And seriously, can we talk about how Thorne looks when he thinks he angered Cress by suggesting going with “Cress”-bot instead? Cress is not a timid girl who can’t speak her mind. And Thorne is not the one who holds the power in the relationship. This is their post-“Winter” relationship and we got to see it!!!
- Thorne being all sorts of worried when Cress gets sick and takes care of her!!! THORNE - THE GUY WHO ONLY EVER LOOKED OUT FOR HIMSELF - TAKING CARE OF HIS GIRLFRIEND AND BEING ALL SORTS OF SWEET! *cries rainbow tears of joy* He prepared food “made with an extra helping of LOVE”! Like, this sentence is there and in black and white forever. I’m a hardcore Cresswell shipper and even I almost couldn’t handle the feels. *cries some more*
- Also, my poor pumpkin, always being sick. :( I mean it makes sense but still. But look at Thorne being all reassuring (“We still have our whole lives for me to show you the world”). Seriously, if any Cresswell shipper had been there with me, this would have been me:
I’m so sorry but I would have just screeched into your ears for hours, then cried and hugged you. Guys, our babies! Am I hallucinating? I was seriously scared to wake up and all of it was just an amazing dream BUT IT’S NOT!!!
- And then Thorne still goes on to say that “all the phlegm and mucus in the world couldn’t make [her] any less beautiful”!!!! *incoherent sounds*
- Thorne’s speech when he receives the medal and publicly announces what Cress means to him. “This medal is for you, Cress”. I don’t care anymore, I’m just screeching and fangirling but I think I deserve it. It’s like Marissa came down from some angel-rainbow-sunshine-island, floated to Earth just to give her loyal Cresswell shippers W&N, with harp music and a floaty dress. And she goes, “I’ve seen what you’ve been doing. The fanfics, the fanart, the headcanons. Yes, you and @lovelunarchron, and @regolithheart, and @shanlightyear and @nothingtoseehere-move-along (and I know I forgot tons of people so don’t be mad) but here, this is for you. You gave Cresswell life and now, Cresswell will give you life in return.” I mean the plan backfired, because now I’m dead instead, but I appreciate the sentiment. :P
- Thorne being worried, even frantic when he thinks something happened to Cress. “If you hurt her, I will skin you alive.” I live for this kinda Thorne who is so open and shows every raw emotion! *swoon*
- And then it’s Cress who saves the day because of course she does! Who would ever expect anything else? ^.^ And she’s so smart and Thorne likes his girls smart, we know that, we’ve seen it in CGTBL, so of course he has to kiss her (and she’s WEARING HIS SHIRT!). And give her his medal for “bravery and extraordinary heroism”. Guys, just bury me with these panels.
I’m now in happy Cresswell-shipper-fangirl heaven. I had one one-shot planned that would take place during the same time as W&N and while it’s not canon-compatible, I can still try to work in snippets and hints of what we see about their relationship. I’m so happy right now. My babies. ^.^
( Prompt: princess diaries style “I grew up not knowing I was royal and suddenly my royal grandparent showed up out of nowhere and told me I was so now I guess I’m the heir to the throne and you’re my crush from my pre-royal days but I still have a crush on you” AU )
A/N: Two words: Lip-sync battle. SLAY TOM, SLAY. I WAS WEIRDLY TURNED ON BY HIS PERFORMANCE?? LIKE. I WOULD DO HIM IN THE SUIT, AND I WOULD DO HIM IN DRAG, AND I AM CRYING. That being said, if anyone wants to fangirl with me over Tom, please hit me up. I need more friends to fangirl with!! ( I also need a date with him ASAP. ) In other news, this was very heavily influenced by that scene in Catching Fire. Matt Murdock, the dumpster ninja, will be showing up in a few more chapters, and I cannot wait. :)))
You leave the room – and the after party –
without delay. Your walk is more of a stagger as the amount of champagne you’ve
consumed just minutes before becomes apparent. Too much. And yet, not nearly
enough. You move as calmly as possible towards the archway leading to the hall
… To escape.
Or as much of an escape as you can manage with a
limitless number of guards keeping watch over your every move.
You press a hand against the wall to steady
yourself. Once you find an exit to the balcony, you grasp hold of a railing and
try to calm yourself. A sob rises in your throat. You clamp your lips together
to force it back.
No one told you the life of a princess would be
No one told you that you would have to give up
No one told you that a crown could weigh so
heavily upon your head.
“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place
like this?” Light and good-humoured – not to mention vaguely familiar – a voice
greets you from the shadows, you jarringly realise that you aren’t alone.
Normally, you would be thrilled – or shocked at
the very least – to have New York’s very own Spiderman hanging from the fire escape only several feet away. It’s
becoming a trend at school – all the girls are bragging about how Spiderman had
saved them from robbers/harassment/bullying, and they’d proceeded to make out
with Spiderman in some dark corner to ‘thank’ him.
And now he’s here. Real and alive. You could add
on to the flood of wild stories, but you hardly need the added popularity. As
it is, you could claim that you’d discovered Atlantis and people would believe
You manage a faint smile that comes across as
more of a grimace on a pale and strained face that not even M.A.C and Elizabeth
Arden can hide.
Willing your voice not to crack, you speak
slowly, attempting to compose yourself, “Parties aren’t really my thing.”
“What is your thing, then?”
He’s talking to you like he’s known you all your
life. It’s warm and familiar and comforting somehow, to be talked to like a
normal human being. No, “Yes, Your
Highness”, or “As you wish, My Lady”.
No airs, no treading on eggshells. Just … Normal conversation. You could
cry. You want to cry.
“I enjoy horseback riding and embroidery.” Your
voice sounds dead, even to your ears – it sounds like something you’ve
memorised from a textbook. “I volunteer at soup kitchens in my free time, and I
donate generously to churches and shelters.”
“I mean the real
things.” His gaze is heavy on your face, so piercing that you think he can see
all the way down into your soul. “Not the princess things.”
“I like watching movies,” You say, softly,
carefully, after making sure that your grandmother isn’t going to jump out of
nowhere to chide you for not giving the appropriate response. “I always watched
them with my best friend.” There’s a sour taste in your mouth, almost like
curdled milk, when you remember that you haven’t been to Peter’s in weeks, and that you haven’t been
speaking to him for about as long. Swallowing, you continue, “I like books. Reading. Listening to
music. You know. Teenager stuff.”
“Teenager stuff,” He repeats. “So why are you
saying that other stuff?”
You let out a half laugh that sounds more like a
hysterical hiccup. “Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
It’s what people want to hear. It’s what they
expect from a princess. But your all your lies are piling up, one after
another, and you’re afraid that soon they’ll collapse over you and will bury
you under, and you won’t be able to climb out of the hole that you’ve dug
“There’s always a choice.”
Not for me, you think, both angrily and
wistfully. If you had any choice, you would abandon all your duties and run off
to Antarctica to chill with the Penguins. You’d turn in your crown immediately.
You’d become normal again. A regular girl, in a regular school, with a regular
You’d never thought you’d miss normalcy.
“You need a break.” Spiderman says, shaking his
head in mock – or is it real? – disappointment. But then, his voice changes,
takes on an edge of boyish excitement. “C’mon, let’s go!”
You wag your head hysterically. “Oh no no no, I can’t just … Go.”
“It’s not like I’m taking you to Aspen. Just around the city.”
Spiderman’s looking at you hopefully, almost
child-like in his excitement. He holds out a hand, and you stare at it, wanting
to take it, but still, unable to. What’s
the harm? A voice whispers. Tomorrow
you’ll have to go back to your life. All the press, the attention, the
Your cheeks warm. This is like something from a
fairy tale – you the princess, and Spiderman the unconventional knight. You
take his hand. It’s surprisingly warm and firm, and your own hand feels like it
was made to hold his.
You try to think past these unwanted thoughts.
“Hold on tight. Okay?”
Before you can respond, you feel hands on your
waist, and Spiderman’s lifting you up carefully, gently into his arms. He’s
skinny, but a lot stronger than he looks. You accidentally slide back against
his chest, breathing in the scent that clings to his skin – something warm,
like cinnamon, vanilla, and the night air. Your heart inches its way into your
throat. You’ll admit that you’re unusually nervous, but you chalk it up to
being near to Spiderman. One breath
is all you get the chance for though; he runs up to the edge of the roof and
leaps right off it.
A loud scream escapes your lips. Your stomach
plunges into a freefall, and your arms, once hanging limply at your side, now fly
to wrap around Spiderman’s neck. You’re not sure if you’re strangling him with
how tight you’re grabbing onto him, but right now, the only thought on your
mind is holding on so that you don’t
become a spot on the pavement.
You make a mental note to add ‘heights’ to the
list of things you aren’t good at.
He has to shout to be heard over the cars
honking, and the wind rushing by. “C’mon, open your eyes!”
You squeak, praying that you won’t throw up all over his shiny new suit. “This
was a bad idea!”
“I’m not going to drop you. You’ll be safe with
me, I promise.”
It’s hard to doubt the sincerity that rings true
in his voice, but still, you glare suspiciously at the direction of his voice before
opening your eyes.
Your breath catches in your throat. Wow. It looks absolutely stunning. New York at night, from the
sky … It looks otherworldly, surreal. To your surprise, a laugh bubbles
forth from you. Your hair streams back from your face, and a smile makes its
way across your face. You’ve grown used to the strange, but not all together
unpleasant feeling, of being weightless and free and infinite, of flying
through the air.
You could get used to this.
“I – I, uh, saw the press conference.”
It’s the wrong thing to say.
Your mood had been rapidly improving, but now, the
weight of all your mistakes comes crashing back down, hard, onto your shoulders. You’ve been teetering on the edge of tears
all day, and this is all it takes for you to break down completely.
You cry Peter’s name.
And then you just cry.
His name, Ned’s name, Michelle’s name, in one
desperate stream of sounds that you can’t separate from one another. You want
someone to make things right; you want someone to make you not feel as if you’re
constantly being pulled different ways by your heart and your head. Most of
all, you want someone to tell you that everything will be alright; to promise
that your friends won’t be hating you with every fibre of their beings.
shit,” Spiderman’s saying from somewhere far away, panic and fear vibrating
through those three words. “I said something wrong.”
Vaguely, you’re aware that the crisp night winds
have stopped rifling through your hair, aware that you’re no longer flying
through the air, have the vague sensation of being set down gently onto gravel.
The cold and the damp press against your legs.
“My friends hate me,” You sob, scrubbing at your
streaming eyes with the back of your hand. “My crush hates me. I said some
things that I didn’t mean just now.”
Through the tears that blur your vision, Spiderman
freezes, goes impossibly still, like a deer caught in the headlights. “Then why
did you?” He asks softly.
“Because – Because I wanted to keep them safe,” You confess. Your throat aches as
a horrible black ball of fear lodges itself under the roof of your mouth. “This
– The Princess job isn’t safe, there
are horrible people who want me dead,
and if they manage to get to my friends, I wouldn’t be able to live with
“I get it.” Spiderman says, just as quietly, his
voice suddenly sounding heavy and weary. “Believe me, I do.”
“No, you don’t!” You cry. It explodes out of you
before you can stop it. You don’t know why you’re suddenly so angry, but you
could shake him or cry. “You have no
idea – No one does – I thought this
would be fun, but it’s not! It hurts, it hurts,
it hurts, and I’m in over my head, and I just want my
friends back, but I can’t have them, and
I just … I don’t know what to do anymore.”
The tears come in a flash flood. Exhaustion and
self-pity roll over you. You’re sobbing even harder now, hunched over, and
trembling in pain and sorrow and grief, with barely a pause to breathe as your
frame is racked with the release of so many built-up emotions.
You think Spiderman’s left, but suddenly he’s
holding you, warm and reassuring and real. You find yourself with your head
buried in his shoulder, sobbing. He lets you cry it out, keeping you pressed
tightly to him, and he’s making little noises into your hair, sounding
positively pained that you’re miserable and he can’t do anything to help.
“I’ll take you home, okay?” He asks, once you’ve
All you can do is nod, still keeping your face
buried into his neck.
He carries you into your room, through the
window. He helps you to wash your makeup off, waits as you change out of your
dress, helps you into bed, smoothing the covers over your still-trembling
frame. Spiderman says goodnight, but you catch his hand and hold him there. You
don’t want him to go, especially not when you feel so awful.
“Stay with me,” You whisper plaintively, like a
small child. “Stay. Please.”
Fingers ghost through your hair, and you think
you feel the brush of lips against your forehead. You think you hear Spiderman
whisper a word back, but you’re too far gone to make it out.
I got a message from a certain fanfic author and I never thought this day would come but it did and I’m so happy. Also doing all the shading all on one layer in one color is weird how do people do this.