#I found the best remix of this song

[fennthetalkingdog]

I'm just figuring out how important music is in my life! This is coming from a long while trying to cut down on my music use, mostly because I was listening to it so much that it felt more like I couldn't do anything without popping in some earbuds, and partially because of other personal reasons. Some of my routines changed, forcing me to not listen to music while doing certain things, and it ended up becoming that besides working on homework or drawing, I didn't listen to music at all. But I've given myself a break today since I have nothing to do and since, for reasons, I'm feeling just a lil crappy today—and boy, I'm starting to realize again just why I love music!!

I love the diverse music taste I've developed over the years! My family is not only big about music but big about listening to it loud, so the majority of my music taste for most of my life has just been Christian hiphop (Lecrae, KB, Andy Mineo, Trip Lee, and ironically Tonex, whose album where he was struggling hard with his gayness has been my favorite concert movie since I was 5) and gospel music (Kirk Franklin, Tye Tribbett, etc.). And music was one of the few connections between me and my race (I grew up feeling pretty estranged from my blackness as a kid, but the popular songs they played at the YMCA in the 2010s were some of the few things I could use to feel more connected) and between me and my classmates/friends at the Y (I still have fond memories of playing FNAF songs in mat forts and reciting lyrics at pool parties). But I got tired of knowing I could never bond with anyone besides family friends music taste-wise when I was in high school, and so I started listening to secular music on my own time. And that's how I first found Ghost and Pals, a vocaloid artist and one of the first secular music folks I listened to as a kid (can you smell the religious trauma yet? Lol), and that's how I bonded with one of my best friends in early college (ironically, also my first time being publically queer). Now I listen to Kpop, anime songs, songs from warriors MAPs, songs from musicals (Hamilton and In the Heights <3), latin songs, metal songs, and even some secular songs young me would've been too scared to listen to.

And music has always been one of my biggest sources of stimming! I can't dance to save my life, but music will sure get me to flick my fingers and hit my fist against my shoulder furiously. Music was one of the first clues that I like stimming with vibration too (since I love laying against the car door and turning up the music loud enough to feel the world shake around me). And music was one of the first things that made me look into ADHD or autism (specifically, listening to Ghost and Pals songs for a month straight and getting my friend at early college [who also has ADHD] to start looking at me funny when I was discovered doing chores and listening to one of three songs for the fifth time). Music is so cool it'll get me to wax poetically. It was one of the things that kept me together during my roughest times and soothed me during my best. I listen to it while I write, while I cry, while I hang out with my friends and family and while I chill by myself. It's how I relax after a long day, and it's how I feel safe. I feel kinda emotional finally having music hit that spot in me without feeling like I need it to do stuff.

[matutito]

I ❤ THE INTERNET ARCHIVE

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Eiffel 65 - Blue (Da Ba Dee) 1998

"Blue (Da Ba Dee)" is a song by Italian music group Eiffel 65. It was first released in October 1998 in Italy and became internationally successful the following year. It is the lead single of the group's 1999 debut album, Europop.

The song initially found success in France, where it debuted in August 1999 and reached number one for three weeks. It then found success in other European countries, reaching the top spot on many charts in September the same year. It became one of the biggest-selling songs of 1999, reaching number one in at least 18 countries, charting at number three in Italy, and peaking at number six on the US Billboard Hot 100 in January 2000. It reached number one in Australia, New Zealand and Canada. In the UK, the song initially entered the top 40 purely on import sales; it was only the third single to do this. The song re-charted on 6 May 2013 at number 40 in the UK, following its inclusion in Iron Man 3.

The song received a Grammy Award nomination for Best Dance Recording at the 2001 Grammy Awards. "Blue (Da Ba Dee)" has also been heavily sampled and remixed in later years.

The accompanying music video for the song was released in 1999 by BlissCoMedia, a computer graphics division of Bliss Corporation, and featured computer-generated graphics that were done in 3ds Max. With very few resources, tutorials and books, and only one editing machine, the video was made between 1998 and 1999 in a garage in about two to three months.

"Blue (Da Ba Dee)" received a total of 75,2% yes votes!

[disciplined-cornfed]

Rome wasn't built in a day

Alex had never expected his college life to take this kind of turn. He’d moved to New York for school, planning to live on campus like most students, but when he found a better deal on an off-campus apartment that financial aid would cover, he jumped on it. The apartment was in a decent neighborhood, close to the subway, and the landlord didn’t ask too many questions. Seemed like a win.

What he hadn’t planned on, though, was Frank—his new roommate.

Frank was… something else. The guy was like a time capsule from a decade ago, straight out of Jersey Shore. From the gelled-back hair, the deep tan, ridiculous yelling at football and ufc matches every weekend, the flashy chains, to the relentless love of tank tops and gold watches. Alex wasn’t sure if Frank was for real or if this was just an elaborate, extended joke.

But here’s the thing: despite his douchey exterior, Frank was actually a pretty nice guy. Sure, he blasted club music at ungodly hours and flexed in the mirror every time he passed it, but Frank was always chill. He’d offer Alex food whenever he cooked, made sure the apartment was clean, and always gave him a heads-up when he had people over. Plus, Frank clearly knew what he was doing in the gym. The guy was shredded, and Alex had to admit, Frank’s discipline when it came to his diet and workout routine was impressive.

It didn’t take long before Alex’s curiosity got the best of him.

One day, after weeks of seeing Frank pound protein shakes and head to the gym religiously, Alex asked him for some advice. He had always been a casual gym-goer, but seeing Frank’s dedication made him wonder if he could up his own game.

“Yo, Frank,” Alex said one afternoon as they sat in the living room. “What do you usually eat for those gains, man? And how do you stay so consistent?”

Frank grinned, pausing the DJ Pauly D remix playing on his speakers. “Bro, it’s all about focus foods and the right lifts. Stick to lean meats, eggs, beans, lots of veggies. And you gotta hit the weights hard. No shortcuts.”

Alex nodded, scribbling down some notes on his phone. “Got any recommendations? Like content or something I can watch?”

Frank’s grin grew wider. “Oh, for sure. I’ll send you some stuff. There’s Dom Mazzetti, Vinny Guadagnino—some good shit, bro. But hey, I’ll send you my playlist too. Got a WAV file I use at the gym that keeps me hyped.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “A playlist?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Frank said, waving his hand dismissively. “It’s got some fire tracks. Also, I threw in some personal affirmations underneath it, helps me stay focused during my lifts. You probably won’t even notice them, but they help, bro. Trust me.”

Alex wasn’t really buying into the whole “subliminal affirmation” thing. It sounded like some weird self-help nonsense. But Frank was shredded, and if these little tricks worked for him, maybe they were worth a shot.

Later that evening, Alex plugged in his headphones and hit play on Frank’s WAV file. It started with “Lucky, Lucky, Lucky Me”—a male cover that felt oddly calming. The song transitioned into upbeat remixes like “Fireball” and other club tracks that seemed to pump adrenaline into his veins. Somewhere in between, Sinatra’s smooth voice made an appearance, bringing a strange, nostalgic energy to the mix.

As the playlist played, Alex caught faint whispers beneath the music—barely noticeable. “You love the gym. You crave the weights. Tanning makes you feel amazing. You rep the Italian pride with every lift.”

He chuckled to himself. This subliminal shit can’t be real, he thought. But, whatever—Frank swears by it.

The playlist ended with “Lucky, Lucky Me” again, and as Alex dozed off that night, the tune echoed faintly in his head.

The changes didn’t happen overnight, but as the days went by, Alex began to notice subtle differences. It started with his workouts. He’d always been someone who worked out occasionally, but now there was something different. One morning, as he walked past the gym on his way to class, he felt an urge—a need to lift. It wasn’t just about getting in shape anymore. Something about the weights called to him, pulling him in.

He ended up inside, grabbing a set of dumbbells and diving into a full workout. By the time he finished, he was drenched in sweat, but instead of feeling exhausted, he felt exhilarated. There was a rush—an energy that coursed through him, leaving him wanting more.

From that point on, the gym became part of his daily routine. At first, he didn’t even realize it was happening. He started following Frank’s tips—lifting heavier, focusing on compound movements, and pushing himself harder with each session. His muscles responded quickly, growing faster than they ever had before. His shirts started to fit tighter, hugging his chest and arms in ways they never had before. Every time he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t help but flex, admiring his progress.

It wasn’t just the gym either. One afternoon, Alex caught himself in front of the bathroom mirror, noticing how pale his skin looked under the fluorescent lights. Without thinking much of it, he booked an appointment at the tanning salon down the street. After his first session, he looked at himself in the mirror, marveling at the golden glow on his skin. It made him feel good, confident—like he was stepping into a new version of himself.

Tanning became part of his routine, just like the gym. He started looking forward to that golden glow, the way it made his muscles stand out more, and how it just felt right.

One weekend, Alex found himself wandering into a clothing store, drawn to a section of tank tops with bold prints—Italian flags, American flags, vibrant colors that screamed confidence. He picked up a few without thinking twice, the fabric feeling perfect against his newly defined arms. When he got home and slipped into one of the tanks, he stood in front of the mirror, flexing his biceps. The tank hugged his body in all the right places, and as he admired his reflection, a grin spread across his face.

Damn, I look good.

It wasn’t just the clothes that made him feel this way—it was the pride, the feeling of representing his heritage with every lift, every flex. It felt right.

The most surprising change came with his voice. At first, it was barely noticeable—a slight shift in his accent, a few new words slipping into his vocabulary. But as the weeks went on, the transformation in his speech became undeniable. His voice took on a thicker Jersey inflection, and words like “bro” and “yo” started slipping out naturally, almost without him realizing it. He spoke with more confidence, more swagger, his words carrying a weight that hadn’t been there before.

He even noticed how loud he’d become, but it wasn’t obnoxious—it felt like he was owning the room. His friends started to comment on it, but Alex didn’t mind. It felt like the way he was supposed to talk, like his voice was finally matching the rest of his transformation.

One night, Alex found himself scrolling through YouTube, where he came across a Dom Mazzetti video. He clicked on it, expecting to laugh at the over-the-top persona, but something else happened. As Dom joked about gym culture, diet, and lifting, Alex found himself nodding along, relating to the lifestyle. The gym wasn’t just a place to work out anymore—it was part of who he was becoming.

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Alex’s days revolved around the gym, tanning, and repping his heritage with pride. He found himself following more content creators who embodied the same mindset—guys who lived for the grind, the lifts, and the pride in who they were.

His roommate Frank noticed the changes, too. “Bro, you’re looking jacked,” Frank said one afternoon as Alex flexed in the mirror before heading out to the gym. “You flexing the gains hard now.”

Alex grinned, running a hand through his hair, which he’d started gelling back every morning. “Yeah, man. It just feels right, you know?”

Frank clapped him on the shoulder, a proud smirk on his face. “Told ya. Once you get in the groove, there’s no going back. You’re one of us now, bro. Tanning, lifting, and heritage. Welcome to the crew.”

Alex chuckled, feeling Frank’s words sink in. Wasn’t just about the workouts or the diet no more. It was the whole package—the attitude, the pride, the way he carried himself. He’d become confident, bold, and unapologetic. The gym had become his temple, and every flex in the mirror, every perfectly tanned muscle, reminded him of how far he’d come.

He spoke with more confidence now, his voice carrying a thick Jersey accent that seemed to come naturally. Words like “bro” and “yo” slipped out effortlessly, and he found himself embracing the louder, more assertive side of himself. Even his walk had changed—there was more swagger, more presence.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

A few weeks later, Alex and Frank were sitting in the living room, scrolling through profiles of potential new roommates. Their lease was ending soon, and they needed to find someone to fill the third room. Frank leaned back in his chair, sipping a protein shake as he swiped through a list of candidates.

“Yo, check this one out,” Alex said, pausing on a profile. “Marco Ricci. Italian last name.”

Frank raised an eyebrow and leaned in, studying the screen. “Oh shit, an Italian? That’s promising.”

They opened Marco’s profile, but instead of seeing someone flexing or rocking a tan, Marco looked... pretty regular. He wasn’t out of shape, but he wasn’t exactly lifting heavy either. Pale, with a pretty average physique, he was the kind of guy who didn’t seem to spend much time at the gym. His shirt was plain, and his expression, while friendly, was far from the confident swagger Alex and Frank had come to expect in their circle.

Alex chuckled, nudging Frank. “Dude’s kinda pasty, huh?”

Frank smirked. “Yeah, bro. Definitely needs some work. But Rome wasn’t built in a day, you know? He’s got the Italian blood—that’s what counts. We can mold him.”

Alex nodded, his mind already racing. Marco might not be there yet, but with the right guidance, who knows? The guy had potential. He just needed some direction.

“Yeah,” Alex said, swiping right on Marco’s profile. “We’ll get him there. If he’s down to move in, I have the perfect playlist in mind."

Frank chuckled deeply, shaking his head. “Bro, he won’t know what hit him.”

Alex grinned, flexing in the mirror nearby. “Hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day, right?”

Frank laughed again, raising his protein shake in a mock toast. “Damn straight, bro."

WANNA BECOME A GUIDO FOR REAL? Try this subliminal:

Guido Subliminal (Accent, Mindset, Discipline, Extreme Confidence)

[nhularin]

⊹ breezy mischief y.jw

PAIRING ꩜ .ᐟ best friend!jungwon x gn!reader GENRE .ᐟ friends to lovers WARNINGS .ᐟ none WC .ᐟ 0.4k SONG REC .ᐟ Attention (250 remix) & bubble gum by newjeans masterlist

THE CICADAS THRILLED LOUDLY as the sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over your garden . jungwon and you had spent the afternoon lazing around the fan, trying to escape the humid air and enjoying the rare free time away from the hustle of your usual routines. the heat had been brutal, and you could feel beads of sweat forming on your forehead and down your back.

"I can't take this suffering anymore," jungwon whined, fanning himself with his hand.

you glanced at the water hose outside in your garden, a mischievous idea forming in your mind. "hey, how about a water fight? the winner gets to do whatever they want with the loser" you suggested, a playful glint in your eyes

the boy looked at you, his face lighting up with excitement. "youre so on!" he declared, already making a dash for the glass door.

laughing at his antics, you chased after him, the two of you reaching the hose at the same time. you turned on the faucet as he has the pipe facing towards his face, splashing a stream of water at him, and he yelped in surprise before retaliating with the hose aimed right at your face.

the cool water was a welcome relief from the sweltering heat, and soon you were both soaked, laughing and splashing each other without a care in the world. jungwon's laughter was infectious, and you found yourself grinning from ear to ear.

"gotcha!" he shouted triumphantly as he managed to corner you between the bushes and pouring water down your back from the bucket he found next to your dad's shed.

"oh, you’re so going pay for that," you replied, running up to the faucet to fill up more water into another bucket and sending it his way.

the fight continued until both of you were drenched and out of breath, collapsing onto the grass in a fit of giggles. the golden hues of the sunset framed jungwon face as he lay beside you, his hair dripping and his smile wide.

"guess i lost, huh?" you chucked, turning to look at him , as he stared right back at you with a twinkle in his eyes. "now shoot, oh glorious winner, what's your wish"

he smiled and turned back to look at the sky, feeling a warm glow that had nothing to do with the summer heat.

"go out with me"

[musicfranchisetournament]

propaganda under the cut !!

ensemble stars :

what can I say. it's the no.1 highest earning joseimuke of recent times for a reason. i wouldn't say it was the founding father of male idol franchises but it's undoubtedly important for them and the popularization of them. the characters are enjoyable and the story writing is (sometimes) done pretty nicely. when the songs hit well they hit GOOD. with a cast of over 50 characters you're pretty bound to find someone you'll enjoy, you know. there's a nice variation on unit archetypes that is great for music variation :]

There's just soo much happening in this goddamn idol thing I hope it loses bleehh

Idol game except the plot is NOT what you would expect of an idol game. Notably : murder, the War, vampires, and a guy who lives in the vents.

"oh it's just a silly little idol game" and then the silly little idol game has some of the craziest lore you've seen

milgram :

it's very cool and interesting !! idk !

SUCH a unique concept. I love it so much. Delivering insight into characters crimes and psyches through music?! Genius. And the music all slaps too. The VAs are all super talented, the voices all sound different from one another, and even when a character's music style switches between T1 and T2 to reflect their mental state, there are still things making it obvious it's the same character. Also the VA for Haruka (best character in MILGRAM) is the guy who voiced Linhardt (best character in hit turn-based strategy RPG Fire Emblem: Three Houses for the Nintendo Switch) in the JP soooo. Awesome and based, Fire Emblem fans vote for this one. (Also I think there's other overlap of VAs with Fire Emblem but like Natsuki Hanae has been in everything so of course there is)

genuinely so sooo interesting to me from a standpoint. not only is a franchise that runs and happens in direct response to what the fans decide to do with it but also the songs and mvs are sooo good and it's such a nice thing to see coming off of deco, feeling like a passion project with all the different song style and experimentation going on in them. ive been there since the beginnings and its a great feeling to see just how much everyone involved in the project be it art, music etc has improved. the moral experiment point of it is something very curious to follow for me and see people discussing their votes or takes on things as to why they voted for x thing or another is nice! the deco song remixes that always come with the characters album release are (mostly) fire too. milgram my best friend milgram

The songs are absolute bangers!! And each character is so compelling and it's really interesting to see how the audience's votes impact the story and the characters!

[fbfh]

Curiosity is a Wonderful thing ch. 11

wc: 13.2k

genre: slow burn, little angst, childhood best friends to lovers

pairing: slow burn bff!ben x fem daughter of alice!reader, mal x ben (allegedly), platonic reader + mom!alice

warnings: severe mommy issues, brief touch on food scarcity and trauma, COMPHET, reader scratches her arm and bleeds a little, one use of the word purge in a non food related sense, ben has a gnarly panic attack, very mild dubcon bc mal used mind control on ben without him knowing (she didn't do anything physical with him it was just ethically questionable at the very best and the important thing is ben feels gross about it), ben very briefly contemplates involuntary manslaughter, one use of the phrase "being [someone's] bitch", comfort from reader's mom

summary: Ben and Mal go on a date. You follow a rabbit. All three of you begin to realize things of critical importance.

song recs: dream girl evil - florance and the machine, girls against god - florance and the machine, tell me I'm okay patrick - rachel bloom/crazy ex girlfriend cast, hovering - miley cyrus ft trace cyrus, when you wish upon a star ethereal remix - a.krishna, nothing is every anyone's fault - crazy ex girlfriend cast, when you wish upon a star (music box) - the by8nd, silly lullaby - natasha richardson

a/n: your outfit, your mom's outfit, optional face/voiceclaim for adult alice (it's natasha richardson)

THANK YOU GUYS SO MOTHERFUCKING MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT??????? LIKE WHAT THE FUCK. also as per ush (how do we phonetically spell the first part of usual????) fangz 2 cici 4 betaing lulz mcr rox. btwTHERE IS WONDERLAND TERMINOLOGY USED IN THIS CHAPTER!!!!!!! HERE IS THE GLOSSARY!!!!!!!!!! the tldr from memory is as follows:

brillig = late afternoon around when you would start cooking dinner

nunz = don't go (with a sense of urgancy/immediate importance)

gyre = to spin around and around like a gyroscope

mimsy = flimsy/miserable hybrid word (think sad wet pathetic little mewmew)

gallymoggers = cuckoo bananas crazy

so yeah!!! I think I got everyone from my asks and replies (LOVE YOU ALL SO FUCKING MUCH EVEN YOU SILENT READERS YES I LOVE YOU TOO LURKERS AND LIKERS AND SILENT REBLOGGERS <333 YOU SPECIFICALLY READING THIS RIGHT NOW) so if you wanna be added or I missed you just hoot and holler in the notes!! (or if you wanna be more anon you can message me too I don't mind in the slightest uwu)

tags @yesv01@magcon7280 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sunshineangel-reads @dustyinkpages @inejsknifes @tulipmagnoliaisme @ev3ningrain @yokolesbianism @ma1dita @casey1-2007 @roseidol @eaterof-concrete @enhacatalog @inejghafawifesblog @jjmaybankisawesome @leovergurl @formulas-bitch @starsdotalk @tulipmagnoliaisme @inejsknifes @ficslutt @bwormie @urmomlikeslinotoo @jazhandzzz

Mal has a lot of reasons to hate herself. She’s weak, sensitive, and incompetent at best on a good day, as her mother likes to say. She has no grit, no spite. She knows this, because she grew up hearing it. One of the last things her mother told her before shipping her off that god forsaken rock was don’t blow it. Mal knew from her words, from the frightening pleasantness in her voice and tension in her eyes what she really meant. The way she clamped her sharp nails down painfully into Mal’s shoulder - from a distance, a maternal and supportive gesture - the weight that this opportunity held. 

If you asked Maleficent for a list of all the things wrong with her daughter, she could easily fill a book. Probably several, but Mal doesn’t think she actually cares enough about her daughter to pay close enough attention to do so. If she found out her mother put that much effort into listing her flaws, she thinks that would be the most mother daughter bonding she’s ever received. She might try becoming worse somehow, just to disappoint her mother further and give her more to work with. 

Many of the things her mother thought of her, she had started to believe over time. But now, Mal finds herself in an unusual, almost funny position of being able to add a new failure, a new flaw to that eternally winding, growing list. 

Mal is getting attention from a boy. And worse, she likes it. 

So really, it’s two for one. 

Being around Ben felt weird at first. He kept trying to kiss her, which was… gross. Mal justified it as being above all that, being too wicked and rotten for mushy gushy matters of the heart. Maybe it’s really because it’s just… too much. It’s all so much, happening so fast. A week or two ago she couldn’t be alone with anyone without trying to figure out who was going to shank who first. 

She knows that’s not how Auradon works, she knows the crime rate here is basically zero, and she wonders if she’ll ever be able to shake that feeling. Like being safe is somehow worse than being in danger. At least danger is familiar. That’s probably why she’s able to strut playfully across the rickety old rope bridge the way she is. Behind her, Ben chuckles nervously, holding tight onto the sides.

It was annoying at first, all the attention. She laughed about it with Evie. Or she tried to, at least. But the more time they spend in this frilly princess infested hellhole, the more Mal notices Evie seeming… different. Their banter and mean spirited jokes that flowed so easily seem to have evaporated overnight. 

She can tell Evie’s not as into it anymore. No one else could, but Mal can. She wonders if this means Evie isn’t as into her anymore. Mal wouldn’t call them friends. She wouldn’t call any of her friends friends. But no one would ever deny the bond, the loyalty between the four of them. The thought of Evie drifting away, pulling back from her like this hurts. It would be so much better if she just full on betrayed Mal, stabbing her in the back and sabotaging her. At least that way, they’d still be speaking the same language.

She thought if anyone would be excited about getting some idiotic prince in her clutches, a figurehead to manipulate and make dance like a puppet, it would be Evie. But now, for the first time in her life, Mal feels like she cares more about boys, about bagging a prince than Evie does. It’s strange. It’s unfamiliar, uncomfortable, and she doesn’t know how to fix it. How to make things normal again. 

It’s not like she could even call Evie out on it, either. She’s being normal enough. Mal could see her beaming ear to ear with that dazzling, blinding smile before she even got the question out of her mouth - will you help me get ready for my… date? She gagged a little when she said that, but Evie was too busy hugging her and talking about what to do with her hair to even notice. When they talked about dresses and blush undertones - something she’s still not sure she fully understands - things were great. They were better than normal, she felt like she and Evie were more in sync than they have been in years. It felt good.

 It’s when she brought up Ben that she noticed Evie’s light dim a little. Her heart just wasn’t in it. So Mal did what she does best. She deflected. She started talking about split ends, and kibbe types, and other stuff Evie has encyclopedic knowledge about that Mal has never even heard of, and just like that - boom. The sparkle was back in Evie’s eyes, the sincerity back in her smile. So Mal swore to herself that she just wouldn’t bring him up. Unfortunately, that’s proving to be easier said than done. 

Ben isn’t making things any easier for her, either. He’s been so nice, so disgustingly kind and considerate that it makes Mal sick. The worst part, the thing that really fills her with dread and sickening disgust is that he’s been like this the whole time. Before this stupid spell and the stupid cookie, before the stupid tourney game. He’s been thoughtful and considerate and kind, and good since the moment they stepped foot out of the limo. If limos don’t normally come filled with candy, that means he was good and kind even before they got to Auradon.

She feels giddy around him. Sick, and giddy. Despite everything, despite a lifetime of training for this, she can’t stop leaning into it, indulging herself. It’s so fucking stupid, she barates herself even as she turns and smiles at Ben, lets him guide her through the forest. 

“Tell me something about yourself you’ve never told anyone,” Ben requests gently, so gently it makes her flinch. For a moment, she’s pulled out of her spiraling maelstrom of self loathing.

“Um…” She hums out loud, silently letting herself revel in this feeling of captivating someone. Not scaring them, not grabbing them by the jaw and locking eyes while hers flare green, imposing her will, but actually having someone want to listen to her. Voluntarily, and not under threat of bodily harm. 

“My middle name is Bertha.” 

Ben chuckles behind her, and she turns back around away from him quickly so she doesn’t have to look at him. She’s not even sure if that’s true, and for the first time, she feels a dull pang of guilt for lying. It sounds stupid, the kind of thing no one would lie about, but Mal doesn’t even know if she has a middle name. She doesn’t know if she has a last name, other than Young Mistress of Evil, but having an embarrassing middle name sounds like something that other normal people her age would experience. 

So she goes with Bertha. 

She makes some little comment about her mom, and it gets a laugh out of Ben, one she tries to laugh along with.

“Mine’s Florian.” Ben says in understanding. “Ben Florian Lemaitre-Alarie Leroy de le Lumme-Mont.” 

Mal turns her head away, but she can still feel his eyes on her. 

“Wow. How princely.” She quips. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, trying to look at her. She starts walking again. “It’s- it’s a mouthful…” 

He follows her closely, and soon they reach the end of the bridge. 

“Okay, close your eyes.” He instructs, placing his hand on her shoulder to stop her. 

Her stomach drops. Her brow furrows, and she shifts away from him on instinct. 

“Why…?” She asks skeptically. 

He pauses for a moment, then laughs sweetly at her reaction. 

“It’s okay, it’s just a surprise.” He says, his voice so earnest she can almost bring herself to believe him. “You’ll be okay. I promise.” 

Sixteen years of muscle memory force her to dig in her heels, to throw his allegedly good word out the window. But against her better judgment, her mind clouded with that squishy sappy dizzy feeling, that contact high she’s been getting from being around him too much, she reluctantly agrees. She knows that Ben won’t harm her because he can’t - not as long as she’s in his head.

She thinks back to the relief that flooded her when she finally pieced the plan together. She had two obvious choices; a love spell, or some sort of mind control. Mind control would have been ideal, she thought. It’s more predictable, plus it will score her some major points with her mother. 

She thought about  how great it would be, following in her footsteps and hypnotizing Ben with incorporeal hypnosis, just like her mother had hypnotized Audrey’s to touch the spinning wheel. 

She tried her hardest, she really had. But it turns out that hypnosis with eye contact or an artifact is already hard enough to begin with. Incorporeal hypnosis is about a thousand times harder. Worse off, Mal had never been able to practice magic a day in her life. All she knew until recently was theoretical second hand knowledge, gleaned from her mother’s drunken recollections of the good old days after a few too many absinth martinis. 

Mal never knew how her mom could drink that stuff. She once tried a pinky dip of the poison ivy infused gin her mother made to use in her drinks, and quickly realized it was a terrible mistake. It tasted like bitter greens and itchy, fiery spice. Her mouth was burned for a week, but her mother could easily down two or three over dinner, insisting the poison ivy gives it just the kick it needs. She asked her mother about it once, and shocked Mal when she actually answered her question instead of glaring or going off on another delusional tangent. 

“Oh, it’s a dragon thing.” She sighed. “Once you’ve had fire in your mouth, nothing tastes strong enough.”

For a moment, Mal could pretend this was what things were always like. They were always a normal mother and normal daughter. She always got advice and anecdotes from her mom. She’d get scolded if she came home scraped up or too late because her mother always cared enough to notice. Then Maleficent grabbed her shoulder, bringing Mal to look out the window at Auradon with her. 

“Someday you’ll know what I mean. After your first time transforming, you’ll understand.” She had chuckled. For a moment, just one moment, Mal dared to see the faintest glimmer of hope on the horizon. Maybe things will get better, her mother will care about her, be proud of her already. 

“Because one day, Mal, we’re going to get out of this dump… and onto the throne. Right where we belong…”

That was the day she’d been forced to let go of that hope. Her mother doesn’t care about her, just that she can have an extra pair of hands, a faster set of reflexes and a sharper pair of eyes. But she never quite let go of making her mother proud. That still seemed like something she could try for. 

That’s how she came up with the whole cookie angle. She found a simple amplification and extension spell, and managed to bake it into a cookie. Once Ben ate it, the spell would be absorbed into his system longer, making it easier to control him. After days and days of research, she came to two conclusions - one shocking, the other terrifying. Shocking was that love spells don’t actually exist. The only ones she could find word of were gimmicky ads in gossip magazines, and even those were few and far between. That’s when the second realization hit. She has to figure out how to make hypnosis work. That’s her only hope, her only chance.

Ben’s hands are strong on her waist, strong enough to make her jump and pull her from the memory that seemed to envelop her out of nowhere, hiding her from the world. She lets him guide her through the unfamiliar terrain. She tries to shake the memories, tries to get rid of that sinking, disorienting, cold feeling. Right now, she has a part to play. She has to be a good girlfriend, she has to get the wand and make her mother proud. 

It’s all part of the plan. It’s part of the evil scheme, that’s why she’s acting so coy and flirtatious, that’s why she’s letting Ben keep his hands on her waist and guide her gently through the forest, his voice soothing in her ear as he instructs her on where to turn and where any rocks and branches might block her path. She keeps telling herself, reminding herself of this because maybe if she tells herself enough, she’ll be able to ignore the fact that she’s enjoying it, leaning into the attention and safe presence of Ben’s big hands and strong chest behind her. 

“Oh, watch your foot… there you go.” He coaxes, guiding her past an overgrown shrub, careful to make sure she doesn’t get scratched up. “You good?”

He asks so gently, so sincerely, that Mal feels herself almost shrinking back a little. 

“Yeah,” she says lightly, with a forced chuckle.

“Good,” he breathes, and she can hear the smile in his voice. He moves her so easily, positioning her so she stands just in front of him, his chest to her back. She doesn’t like how small and… dainty, and pretty, and fragile she feels around him. It’s intoxicating and terrifying.

“Okay,” he says, gentle voice spiking with anticipation. He rubs his hands up and down her arms softly, struggling to stifle his excitement. 

“Ready? Open.” She hesitates, then complies. She sucks in a breath, eyes widening at the most breathtaking thing she’s ever seen. 

Covered in ivy, and vines blooming with morning glory and lilac, an open air greek pavilion sits in the middle of an enticing, crystal clear lake. Even though only half of the pillars and colonnades remain, the circular stone base is solid. Buttery golden sunlight dapples peacefully through the lush flora and plant life all around them, hiding it from sight. 

The lake itself - calm and so blue it’s almost green - is surrounded by rocky, grassy bluffs, just high enough to dive off of. To Mal’s shock, nothing around her looks… menacing. The cliffs aren’t jagged and ominous, the water isn’t murky and threatening. The rocks are smooth. Inviting, even. The crumbling pavilion itself seems like it’s been worn away from time, not from neglect or destruction. There’s no litter or trash, there’s no graffiti, no broken beer bottles or cigarette butts. 

It all seems so… welcoming. Safe, and friendly. Peaceful. After a moment of basking in the haven of tranquility before her, she notices a blanket spread out on the middle of the stone floor. It’s a bright, vibrant blue, and is free of any stains or patches or holes. Laid out on top of the blanket like something from a magazine is a spread of the freshest, juiciest, most wonderful looking food she’s ever seen. 

She gasps softly, turning to look at him, and sees he’s been looking at her the whole time. She studies his face for a moment, trying to figure out if this really is all for her. His smile tells her everything she needs to know. She lets out another breathy gasp as she turns back to the pavilion, feeling like it’s the sort of thing you’re supposed to do in this situation. 

She knows it’s all pretend, playing the part of the pretty damsel like this. The type of girl who’s wanted, who strong, influential people like Ben always protect. Somehow, knowing that it’s pretend doesn’t get rid of the way it feels - the good feelings, or the sickening ones. 

When the rocks have magically moved themselves to form a footpath onto the pavilion, Mal lets Ben guide her some more, and sit her down for their thing. Even thinking the word date still feels strange and uncomfortable. She’s quickly distracted from the uncomfortable knowledge that she’s on a date by how good the food is. 

Good doesn’t even begin to cut it, it’s delicious. Better than that, but she can’t think of anything better than delicious. It’s the kind of food she used to dream about, the kind that would show up in lavish spreads and banquets. She would always stuff her face as much as she possibly could, wanting to get enough before she woke up. Before it could disappear. 

“Is this your first time?” Ben asks softly, a knowing smile on his face. She startles slightly, forgetting he was there for a moment. 

“Um…” She starts, licking the powdery sugar off her fingers. “We don’t really date on the Isle. It’s more like gang activity.”

Ben chuckles, but it’s really not an exaggeration. 

“I meant your first time trying a jelly donut.” He clarifies sweetly. She pauses. She’s rudely awakened by that contextualizing feeling of abnormality. No, everyone doesn’t grow up not knowing their fruits and vegetables. No, everyone isn’t used to living off scraps and whatever can be scrounged together. It’s not a common, shared experience to have soggy boxes stacked up with nutraloaf bars shipped in on rat infested barges as an after school snack. 

She blinks, trying to pull herself back to the present. 

“Is it bad?” She asks cutely. Ben doesn’t chuckle like she expects. It doesn’t seem to land as endearing with him, but as a genuine question. 

“Not-”

Her eyes flare green before he can finish. Once they do, Ben chuckles. He leans closer to her, smiling softly.

Wipe the sugar off her cheek. Caress her. Act like you mean it.

No sooner does she transmute the orders into his mind that he complies. He leans in as he does, more invested in the sticky powdered sugar dusting her lips, and has her mirror his gestures. 

“Go like this…?” He says, licking the sides of his own lips where sugar sits on hers. She does, and he giggles again before reaching over to brush the rest off. Mal smiles, looking away coyly. 

“Can’t take me anywhere, I guess…” She looks away and bats her eyes like she’s seen Evie do before. Even though it’s familiar, it feels staged and contrived. It doesn’t feel natural, but like something that anyone in her position should do, so she does it. She glances down at her hands to look for any remaining sugar, and for the first time she can ever recall, she finds herself bothered by the jagged edges of her bitten nails, the chips in her worn down purple polish. 

Across from her, Ben is looking at the ground near a big old elm tree. Mal adjusts in her seat, but he doesn’t notice. She stares at him more intently, but he’s still looking off into the distance, transfixed by the place where the gnarled roots and lumpy trunk meet the grass. The illusion around Mal begins to crack. The immersion of playing princess to his doting prince starts to slip as she realizes that for the first time since casting the spell, she doesn’t have his full attention. Her expression grows stony with a cold, sick feeling as she watches his distant, almost melancholic gaze fixed on the tree.

“A tumtum what?” He had asked you one day with a chuckle.

“A tumtum tree!” You’d exclaimed back with a smile, as though you were having to explain to him something as common as clouds or air or tea. You had sighed playfully, gesturing with your hands as you explained.

“Tumtum trees have only ever been found in Wonderland. They’re quite large, even their seeds are around the size of your fist. They look like…”

You trail off, trying to think of a suitable comparison. Ben waits. He’s used to this, these pauses in your descriptions of Wonderland. The problem that you’ve found when trying to tell him about your home down there is that not everything is always like something else. It can be quite hard to describe something out of nothing, or nothing out of something. No sooner had the perfect thing popped into your mind.

“An elm tree.” You exclaim with a resolute snap of your fingers. You nod in satisfaction as you clarify, “Like a wych elm tree. A bit, at least.”

“Like which elm tree?” Ben asks, unsure if he had heard you correctly. 

“Exactly.” You nod confidently, drawing a confused, familiar smile from him. Ben watches you in fascination as you continue to describe the trees in question.

“Tumtum trees are usually quite friendly. Good at watching over one when one should find oneself in need of a cat nap.” You state, nodding surely. “Good conversationalists, too.”

Ben lets out a laugh, free and organic from his chest. 

“I forgot trees can talk down there,” he says.

“Some of them,” you say, then nod solemnly. “Some prefer other methods of communication, like pelting those they dislike with acorns, or pollen.”

He laughs again, contagiously, and it begins to spread to you as you continue.

“The most notable thing about tumtum trees is their roots and their bases. They’re usually quite big and tangled, curling in and out in lumpy little nests and sprawling through themselves-”

Ask about her.

It grabs him by the neck, roughly yanking him from his thoughts. He’s pulled from the pleasant memory of you, the voice destructively ripping through his train of thought. 

Look at her. Look at her. You have to know everything about her right now. You’re dying to know everything about her. 

The orders repeat over and over in his mind, his eyes glassy and green for the shortest moment as he’s locked into Mal’s toxic glower. The words begin to ring true. He finds himself burning with an almost painful need to know every possible detail about her. He leans closer to her.

“Tell me everything about yourself.” He asks, only hearing the question for the first time as it leaves his lips.

Mal smiles, acting surprised and flattered by the question she made him ask.

“Well,” she starts with a soft sigh, as if trying to find where to begin, “I’m sixteen. I’m an only child, and… I’ve only ever lived in one place.”

The poisonous light glows from her eyes for a moment, casting strange shadows around them. Ben responds quickly, as if he were waiting for a cue. 

“So am I! We have so much in common already,” he laughs, leaning closer. Mal laughs too, leaning away. 

“No, not as much as you might think.” She glances away, then back up at him. “Anyway, you’re going to be king soon, huh?”

Ben’s laughter grows stale, and he begins to get that distant look again, the same one he had when looking at the elm tree.

“A crown doesn’t make you a king.” He says softly, more to himself than to Mal. 

“Well… it kind of does, yeah.” Mal says dryly. She waits for another laugh, but no laughter comes.

“Your mother is the mistress of evil, my parents are the poster for goodness, but-” he hesitates, searching for the right words. “That doesn’t mean we’re automatically like them.” 

He finishes quietly, eyes falling down to his signet ring. Even with his mind a blank slate, weaved around Mal’s fingers like an obedient snake, he can still feel all the pressure, all that he has to live up to. Everything he wants to be is still right on the horizon. 

“We choose who we’re going to be.” He finishes softly.

Across from him, Mal’s heart pounds. She didn’t make him say any of that. She didn’t tell him to, he did it himself. He said that she’s not like her mom. He said that. Her heart pounds, and she wants so badly for him to say it again. His words ring in her mind like a bell, over and over. We choose who we’re going to be. No one had ever said that, or anything remotely like that to her before. No one had ever made her believe it. 

Those strange shadows dance across Ben’s face again, and Mal squeezes her trembling hands, trying to calm herself. 

Say it again, Ben. Tell her. Say she’s not evil. Say it. Tell her right now. Tell her she’s not evil. You don’t think she’s evil.

He leans in even closer. He moves his hand onto her cheek. He locks eyes with her, oblivious to the shared glowing green light between them. 

“I can look into your eyes and… tell you’re not evil.” He says with certainty. “I can see it.”

He moves closer, letting his eyes drift shut softly, tilting his head to the side-

Mal jerks away, letting go of the active control with a sudden drop. She lets out an uncomfortable laugh, scooting away from him. The pressure on his chest eases, and it almost feels like he can think again. Having a modicum of control over his thoughts and actions again, he stands up. He nods his head, gesturing for Mal to join him. 

“Come on. Let’s go for a swim.”

“Uh-” Mal falters, eyes darting between Ben and the water. “Um, no. I think I’m okay.”

“It’ll be fun,” Ben coaxes with a smile. 

“I- I think I’m gonna stay behind and try a strawberry. I’ve literally never had a strawberry before.”

She grabs a nice juicy berry and bites in, humming performatively for Ben. It takes a moment for the flavors to explode in her mouth. She can’t believe something so delicious could come from a plant. It’s so sweet, and a little bit tangy, but in a good way. It’s a different sort of sweet than sugar, though. She can’t put her finger on exactly what it is, but there’s a light twist, a depth and complexity to the taste that she never could have imagined. It somehow tastes like a bright clear morning and a darkening rich sunset all at the same time.

“Mmmh…” She hums, for real this time, taking another bite. She eats the whole berry - stem and leaves included - and Ben chuckles softly. He says something she doesn’t catch, then goes off to swim. The moment he leaves, Mal has only two things on her mind. 

Strawberries are fucking delicious, and Evie is going to love this. All of this. Picnics, strawberries, pagodas or pavilions or whatever the hell they’re called. She can see it clear as day; taking Evie out here with Carlos and Jay, the two of them can sit and talk while the boys are off splashing in the water. Evie will be so excited that she makes her and Mal matching sundresses in their colors - blue and gold, and purple and green. 

They can eat strawberries and laugh when the juice gets everywhere. They can throw shells and tourney balls into the lake for Carlos and Jay to get to keep them busy while she and Evie talk. Mal will scoff and laugh and roll her eyes when Evie reminds them all to wear sunscreen. She and Carlos will agree, but Jay will insist he doesn’t need any, and they’ll spend the following week treating his sunburn. Evie will insist on braiding Jay’s hair or twisting it up into some kind of bun or ponytail so it doesn’t get tangled. 

She’ll make Mal hold all the bobby pins and hair ties, and she’s sure Evie will have some sort of goop to put in Carlos’s hair so the water doesn’t turn it green. What’s that called again? Evie had been going on and on to Mal before they left for Auradon about how some water can turn blonde hair green. Cholera? Fluorine? Chlor… chlorine maybe? Yeah, that sounds right. There’s no chlorine in the water in the Isle, but since it can affect your hair, Mal’s not surprised that Evie knows everything about it. She doesn’t know if lake water has chlorine, but she’s sure if hair is on the line that Evie will be cautious. 

She’s only pulled from her hazy strawberry high when the berries have run out. She catches a remaining drop of strawberry juice on her finger from the edge of the bowl, and brings it to her lips. She looks around and sees Ben on top of one of the taller grassy bluffs. He waves at her, and after a moment she waves back hesitantly. She looks at his swim trunks, then yells across the lake.

“Are those little crowns on your shorts?”

Ben smiles a little, remembering when you had helped him pick them out. 

“Maybe,” he calls back. 

He lets out a loud, animalistic roar, then jumps.

She looks away before he hits the water. Her eyes fall down to the empty bowl of strawberries, the ones Evie would love. The ones Ben provided her with. She starts to relax a little now that he’s not watching her. Her facade, her perfect princessy persona starts to slip. She relaxes - her shoulders, her jaw, her posture, the grip she keeps on Ben. 

She takes a few deep breaths, trying to reorient herself, to figure out how she feels. She’s so confused, unused to acting sweet - at all, but especially around other people. She has to keep it together. She needs to use these few minutes of Ben swimming to make sure she has her head on straight and her eyes on the prize. She has to stay focused, stay grounded. 

She clenches her fists so tightly that her nails, bitten short and chipped with a deep plum polish, dig into her palms. 

She hopes the slight sting will get her head back where she needs it. The pain is good. A reminder of where she came from, what she’s here to do. She tries, but this time, it’s not enough. Not anymore. She shakes her head a little, hoping it will clear her mind, make her feel like herself again. Her hair is fried under all the purple dye, and she can tell it’s growing frizzy from the humidity and movement. She lets out an annoyed huff, and reaches up, trying to fuss with it until it looks like Evie made it look before. 

Are you kidding? The thought shows up suddenly as she catches herself worrying about her hair of all things. Realization sets in that not even that is enough to snap her back to herself. A sense of shame washes over her as she realizes how deep in all this she’s getting. In the moments after that realization, her mind begins to wander. It goes further and further from anything she had ever let herself think before. 

Maybe she could… make this work. Maybe there’s a shot at pulling it off. If she could keep Ben under her spell a little longer than necessary, she could make him fall in love with her for real. She can implant so many thoughts and repeating orders until it scrambles his brain and… makes it real somehow. Then he’ll want to look after Mal on purpose, not on principle. He can get her and her friends into witness protection or something, get some guard gargoyles and knights to watch over them.

She can talk Ben into giving her a little cottage deep in the woods - it will be safest for them there anyway. And that’s what he wants, for them to be safe. He wants that because Mal wants that, and when a prince like Ben loves someone, he makes sure they have whatever they want most. And what Mal wants most is a safe, secure, roomy cottage in the woods for her and Evie, Jay and Carlos. They’ll have a little lake just like this one, and maybe like, some ducks or something. Cats, or snakes, or whatever makes a good pet. 

Jay can chop the firewood, and Carlos can fix the computers whenever they get weird. Mal still barely understands how to use smartphones and dropbox, but Carlos has taken to all that stuff like… well, like his mom takes to furs. She’ll make sure there’s a nice big room for Evie to sew, and she won’t complain as much when Evie uses her as a dress form. They’ll have more delicious, fresh food than they can eat, and they won’t need to worry about any of this anymore.

She’ll reluctantly let Evie teach her how to use blush, and style hair. 

They’ll sit in the nice sunshine in the fresh clean air all day. She’ll make Evie crowns from all the pretty flowers that grow here so she can have as many crowns and tiaras as she wants, and Jay and Carlos can play tourney and climb trees and do whatever else they’re always doing. She can see it clear as day; Evie’s head resting in Mal’s lap while Mal uses her spellbook to weave together flowers, enchanting them to make them sparkle while Jay and Carlos laugh and roughhouse nearby. 

They’ll still share bedrooms. That’s the one thing Mal has actually kind of liked since moving to Auradon, sleeping in the same room as Evie. Getting to be close to her. She’s sure Jay and Carlos sleep better knowing they’re not by themselves, too. Maybe if the cottage is kind of small she and Evie can share a bed. She’d be fine with that. They’ll bake non magic cookies and eat strawberries, Evie will have all the ingredients she needs to make every kind of face mask and hair mask and lotion she could dream of. 

Ben will come and check in on them sometimes. Not very often, just once in a while. He’ll stop by and make sure they’re safe and protected and left alone all the time, because that’s what princes do when they’re in love with someone. They’ll never leave unless they want to, and they’ll have VIP tickets to all the balls and galas and sporting events in Auradon. Mal will go with them, because she knows things wouldn’t be the same if she stayed behind. Even though parties are boring and sports are dumb. But as long as Evie’s having a good time, she’s sure she can handle it. 

If only… if only she could figure out that it’s a sure thing. Then she’d be all the way in. 

You can’t recall a time your heart pounded in your chest like a jackrabbit as it does now, as you tread through roots and bushes and grassy forest terrain to the enchanted lake. You’ve been following the white rabbit who had alerted you to Ben’s whereabouts until you arrived at the lake. You find a little hidey-hole in the brush and gnarled roots of an old elm tree within eyeshot of the pavilion, and crouch down. You can almost make out what he’s saying, but not quite.

You fumble for your teapot bag, digging around for something you’re sure must still be in there. 

“Come on, come on…” you murmur frantically. You let out a gasp as your fingers close around the monocle, and you pull it out quickly. You’d pawned it off a ring of ring-a-ding worms in Wonderland several months ago. You weren’t sure how trustworthy they were - which usually means not very trustworthy at all if you’re doubting it in the first place - but you simply couldn’t help yourself. The monocle was a very old sort of subtitling spectacle, a kind of eyewear that lets you see what people are saying. They’re not always right, nor are they always perfect, but right now you’re desperate.

“Please please work,” you ask the glass silently before holding it up to your left eye. You squint at Ben and Mal, and between the fragments of conversation reaching your ears and the monocle, you’re able to understand things a bit better. 

“...You’re not evil. I can see it.” Ben says to Mal, as you watch and listen to his words intently. The sun is closer to setting and brillig draws nearer, basking everything in that not quite sunset glow. You try to crawl closer to see and hear better, not even noticing when you nearly lose one of your shoes in your efforts. You rub your eyes in disbelief, waiting to see what they say next. An elm leaf falls, tangling itself in your hair, and you find yourself unable to believe what you’re seeing. If you were using two monocles, you would surely dismiss it as the subtitle spectacles breaking. Unfortunately, there’s no disguising the truth you see before you. 

Ben leans in to kiss Mal, and you recoil backwards, suddenly and in shock. Your stomach twists in that terrible way, and you’re sure you’re going to be sick. You grip the grass tightly, hoping it will stop your head from spinning. This doesn’t make sense. None of this makes any sense, or nonsense at all. The world around you makes positively nothing. You can deal with chaos, with spontaneity, but this? This is just cruel. The world is… mean for making you live through this. 

You summon a rabbit hole back down to Wonderland faster than you can blink. You tumble down, dirt sprinkling down on you as you fall. Right before you’re swallowed by the earth, you scratch your arm on a rough patch of bark and roots. You catch a glimpse of your blood and tears falling in beads before you’re shrouded in darkness, blurry and delicate. They dance together like pained flurries of your heart and mind’s shared turmoil. You let yourself fall carelessly, the stuffy air disturbed by your stifled sobs slipping out where you don’t want them to. 

You don’t plan on staying long at all. You just need a few moments to collect yourself, to gather your thoughts. You take in a few deep, heavy breaths, your brow furrowing with determination. You must overcome this. You must stay focused. You have to if you’re going to have any chance at helping Ben. You let out a sharp breath with a sharp little noise attached to it, and you can feel your head coming back in place. There will be time to deal with all of this, there will be time to cry, but that time is not now.

The second Mal turns away and pulls her face from his gentle embrace, Ben takes in a deep, panting breath, feeling like his chest is suddenly less tight than it had been. He hadn’t noticed it before, but he feels the absence of his contracting muscles and shallow breaths now that they’re gone. He immediately looks back over to that elm tree, the one he was looking at before. For a moment, just a moment, he could swear he saw your fingertips, the ends of your hair, the dark glint of your silky blackberry bow falling into the earth. But he blinks, and whatever might have been there or not is gone too quickly to tell.

He shakes his head a little, hoping to reorient himself, but a breeze blows by and he could swear on anything there’s a trace of your scent carried in the air. The faintest hint of something so quintessentially you - your perfume, your smell, your blood. His chest squeezes again, this time with longing. 

He’s about to realize how long it’s been since he saw you, about to realize this is the longest he’s gone without even speaking a word to you, but something drags him back, keeping his thoughts here and now. He turns back to Mal, with that dull, throbbing headache he hasn’t been able to shake since the tourney game. 

“Let’s go swimming.” 

The enchanted lake is one of Auradon’s hidden gems. It was a gift to the newly united front of Auradon as a whole from the gods of Olympus; a thank you, an offering of goodwill for assisting in the containment of Hades. Hercules and Megara had gone through many lengthy strategy sessions and battle plans with Adam and Belle, trying to figure out how to prevent Hades from another attempt to overthrow Olympus. Adam and Belle knew that Hades was dangerous - he is a god after all - but they had no idea the extent and reach of his power. 

The First Villain Uprising was a dark time that spread over many years. Most people know the events of VU1; the poison apples, the sleeping curses and dark magic. They’re familiar enough with the coups and the curses, the unregulated dark magic running rampant through the land, wielded by power hungry loonatics. Villains. Brave leaders and heroes in countries from down near the Southern Isles to way up north in Winter’s Keep refused to cower in the face of evil. They did everything they could to stop it, and for many years the villains were presumed dead. 

The problem came from all the different countries not having a united front, not communicating with each other. There was no teamwork, no global council, so no one knew that the moment Maleficent was pierced through the heart by the sword of truth was the same moment Hades had managed to claw his way out of the river styx. The first thing he did once he got his bearings was drag Maleficent down to the underworld. She wasn’t dead, not quite yet, and they both saw the opportunity before them. A combination of Maleficent’s dark fairy magic and Hades’ rule over the souls of the dead meant they could drag the worst villains back from the depths. 

That was the start of the Second Villain Uprising. 

When the rulers figured out what was happening, they knew they had to band together, be stronger as a whole. That’s when Adam gathered up as many kings and queens as he could to start planning the first crusades. Fairy Godmother sent word out to the most powerful wizards and fairies and sorcerers she could, pleading for them to join the fight against evil. 

It didn’t take long to start rounding up villains, but they needed somewhere to put them. Eventually, Fairy Godmother devised a plan. With the help of Merlin of Camelot, Yensid of Schwartzvald, the Great Genie of Agrabah, and the Three Good Fairies of the Moors, they were able to create a magic barrier around an abandoned isle off the southern coast of Belle and Adam’s kingdom. This became known as the Isle of the Lost, the only secure place where villains and all the evil they bring with them can’t escape. 

As a thank you to the mortals down below, the gods gifted them with the enchanted lake, right in the heart of Auradon. Each god added a blessing or a gift of some kind, which is how it got such steadfast healing properties and good magic. The lake itself is magical, which is something that Belle and Adam decided not to advertise during the aftermath of the expulsion of evil. 

There was so much terror and fear in the land, people afraid of something going wrong, of some new villain popping up right when they let their guard down. Adam and Belle decided to keep the lake’s properties under wraps for the most part, preemptively stopping any attempts to stockpile or weaponize magic purely to get the upper hand in a magic cold war that has long since ended. 

The cleansing and healing properties of the enchanted lake are simplistic, but effective. Ben remembers a time when he was young, there was a brief few weeks when Adam seemed to lose control over shifting his form from man to beast. His condition was ultimately traced back to stress, a comorbid symptom of some nasty migraines, and high cholesterol. 

Rumors of his condition began to circulate, and Adam found himself splashed across the covers of gossip rags on newsstands and store checkouts. Fairy Godmother was able to fix him right up, and instructed him to fully submerge himself in the enchanted lake once a week for about a month or so. He followed her instructions to the letter, and was soon back to rights.  

As he stands on the small cliffside overlooking the serene, enticing water, Ben’s not sure what jogged that memory, or why it’s at the front of his mind right now. He shakes his head a little, but it keeps coming back, tugging at him like a child vying for their fathers attention. 

“Are those little crowns on your shorts?”

Ben glances over at the pavilion where Mal sits. He looks down, then chuckles.

“Maybe,” he calls back. Their eyes lock as Mal gathers her thoughts. Ben can feel it, the tightness coming back in his chest. Before it reaches all the way up to his head, his instincts kick in. He lets out a loud roar, then he jumps.

The water hits his skin. Instead of cool and refreshing, just the way he remembers it, it feels like a freezing cold burn. The world goes quiet as he sinks deeper and deeper into the lake, eyes widening in shock at the unpleasant, almost painful feeling. His skin burns, and he scratches at his arms and legs and chest. His hands move, frantic and sluggish in the water as he itches his neck, then his cheeks, then his head…

He freezes, muscles relaxing, limbs falling still as the water soothes him and purges the last of the fizzing magic out of him. He had no clue what was happening until it was over, and now, hovering underwater, it’s over. He knows he can’t have been down there for too long, but it’s when his instincts scream at him to hyperventilate that he realizes he’s still underwater. His eyes widen, and he fumbles, swimming to a rock hidden from the shore. 

He drags himself out of the water, chest heaving, body shaking. The surface of the rock is smooth, but he struggles to maintain his balance. He manages to flip over and lean back on the rock, praying for some stability. His free will, his mind, his cognizance is all coming back to him at once. He feels like a computer flashing a blue screen from too many programs running and downloading at the same time. 

He clutches his chest, unable to control his breathing. The disorientation starts to fade and his eyes widen with horror as the reality of the situation starts to set in, cutting through the painful panic gripping him. Mal… drugged him. Or worse, cursed him. His stomach drops, twisting sickeningly, his hands trembling out of control. He’s not normally like this. He never lets himself get like this. He heard stories about extremely powerful villains being able to use mind control or hypnosis on rare occasions, but he never expected it to feel so… violating. 

His gaze drifts downward to the rippling water. No one can know about this. This can never get out. If even a whisper of this gets out, the consequences and aftermath would suffocate him. She just jeopardized the entire future of the United Republic of Auradon. She could very well have just pounded nail after nail into the coffin containing the lives and futures of all those poor kids stuck on the Isle, the ones she claimed to care so much about. She may have destroyed lives, futures, an entire nation, for… what? 

He tries to figure out why. Why would she do this? She has to have some sort of motivation for reaching into his brain and jerking him around like a puppet, making a fool of himself in front of the public. Oh god- he thinks, remembering the tourney game. He never acts like that. He never acts erratic or impulsive. What must his parents think of him? What must you be thinking of him right now? Or the entire country? 

His throat tightens up as he starts to panic again, mind already clouded by the doom of plummeting in the polls. He’s unopposed for king, but after a disaster like this, who would want him? Someone else will run and win, because no one in their right mind would trust someone who voluntarily lets themself become a villain’s personal sock puppet to run a goddamn country! He breathes harder, flexing his fists open and closed until his knuckles go white. Why would she do something like this? What does she want from him, a second date?

He pauses. That must be it. A new wave of rage overcomes him as he realizes - unless he’s given a miraculously better explanation for this - that Mal pressed a self-destruct button for the entirety of Auradon because she has a crush on him. A stupid, goddamn teenage crush. And now his political career will be over before it could ever start because of it. He’s going to be the first king to be impeached before he’s crowned. He can’t stop spiraling, can’t stop the racing thoughts drowning him above the water. 

A loud, animalistic roar tears from his chest. It’s much more primal, more beast-like than he ever allows himself to be, but he supposes that it’s understandable for something like that to slip out given the circumstances he finds himself in. 

“Breath,” he tells himself, swallowing thickly. “Breathe.”

If he can’t get his head right, if he can’t be smart about this, it… well, that’s not even an option. He has to collect himself. He has to live up to the person his parents think he is, his country thinks he is, that you think he is. He has to be that person. He only has a few moments of this realization to reorient himself before he hears Mal’s voice. 

Instead of enticing and distracting like it had been before, now it feels like the lure of an angler fish’s light in the murky depths, it feels jarring. He shudders, recoiling like she just threw glass at him. She calls out for him again. This time, he can hear the spike of fear carried along in her voice as it echoes across the lake. Is she hurt? In trouble? He starts to go check on her, then for a moment, he hesitates.

All the thoughts racing through his mind like the piston cup find their way to the forefront of his head again. His chest aches as he relentlessly beats himself up over this. How could he let this happen? This is exactly what his parents warned him about, what he promised them - gave them his word - that he would not let come to fruition. And yet, here he is, sitting on a rock with the livelihoods of innocent people at risk because of him and his naive, stupid optimism. 

This, the wellbeing of all innocent people of Auradon, is what he’s devoted all of his time and power and care and focus and everything else he’s got within him into. All that work, all that potential for good, and now he lays paralyzed below the sword of Damocles. He can only stand there, watching the ropes fray one after another. 

“I can’t…” he pants, chest squeezing in terror again. “I can’t let this happen.”

He swallows hard, muttering to himself.

“Can’t let them win.”

He can’t let Mal achieve whatever the hell her endgame is here. He has to stop this before it gets worse. And above all, this cannot become known to the public. He can see the faces of disappointment and fear on the members of the council, on the senate. He was never ready to be king, they’d say in hushed, justified tones, the boy is a fool! How could we let him bring evil into our homes on purpose?! 

The voices in his head go on and on, painting the worst outcome possible in vibrant colors. The nation will lose any trust or faith they might have had in him. More painfully, he realizes how deeply disappointed his parents will be in him. The kind so irreparable that they can never even speak of it. His father will go silent, his mother will try to smile at him, but her tears will give her away. Disappointing his parents, disappointing you…

Oh god, you. Where are you? Where have you been during all of this? You and Ben are usually joint at the hip, but he hasn’t seen you in days. The realization makes him feel sick, like he’s just come to the realization that he hasn’t had air to breathe. What have you been doing without him? Have you been in Wonderland, or at the Wonderland Embassy with your mother? Why haven’t you texted him? Or at least called? Worse fears attack him relentlessly from the inside out, worse than ruining innocent lives or his political career because these fears are about you. 

A scream, followed by a large splash, then another more fearful scream pierce his senses, pulling his attention out of the momentary panic over you and your wellbeing. It must be Mal, he thinks, it has to be. She’s the only other person out here. She must have gotten into the water to look for him, but why does she sound like she’s struggling? He listens intently for a moment. She definitely sounds like she’s struggling. He stands up to jump into the water and find her, but before he can, something unusual happens. 

He hesitates.

After everything she’s done to him, and to the people of Auradon, after she stabbed him in the back and violated his free will for days, should he even bother trying to help her? What if this is part of some elaborate ruse, luring him into a trap by pretending to drown. Maybe she’s going to turn him into a bug and trap him in a jar, letting him suffocate slowly while she shakes it and laughs. 

What if she just… had an accident? Anyone could drown in a lake if they weren’t being careful, and he’s sure children of villains aren’t raised to be super cautious. Maybe it would be better that way. It would certainly give Ben one less problem to worry about, one less moving part to constantly keep track of. 

He dives back into the lake, swimming towards her. He bites his cheek, dismissing the fleeting, impulsive thought as quickly as it could intrude into his stream of mind. He’s not even going to waste time considering it or letting it argue his case. He knows who he is, and he knows who he chooses to be. He is never going to choose to be the kind of person who lets someone else get hurt when they can do something about it. 

If he can help anyone - regardless of who they are or what they’ve done to him - he’s going to. Even if it’s from a distance, he can’t knowingly be complicit in tragedy befalling anyone. That’s why he’s bringing over the kids from the Isle in the first place. He can’t sleep at night knowing that there are people struggling and suffering while he has the power to do something about it. 

He has to give his parents credit for raising him to have such strong moral character. That’s why, against his better judgment, he swims as fast as he can back to the pavilion. It only takes a moment for him to see her, kicking and flailing mere feet from the pavilion.

He dives as deep down as he can. He hopes that the longer he’s under the water, the more submerged he is, the less likely any more magic she tries on him will succeed. Or at the very least, she’ll have less time to try and pull something on him. His hand skims the bottom of the lake, brushing against something uncharacteristically sharp. He sees a cluster of glowy crystal like geodes - a wishing stone, he realizes. He grabs it, and shoves the rock into the pocket of his swim trunks. 

It’s not much, it’s barely anything really. But he’s sure any mildly sharp object is infinitely better than nothing when facing off against an unpredictable dark fairy. Trying to use a wishing geode to defend himself from dark fairy magic - either as a magic shield or a physical weapon - is like trying to use an umbrella in a hurricane. He’s really going into this blind, but at least he’s aware of the disadvantage he’s working against. In spite of all the massive errors and failures he seems to have accumulated out of nowhere, he can at least say he’s not stupid enough to be entirely unarmed at a time like this.

He can see Mal, splashing and thrashing about, slipping below the surface as she loses her footing. He rushes closer and grabs her, scooping her up and confidently walking them both out of the lake. He catches his breath, focusing everything he’s got on one thing - he cannot let Mal know that he knows. He has to keep his face neutral, act sweet and normal, not say or do anything that could possibly tip her off. He’s in the lion’s den, and one wrong move could ruin everything beyond repair. 

He silently thanks his parents for years and years of diplomatic training, for teaching him how to maintain his composure no matter how overwhelming his emotions are, no matter how much pressure and scrutiny he finds himself under. He reaches the pavilion in just a few steps, and sets Mal down gently. She doesn’t seem to notice anything about his behavior is different, so he keeps doing what he’s been doing. It seems to be working so far, which provides him with the briefest sense of relief. 

“Ugh!” She shrieks. He shakes the water out of his hair, trying to clear his head, and she swats at his chest, “You scared me!”

Ben falters for a moment, nearly letting a grimace loose at the nauseating feeling of disgust permeating him from this, from having to be so close and sweet to her after she violated his mind, his free will. And she did it on purpose. 

“Uh,” he starts, trying with everything he’s got to sound so light and casual, like she made him sound before. “You… you can’t swim?” 

It’s really not that important to either of them right now, but it’s the first thing he can think of that doesn’t start with why the hell or how the hell or jail. 

“No!” She yells indignantly, like it should be obvious. 

“But you live on an island.” He notes. He never would have been able to challenge her under the curse she cast on him, not even something as small as asking why she can’t swim. He watches her expression closely, wondering if she’ll notice.

“Yeah, with a magic barrier around it, remember?” She demands incredulously. There’s a shrill tone to her voice with a venomous sting, like Ben was the one who cast her out and put up the barrier himself. He flinches at the sound of her voice.

She can’t swim. She nearly drowned looking for him, and he let himself consider allowing it to happen. A stab of unwelcome but justified guilt catches him off guard for a moment, causing him to falter. 

“And… you still tried to save me.” He murmurs solemnly, mostly to himself. 

He hates this. He hates that she did something so horrible and so kind to him right after each other. It’s tempting to dismiss her searching for him in the lake, to let himself focus only on the pain and damage she’s caused in such a short time, and he tries desperately to cling to his moral values. Values that he’s always sworn to himself he will never abandon, no matter how hard or complicated things get.

Now here he stands, looking hard and complicated square in the purple framed face. 

People are nuanced, he tells himself, trying to remember it. Nobody is all good or all bad. People… people are complicated. It’s a hard philosophy to hold onto, and an even harder one when you’re the one that’s been made a fool of, made to dance around in public and cater to her every whim. It’s hard to remember that people are nuanced, not all bad when you’ve been made into someone’s bitch. 

“Yeah, and do you thank me?” Mal demands rhetorically, “No!”

He struggles to follow her. Her voice makes him flinch, buzzing around his head like an angry hornets nest. It makes his ears ring. He feels that strange, painful headache stirring up again - the one that got worse and worse every time she forced her voice into his mind. 

“All I get is soaking wet!” 

She looks at him expectantly, then huffs. It sounds exactly like the noise Audrey would make when she wanted something that wasn’t handed to her instantly. A new wave of indignant rage begins to bubble and boil up inside him as he realizes what she wants. She wants him to grovel. She wants him to apologize, and kiss her hands, and beg for everything to be smoothed right over. He swallows hard, managing to contain it. Just barely.

In a split second, he realizes he has to do something. The more time they spend together, the sooner Mal will realize she doesn’t have control over him again. If she finds out, that will open up more trouble than Ben would care to count. He has to pacify her, just enough to get them both home as fast as possible. Before she can do anything else to him. 

He reaches into his pocket, handing her the geode. 

“And this, uh… this fancy rock.” 

His stomach twists, spiking with anxiety as he offers it to her. Wishing stones - also called wish geodes - are a natural and common byproduct of fairy magic. They can vary in strength and appearance based on what fairy they came from, and since they usually form underground or by bodies of water, they can be hard to find. They’ve become even harder to source in recent years as less and less people use magic - fairies included. 

The ones near Auradon are from Fairy Godmother’s magic. The ones way up north in Schwartzvald are from the mainland forest fairies deep in the Fantasia Woods, the ones out west are from the Blue Fairy, and any wish geode you find on the northeastern coast will always be from Flora, Fauna, or Merriweather. Since wish geodes are essentially nature’s way of recycling magic leftovers, they’re usually not too strong. Unless they were charged up with something, like a blessing, or a falling star, or enchanted spring water from Olympus. 

Ben, however, is painfully unaware of this. He hasn’t studied magic and magic theory as extensively as you have. He suspects sometimes that you may know more about magic than the good fairy herself. He does know some introductory magic theory, and a few little facts from you that he’s remembered over the years. 

What he does know is that wishes and hypnosis or mind control or whatever the hell Mal did to him are two completely different kinds of magic. He knows that if he gives Mal the stone, even if she did wish for something, it couldn’t possibly do more damage than she’s already done. At this point, it’s the lesser of two evils. Really, it’s the only viable option he’s got. The geode shimmers and glitters, glowing softly against her skin in a luminous pearly hue. She glares up at him, and he plasters on a smile. Hopefully, a convincing one. He gestures back behind him. 

“Make a wish, and throw it back in the lake.”

Unless her goal of hypnotizing him was to somehow end up with a good grade on the next test, or a really good hair day, this rock will do nothing for her. It’s just not strong enough on its own, which makes it the perfect placebo. Mal scowles up at him, and winds up to throw the rock bitterly into the lake. 

In that moment, her heart’s unsung desires cry out desperately, begging for something that not even her mind can grasp. I wish what he said was true, her heart cries, that he doesn’t think I’m evil. I wish Ben would keep being nice to me, even after I break the spell. I wish Ben would defend me from all the people who act like they’re afraid of me, I wish he would make me feel like I belong here!

The rock sinks into the water, bubbling and glowing as her desires are realized. A soft whispered voice floats into the air, seeming to speak only to her.

“Malorie Valda Faery, Princess of the Moors and Young mistress of Evil… your wish has been heard, and your wish has been granted. So long as you do not act on the evil inside your heart, and stay trustworthy, honest, and kind, he shall see no evil inside you.” 

It’s so faint, so hard to hear that she thinks she must have imagined it. She falters, thrown off guard for a moment, then stands up and shakes off some of the water still clinging to her. The glowing water swirls and pools around Ben. An almost ticklish, tingling feeling floats down onto him. It’s so light and so soft, it’s gone so quickly that he struggles to remember if it really happened.

He takes in a breath, his brow softening as he realizes the panic is retreating. A breeze blows by, carrying the scent of magnolia and the impending night air that quickly makes its way closer to them as the sun sinks. Little goosebumps prickle down Ben’s arms and back as his defenses begin to relax back to normal. He picks up his varsity jacket to wrap around Mal, and grabs a towel for himself. The last thing either of them need right now is to catch a cold. 

He takes a few more breaths as she sits down, mildly puzzled at why it’s so easy to breathe now, but so difficult just a few moments before. He searches every crease and crevice of his mind for what was bothering him before. He doesn’t usually struggle to remember what he was thinking about, but this particular thing just seems to evade him, like a child playing hide and seek. He knows it was important, really important, but he just… can’t remember. He looks down at Mal in hopes of jogging his memory, but seeing her sit there, all sad and wet and swallowed up by his jacket, all he feels is a pang of sympathy. 

He feels himself relaxing, his reflexes softening from a state of panic to their usual level of low, constant background anxiety. Look at her, he thinks, does she really look like she wants to overthrow an entire country? The question is rhetorical, and the answer clear. No. She just wants a home, somewhere to fit in. She looks so small, so vulnerable and powerless like this. He chastises himself for letting himself lose sight of why he brought her and her friends to Auradon in the first place.

She’s here to grow, to heal - they all are. Of course she’s going to make some silly mistakes like spray painting her locker, or cutting class, or using magic to get Ben to go out with her. Besides, with coronation coming up so fast, it makes sense that she would feel like she couldn’t find an opportunity to ask Ben out without a little extra help. That’s all this is, a silly mistake. It’s nothing to be blown out of proportion, really. He sighs, sitting across from her, feeling a dull nudge of something that could grow into fondness with time.

He reaches over to fix her hair, and she looks up at him. She searches his eyes, desperately looking for any signs of hate or change in how he views her. That’s what this is, he confirms to himself. She just has a crush on him is all. He would never say that to anyone, he wouldn’t run the risk of embarrassing someone dealing with such delicate feelings, but it does make sense. She said herself just a while ago, dating on the Isle is more like gang activity than picnics and drive in movies. Of course she wouldn’t know how to talk to someone she likes, how to find ways to spend more time with them. 

Ben almost chuckles at the thought, the idea of her trying to figure out how to enchant her crush into liking her back. It’s sweet, really. Nothing malicious at all. Besides, everybody knows that love magic doesn’t exist, there is no such thing as a love spell. So if she still doesn’t know that yet, could her knowledge of magic really be that dangerous? It can’t possibly be. She just used a harmless little spell to speed things up a little. No one would ever act out like that if it wasn’t for some matter of the heart or other. It’s almost flattering in a strange way.

He decides to test his theory, letting his fingertips linger in her damp, sugar plum hair, twirling it lightly.

“Mal?” He starts, getting her attention. 

“I, uh… I told you that I loved you. At the tourney game.” He says, jogging her memory. He looks at her, studying her face. “What about you?”

This is perfect, he thinks, this is the most opportune way to offer her a way to tell him how she feels, get it all off her chest. 

“Do you love me?” He prompts.

Normally, he would never be this direct with someone. But he feels it’s warranted, given the circumstances. It’s taken many years for him to learn to trust his gut with things like this, and he’s not going to doubt himself now. Yes, what she did was bad - unforgivable, even - but at the end of the day, she’s just a hormonal teenage girl with a crush. She can’t possibly be faulted for that, for having feelings. 

“I…” Mal starts, swallowing thickly and looking away from him again. She clutches the sides of his jacket, pulling it tighter around her. It smells soapy, like it’s too clean. She knows she should probably be feeling something, but she has no goddamn clue what it is - much less how to recognize and articulate it. She feels… queasy. Kind of shaky and sweaty. Are you supposed to feel like that when a boy says I love you? That has to be the feeling that people are always talking about, getting butterflies in your stomach. Mal supposes butterflies just don’t agree with her. 

“I don’t think I know what love feels like.” She replies simply, in a rare and impulsive moment of vulnerability. If she’s ever going to be vulnerable, it will be when she can control how the other person reacts to it. She looks down. Instead of looking at Ben, she traces her eyes over the skirt of the dress Evie put her in. It’s calming, relaxing. There’s the faintest trace of Evie’s perfume, and it makes Mal feel a sense of warmth and longing that she desperately needs right now. 

Ben’s heart squeezes sympathetically. He feels so bad for her. That tragic compassion reassures him that bringing her to Auradon was the right decision, and this whole thing was just a silly miscommunication. A mistake. 

“Maybe I could teach you.” He says softly. He puts his hand on her arm, helping her stand up.

“Come on. Let’s get you home.”

When you show up to the Wonderland Embassy, the home away from home you share with your mother, you look positively and uncharacteristically ragged. It’s merely a pebble’s throw from campus, so it couldn’t have been a particularly tiring walk - unless you walked your way from Camelot, which is highly improbable. Your blackberry bow is loose and slipping off towards your ear, your skirt is all rumpled, and you haven’t even noticed the run in your favorite pair of knee socks. 

Worst of all, worse than your slouching or lethargy or the tear tracks down your cheeks, are your eyes. The vibrancy, the hope and curiosity is all but gone. Your dear mother, Alice - better known as Alice Liddel, Ambassador of Wonderland - notices all of this right away. You answer her usual question, are you ready to embark on your weekly mother daughter dinner, before she can even ask it. 

“I’m afraid I can’t make dinner, mother,” you say, babbling around the tea biscuit you grab from the counter and hold in your mouth, keeping your hands free to drop off the useless information you’ve gathered throughout the day and search for a few books in your mother’s collection. 

“But I promise I’ll get something more than tea and cakes from the school kitchens tonight.” You assure her half heartedly, more worried about her peace of mind than your dietary habits. The moment the words leave your lips, she knows that something is wrong. Not wrong in the sort of way that a leaf floats down a brook, but deeply wrong, like a subaquatic shrub. 

Shrubs are not subaquatic by nature, and if one is found it’s recommended to bring it to the nearest tree surgeon as quickly as possible. She looks at you, her darling daughter, her wonderful little dear, and sees a subaquatic rose garden. You never skip dinners with your mother, not for the tiffletoo flu, or final exams, or anything else regardless of urgency or importance. The only time you’ve skipped dinner in the past was one time, one terrible night where Ben was rushed off the tourney field with a broken wrist and a nasty concussion. 

The standard for skipping dinner and tea with your mother is one that’s very rare and quite  extreme, so you’re not too terribly surprised when she stops you from leaving the Wonderland Embassy with a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“Nunz yet, my love,” She says softly, soothingly. She fixes your hair in that comforting motherly way of hers, then moves on to fix your bow how you like it. 

“I can’t watch you gyre like an overwrought sulphide marble for a moment longer.” She looks at you softly. “What’s got your mind so snaggled, sweets?”

Your mother, your dear dear mother is your most favorite person in both worlds, right alongside Ben. You’ve always found your inability to lie to her or hide your feelings as a relief, a blessing. Now, however, you find yourself wishing for the first time that you were able to lie to her as easily as Audrey and Lonnie lie to their mothers. Your stomach twists uncomfortably. You don’t like this feeling. You wish it would just go away, but you know you can’t tell your mother everything that’s going on. Not yet, at least. 

She’s so close with Ben’s parents - in both business and personal regards - that if you were to make the wrong move, it could mean a world of nasty repercussions and consequences for Ben. The exact ones you’ve been maddening yourself trying to shield him from. You trust your mother implicitly, but you also know she has a duty - not just as a politician, but as a parent - to inform Ben’s parents imminently of any perils regarding Ben that she is made aware of. 

You sit down, fussing with the pleats of your dress, tugging at your stockings to buy yourself some time, give yourself a moment to carefully choose the most right, non incriminating words you can muster up.

“Ben has been behaving strangely.” You state. Your voice is soft, but not fragile. This worries your mother. If your voice were fragile, you see, it would mean this was all very new and fresh. But the reluctant acceptance in your tone of voice tells her the severity of the situation in which you’ve found both yourself and Ben. Your voice is quiet, your words simple, and a soft hum of understanding leaves your mother’s lips. She nods empathically, silent in the moment that follows so you can continue. 

“And, I… can’t quite seem to figure out the reason why.” You continue, even more quietly - almost shamefully so.

Your mother hums again, this time with a deeper, more resolute understanding of how you’re feeling and why exactly you must be feeling the way that you are. You and Ben have been so terribly close for so awfully long, that if either of you had felt at any point during your numerous years of friendship that you were mildly confused by the behavior or the other - much less left clueless and in the dark, as you currently are - that that in and of itself would be nothing short of anomalous. 

So naturally, when something this catastrophically unusual occurs, it should come as no shock at all how deeply distressing it would be to you. The very worst part, you realize, is that your mother has already come to this conclusion with barely a fraction of the information you have. You shudder to think about how distraught she’d be on your behalf if she knew everything you do about your trouble with Ben’s unusualness as of late.

“Lovey…” Your mother says warmly. She reaches over to you, handing you a warm porcelain teacup and saucer of her ever perfect chamomile tea. It’s sweetened with just the right amount of honey, but not so much as to overpower it - a mistake that you’ve seen many people make quite often - and topped off with just a little bit of shaken cream and rose pollen.

You’re never sure how she manages to make it so perfectly with so little effort every single time, but it must be a mother’s touch, you suppose. A gentle hug and a warm cup of her specialty tea always gets you to open right up to your mother, no matter how mimsy and gallymoggers you may be feeling. 

Your expression drops, and your mother recognizes it instantly as the look of finally allowing yourself to let in the very best of ideas. Your posture straightens imperceptibly, and your mother disguises her proud smile with a sip from her own teacup. She loves seeing you like this, lighting up as your mind is flooded in a flash brainstorm. 

“That’s it…” you mutter again, aloud this time. You stand up, careful not to spill your beverage, and you take a great big sip before setting it down hastily. 

“Thank you,” you sigh gratefully to your mother, giving her a squeeze around the middle, and a honey chamomile kiss to the cheek before you depart. 

“I really must go now,” you say regrettably, but she’s already waving you off with affection. 

“Be safe, dear.” She smiles, then gives you a subtle and humorous look. “And don’t lose your head.”

You let out a laugh from your nose. 

“I think you’ve come close enough for the both of us.”

You exit the Embassy in a rush, determination and your mother’s laughter following in your footsteps. For the first time in days, you know what to do next.

[esther-dot]

Pride & Prejudice AUs

You Look Like A Movie, You Sound Like A Song 2k @jonsastan

She had met Jon Targaryen there. It was a complete accident and at first, Sansa thought, a complete misfortune. He was drenched from an impromptu swim in his pond, and she was flustered, not wanting him to think she was vying for his attention. But as she had attempted to make her hurried escape, he had found her and invited her parents to stroll with him around the gardens. He had offered her kindness, and thoughtfulness, he had talked with her parents, discussed the present state of politics with her father and chatted knowledgeably about gardens with her mother.

A Certain Step Toward Falling in Love 2k by @comma-splice

Jon Snow returns North after departing abruptly one year ago.

The Bennet Sisters - a P&P AU comic by @melinaillustrations

P&P Gifset by @sardoniyx, P&P Gifset by @dcbicki, P&P Gifset by deactivated

Persuasion AUs

Who Loves Longest, Who loves Best 1k by @ladysaruka

After refusing him years ago, Sansa sees her cousin once again.

Persuasion edits one, two , three by @glueck

Mansfield Park AUs

Half Agony, Half Hope 10k, incomplete by @noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth

After the death of his disgraced mother, Jon Snow is taken in by his uncle's family, the Starks of Winterfell. He grows up alongside his cousins, including the beautiful and kind-hearted Sansa, but knowing he can never truly be their equal, he fears he has little choice but to leave the place he's come to call home. corresponding moodboard

Catch Me If You Can 34k (P&P and Emma inspired too) by @ben-barnes-is-my-husband

Set in the countryside of Regency England, Jon Snow has been in love with Sansa Stark for as long as he can remember. He wants her as his wife, but Sansa is not sure she wants to be a wife at all, and she knows she doesn’t want to marry the pragmatic and boring Jon. She’d rather help Theon Greyjoy come out of his shell and play matchmaker. But then Jaime Lannister comes to town and Jon finds he has some serious competition for Sansa…

Moments Like This (So Few and Far Between) 3k by @lydiamartenism

Mama and Papa left the house to go pick up Jon, the son of her father’s oldest friend. Three weeks ago, the phone rang and their parent’s announced that Jon would be coming to live with them since his mother passed away and had no one else to take care of him.

Northanger Abbey AUs

The Lady in White 7k by @kissed-by-circe

Dragonstone Manor had looked like it had woken only a few days earlier, after a slumber of several years, if not decades, and Sansa had felt like the heroine of a gothic novel, a mysterious, naive girl with a dark past or a dark secret, arriving at the opening scene of the most dramatic story of all times. Or Sansa as Katherine Morland in a Jane Eyre Setting.

Sense & Sensibility AUs

In Such Jocund Company 2k @maybetwice

It would be no matter at all for Captain Snow to return to the north after seven months’ absence, had Sansa’s heart not changed entirely in that time. A remix of Colonel Brandon and Marianne Dashwood from Sense and Sensibility.

Emma & Clueless AUs

if i loved you less 2k by @ladystarks

Her father has, often and fondly, told Sansa that she and Mr. Snow bite at each other like wolves, but he hardly understood that their verbal sparring was as exhilarating as a sport well done, or a match coming together under Sansa’s skilled hands. corresponding artwork

Sansa: A NOVEL in Five Parts 15k by @imagineagreatadventure

Sansa Stark, handsome, clever, rich, hopes to establish herself as her town's foremost matchmaker. After seeing her governess Miss Shae married to the rich and clever Mr. Tyrion Lannister, she feels as though she deserves that title. Her dear friend and cousin, Jon Targaryen, heartily disagrees and is quite proven right when Sansa sets her sights on marrying off her newest and dearest friend Jeyne Poole to the vicar Mr. Baelish.

A Baldwin and a Betty 2k

Jon drives to the Valley to give Sansa a ride home.

Emma AU art by @dcvahkiin and Clueless art by wolvesofspring

Emma Gifset by @dcbicki

General Regency AUs

No Notion of Loving by Halves 2k @darkmagyk

The Stark cousin, Jon, goes home to discuss matters concerning the entail on Winterfell. In which Jon is a really good guy, and I flagrantly disregard how entails actually work.

Manners and Misunderstandings 114k, WIP by @x-winging-it

The Stark sisters have travelled all the way to London to begin their first season, leaving behind the familiar world of Winterfell Hall and a disappointed Jon Stark- with whom the eldest Miss Stark has been convinced to break off a connection. In London they join family friends the Baratheons and the fashionable young Tyrells in a world of romance and balls. Meanwhile Gendry Waters has been plucked out of the life he knew to become his ailing father's heir, Robb, Theon and later Rickon embark on military careers in the Napoleonic wars, and their aunt Lysa makes a foolish marriage. When tragedy hits the family, they must come together, learning how manners may hide monsters and the best people are often those misunderstood by society.

You Could Draw Me to the Gallows 2k by @azulaahai

After having eloped from home with and subsequently been abandoned by wealthy heir Joffrey Baratheon, Sansa Stark refuses to come home. Having caused a scandal that is sure to prevent her from ever marrying, she is adamant not to bring further shame to the family name by returning to Winterfell. Until, that is, a visitor comes to her - Jon Snow, an old family friend, determined to bring Sansa with him back north. He has a solution to offer her - a proposal with the potential to change both of their lives.

A Perilous Dance Indeed & fiercely, tenderly and eternally 27k by @amymel86

He should either look away or interrupt this improper little meeting, he knows. For some unfathomable reason, he does neither. The two look far too intimate for Jon’s liking, although he feels he should have come to expect it to be so. A romantic like Sansa – however proper she is – would simply adore overt flirtations and a secret tête-à-tête. Even from where he stands, Jon can see the way in which she has stars set in her eyes like precious cut stones. He only hopes the man for whom they shine is deserving of it. *** Cousin Jon is to inherit Winterfell Manor and its estate after the untimely death of his uncle leaves a widow and two daughters. Sansa is expectant of an imminent proposal from her dear beau, Harrold Hardyng and everything will be absolutely, stunningly, utterly fine.

Waiting for Your Slippered Feet 49k by @wintry-ritu

Lady Sansa Stark has always looked forward to her come-out season in London, the balls, the rides in Hyde Park, evenings at Vauxhall, the romance and wonder of it all. Never had she imagined that it would happen like this, with her parents gone and her younger siblings underfoot. Now, all Sansa wants is for it all to be over quickly so she can get back to Winterfell. She needs a kind, amiable man who will be brave enough to take on his wife's siblings. That should not be so hard to find in London, should it? And while she is most grateful for Jon Targaryen's help, why must her cousin be so distracting?

To Make You Love Me 16k incomplete and orphaned

When Ned Stark dies, he leaves behind his wife, two daughters, and his family’s estate at Winterfell. What follows is a series of unwanted marriage proposals, houseguests who far outstay their welcome, and Arya parading around in a comically large hat and an oil-paint mustache as she declares herself the new ‘Lord of Winterfell,’ in an attempt to dissuade her sister’s suitors. However, when Mr. Jon Snow — their distant cousin and Ned’s appointed heir to the estate — comes to call, an oil-paint mustache is hardly enough to deter him from courting Miss Sansa Stark. And she thinks, perhaps, that a man could marry her for love more than her claim, after all.

Mine for a Season 101k by @vivilove-jonsa

Colonel Jon Targaryen is a single man in possession of a good fortune who claims no interest in finding himself a wife. With his war wounds, he thinks no young lady would want him anyway for anything beyond the allure of his pocketbook. Fortunately and unbeknownst to him, Fate has chosen to find a wife for him and will even deliver her right to his doorstep. Taking on the responsibility of shepherding a young lady about for a Season in London is not at all what Jon had wished to do but he had accepted out of a sense of familial duty. However, once he meets Sansa again after only having met her years ago as a child, he may not consider it a duty so much as a torment.

a lady of winterfell 185k, WIP by @wandering-scavenger

She bit her lip and exhaled shakily, “If you are so sickened by the prospect of marrying me, we should be able to obtain an annulment easily enough with your father’s connections.” “I will do no such thing.” he snapped, refusing to look at her. Sansa had never felt more rejected than she did at that moment. Her past experiences of being humiliated at the hand of Joffrey did not feel as painful as this. Even so, she could not allow him to see the weakness in her, not now. “I will not be left out, Jon.” she said, tilting her chin up to look down at him. He grimaced. They were silent for longer than she cared to count, but each second that he did not speak chipped away at her resolve and her ability to withhold her tears. Jon did not want her, and she could not blame him. Who could ever want her? It should not have distressed her as much as it did. She was never his favourite sister, she who treated him as a stranger since she was old enough to understand what a bastard was. A tear slipped down to her face until she tasted the salt of it on her lips. “If we marry, we will remain so.” corresponding gifset

moth's wings 47k by @cellsshapedlikestars

Sansa was determined to convince her aunt to let Arya debut, which is how she finds herself in her current predicament. “Who is this secret gentleman who has asked for your hand?” Aunt Lysa asks, and Sansa knows from her tone that she does not believe. (She has every right not to believe, for it is not true.) And then Sansa does something very, very foolish. She says a name. “The Duke of Dragonstone!” Or, Sansa fakes an engagement so that Arya can debut and marry the man she loves. The only problem? Her fake fiance just so happens to be in the city when he was not supposed to be.

An Understanding 2k, WIP by @thewolvescalledmehome

At the start of Sansa Stark's third London Season, she decides it will be her last. She will secure a husband by the end of the final ball. Jon Snow is new to the London Season and high society. He never expected to inherit money or property from an unknown uncle. When they meet at a ball, Sansa gets an idea.

you're in my blood like holy wine 72k

Sansa finds it difficult to look at Jon’s face, with its weathered lines and cragginess. It is the face of the North and a face that northerners trust; the face of Sansa’s brothers and her father, who had been loved and respected by their tenants as their forefathers had been when they were kings. How can Sansa feel anything but resentment, looking into that face and knowing that all of her years of hard work will never earn her the respect that that profile engenders within seconds? But she does. It is a small, burning coal of something that must be smothered.

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALES - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS - POST CANON

[goodnightoilcountry]

you must like me for me - quinn hughes (a sneak peek !)

a/n: another fic idea i've had in my head for ages ! i started writing it the other day when i was sick and it's currently at 3k words. i'm CONFIDENT that i'll smash this one out quicker than my aho fic so it's the only reason i feel like i can post a sneak peak. but also let me know if you have any requests or ideas you'd like me to write about - i'd love to hear from you 🤍

summary: twelve months since the incident and you're ready to let yourself re-emerge into the public eye in the form of a hockey game. the plan was simple: appear, smile, leave unscathed. easy, right?

The theory of fight or flight has always fascinated you. In the face of adversity, no matter how complex the situation, millions of years of evolution still dictate that humanity will always revert to its oldest survival mechanism: to either assert and neutralize, or: evade and withdraw. 

What you’ve come to learn is that there’s a third strategy nestled between fight or flight, often overlooked because of its passiveness in comparison to its overt counterparts: to freeze. 

And that’s the instinct you’ve found yourself falling back on time and time again. As if you’re hoping to blend into the very fabric of the environment where you can pause amid the chaos, weigh the risks, and soundly determine the best course of action. 

The downturn? 

You’re left vulnerable and exposed the longer you wait. 

But it’s a tactic that you’ve grown familiar with, and it’s the one that’s currently in motion. 

“You can’t do this to her, she isn’t ready.”

“It’s been over a year, we can’t let her hide forever.” 

The commotion of voices being thrown around surrounds you but you’re too swept up with the memories and emotions battling out in your head. They’re leaving you dizzy and disorientated. 

One year. Had it really been that long? God. It feels like one month since you first signed your contract in front of a roomful of lawyers and high-powered executives. Back then, you were too naively charmed by the golden promises of stardom and fame that they were selling you. Promising that your talent for lyricism, bordering on poetry, would resonate with the hearts of girls who all seemed to unanimously share the parallel experiences of all things love and girlhood. That you needed a team that could provide you with the right connections and the right opportunities to get you there. 

And to their credit, they didn’t fail you. As soon as you signed your contract, the label had you in the studio effective immediately with the release of “your” song debuting four weeks later. 

“But I didn’t write this and it doesn’t really sound like me…” 

“Don’t worry about it, honey. We just need to get you on the charts and then you can write about anything you want. Trust us - this is how it all works.” 

And trust them you did.

Your song topped the charts for twelve consecutive weeks. The events that took place after your overnight success were a whirlwind. You released a music video. You did media interviews. You collabed with DJs to release remixes. You performed as a guest on endless TV shows. And when you were done, you thought that you would finally be able to sit down with your producers to start developing the library of ideas and single-line lyrics you had swimming around in your head. 

But they had other plans for you in the form of a studio album, and then rinse and repeat. You felt like you were a human cannonball: shot out, forced to perform carefully curated tricks, and to always stick the landing. 

Your team had done everything they could to meticulously craft your image; selectively allowing journalists to access certain stories whether it be about your work or your life. You were America’s Darling. Until you weren’t. 

A sharp trill of your name grounds you back into reality. You blink and recompose yourself, finding the same four people you entered the boardroom with, staring expectantly back at you. Your mom, your manager, Megan, your publicist, Bec, and sat opposite you across the insanely large table is the VP of your label, Joe. Their expressions are ones you’ve grown used to: sympathetic and slightly defeated.  

“Sorry, what was the question?” 

Megan sighs and shifts slightly in her chair to meet your front. “Darling, I know how hard this year has been for you,” 

Do you? 

“But it’s time for us to come back out. We need to face this.” 

In all the years you’ve worked with Megan, she has never offered you such softness in her voice as she has now. As a manager, a female manager in this industry nonetheless, she had been nothing short of headstrong, sharp, and commanding. Her confidence and demeanour never wavered and, if you were being honest, you were thankful that she held you to the same standard as the rest of your team. It equipped you with a thick skin, something that you wouldn’t have survived your young career without. And it leaves you to wonder where you would be now without her to guide you through this situation. 

“Megan is right,” Joe says. “The world hasn’t forgotten, you know.” 

It comes out so matter-of-factly that it feels almost accusatory. 

“You’re not the first celebrity to be wrapped up in a scandal and you certainly won’t be the last.” 

That line is enough to make your mom snap into a fury again. 

“A scandal? She did nothing wrong,” she chastises. “What that boy did is not her fault.” 

Joe’s impatience is growing evident with every turn of the conversation. As warranted as your mother’s protectiveness is for this particular circumstance, her resistance was stopping one of his biggest artists from bringing in the label money. You can tell he's trying his best to level his demeanour but you also know that the higher-ups are breathing down his neck. He's balancing it as well as anyone could.

“This wasn’t just any boy. And your daughter is not just any girl. The reality of the situation is that just because she wasn’t responsible for what happened, doesn’t mean we can simply erase her from it,” Joe breaks, voice raising ever so slightly.

“She cannot keep silent on this anymore and the longer we stretch this out, the more intense the backlash will be upon her,” he presses on. “With all due respect, we have been extremely patient and have afforded your daughter twelve months. But this is a business first and there is a contract to be upheld. We are giving you the opportunity to write the narrative or have it forced to be written for you.” 

“He’s right,” Bec interjects. She’s always had a good gauge of when to step in when tensions start rising. It’s what makes her such a great publicist - always mediating at the right time. 

“But we don’t have to rush either. We can take it slowly. Start off with a public appearance in a controlled environment. 

The juxtaposition of that sentence could have made you laugh. Controlled environment? If the last few years had taught you anything, it was that no public appearance was ever fully in your control. Your phone number had been leaked more times than you could remember; the media showed up at your house at all hours of the night; private family events were invaded by obsessed “fans”. 

Your mom was quick to make the same connection, “where could we possibly let her go that guarantees her safety?” 

“The suite at MSG has their security system locked down to a tee. We could place her in there with a few friends and guise it as a quiet night out to show their support. Maybe work with the organisation to show her on the scoreboard during a break, totally candid of course, and maybe meet with their guest of the night for some fan engagement. We don’t want the public to misconstrue the appearance as a total cover-up.” Bec rattles off like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

Megan and Joe start nodding in agreeance, chiming in with additional tweaks to the plan that’s now been laid out, and it becomes apparent to you that they’ve had this meeting before without you. Your requested input and presence on the matter was just an act of courtesy. But as vexed as you are with this realisation, you know it makes sense. You were tired of the pitied looks your family and friends gave you, afraid to broach the subject as if it would send you into a spiral. You felt like the public owned you; shunning you into silence with all your actions picked apart and psychoanalyzed everywhere you turned. 

You missed your fans who called for you every day, writing sweet notes of encouragement and rebuffing shallow attempts of hate accounts concocting false stories. You wouldn’t be half the artist you are today without them and they deserved more than just radio silence. And it’s this last thought that makes you believe it’s the only reason you say:

“Just tell me when.” 

[darlingmbappe]

The Loneliest [3] | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Epilogue]

Summary: While Kylian lets jealousy get the best of him on the pitch, you find that a tequila-filled night might be the answer to healing your broken heart... even if it's just for one night.

Warnings: Still just absolute angst. Missing your ex, Kylian being overprotective and jealous, Erling Haaland being a dick (i'm sorry it's purely for plot purposes), heavy drinking, self destructive behavior, cussing, bad cheese puns, let me know if I missed anything! — English is not my first language —

The breakup was bound to go public sooner or later. It was surprising you made it almost seven weeks before the media got the hold of the story. You both were spotted alone on separate sides of town too many times, you’d missed all of his matches, and E!News got a source that told them you live alone now. You have a strong hunch it’s your next door neighbor that’s always lingering by the stairs. She asks entirely too many questions.

While you were still with Kylian, your relationship was kept mostly private and you rarely found yourself in any headlines. But, lord knows, if there’s anything the press loves more than a celebrity engagement is a celebrity breakup. When you saw a graphic of your face and Kylians face photoshopped onto a broken heart on Snapchat, a clickbait title asking, “did our fav football couple call it quits?”, you knew you’d be getting some unwanted attention. Fuck you, Daily Mail. Mind your business.

You clearly remember agreeing with him to wait for you to text first, but he’s a damn liar. He didn’t let a day go by before sending you a sweet good morning text. For the past three weeks, he’s been sending little messages here and there. Nothing too risqué or anything that made you feel pressure… they were actually nice. You’d been pretty good at not responding, being occupied doing absolutely anything else to stop yourself from thinking about him.

Kylian knew this. Being with you for such a long time, he understood how you got when you didn’t want to think about something. When your family dog passed, you claimed you were fine over and over again, and he just had to let you hyper fixate on new random hobbies until your feelings eventually exploded out. You taught yourself claymation, knitting, refurbishing old creepy dolls… that was definitely his least favorite. He needed to make sure you didn’t force yourself to forget about him, he wanted to be there for you when you were ready. He’s patience is usually very thin, but he’s impressed with himself for staying (mostly) zen about you not responding. He had to. He couldn’t fuck this up again and come swinging with the ‘I love you’s that he types out and erases promptly.

It’s finally Friday and you just finished a late lunch at your favorite café near your office, just listening to music on your headphones and reading through a document you were about to send to your colleagues. Your phone buzzed with a message from Kylian and, of course, you clicked the notification. You always did.

He’d sent you a picture of a decorative board at some market with a cheese-remix of the song Sweet Dreams by the Eurythmics. You immediately laughed out loud, having seen this exact sign before with Kylian years ago. For weeks after, you two sang the lyrics randomly around the house, in the car, pretty much anywhere until all of your friends were begging for you two to just shut the fuck up.

Sweet dreams are made of cheese, who am I to dissa-brie, I’ve travelled the world and the feta cheese, everybody’s lookin’ for stilton.

Your fingers began to respond before you even had a chance to really think about it.

(Y/N): Not this shit again

Kylian smiled widely upon seeing that you sent something back, typing back in record speeds.

Kylian: I think it’s…….. grate

You actually smiled at his horrible pun, twirling your hair against your own will.

(Y/N): very cheesy

Kylian was so quick to look up more cheese puns, not wanting to let his roll come to an end. Any communication, even about cheese, worked for him.

Kylian: it’s very gouda to hear from you again :)

“Oh, man.” You mumbled to yourself, noticing how your heart rate increased with just a couple of his really really bad jokes.

God, you missed him so much.

You stood up, leaving the conversation there, gathering your things and turning up the music. Yet, the whole walk back it was impossible to focus on whatever was playing in your ears because of the louder song playing inside your head. Sweet dreams are made of cheese…

Kylians thumb was lodged between his teeth in anticipation, but soon realized you weren’t going to respond again. Lowly cursing to himself, he threw his phone back in his locker. Everyone was prepared for todays game against Manchester City, especially Kylian. He wanted to win so bad, it almost felt like the World Cup.

He knew who he was going to play against — Erling Haaland. If he wasn’t too fond of him before, finding out he hit on you on you brewed a different kind of determination to win inside of him. You said nothing happened that night and he believed you — but he knew that Haaland had more in mind than just a nice conversation. He noticed last week that he followed you on instagram and liked all of your recent pictures, not including the ones with him. As of last night, you still didn't follow him back. Those late night stalking sessions have to stop soon. His nutritionists is really getting on his ass for finishing entire jars of peanut butter every other day.

He wondered if you were going to watch the game or if you had been since you left. He really hoped you hadn’t been. He’s been playing horribly these past weeks. Once the news of your breakup went public, every commentator made a point of mentioning it and saying stupid shit like, “life goes on, and that’s something Kylian Mbappé is going to have to figure out sooner or later.”

He let his angry thoughts fuel him as he walked into the tunnel. He tried to get his head in the game, but couldn’t help looking back every so often to the opposing team next to them, eyes always landing on the tall blonde man.

He stood in his place, but his neck twisted back against his will, not really caring if he was being too obvious. Right before the teams were meant to walk out together, Haaland caught his death glares. Kylian doubled down, making sure he wouldn’t be the one to lose this immature staring contest. Holland cracked a shit-eating grin and winked at Mbappé.

Oh, the rage… keep it in, Kylian.

He looked away with an unbothered “pft.” It wasn’t very convincing, not even to himself.

After the usual opening ceremony, the whistle blew indicating that the match had begun, sending Kylian sprinting in every direction as the game progressed. ManCity was good, but he knew PSG was better. He kept telling himself this, but his teammates continued to mess up, even allowing the light-blue motherfuckers to score the opening goal not even twenty minutes into the first half. And, of course, it was Haaland that buried the ball deep in the back of the net. He watched him celebrate on his pitch, listening to the crowd cheer their chant, feeling tortured and helpless.

His eye was fixed on the Norwegian as he moved back into the starting position, hating that he was laughing, still on a high from scoring. Hakimi walked next to Kylian, feeling that his friend is on the brink of doing something very dumb. His hand patted his shoulder, but Kylian didn’t even notice it, his entire body twitching with jealously.

When Kylian was in earshot, Haaland nodded up at him. “Kylian.” The young player called, but Kylian just side eyed him. Hakimi grabbed his shoulders tighter just in case he tried anything. “(Y/N) is up for grabs now, no?”

Kylians ears rung as he felt himself launch at Erling who just laughed. Hakimi had gotten in front of him without missing a beat, roughly shoving him in the opposite direction to keep him from beating up the 22 year old. Other PSG players joined, guiding Kylian to his position.

He didn’t even know words were coming out of his mouth at this point, pointing his finger threateningly at Erling. “Don’t fucking talk about her. I’ll fucking kill you. You hear me?” He was well aware that this was all to get in his head but, shit. It’s working. Kylian didn’t even notice that the referee was being talked down by Neymar and Messi, eventually the confrontation getting waved off with a warning at the start of a new play.

Halftime rolled around and no one scored again. In the locker room, Glatier yelled and waved his arms, demanding that the defense get their shit together. He zoned out, too deep in thought about what an asshole that guy is and how he wants to score and rub it in his face. He was brought back when he heard his name grumbling out of his coaches mouth, having no idea what the topic even was.

“Sorry?” He embarrassingly piped up, seeing all of his teammates had their eyes on him.

Glatier grunted, stomping closer to him. “I said, get your shit together!”

“Yes, coach.”

“Don’t worry about what they say. Just go out there and play like I know you can. You want to win, don’t you?”

“I do, coach.”

“Then let’s fucking win.”

Glatier was right and he knew it. Whatever that stupid hulk-boy had to say about you was only getting under his skin. He couldn’t play at his best like that.

So, when the second half started and he heard him say some bullshit again, he did his best to let it roll off his back. “You think she’ll respond if I DM her?” Erling asked nonchalantly to Álvarez, but Kylian was determined to let it slide. Let it fucking slide.

But, he didn’t stop there. When walking by him, Haaland asked him, “What’s a good spot to take her? Nothing too far, my hotel room is around here.” Kylians fists were balled in rage, biting his cheek and blowing air out of his flared nostrils.

“You better shut your goddamn mouth.” He snapped back, but continued walking away, knowing he can’t let him win. Hearing Haalands taunting chuckles behind him almost made him whip back around, but Neymar wrapped his arm securely around his shoulder, forcing him to look forward.

“It’s just talk, Kylian. Come on.” He rubbed his head roughly as if to beg him to not let it get to him before running back into position.

The game progressed, only ten minutes left of the second half before overtime. Neymar was at the left side of the field, preparing himself for a corner kick. Kylian searched for an opening that could potentially bring a scoring opportunity, but a brooding shadow seemed to follow him everywhere. Haaland was aggressively playing defense against him, his height advantage making it impossible for Kylian to move somewhere better.

“I hope she wears something nice and tight.” Erling chortled through his tired breathing. “I’ve been waiting for you to mess things up with her. I’ve had my eye on her for months… She’s so hot.”

His mind went blank, completely blank. It must have, because he didn’t remember shoving Haaland down onto the pitch, fists pulling back. He was seeing red, but his teammates dragged him off before his punch could land right on his cheek. Before he knew it, the ManCity players were charging at PSG. The whistle blew about a dozen times as the crowd got louder.

Kylian couldn’t stop trying to shake off his friends, screaming past the wall of light blue toward the blonde man on the ground pretending to be seriously injured, clutching his arm.

“Say that again! I fucking dare you!” Kylian threatened, Ramos clinging onto his shoulders, walking backwards.

He was pushed away far from the scene as his whole team began to fight with the other players in solidarity, the referee preoccupied with calming down the situation.

He was for sure already getting a red card, so his mindset was fuck it. He sprinted around the fighting crowd who immediately recognized his intentions, getting back in front of him before he could reach Haaland to really do some damage.

“Stay the hell away from her. I’ll end you, you son of a bitch. Off this pitch, I swear to god you’re dead.” Kylian talked out of his ass, already walking himself off the pitch when the referee held up a red card. He waved him off, spiting on the grass as he made his way back through the tunnel, ignoring the coaching team screaming at him altogether.

ManCity ended up winning 2-0 and Kylians suspension was decided to extend for two matches. He didn’t watch the remainder of it, but when he found out Erling Fucking Haaland scored the other goal, it felt like the knife was twisted. Fuck that guy. The press conference after was hell, having to claim that he deeply regretted his actions and that this doesn’t reflect his character or whatever his PR team wrote up for him.

He truly did feel like a dumbass. He absolutely hated how much he let those comments affect him. He knew he should’ve just blocked it out but how was he going to let him say that stuff about you? The way he talked about you like you weren’t even a person, like you weren’t the love of his life. Sure, he felt like a dumbass, but he would defend you to the ends of the earth.

He got home to his empty house, throwing himself on his sofa, flipping on ESPN to watch basketball highlights. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep. Usually, he’s opposed to naps as they throw off his sleeping schedule, but recently he’d found them comforting; an easy escape from everything going on. Besides, his sleep schedule was already bonkers from the breakup.

He swears his eyes were only shut for five minutes, but he woke up to complete darkness. His TV even timed out, neck sore from the stiff throw pillows supporting his head, groaning so loudly that it echoed inside the vacant home. It was only when he picked up his phone to check the time that he realized you were even calling. The faint buzzing was probably what woke him up.

“Shit.” He shot up, wiping the sleep from his face as he answered quickly.

He cleared his groggy throat. “Hello?”

He faintly heard you saying his name, but the music in the back was pounding. “Kyyyyks!”

He laughed to himself, loving the sound of his nickname for the first time since your breakup. “Hello? (Y/N)? Are you drunk?”

“Hold on.” He heard you yell from the other line as the music got softer in the background. “Hellooo.” You giggled.

“Hi.” He giggled back.

“I woke you up.” He could hear the pout in your voice, having to bite his lip to keep his smile from getting ridiculous.

“No, no I don’t mind. Call me anytime.” Kylian began twirling his hoodie string on his forefinger. “Are you okay?”

You nod, but he can’t hear you. Your drunk brain didn’t catch up. “I think so.”

“You think so? Where are you?” Concerned, he looked at the time. A little past 3:30 am. Damn, long ass nap.

“Umm…” You paused to look around you, seeing no signs anywhere and finding it kind of funny. “I dunno. I lost them ages ago.”

“Them?”

“Yeah, my friends.”

He stood up. “Wait, wait. Are you by yourself?”

“Mhm!” You chirped, now walking away from the club, alone. Your skin-tight tights gave you no warmth at all, but the tequila that flushed your system had you covered. “Kyks…”

“Yeah?” He waited for you to say something, his concern for you growing, wishing he still had your location so he could go look for you.

You paused, looking around the dark streets. “I mi…” your sentence drifted off and you laughed off what you were about to say. “… I’m so drunk.” You stumbled further down the street, a loud club with red lights oozing from the entrance peaking your interest.

He knew what you were about to say, but wasn’t going to push it. “I can hear that. Do you need a ride? I can come get you right now, just send me your current location.”

“No, I’m fine! Look, I found somewhere safe!” You point, even though he couldn’t see. “Oh, my god. You’ll never believe who’s here. Oh, shit.”

“Who?” Kylian asked over the phone.

You giggled. “I don’t wanna tell you, Kyks. You’ll be mad. I saw what happened today during the match.”

He was tempted to quirk a smile hearing that you have been watching, but then it dawned on him. It couldn’t be… “Haaland?”

What are the odds? Erling Haaland stood outside the packed nightclub with a few of his teammates, surrounded by women and men, all trying to get his attention. He hadn’t seen you yet.

“Oh my god, you’re such a good guesser.” You clapped. “God, I forgot how tall he was.”

He grabbed his keys, putting his shoes on, holding the phone up to his ear by his shoulder as he rushed around his home. “Please just let me come pick you up. I’m worried about you, where are you? I’ll take you home.”

You got closer to the LED sign. “It’s called… uh… la petite robe noire… oh my god! That’s what I’m wearing!” You cheered.

He put you on speaker and looked it up. Jesus, you were so far, he wondered if you’d started out around there or if you’d ventured out alone. He revved up his engine, backing out of his driveway. “Stay there, I’m coming. Okay?”

You didn’t respond, your phone now by your side as Erling spotted you, jogging over to where you were standing.

“Hey!” You waved, letting him come to you because your heels hurt too badly. You couldn’t hear Kylian on the other line trying to get your attention.

“Hello, beautiful.” He leaned in and hugged you. You kind of hugged back, too drunk to balance yourself upwards that way without falling into him.

As soon as he heard that fucking accent over the phone, he pressed his foot down on the pedal, hoping he hits every green light in Paris. You, on the other hand, forgot you were still on the line with your ex fiancé, but hung up when you realized it with a giggly “oops!”.

“Didn’t think I’d run into you, how are you, (Y/N)?” Haaland asks, placing a steady hand on your waist to keep your wobbling frame from tipping over.

“So good!” That was a lie. You were out tonight drinking away the pit in your stomach since the match. You’d watched sneakily from your desk, fingers tugging at your roots when you saw the little incident during the first half. During those last ten minutes, you felt like you were going to throw up.

Why did you have to tell Kylian about Erling? What happened today definitely opened him up to a lot of criticism from his coaches, the team, the media… You couldn’t help but feel a little responsible because you knew he could behave himself if he never knew about that night on the balcony. On the other hand, it was kind of… very hot. Jealous Kylian was never your favorite, but you can’t stop yourself from feeling something spark in you. Or maybe you were just horny. Who’s to say? It's been so long...

“You’re good?” Erling accent repeats, grinning down at you. “Sorry to hear about your breakup."

"Pffft." You laugh. "Yeah right, you two were never exactly friends."

He shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets. "You're right. I'm not sorry." He smirks, looking you up and down. If your head wasn’t filled with liquor you’d feel kind of gross, but his flirty stares didn’t mean anything to the drunken body you found yourself in tonight. It all went right over your head. He nods his head toward the club. "Come on, let's get you a drink, yeah?"

You followed him in, the lights were blurry and the ground wasn't very stable. The vibrations came up from the ground, making you feel like someone was shaking your brain around. You were absolutely not thinking straight, and it only got worse when a bottle girl came over to the section with Don Julio. It was all so fast, like the lights flashed and you were suddenly with someone else, or in a different part of the club, or dancing, drinking, stumbling.

Fuck, you had to get out of there.

Kylian arrived at the club and he definitely did not fit the dress code. But, despite his grey joggers and Nike hoodie, he was still Kylian Mbappé, so he got in without any issue. Ideally, he wouldn’t have to risk being spotted at a nightclub that Erling Haaland was at, but he did it for you. He politely smiled at his fans but weaved past people begging for a selfie. He called you plenty of times from the car, but you never picked up.

Once inside the club, he lifted his hood and put on some sunglasses, hoping this wouldn't cause a riot without his security to lead him through the crowds. People were too focused on grinding and not spilling their drinks to notice the international superstar frantically searching for one single woman in a sea of them.

He looked up at the sections on the second floor, finally spotting that tall blonde bastard, wasting not a single second before making his way up, security letting him through once he flashed them his famous smile.

"Haaland!" He cups his hands around his mouth, hoping that he knows where you are. "Haaland!"

He finally turns around, knitting his eyebrows at the sight. "Kylian." He steps around the models to stand close to him, the loud music making it impossible to communicate from even a few feet away. "What? You didn't get enough of me on the pitch today?"

Kylian rolls his eyes. "No, man. I'm just looking for (Y/N). I know she was here."

"Yeah, she was." Erling laughed. "She's wild, for sure. Don't know where she went, though."

"What? She's not here?"

Haaland shrugged. "She went to the bathroom and never came back. Why do you even care? Like I said, she's up for grabs. She's not yours anymore."

If he wasn't so worried about your current wellbeing, he would have grabbed his stupid little ponytail and gone full Fight Club on him. But he didn't, instead he shook his head at him and made his way down from the section before he regretted not throwing a punch or two.

His concern grew. He never thought he would wish you were with Erling Haaland at a nightclub, but at least he could find you then.

Kylian stood on a ledge hoping to see your hair or face anywhere from a birds-eye view, but had to leave promptly when the partygoers caught onto his less than great disguise. A security guard from the club lead him to the back exit, warding off flashing cameras in every direction.

Thanking the man when he was safely outside with a fist bump, he walked himself down the dirty metal steps, sighing. "Putain." He walked to is parked car, leaning on it to try and think a little, wondering how he’s going to find you. He really isn’t familiar with this part of town, but he'll stay out all night if he has to.

He wished you’d just pick up the phone, ease his jittery nerves. Just as he was about to click on your contact, he heard some slurred singing further down the alleyway he was in. The faint tune sounded familiar, but the voice definitely was. It was you.

He followed like a siren sound, turning the corner to see you sitting on a small cement step, head resting on your curled up knees, giggling to yourself as you continued the song.

"Sweet cheese are made of cheese, who am I to *hiccup* disa-cheese..."

"I think you've messed up the lyrics there, love." He smiled, letting out a breath he’d been holding now knowing you're okay.

You gaze up, smiling widely, gasping and jolting up, wrapping your loose arms around his neck and letting your legs go limp.

"Woah, hey..." He exclaimed with a laugh, grabbing your torso tightly to keep you upright.

"You're here!" You gaze up, grin wide as he peered down at you, smiling as well. "Whadda coincidence!"

It was like he didn't just spend hours worried sick, now feeling somewhat at ease. Your presence is all he needed for every weight to be lifted off his shoulders. He only cares about making sure you get back home with a glass of water on your nightstand and a trashcan at your side.

"You okay? Why are you out here by yourself?" He guides you to stand properly on your own, but you didn't let your grip go, so he didn't either. He let his hand stay on the small of your back, his other gripping your hip.

You shrug, scratching your fingernails against the nape of his neck. He shivered, goosebumps running down his body, letting a flustered giggle escape his lips. You stared deep into his eyes. Your funny demeanor simmered down, finding the familiar warmth of the man in front of you to be more intoxicating than anything you've drank tonight. "You always loved when I did that..."

Kylian's heart got caught in his throat, gulping it down along with the urge to hold you so tightly. He'd been craving your touch, spending many sleepless nights wondering if he'd ever get to feel you again.

"Let's get you home, okay?" He mumbled, running his hands down your arms to unwrap them from his neck. He held one of your arms as he bent down to grab your phone and purse from the dirty floor.

He started guiding you to his passengers seat, but getting you there wasn’t an easy task. Your heels kept getting caught in the cobblestones so he had to keep a steady hand around you in case you fell. He buckled you up like a toddler, doing his best to ignore the googly eyes that you made at him.

When he got in drivers seat, he looked over at you, a rush of memories making his heart flutter.

All of the times he would turn his gaze away from the road for just a second to see you. The way you smiled when you rode with the windows down, sticking your arm out to feel the rushing wind outside the car. The way he used to be able to put a comforting hand on your thigh while he drove and you'd draw circles on his knuckles mindlessly, rambling about anything that came to your mind. The way you would always unwrap a piece of gum for him because you didn't want him distracted, even though he would never not get distracted by you.

He shook the thoughts out of his head, clearing his throat. "So, what's your address?"

You laughed, taking your heels off. "I dunno."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"Geez, Ky. I've only lived there for like..." you counted in your head, but numbers barely made sense sober, "...not that long."

"Do you have it on your phone?" He pried, handing you your cell.

"Yes!" You cheered, snatching it only to see that it was out of battery when the screen reflected back at you. "Ah, man. It's dead!" You pouted, throwing it in the backseat, crossing your arms.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, turning on the heat higher when he noticed the chills running down your arms. "I can take you back to... uh..." he stuttered, having to stop himself from saying our place, still getting used to living there alone, "—back to my place."

You gave him a look, raising your eyebrow dramatically. "Nice try, Casanova." You chuckled.

He laughed too, rubbing his eyes. "No, come on, (Y/N). There's like five beds. I wouldn't take advantage of you like that."

You bite your lip and stare at him through your lashes. "I'd let you."

God, that stare. That tone. He's internally cussing himself out for all those times he told you he wasn't in the mood or too tired. He wished he could go back in time and slap himself.

He quickly shook it off, laughing dryly and having to look away from you. “You are so drunk.”

With that, he put the car in reverse, beginning the half hour journey back to the home that still has pictures of you on the walls. The home that still feels like it’s yours, the one that Kylian prays he’ll see you wake up in again… at a time when you’re not absolutely plastered, of course. For now, he’s content looking over to your sleeping figure in his car, slowly breathing and shifting every so often.

Once he pulled into the garage, he got out and made his way to open the passenger door. “Hey,” he gently put a hand on your cold shoulder, “we’re here, bébé.”

He didn’t mean for the nickname to slip out of his mouth, but it did. It actually woke you up, your heart thumping at the four letters that used to be so familiar to you, so intimate.

“I’m tired.” You grumble, putting your hands out toward him, slightly less drunk, yet nowhere near sober. “I forgot how comfy your car is.”

“Wait ‘till we get you into a real bed. You’re gonna sleep like a rock.” You grabbed his forearms and stumbled out of the car, Kylian quickly grabbing your heels, phone, and purse.

For a drunk, you moved surprisingly fast, beelining to the kitchen. He followed you in, attentive to your wonky steps. He set your belongings down on one of the barstools, turning to see you leaned inside of his fridge, grasping the handles for balance.

“You hungry?” He grins, walking around the kitchen island and leans against it.

“Mm… you got rid of all my snacks…”

“Uh, not true.” He quipped, opening the cupboard and pulling back a red box, the sight bringing a big smile to your face.

“Pancakes?!”

He opens the cabinet bellow him and pulls out a sleek black press, confident smirk spreading to his cheeks. “Waffles.”

You cover your mouth in excitement, stumbling backward a bit but catch yourself on the island. “No way.”

He nods, eyes twinkling at your enthusiasm. You look so pretty in this kitchen. It’s nostalgic. It feels warmer now that you’re back here, even if he’s just pretending to forget that you’ll have to leave in the morning.

“Go sit. They won’t take long.” You do as he says, hopping into a stool as you watch him begin to mix the ingredients in a bowl.

Your mind drifted to the last time you saw him. The way his chin quivered when he cried over you, how much it hurt to tell him you weren't ready and that you may never be. It was still true. In a more clearheaded scenario, you probably wouldn't be here with him right now. If alcohol didn't seem like such an inviting bandaid to your aching mind and heart, the feelings you'd been suppressing would likely have stayed suppressed... where you honestly wanted them to stay. Opening yourself back up to be loved by the same man that made you question yourself was still incredibly scary.

"Bon appétit." He placed the plate in front of you.

The waffle was dusted in powdered sugar, a small butter square in the middle was surrounded by sliced strawberries. "Oh... my... god..." You salivated, picking up the fork and knife he handed you and devoured the first bite, moaning in gratitude. "Oh my god." You had no other words.

Kylian laughed, picking up his own fork to dig into his less pretty waffle, standing across from you. "Yeah?"

He didn't get a verbal response back, but knew you meant it upon seeing the manner in which you inhaled every crumb on your plate. Your late night snack was gone too soon and you wanted more, but your drooping eyes and full bladder convinced you that sleep was better.

Kylian took his last bite, grabbing your plates and setting them in the sink. "I think it's bedtime."

You agreed without saying so, hopping off the stool and took the route to the master bedroom. You could walk there with your eyes closed and you might as well have. The sleep deprivation mixed with your drunkenness lead you straight to the dresser, opening up the top chest on your side to grab a t-shirt.

When your crossed eyes looked down at the empty drawer, it was sobering. You let out a shakey breath, clasping your hands in front of you. "Right..."

Kylain stood by the door, frowning at your stillness. The small window of bliss he had with you just seconds earlier shattered upon seeing your sorrowful face looking down at the drawer that used to contain your things, now containing nothing but memories of what used to be.

Silently, he walked over to you, gently shutting it for you. He opened up his side, handing you one of the shirts you left folded for him. One of your favorites. "Here."

You give him an attempt of a smile but don't actually look at him. "Thanks."

He goes to leave the room but you stop him. "Wait. Where are you going? I'll sleep in one of the guest rooms. I'm not taking your bed."

"No, please. You just get some rest, okay?" He almost whispers, taking in the sight of you standing in this room again before he went to close the door.

"Ky?" You breathe, locking your eyes on his. There was something you wanted to say, some words your throat closed up on, leaving you with nothing else but silence. He stayed still, his adoration for you threatening to spill out of him the longer he stared at you. You draw a subtle breath upon feeling your emotions pooling in your eyes. "Thank you."

Kylian felt the weight of your otherwise simple words, taking context from the way you were looking at him. "I'll always be here for you."

With that, he reluctantly closed the door behind him, trudging to the bedroom closest to you.

The room spun as you laid down on your favorite pillow, beyond comfortable under the duvet you picked out yourself. You wished you never went drinking tonight. If you'd just stayed home and pigged out on ice cream you wouldn't have to face the truth that's been slowly crawling to the surface.

Your eyes shut much too quickly to really explore the sentiments you've uncovered tonight, but that's probably for the best.

Kylian's mind was racing and he only hoped you couldn't hear how loud his brain was from the next room. Under the guilt and self-pity he's been swimming in for weeks, he finally felt a sliver of optimism beginning to grow inside of him. It was such a tender feeling, a feeling he let lull him to sleep, content knowing you were just on the other side of that wall.

A/N: The amount of times this deleted..... I was going crazy. Thank god that I started saving every draft on Google Drive or else I probably would have stopped writing out of frustration. Big things coming for (Y/N) and Kylain! Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and I'm sorry about having to make Haaland an asshole bc I really do love him. It was just to move the plot along <3. Also I didn't know all of the soccer terms in english so forgive me if I messed any of that up. Love all of you and thanks for reading!

[urboynoah]

How the ES!Autobots would react to you singing a love song in another language

that silly idea just arrived in my head listening to "Mon Amour - Remix" because, idfk, it has such a good vibe. I KNOW i haven't written shit for literal years but transformers got the best of me! Link of the song as the end, ASKS OPEN!!

The terrans part is NOT ROMANTIC!!! IT'S YOU ASKING THEIR OPINION ON SINGING IT FOR YOUR CRUSH!! don't make this weird pls

(Also I know I'm bad at writing. I just do it for fun so no judging pls!! Apologies for any spelling mistakes, english isn't my first language!)

Bumblebee

Would look at you like that exact emoji : “🤨”

The fuck you mean you can sing?

THE FUCK YOU MEAN YOU CAN SPEAK ANOTHER LANGUAGE-?

He ends up loving it and even vibes a little, tapping his feet on the beat

Still confused about the meaning of the song

He asks you so many questions when you finish singing, since when you started learning the language, what does it mean, blablah.

You explain to him you were born and raised in Mexico, your parents would always talk to you in Spanish. You learned english by yourself when you changed country.

He's actually amazed at how good you speak both languages

He still hasn't forgotten about the meaning tho.

He begs you to know, but you don't give in, and let it as a mystery, because you're just silly like that. :b

Optimus Prime

If I had to also use an Emoji for his expression, it'll probably be : “���”

He didn't expect you to sing at all, considering how shy you are

He even less expected you to sing WELL.

Not to complain.

He thinks your voice is very soft and even if he isn't too found of music in general, this one sounds strangely soft and optimistic.

Is it because you sing it? Maybe

It took him a few seconds to realize that if he wasn't understanding what you were saying wasn't because you were stumbling on your words, but because you were speaking another language.

He's very gently surprised by that fact, it makes him smile.

Not only because it only makes you look smarter to him, but also because he realizes you two are similar, both talking multiple languages.

He softly asks you what it means, not pushing too far.

He looks at you SO SOFTLY you cannot bring yourself to say no

You explain to him it's a love song, and he tries his best to fight the need to give in and kiss you. (He's a cutie patootie real no fake)

Starscream

Judges you at first. I'm not sorry.

Like why did you randomly start singing??

Why can't you even do it in THE RIGHT LANGUAGE

He seems annoyed tbh

You chuckle and tell him it's a love song, but you hold a strong bond to Spanish language

He relaxes and rolls his eyes, because he can't admit that it's actually sweet.

Thrash

You go up to him and asks him for an advice or two.

He immediately accept, staring at you like, bro/gurl, you got his full attention.

You explain to him you want to sing a song for a person you like, with a twist. It's a love song, but in another language.

He seems both interested and curious

You start singing it to have his opinion on the vibe, and when you're done, he aggressively nods. Approved by Thrash.

He seems curious on how you know Spanish, tho..

You explain to him your story real quick, that your parents come from Mexico but you changed country. You know the language by them.

He's amazed. You're such a cool person.

Will ask you a full translation of the lyrics!!

Twitch

You find her completing the chores to earn stars, she seems so focused and flying everywhere, it's hard to get her attention.

You have to tell her you'll give her your star if she helps you out.

It didn't take a lot more for her to sit on the floor, focused on what you're about to say. (Make it quick, her adhd head isn't going to hold for long :3)

You explain to her you want to impress your crush by using the little things you know the best.

Singing, and your ability to speak another language.

She immediately agrees, it's sweet and unique!!

She doesn't ask any questions and just tells you to go for it, like what are you waiting for??

Don't forget her star. :3

[bluehoodiewoozi]

DRABBLE MARATHON #15:

WEN JUNHUI + first love

1.5k words // warnings: alcohol consumption.

This party would be fun – at least so you had been told. It would just be a cute little celebration of a year well-spent, complete with only the best drinks and culinary goods. Dress code: ugly Christmas sweaters recommended but not mandatory.

And yet, you felt like you were trapped, stuck in a vast ocean of Christmas decorations, gingerbread cookies and Vernon’s holiday remixes of all the best songs. 

It’s not that you didn’t like socialising or meeting people. Minghao’s house was full of your friends and acquaintances and you were having the time of your life until he drunkenly told you a secret: Junhui would be coming to the party too, right as soon as his plane landed.

Junhui – the first man to ever make your heart pound, the first man to kiss your lips,  the first boyfriend you had had in college, the first everything. And while he wasn’t the last, no one else compared. 

You hadn’t seen him in two years. Your last memory of him was the day he left for his hometown a week after graduation. 

“I’ll come and find you again one day,” he had sworn that day as the two of you shared tearful goodbyes, giving the other a piece of your shattered hearts to keep. 

For reasons unknown to the both of you, you had decided to not continue your relationship at a distance. Long distance being painful was the excuse you gave when someone asked. 

But now, after two years, the distance would be no more. No more excuses, no more longing – in just a short time, he would be in the same room as you again. 

“How much have you had to drink?” Mingyu wondered and plucked the glass from your hands. “You’re all pale.”

“Jun’s coming,” you whispered, panic restricting your chest while butterflies fluttered their wings in excitement just the same. “He’s coming to the party.”

Mingyu hummed in thought. “Yeah, I think Hao mentioned something about that.”

“Do you think he remembers me?” 

“He promised he would, didn’t he?`” He nudged your side gently before offering a reassuring smile. “Junhui doesn't break his promises. Besides,” he sighed, “he always asked about you when we called.”

The butterflies won, for now. “He did?”

“Every single time. You’ll be fine.”

Just as you were about to come to terms with the words — or fight them, perhaps –, Soonyoung’s voice broke your little illusion of there being more time. “JUN! OH MY GOD, YOU ACTUALLY CAME?!”

He squealed and and jumped around and screamed like a little kid receiving his favourite toy for Christmas before dashing through the lines of guests and tackling a tall figure in a hug. 

“I missed you, man!” he cried, now sobbing into the man’s shoulder – no doubt drunk out of his mind. “Don’t ever leave again, Junhui!”

Junhui laughed – god, had you missed his laugh. “I missed you too, Soonyoung.”

“It’s Tiger,” he was promptly corrected by the crying  man. 

Junhui blinked and patted his back. “I– Sure. I missed you, Tiger.”

‘Tiger’ sobbed louder at that and hugged him even tighter, causing his poor victim to groan under the pressure. “I missed you and so did Hao and Mingyu and Jihoon and– Oh! And (Y/n) missed you the moist–” he hiccuped while you tried your hardest to hide behind Mingyu, “most!”

You were going to be sick from nervousness and it only got worse when Junhui’s eyes immediately began searching for something – someone – in the crowds upon hearing your name.

His gaze caught yours before you could hide away properly. Your breath caught in your throat and your heart stopped for a moment before fluttering at the speed of a hummingbird’s wings. He offered you a smile.

Before you could find the strength to return the gesture, he was pulled away by Seungkwan. As they disappeared into the kitchen, you finally found your breath again.

“You should talk to him,” Mingyu told you but he didn’t sound as playful as he usually did when he told you things like this. He sounded almost… Sad? Disappointed? Mournful, perhaps? The smile he put on hardly looked genuine. “I bet he’s missed you as much as you missed him, you know?”

“I–” you gasped and the room seemed to be spinning as reality slowly set in, “I’m going to go get some fresh air.”

“Here,” he sighed and shrugged off his blazer, “at least put this on. I don’t want you catching a cold before New Year’s.”

You thanked him, shrugged on the blazer and headed out to the balcony. The chill of the air was a welcoming change – it lulled the butterflies back to sleep, just like you preferred them. 

He was really here, in the same building, breathing the same air, and he was as handsome as always – if not even more. The years had been kind to him and you didn’t doubt he must have a wife by now.  She was probably pretty and kind and a little aloof like he was – the perfect pair, his ideal other half like you never could be.

And you? You were alone still, holding onto a silly little hope that he’d still love you as much as he told you he did when you had a breakdown in the middle of your last finals’ season. To the moon and back and all around the world, as bright as the stars in the sky – that’s how he had described his feelings for you and you doubt he even remembered. 

The door creaked open and you tense up in anticipation of what was about to come. You didn’t dare turn to see who it was – perhaps it was Mingyu urging you to come back inside, or maybe Soonyoung coming to beg you to join him in karaoke, or maybe–

“I figured I’d find you here,” you heard him speak and your whole world shook. Junhui shuffled to stand next to you, leaning against the railing to look out at the city. “It was a little loud inside, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly but really it had been your own heart that had been so loud.

He chuckled. “I had forgotten how loud the guys were. I missed them though.” 

You nodded, unable to form sentences now that he was so close. You were staring at your hands – just a few centimetres and you could hold hands with him again. 

“I missed you,” you then heard him breathe out and the butterflies came to life again. “I missed you so much, every day. I guess it’s true what they say: you never forget your first.”

“But you can always move on,” you replied solemnly.

He hummed. “Have you? Moved on?” He seemed to regret the question as soon as he said it.  He cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m sure you did. Mingyu seems nice. He always did like you.”

Your heart dropped in shock. “Mingyu?”

“You’re wearing his jacket right now,” he laughed wistfully. “I always figured if it wouldn’t be me, it would be Gyu.”

“Oh!” You rushed to correct him now that you knew what he meant. “No, no, Mingyu and I– We aren’t– We never– I never. I haven’t moved on.”

“Really?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “You haven’t?”

“Well,” you started with a gulp of air, “I tried, but… no one compared.”

“Me too,” he breathed out and you saw that sparkle in his eyes you had missed so much. “There was no one like you, so I just waited… and waited…”

“Waited for what?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered and he seemed to be closer to you all of a sudden, your noses brushing together, “but I’m done waiting.”

You didn’t need to ask him what he meant by that, nor did you have the time to. He leaned closer and closer until you felt his lips against yours. Your fingers rose to play with the hair at the nape of his neck as his arms lowered to pull you closer to his chest. You faintly noticed your – Mingyu’s – blazer falling off your shoulders as Junhui embraced you closer, and closer, and closer, until you could feel the familiar fluttering of his heart against yours.

You expected it to feel foreign – years had passed, after all – but instead, it was as if he never even left. As if he had been here with you all those years, holding your hand and laughing at your dumb jokes while fighting off Soonyoung’s attempts at playful flirtation. 

As if there was only him and you in the world and that was all you would ever need.

“I missed this,” he all but gasped out once you pulled apart again. “I missed you.”

“I can’t believe you left me here to suffer alone for all those years,” you told him with a disbelieving laugh, “and then you come back and kiss me dumb?`”

A smirk on his lips, he shrugged. “But you’re not complaining, are you?”

“Only on one condition.”

“Anything,” he whispered and pecked your lips once more as if to seal his promise.

You believed him. “Stay. Here. With me.”

“With you? Forever.”

You had spoken in a daze of hopeful delusion but here he was, replying as if it was the only truth he knew. Your eyes widened. “What about your life back home?”

“My home is where you are,” he confessed with a small smile. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realise.”

[lesbiankimdahyun]

Hi! can I request a poly misamo (mimo g!p) with vampire mina, werewolf momo, and succubus sana (if you’re not comfy with writing succubus, pls feel free to change or remove it) where they meet at a bar then start flirting until they end up fucking in sana’s house? Momo being turned on at their scents bc of her sensitive nose, mina teasing them both with her fangs, and sana’s dirty talk making mimo even harder. Thank you and happy halloween!

enjoy! here's part one :)

Devil's Night

3.5k words

CW: GP, vampires, werewolves, demons, Sana has some maybe questionable supernatural abilities when it comes to getting her way...

[GP!Vampire!Mina x Succubus!Sana x GP!Werewolf!Momo]

There were, at any given moment, only a handful of safe bars in the city for undiscovered monsters, folkloric creatures and hybrids to congregate for a drink without fearful, judgmental stares from the rest of the human population. 

But in the days leading up to Halloween, it was a little easier to slip undetected among the throngs of people out celebrating. 

It was Devil's Night, the night before Halloween, and Mina felt an invisible, out of character pull toward the dark club she now found herself walking into in the district of the city most known for its vibrant nightlife. The throb of the heavy bass hit her eardrums at the same time her vampiric senses detected the astounding number of beating hearts inside. Once inside, Mina flocked to the bar on the main level and watched the crowd around her with rapt fascination: the shadows of happy, drunken people with sweating drinks in hand, the way lasers and lights hit their faces every so often, the way they erupted in cheers when they recognized the remixed versions of Rezz, Hante and darkwave pop songs that played overhead. 

At the bar, she ordered a glass of ice. The bartender gave her a funny look. “No water?” he’d asked, but complied. Shortly after receiving her cup of ice, Mina headed for the bathroom. 

She ducked into a stall quickly, keeping her face out of view as best she could to avoid the mirrors in front of the sinks as girls nearby touched up their makeup, took selfies and washed their hands. No one noticed her, though. She emerged from the stall shortly after, knowing whoever cleaned up was going to get a real Halloween fright when they found the drained bag of donated blood in the trash receptacle reserved for menstruation products.  

Mina weaved her way back to the bar with her glass in hand. She normally preferred her blood warm and from a willing, living source, but if she wanted to blend in, it needed to look like a dark mixed drink, so she settled for sipping O negative on ice through a straw so it wouldn’t stain her lips and alarm anyone close to her. She wasn’t opposed to drinking alcohol, but alcohol lowered her inhibitions, and right now she needed help to resist the club full of living juice boxes: people full of an array of blood types, some regular and some spiked– those that had all sorts of fun, illicit substances in their systems. 

The vampire licked her lips absentmindedly and staked out a new seat toward the end of the bar, away from the guy who had taken her order. The number of people coming in to dance kept rising. Usually the vampire avoided this kind of environment, but there really was some sort of magnetic attraction to the space she couldn’t shake off. She wanted to stay a little longer.  

She swiveled around on the bar stool, thinking about taking a look at the Halloween drink specials, only to bump into someone next to her. 

“Oh,” she said softly, then found her voice over the blaring club music, “Sorry!”

The woman who she had bumped into turned around. “No worries!” she said, offering Mina a smile. 

Mina, had she still been human, knew her heart rate would’ve spiked after taking in the woman’s appearance. She was stunning. As the woman smiled, the vampire found the corners of her own mouth turning up, too. 

The stranger beside her was everything Mina wasn’t: warm, athletic and rugged. She was dressed as a sexy zookeeper in short khaki shorts, a suggestively unbuttoned khaki shirt with multiple pockets, and a red bandana around her neck. A pair of high heeled Timberland boots finished off her look. Her stylish, shaggy wolf cut framed her face perfectly, and Mina couldn’t help but notice just how well toned the woman’s body was. 

“Wow,” the other woman spoke, giving Mina a not-so-subtle once over. “You must need, like, SPF 500.”

Mina blinked at the other woman. Then she remembered how pale she must’ve looked in comparison. Lacking a reflection (save for when she looked in ponds, lakes, or full bathtubs) made it hard to remember what her features looked like to other people. “Oh,” she said, looking down at her drink. “Uh, yeah, kinda.” 

Momo offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” she said. “I just meant, like— you’re really pretty, is what I’m trying to say.” 

Mina perked up a bit at that. “Thank you,” she said, allowing herself to look up into the woman’s golden eyes. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Momo,” the woman said, switching her drink to her left hand and extending her right out to shake. Mina took it and their touch was like fire meeting ice. She knew her hands were cold all the time, but this woman’s hand seemed far warmer than a normal human’s. Mina’s mouth watered a little, detecting Momo’s steady pulse quickly. 

“And you are?”

The vampire shook off her blood-centered thoughts. “I’m Mina,” she said, offering a shy smile.

“Oh wow, your fangs are great!” Momo said, leaning in as Mina spoke. “And your contacts— where did you find red-rimmed ones? I love a good vampire costume.”

Mina blushed. “I um, I have a friend who does special fx makeup,” she said quickly. It was a complete lie, but what other choice did she have? She never revealed herself during fleeting encounters with humans. 

“Yours are really nice, too,” the vampire added, nodding toward Momo’s eyes. “What a pretty golden color.” 

It was Momo’s turn to freeze for a moment. “Oh these– I mean, thank you,” she said, taking a sip of her drink quickly. 

Mina didn’t miss the awkward beat and felt bad. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to make you self conscious.”

Momo leaned in a little closer, brushing her arm against Mina’s. “No! No, not at all,” she said, thinking quickly, “Just– forgot I was wearing them,” she said with a nervous laugh. 

Mina was about to ask if she could buy her a drink when a voice behind them interrupted. 

“Wow, you two have got to be the hottest couple here.” 

Momo and Mina both turned around to find a dizzyingly pretty stranger before them. She was some sort of demon, it appeared, but a slutty version. The two tried their best not to let their eyes linger for too long, but it was hard not to stare. 

The mystery woman wore ripped black thigh high stockings secured with black garters and recognizable red-bottomed black heels. A shiny black bodysuit covered her top half, but left plenty to the imagination with a criss-cross cutout running down from the top to the middle of the suit. She wore a tattered black cape that barely covered her ass, her deep red lipstick matched the back of her heels, and the dark, almost ombré-esque horns on top of her head were the perfect finishing touch. They looked sturdy and quite well made. 

“Oh,” Mina said, recovering first while Momo’s jaw hung slightly slack. “We’re– we’re not a couple.” She noticed that the new woman’s ears were slightly pointed, too, and wondered what kind of prosthetics she was using. 

The demon girl seemed unphased. “Oh, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice as sweet as it was sultry. “Saves me from embarrassing myself and hitting on both of you, then.”

It was then that Momo finally found her voice. “You can hit on us,” she blurted. 

A small smile crossed the demon’s lips as Momo blushed instantly. “I mean, I-I can’t speak for Mina but…” 

The demon’s eyebrows went up. “So you do know each other?”

Mina watched the girl curiously. “Barely,” she piped up. She felt strangely compelled to keep this conversation going. Despite not caring what most people thought of her, she wanted this girl to like her. “We just met.”

The woman hummed thoughtfully. “I see,” she said, a playful smile still present. “Well if either of you are interested…I’m heading to the bar on the upper level,” she said, flicking her eyes up to the more secluded lounge upstairs. 

“Isn’t that VIP?” Momo asked. “I uh, I don’t think I can get in there.”

“Me either,” Mina said, taking a sip of her chilled blood. She gripped her glass a little tighter while she eyed the demon girl’s exposed upper thighs, trying her best not to think about femoral arteries.

“I can get you in,” the woman shrugged. “It’s no trouble,” she said, eyes roaming over the two of them. “Really.”

Momo and Mina looked at each other. Momo had an amused smile on her face now, and Mina noticed the shade of gold her eyes had been a minute ago was now a little darker. Mina’s breath caught. Colored contacts didn’t normally change color. She couldn’t be inhuman too, could she..?

“I’m in,” Momo said, interrupting Mina’s train of thought. “Mina?”

Mina looked at the two women in front of her. She knew she shouldn’t. It was risky and there was no guarantee that even if things went her way, that either of them would be into what she told humans was her “severe blood play kink.” But getting a drink with two women, especially ones this attractive, was too tempting to pass up. Isn’t this the point of Devils’ Night? she asked herself. To take advantage of the lifting of the veil between her world and humans’? 

“Okay,” she said, surprising herself and sliding off of the bar stool.

The horned demon led the way through the crowd of dancing people in costumes of all kinds. Momo followed after, with Mina bringing up the rear. At the top of the stairs, the entrance to the lounge, a burly security guard stopped them. “If you don’t have wristbands already, I’ll need names to confirm you on my list,” he said gruffly.

“Minatozaki Sana,” the demon said sweetly, twirling some of her long, dark hair around her finger. The guard went to check the guest list pulled up on his phone, but she touched his arm lightly, making him look up at her first. “There should be two guests as well,” she said, smiling at him. 

The guard looked at her. He paused for a moment, then blinked. “Two guests,” he repeated monotonously, putting his phone away and allowing them in. He didn’t even check the list. 

Momo and Mina exchanged awe-struck glances before following after her. The second level of the club was much less crowded. The lighting was more dim too, but Mina had no trouble seeing in the dark. It looked like Momo had adjusted just fine, too, as the demon led them to a secluded area around the corner. 

She chose a table that had a long booth on one side and chairs on the other. Momo slid into the booth first, followed by Sana. Mina was going to snag one of the chairs, but was stopped. 

“Sit next to me?” the demon girl asked. It was a suggestion, but Mina’s body reacted as if it were a command and she found herself nodding, abandoning the chair and sliding in next to her so Sana was in the middle. 

Sana beamed. “Are you thirsty?” she asked the two of them. 

“I can get us some drinks,” Momo offered, moving to get up, but Sana shook her head. 

“No, no, you stay here,” she said, and Momo stayed put. 

“Excuse me?” the demon said, catching the attention of a passing staff member. 

Minutes later, two rounds of shots were delivered to their table, on the house, despite the fact that this was very much not one of those clubs with table service or an establishment that gave drinks out for free. 

“Whoa,” Momo said as they each were presented with glasses of water, slotted spoons, two sugar cubes, and two small glasses of curiously green liquor. “Do you like, know the owner or something?”

Sana laughed, wetting the sugar cubes for the three of them so they would start to drip into the green liquid. “Something like that. I’m Sana, by the way,” she said. 

Momo and Mina introduced themselves again, taking in their new environment. Away from the heavier crowds, Momo’s hypersensitive nose wasn’t so overloaded with surrounding scents. She watched as the sugar dissolved through the slotted spoon, disappearing into the drink. She brought it up to her nose and sniffed lightly. It smelled unlike anything she’d ever tasted before. 

The vampire, on the other hand, recognized it almost immediately. 

“Absinthe? Mina asked curiously.

“Very good,” Sana said. “Fitting for Devil's Night, don’t you think?”

Momo hummed, but Mina looked a little anxious. “Devil's Night?” she asked. “You’re…familiar?”

Sana shrugged. “Quite,” she said. “I like to celebrate by window shopping along all of the clubs in the city. If one looks good enough, sometimes I’ll drop in.” 

The vampire picked up her glass and took a sip. She couldn’t believe Sana had ordered two for each of them. The unmistakable anise and fennel flavors took over her tongue immediately. There was no way she was going to finish both given how strong they were. 

Then she frowned. It was like she was only now understanding what Sana had just said. 

“Window shop?” Mina asked, puzzled by the woman’s choice of words. “For what?” 

“A treat, of course,” Sana said, offering no further explanation. She looked between the two of them. “What about you two?” she asked. “Here for Devil's Night or just having a fun Halloweekend?”

Momo’s face reddened a little. “I’m…uh, Devils’ Night,” she said.

Sana’s eyes flicked over to Mina. They seemed to look straight into Mina’s soul, or lack thereof while she waited for her to answer. 

“Same here,” Mina said quickly, hoping the follow up question wasn’t going to be ‘Why?’ 

“I thought you both might be,” Sana said, pausing to drink some of her absinthe. She had long, black acrylic nails that she now tapped thoughtfully on the side of her glass. “Forgive me for asking so soon after meeting, but how do we smell to you, Momo?” she asked with a grin, making the athletic girl nearly choke. 

“S-smell?” Momo asked nervously, tugging at the bandana around her neck a little. She almost reminded Mina a little bit of Scooby Doo in her mannerisms. 

Sana put a hand on Momo’s thigh and leaned in toward her neck. “I’ve always been curious to know what a vampire smells like, if anything, to a werewolf.” 

Mina’s eyes widened at that and she slid out of the booth with lightning speed at the same time Momo was scrambling to get up on the other end. 

Sana just laughed, taking another sip of her drink. “Relax,” she said, checking out her nails casually. “I’m not a threat. And I’m not human, either.”

“Then…?” Mina asked. She couldn’t finish her question. Her vampiric instinct was telling her to flee, but she hadn’t run off like she had planned. Her feet felt glued to the floor. She couldn’t bring herself to leave, but she also couldn’t bring herself to sit back down. 

“H-how did you know?” Momo asked. She was sitting at the edge of the booth. Her fight or flight instinct seemed to be stalled, too. 

“I’ll tell you if you drink with me, please?” Sana batted her eyelashes at them. “Just one little drink.” 

Realizing she was probably drawing more attention to herself by standing, Mina begrudgingly obliged and sat back down, sliding back over next to Sana. “Fine,” she said. She reached for her glass, knocking back the first round of absinthe in one go. Her eyes watered and she almost coughed, but she kept it down, clearing her throat once the alcohol was safely traveling down her esophagus. It was over the top, maybe, but now she could at least say she’d had one drink if she needed to hightail it out of there. 

Sana’s eyes seemed to glow. “Wow,” she said. She then turned to the werewolf. “Momo?” 

Momo seemed stiffer than Mina had been, and it took a few seconds before her body relaxed again. Hesitantly, she slid back over next to Sana, too. 

She looked at Mina, who shared her bewildered expression, and then followed the vampire’s lead, downing her first glass of absinthe, too. She grimaced, licking her lips the way a dog would after realizing the treat it had just eaten was stuffed with medicine. 

Sana smirked. “Mm, I love being right,” she said, clearly pleased with herself. “A sexy vampire and a sexy werewolf, what luck.” 

Momo and Mina peered at each other curiously. 

“So– your fangs..?” Momo asked.

“Real,” Mina said. She couldn’t believe she was admitting this so freely, in a public space no less. 

“And your eyes… no full moon, huh?” Mina offered up. 

Momo chuckled. “Not tonight,” she said sheepishly. 

“But it will be in like, two days,” Sana said, bringing their attention back to her. “What are you doing out so close to the start of your rut cycle, little werewolf?” she said, using one of her nails to gently touch just under Momo’s chin. She turned Momo’s head, making the werewolf look at her before resting her hand on Momo’s thigh again. 

Momo blushed.  

Sana’s other hand made its way to Mina’s thigh. “You’re taking a risk too, aren’t you? A little vampire on her very best behavior while surrounded by walking blood-flavored Capri Suns,” she giggled. It wasn’t malicious in any way, but Mina still went red, which really only made her look slightly more human as the hint of color made its way to her pale face. 

“Enough about us,” Momo said, feeling suddenly protective of the pretty vampire. “You said you’re no threat or a human. So what are you?”

“Hmm. An appreciator of gorgeous women, for starters,” Sana said, taking her hand off Momo’s thigh to finish off her first glass of absinthe. “Please,” she said, nudging the second glasses toward them. 

There it was again– that invisible persuading force. Momo brought the second glass up to her lips carefully. The alcohol was already running amok through her system. And even though she was still slightly distressed by the mystery woman’s ability to clock her so easily, she was also starting to become slightly aroused. The demon girl beside her smelled sinfully good, as did the vampire, almost earthy, like late fall leaves. 

And not only did they smell good, Momo thought, they were both incredibly attractive. She found Mina alluring with her sleek, perfectly conditioned long dark hair and sharp fangs tucked behind those pretty lips, and Sana’s entire presence was devastatingly sexy. Her costume didn’t help with the werewolf’s arousal, either.  

Mina found herself drinking from her second glass, too. The buzz was hitting her faster than anything she’d experienced when she was human. Like Momo, she was unsettled, but mildly turned on. Momo’s bangs kept getting in her eyes, making her look slightly doe eyed when she looked up, and Sana, whatever she was, was downright delicious, especially with her know-it-all attitude. And both of them had hearts pumping plenty of warm blood through their bodies. 

They watched as Sana then tapped on one of the curled, thick dark horns on her head. “Not a costume,” she admitted. 

“Y-you’re a demon?” Mina asked, shocked. 

Sana pouted. “Don’t say it like that,” she said, her voice darkening for a millisecond. “I’m not scary.” 

She paused. “Well. Not all the time.” She looked up between the two of them to make sure their eyes were on her. Mina and Momo watched, unsure whether to feel horrified or impressed, as Sana showed more of herself to them. The whites of her eyes vanished for a moment, completely overtaken by empty blackness. 

And then, just as soon as it happened, it was over and Sana’s big, brown irises came back into view among the whites of her eyes. 

Momo’s heart rate spiked and Mina sensed it immediately. She found it strangely sexy of Sana to be able to get Momo’s heart racing with such little effort. Vampirism had really changed her turn-ons over the years. 

“S-so what is this, then? What do you want with us?” Momo asked. She peered down at Sana’s hand on her thigh, suddenly afraid of getting hard in front of her and Mina. 

“Aw, am I making you nervous, Momo?” Sana giggled lightly, bringing a hand up to toy with the werewolf’s bandana. She hooked a finger under it, pulling Momo close as if to kiss her. She waited for a second to see how the werewolf would react, and just as she’d thought, Momo inched closer. 

“I just want to have some fun,” she said, barely brushing her lips against Momo’s. Sana turned away from her then to look at Mina. Her eyes moved down between the vampire’s legs while her hand moved up the vampire’s thigh and squeezed it lightly. “With both of you.” 

The demon smirked, removing her hands from both the other two’s bodies and picked up her second glass of absinthe. “I know you two are already interested in each other based off of the way you were gazing at each other when I first saw you,” she said, making the word sound more like gay-zing. “So…is there room for one more?” 

Mina nodded at the same time Momo stammered a shy “Yes.”

“Well then,” said Sana, picking up her remaining glass for a toast. “Cheers to Devil's Night.” 

[fanhackers]

Abigail De Kosnik’s  Illegitimate Media, Part I

You might know Abigail De Kosnik, Associate Professor in the Berkeley Center for New Media (BCNM) and the Department of Theater, Dance, and Performance Studies (TDPS), as the author of  Rogue Archives: Digital Cultural Memory and Media Fandom (MIT 2016), which is about a lot of things including the founding of the OTW and the Archive of Our Own.  But I’m also a fan of her Ph.D. dissertation. Illegitimate Media: Race, Gender, and Censorship in Digital Remix Culture, which I cite a lot and which make arguments that, as far as I know,  have never been made quite the same way anywhere else. 

In particular, De Kosnik (here writing as Abigail Derecho) made connections between the remix cultures of African-American men “who, in the mid-1980s, began using digital samplers to cobble together pieces (or “samples”) of existing recordings to form new sonic composition,” and white American women, “who, in the early 1990s, formed online communities on Usenet groups to share fan fiction (fanfic) – stories based on their favorite characters from television and film texts.” The dissertation examines a wide array of sampling/remix/transformative practices not just in fandom but in music and the visual arts. But I find the connections De Kosnik makes with hip–hop most interesting and provoking:

What is remix? The historical answer is: Remix is a genre of artistic appropriation that began in the boroughs of New York in the late 1970s. The identity of its inventor is undisputed. Every reliable source names DJ Kool Herc, who immigrated to the Bronx from Jamaica as a child, as the person who first spun two copies of the same record on side-by-side turntables in order to extend the “break,” or “breakbeat,” usually defined as an instrumental part of a dance song or pop song, the part where the rhythm dominates, what S. Craig Watkins calls “the get down part,”  and what Grandmaster Flash calls “the best part of a great record.” In order to lengthen the rhythmic “best part” of songs, the part that made partygoers “get down,” Kool Herc spun two identical records on turntables at the same time, first throwing the needle down at the beginning of the breakbeat on one record and lifting the needle when the breakbeat finished, then immediately throwing needle down at the start of the breakbeat on the second record, and at the end of that break, playing the break again on the first record. Alternating between the records, Herc could, in theory, extend the break forever. Many DJs soon took up Herc’s method of spinning records to isolate and extend the breaks, and also adopted Herc’s method of speaking rhymes over the breaks. Several DJs became famous for the techniques of spinning and “rapping” that they invented; Flash and Grand Wizzard Theodore are the most revered of these. (21)

There’s a connection between remixing music to lengthen “the best part” of songs, and vidder Sandy Herrold grinning and declaring that, “Vidding is the good parts version: it’s the three minutes I want to see set to really good music.” (See below, “What is Vidding?” [2008])  Fanfiction also gives us “the best parts” of canon - or the parts we really really wanted and didn’t get.  

–Francesca Coppa, Fanhackers volunteer

[kaminocasey]

Sweep Me Off My Feet

Summary: Fives gives you advice on how to land Captain Rex.

Pairing: Captain Rex x GN!Reader

Warnings: 18+, Fluff, Feelings

A/N: I got this idea at 1 AM and it demanded to be written. Here is the song that I listened to to get a feel for 79s in my head lol.

You’ve been trying to get Rex’s attention for a little over two months now. Every single time you manage to get him to look at you, it’s never for very long. You want to change that.

You and Fives are on the dancefloor of 79s, laughing and having a good time when Fives leans down in your ear to tell you the one thing you’ve been dying to hear for the last two months.

“The captain is staring at you.” He chuckles. “Hard.”

“Is he really?” You’re afraid to look, even though you really want to.

Because if you look, you know he’ll stop looking.

“Should we give him a show then?” You ask Fives.

Fives, who just happens to be your best friend, knows about your infatuation with the 501st captain. He’s seemingly made it his life mission to be the best wingman possible. So far, he’s doing an alright job. He found out that Rex actually likes you and thinks you’re “funny and charismatic”. He just won’t look at you.

“If you want.” Fives smirks, gripping your hips as you grind against him in rhythm to the music. 

The music is loud and you can feel it thumping in your chest. It’s not hard to get lost in it. Fives starts to push you away from his body, except he quickly spins you so he can pull you back against his body, lifting your arms so that they rest around his neck.

“Sneak a peek. He can’t tear his eyes off of you.” Fives murmurs in your ear. 

You try to be really sneaky about glancing at Rex. Fives is right. Rex has an arm spread along the back of the booth and he’s watching you.

“He’s just shy, cyar’ika.” Fives tells you.

You look back up at Fives. “So, what do I do, then?”

“Go over there, scoot into the booth right there in the crook of his arm and give him the absolute cheesiest pick up line you know.” He starts to push you toward the booth, swatting your ass in a playful way. 

Before you can panic, you move to the booth quickly and scoot in, next to Rex. He looks at you, clearly startled but you’re grinning nervously at him.

“Hey, cap. If you were words on a page, you’d be fine print.” You lean toward his ear so he can hear you.

Rex doesn’t have time to move away, because you make him let out a genuine laugh. 

“That was a really good one.” He takes a drink, smiling.

Your heart clenches in your chest and you bite your lip, excited that he’s finally not looking away from you.

“Are you a magician? Because when I’m looking at you, you make everyone else disappear.” Rex leans down to your ear and chuckles.

You can’t help the nervous fluttery feeling going insane in your stomach right now as you let out a laugh. That was a really good one. You start to wonder how he knows pick up lines, but then you remember Fives is his brother.

“Any chance you have an extra heart? Mine’s been stolen!” You lean in toward his ear at the same time that he was starting to lean in toward your ear and your lips nearly accidentally touch. Neither of you move, though.

“Um… are you my blasters because you’re… set to stun.” He goes warm all over his body. 

You let out a giggle but look down at his lips as he glances down at yours.

“That might be my favorite.” You grin before bravely brushing your lips over his.

He goes slightly rigid only for a second before melting into you, pulling you against him. Rex’s lips are softer than you’d expected. But they seem to fit perfectly against yours, like they were made for each other. Like you and Rex were made for each other. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” Rex admits when he pulls away.

“Makes two of us.” You smirk, brushing your lips against his again. 

You hear a loud cheer and when you look over, you see what seems to be the entire 501st cheering you and Rex on from the dancefloor. Rex shakes his head, exasperated with his brothers like always and you can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes. Fives gives you a thumbs up and an “I told you so” face. 

“Do you wanna get out of here?” You asks Rex. 

“I would actually.” He nods, smiling. 

You both climb out of the booth and head outside to hail a taxi back to your apartment. 

“Oh wait.” He says as you wait for a taxi. “I’ve got another.” 

“Lay it on me, cap.” You grin widely up at Rex.

“Even in zero gravity… I would fall for you.” He smiles softly.

Your lips part slightly, speechless. 

“I mean that.” He tells you before pulling you into his arms and kissing you breathless. 

Unable to part, a few taxis come and go but you and Rex get lost in each other. You must be brooms, because you seem to have swept each other off your feet.

TAGS: @grievouus @brynhildrmimi @madameminor @dumfanting @rain-on-kamino @misogirl828 @corona-one @tecker @ladykatakuri @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @twistedstitcher27 @zoeykallus @maulslittlemeowmeow @littlemousedroid @arctrooper69 @rexxdjarin @agenteliix @padawancat97 @hated-by-me @sleepingsun501 @crosshairmylove587 @idlenesses @redheadgirl