#RISING SUN ROCK FESTIVAL

[miharuakiyamadrawing]

[starkeysbunny]

fashion killa

cause she a fashion killa, and i’m a trendy ….

pairing - drew x model!baddie!gf!reader

summary - when drew heads to coachella for the first time with his girl, who’d been many times due to her job. the it couple known for their fashion sense, dancing in tune to songs at the festival rials up both them, and the crowd.

warnings - sexual tension :p

⠀.ᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ೃ❀࿔˙ ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ೃ❀ᮬ࿔˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ೃ❀࿔˙ ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ೃ❀ᮬ࿔˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ

the sun was beating down harshly, gusts of wind blowing dust all around. i felt drew’s arm pull me closer under his grasp. his strong bicep, wrapped around my shoulders.

“baby, ‘should pull the bandana up.” he says gently, his fingers reaching around by my neck to fiddle with the bandana wrapped around it.

“it’s too hot. i’ll get sweaty.” i mumble.

he sighs, his hand coming up to run through his hair. “but dust is gonna get all in your-“

“not happening.” i smile softly, turning my head to look up at him.

he chuckles, his hands lifting in mock surrender, his arm stays wrapped around my shoulder though. “alright, alright. i’ll stop.”

drew and i were at coachella. he’d never been before, and i go nearly every year. after the first two times, it wasn’t because i wanted to go anymore. it was because brands would hire me to go just so they could design my outfits for the three day festival in the palm springs dessert heat.

so naturally, drew and i being together for the past eight months, it was his turn to be dragged along to this event.

“i don’t get the hype. i mean, yeah, it’s fun, whatever. but like, why pay all this money to be severely dehydrated and covered in dust for three days?” he had told me earlier while we were ironically enough, in the encapsulated and air conditioned vip tent.

we were currently watching doja cat’s set. we stood in the vip section near the front, which was to the left side of the stage by the regular ga pit.

i was wearing a low rise denim skirt that barely held in my ass, a vintage chanel crop, paired with givenchy boots and my layers of gold jewelry. bangles on my wrists, a necklace, hoops, and many, many rings.

while drew, of course, wore his carhart brown work pants, and a loewe white tee, with a blue bandana wrapped around his head.

doja cat was currently playing, starting her song agora hills. i turn slightly to reach into my shoulder bag—which was on drew’s shoulder because why would i carry it when i had him? i grab a piece of gum, sticking it between my glossed lips.

i look up at drew to see him already grinning down at me. the slight scruff growing around his jaw and the mullet peeking out behind his neck making my stomach flutter. “want a piece?” i ask sweetly.

he shakes his head. “nah, thank you though, baby.”

i close up my purse and pat it gently as it rests comfortably, secure in drew’s bicep.

i turn back to face the stage, drew’s arm now fully wrapped around my chest, his hand grasping onto the opposite shoulder as he holds me close against his chest. i sway against him, my hips moving as i watch the performance. i chuckle when i hear a certain part of the song that i knew.

i look up at drew from my spot against his chest, a smug smile on my lips.

“rub it in their face,” i begin reciting the lyrics, my hand lightly tapping against his chest at each accent in the lyrics. “put a rock on her hand.” i raise my eyebrows, wiggling my left hand in his face teasingly.

he smirks, a small snicker escaping his lips. i turn back to the stage and i feel him lean down slightly, his lips snaking against my ear. “don’t worry, baby.” he whispers. “one day you’ll be walking down the runway with a rock on your hand. my little wifey.” he teases, gently biting down on my ear playfully.

i smile, feeling his arm pull me tighter into his chest. my manicured nails come up to hold onto his forearm against me. my eyes drift over to the ga side of the crowd, and see a huge majority of the audience’s phones no longer on doja—but pointed and zoomed in on drew and i’s interaction.

ever since drew and i started dating, the speculations and whispers were circling like wildfire. the it girl model with the new up and coming actor. who wouldn’t talk about it? but we had hoped to keep it private the first couple months—just us, no outside thoughts.

and we did, not officially confirming anything until about our fourth month in. even then, we didn’t actually confirm. our relationship is private, but not a secret. we don’t really post each other, maybe once or twice. but, drew and i couldn’t give two shits about any of it. we knew we were real, and that’s all that mattered.

“oh, they’re gonna eat that shit up, babe.” drew chuckles lowly, catching the same thing i saw.

i shrug. “let them. if all those girls that obsess over you think we’re married, maybe they’ll back off.” i joke with a smirk.

he scoffs. “you think those are your biggest problems? what about all the guys that have a subscription to vogue and cosmopolitan just to see you? i swear walkin’ in to this damn festival, why’d you think my hand was on your ass tryna hold down this little skirt, huh?”

i shake my head with a chuckle, smacking his chest playfully. “you love this skirt.” i turn slightly in his arms, my glossy lips pouting up at him.

he snuggly grins, his hands reaching around and squeezing my ass in the skirt, lifting me slightly with it to bring me closer to his lips. “hell yeah, i do, baby.”

-

it was now ten at night, the air simmering down to a much cooler temperature. drew and i were making our way back to the main stage for the headliner, asap rocky.

we were walking in tune, in the space between the barricade and the stage, security guiding us and trailing us. drew’s arm was lazily draped around my shoulders, my left hand holding his by neck. my bracelet jangle as we walk, my hips swaying in my skirt that had somehow gotten lower as the day went on. i think it was because drew kept pulling is down every chance he got…

my bandana was now wrapped around my head. as we were many drinks in at this point, earlier we were in the vip tent and i was slurring, all over drew as i rambled about how i wanted to match with him, so he helped me and tied my bandana around my head like his.

the crowd scrambled loudly when they noticed us walking by the barricade, screaming, clamoring, flashes from cameras. i grin, when i feel drew instinctively pull me closer into his side, my scantily clad body pulled tight into his warm frame.

“y/n! drew! oh my god!”

“y/n, give me a chance!”

“drew! drew! i love you!”

“you’re so hot, y/n!”

“marry me!”

i giggle under my breath and look up at drew, seeing him roll his eyes subtly at their comments. we finally make it over to the vip section. it was much more crowded now, and drew situated us so i was standing in front of him, pulled flush against his chest so i could watch the show and he could keep an eye on everything.

i hardly needed security when i had drew.

we waited patiently, quietly talking as we waited for the show to start

then, the lights went down, strobe lights flashing as the intro of fashion killa started.

i grin, turning in drew’s arms to face him. “it’s our song!”

he smiles. “it is,” he chuckles lowly.

my arms lace around his neck, his hands finding their home on my hips. i move to the music, a grin on my lips as i move my hips.

“cause she a fashion killa..” i giggle, my head plopping into drew’s chest.

“and i’m a trendy..” he trails off, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

the song continues and i look up at him, my gold jewelry blinging in the lights. he smirks with a chuckle, singing along to the lyrics.

“my bitch a fashion killa, she be..” his hand comes to my ass, tapping it at each beat. “busy,” .. tap. “poppin,” .. tap. “tags.” .. tap.

“she got a lotta prada,” he grabs my hands, extending his arms as he swings me out, then pulls me back in close to him. “that dolce and gabbana,” he chuckles as he bops his head.

i giggle, burying my head in the crook of his neck. he grabs my arms again, his hands sliding up from my forearms to my wrists as he lifts them above my head. “wearin’ all the cartier frames..” he chuckles as he sings with asap.

we continue to dance and i turn around for a part of the song, my back against drew’s chest. i reach into my purse on drew’s shoulder, pulling out my camcorder. i record part of asap singing the song before drew snatches the camera from my hands, making me turn around.

he starts to film me to the song and i chuckle, my hands sliding down my waist to my hips, rolling them, my jewelry dancing with my movements. he groans, throwing his head back. he stops the recording and stuffs the camera back in my bag, his hands quickly coming to my hips and pulling me back into him.

“fuck, baby…” he says under his breath. his hands come up to my cheeks, holding my face close to his. “baby, you and me…” he sings.

“me and you.” i finish with a grin, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug against his chest.

the song continued, drew and i playfully dancing around, singing, hands all over each other. the night went on, drew taking videos of me on the camcorder, me stealing it back taking videos of him. my ass against his front as he rolled my hips against him, drinks making us a bit bolder in public.

almost everyone in the regular ga, somewhere throughout the set, lost their attention off asap, us captivating their gaze instead.

there would be millions of videos online tomorrow of us—but we didn’t care anymore. it wasn’t a secret. it was just private. just us.

-

what i imagine the camcorder looks like at the end of the night… 😝

[tixdixl]

Wishmaster's Concert - Event

Grab your battle jackets, your ear protection, and your tickets! It's time to ROCK!

Event details below the cut.

Welcome to Bald Mountain Arena, the largest performance arena in all of Twisted Wonderland! Located in the tallest mountain along the range of the Shaftlands rests this monumental landmark. Rumored to be the host of spectacular all-night events, Bald Mountain Arena is said to put on some of the most notable alternative rock and metal festivals in history! But they only do so every once in a blue moon.

Tonight, Bald Mountain Arena's Metal Festival is set to occur, hosting some of the most famous metal bands in all of Twisted Wonderland! Once the sun sets, the first band will take the stage. And with enough sets to last until dawn, the highlighted band, Wishmaster, along side UnderDark, Pixie Metal, Fighting Dragons, and Her Draconic Majesty, will make even the bones of the undead rise and shake!

Where do Yuu (you) fit in?

Thanks to Cater's eye on social media, Yuu and the crew managed to snag some tickets just in time! Everyone is planning to meet up at the Dark Mirror with plenty of time to find good spots in the crowd. They might even get a chance to grab a bite to eat - much to Grim's delight - should everyone arrive on time!

✨️✨️✨️

Event Banners by @ramshacklerumble

Additional Event Background

This event was heavily inspired by a combination of Chernabog's segment in Fantasia (1940), as well as the song "FantasMic" by Nightwish. The song, if you are unfamiliar, is a metal homage to Disney and many of it's iconic works. Referencing of course Fantasia, Peter Pan, Sleeping Beauty, the Black Cauldron, Pinocchio, and many others. (I highly recommend reading the lyrics, y'all. They are beautifully written.) If you need inspiration for this event, I definitely recommend taking a gander at those two inspirations.

The event consists of a lineup of various Disney inspired fake metal bands. The arena is a huge concert arena, with increased security, food trucks, and hydration stations. The crowd will absolutely form rowing lines, conga lines, and a fully realized mosh pit formed in the center below the stage. Glow sticks are permitted!

Cyril Zeman (created by @ramshacklerumble ) is the guest character for the event, and a Chernabog expy. He ia the face of the band Wishmaster, providing the masculine lead voice and lead guitar.

The Pop Music Club absolutely bought tickets for the concert. Even if this isn't Cater's vibe, he can't deny the virality that would come at taking photos for MagiCam. Lilia, of course, not only is eager to go, but he knows Cyril as an acquaintance. (It would be a crime for him NOT to show his support.) But more eager than any of the three to snag this once-in-a-life-time opportunity is Sebek. As described in his 100th Anniversary vignette, Sebek thrives in the concert scene, and will jump at any opportunity for a chance at "training". He knows that the audience here will bring their A game- so of course he has to rock even harder than the rest!

For additional lore on the bands, please check out this post!

Characters can engage in the audience, in whatever ways make sense. Fake bands are more than welcome to join the line up, and if you decide you want to create OCs to play in any of the fake bands, you are more than welcome to do so!

✨️✨️✨️

Event Rules

- This event is open to everyone!

- Submissions must be kept PG-13 or lower.

- No Alt. Right Symbology Permitted. No exceptions.

- OC, Yuusonas and Canon characters are all welcome!

- Yuusonas ENCOURAGED to be SSRs!

- Feel free to make card art, character designs, illustrations, comics, create Band Logos, write fics, create edits, or even submit music if your heart desires! Want to do something else entirely? GO FOR IT! Create as much as you'd like- there are no submission limitations.

- If you use any of the event assets (e.g. Background art or Band Logos) as provided by one of the event collaborators you MUST credit the artist in your post! (See below for details)

- Use the tag #Wishmaster's Concert and @ or tag me in the posts too! I’d love to see what everyone comes up with!

- To make this event as accessible as possible, I am offering the option to either have a deadline or no deadline:

For those who need a deadline: May 31st.

For those who prefer no deadline: No deadline

✨️✨️✨️

Dress Code - [Concert Wear]

Goth, punk, alt, and metal head fashion are recommended! But we understand concert wear takes many forms! If you need recommendations, here is some inspiration you might want to draw from!

With the help and courtesy of @ramshacklerumble @the-trinket-witch and @cyanide-latte , we are also permitting folks use the Logos that we created if artists would like to give their OCs band tees! Let's see who all your OCs came out to support!

Wishmaster Logo by @ramshacklerumble

UnderDark Logo by @tixdixl

Pixie Metal Logo by @the-trinket-witch

Fighting Dragons Logo by @the-trinket-witch

Her Draconic Majesty [HDM] Logo by @cyanide-latte

✨️✨️✨️

Background

If you would like to make an SR card for the event, please feel free to use this background (courtesy of @ramshacklerumble ):

✨️✨️✨️

EVENT INTRO FICLET by @tixdixl

EVENT INTRO FICLET by @cyanide-latte

EVENT FOOD DISCUSSION by @cyanide-latte

EVENT TWISTTUNE

SSR CARDS:

Sebek Zigvolt (coming soon...)

Kingsley Tyr by @tixdixl (coming soon...)

Copper Benoit by @cyanide-latte (coming soon...)

Gia Yugo by @ramshacklerumble

SR CARDS:

Lilia Vanrouge (coming soon...)

Kalim al Asim (coming soon...)

Oisín Anbás by @tixdixl (coming soon...)

R CARDS:

Cater Diamond by @ramshacklerumble

FAN FICS:

✨️✨️✨️

Tag list: @twstinginthewind @sunsmilu @elenauaurs @theleechyskrunkly @thehollowwriter

@twistedwonderlandshenanigans @twst-the-night-away @cyn-write @twstchaos @oseathepebble

@starry-night-rose @tinyvirgodoodle

[novaursa]

Legacy (dragonstone)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: The canon plot doesn't match the timeline of this story.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: contingency

- Next part: of bloodline

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal

The air on Dragonstone was thick with the salt of the Narrow Sea, carried by the ever-present winds that swept over the volcanic cliffs. The castle stood stoic against the horizon, its black stone spires jagged and ancient, looming as a reminder of a time when dragons ruled the skies and their riders held the world in awe.

In one of the smaller courtyards, where the breeze was calmer and the sun bathed the stone with a golden glow, you sat with Damon. The boy, now walking on his own, toddled across the soft grass with surprising determination. His tiny hands reached for the wooden dragon toy you had set before him, and he squealed with delight as he gripped it, waving it triumphantly.

A faint smile touched your lips as you watched him, your heart full at the sight of his uncontainable joy. “Careful, little one,” you murmured, rising slightly from your seat to steady him as he wobbled.

Behind you, Jaime Lannister leaned against the stone railing of the terrace overlooking the courtyard. His golden hand rested lightly against the edge, the faint wind tousling his hair as he watched Damon with a faint, unreadable expression.

“You’re good with him,” Jaime said after a moment, his voice breaking the peaceful silence.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, your lips curving faintly. “He makes it easy. He’s a bright, happy boy.”

Jaime nodded, his gaze lingering on Damon as the child turned to you with a wide, toothy grin. “He’s strong,” Jaime said softly. “Like his mother.”

“And his father,” you added with a wry smile.

Jaime huffed a quiet laugh. “Yes, well, the Lion of Casterly Rock would never admit to anything less.” He pushed off the railing and moved closer, standing beside you as he continued to watch Damon toddle across the grass.

For a moment, there was silence, save for Damon’s delighted giggles as he waved his toy dragon in the air. Then, Jaime spoke again, his tone softer, more contemplative. “Do you remember that festival?”

You frowned faintly, glancing up at him. “Which festival?”

“All those years ago,” Jaime said, his green eyes distant as though looking through the fog of memory. “When King Aerys—your father—still sat the throne. The festival in honor of his reign, in King’s Landing.”

Your brows furrowed as you thought back, the faint recollection stirring something in your chest. “I remember,” you said slowly. “It was a grand affair, full of spectacle and excess. My father loved such displays.”

Jaime nodded, his expression shadowed. “It was more than that. He… ranted. You must remember. He spoke of fire, of dragons returning to the world. He was restless, agitated, but then—he said something else.”

“What did he say?” you asked, your voice careful, your gaze fixed on Jaime.

Jaime’s jaw tightened slightly, his golden hand flexing at his side. “He said, ‘The fire will come again, and with it, the one who will command it.’ At the time, we all thought it was just more of his madness. Another delusion.”

Your heart clenched faintly, unease settling in your chest. “And now?”

Jaime turned to look at you fully, his eyes focused. “Now I wonder if he saw something more than madness. Something connected to you… and Viserion.”

The name of the she-dragon hung heavy in the air, her presence felt even when she was not near. Damon let out a happy squeal as he tumbled into the grass, his tiny fists clutching the wooden dragon, oblivious to the weight of the conversation around him.

“You think my father saw this?” you asked softly, your voice laced with disbelief. “Viserion, Damon, me—do you believe he foresaw it?”

Jaime shrugged, though there was a stiffness in his posture that belied his nonchalance. “I don’t know what to believe. But the way he spoke that day, it wasn’t like the other times. There was something… different. Something almost lucid, as though he were speaking a truth he couldn’t fully understand.”

You exhaled slowly, your gaze dropping to Damon as he sat in the grass, happily babbling to himself. “He was a man consumed by fire and shadows,” you said quietly. “His mind was broken long before that festival. Perhaps he glimpsed something, or perhaps he was just lost in his own madness.”

Jaime studied you for a moment, his tone softening. “And yet, here we are. A dragon at your command, a son who carries both fire and a lion’s strength, and a husband who rules with an iron will. Tell me, Y/N, does it feel like coincidence?”

You hesitated, the question hanging heavy between you. Your thoughts drifted to your father’s descent, to the visions you had seen at the High Heart, to Viserion’s unexplainable bond with you.

“No,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It doesn’t.”

Jaime nodded slowly, his gaze returning to Damon. “Then perhaps the Mad King wasn’t entirely mad. Perhaps he saw the fire in you, even then.”

You didn’t respond immediately, your thoughts too tangled to form words. Damon let out another delighted laugh, pulling your attention back to him. You knelt to scoop him up, holding him close as his tiny hands grasped at your hair, his innocent joy a balm against the heaviness in your chest.

“Whatever my father saw,” you said finally, your voice steady, “it doesn’t matter now. What matters is the future we shape for him”—you glanced at Damon—“and for the realm.”

Jaime watched you, his expression unreadable, though there was a faint trace of something like respect in his gaze. “Then let’s hope the fire that burns doesn’t consume us first.”

You nodded faintly, holding Damon close as you turned back toward the keep, the weight of Jaime’s words lingering in the air like the distant roar of a dragon.

The air inside the Dragonmont was oppressive, thick with heat and the faint metallic tang of sulfur. The torches along the stone walls flickered weakly, their light consumed by the vast shadow of Viserion, who lay coiled near the center of the chamber. Her cream-and-gold scales shone faintly in the low light, and her golden eyes followed every movement of the men below her with unnerving intensity.

The Lannister soldiers moved cautiously, hauling a fresh kill—an ox, its hide still streaked with blood—toward the she-dragon. The beast let out a low, rumbling growl, a sound that vibrated through the stone and sent shivers down the men’s spines. Her wings twitched slightly, a subtle reminder of her power, and her sharp claws scraped against the floor as she shifted her massive frame.

Tywin Lannister stood at a distance, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the scene unfold. His expression was unreadable, though his posture betrayed his ever-present command. The men were careful, their movements precise, but Tywin’s presence alone was enough to ensure their discipline.

You entered the cavern quietly, your steps light on the stone floor. The heat wrapped around you like a heavy cloak, but your gaze was drawn immediately to Viserion. The she-dragon had grown since the last time you’d seen her fed—her body larger, her movements more deliberate, more dangerous.

“She’s grown,” you murmured as you approached Tywin’s side, your voice soft but steady.

Tywin glanced at you briefly before returning his gaze to the dragon. “As she should,” he replied. “A dragon that does not grow strong is a dragon that dies. She must be at her full strength if she is to deter our enemies.”

You studied Viserion, the flicker of fire deep within her throat visible as she sniffed the air, her growl growing louder. “Enemies… and other things,” you said quietly, your words laced with a deeper meaning.

Tywin’s sharp gaze flicked to you, his eyes narrowing slightly, though he said nothing. His silence, as always, carried weight.

Viserion let out a powerful roar, her wings unfurling slightly as the ox was finally dragged closer. The sound echoed through the cavern, sending the soldiers scrambling back, their faces pale as they retreated to a safer distance. The dragon lunged forward, her jaws snapping shut around the carcass with a sickening crunch.

Tywin turned from the scene, his expression composed as always, though there was a flicker of something colder in his eyes. “Come,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “This place is no setting for conversation.”

You followed him out of the Dragonmont, the cool night air beyond the entrance a welcome relief after the suffocating heat of the cavern. The stars above were scattered like shards of glass, and the faint crash of waves against the cliffs below filled the silence as Tywin led you back toward the castle.

When you reached the privacy of your chambers, Tywin’s demeanor shifted slightly. The sharp edges of his command softened as he turned to you, his gaze lingering as though weighing his words. “You’ve spent too much time with your visions,” he said at last, his tone low but steady. “Do not let them consume you.”

You met his gaze, your expression calm but firm. “And if they’re more than visions? If they’re warnings?”

Tywin studied you for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then, with deliberate precision, he reached out, his hands resting on your arms as he drew you closer. “Then we will face them, as we have faced everything else,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a rare note of reassurance.

The tension in your shoulders eased slightly as you leaned into him, your head resting against his chest. His arms wrapped around you with a firmness that was both protective and grounding, his strength a quiet anchor against the storm of uncertainty within you.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you filled only by the faint crackle of the hearth and the distant roar of the sea. Tywin’s hand brushed gently along your back, a rare gesture of affection that spoke volumes in its quiet simplicity.

“You are stronger than you realize,” he said softly, his lips brushing against your hair. “Do not let shadows take that from you.”

You looked up at him, your gaze steady as you reached up to touch his face, your fingers brushing lightly against the hard lines of his jaw. “And you are far more than the lion the world sees,” you murmured.

His expression softened, just barely, as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. The weight of his presence, the solidity of his resolve, was a comfort unlike any other.

“Rest,” he said finally, his voice low but firm. “The world will demand enough of us come morning.”

And with that, he guided you toward the bed, his touch lingering as though he were reluctant to let you go, his rare moments of affection a reminder of the bond you had forged in fire and strength. Together, you faced the unknown, the weight of the realm and its secrets ever pressing—but for now, the shadows remained at bay.

The warmth of the hearth added to the quiet hum of the room, where the faint clinking of silverware and soft rustling of servants filled the silence. The table was modestly set compared to the grandeur of feasts, with fresh bread, fruit, and steaming plates of roasted fish caught from the Narrow Sea.

Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the table, his posture as rigid and commanding as ever, even during the quiet of breakfast. A goblet of wine rested beside his plate, untouched as he meticulously cut into his food. His pale green eyes were focused, though his expression was calm.

You sat beside him, Damon in a high-backed chair beside you, babbling happily as he clumsily grasped at bits of soft bread and fruit laid out for him. His wide eyes sparkled with curiosity as he looked at you, giggling when you handed him a small piece of pear.

“You’re enjoying yourself this morning,” you said softly to Damon, your tone warm.

The boy responded with a delighted squeal, dropping the pear piece and reaching for it again with chubby fingers. Tywin glanced at the display briefly, his expression unreadable as always, though his gaze lingered on his son for a moment longer than necessary.

“He’s restless,” Tywin observed, his voice calm but deliberate. “Perhaps too much excitement yesterday.”

You smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from Damon’s face. “He’s a boy, Tywin. It’s his nature to be curious.”

Tywin inclined his head slightly, though his sharp gaze shifted back to you. “And what mischief are you planning to indulge him with today?”

The hint of humor in his tone wasn’t lost on you, and you arched a brow, setting down your goblet of water. “Not mischief,” you replied smoothly. “I’ve been thinking about taking him flying with me.”

Tywin’s knife paused mid-motion over his plate, his gaze snapping to yours with a sudden intensity. “Flying,” he repeated, his tone even but edged with a hint of skepticism. “With Viserion.”

“Yes,” you said, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “She is my dragon. She would never harm him. I’ve been considering it for some time now.”

Tywin set his utensils down carefully, folding his hands on the table as he regarded you. “Do you think it wise to place our son on the back of a dragon at his age? He is barely walking, let alone capable of understanding the dangers involved.”

You leaned forward slightly, your voice calm but firm. “It isn’t about understanding the dangers, Tywin. It’s about bonding with her. He carries the blood of the dragon, as I do. He should know her, and she should know him.”

Tywin’s brows furrowed faintly, his sharp gaze assessing you. “He is a child, not a rider. This is not a matter of blood; it is a matter of safety.”

“I know you think of everything in terms of risk and gain,” you countered softly, your tone measured, “but this is different. Viserion already watches him as if she understands. She’s part of his legacy, Tywin. Part of ours. If not now, then when?”

Tywin was silent for a long moment, his eyes unyielding as they searched yours. Damon, oblivious to the conversation between his parents, clapped his hands happily, the piece of pear forgotten as he babbled incoherently.

Finally, Tywin exhaled through his nose, his voice calm but laced with authority. “You are determined.”

“I am,” you replied firmly.

He glanced at Damon, who was now gnawing on a piece of bread, his tiny fingers sticky with fruit juice. Tywin’s expression softened ever so slightly, though his tone remained resolute. “If you insist on this, then you will take every precaution. The saddle must be secure, and the flight must remain low and brief. I will not risk his safety for sentiment.”

You inclined your head, a faint smile curving your lips. “I wouldn’t dream of being careless. Thank you, Tywin.”

Tywin picked up his goblet of wine, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. “You would have done it regardless of my opinion.”

“Perhaps,” you said lightly, brushing Damon’s hair with your fingers. “But it’s easier when you agree.”

Tywin huffed faintly, though it wasn’t quite a laugh. He turned his attention back to his plate, though his gaze flicked occasionally to Damon, who continued to babble happily between bites.

As the morning light continued to fill the room, you felt a sense of anticipation building within you. Soon, Damon would take his first flight—not as a rider, not yet, but as part of something far greater.

And though Tywin’s stern presence remained a constant, you couldn’t ignore the faint glimmer of pride in his eyes as he watched his son, a lion born under the shadow of a dragon.

The warmth of the morning sun had given way to the cool shadows of the strategy chamber, where Tywin Lannister stood at a large table strewn with maps, missives, and sealed letters. A small brazier crackled in the corner, filling the room with the faint scent of smoke and iron. Varys, ever the picture of composed deference, stood a respectful distance away, his hands folded neatly in his flowing robes.

You lingered near the door, Damon balanced on your hip. His tiny hands were clutching the edge of your gown, his head resting against your shoulder as he dozed lightly after his morning meal. The room was quieter than usual, save for the occasional flick of paper or the soft scrape of Tywin’s quill against parchment.

Varys’s voice broke the silence, smooth and measured. “The Greyjoys have been notably restless in the past moons, my lord. Euron Greyjoy, in particular, has made waves. Rumors of his ventures to the east—exotic ships, dangerous alliances. I would advise keeping an eye on them.”

Tywin, who had been scanning a missive, did not look up. “The Greyjoys are a rabble, more pirate than ruler. They’ll amount to little unless someone more competent than Balon leads them.”

“Indeed,” Varys replied, his tone calm but pointed. “And yet, a rabble left unchecked can turn into a storm. Euron is ambitious, and ambition, as you know, can be as dangerous as fire.”

Tywin set the missive down and glanced at Varys. “I will not waste resources chasing rumors across the sea. If they dare bring trouble to Westeros, they will be dealt with.”

“As you say, my lord,” Varys said with a faint smile, inclining his head. “But it is often the smallest ripples that precede the greatest waves.”

Tywin’s expression remained impassive as he returned his attention to the documents before him. “Is that all?”

“For now,” Varys said, his pale eyes flickering briefly toward you and Damon. “Though I must commend Lady Y/N’s skill in diplomacy. The whispers from King’s Landing suggest her presence has quelled some of the more… vocal concerns.”

Your lips curved faintly, though you remained quiet, gently rocking Damon as he stirred against your shoulder. Tywin offered no response to Varys’s observation, his focus firmly on the papers before him.

With a final bow, Varys excused himself, gliding out of the room like a shadow.

The silence that followed was broken only by the faint crackle of the brazier and Damon’s soft breathing. You moved to a nearby chair, settling Damon down gently on your lap as he continued to doze. His tiny hand curled against your sleeve, and you smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

Tywin’s voice, calm but unexpectedly casual, cut through the quiet. “Do you want another child?”

You blinked, startled by the abruptness of the question. “What?”

Tywin didn’t look up, his eyes scanning a document in his hand. “Another child,” he repeated, his tone as matter-of-fact as if he were discussing troop movements. “Do you want one?”

You tilted your head, studying him carefully. “That’s a sudden question.”

Tywin finally set the document down, turning his gaze to you. His expression remained calm, though there was a flicker of something thoughtful in his eyes. “It’s a practical consideration. Damon is strong, but the realm’s future depends on legacy. Strength comes from numbers, especially in uncertain times.”

You glanced down at Damon, your fingers brushing over his tiny hand. “He is still so young, Tywin. I’m not sure I’m ready to think about another child so soon.”

Tywin’s gaze softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. “The decision is yours, but you should consider it. Our enemies grow bolder with each passing moon. A strong line ensures stability.”

You met his gaze, your voice calm but steady. “And what of love, Tywin? Do you want another child, or do you only want to strengthen the family name?”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change, though there was a pause before he spoke. “I want what is best for the realm. And for you.”

You tilted your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Sometimes, I wonder if you truly believe those two things can coexist.”

“They can,” he replied without hesitation. “When guided correctly.”

You sighed softly, turning your attention back to Damon, who stirred slightly in your lap. “I will think about it.”

Tywin inclined his head, as if satisfied with your answer, before returning his attention to the documents before him. But as he worked, his gaze flickered toward you and Damon more than once, the faintest trace of something unspoken lingering in his expression.

For now, the conversation was left hanging in the air, but the weight of it remained—a reminder of the delicate balance you both walked between duty and desire, between family and legacy.

The sky over Dragonstone was a perfect shade of blue, unmarred by clouds, with the salty wind sweeping in from the Narrow Sea. The sun hung high, casting light across the black stone of the ancient Targaryen keep. In the sprawling courtyard near the cliffs, a gathering of lords and ladies, along with Tywin Lannister and his retainers, stood in anticipation.

Viserion, the great she-dragon, loomed nearby. She stretched her wings wide, the movement sending a rush of air through the gathered crowd. The beast stood at the edge of the cliff, her massive frame poised as though she were preparing to leap into the sky. Her eyes followed every movement, every sound, her watchful gaze sharp as a blade.

You stood beside her, dressed in a riding gown reinforced with leather, your hair flowing freely in the breeze. At nearly two years old, Damon stood beside you, his chubby hands clutching at the edge of your cloak. His bright eyes were wide with curiosity, darting between you and Viserion as though he already understood the gravity of what was about to happen.

“Are you ready, my love?” you murmured to him, brushing a strand of his hair back. Damon responded with an excited squeal, his tiny hands reaching toward Viserion as though he could already claim the skies.

From a distance, Tywin watched, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes followed every movement with an intensity that left no room for doubt—he was scrutinizing everything, from your placement on the saddle to the way Viserion shifted her weight in response to your touch.

“Is it wise, my lord?” one of the visiting lords asked, his tone carrying a note of skepticism. “The boy is so young…”

Tywin’s gaze did not waver from you and Damon as he replied, his voice cold and resolute. “My son is a Targaryen as much as a Lannister. It is his birthright to know dragons.” He paused, his tone sharpening. “And his mother would not risk him lightly.”

The lord hesitated, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to press further under Tywin’s glare.

Nearby, Jaime Lannister leaned casually against a stone railing, watching the scene with mild curiosity. “You almost sound proud, Father,” he said, his voice low enough to be for Tywin alone. “A lion embracing the fire of Valyria.”

Tywin shot Jaime a stern look but said nothing, his focus returning to you as you adjusted the straps of the saddle on Viserion’s back.

You turned, carefully lifting Damon into the special riding harness you had commissioned for him. It secured him snugly against your chest, leaving your arms free to guide Viserion’s reins. The little boy laughed, wriggling with excitement as you climbed into the saddle, your movements practiced and sure.

“Easy now,” you murmured to Viserion, patting her side. The she-dragon rumbled in response, her body shifting slightly as she adjusted to your weight. Her massive head turned, one golden eye watching you as though awaiting your command.

From the cliff’s edge, Tywin’s voice carried over the wind. “Keep her low,” he called, his tone sharp. “No unnecessary risks.”

You glanced back at him, offering a faint smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Viserion let out a low growl, her wings extending fully as she began to crouch. Damon giggled again, his tiny hands reaching out as though he could grasp the sky itself. The crowd murmured nervously, several of the ladies clutching their cloaks as the dragon’s powerful muscles coiled in preparation.

With a single, mighty leap, Viserion launched herself into the air.

The force of her takeoff sent a rush of wind through the courtyard, scattering dust and causing the gathered lords and ladies to shield their faces. Tywin remained unmoving, his gaze following the dragon as she ascended into the sky.

Viserion’s wings beat powerfully, the sound like distant thunder as she soared upward. You guided her carefully, keeping the flight low and steady, circling the cliffs of Dragonstone. Damon’s laughter rang out like music, his joy uncontainable as he looked out over the vast expanse of sea and sky.

“Do you see, Damon?” you said softly, your voice carrying over the rush of wind. “This is what it means to be part of something greater. To touch the skies, to feel the fire in your blood.”

Viserion rumbled beneath you, her body moving with an ease that spoke of the bond you shared. The dragon’s eyes flicked back toward Damon, her gaze almost protective as she continued her steady flight.

From the courtyard, Tywin watched with a sharp eye, his expression unreadable. One of the retainers ventured to speak. “It’s… remarkable, my lord. To see them like this. The boy will grow into a legend.”

“He’ll grow into a man first,” Tywin replied coldly, though there was a faint flicker of pride in his tone. “Legends are only worth what they can achieve.”

Jaime smirked faintly. “And what about her?” he asked, nodding toward you and Viserion. “Your wife is already a legend.”

Tywin didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the dragon as she glided effortlessly through the sky. Finally, he said, “She’s my wife. That’s all that matters.”

As Viserion began her descent, the crowd murmured with awe, the unease in the air palpable as the dragon circled once more before landing gracefully on the cliff’s edge. The force of her wings stirred the air, sending cloaks billowing as you dismounted with practiced ease.

Damon was still laughing as you lifted him from the harness, his tiny hands reaching for Viserion as though he couldn’t bear to leave her side. You kissed his head, your heart full as you turned to face Tywin.

He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over you both with quiet intensity. “You’ve made your point,” he said, his tone clipped but not unkind. “He will know his legacy.”

“And he will be stronger for it,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze.

Tywin nodded once, his expression softening for the briefest of moments before he turned back to the waiting lords and ladies. Behind him, Viserion let out a low rumble, her eyes watching over you and Damon with a presence that felt almost… maternal.

The crowd began to disperse, the awe of the moment lingering in their whispers, but you stayed rooted where you were, your son cradled in your arms and the dragon at your back.

The cold wind whistled through the Wall, carrying with it the icy bite of the north. Castle Black stood as resolute as ever, its black stone walls a stark contrast against the endless white expanse beyond. The fires in the courtyard burned low, sending thin streams of smoke into the sky, their warmth doing little to stave off the relentless chill.

Jon Snow, now the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, stood in the common hall with Samwell Tarly, a mug of warmed ale clasped in his gloved hands. The room was sparse, lit by a few flickering torches, their flames casting long shadows over the rough-hewn wooden tables.

Sam sat across from him, bundled in layers to ward off the cold, his face pink from the wind. He was speaking animatedly, as he often did when his curiosity got the better of him, though Jon’s expression remained as stoic as ever.

“You must’ve heard by now,” Sam said, his tone hushed but excited, as though speaking of something forbidden. “About her. About… the dragon.”

Jon raised a brow, sipping his ale. “All of Westeros has heard, Sam.”

Sam leaned forward, his eyes wide with wonder. “Your mum. She has a dragon. Can you imagine? I mean, she raised you, taught you the ways of Winterfell, and now she rides a dragon. It’s… incredible.”

Jon’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. “She’s not my mother, not by blood.”

“Not by blood, no,” Sam agreed, waving his hand dismissively. “But in every other way that matters, she is. She raised you, didn’t she? Taught you to be honorable, like your father—like Ned Stark.”

Jon nodded, his expression softening. “She did. She was always there, even when I wasn’t easy to deal with. She never made me feel like a burden.”

Sam tilted his head, a curious smile playing on his lips. “And now she rides a dragon. A dragon, Jon. Can you imagine? What’s it like, knowing your mum commands something so… so legendary?”

Jon’s gaze drifted to the mug in his hands, his voice quiet but steady. “I don’t know. It’s strange. I remember her teaching me to care for the direwolves when we first found them. She told me to respect their wildness, their strength. Maybe it’s not so different with dragons.”

Sam let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Not so different, he says. A wolf’s one thing, but a dragon? Jon, that’s a creature of fire and fury. It could burn armies to ash.”

“She wouldn’t let it,” Jon said firmly, meeting Sam’s gaze. “She’s not like that. She’s… measured. Careful.”

Sam nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Still, it must be something. To know she’s out there, riding a dragon like the Targaryens of old. Like… like she’s from a story.”

Jon let out a faint huff of laughter, though there was no humor in it. “She always said dragons were more than fire. That they were a symbol of strength, of something ancient.” His voice softened, and he added, “I never thought I’d see the day she’d have one of her own.”

Sam’s brow furrowed as he studied Jon. “Do you think she’s happy? I mean, with all of it—being tied to a dragon, to… to the Lannisters.”

Jon hesitated, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know. She’s always done what she thought was best—for her, for her family. If she made that choice, it’s because she believed it was the right one.”

Sam nodded, though his expression remained contemplative. “And you? How does it feel, knowing she’s out there, riding a dragon, shaping the world in ways we can’t even imagine?”

Jon leaned back slightly, his gaze distant as though looking beyond the walls of Castle Black. “It feels… strange. Like the world’s moving faster than I can keep up with. But if anyone can tame a dragon and still hold onto who they are, it’s her.”

The two men sat in silence for a moment, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. Finally, Sam spoke, his tone quieter now. “She’d be proud of you, you know. Of what you’ve done here.”

Jon glanced at him, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Maybe. But I think she’d still tell me to stay out of trouble.”

Sam chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “That sounds like her.”

Jon’s smile faded as his thoughts drifted again, his mind filled with images of dragons, fire, and the woman who had been a mother to him in all the ways that mattered. Somewhere out there, beyond the Wall and the reach of the Night’s Watch, she was riding a beast of legend, carrying the weight of her choices and her legacy.

Sam leaned forward, his elbows resting on the worn wooden table, his curiosity etched into his round face. “Jon,” he began hesitantly, his voice softer now, “didn’t you say… when you were beyond the Wall, nearly a year ago—you thought you saw her?”

Jon stiffened slightly, his gaze dropping to the mug of ale in his hands. The memory stirred something uneasy within him, something he hadn’t fully allowed himself to confront. “I thought I did,” he said finally, his voice low, distant. “But it wasn’t… clear.”

Sam’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean? What did you see?”

Jon exhaled slowly, setting the mug down on the table as his hands rested flat against the wood. His eyes were shadowed, the weight of his recollection pressing heavily on his shoulders. “It was like a specter,” he said, his voice steady but laced with uncertainty. “Like she was there—but then she wasn’t. Like something from a dream.”

Sam straightened slightly, his curiosity piqued. “But it was her? You’re certain?”

Jon hesitated, his jaw tightening as he thought back to that moment. The icy winds of the far north, the endless expanse of white, the shadows that moved at the edges of his vision. And then… her. Or what he thought was her.

“She was hurt,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “There was blood. And her face… it looked like her, but different. As if the cold had reached inside her and—” He stopped, shaking his head. “It didn’t feel real. It felt like… like she was a memory trying to take shape.”

Sam leaned back, his expression contemplative. “A specter,” he repeated, his voice thoughtful. “The north is full of strange things, Jon. Ghosts, shadows, things that shouldn’t be. But if it was her—if even a part of her was there—maybe there’s something more to it.”

Jon glanced at Sam, his dark brows drawing together. “What are you saying, Sam?”

Sam shrugged slightly, though his tone remained serious. “Maybe there’s a reason you saw her. A connection. You said she raised you, taught you everything you know. Maybe that bond runs deeper than we understand.”

Jon frowned, his gaze drifting to the fire as he considered Sam’s words. “I don’t know, Sam. It felt… wrong. Like she wasn’t supposed to be there.”

“But what if she was?” Sam pressed gently. “What if she was trying to protect you? To warn you?”

Jon’s jaw tightened, his thoughts turning over the possibilities. The memory of her face, pale and distant, haunted him still. He had dismissed it at the time, chalking it up to exhaustion, to the tricks the north could play on a man’s mind. But now, with Sam’s words stirring doubts, he wasn’t so sure.

“If it was her,” Jon said slowly, his voice heavy, “then she was in pain. She didn’t speak. She just… looked at me. Like she was trying to tell me something, but she couldn’t.”

Sam’s expression softened, his gaze steady on Jon. “Do you regret not going after her?”

Jon shook his head, his voice firm. “There was nothing to go after. She was there, and then she wasn’t. Like a shadow disappearing in the light.”

The room fell into silence, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Sam fidgeted with the edge of his cloak, his thoughts clearly racing, while Jon stared into the fire, his expression unreadable.

Finally, Sam broke the quiet. “If it was her, Jon… maybe it’s not too late to find out why. Maybe she’s still connected to you, somehow.”

Jon didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the flames. The thought of her—of the woman who had been his mother in every way but blood—lingering out there, tied to him in ways he couldn’t comprehend, sent a shiver down his spine.

“I don’t know what it means, Sam,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “But if she’s out there, I hope she’s safe. That’s all I can hope for.”

Sam nodded, his expression thoughtful but filled with quiet determination. “Then maybe the north isn’t done with her yet. Or with you.”

Jon didn’t answer, the firelight flickering in his eyes as his mind drifted back to that frozen moment beyond the Wall, to the specter of the woman who had given him strength when he had none. And though he didn’t say it aloud, a part of him wondered if he would ever see her again—not as a shadow, but as the woman she truly was.

[neuroprincess]

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Tyrant - Alex Cabot/Female Reader

Alex Cabot/Female Reader

Summary: Alex's apartment still has the Christmas tree up in February for a reason, a small and demanding reason.

Classification: Fluff

Warnings: None

Word count: +1200

The snowfall of the night before had covered the city streets and turned gray into white; it would be quite a sight in the early hours of the morning with the sun rising between the buildings and skyscrapers. Alex is sitting on the divan near the window, occasionally sipping the hot coffee in hand, but her observant eyes are fixed on the other side of the room, where the Christmas tree was still in all its shiny glory, full of decorations and twinkling lights... in February. The lights glowed softly, reflecting the four colors on the wooden floor and creating a neon illumination. A couple of feet away, between the attorney and the only remaining decoration of the festive season, was Margot, nestled in her baby swing, also staring at the lights, but unlike her mom, with wide, fascinated eyes.

“You know, it's the end of February...” Alex commented over her shoulder to her wife, who was sorting out a pile of blankets on the sofa “Most people have already taken down all their Christmas decorations.”

Y/N snorted and tried not to roll her eyes, after all, they were the ones who had put themselves in that situation.

“Most people don't have a little five-month-old tyrant who refuses to sleep without them and won't even let us sleep.”

As if to emphasize the point, the baby cooed softly, reaching out a chubby hand towards the largest hanging ornaments, as she has done ever since she learned to grasp. Alex shook her head in disbelief, laughing, and took a big sip of coffee before heading towards the tree.

“We really need to talk about this, sweetheart.” she said, turning to her daughter, who blinked at her innocently, giving an almost toothy smile “But not now, right, Mag?!”

“She's got you wrapped around her little finger and she knows it.” Y/N teased, placing a folded patterned blanket in the arm band and walking over to her wife “Not that I mind. It's cute.”

“She's not even six months old. How much power can she really have? I am a grown woman and very...” Alex scoffed and crouched down to stroke the strands of hair escaping from under the knitted cap "Forget about it, maybe you're right."

It all started in December, of course, just after the couple had prepared the house with care and dedication to spend their first Christmas as a family. Naturally, Alex had taken care of most of the details with safety in mind, such as battery-operated candles instead of the traditional ones, no strong scents, no heavy or pointy ornaments and even the tree didn't escape this, synthetic, without any dirt or possible bugs or possible allergies, practical and beautiful. At night, when the lights were turned on and Margot was lulled to sleep on the sofa with soft lullabies, sometimes breastfed until she fell asleep, the world was perfect and they felt lucky to have a calm and not at all demanding baby. They couldn't have imagined how wrong they were.

It was at the beginning of January that the first hint of what they would face emerged. The routine was set: a warm bath, diaper change, feeding and, finally, the delicate transition to sleep. But then, as soon as they started cleaning up after the holidays, what was supposed to be a calm night turned into a nightmare for first-time mothers. Margot, normally quiet and prone to falling asleep without resistance, squirmed restlessly in Y/N's arms while Alex organized the kitchen. Soon low grumbles became a loud, shrill cry, louder and longer than any moment before.

“What's wrong, little one?” Y/N murmured, rocking her gently, while her daughter mumbled and moved little hands between cries that left her face red and wet, eyes blinking sleepily, but not completely surrendering to rest “Do you want Mommy?”

Without much thought, she got up and walked to the living room, where she found the blonde on the way, already wiping hands and taking off the apron, with a worried look, they stared at each other without knowing exactly what to do, before they could check for colic or fever, she felt her daughter's body relax against hers. Only then did she realize that they were standing next to the Christmas tree.

“Oh, you just wanted the lights, did you?” she whispered, sighing in small relief as she felt Margot's head rest against her chest.

Alex, watching the scene with a mixture of fascination and incredulity, crossed her arms.

“So that's it?” she asked in another whisper, afraid of disturbing the sleep that had barely begun.

Her wife shrugged, trying not to smile.

“Our daughter seems to be a bit demanding and a girl of habits, she's clearly inherited that from you.”

And that's how it all began. The couple got quiet nights with a sleepy baby and a few hours of sleep for themselves as long as the tree lights kept shining, even if it meant sometimes falling asleep in the living room while they nursed the baby to sleep or even setting up a mobile crib nearby for when they were doing chores or some rare leisure time, and leaving the doors open all night so that the lights reached wherever little Cabot was. Alex tried to object a few times, suggesting alternatives such as less flashy night lights, soft sounds or putting a few Chistmas lights in the nursery, but nothing had the same effect as the extravagant, richly decorated tree. When they tried to turn it off for a whole night, Margot protested with an incessant cry that didn't end until they, defeated, got up and turned it on again.

“She's manipulating us.” Alex concluded incredulously, throwing herself on the bed, eyes half-closed with sleep, her wife lying down beside her sighing tiredly.

The blonde knows it's not true, after all, it's only a baby and as smart as she is for her age she wouldn't be capable of such a thing, she just couldn't help herself and made a joke in the midst of exhaustion and the notion that maybe they were guilty of it.

“She's only four months old, Alex.”

“Four months and knows how to get what she wants from us.”

And so the tree stood. January passed in the blink of an eye and Margot continued to be obsessed with the lights. Now, at the peak of February, Alex had completely surrendered to the absurd reality that her once plain and almost minimalist living room was still decorated as if Christmas was just around the corner. They tried to turn it off last night, thinking that the baby had finally gotten over it, but ended up dealing with a lot of crying and not being able to sleep for more than two hours.

“Maybe we should just accept that this house is now a shrine to the Christmas spirit,” joked Y/N, leaning her head on the blonde's shoulder as they smiled at their daughter, who was still staring at the tree with sleepy eyes under long lashes, mumbling, “She's so cute.”

Alex let out a resigned sigh and intertwined their fingers over her shoulder.

“I just want you to know that when she learns to talk and insists on putting up the tree and decorating the house in August, it will be your fault.”

“Whatever...” Y/N smiled and kissed the skin between Alex's shoulder and neck “As long as she keeps sleeping through the night.”

Margot let out a small sound of contentment, as if she knew her victory was assured, and yawned.

“I think Mag is ready for sleep.”

“And to let us rest, I hope.”

“Twinkle, twinkle, our little tyrant...”

taglist: @geekyandgay98 @heidss @quailbagutte @prentiss-theorem @multifandomlesbianic @storiesofsvu @evattude @tmlwattpad19

Join my taglist here ^^

[saebyeokbliss]

JUST MEET ME AT THE APT.— K. SAE-BYEOK

CHAPTER FOUR

synopsis: managing a rising rock band is already chaotic enough, but when you're stuck touring with four reckless musicians, things get even messier. between late-night facetime calls, teasing that feels a little too knowing, and a certain guitarist who might just be your biggest problem, keeping things professional is getting harder by the second. but hey, no one said the music industry was easy.

warnings: mutual pining, intense eye contact, teasing that borders on flirting (or maybe it is flirting), friends who refuse to mind their business, late-night facetime calls, secondhand embarrassment, slow burn that burns, emotional whiplash

playlist: spotify

The energy was electric.

Crew members bustled around, setting up instruments, testing lights, and making sure every single detail was perfect for HOT DIVISION’s set. The air was thick with excitement and nerves, the distant rumble of music from other stages blending into the chaos of last-minute preparations.

And you?

You were in full manager mode.

Clipboard in hand, headset on, you weaved through the madness, making sure everything was running smoothly. Equipment? Check. Soundcheck schedule? Check. Wardrobe and makeup team ready? Almost check.

You had been dreaming of this moment for them—for the band you had worked so hard to support. Seeing them about to take one of the biggest stages in the world made all the stress worth it.

But then—

You saw her.

Or rather, her with someone else.

Sae-Byeok was leaning casually against a metal barricade near the side of the stage, talking to a girl.

A very pretty girl.

She was dressed in classic festival fashion—cropped top, glittering makeup, the kind of effortlessly cool vibe that made her look like she belonged in this world.

And worst of all?

She and Sae-Byeok seemed to be getting along.

You couldn’t hear what they were saying over the noise, but you saw the way Sae-Byeok was actually engaging, nodding along as the girl spoke, even letting out a small chuckle at something she said.

Your stomach twisted.

You had seen Sae-Byeok brush off plenty of people before—overzealous fans, industry types trying too hard, people who just wanted a piece of her fame. But right now?

She wasn’t brushing this girl off.

She was comfortable.

And that realization sent a slow, crushing weight through your chest.

You knew you had no right to feel this way.

Sae-Byeok wasn’t yours.

Yeah, sure, she had been acting possessive last night. And yeah, maybe she had been looking at you like she wanted to devour you.

But that didn’t mean anything.

Not when she could easily turn around and give that same attention to someone else.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look away.

This wasn’t your problem.

You had a job to do.

Shaking off the sinking feeling, you turned and made your way toward the dressing area, where Ji-Yeong, Se-Mi, and No-Eul were getting their final outfit fittings and makeup touch-ups.

"Alright," you announced as you walked in, plastering on a professional smile, "who’s not ready yet?"

Se-Mi groaned from where she was sitting, half-dressed in her stage outfit. "Me. My eyeliner is fighting me today."

Ji-Yeong, already fully dressed and sprawled on a couch, smirked. "That’s because you insist on doing it yourself instead of letting the makeup team help you."

Se-Mi shot her a glare. "It’s called artistic control, Ji-Yeong."

No-Eul, adjusting her jacket in the mirror, sighed. "It’s called being stubborn."

You chuckled, grateful for the distraction. "Alright, let me help before you stab yourself in the eye."

As you grabbed the eyeliner from Se-Mi and leaned down to fix her makeup, you felt the weight on your chest ease just a little.

This was where you belonged.

This was what mattered.

Not whatever—or whoever—Sae-Byeok was doing outside.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

The sun was setting, casting an amber glow over the festival grounds as the anticipation in the crowd built to a fever pitch. Thousands of fans pressed against the barricades, chanting the band’s name, their energy feeding into the electric atmosphere.

And then—

The stage lights exploded to life.

Ji-Yeong’s voice tore through the speakers, raw and commanding, as the first chords of their opening song ripped through the festival air. No-Eul’s drumming was a force of nature, steady and powerful, while Se-Mi’s bass thrummed deep in your chest, vibrating through every nerve in your body.

And Sae-Byeok?

Sae-Byeok played like she was born for this.

Her fingers moved effortlessly over the strings, each note dripping with emotion, her body moving with the music in a way that made it impossible to look away. The crowd was losing it—screaming, singing, reaching for her like she was something divine.

You stood among them, not in the VIP section, not backstage, but in the middle of it all.

For once, you weren’t just watching from the sidelines as their manager.

You were here, in the crowd, with them.

And you couldn’t stop staring at her.

The way Sae-Byeok tilted her head back as she played, lost in the music. The way sweat glistened on her skin under the stage lights. The way she moved—calculated yet effortless, like she knew exactly what she was doing to everyone watching.

Including you.

It wasn’t fair.

And yet, you couldn’t look away.

When their set ended, the energy was still crackling in the air, the crowd reluctant to let them go. But security ushered them offstage, and you slipped backstage to meet them, heart still racing.

Ji-Yeong was buzzing, practically jumping on Se-Mi, who was laughing uncontrollably. No-Eul, ever the calm one, simply wiped sweat from her forehead and took a long sip of water.

And Sae-Byeok?

She was already looking for you.

The moment her eyes met yours, something unspoken passed between you. A shared moment of we did it.

But before you could say anything—

"That was insane!"

You turned to see her.

The girl from earlier.

She was standing next to Sae-Byeok, grinning as she handed her a bottle of water.

You forced yourself to stay neutral. Be professional.

"Who’s this?" Ji-Yeong asked, intrigued.

The girl smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Jisoo."

Se-Mi raised an eyebrow. "Fan?"

Jisoo glanced at Sae-Byeok, something amused in her expression. "Something like that."

Sae-Byeok didn’t deny it.

Your stomach twisted.

"She’s cool," No-Eul said, surprising you. "She kept things low-key during soundcheck. Didn’t try to sneak backstage or anything."

Se-Mi smirked. "Ohhh, so she’s not one of the crazy ones."

Jisoo laughed. "I promise I’m not trying to expose anyone. I just… really love their music."

Ji-Yeong nudged Sae-Byeok. "You got yourself a wholesome groupie, huh?"

Sae-Byeok rolled her eyes but didn’t refute it.

And just like that—just like that—Jisoo was in.

The girls liked her.

She was cool.

She wasn’t throwing herself at Sae-Byeok, wasn’t trying too hard—she was just there.

And it made everything so much worse.

After cleaning up and changing into more casual clothes, the group decided to enjoy the rest of the festival like normal attendees—well, as normal as possible when you’re literal rockstars.

Disguises were necessary. Hoodies, sunglasses, hats—anything to keep them from getting mobbed. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked well enough to let them slip into the crowd unnoticed.

You ended up near the main stage, surrounded by thousands of people, watching Lana Del Rey perform under the desert sky.

Her voice was haunting, filling the warm night air, wrapping around you like a dream.

And yet—

You weren’t paying attention.

Because Sae-Byeok was next to you.

And Jisoo was next to her.

They weren’t touching, weren’t even talking much, but the sheer fact that she was still there, still with her, was enough to make your chest ache.

You were supposed to be enjoying this.

But instead, you felt like you were losing something you never really had.

As the night went on, you eventually slipped away from the group, needing a moment to breathe.

You found yourself near a quieter section of the festival grounds, watching the distant glow of the Ferris wheel, trying to push down the feelings threatening to consume you.

You should be happy.

HOT DIVISION had just killed their Coachella set. You were finally here, finally with them, finally a part of the experience.

So why did it feel like something was slipping through your fingers?

"Didn’t think you were the type to wander off alone."

You jumped slightly, turning to see Sae-Byeok standing behind you, hands in her hoodie pockets.

Your heart did that stupid fluttering thing again.

You forced a small smile. "Just needed some air."

She nodded, stepping closer. "You disappeared."

You raised an eyebrow. "Not like anyone noticed."

Sae-Byeok’s gaze flickered over your face. "I did."

Your breath caught.

But before you could say anything, a voice called out—

"There you are!"

Jisoo.

Sae-Byeok glanced over her shoulder as Jisoo jogged up, slightly breathless. "I was looking for you. The others are heading toward Chappell Roan’s set."

You took a step back.

Of course.

Sae-Byeok turned back to you, like she wanted to say something—but she didn’t.

Instead, she simply nodded, following Jisoo back toward the crowd.

Leaving you there.

Alone.

And this time, the ache in your chest didn’t go away.

taglist: @everly-summers-solace @knfthxv @madebysae @knfthxv @katieschry1 @imlackingsleep @lyzem @stellssxo @wiltingconquest @peelover25@monroesturnns @laurenkens @yenyu1s @idontliketoread2137 @bitchybananaflower @lyuuw

[defjux]

Here are 120 of my favorite hip hop albums, with only the first two rows being in order. This was tough for me, I tried to be as fair as possible and include the albums I grew up listening to that impacted me the most while also including the more recent albums that I listen to all the time. I’ll post the list below, and a version of the charts with the titles included. Let me know what you think, are any of your favorites here? If you've got a list of your own favorites, i'd love to see it. Peace. Chart with album titles included 1. De La Soul - Buhloone Mindstate 2. Cannibal Ox - The Cold Vein 3. Aesop Rock - The Impossible Kid 4. Billy Woods & Blockhead - Dour Candy 5. Company Flow - Funcrusher Plus 6. Madvillain - Madvillainy 7. OutKast - ATLiens 8. Mos Def - Black On Both Sides 9. El-P - I'll Sleep When You're Dead 10. Edan - Beauty & The Beat 11. Armand Hammer - Paraffin 12. Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth - The Main Ingredient 13. GZA - Liquid Swords 14. The Roots - Illadelph Halflife 15. Ghostface Killah - Supreme Clientele 16. Hermit and the Recluse - Orpheus vs. the Sirens 17. Organized Konfusion - Stress: The Extinction Agenda 18. A Tribe Called Quest - Midnight Marauders 19. Wu-Tang Clan - Enter the Wu-Tang ( 36 Chambers) 20. Camp Lo - Uptown Saturday Night 21. Redman - Dare Iz A Darkside 22. The Pharcyde - Labcabincalifornia 23. Aceyalone - A Book of Human Language 24. Black Moon - Enta Da Stage

25. zeroh - awfulalterations 26. Dark Time Sunshine - ANX 27. Jam Baxter - …So We Ate Them Whole 28. Freestyle Fellowship - Innercity Griots 29. Siah & Yeshua dapoED - The Visualz Anthology 30. Black Star - Mos Def & Talib Kweli Are Black Star 31. MF DOOM - Operation: Doomsday 32. Little Brother - The Minstrel Show 33. Digable Planets - Blowout Comb 34. De La Soul - Stakes Is High 35. Juggaknots - Re:Release 36. Cavalier - Private Stock 37. Dr. Yen Lo - Days With Dr. Yen Lo 38. Mach-Hommy - DUMPMEISTER 39. Cult Favorite - FOR MADMEN ONLY 40. Aesop Rock - Skelethon 41. Earl Sweatshirt - some rap songs 42. Boldy James & Sterling Toles - Manger on McNichols 43. Open Mike Eagle & Paul White - Hella Personal Film Festival 44. Common Sense - Resurrection 45. Avantdale Bowling Club - Avantdale Bowling Club 46. CunninLynguists - A Piece of Strange 47. Armand Hammer - Shrines 48. The Roots - Things Fall Apart 49. Deltron 3030 - Deltron 3030 50. The Doppelgangaz - Lone Sharks 51. Gang Starr - Moment Of Truth 52. Serengeti & Kenny Segal - Ajai 53. Heltah Skeltah - Nocturnal 54. E L U C I D - REVELATOR 55. Raekwon - Only Built 4 Cuban Linx… 56. Billy Woods & Kenny Segal - Hiding Places 57. Jeru the Damaja - The Sun Rises In The East 58. Smif-n-Wessun - Dah Shinin 59. Big K.R.I.T. - 4eva Is a Mighty Long Time 60. O.C. - Word…Life 61 .Mach-Hommy - The G.A.T. (The Gospel According To…) 62. EPMD - Strictly Business 63. Ultramagnetic MC's - Critical Beatdown 64. Mobb Deep - The Infamous 65. Cities Aviv - MAN PLAYS THE HORN 66. Navy Blue - Gift of Gabriel: Rain’s Reign! 67. Milo - who told you to think??!!?!?!?! 68. Oddisee - The Good Fight 69. Eric B. & Rakim - Follow the Leader 70. Mr Key & Greenwood Sharps - Yesterday's Futures 71. Blackalicious - Nia 72. Quasimoto - The Further Adventures of Lord Quas 73. Shabazz Palaces - Black Up 74. Lord Finesse - The Awakening 75. Prince Paul - A Prince Among Thieves 76. Roc Marciano - Reloaded 77. Masta Ace - A Long Hot Summer 78. Sonic Sum - The Sanity Annex 79. Quelle Chris - Guns 80. Nas - Illmatic 81. Binary Star - Masters of the Universe 82. Souls of Mischief - 93 'til Infinity 83. Slum Village - Fan-Tas-Tic, Vol. 2 84. Mavi - let the sun talk 85. Public Enemy - It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back 86. Gravediggaz - 6 Feet Deep 87. Illogic - Celestial Clockwork 88. Blu & Exile - Below the Heavens 89. Dr. Octagon - Dr. Octagonecologyst 90. Mike - Disco! 91. Nickelus F & Ohbliv - Yellow Gold 3 92. lojii - due rent 93. The Koreatown Oddity - Little Dominiques Nosebleed 94. Dälek - From Filthy Tongue of Gods and Griots 95. Mos Def - The Ecstatic 96. Lords of the Underground - Here Come the Lords 97. Cities Aviv - Working Title For The Album Secret Waters 98 .Onry Ozzborn - c v p ii d 99. Fly Anakin & Big Kahuna OG - Holly Water 100. Black Milk - No Poison No Paradise 101. Busdriver - Thumbs 102. Kendrick Lamar - To Pimp a Butterfly 103. Artifacts - Between a Rock and a Hard Place 104. Mike Ladd - Welcome to the Afterfuture 105. Defcee & knowsthetime - Lacuna 106. R.A.P. Ferreira - purple moonlight pages 107. Scarface - The Diary 108. Mad Moon - MAD SPACE 109. Skipp Coon - Miles Garvey 110. Mattic & Madwreck - Ill Scholars 111. Mood - Doom 112. NoName - Room 25 113. Deca - The Ocean 114. Darc Mind - Symptomatic of a Greater Ill 115. Pete Rock & Ini - Center of Attention 116. Count Bass D - Dwight Spitz 117. Showbiz & A.G. - Goodfellas 118. Y Society - Travel At Your Own Pace 119. Theravada - Xenophon 120. Versis - Illcandescent

[salt-clangen]

Moon 16

Green Leaf

Lynxdawn was a miracle worker—Snowspeckle was sure of it. In less than a moon, Nightleap was already up and moving again. It had taken countless poultices and strict nest rest, but her wound had finally closed, leaving behind a fresh pink scar. It was rigid and sensitive, but it held her mate’s weight again.

Just in time for Greenleaf’s sweltering heat to settle over the clans. Snowspeckle was grateful for the ocean breeze that cut through the rising temperatures, though she knew her darker-furred clanmates struggled more with the heat. That was why, in the cool hush of early morning, she asked Nightleap to join her on a gathering patrol.

The black molly agreed without hesitation—any excuse to spend time with her beloved—and the two of them set out with their baskets.

Snowspeckle chatted as they walked, her voice light and warm. She spoke of the upcoming Longest Day Festival, the decorations SaltClan was tasked with, and how HoneyClan’s artisans had kept their assignment simple: crafting flower, bee, and sun charms to hang at the gathering place. They wandered the shore collecting wood and cordage materials, the gentle rhythm of Snowspeckle’s words soothing Nightleap’s nerves.

But there was a nagging thought she couldn’t shake.

“I think we should have another litter,” Nightleap blurted out.

Snowspeckle froze mid-step, her words cut short. She turned to face Nightleap fully, expression unreadable. “You do?”

Nightleap shrugged, but excitement flickered beneath her nonchalance. “Yeah. I think we’re in a good place. It’d be nice.”

Snowspeckle hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t think now is the time.”

The answer hit like a wave crashing against rock. Disappointment surged in Nightleap’s chest, hot and sharp. She turned away, ears twitching as she resumed walking, silent.

Snowspeckle hurried after her. “It’s just—my first kitting was hard to recover from,” she explained, voice gentle but firm. “And I’m deputy now. I need to focus on my duties.”

Nightleap didn’t respond. Her jaw was tight, her steps clipped.

The tension between them crackled like fire, thick and oppressive. Snowspeckle sighed, then cut in front of her, stepping into her space and pressing their foreheads together.

“Hey.” Her voice softened. “Talk to me.”

The warmth in her tone shattered the last of Nightleap’s restraint.

“I…” Nightleap exhaled sharply, ears flicking back. “I want another litter so I can be there when they’re young.” She swallowed hard, shame creeping into her voice. “I feel like I don’t have a strong bond with our sons. It feels weird even calling them that.”

A shadow crossed Snowspeckle’s face. She stepped back, tail flicking. When she spoke, she fought to keep her voice even.

“Kits aren’t do-overs or second chances.”

Nightleap flinched. “I know! I know. But it’s how I feel.”

“You don’t need another litter to grow closer to them,” Snowspeckle said, her voice gentler now. “You might not be close now, but there’s still time. You have so many chances to bond as they grow.”

She let the words sink in before adding, “Think about how close you and Ripplepaw have gotten. It’s not impossible.”

The morning sun peeked over the horizon, turning the air muggy and thick. Nightleap shifted uncomfortably, struggling to find the right words.

“You don’t have to say anything now,” Snowspeckle murmured, stepping closer to press a fond lick to her cheek. “Let’s get to the trees, stay out of the sun while we work. Yeah?”

Nightleap nodded and shyly bumped her head against her mate’s. She still felt the weight of disappointment, but Snowspeckle was right—she needed to try.

Her paws felt heavy as they made their way to the tree line, but as she caught the warmth in her mate’s gaze, something in her chest lightened.

Everything was going well for Mallowstripe. Every day, he courted Shadowdive, bringing the large tom gifts and lingering by his side. In turn, Wolfstar courted him—her words and gestures flustering him even as he worked.

Even under the sweltering Greenleaf sun, with the fires and ovens making the air thick and oppressive, he felt giddy whenever either of them approached. They seemed to enjoy teasing him—Shadowdive smirking as Mallowstripe stuttered through the day’s meal plans, pressing his heavy body against the smaller tom’s side. Wolfstar, on the other paw, would murmur praises in his ear, for the food and for him.

It was perfect. Exactly what he had always wanted.

So why did his heart race like he was being hunted? Why did the shadows stretch too long at night? Why did he brace for the worst every time a cat entered camp too quickly?

Nothing was wrong. He knew that. Nothing was happening. There was no immediate danger, no reason for his paws to shake or his stomach to churn. His life was too good to ruin with his nerves.

And yet, when Wolfstar was gone too long, he hid behind the oven or curled up in the warriors’ den, shivering like a leaf caught in a storm. He tried what Darkfold had taught him so many moons ago—deep breaths, counting on the exhale—but it didn’t help.

Mallowstripe felt powerless, out of control. Embarrassed.

Today’s panic hit at sunhigh, nearly halfway through the moon. It started slow—prickling at the base of his tail like ants crawling under his fur. He tensed, willing himself to push through, to focus on the evening’s meal preparations. The camp was mostly empty, warriors and apprentices dozing in the dens through the worst of the heat.

And still, the feeling spread, creeping up his spine, bristling his hackles. His face itched, his scar burned, and the heat from the oven pressed in like suffocating paws.

It was too easy to lose everything.

The thought seized him, and he gasped, choking on his own breath. He pressed himself against the stone wall, claws sinking into the sand as images flashed behind his eyes—scenes of terror and death. Memories. Possibilities. He squeezed his eyes shut against them, trembling all over.

A small paw pad pressed against his hip.

A normal warrior would leap at the unexpected touch. Mallowstripe only curled in on himself.

Pathetic.

The ringing in his head made it hard to hear, but someone was speaking. He forced his eyes open and found Coralkit standing over him, her wide, curious gaze locked onto his.

He let out a shaky breath. The sight of her—so small, so unaffected by whatever monsters lurked in his head—was enough to drag him back, at least a little. Still shaking, he retracted his claws and tried to shift away.

But Coralkit was nothing if not stubborn. She pressed in closer. He wanted to snap at her, to tell her to go away���to shove down the shame clawing at his throat—but he couldn’t. She nosed her way under his chin, tucking herself against him, small enough to fit between his cheek and shoulder.

It was too hot for this. His pelt burned, but her nose was cold against his fur. She purred—a small, trilling sound, forced and high-pitched, like she wasn’t used to doing it on purpose.

Still, it soothed him.

He hadn’t even realized he was crying until he felt the warm, salty wetness on his fur.

They stayed like that for a long time. Long enough for his chest to stop aching and his breathing to steady. When he finally purred back, her own purr wobbled, going even higher.

At last, Coralkit pulled away, no doubt sweltering in her thick coat. She stood, peering up at him. “Is it better?”

Mallowstripe swallowed, his throat dry. “Y-yeah. A lot better. Th-thank you.”

Her tail flicked, pleased. “Are you ready to go to ma—Lynxdawn?”

He stiffened at the suggestion. The movement didn’t escape her shining eyes.

“It’d be good,” she pressed gently. “She can help. She says clerics take care of every part of a cat, even their mind.”

Mallowstripe couldn’t meet her gaze. “I think I’ll be fine.” He forced a smile, ears flicking back. “I’ll go if it happens again.”

Coralkit frowned, clearly unconvinced. “But this has happened before. A lot. Like, every day at least.”

She took a step closer, like she might curl up against him again, but this time, he stood.

Her ears dropped. He could see it in her face—like he’d just cut her off, shut her out.

Shame burned under his fur. What kind of warrior needed comfort from a kit?

“It’s fine,” he insisted, voice sharper than intended. “I can handle it.”

“But—”

“I said it’s fine!” He snapped, his tail lashing.

A normal kit would have flinched. Would have run off, tail tucked.

But Coralkit was not a normal kit.

She held her ground, her expression shifting—not scared, not angry. Just… sad.

“I thought you were dying,” she murmured.

Mallowstripe stilled, her words knocking the breath from his lungs. “What?”

“The first time I saw it happen, I thought you were hurt.” She scuffed a paw against the ground. “But then you got up again. And this time, you… you looked like Fennelheart when he was sick.”

A chill seeped into his bones despite the heat.

He had never considered what it must look like from the outside. What it must feel like for a kit to witness.

Coralkit kept her gaze on her paws. “It was really scary. So I came to check on you.”

Mallowstripe swallowed hard. “How long have you known?”

“A couple days.” She shrugged, though he suspected longer.

“Does… does your mother know?”

She shook her head, ears flicking.

He hesitated. He should brush it off, tell her he was fine. But she wasn’t wrong.

And she wasn’t going to let it go.

“…I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask for her help,” he muttered, the words heavy in his mouth.

Coralkit’s face brightened just a little. Without another word, she turned and started leading him toward the cleric’s den.

Mallowstripe followed.

“Skullcap and chamomile.” Lynxdawn’s voice was soft, as if she was afraid he might startle. “Keep it in the kitchen—make a big bowl of tea in the morning and sip it throughout the day.”

She slid the bundled herbs toward him, and he hooked a gentle claw under the twine, pulling them closer. He sniffed the leaves, focusing on the earthy scent as if it might ground him.

“You need to talk to someone.” It wasn’t a suggestion.

Mallowstripe ducked his head, his throat tightening.

“You won’t get better without talking it out,” Lynxdawn pressed gently.

His chest clenched. “I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing wrong. I shouldn’t be this anxious.”

“There’s plenty to be worried about,” she countered, her tail brushing his side as she turned to scan her stores. “The tensions with the clans, the strange dreams, the dead ends about Lostclaw…”

He stayed quiet, ears twitching at the distant sounds of camp—warriors stretching, kits squealing, the low murmur of conversation as cats returned to their duties.

Lynxdawn didn’t let the silence linger. “You’ve always been nervous,” she said, voice patient. “Why is it worse now?”

Mallowstripe shuffled his paws in the sand. “Things are… going well.” His voice wavered, and he let the words trail off.

She glanced at him. “Things are going well.”

He sighed, hesitating before admitting, “With me and Wolfstar and Shadowdive… I just—I worry it won’t last.”

“You’re afraid something bad will happen now that you’re happy,” she murmured.

He nodded stiffly, shoulders drawn tight. “I’ve never been this happy before. I’ve always felt… left behind. Tolerated.” His breath hitched. “But with them, with this courtship, with taking care of the camp… I feel secure for the first time.” A shudder ran through him. “And I’m scared it’s all going to go away.”

Lynxdawn leaned forward, pressing a comforting lick between his eyes.

Tears welled, spilling over despite his effort to hold them back.

In the quiet dark of the den, he stifled his sobs, and she stayed beside him, silent and steady.

Lynxdawn let him cry, her presence warm and unwavering. She didn’t offer meaningless reassurances or tell him everything would be fine—because they both knew life didn’t work that way. But she stayed, and for now, that was enough.

After a while, Mallowstripe sniffled and sat up, rubbing at his damp eyes with a paw. He felt wrung out, but lighter, like he could finally breathe again.

Lynxdawn tilted her head, studying him. “You don’t have to carry this alone, you know.”

“I know,” he admitted, voice raw. And for the first time, he almost believed it.

She nudged the herbs toward him again. “Start with the tea. Let yourself rest. And when you’re ready, talk to them—really talk to them. Wolfstar and Shadowdive aren’t just going to vanish because you’re scared.”

His ear flicked. It was so simple when she said it like that.

“I’ll try,” he said, and this time, he meant it.

Lynxdawn smiled. “Good. That’s all healing really is—trying, a little more each day.”

Mallowstripe let out a breath, slow and steady. His chest still felt tight, but there was something else now, too—a quiet hope, small and fragile but real.

And for now, that was enough.

Entering Saltclan’s camp used to be as simple as leaping down from the low, western rocks. But as the clan grew, defense became paramount. Now, dried bramble bushes crowned the most accessible entries. A cat would have to squeeze through a narrow gap—only two tail lengths of sand between rugged rocks and the high tide—or brave wading through the water.

Crowpaw had visited the camp only once before, on a late night in leaf bare. And as the warm morning sun beat on their back, a prickling suspicion told them that Nightleap was leading them the wrong way. They hesitated, almost ready to voice their complaint when, unexpectedly, Nightleap rounded the rocky wall.

With cautious steps, Crowpaw followed, eyes fixed on the water even at its low tide. Then they were stunned: the familiar rocky barrier gave way to a large, beautiful camp. The bright sun painted the rocks golden, and the surrounding plants shone a vivid green. Even the tide pools practically sparkled.

“Not too bad, huh?” Nightleap asked with a hint of snide amusement.

Crowpaw’s grey eyes widened in wonder. “I’ve never seen anywhere like this…” they whispered.

Nightleap rolled her eyes lightly. “You haven’t exactly been to a lot of places,” She chided, tail beckoning the young cleric to follow.

Soon, the SaltClan cats began to watch as they approached the cleric’s den. Crowpaw recognized Mallowstripe and Snowspeckle immediately—both eyed them with cautious curiosity.

“Nightleap?” The white deputy asked, tone firm.

The dark molly answered quickly. “They were at the border, requesting to visit Lynxdawn.”

Stopping before a large den, Nightleap announced with a tail flourish that didn’t quite match her tone. “Here’s the clerics’ den. A warrior will be waiting outside to escort you back to the border when you’re done.”

Crowpaw bowed politely. “Thank you. I shouldn’t be long.”

Nightleap offered a curt nod—barely a bow, really. Just then, a large tom and a white tabby emerged from a den across the camp.

“Crowpaw,” Wolfstar greeted, offering a proper bow. “What brings you to our camp?”

Taking a steadying breath, Crowpaw replied, “I’m here to ask to borrow medicine from your cleric. Is she here?”

A soft, familiar face appeared as Lynxdawn’s fluffy head peeked out from behind the curtain of her den, followed by a gentle waft of fragrant herbs. “I am.” she said.

Crowpaw pushed past the curtain, uneasy as Wolfstar trailed close behind—the large, brown tom remaining at the entrance.

“Respectfully, Wolfstar,” The apprentice said, voice clipped. “This isn’t a matter that typically needs the leader’s input.”

Lynxdawn raised a brow at them. “We’re a bit more collaborative in SaltClan. Wolfstar and I make most decisions together.”

Crowpaw cleared their throat, not expecting her to side with the leader. “I suppose that’s fine. I’m here for poppy seeds.”

Wolfstar tilted her head. “Poppy seeds? That’s for severe pain. What do you need it for?”

Crowpaw’s tail twitched ever so slightly, though their tone remained steady. “I have a patient in severe pain.”

A tense silence fell as Lynxdawn’s eyes darted between her leader and the nervous apprentice. Finally, with a quick ear flick and nod from Wolfstar, Lynxdawn cleared her throat. “Poppy seeds are very uncommon. How much do you need?”

“As much as you can spare,” Crowpaw replied, voice low.

After a long pause, Lynxdawn sighed. “I’m afraid the seeds are too precious for charity. Perhaps I can offer willow bark instead—if I knew the nature of the injury, I can give you something more specific.”

At this, Crowpaw nearly stormed out of the den, their frustration boiling. “I don’t need to explain myself,” they hissed, tail lashing with a mix of anger and desperation. “But if it matters at all… I need it for Darkfold. Nothing else is working—her joints are swollen, and she can barely walk. I’ve sought help from Mousefoot and Rosedrift, but no one can soothe her pain.”

Wolfstar stepped forward, concern evident in their tone. “And you think poppy seeds will help?”

“It’s the only thing that allows her to stand,” Crowpaw said solemnly. “We’ve run out of our stores, and our artisans say we have too few trades to barter with HoneyClan for more.”

A hush fell among the pair as they exchanged silent looks. Wolfstar’s tail brushed lightly over Lynxdawn’s shoulder.

“Please,” Crowpaw bowed deeply, chest pressed against the cool, leather-lined floor. “I know it’s a big favor, and I can’t offer anything close to its worth—but I need the poppy seeds.”

The apprentice glanced up, uneasy at the look in Wolfstar’s eyes.

“Sit up,” Lynxdawn said gently. “We can send you with our stock.”

“If you can answer our questions.”

Crowpaw’s heart sank, they knew this came at a cost—they’d already revealed too much. Steeling themselves, they squared their shoulders and asked. “What questions?”

Wolfstar’s blue eyes met theirs. “Do you know the name Lostclaw?”

The calm façade in Crowpaw’s expression wavered; the mere mention of the name sent shivers down their spine. They averted their gaze toward the entrance, tempted to escape the interrogation.

“So you do know who she is,” Lynxdawn pressed.

Whipping their head around, Crowpaw was caught off-guard. “It’s a molly?” they stuttered.

Wolfstar’s tone hardened. “What do you know?”

Crowpaw’s pulse raced, and the large molly stepped in, blocking the entrance so no one could see their reaction. “I have obligations to my clan,” they growled, eyes darting nervously between the assembled cats. “I can’t disclose DuskClan’s weaknesses.”

Wolfstar’s voice was icy, “So Lostclaw was a DuskClan warrior?”

“No! I—I meant that…” Crowpaw stammered, heart pounding as they realized how trapped they were. “I don’t know who Lostclaw was, but I’ve heard the name before.”

Lynxdawn stepped in with quiet authority. “Please, Crowpaw. We’ve had signs linking this name to troubling events.”

“Darkfold mentioned it once… when she was more coherent. Our warriors—” They paused, unable to finish.

Wolfstar stepped back, offering Crowpaw space, her tone gentler now. “I know you’re reluctant to reveal too much. But we’re all looking out for DuskClan—and for the clan as a whole.”

Lynxdawn closed the gap, her maternal energy radiating in her soft words. “We believe Lostclaw is a threat to every clan.”

Crowpaw took a long breath, recalling the visions that haunted their nights. “I’ve had dreams that are… different. In them, I see a figure rising from the darkness—eyes that burn like cold fire. It’s not just a warning. It feels like a remnant of something lost, something that wasn’t meant to be a ghost at all.”

Wolfstar’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You mean Lostclaw?” she prompted, already knowing the answer.

Crowpaw nodded, then lowered their gaze. “Yes. But there’s more.” They hesitated, then continued in a softer tone. “I was out near the border a few nights ago after the dream, and I saw something… unsettling. I found these deep claw marks carved into an ancient oak.”

They paused, feeling overwhelmed in the tight den. “The marks weren’t there before and they were too deep to be cause by a cat or even a badger.”

The silence that followed the admission was long, in the distance Crowpaw could hear the roar of the ocean. It unnerved them, setting their hackles up.

“It’s best if I get back.” They said dismissively. “Have I answered all your questions?”

Wolfstar nodded, starting to push the jar forward, then hesitated, glancing guiltily at her cleric.

“What about my siblings?” She asked, Lynxdawn sent a sharp look to her now, but she went on. “They haven’t been at the last few gatherings. Are they ok?”

“I can’t tell you.” Crowpaw said firmly, grabbing the twine handle in their teeth.

They march towards the entrance, stopping just short to glance back. “But…if you were asking as their sister…. And not the leader of Saltclan….”

They trailed off, but Wolfstar was quick to nod.

Crowpaw gulped, worrying the twine between their jaws as they thought.

“Greyclaw is…busy. He’s got a lot of responsibility.” They paused, glancing down to speak to the ground. “Ashenstep hasn’t spoken in moons, hardly a word from them.”

Wolfstar tried not to let her heart break, but she was weak.

“Can you ask them, please I know it’s…wrong but can you ask them to meet me at the border by the knotted pine.” She asked, Lynxdawn at her hip, a weight reminding her of her duties. “The night after the gathering. Please tell them.”

Crowpaw doesn’t meet their gaze, tail tucked. “I…. I’m not sure I can, but I’ll…try.”

Crowpaw hesitated, then lowered their gaze. With one last furtive glance at Lynxdawn, Crowpaw turned to leave, their footsteps subdued as Shadowdive stepped forward to escort them home.

The air was thick with humidity as Snowspeckle left camp, making her way west to HoneyClan. The day was just beginning, but already the sun’s warmth pressed down, breaking through the cloud cover in hazy streaks. She moved quickly, crossing the river over the stepping stones, the spray of water a welcome relief against her flank.

“Snowspeckle!” A voice carried on the wind.

Her ears flicked back, and she grimaced as Swiftdance trotted toward her, the blue tabby’s tail held confidently high. Snowspeckle wouldn’t have been surprised if the deputy found amusement in her irritation. The Molly’s tail brushed against her side, a touch far too familiar to be accidental.

Snowspeckle shifted away, keeping her greeting curt. “Swiftdance.”

“I’ll be your guide.” Swiftdance was undeterred by the cold reception. “I know you’re familiar with the way, but I’ll try not to walk ahead so you don’t struggle to keep up.”

Snowspeckle bit back the urge to roll her eyes. A classic Swiftdance move—brag and insult in the same breath. She kept silent and walked forward, ignoring the prickle of frustration as the HoneyClan deputy matched her pace, occasionally letting their pelts brush.

Don’t react, she told herself. She wants a reaction. Just focus on the meeting.

Interactions with HoneyClan always left her gritting her teeth. They carried themselves with an air of effortless superiority, wrapped in honeyed words and casual dismissal. Every meeting was a battle of patience, their condescending nature forcing her to bite her tongue. OakClan boasted out of genuine excitement, proud of their innovations. HoneyClan flaunted with a practiced ease, as if they were the standard to which all others should aspire.

That was why Nightleap had been different. Nervous, humble, content in her skills without the need to prove herself. It was why Snowspeckle had loved her from the start.

The thought occupied her enough that she barely noticed the transition from open plains to the lone hill that cradled HoneyClan’s camp. She entered through the narrow space between dens, only for Swiftdance to press against her once more, the scent of wildflowers clinging to her like pollen.

“Oh, you haven’t changed at all,” Swiftdance murmured, voice laced with amusement.

Snowspeckle’s tail flicked, but before she could snap, Rookstar and his mate, Bluemoon, approached.

“Snowspeckle! Nice to see you,” Rookstar greeted warmly, touching noses with her. “I hope the heat wasn’t too bad. Where’s Wolfstar?”

Snowspeckle nodded respectfully to Bluemoon before answering. “She’s come down with whitecough. Nothing serious, but we didn’t want to risk spreading it.”

Rookstar dismissed Swiftdance with a flick of his tail, and though the deputy left, her scent still clung stubbornly to Snowspeckle’s pelt.

“Some things never change, huh?” Bluemoon said lightly, watching Swiftdance disappear into camp. Her gaze was warm but sharp.

Snowspeckle exhaled slowly. “No, they don’t.”

Rookstar led them to a shaded patch of soft grass, lined with vibrant flowers. “Would you like some tea?” he offered, waiting as Bluemoon settled beside him.

“I’m fine, thank you.” She gave an awkward smile. “This shouldn’t take long.”

Rookstar, unbothered, nuzzled his mate before rising. “I’ll bring you some, love.”

As he padded away, Snowspeckle finally noticed the curve of Bluemoon’s belly.

“You’re pregnant,” she said, blinking in surprise.

Bluemoon purred, amused. “I am. This will be my third litter.”

“Congratulations.” The words came easily, but an itch of unease remained under her pelt.

“Thank you. I’m fortunate to have such a supportive mate.” Bluemoon sighed contentedly. “Your kits are nearly warriors now. You must be excited.”

Snowspeckle wasn’t sure if it was a dig or a genuine observation. Bluemoon was more tolerable than most HoneyClan cats, but even she had a way of prodding at sore spots.

“I’m thrilled,” Snowspeckle answered smoothly. “They’ll make great warriors.”

Bluemoon didn’t push further as Rookstar returned, carrying a bowl for his mate before settling beside her. “Thank you for coming. I hope you don’t mind Bluemoon being present—I’d rather not be away from her this far into her pregnancy.”

“I don’t mind,” Snowspeckle replied politely. “Let’s begin.”

The meeting dragged into sunhigh, the heat growing heavier as they discussed OakClan and DuskClan. Rookstar spoke of OakClan’s scent lingering past the borders, particularly near their graveyard. Archstar dodged all attempts to address it, claiming it was handled, yet the scent always returned.

Finally, after enough incidents, they realized it was the same cat each time. No one Rookstar recognized, but HoneyClan planned to identify them at the next gathering.

Swiftdance even returned with a broken tree branch, unusually serious as she asked Snowspeckle to scent it. The scent was undeniably OakClan—but unrecognizable to her.

For her part, Snowspeckle shared what little they had learned from DuskClan. The abandoned nest’s border remained unstable, and though encounters had been civil, there was an underlying unease. She mentioned the nightmares and Crowpaw’s vague revelations. None of it provided answers.

“Well, I’m sorry you traveled all this way for so little,” Rookstar sighed, tail flicking in frustration. The weight of the unknown bore heavily on him.

“It’s alright. I wish I could’ve been more help.” Snowspeckle exhaled, rubbing at her temple. “It’s awful, being kept in suspense. Just waiting for something to happen.”

Rookstar nodded, lost in thought.

A sudden gasp from behind startled Snowspeckle. She turned to see a large apprentice staring at her, amber eyes wide.

“Sunpaw, don’t be rude,” Bluemoon chided, though the tom remained transfixed.

Rookstar beckoned him closer. “This is our son, Sunpaw. He’s a little older than your kits.”

Sunpaw beamed and bowed—deeply, clumsily. “It’s nice to meet you!”

Snowspeckle chuckled. “Nice to meet you too. What are you training as?”

“I’m gonna be an artisan!” he announced proudly, fur fluffed up with excitement.

“That’s lovely!” Snowspeckle purred. “I’m an artisan as well. I look forward to seeing your crafts.”

Sunpaw nearly vibrated with joy. “It’s so nice to meet you!”

She laughed. “You said that already.”

His eyes grew impossibly round. “It’s just—you’re a deputy! And an artisan! That’s so cool!”

She blinked, taken aback by his enthusiasm. “It’s not common, but there’ve been a few before me.”

“None that I’ve met,” he whispered, awed. “This is awesome.”

Bluemoon and Rookstar exchanged amused glances, clearly surprised by their son’s eagerness. His openness was unlike HoneyClan’s usual smooth confidence, and yet, Snowspeckle found herself unexpectedly warmed by it.

For the first time that day, she felt the trip had been worth it.

That feeling lingered, even as she left, even as Swiftdance escorted her, even as the sun-scorched rocks burned beneath her paws. And even as she washed the scent of another molly from her fur in the tide pools, she couldn’t shake the smile tugging at her whiskers.

It was late at night when Wolfstar pulled Lynxdawn from her nest. The kits were snoring, curled up in a warm heap, undisturbed as their mother stepped out into the cool night air.

Blinking sleep from her eyes, Lynxdawn yawned widely. "What’s going on?"

"I had a dream. I think it was a vision." Wolfstar shuffled her paws, glancing around as if making sure they were alone.

It took Lynxdawn a moment to realize they were. No Shadowdive or Mallowstripe trailing at Wolfstar’s heels, no comforting presence flanking their leader. The sight was unsettling—Wolfstar was rarely alone, let alone looking this shaken.

The silence pressed heavy between them, thick as the salt in the air. "Can we go to the waves?" Wolfstar asked, her voice quiet but urgent.

"Yeah." Lynxdawn yawned again but followed the white molly to the edge of camp, where the ocean kissed the shore.

Technically, they had stepped beyond the camp’s boundaries, just past the jagged rocks that marked the entrance. But they were still visible from the dens, and the crashing waves muffled any conversation, granting the illusion of privacy.

The cool water lapping at Lynxdawn’s paws woke her fully. "What did you see?" she asked, breaking the heavy silence. Wolfstar was not often one to hold back.

"I was here." Wolfstar murmured, pressing a paw into the wet sand. "But the sand was white—like old bones. And the sea was red."

Lynxdawn stiffened. This was surely a vision. "Did anything happen?"

Wolfstar hesitated. "A cat rose from the waves, their fur blending into the bloody water. Their eyes—her eyes—were gone. Just empty, black holes."

A shiver ran down Lynxdawn’s spine. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to retreat from the tide, to step away from the lapping water. But she stayed firm.

"Her jaw hung open," Wolfstar continued, voice barely above a whisper. "I could see everything inside—her teeth, the soft flesh of her mouth. She rose from the horizon, walking on the water like it was solid ground. Closer and closer, until I couldn’t move. I woke up when she pressed her nose—if she had one—to mine."

The wind picked up then, tugging at their fur. Lynxdawn swallowed, the vision digging cold claws into her stomach.

"This was surely a vision," she said firmly, though her own conviction wavered. Her gaze flicked to her leader, studying her haggard expression. "But from who? That’s the question."

Wolfstar’s jaw clenched. "Do you think... do you think it wasn’t StarClan that led me here?"

Lynxdawn balked, her breath hitching. "How could you say that? You met Nettletuft! Clouddawn practically raised me!"

Wolfstar flinched. "I know! Maybe they did lead us here, but it feels like... like something else set this in motion."

The wind died suddenly, an eerie stillness settling over them, as if the coast itself held its breath.

"We need faith now more than ever," Lynxdawn said, voice steady despite the dread curling in her belly. "We were ordained by StarClan many times. You can’t forget that."

Wolfstar was silent, her hackles raised as she stared out at the sea. When she finally turned back, Lynxdawn recoiled at the wild look in her eyes—red-rimmed, bloodshot, frantic.

"Do you think the prophecies about us were sent by the Dark Forest?" Wolfstar’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but the words felt like a snarl in Lynxdawn’s ears.

A sickening chill twisted in Lynxdawn’s gut. The image of her kits, sleeping soundly in their nest, grounded her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were suddenly... unprotected.

"We should go back." She straightened, hackles rising. Everything felt wrong out here—the ocean, the air, and most of all, the way Wolfstar was looking at her.

But Wolfstar wasn’t finished. "Do you think StarClan sent us here to correct what was told to my mother? Doesn’t it feel like we aren’t welcome here?"

"We are blessed by StarClan!" Lynxdawn snapped, stepping back.

"There’s something else here, Lynxdawn." Wolfstar’s voice was a hiss, her eyes gleaming feverishly. "Something that was here before us. And it wants us out."

Lynxdawn reared onto her hind legs and shoved her. Wolfstar collapsed into the wet sand with a startled gasp as the waves rushed over her, soaking her fur.

"Enough!" Lynxdawn barked, breath coming fast.

Wolfstar coughed, sputtering as seawater stung her nose. But as she sat up, something in her posture shifted. Her body sagged, the manic glint in her eyes dimming, as if she had just woken from a fever dream.

"I’m sorry," she murmured, shaking out her drenched fur. "I don’t know why I said that. I’m just... I’m so worried. I don’t know what to do."

Lynxdawn exhaled, still rattled but unwilling to let her leader suffer alone. "I’ll make us some tea for the stress," she offered. "Maybe it’ll help us sleep tonight. We’ll talk more in the morning."

They pressed their foreheads together, purring despite the unease still coiled in their chests.

As they turned to leave, something blocked their path.

Lynxdawn stopped short, her stomach dropping like a stone. "Was that there before?"

Wolfstar stepped in front of her, bristling. "No."

A dark shape lay in their way, its scent curling into Lynxdawn’s nose—a mix of feathers and fish. Wolfstar padded forward cautiously, eyes scanning the darkness for an unseen enemy.

"It’s a puffin," she murmured.

They drew closer. Lynxdawn hesitated before lowering her nose to inspect the bird. Its scent was fresh. Too fresh.

"Wolfstar," she whispered, voice trembling. "Look at it."

Wolfstar crouched beside her, peering at the lifeless bird. "It’s covered in claw marks."

The words felt like ice sliding down Lynxdawn’s spine. The scent of blood was sharp in the air. Wounds marred the puffin’s body—deep, deliberate. Its wings were stretched out unnaturally, as if it had been flying when it died.

"I’ve never seen a dead bird look like that." Wolfstar swallowed, glancing around the darkness.

Lynxdawn’s breath hitched. "This was placed here." Her voice was barely audible over the crashing waves. "This was placed here by something."

Sage, rosemary, tansy.

Sage, rosemary, tansy.

Sage, rosemary, tansy.

The words echoed in Lynxdawn’s mind like a drumbeat.

Those were the essentials for protective channeling—the bare minimum she needed to safely invoke a patron.

But was it enough?

She clenched her jaw, scanning the shelves of her den.

Cedar for banishment. Thistles to ward off spirits. Hawthorn, betony, thyme—any of those could add another layer of protection.

But what about clarity? If she was calling on a patron for guidance, shouldn’t she include something for that too? Calendula? Lilac? Eyebright was too scarce, but maybe a rarer herb would make the ritual stronger?

A dull ache throbbed behind her eyes. With an irritated grunt, she snatched a dried dandelion from the shelf and chewed it, hoping it would ease her headache.

Mullein. That could work. Burned, it cleansed the spirit of nightmares and possession. She could mix it with beeswax and tallow to make a torch.

Or yarrow. Or mugwort. Or nettles. Or—

“No, basil’s for tools and prosperity,” she muttered, exasperated.

“What is?”

Lynxdawn jumped, fur bristling. She spun around to find Shadowdive standing at the den’s entrance, his dark fur nearly indistinguishable from the shadows behind him.

“Basil,” she said, voice hoarse. “It’s for tools and prosperity.” Her ears drooped with exhaustion. “What are you doing up?”

He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Wolfstar’s on guard, Mallowstripe’s with your kits. Figured I might as well be useful.”

Lynxdawn exhaled sharply, turning back to the shelves. “No offense, but I don’t think you’ll be much help with this.”

Shadowdive didn’t move. He just leaned against the entrance, watching her.

“What’s the issue?” His voice was low, almost gentle.

She huffed, annoyed at herself as much as at him. “I don’t know what herbs to use for the ritual.”

“The channeling ritual?”

She nodded, ears flicking as he stepped inside and sat beside her.

“What’s it for?” His tail brushed against hers.

She hesitated, feeling foolish. “It’s for cleansing and protection.”

His expression darkened into a glare. “I knew that, mouse-brain. I meant, what kind of cleansing?”

Lynxdawn scowled, but at least the embarrassment subsided. “Spiritual cleansing.”

He gestured to the shelves with a large paw. “At least one of these should work, right?”

“That’s the problem!” she groaned. “I have ten different herbs that could work, and I don’t know which to pick.”

Shadowdive tilted his head, ears brushing against hers. “Can’t you just use all of them? Like, one leaf each?”

“That’s not how this works, Shadowdive.” She knocked her head against his shoulder in mild annoyance. "It needs to be a specific combination."

"You don't know the recipe?" Shadowdive asked incredulously. "Shouldn’t this have been part of your training?"

Lynxdawn threw her head back with a groan, tail lashing. "That’s just not how it works!"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Then explain it. I’ve never seen this stuff before."

She sighed, rubbing her face with a paw. "I haven’t either. That’s the hard part about being a cleric. The ritual I’m trying to perform is called invocation—I’m trying to invoke a cat from StarClan. To do that, I need to use the right combination of herbs and items."

Shadowdive’s gaze flicked over the shelves. "And if you use the wrong ones?"

"Either I summon no one... or the wrong patron—one that won’t cleanse or protect us."

His whiskers twitched. "Oh, like how camp keepers invoke Scorchstar to start fires on rainy days." He absently peeked into a bowl on the lower shelf, sniffing at the fine green powder inside.

"Kinda," Lynxdawn said, pulling the bowl away from him with slow, deliberate care, eyeing him like she would an overeager kit. "That’s just prayer—hoping Scorchstar hears and has the ability to help. What I’m doing is channeling. It’s different. The herbs and items act as a sort of sacrifice, eh more like an exchange."

He flicked an ear, nodding for her to continue.

"It’s like saying, ‘Here’s the spiritual energy of these items. Please use it to help me.’ But each herb works differently. Like this one—" She held up a stalk of dried mullein. "Mullein protects against nightmares and spiritual enemies."

"That would help us now, right?" He sniffed it cautiously.

"Yes, but not enough." She set it aside. "It’d protect against nightmares and visions, but we’d still be vulnerable to physical attacks. A strong dark spirit could cause real harm if we aren’t careful."

"Then let’s find something to use with it," he suggested.

She scowled, feeling like she was back at step one. "That’s the problem. What’s the right combination? What’s the next herb?" She huffed, glancing toward the entrance where the sky was beginning to lighten.

Morning was close. Soon, everyone would expect her to walk out of this den with a perfect plan to fix everything.

"Well," Shadowdive said, snapping her out of her thoughts, "what would you use for physical protection?"

She hesitated, and he nudged her. "No thinking. You already know."

Lynxdawn rolled her eyes but answered immediately. "Burdock—it protects the camp and dens."

"And outside of camp?"

She smiled as the answer came easily. "Tansy—it prevents injury and enhances intuition."

"Perfect. What about cleansing?"

"Rosemary clears the mind of doubt. Thyme and sage are good for purifying physical spaces." She pulled a few jars down.

Shadowdive purred, bumping his head against hers. "Anything else?" His tone was smug, but she let it slide.

For the first time in hours, she felt like she was getting somewhere.

Lynxdawn frowned at the gathered herbs, her tail-tip twitching. Was this truly enough? Was it the right combination?

Shadowdive nudged her shoulder again. "You're overthinking it."

She scoffed. "You make it sound easy."

"It is." He stood, stretching. "You’re the expert. You know what you're doing. And if you don’t—" he gave a pointed glance at the herbs, "—figure it out like you always do."

She sighed but didn't argue. He was right, even if she hated to admit it. "I just wish I had more time."

"You don’t," he said bluntly. "Sun’s coming up."

Lynxdawn cast a glance toward the entrance, where the first pale light of dawn was creeping in. Soon, the others would be waking. Soon, they would all be looking to her.

"Then I better get started," she muttered.

Shadowdive hesitated, then flicked her ear with his tail. "Good luck." And with that, he slipped out of the den, his dark fur melting into the disappearing shadows.

Lynxdawn turned back to the herbs, taking a deep breath. No more doubts. No more second-guessing.

She reached for the rosemary first.

Time to call upon the stars.

Cat Allegiances:

Wolfstar- 22 moons. Leader. Responsible. Compassionate. Natural intuition. Apprentice- Ripplepaw.

Lynxdawn- 17 moons. Lead Cleric. Thoughtful. Loving→Faithful. Good teacher.

Snowspeckle- 33 moons. Deputy. Artisan. Loving. Thoughtful. Good singer.

Nightleap- 37 moons. Warrior. Insecure. Sneaky. Incredible runner.

Mallowstripe- 23 moons. Camp keeper. Nervous. Careful. Strange dreamer.

Shadowdive- 21 moons. Warrior. Blood thirsty. Loyal. Good swimmer. Apprentice- Otterpaw.

Ripplepaw - 9 moons. Warrior apprentice. Troublesome. Fearless→ Adventurous. Fast runner. Mentor- Wolfstar.

Otterpaw - 9 moons. Warrior apprentice. Attention seeker→Insecure. Bouncy. Good swimmer. Mentor- Shadowdive.

Dropletkit- 4 moons. Skittish. Shy. Interested in clan history.

Kelpkit- 4 moons. Charming. Quiet. Plays in mud.

Coralkit- 4 moons. Noisy. Bossy. Never sits still.

Sandkit- 4 moons. Impulsive. Noisy. Moss ball hunter

Prev

Next

Moon 0

[yzegem]

Main lore of Encounters in the Frontier

In this pinned post I will introduce the main historical chronology and concepts of the setting.

Most of the events take place in a subcontinent with the general size, shape and latitude of India, wich is a penninsula of a larger megacontinent wich occupies most of the northern hemisphere. This subcontinent, wich I will just call the penninsula, has a shallow sea to the east, another to the west, steppe and large mountains to the north and a deep and vast ocean to the south, wich eventually leads to the land of alwaysummer. At the eastern sea are the twisted islands. The penninsula has dense forests to the northeast, jungles to the southeast and the western coast is more dry and desserted. the northwest has the plateau, a large elevated plains regions, spotted with forests and the centre of the continent is hilly and mountainous.

By this time the Empire controlled many religions and peoples, in some cases loosely, and revolts had to be almost constantly supressed in the western and southern provinces. The central mountain range, southwestern dessert, northwestern plateau and norterns steppe were their most unstable frontiers, as well as eastern pirates from the Twisted Islands.

The Sun Empire had a humble origin as a city state in the southeast wich fought for its independence and won against a nomadic invador from the north. The years of foreign control made them realize their vulnerability and they began to rapidly militarize. For the Sun Empire, the best deffense was a good offense and they rapidly annexed the nearests city states in a rapid expansion. In their culture, war justified itself. They generally arrived at a city and offered them to surrender in good terms or be suffer very bad taxations and treatment after their defeat. Many chose the first option. At this time, certain warrior families began to rise to power and formed a warrior class wich selected a military leader from among themselves. There was also a very powerfull priest class, wich ended up concentrating into a single dynasty and also chose a leader from among themselves (Although the role ended up being inherited mostly). These two roles complimented each other. The military leader managed external politics and the executive power, while the priest leader managed internal politics and the juditial and legislative power, as well as of course, managing religious festivities and such. These two roles were imagined as being a husband and a wife (the priest leader was often a woman, since politics is considered a woman's job), the state a family and their population their children.The Empire spread westwards and managed to control one of the richest cities of the penninsula, Odras. This city lays under the plateau and is a hub from inland commerce and connects the trade routes of the eastern and western seas. They retained their religion and strong identity, wich had significant influence on the rest of the Sun Empire. By this time the Sun Empire's religion was politheistic with the sun god as the head of the pantheon.

Now I will introduce the Twisted Islands and the magic system of the setting:

If you have ever been introduced to the concept of the fourth dimension or wormholes it was probably by the folded paper pierced by a pencil analogy.

This setting's shape is more like this:

Some parts of the world seem to be closer in the 4D plane than others, and wormholes are more likely to appear between them. Some regions have deeper folds and portals will be more common, while others are "flatter" and there will be almost no chance of one appearing. In this world, the Twisted Islands have the most and deepests "folds", so portals appear often, sometimes on their own and connect to many places.

The Twisted Islands are an archipellago of mostly very small atolls and poor in natural resources (except fish and shellfish I guess). Still, the portal's influence in the region is very apparent to the naked eye. Rock formations take impossible shapes, caves are larger than the cliff that contains them, trees grow upside down… so they attracted many sea peoples, wich settled in them for religious reasons. The islands often only held a small population of ascetic monks, wich sustained themselves with donations from pilgrims, wich mainly came from larger, less portal-active islands and lands, wich is where most of the Twisted Island's population is originally from, it's rare for people to be born in the islands proper.

Portals don't usually open on their own, and require energy input, such as a strong fire. Monks would place an offer over the fire, raise the temperature and the offer woud suddenly disappear with a flash of light, and sometimes something else would appear on its place (most often just rocks that don't match those of the island, but enough to impress anyone that sees it). Slowly, their methods became more refined and they could locate, open and predict where an object would go more reliably. The peoples of the Twisted Islands were also known as great sailors, good at sea trading and wich could venture into the open sea, while those from the Empire only sailed next to the shoreline.

Managing portals was a dangerous task, reserved only for the elite of the monasteries, trained for years. It could result in untreatable portal wounds, in wich a limb mantains it's function but becomes "twisted". This modified limb seemed useful in locating portals and their shape and angle, so some monks started modifying themselves on purpose, thought this is shunned by most.

Ok, so those were the basis of most regions before the Dragon Age, a period of ecological and political change. It started with the explosion of a megavolvano in a distant, unknown land, wich caused a volcanic night in the penninsula. This resulted in a widespread famine through the continent… then came the dragons

Dragons were probably native to the land were the volcano exploded and came looking for a new home. They eated cattle, wild megafauna and tragically often humans at an unsustainable rate. They mainly settled in the central mountain ranges of the penninsula and the northern steppe, wich caused mass migration from these lands. These migrations were often violent and caused great damage to the already in crisis Empire.

The first encounter with a dragon happened in a frontier fortress south of the plateau, wich was taken by a dragon at night and its inhabitants devoured. The dragon took the fortress as a nest to lay eggs. The Empire, after comunication with the fortress was cut, asumed it had been taken by a plateau tribe and sent a small platoon of soldiers to retake it (dragons were only a rumor atp). The whole platoon was massacred by the dragon.

At the north, the nomads united under a charismatic ruler called Saljar, wich conquered a big chunk of the Empire's land. In an almost suicide mission, the already desperate and decaying Empire went all in against this king from the north. This campaign was full of tensions and during their travel north, guerilla attacks from rebellious regions and dragons weakened both armies. The unpopular military ruler died right before battle (most likely secretly poisoned by the Ashiva, the priest ruler as the military leader was the one that made the bad desition of starting this campaign) and it seemed like all hope was lost, but Ashiva, took control and led the army into battle (a very desperatel move). During the battle two dragons started fighting eachother while flying on top of them and fell mid fight on top of the nomad troops, causing them to break formation and flee. Its said that Ashiva himself killed the feared Saljar. Ashiva became very popular and took supreme control of the Empire, claiming to be the Sun God personified.

Still, the Empire had many problems to adress, such as the dragons (all military efforts to hunt them ended in disaster) and the former army of Saljar, now dispersed in small armies, wich sacked the Empire's towns. Ashiva, proving to be a very capable diplomat, managed to organize a meeting with these warbands, where he recalled the fight of the dragons over their own armies, and claimed that, in the same way that these beast both died while fighting, so would they if they don't adress the dragons. Ashiva proposed that these war bands start to hunt the dragons and bring their heads to him, in exchange, the Empire would grant them power over their lands. The nomadic light camelry proved to be very effective at hunting dragons and they soon became powerful noble families and settled mainly in the frontier lands or rebellious regions of the Empire to "pacify them" (It's known that the natives of these regions considered their new rulers worse than the dragons).

It took about 120 years to hunt most dragons and end the dragon age. During this time the Empire was ruled by Ashiva's divine and absolute dynasty. The new Dragon Nobility became increasingly powerful and the danger of a coup d'etat was very real. The plateau and northern coast of Alwaysummer were conquered during this period.

During the mid Dragon Age, the most powerful monastery of the twisted islands learned how to reliably send objects through portals (if a living creatures is sent through a portal ir appears dead on the other side). The chief of that monastery sent a message through the portals to every other monastery of the archipellago, calling them for a meeting to show them how to do it. This meeting was known as The Call. The comercial use of the portals was immediatly exploited and the twisted islands unify and become the major hub of trade of this world. Diplomatic trips from the archipellago reached many distant lands to set portal openings and trade centers (the envoys were met with varied reactions, sometimes welcomed, rejected, or straight up killed). These portals were specially useful for sending messages and the rivalry between the Empire and the Islands only increased from now.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Mythological Inspirations: Pepper Jack Cookie Edition

So, where did Pepper Jack come from?

Sex, you dumbass child ❌ (yes but actually no)

A witch's oven ❌ (yes but actually no)

Some spicy cheese, a mythical bird, and an elephant man ✅

Behold, the latest installment of "Merchant rants for 10 hours about how far they went designing some dumbass fankids" (also I fumbled coloring and shading his wings, I am deeply sorry for that)

Like I said before, I did some research into both Egyptian and Hindu mythology while thinking up these critters. Golden Cheese and Burning Spice take after some gods/myths themselves, so I thought "why not keep that sentiment up with their children?"

Golden takes after Ra, Egyptian god of the sun and leader of the Egyptian pantheon. With this in mind... Pepper Jack takes after the bennu bird, a godlike being that embodies the soul of Ra himself.

The bennu is/was most often depicted as a blue, gray and/or white heron (mostly blue). So, Jack's wings are likewise meant to be blue (with some gray and white mixed in)

The bennu bird is believed to have been the original phoenix, even predating the Greek one. It lights itself ablaze in the early morning and rises from its own ashes afterwards, thus symbolizing the dawn of a new day, as well as creation and rebirth in general. Jack can also light himself on fire, without the fire harming him at all. He can't control it very well when he's young, but he will have mastered it by the time he's an adult

One famous creation myth involves the bennu flying over the primordial waters of chaos, perching on a rock, and letting out a great cry - and with this cry, it determined what it and what isn't, and began the cycle of time and created the world itself. Mimicking this myth, I had Jack be born exactly at dawn, on a rock by the river (I also went ahead and added a Nile equivalent to the Golden Cheese Kingdom lol), with the sun rising immediately after he cried out for the first time. Almost like he summoned it personally...

A common funeral practice in Ancient Egypt was giving the deceased a heart-shaped amulet with the bennu's image engraved in it, as it was meant to be a protective charm to guide and guard the spirits of the dead; the bennu was considered a patron of death as well as life, and was invoked/prayed to to ensure safe passage through the afterlife for the deceased. Thus, Jack wears his own little protection amulet, tucked beneath his collar - a handcrafted, blessed gift from GCK clergy

(I FORGOT TO ADD THIS POINT LMAO) The bennu was often referred to as "lord of jubilees", referencing its association with the sun and resurrection (some festivals and rituals were referred to as "jubilees", including the one performed at dawn every day specifically meant to honor/invoke the bennu and its perpetual self-sacrifice and renewal). I let that be something High Priest Cheesenbird calls Jack, as a term of endearment. Jack is his "little lord of jubilees". Adoring Bird Grandpa lol

Spice is based on Shiva, Hindu god of destruction and part of a holy trinity (creation, preservation, destruction). Not only does he have a wife, Parvati (whom he's madly in love with and wholly devoted to), they have two children (which I did not know prior to creating the kids, that was a cool coincidence lol). Jack takes after Ganesha, elder son of Shiva, god of wisdom and good fortune.

Jack shares Ganesha's cleverness and love of knowledge, and similarly possesses a good amount of both (although Jack may not necessarily be wise, not as a child haha)

Ganesha is seen as a custodian of esoteric knowledge in particular, with a special knack for astrology. So, I gave Jack a hobby/interest in astrology and astronomy himself, which he pursues for fun on his own time (and that ended up making him a fantastic navigator, bar none; as long as he can see the sky, he'll never get lost)

Ganesha is celebrated as the remover of obstacles, literal and figurative. Jack... well, he's more of the sidestepper of obstacles lol. He works smart, not hard. If he can find a way around something using only his wits, he will

Ganesha has a sweet tooth, and his favorite food is modak (Indian sweet dumpling). So I gave Jack a sweet tooth, too, and likewise made his favorite food modak. (Jack is a fucking menace when it comes to modak. If any appear in his line of sight, expect it to vanish soon. He's like a crackhead with those things)

The Om symbol 🕉️, AKA the sacred sound/mantra that has a billion different meanings but is generally associated with universal harmony and consciousness, is also often associated with Ganesha (and Shiva, too!). So Jack is getting an Om tattoo on his wrist (or the back of his hand, idk haven't decided) when he's older.

Lots of jewelry in Indian culture and Hinduism, from what I've seen. So I took the liberty of giving Jack a little elephant pendant (gift from a Wild Spice artisan), meant to reference Ganesha idol pendants. It's also hanging from his neck and hidden under his collar, same as the amulet

Jack's beloved elephant toy, Pudding, is also supposed to be a nod to Ganesha lol

Sorry they look like ass, still a level 0 artist here lol. At least Pudding looks better here than he did before

Ok I'm done rambling. TL;DR I think way too hard about stuff. I will hopefully improve as an artist if I keep pushing myself no matter how much my doodles annoy me because they're amateurish at best. I will do Matar Paneer's inspirations post tomorrow probably. If you actually read through all of this, lol sucker thank you for coming to my TED Talk and eating my word salad

[otakubimbo]

The Rabbit and The Wolf

Feelings & Fireworks

It’s the day of the festival and you don’t know what to feel. Do you love him, do you love him not

Ch 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

master list

Your eyes are open before the sun, your body stilling as you remember the state you were in the last time you woke up. The warmth from the bed was missing, unfortunately even if you didn’t want to admit it to yourself. Last night was the best sleep you had in years, he had brought you so much comfort, so much relaxation. Sighing internally, not knowing exactly where to go from here, knowing that you would eventually have to face your own feelings. There was still one more night of having to share a bed with Kakashi, how were you going to do that with everything going on in your mind, in your heart.

With a groan, you rise out of the formerly shared bed. It was time for your comfort to be over and get ready for the day. The festival was today, and you were going to make sure all the kids had a fun time. It would be nice to see someone get to enjoy their youth for once. After casually dressing, you make your way to Team 7's room. It was still early so you hoped someone would be up, and by someone, you meant Sasuke so you could shove his head in the dirt. Luckily for you when you knocked on the door a sleepy Sasuke answered.

“Ah, just the knucklehead I wanted to see” you smile before grabbing him by the ear and dragging him out. His ‘ows’ repeated as you dragged him down the hall to take a walk outside.

“Stop dragging me” his complaints fall on deaf ears as you drag him outside.

“Listen up brat, don’t you ever do anything like that again.” You say flustered once outside.

“So did you finally ki- “Sasuke couldn’t finish before you knocked him on the head. He rubs the now-forming bump on top of his head. “What was that for?!”

“For meddling and talking too much.” You grumble, crossing your arms, a bit embarrassed. He was just like a little brother, a brat.

“I was just trying to help,” he says, still rubbing his head.

“No one asked for your help, Sasu,” you say resisting the urge to bop him again, jumping towards him as he flitches.

“I know but still.”

“Still nothing, stay out of grown folk business.”

“sorry” his muffled voice came.

You sigh at him, placing your hands on your hips before ruffling his hair. As always, he was incredibly embarrassed by that. Unfortunately, you couldn’t talk to your sister or your friend, so you had to get your thoughts out to someone.

“He did say he was in love with me,” you say as you lean on the wall behind you, avoiding his eyes.

“Is that why you disappeared?” Sasuke tries to gauge your reaction, hoping to not get another thump on the head.

“Possibly.” You reply, still avoiding the young man's gaze, “But like I said before, it’s complicated.” You sigh, before looking at him.

“Everything is complicated”

“Yeah, everything is complicated.” You are avoiding his gaze yet again, looking up to the sky.

“I think you may be making it complicated.” He remarks mainly to the air instead of directed at you.

You exhale deeply, “maybe.”

There was silence between the two of you until it was broken by Kakashi’s voice.

“You two the only ones up?” He asks walking up with a bag in hand, still with one of his perv books in the other.

“Yeah, last time I checked. Those idiots sleep like rocks.” Sasuke said casually, as if you two weren’t just talking about the man walking up now. There was a hesitation in looking at him from you, but you could feel him glancing at you while he talks to Sasuke about how the night went and the plans for the day. Every time your gaze falls on him, all you can think of is waking up entangled in him and your heart beating dangerously fast.

“I think I’m going to go back to the room.” You say before scurrying off, while they were in mid conversation about today’s plans. The two of them watched you quickly walk away from them, Sasuke looking up at Kakashi to see his expression.

“Don’t break her heart.” Sasuke says to the older man, turning his attention back to your fleeting form. Kakashi looks down at him, confused. “She feels the same if you couldn’t tell. I saw you two the other day, outside the hospital.”

Kakashi was a bit embarrassed that someone else also said his rejection and your disappearing act. He decides to stay silent, not trying to acknowledge his downfall.

“And she told me what you said.” Sasuke starts casually, looking at Kakashi, “She says things are complicated, I don’t really know what she meant by that but that’s not really for me to figure out I guess.”

“OH,” Kakashi says thoughtfully, now understanding your behavior more.

“Just don’t tell her I told you, she’d kill me. “The boy says before stuffing his hands in his pockets and starting to walk back to his own room. He left his sensei there to be with his thoughts, the bag of pastries in the bag he was holding getting cold. Kakashi was surprised that you confided in Sasuke about his feelings, but it seemed like your sister's words. To him, you may love him, you just were scared, which was fair so that meant he possibly had a chance to change your mind. He was a coward once; he wasn’t about to be one again.

Back in the room, you were in the shower, trying to calm your heart and mind. The things that man does to your head. You aggressively wash your body to distract yourself from your own thoughts. Hearts were such fickle things, and you had no clue what was going on with yours. If it wasn’t obvious, you didn’t know what to do with yours, it had already been damaged once by this man and you didn’t want it damaged again. But he said he loved you; he was in love with you, and you were…... well you weren’t sure what you were.

When you exit the bathroom, Kakashi is still not in the room. You exhaled a sigh of relief at that, you weren’t ready to face him yet. There did seem to be a note on the table that was there along with a coffee, which you picked up reading. The note read, ‘I took the team to do some festival preparations for tonight. The coffee is for you, I think it’s just as you like it.’ As you put it down, you picked up the coffee taking a small sip of it, and it was perfect just the way you loved it. It was sweet but just bitter enough that it kept that coffee taste, he remembered. That feeling made you smile a little to yourself, a sign of his love for you.

You spend the time without the team and Kakashi, relaxing and getting ready for the festival. After last night, you decided that you would confess that you feel the same way about the man you shared a room with last night. The preparation for the night included shaving, skincare, and making sure your kimono was perfect. Luckily for you, your hair was already in a protective style so that was one last thing on the ‘everything shower’ list. Since completing all your body tasks, you went to get yourself a little sake to calm your nerves for the night. You found a small store selling drinks and some other festival items.

“Welcome, how can I help you today?” the shopkeeper asks you as you enter the little shop.

“HI, yes, I was looking for some sake.” You answered with a shy smile, you were extremely nervous.

“Oh, is this for a special occasion besides the festival? You seem a little flustered. A mister caught your eye?” The woman behind the counter teases you.

“Something like that,” you say as you play with your fingers nervously and the older woman chuckles at you while shuffling to find you something that must have come to her mind. She pulls a bottle from the back of a shelf.

“Now this is incredibly smooth and a relaxing, calming drink.” She says without even telling you the price, wrapping it up for you. Before you could ask anything, she pulled out a smaller vial of something from under the counter, “And now this, this is a bit of liquid courage, which seems like you need. Am I right?”

“Yeah. Thanks” You mumble, feeling your whole body heat up at the thoughts. You reach into your pocket to pull out your wallet when the old lady stops you.

“Oh no, these are on the house, dear.” She states putting the items in a bag and pushing it towards you. You attempt to argue with her about needing to pay and she refuses. “I make more than enough to sustain during this season. Please just take it.” You sigh in defeat, taking the bag from the older woman, and bowing a thank you.

You put the smaller bottle of “liquid courage” in your personal bag, holding the other bottle in the bag as you make your way back to the inn. It was finally a good time to start getting ready, hopefully, Kakashi was already ready or at least not in the room. Unfortunately for you, not only was he there but he wasn’t even close to being dressed still in his casual outfit.

“Hi,” you say sheepishly entering the seemingly smaller room. He nods back at you, gesturing to the bag in your hand. “Oh, I just got some sake for tonight, the shopkeeper gave it to me for free. You wouldn’t even believe it.”

“Ha, you threaten her or something” He jokes and your cheeks puff at him.

“NO!” You huffed putting the bottle on the table on the wall. “She said she makes enough money during this time and that I looked like I needed it.”

“Are you nervous about something?” He questioned taking a tentative step towards you, which made you automatically turn from facing him.

“NO! she said I looked stressed, that’s all.” You fidget with the bottle in your hand, still not facing him yet, pouring two shots for the two of you. “Here” you shove the cup into his hand. He raises an eyebrow at you.

“We are not getting drunk, a few shots of sake never hurt anyone.” You comment, a small smile on your face that Kakashi couldn’t deny making him flustered.

“Fine” He relents, clinking his cup against yours. A bigger smile spreads on your face as you down the shot back without a second thought, as Kakashi does the same.

“See not that bad!” You could feel the warmth of the liquor in your body, licking the remnants of the shot from your lips. Kakashi stilled at the sight of you doing that, he could feel the blood rushing to a certain area of his body. You cocked your head to the side in confusion from his silence which just made him tense even more, his face starting to burn.

“Yeah, not bad” He coughs as if he might be choking. You just chuckle while putting your cup down.

“Well, I should probably start getting ready.” You are still chuckling at him while you make your way to the bathroom. The shopkeeper was right, you were going to need some liquid courage because you don’t even know how you get a clear head when talking to him just then. As you close the door behind you, you fish the special drink out of your bag, clutching the vial in your hand, and you pop the top of it. At no point did you even think about the consequences of drinking this vial, didn’t even check to see exactly what it was but you down it anyway. You doubted it would be able to kill you anyway, you’ve downed your fair share of poisons and right now you were going to do anything not to think about the possibilities of tonight.

After your shower, you felt a bit more refreshed, lightheaded even but in a good way even a bit giggly. Whatever was in that drink you took was putting you into a positive mood, you almost couldn’t stop giggling to yourself. Tonight was going to be fun; you were going to let yourself enjoy life for once. Your hair was done simply, half up, half down, a cute little bun in the back. You went with a basic makeup look also, it was going to be dark after all, no need to go all out. Your eyeshadow matched your yukata, a midnight blue color, placed below your water line and on your lash line, it made your eyes pop. You were almost finished, you just needed a little help getting your yukata tied, leaving the bathroom in a small fit of giggles.

Immediately Kakashi’s face moves to yours as he hears the lightness in your voice, which he hasn’t heard in years.

“Kashi” You start, walking out of the bathroom and trying your best to tie yourself up. “Can you help me? I just can’t get my fingers to work it seems.”

The man before you was frozen, the way you looked so cute yet disheveled in your yukata, the light finally returning to your eyes, you were glowing, magnificent to him. The sight was so domestic, a life that he craved, from you. Images of a possible life with you flooded his head and heart, hearing the giggle in your voice felt like a drug to him right then, the idea of being the reason your yukata was disheveled instead of your inability to tie it yourself. Your confused voice calling out his name, finally snapped him out of his daydream.

“Are you gonna help me?” You questioned, a cute tilt to your head as you still try to fumble with it yourself.

“Oh yeah,” He stutters getting up to come behind you, helping you tie yourself up. He inhaled your scent deeply, even more intoxicating than just the sight of you, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla filling his nostrils. The amount of willpower it took from him to not bury his face into the crook of your neck.

You spin facing him once he finishes his work, “Thanks.” You beam up at him, the mystery drink you had making you feel so warm and excited. “So…. How do I look?” You ask before giving him a simple twirl.

“Almost perfect,” He remarks before turning to grab something, while you look at him confused.

“Almost?”

“Almost.” He responds, pulling out a delicate silver flower pin. It was absolutely beautiful and intricate, with tiny flowers and vines scattered with small crystals.

“Oh my. Kashi, this is beautiful.” You say taking the fragile pin into your hands. “You got this for me?”’

“Yeah, no big deal.” He says casually, although it wasn’t casual at all. He was searching everywhere today for something for you and when he spotted the pin, he knew he had to get it for you. Intricate and beautiful, just like you. Gently, he takes the pin from your hands, reaching behind you to place it in your bun. You could feel his warm breath in your ear, and it sent an immediate shiver down your spine, having to force yourself not to let any noises escape your mouth.

He backed away after placing it in your hair, not too far but too close, dangerously close. “Now, perfect.”

“Thank you” you exhale not even realizing you were holding your breath. You looked up at him, starry-eyed, this was bad, bad. His face started falling towards yours, but to your surprise, you couldn’t move. You were going to let him kiss you, you wanted him to kiss you and your eyes started fluttering shut as you began to lean up to him. Before the gap could be closed, there was a bang at the door, Naruto of course.

“Y/N-sensei, Kakashi-sensei?! You ready to go?!” Naruto yells from outside the door, you take a huge step back while Kakashi sighs.

“Yeah, yeah, just give us a second” you yell back at him, going to get your shoes, avoiding the man's gaze on you slipping them on before grabbing another shot of sake. Luckily, you were still feeling light and airy from the mystery drink which calmed your nerves so easily. After your shot, you pour one for the man, handing it to him with a smile.

“Come on old man, let's live a little”

And who was he to ever deny you, especially with the way you were smiling at him now. The way you were going to let him have you just then, the thought of feeling your body under his again. Maybe he would have two more, taking the cup from your hand grazing your fingers gently before downing it and pouring him another.

“Okay okay, maybe you’re not that old after all.” You joke, grabbing his hand knowing Naruto didn’t have a patient bone in his body. Kakashi was taken aback by the gesture, but he wasn’t going to show it and just let you pull him out of the room.

“Wow, Y/N-sensei you look so pretty!” Naruto exclaims as you exit the room.

“Well thank you Naruto, I do clean up nice sometimes.” You ruffle his hair at his compliment.

“Definitely only sometimes.” Sasuke remarks under his breath and you elbow him in the ribs.

“Brat”

“How do I look Y/N-sensei?” Sakura asks shyly, getting your attention. She was dressed in an adorable yukata that resembled her name.

“Absolutely stunning” You comment, giving her a little boop on the nose. She glowed under your approval, hoping that it would do good to get Sasuke’s attention which you noticed. “Don’t you agree Sasu?”

“Hmph” He snorts, and you elbow him again. “Yeah, I guess.”

You could tell Sakura was doing her best to hold on to her composure at getting a compliment from Sasuke. And you could only stifle your giggles so much from the scene. Your little group left the inn to attend the festival activities held outside. It was completely beautiful outside. Lanterns hanging from all the shops along with different colored lights. The streets were bustling with people, almost overly crowded yet everyone was in light spirits. Food and game stalls were everywhere, there was no clue where to start first truly. You reach into your pocket pull out some money and hand it to Sakura.

“I can trust you with this right Sakura?” You ask, putting the bag of money in her hand.

“Yes ma’am” She nods putting it in your pocket.

“Great” you clap your hands together, “Yall have fun, we can meet before the fireworks.”

And with that, they go run off, well Naruto and Sakura run off while Sasuke walks behind them, to do whatever they want with the money you gave them. You giggle as you watch them.

“They’re good kids” you mention as you and Kakashi walk side by side.

“Yeah, nothing like us back then. We were hell.” He chuckles beside you.

“We?! Absolutely not, Kashi. I have always been a saint, I was perfect.” You giggle knowing damn well that wasn’t the truth, especially when you were with him. The two of you together were demons, too serious yet too reckless. Just two kids trying to figure shit out the wrong way. You with your smart mouth and Kakashi with his even worse attitude, young and powerful.

Kakashi snorts, “You literally cussed out the Hokage before, two of them!”

“I was just standing my ground, actually.”

“You told the 3rd to go to hell.” He reminds.

“And I stand on that, in the moment.” Crossing your arms defensively.

“Which is why he didn’t let you go on missions for a month.”

“WHICH is why I stood on that.” You shove him with your shoulder. “As if you were any better, you always had such a bad attitude and a scowl on your face. Some would find that off-putting.”

“You never felt that way.” He comments.

“And that’s not the point. Plus, they kept sticking us on missions together, so I just had to get used to you, ya know.”

“A force to be reckoned with.” He breathes out, reminiscing on your past adventures. You fall into a comfortable silence as you both take in the sights of the festival, your body heating up from the drinks you had earlier, finally starting to feel it. Unconsciously, your body leans more into Kakashi feeling his warmth against your skin. It wasn’t until you caught wind of something delicious and sweet in the air did you moved from his side, your eyes scanning to find the source of the smell. AH HA. You spot the dango stand, lacing your arm through Kakashi’s, and you pull him towards the stand. You hadn’t had dango in forever and it smelled delectable.

“Two please?” You request, about to go into your pocket to pay when Kakashi’s hand is already handing money over, waiting for you to take the sticks. You take the sticks, thanking the lady at the stand.

“What a good boyfriend you have.” She comments with a wink, you just laugh.

“He’s alright,” you say awkwardly, taking a dango into your mouth, as the older woman laughs at you while you allow Kakashi to pull you away. “Don’t say anything, it would have been rude to correct her.” You scold him before he could even say anything, even though you didn’t unlink your arms.

“I wasn’t even going to say anything” He jokes, feeling his chest tighten at the thought.

“Sure,” you say taking another bite. “I could have paid myself.”

“You could of,” he says casually as he pulls his arm closer to his body which pulls you closer to him, you don’t move back.

The two of you continued enjoying the rest of the festival with Kakashi buying you more snacks that you sniffed out, even winning you a prize at one of the stalls. A stuffed wolf. You were enjoying this, enjoying being with Kakashi like this. It wasn’t like when you were younger and would hang out like friends. This felt intimate, almost like a date but of course, it wasn’t. In the back of your mind, you remember how he said that he was in love with you but now he was just acting so casually as if nothing had changed. Yes, he did almost kiss you earlier today but still, a girl sometimes has her doubts.

Truthfully, you were more scared of your feelings than his, afraid that you were also in love with him, but you didn’t even know what that meant. All of this was a first for you because of course you’ve been in relationships and liked people, but you’ve never been in love. Especially being in love with your best friend, one of the few people you have left in your life that you just got back.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t even noticed you and Kakashi stopped walking. He said your name quietly, gently turning your head to face him making you snap out of your thoughts.

“You okay?” He asked concern written all over your face at your sudden mindlessness. His fingers felt like they were burning under your chin. You squeeze the wolf closer to you, taking in the features of his face before you sigh nodding.

“Yeah, I’m fine” You attempt to laugh it off. “Just haven’t been to a festival in so long, ya know” He seems to believe your excuse, releasing your face and picking up two baskets you don’t even remember acquiring.

“Alright, well the team said they found the best spot to watch the fireworks.”

“Oh great” You smile up at him and the worried lines on his face soften. The two of you walk to a place that seems far away from the actual festival, a mostly abandoned hill that’s just outside the festival area. Your eyes scan around for the team, spotting them almost immediately Naruto waving frantically.

“y’all been having fun?” You ask as the two of you walk up to them, Kakashi handing them one of the baskets that Sasuke takes.

“Yes, but Naruto kept losing money on games” Sakura pouts, complaining as Naruto tries to defend himself. You could see that happening, which makes you giggle at their antics. Sasuke stays silent, looking at you and Kakashi in a strange way that you couldn’t figure out why when you met his eyes.

“What? You must not have had fun” You tease, jostling his hair which makes him smack your hand away scoffing. But he kept that same look on his face, it wasn’t a bad look, but you couldn’t figure out what was on his mind.

“Nothing.” He says, turning his back. “Come on before these fireworks start” he doesn’t even wait for a response as he starts walking away. The other two follow him as Naruto waves bye which again makes you giggle, so adorable.

“I think Sasuke had a better time than he wants to admit. Reminds me of someone at that age” You tease.

“I have no clue who you could be referring to.” He remarks pulling you to a bit higher spot on the hill behind where the team set their blanket and everything up. That’s what must be in the baskets. Kakashi takes out everything that was in your basket which includes a little more than just a blanket and snacks for you two, he also got some Sake, your favorite sake. He lets you sit down first on the blanket he just laid out, pouring you and himself some sake as he sits down. You sip on your cup as you gently lean into Kakashi again as you did while walking.

“I haven’t seen fireworks in years.” You break the silence between the two of you.

“Truthfully, I can’t remember the last time I had.” He comments back and you giggle at that taking another sip. You start fiddling with the cup in your hand, anxious about what you’re going to say next.

“I’ve had a really good time tonight.” You came out and just said it.

‘Really?”

“Really” you repeat taking a bigger sip this time.

He smiles gently down at you, “Good. I had hoped so.”

Before you could say anything else, the fireworks started grabbing your attention. It was the perfect spot to watch them. From your point of view, you could see everything without having to strain your neck up to see. It was beautiful.

“Beautiful.” You comment, staring at the fireworks in awe.

“Exceptionally so.” He replies, except he wasn’t looking at the fireworks. He was looking at you and you could feel his gaze, slowly turning your head towards him. His gaze was soft but there was a fire behind it that was making your heart pound into your chest. You didn’t know what was louder, the fireworks or your heart. A feeling of boldness came across you as your hand reached for his face, stroking his cheek, gently pulling on his mask as you leaned up. He follows your lead, leaning down towards you as you pull his mask down past his lips.

“Is this, okay?” He asked barely above a whisper, not even sure if you could hear him or not, even with your faces not even an inch apart. You nod against his face, pushing his nose with yours before his lips land directly onto yours. The arm he had resting behind you grabbed you by the waist pulling you more into him which made you gasp against his mouth. Your gasp allowed Kakashi to explore your mouth with his tongue, he almost moaned. You tasted like sugar and sake; this was going to be his new favorite flavor. You allowed him to dominate your mouth, enjoying the way he felt encompassing you. His grip on your waist getting harder, making you moan into his mouth which just encouraged him more to dominate over you, feeling small and delicate in his grasp. He had such a strong hold on you, kissing you so passionately, hungrily as if you would disappear at any moment if he let go. The kiss was making you dizzy, if Kakashi wasn’t holding onto you so aggressively you don’t even think you would be able to keep yourself upright. You gain some composure as you bite his lower lip, pulling away to take a moment, which he doesn’t give you before he’s attacking your neck a growl coming from deep in his throat as you moan into his ear.

“Fuck, Kashi. We are in public.” You whimper, trying to slow him down. He bit down hard before pulling away.

“You’re right.” He says but doesn’t let you go pulling you into another breathtaking kiss, which you pull away too soon for his liking. You place his mask back on his face with a giggle, fireworks still going off behind y’all as you remove his hand from around your waist entangling your fingers with his.

“I know I’m right.” You put your head on his shoulder, your interlocked fingers in your lap. Fuck, you were definitely head over heels for this man. And if that kiss proved anything, he was still in love with you, which you had no clue why you were worried about in the first place. Y'all enjoyed the rest of the fireworks with your head on his shoulder as his thumb drew circles on your hand, fingers still entwined. After the fireworks were over, Kakashi packed everything up back in the basket and promptly grabbed your hand back into his. He was very serious about hand holding it seemed which made you giggle.

“Alright team, fun’s over. We gotta head back tomorrow so let’s call it a night.” You state walking up to the team as they were getting their own basket back together. You can see Sasuke's eyes dart to where you and Kakashi were connected before going back to what he was doing previously. This almost made you want to let go, feeling self-conscious but Kakashi held your hand tightly. Luckily, neither Naruto nor Sakura paid the two of you any mind as they started walking back to the inn. After getting back to the inn, Sasuke gives you a knowing look, which makes you step right on his foot before taking your leave to your own room. Why he insisted on trying to embarrass you was beyond you, such little brother behavior. Once back in the room, you immediately take down your hair, gently playing the pin Kakashi got for you on the desk. You head to the bathroom, to get ready for the night but unfortunately, while you are in there it seems like you can’t get your yukata untied.

“Um, Kakashi” You call to him from the bathroom. “Can you help me again? You tied this kind of tight ya know.”

He makes his way into the bathroom to assist you, the mask having already been discarded, hands working diligently to untie the knot himself created. Once he assisted you, he didn’t make a move to leave from behind you, instead moving your hair to one side giving him access to your neck again placing his lips there softly as his hands move to the front of your yukata.

“Kakashi” you whisper as you feel him untying the front. His mouth doesn’t move from your neck as he caresses your body.

“We aren’t in public.” He smirked against your skin before continuing his attack on your neck making you grip the sink in front of you arching your back into him.

“No, we aren’t” you whimper as you throw your head back, moving on of your hands to grip the back of his head. His hands roam your body as he sucks and bites at all the weak points of your neck leaving you gasping and moaning. When he realizes he can’t get the thing untied from behind you, he turns you around, lifting you up on the sink and immediately colliding his mouth onto yours. He begins to finally untie the front of your yukata breaking away only to take in your form in just your bra and panties, matching black lace set. One thing you always had confidence in was your body but now you were feeling almost shy, wanting to close back up. Kakashi inhales sharply as his hands run up your thighs.

“Fuck, you're beautiful, even more than before.”

Your form was filled out a little more than most 3 years ago. There were more curves to your hips, your breasts a bit fuller, and your legs so much thicker, Kakashi was mesmerized by the changes to your body, and he needed you desperately. His hand goes to your throat as he pulls you into a kiss, gently squeezing which makes your body unconsciously grind into him, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. You moan his way as he makes his way down your jawline, licking around your ear lobe whispering in your ear how great your body feels against his as his free hand roams your body. He removes his hand from your throat, replacing it with his mouth. his mouth makes its way across your shoulder making your body feel like it's on fire from his touch. Your hands move to his waist to untie the sash to take off his garments, but your hands are fumbling as he makes his way to your breasts, unfastening your bra with ease to take your nipple into his mouth.

“Fuck, Kakashi” you moan, leaving his garment alone to hold yourself on the sink. He went between biting and sucking on your nipple, sending intense waves of pleasure straight to your core as your head is thrown back with a moan. You attempt to pull him closer with your legs, wanting to feel more of his body against you but his hand grabs your thigh to stop your movements. He makes his way back up to your face, kissing you before moving to your ear again.

“Be patient, let me have this” he breaths into your ear and you think you could cum right then, you knew your panties were flooded at this point. You release your legs from around him, allowing him to have his way with you.

“Thank you”

His mouth was everywhere on your torso right then, kissing, sucking, biting every single inch of your skin. You were going to be covered in marks by the time he was done with you, but you were growing needier and needier with each feel of his mouth. You ached for him. He was touching you everywhere but the one place that would relieve your pressure.

“Kashi, please” You begged, not knowing how much more you could take. He goes to his knees looking up at you.

“Of course, princess” his mouth connecting with your clothed pussy as his hands knead your thighs, he was trying to kill you, you just knew it. His tongue swipes across your clit, still clothed teasing you even more. Your hands move to slide your panties down, but his hands come to stop you. “Not yet”

You whine at his actions, needing more of him. The thin layer of your panties separates him from your flesh. You push your hips more into him, not knowing how much more you could take without feeling him.

“Please” you whine, looking down at him and making him darkly chuckle as he finally grants your request by slowly, painfully slowly, dragging your panties down and off. He started to devour you like a man starved. His hands gripping your thighs to keep your legs apart as he feasted on you, overwhelming you with pleasure. Your hands go to grip his hair as you through your head back moaning his name like a bitch in heat. One of the hands that was gripping your thighs moves to your drenched entrance, placing two fingers inside while his mouth moves to suck and swirl around your clit.

“Don’t stop” you moan, feeling everything building up inside of you as his fingers move through you hitting the spot that makes you clench. He moans at your reactions to him which pushes you closer to the edge. The grip on his hair strengthens as you push him further into your cunt crying out his name as an orgasm rips through you, squirting all over his face.

“Fuck fuck fuck” you curse, your back arched as he keeps up his actions as you’re still going through your peak. It was almost too much as his attack on you slowed, finally able to get your breathing under control. He grins at you deviously, face wet from your release as he moves his way to capture your mouth with us. The taste of yourself on his tongue sends a shiver down your spine as you moan into his mouth. Your hands go between your bodies as you grab him, stroking him slowly as you use your own slick to lubricate his length.

“Princess” He growls against your mouth, pressing his body more into your hand. “Put me in, princess” He wanted it to sound like a demand, but it came out more of a whimper, needing to be inside you badly. He needed it almost as much as he needed air. You lift your hips as you guide him into you. Kakashi almost collapses as he feels himself enter you, so tight, so wet, so warm. “Fuck”

His movements are slow at first as he composes himself trying to allow you to adjust to him being inside you, but you don’t need that as he feels you start to grind back against him causing a curse to leave his lips.

“You’re going to kill me, pretty” He grunts as your hands start to rake across his back and he picks up his pace slamming into you fiercely. You’re moaning his name like a prayer, hands leaving streaks across his back and it’s driving him to the brink of insanity. His movements falter for a second as your walls are attempting to pull his cum out directly from his balls. You take this moment to roll over, letting yourself be on top of him, your movements are flawless as you immediately begin riding him not missing a single moment. You really may be the death of him. Fuck. His hands grab onto your hips as you grind against him, the grip he has on you is surely to leave bruises, but you don’t mind you're in complete ecstasy.

“Fuck, Kakashi” you moan fondling your breasts as you grind against him. “I’m gonna cum,” your toes curling as you feel him twitching inside of you, seeing that he’s just as close as you. “cum with me”

Your request spurred something new in him as he started ramming you from underneath making your head spin. You scream his name as you cum, HARD, feeling him cum with you as you collapse on top of him. You both are breathing heavily as you both come down for your highs, his hands gently stroking your back. Your eyes are growing heavy, and you feel so content and at peace for once in so long.

“I love you” your voice comes out, barely as a whisper. Kakashi’s hand stops moving on your back, gripping you to his body.

“I love you,” he says back, and you sigh happily feeling your eyes grow heavy.

Everything finally felt right, you felt right in his arms, you felt right with this team, and everything was good for you finally. You couldn’t wait to tell your sister when you got back, she would be so happy. You were so happy.

Is this what pure happiness felt like?

taglist: @smarsd @ferretsqueen @yellowflashof-theleaf

Taglist open

[leonardcohenofficial]

as is tradition here are my top nine new-to-me watches of the year—in no particular order (l-r, top row to bottom row):

the african desperate (martine syms, 2022) not a pretty picture (martha coolidge, 1975) anatomy of a fall (justine triet, 2023) the girls (mai zetterling, 1968) network (sidney lumet, 1976) the year of the cannibals (liliana cavani, 1970) all the beauty and the bloodshed (laura poitras, 2022) straight on till morning (peter collinson, 1972) microhabitat (jeon go-woon, 2017)

i hit 150 total films and my continual goal of half of the films by women and nonbinary filmmakers, and still definitely need to keep up with deliberately seeking out films by directors of color! feel free to tell me your faves if you’ve seen any of these 🖤👀🎬🍿🎥

i'll tag @privatejoker / @wanlittlehusk / @majorbaby / @edwardalbee / @draftdodgerag / @lesbiancolumbo / @frmulcahy / @nelson-riddle-me-this / @firewalkwithmedvd and anyone else who'd like to share their top watches of the year!

full list of films for the year is included below, favorites are bolded in red:

Farewell Amor (Ekwa Msangi, 2020)

Hell Camp: Teen Nightmare (Liza Williams, 2023)

Blacks Britannica (David Koff, 1978)

New Year, New You (Sophia Takal, 2023)

Family Band: The Cowsills Story (Louise Palanker and Bill Filipiak, 2011)

The Color Purple (Blitz Bazawule, 2023)

The Apology (Alison Star Locke, 2022)

Close (Lukas Dhont, 2022)

Unintended (Anja Murmann, 2018)

Other People’s Children (Liz Hinlein, 2015)

Omega Rising Women of Rastafari (D. Elmina Davis, 1988)

The Gypsy Moths (John Frankenheimer, 1969)

Be My Cat: A Film for Anne (Adrian Țofei, 2015)

Insomnia (Christopher Nolan, 2002)

Chowchilla (Paul Solet, 2023)

Intimate Relations (Philip Goodhew, 1996)

Monument (Jagoda Szelc, 2018)

After Sherman (Jon Sesrie Goff, 2022)

Remnants of the Watts Festival (Ulysses Jenkins, 1980)

Network (Sidney Lumet, 1976)

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (Joseph Sargent, 1974)

Down Low (Rightor Doyle, 2023)

Our Father, the Devil (Ellie Foumbi, 2021)

The Zone of Interest (Jonathan Glazer, 2023)

Youngblood (Noel Nosseck, 1978)

Joy Division - Under Review (Christian Davies, 2006)

Being Frank: The Chris Sievey Story (Steve Sullivan, 2018)

Sun Ra: A Joyful Noise (Robert Mugge, 1980)

Fanny: The Right To Rock (Bobbi Jo Hart, 2021)

Depeche Mode: The Dark Progression (Alec Lindsell, 2009)

Kraftwerk And The Electronic Revolution (Thomas Arnold, 2008)

Blank City (Celine Danhier, 2010)

Oliver Sacks: His Own Life (Ric Burns, 2019)

Monster (Hirokazu Kore-eda, 2023)

Black Is Beltza (Fermín Muguruza, 2018)

Werewolf (Ashley McKenzie, 2016)

The Humans (Stephen Karam, 2021)

Relative (Tracey Arcabasso Smith, 2022)

The Believer (Henry Bean, 2001)

Lost Angel: The Genius of Judee Sill (Brian Lindstrom and Andy Brown, 2022) 

Animals (Collin Schiffli, 2014)

Scott Walker: 30 Century Man (Stephen Kijak, 2006)

Novitiate (Maggie Betts, 2017)

Hunger (Henning Carlsen, 1966)

Late Night With The Devil (Cameron Cairnes and Colin Cairnes, 2023)

The Stunt Man (Richard Rush, 1980)

New York Doll (Greg Whiteley, 2005)

The Iron Claw (Sean Durkin, 2023)

Your Fat Friend (Jeanie Finlay, 2023)

Scarred Justice: The Orangeburg Massacre 1968 (Bestor Cram and Judy Richardson, 2008)

Targets (Peter Bogdanovich, 1968)

Uptight (Jules Dassin, 1968)

Messiah of Evil (Gloria Katz and Willard Huyck, 1973)

Plastic Paradise (Brett O’Bourke, 2013)

You Hurt My Feelings (Nicole Holofcener, 2023)

Pretty Poison (Noel Black, 1968)

The Shout (Jerzy Skolimowski, 1978)

Shakedown (Leilah Weinraub, 2018)

Class of 1984 (Mark L. Lester, 1982)

Betty: They Say I’m Different (Philip Cox, 2017)

Beautiful Boy (Felix van Groeningen, 2018)

Anatomy of a Fall (Justine Triet, 2023)

Gimme Shelter (Albert Maysles, David Maysles, and Charlotte Zwerin, 1970)

The Beach Boys (Frank Marshall and Thom Zimny, 2024)

High and Low (Kevin Macdonald, 2023)

Brats (Andrew McCarthy, 2024)

I Saw The TV Glow (Jane Schoenbrun, 2023)

The Talented Mr. Ripley (Anthony Minghella, 1999)

Altered States (Ken Russell, 1980)

This Closeness (Kit Zauhar, 2023)

How To Have Sex (Molly Manning Walker, 2023)

American Commune (Rena Mundo Croshere and Nadine Mundo, 2013)

Look In Any Window (William Alland, 1961)

Private Property (Leslie Stevens, 1960)

We’re Still Here: Johnny Cash’s Bitter Tears Revisited (Antonino D’Ambrosio, 2015)

The Wobblies (Stewart Bird and Deborah Shaffer, 1979)

Last Summer Won’t Happen (Tom Hurwitz and Peter Gessner, 1968)

Goodbye Gemini (Alan Gibson, 1970)

Keyboard Fantasies: The Beverly Glenn-Copeland Story (Posy Dixon, 2019)

The Most Beautiful Boy in the World (Kristina Lindström and Kristian Petri, 2021)

The Passenger (Carter Smith, 2023)

The Boys Who Said No (Judith Ehrlich, 2020)

Synecdoche, New York (Charlie Kaufman, 2008)

Karen Carpenter: Starving for Perfection (Randy Martin, 2023)

...And Justice For All (Norm Jewison, 1978)

I Used To Be Funny (Ally Pankiw, 2023)

Badlands (Terrence Malick, 1973)

Straight On Till Morning (Peter Collinson, 1972)

The Same Difference: Gender Roles in the Black Lesbian Community (Nneka Onuorah, 2015)

Thanksgiving (Eli Roth, 2023)

Sorry/Not Sorry (Caroline Suh and Cara Mones, 2023)

Am I OK? (Tig Notaro and Stephanie Allynne, 2022)

Joan Baez: I Am a Noise (Maeve O’Boyle, Miri Navasky, and Karen O’Connor, 2023)

No Direction Home (Martin Scorsese, 2005)

Shutter Island (Martin Scorsese, 2010)

Water Lilies (Céline Sciamma, 2007)

The Strings (Ryan Glover, 2020)

The Crucible (Nicholas Hytner, 1996)

Woman of the Hour (Anna Kendrick, 2024)

The Platform (Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia, 2019)

Tabloid (Errol Mark Morris, 2010)

Will & Harper (Josh Greenbaum, 2024)

Miller’s Girl (Jade Halley Bartlett, 2024)

Give Me Pity! (Amanda Kramer, 2022)

Landlocked (Paul Owens, 2021)

Perfect Love (Catherine Breillat, 1996)

Not a Pretty Picture (Martha Coolidge, 1975)

Seeking Mavis Beacon (Jazmin Jones, 2024)

Renfield (Chris McKay, 2023)

Compulsion (Richard Fleischer, 1959)

An Angel At My Table (Jane Campion, 1990)

Longlegs (Oz Perkins, 2024)

Rare Beasts (Billie Piper, 2019)

Nightman (Mélanie Delloye-Betancourt, 2023)

The Changin’ Times of Ike White (Daniel Vernon, 2020)

The Substance (Coralie Fargeat, 2024)

The Year of the Cannibals (Liliana Cavani, 1970)

Fanatical: The Catfishing of Tegan and Sara (Erin Lee Carr, 2024)

The Loneliest Planet (Julia Loktev, 2011)

Marjoe (Howard Smith and Sarah Kernochan, 1972)

Witches (Elizabeth Sankey, 2024)

Angela (Rebecca Miller, 1995)

The Morning After (Richard T. Heffron, 1974)

Beach Rats (Eliza Hittman, 2017)

Last Summer (Catherine Breillat, 2023)

The Fits (Anna Rose Holmer, 2015)

Hold Your Breath (Karrie Crouse and Will Joines, 2024)

What Comes Around (Amy Redford, 2022)

Dear Zachary: A Letter to a Son About His Father (Kurt Kuenne, 2008)

Priscilla (Sofia Coppola, 2023)

The Girls (Mai Zetterling, 1968)

Sweetie (Jane Campion, 1989)

Victim/Suspect (Nancy Schwartzman, 2023)

The African Desperate (Martine Syms, 2022)

Les Nôtres (Jeanne Leblanc, 2020)

A Sacrifice (Jordan Scott, 2024)

All the Beauty and the Bloodshed (Laura Poitras, 2022)

My Name is Not Ali (Viola Shafik, 2011)

Committed (Sheila McLaughlin and Lynne Tillman, 1984)

Chained (Jennifer Lynch, 2012)

The Hour of Liberation Has Arrived (Heiny Srour, 1974)

All Power To The People! (Lee Lew-Lee, 1997)

Night Moves (Kelly Reichardt, 2013)

Destroyer (Karyn Kusama, 2018)

Late Night (Nisha Ganatra, 2023)

The Year Between (Alex Heller, 2022)

Loved (Erin Dignam, 1997)

Girl In The Picture (Skye Borgman, 2022)

Microhabitat (Jeon Go-Woon, 2017)

Dear Ex (Mag Hsu and Chih-yen Hsu, 2018)

[soundslivemagazine]

In Defence Of Oasis

Exploring the hype behind one of Britain’s most loved and raucous rock n roll bands.

Unless you’ve been living under the most soundproof of rocks this week, you will have heard the news. After a decade and a half of the alluring ‘will-they-won’t-they’ drama, the Gallagher brothers Noel and Liam have rekindled just as suddenly as they’d ended it all backstage at a gig in Paris in 2009.

The rumours abound on social media suddenly began to feel a lot less like fantasies when Oasis, Noel and Liam’s accounts all teased an announcement last Saturday. Oasis had made announcements since their split, usually about anniversaries, merchandise and documentaries, this wasn’t out of the ordinary. In fact, the band would soon be marking 30 years since their era-defining debut album Definitely Maybe came out in August 1994. Singer Liam Gallagher had also threatened to reunite the band on plenty of occasions in the ensuing decade, but never made good on his word. Why should this time have felt different?

In theory, it shouldn’t have. The village eventually loses interest in the boy crying wolf. And yet, when Liam Gallagher stepped onto the Main Stage at Reading festival to perform a headlining set on Sunday and opened with nostalgic on-screen visuals of Oasis, any doubt left in fans’ minds quickly evaporated.

The following Tuesday, the band confirmed what we already knew: Oasis, the biggest Britpop band of the 1990s, were back in action.

The avalanche of articles followed like they hadn’t in over 20 years: Oasis had undoubtedly reignited the fantasies of music magazines and publications that were otherwise scaling down in the face of rising operational costs. We’ve now seen over 20 NME articles, news on the BBC website, a revived radio documentary on BBC 6 Music, countless Rolling Stone thinkpieces, news in SPIN Magazine, the Manchester Evening News, gossip in the rags of the Sun, Mail, Metro. The mural in Manchester. The millions of people that tried to get tickets for the reunion dates that sold out in hours. It’s easy to be sick of it all, to think there wasn’t a band more overrated, overhyped or beloved than Oasis.

But let’s forget the hymns for a moment. Let us re-examine the appeal of the band before the myth: five boys from Manchester who believed in nothing more than the rock ‘n’ roll dream. And certainly, nothing less.

Cast your mind back to 1994, before the success and idolatry, before their songs would be turned into design-for-life anthems, before the band would be permanently woven into the fabric of British music history. Strip all that away and try to imagine hearing a then-relatively unknown Oasis for the first time. Imagine being told that half the band was not yet 22 years old, that they were a new band, releasing their third-ever single? Can you imagine, however simple it may have been lyrically, hearing Live Forever for the first time? In particular, just 4 months after Kurt Cobain’s suicide, after many fans were left feeling like they were staring at the definitive end of an era of honest independent music?

In 1994, Oasis were ’77’s punk all over again. Entering a landscape of artists (a term Liam Gallagher has derided) who internalised their music and recoiled at the notion of explicit success, Oasis were a brash rejection of shoegaze and indie’s philosophies, even going as far as to instruct the presenters of BBC Radio 1’s Evening Sessions to tell the world that Oasis were not an indie band. They were a rock ‘n’ roll band, and a band that dared to aim high, openly and with no apologies (all apologies for the pun). 

That was a philosophy they would live by until the bitter end, for better or worse. In a world of falling ambition and no hope, as Britain emerged ravaged by the Thatcher years to find there was nowhere left for its young to go, Oasis were determined to write their own destiny, largely for themselves, but invariably, for their entire generation. 

Keep reading

[the-travelling-witch]

@viperbunnies here's the second part of the prompts you sent in for my 1 character, 1 word, 11 minutes challenge a time frame which i have completely abandoned by now

this is my first time writing for one of the genshin ladies (on my blog at least, we do not discuss the ningguang and beidou stuff in my drafts), so i hope i could do our sunshine, and your prompt, justice :]

original ask

𝐘𝐨𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐲𝐚 - 𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡 [𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝟏]

Festival lights illuminated the streets of Inazuma city, winding up all the way to Tenshukaku. Tourists and locals alike were milling about, chatting excitedly as they perused the wares and offers of various stalls lining the road, while kids with painted faces ran around between them. The paint was your and Yoimiya’s doing. 

In addition to setting off fireworks, the blonde had the idea to use her artistic skills to run a booth where kids could have their faces painted to resemble different mythological figures from Inazuma’s history. And it was quite popular with the visitors. Children could play around in their own fantasy worlds and parents could take a break to look around the city while you were working. 

After a few exhausting hours, the onslaught of people at your booth had quieted down as most people had moved further into the city to enjoy the festivities and the two of you were left to clean up your workstation. When you asked if she wasn’t going to put the paints away, Yoimiya turned to you with a contagious smile.

“Actually, I wanted to ask if I could draw something on you as well,” she said. At her beaming face you resigned yourself that you already lost and moved to sit on the booth’s table. “Really? You’re the best! Here, give me your right arm. Oh and close your eyes, don’t peek!”

You did as she asked and felt the cool sensation of the paint glide over your skin as you tried to keep track of her brush movements. However, it was only a matter of time until you had no idea anymore what she possibly could be painting, so you listened to the atmosphere of the city instead. After a few more minutes, the fingers that gently held your arm before let go.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now,” Yoimiya declared excitedly. Holding out a hand mirror to you, she gestured for you to get a good look at her handiwork. “What do you think?”

With the help of the mirror, you quickly recognised the familiar colours decorating your arm. There, swimming on a backdrop of blue swirls, was a vibrant goldfish surrounded by bursts of fireworks. Though instead of facing upwards, it pointed towards your elbow.

“I love it, thank you.” Putting the mirror down, you stood up to hug her, mindful of the fresh paint on your arm. When standing face to face this close, the goldfish almost seemed to swim in a circle together and the thought warmed your heart. Intertwining your hands, you returned her smile. “I have a feeling that I’ll enjoy the festival even more now. Mainly because we’re going together, though.”

“I was about to say the same thing,” she giggled, pulling you onto the street. “Then what are we waiting for, let’s go and have some fun!”

𝐘𝐨𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐲𝐚 - 𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡 [𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝟐]

The sun was beginning to rise over the horizon of the Inazuman sea, dyeing the water crimson and amber. No matter how often you had seen the sight, it was one that you would never tire of, especially since you much preferred it over storm-laden clouds gathering in the distance. Well, you supposed most fishers would rather sail out on tranquil waters.

Rounding the cliffs behind your house to check on your boat and store your supplies, you stopped when you thought you heard a noise. After listening for a few seconds and only being met with silence, however, you shrugged and continued. Probably just a cat. Or a big fish. As you threw your bag into the boat stowed away between the rocks on which your house stood, you heard it again. This time for sure. 

Movement caught your attention from the corner of your eye and you slowly grabbed the knife which most of the time was just used to cut your line. Whoever was there didn’t have to know that though. Plus, it did make you feel a little better to hold something. With a quick glance around your surroundings, you determined that whatever was making that noise had to be on the other side of the rock that was sitting in the shallows a few metres away from you. As noiselessly as you could on sand, you approached the brown lump and peered around it. A fishernet was caught in the jagged edges of the rock and struggling in it…

… was the most gorgeous woman you had ever seen.

She had eyes like the setting sun and her golden hair was held together by a variety of beautiful shells and pearls. In lieu of legs, she had a tail of golden scales and fins shimmering in the morning light. You had heard older fishermen tell tales of mermaids and sirens that lived far off the coast and could bewitch anyone crossing through their waters, yet you always thought them fairy tales to scare people out of sailing too far out. Maybe you had been wrong.

The second the mermaid spotted you she went completely still, eyeing the knife in your hand knowingly. Hoping to signal that you meant her no harm, you raised both of your hands and cautiously waded into the water under the watchful eye of the woman in front of you. Though when you reached for the net, you got knocked down by a powerful hit of her fin and staggered to regain your footing.

“It’s okay! I don’t want to hurt you!” Your exclamation came automatically as you wiped water out of your face. Taking a step forward again, you hoped to convey your sincerity in the tone of your voice. “I want to help you.”

You weren’t quite sure if she actually understood your language or your intention or if she had just resigned herself to her situation, but when you grasped the ropes this time, she didn’t knock you down. Progress. With slow and deliberate movements you worked on cutting through the net. It wasn’t one of yours, so you felt little remorse for it. It took some time to sable through enough of the fishing net but soon enough you pocketed your knife and moved to pull the cords off their unwilling catch. 

The second she could detangle herself from the restrictions, the mermaid took off towards the sea without looking back once. The last you saw of her was a glittering tail fin as it caught the morning light over the waves and then she was gone. Despite how brief the interaction was, you found yourself thinking about it for the entirety of the day, distracting you no matter how often you told yourself to let it go. So yes, mermaids were real, kind of a big deal. Except for the fact that you would most likely never meet one again, you reprimanded yourself as you laid down to sleep. Especially not her.

So when you went to unmoor your boat the following morning, you were taken aback by the collection of pretty shells and pearls laying in it in a neat pile. Next to them, a single golden scale.

1 character, 1 word, 11 minutes

general masterlist

[oldiesstationlover11607]

Absolutely adore your work! It never fails to make my day <3

I was thinking a josh x drummer reader! Maybe they drum for a pop punk band so they're in similar scenes and josh has just been admiring and pinning for them, I don't have a specific era or anything in mind! Just something fluffy with the drummer boy <3

WWWY - Josh Dun x Iero!Reader

Warnings: none hehe

Word count: 1555

A/N: I've been watching all the WWWY videos and thinking about MCR and PTV a lot recently so here's a cute little fic about a pop punk drummer and Josh being at WWWY fest :)

The sun was setting behind the Las Vegas skyline, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple as I slid my drum sticks into my back pocket. We’d just wrapped our set on one of the smaller stages at When We Were Young Fest, and I was still riding the adrenaline high, my hands tingling from the final drum solo that I’d nailed—thank god. As the drummer for Neon Rebellion, I’d been dreaming of playing a festival ever since I first picked up a pair of sticks and plastered my bedroom walls with posters of all the bands who were now, somehow, my peers. It still felt surreal.

I wiped the sweat from my brow and grinned as I caught sight of a familiar face—my uncle Frank. He was talking to Mikey, and as I walked up to them, they both turned to greet me with warm smiles. Mikey gave me a little fist bump, and Frank pulled me into a quick, sweaty hug.

“Hey, Y/N, you killed it out there!” Frank said, his voice loud enough to carry over the hum of conversations and the distant echo of whatever band was rocking the main stage. “It’s so great to see you making music hun. You’re just like me!”

“Yeah, you guys sounded great,” Mikey added, nodding approvingly. “How’s it feel to finally play a festival?”

“It feels like a dream,” I admitted, brushing a strand of my damp hair out of my face. “I feel like I’m going to wake up in my room any minute now.”

“Nope, you’re definitely awake.” Frank grinned and ruffled my hair. “And you’re not going back to bar gigs anytime soon.”

I laughed and swatted his hand away. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. This is just… huge. Thanks for all your support.”

He waved me off, looking almost embarrassed. “You don’t have to thank me. You did this all on your own, kid. We just knew you were gonna be a star.” He shared a proud look with Mikey, who nodded in agreement.

“Speaking of stars, though,” Mikey said, gesturing over my shoulder. 

I furrowed my brow and turned around, only to find myself locking eyes with someone I recognized immediately—even though I’d never met him in person before. My breath hitched, and for a second, I thought I was hallucinating because Josh Dun was walking toward us. Like, Josh freaking Dun. I must have looked like a deer caught in headlights because Frank chuckled under his breath and patted my shoulder.

Josh had this shy, nervous energy about him as he approached, his eyes flicking between me and my uncle, almost as if he was worried he was intruding on a family moment. His red hair stood out against the dark fest grounds, and he wore a faded band tee that I couldn’t quite make out. There was a nervous smile tugging at his lips, and it was like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands—he shifted awkwardly for a moment before tucking them in his jean pockets.

“Hi, um… Y/N?” he asked, his voice a little hesitant, almost like he was testing out the sound of my name.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the fact that my heart was beating faster than the double-kick I’d just played on stage. “Hi.”

“I’m—well, I’m Josh,” he said, then laughed at himself. “Obviously. Sorry. I, uh, caught your set earlier, and I just wanted to tell you that you were amazing. Like, really amazing. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I felt heat rising to my cheeks, and I cursed myself internally for getting flustered. “Oh, wow, thank you! That means a lot, coming from you. I’m a huge fan. Your band was one of the first that made making it seem possible to me.”

Josh’s smile widened at that, and I thought I saw a hint of relief in his eyes. “Really? That’s awesome. I actually, um… I’ve been following you guys for a while. You’ve got this insane energy on stage. It’s super cool.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Josh Dun, a drummer I’d idolized for years, was standing here, telling me that I inspired him. It was almost too much to handle, and I felt my mouth go dry. Mikey stepped in to ease the tension, giving Josh a friendly nod.

“Josh, good to see you,” Mikey said, extending a hand. Josh shook it quickly, and they exchanged pleasantries, but I barely registered their words because my mind was still reeling. I managed to glance at Frank, who gave me a knowing smirk before stepping back with Mikey to give us space.

“So,” Josh said after a moment, shifting a little closer. “I noticed you’ve got some pretty unique gear. You’re using custom cymbals, right? I thought I heard a different kind of tone during that breakdown.”

He leaned forward slightly, and suddenly we were deep in conversation about drum gear—the exact sizes of our snares, the brands we swore by, how to get the perfect tone for different genres. I told him how I loved experimenting with hybrid kits, and he shared how he modified his drum pads to get the right sound for live shows. We geeked out about drumming techniques, the struggles of keeping up with intense touring schedules, and even laughed about mishaps during sets.

At some point, Frank and Mikey wandered off, leaving us alone. The festival buzzed around us, the noise a constant backdrop to our conversation, but it felt like we were in our own little world. Josh was so easy to talk to—passionate and animated when discussing the intricacies of drumming, but gentle and attentive when he asked me about my experiences on tour.

“You know,” he said, after what felt like no time at all, “I’d love to catch some sets with you, if you’re up for it. There are a few bands playing tonight that I really don’t want to miss.”

“Yeah, that sounds fun!” I agreed, trying not to sound too eager. “Who do you want to see?”

“Well, My Chem are playing soon so we should definitely head there later,”” he said with a lopsided grin. 

My heart skipped a beat. “I’d love to,” I said, barely able to contain my excitement. 

We spent the next few hours wandering around the festival, squeezing through the crowd to get the best view of some of my favorite bands. Pierce The Veil, Sleeping With Sirens, Taking Back Sunday—it was like reliving my teenage dreams, but with Josh by my side. When the time came for My Chemical Romance, he guided me to the side stage, his hand brushing mine for a moment before we stepped into the chaotic world of backstage passes and crew members.

Frank saw us as we approached and shot me a teasing look. “So, Josh, you finally managed to pull her away, huh?”

“Frank!” I groaned, feeling my face flush, but Josh just laughed.

“She’s a tough one to impress,” he said, sending me a sideways smile that made my heart flip. “I had to pull out all the stops.”

“Good luck,” Frank said, winking at me before turning his attention back to the stage, where Gerard was getting ready to kick off the set.

I felt a flutter of excitement in my chest as Josh and I took our spots at the side stage, the bright lights from MCR’s setup casting long shadows across our faces. I’d seen them play a million times before, but something about watching from here, with Josh leaning close to make comments about the drum technique or to share an inside joke, made it feel completely new.

The set was electric, every song hitting me harder than the last. There was a moment during “I’m Not Okay” when Josh and I both looked at each other, grinning like idiots as we sang along at the top of our lungs. It was the kind of moment I knew I’d never forget.

As the last notes of “Helena” faded out and the crowd roared their appreciation, Josh turned to me, his eyes catching the dim lights of the stage. “So,” he said, a little breathless from singing and shouting, “can I… take you out for real sometime? Like, a date?”

I stared at him, feeling my heart hammering in my chest. “Yeah,” I said, almost too quickly. “I’d like that. A lot.”

“Awesome,” he said, grinning so wide that his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Before I could say anything else, Frank reappeared, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Well, well, well,” he teased. “Looks like someone’s got herself a date with a rockstar.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks.

Josh just laughed, looking over at Frank with a playful expression. “Hey, you know what they say,” he said, nudging me gently. “It’s all about the drummers, right?”

“Right,” I said, feeling a warm glow in my chest as I looked back at him. “It’s all about the drummers.”

And as we stood there, watching the stage lights fade and the crew begin to break down, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be—right here, in the heart of the music, with Josh by my side.

//

REQUESTS OPEN

[xdacted]

To be with you

Paring: Reader x Charles Leclerc

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/no comfort, Ferrari's Incompetence

Word Count: 6,197

Status: Complete

_________________

He meets her at a house party. 

With music blaring in his ears, burning liquor on his lips, bodies packed onto the makeshift dance floor. He doesn’t remember whose party it is, only that Lorenzo had dragged him to it, but he’s since lost sight of his brother, swallowed by the throng of people. There are hands everywhere, pulling at his shirt, sliding down his back. But the alcohol that burns within him makes it easy for him to forget that he’s crowded around by strangers, and he loses himself in the energy of the room. 

It’s electrifying, thrumming in his veins and he almost feels like he’s racing. His heart is hammering within his chest, face warm, sweat dripping down his neck. He loves nights like these. He loves forgetting he’s Chalres Leclerc - ‘Il Predestinato’. 

Don’t get him wrong, racing is everything. It’s the blood in his body, the breath in his lungs - he’d be nothing without it, but sometimes that’s exactly what he misses. 

Being nothing, being no one. 

Living life without the crushing weight of the Scuderia on his back. 

A sudden change in the music draws him back to reality. There’s the squeal of a track and the people around him begin to boo loudly. He joins in, not for any particular reason, but it feels right. He begins to laugh, as someone shouts beside him, “This is shit!”

With the crowd still, he can finally detangle himself. He slips through the slivers of space, nearly tripping over his two feet. He manages to find the kitchen, red solo cups strewn about the marble island. With a sigh, Charles pulls himself against the cool surface, trying to calm the rapid drum of his heartbeat. The room spins a little and he curses for drinking so much, nothing will be worth the hangover tomorrow. 

“Are you alright?”

A girl perched upon the cabinets, watching him from above. Her voice is loud, fighting to rise above the music that resumes behind them. 

He nods, steadying himself against the counter, “I am alright.”

“Are you sure?” A smile plays on her face and Chalres can’t help but return it.

“I am.”

“You don’t look it,” Her feet sway where they dangle, her ankle bracelet shining in the artificial light of the kitchen, “You should drink some water.”

“Thanks for the suggestion.”

A laugh follows, but he can’t hear it. Their voices are swallowed by the music, and he can’t help but wish that everyone would shut up. 

“Maybe some air?”

He nods, watching her dismount from her perch. They make their way to the balcony and the night wind is soft against his skin, the lights of Monaco bright in the darkness. His wonderful city breathing below him. Charles clings to the railing, staring into the distance of the sea, the moon dancing across the glittering waters. The boats bob along to the gentle waves, and it looks as if the arms of the ocean are trying to rock them to sleep. 

“It’s so beautiful here,” Her voice is quieter now, the music trapped behind the terrace doors. It’s just them out here. 

“It is,” He smiles, his eyes slipping closed. Home fills his lungs. 

The smell of salt and sand, the dying bite of the sun on housetops, and a bit of her perfume. He can hear the laughter of his brothers as they run around the streets, kicking a football between them. He can see the confetti cannons and the spray of champagne as the rush of victory sings in his veins, throwing himself in the arms of his father. 

He nearly forgets she’s there, wrapped in memories that make him feel as if he’s floating. But then, he can hear the groan of the lounge chairs behind him. He turns to face her, watching with a chuckle as she burrows into the festive pillows that lie below her. 

When she looks up at him, a smile playing on her lips, it’s almost as if they’ve known each other for years. She gestures to the empty space beside her, and he collapses down onto the chair next to her. The wood of the seat creaks beneath him, but he settles into it. 

Silence balloons over them. 

The night rolling over them, Charles can feel the buzz simmering in his veins. His head has begun to clear, and he looks over at her. She lays there with her eyes closed, the wind blowing through her hair, a few pieces stuck to her forehead with sweat. The porch light dances on her skin. He finds himself memorizing the curve of her jaw and the lines of her nose, the bow of her lips. 

She’s beautiful. 

“I’m Chalres.”

His voice pops the peaceful nothingness that gathered, but she just hums. 

“I know.”

His face begins to burn, embarrassment twisting in his stomach. He hadn’t meant to sound arrogant, he just wanted to be polite, but before he can explain it away, she continues. 

“Everyone in Monaco knows who you are,” Hearing her say it only makes his blush worse, but he blames the alcohol. He’d never been good at drinking. 

“Il Predestinato,” She teases, cracking one eye open to stare at him. 

He lets out a sound of disapproval. That’s not who he is, that’s who people want him to be. 

“No?”

“Definitely not,” Charles’s words are quick. But he doesn’t know why he cares so much. He doesn’t understand why he feels the need to tell her - a stranger at a house party - how he feels. Why should he explain who he is? Why should she know?

“Who are you then?”

Charles doesn’t answer, looking down at his hands. He didn’t want her to know him as that, he wanted her to just know him as Charles. Just a normal person. Like everyone else. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I only know about F1 because of my brothers.”

Her words make him look up, “You don’t watch it?”

“God, no!” She snorts, “What could be more boring than watching a bunch of cars going in circles.”

“Hey,” Charles says, trying to sound as offended as possible, “That’s what I do for a job.”

He looks over to her, and she’s smiling up at him. The stars twinkled in her eyes, she waited for a moment before pushing forward, “Well?” 

“What?”

“Who are you?”

He breathes for a moment. Just sitting beside her watching the wind blow through her hair, he just breathes.

“I’m Charles.”

“Just Charles?”

“Just Charles.”

With a hum, she closes her eyes. She offers her own name and Charles thinks its the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard - like a prayer falling into the  night sky. 

“Nice to meet you, Just Charles,” She adds and Charles decides he wants to hear her say his name for the rest of his life. 

Silence gathers over them once more, but Charles finds that he doesn’t mind. It was as if the world had fallen away. As if there was no one left in the world besides the two of them. Two beating hearts, standing at the edge of the world, holding onto each other because there is nothing else for them to do. 

There is no one, Charles thought, as beautiful as she. 

His heart drumming in his throat, he gathers the courage to ask what she’s doing tomorrow. 

____________

Charles doesn’t want to leave. Thinking for the first time, that Bahrain could pass him by. 

“You’re going to miss your flight,” She whispers against his lips. 

He loves her. 

He’s so very sure that he does. How could he not?

Her smile is so bright, shining in the darkness of his apartment. With his luggage piled by the door, and Andrea waiting outside, he wants to stay. Just here with her. 

“Come with me,” His voice is soft against her. 

“You know I can’t,” Her smile doesn’t falter and she doesn’t move any further from him, her arms tight around his middle. He does know. She has a life here, a job that she loves and Charles would never dare pull her away from that.

He fakes a pout, jutting his lower lip out. She lets out a gentle laugh and Charles doesn’t thinking twice about joining her.

“I’ll be watching,” She promises, pressing a gentle kiss to his nose, “So make the whole ‘driving in circles' thing interesting for me.” 

Charles can’t help the grin that grows wide on his face. He tries to pull her even closer, dropping his head down to the crook of her shoulder. He breathes her in, letting her fill his lungs. He presses a kiss to her neck, a small butterfly peck, but it makes her giggle. 

The sound of her laughter filled him with light, ‘I love you,’ he nearly says, but then, there’s the blaring sound of a car horn ringing from the streets below. He’s late. But he doesn’t care. 

“You have to go!” She puts her hands against his chest, guiding him backwards, until he nearly trips over the threshold of the front door.

He whines out her name, “No…”

“Yes.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“I know,” Her smirk makes him lean back over her. His hands find her waist, and he plants a soft kiss on her lips. 

“I’ll be back.”

“I know you will.”

When he has to pull away from her, it hurts. Something throbbing in his chest and he isn't even out the door yet. She helps him gather his bags, but there’s a small frown on her face. 

He straightens himself, pulling his luggage out the door. He turns to look back at her, and she’s rushing back up to connect their lips, “Be careful, Charles.”

“I will.”

There’s a silence that begins to inflate around them. The nothingness of midnight creeping upon them, he can swear that he hears their unsaid ‘I love you’s floating in the air. 

“I -”

There’s another car honk. 

“You,” She says, her hands pushing the door shut, “Have to go.”

He does, tumbling from their apartment as she shuts the door in his face. She’s waiting for him when he comes back from Bahrain. A smile on her face and he forgets the ache in his bones or cramp in his legs. He’d rushed back to see her. Nearly pushing past the reporters and speeding through the driver's debrief afterward. 

Charles hopped on a plane first thing, still smelling of gasoline and champaign. The victory still singing in his veins, he felt as if he could soar to her, gather her in his arms and float to the stars. He’d won and he was returning to her as a champion. Though, he knew, deep down, that he could’ve returned p20 and she’d love him regardless. 

He has to stop himself from kicking their apartment door down. Anticipation heavy in his stomach, his hands shake as he slots the key through. It opens with a quiet click, the light of the hallway spilling into the darkness of the apartment. The silence curls around him, and for the first time, he can feel the exhaustion in his bones. Pressing against him, reminding him that he’s traveled halfway across the world. 

He pulls his luggage through the threshold of the door, dropping it in the living room. He knows it won’t be unpacked until days later, even more, he knows he’ll need to be gone in just a few days time for the next race. 

The thought makes his heart hurt, but the sound of soft feet against the wood floor draws him back to reality. Before he can even ask, she’s standing before him. Clad in his sweatshirt, with a blanket wrapped around herself, she stands right before him. 

His beautiful, beautiful girl. 

“Welcome home, my Champion.”

His blood burns as he crashes his body into hers. Locking his arms around her, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. She smells like home and it makes his head spin. He’s missed her so fucking much. 

There was nothing that could ever take this moment from him. 

Holding her in the darkness of their home, feeling as if there’s no one else in the world but them. He is so very in love with her. Her love twists around him, filling every crack in his soul, hoisting him from the waters of his self-doubt. She is the sun that shines in the morning and the moon that glows at night and he loves her more than anything. 

“I missed you,” He mutters against her skin, his voice muffled by her shoulder. 

She lets out a soft chuckle, the air that escapes her mouth floating past his ear, “I know.”

He smiles, trying to burrow himself further into her skin. He missed the heat of her touch, setting him aflame in the best possible way. 

An eternity feels as if it's passed, but they just stand there, holding one another. The world ticks slowly by them, but they don’t mind. The stars waltzing in the sky above them, the sleepy city below them, they are perfect where they are. Just here. In the moment. 

“Welcome home,” She pulls back slightly, only enough to angle her face to his and he pulls back just enough to face her. 

The sight of her takes his breath away. His body craves her, it sings for her, “Thank you for the welcome.” 

His hands find her waist, sitting just upon the small of her back, “Will you let me show you how much I missed you?”

There’s something that dances in her eyes, it makes the fire in Charles’ stomach grow brighter. She smiles coyly up at him, staring at him through her eyelashes, her hands pressing themselves against her chest. 

“If you must,” She says, but the blush in her cheeks betrays her. 

“I must.” 

He doesn’t waste another second, scooping her into his arms. He’s nearly running to their bedroom, swallowing her giggles with a kiss. 

Fuck, he’s missed her. 

All of her.  

__________

They’re together in Austria. Charles managed to convince her to take the week off to be with him and he’s glad he did. To have her here with him, finding her beaming face in the crowd, through the spray of champagne, meant more than everything. 

She was staring up at him like he held the world in his hands, like he’d carved the moon and stars. It makes him wish that the ceremony would speed by, that he could just throw himself at her and fall apart in her arms, the exhaustion creeping up his spine. 

The road leading up to this race was hard, and for a moment, Charles feared that this race would be lost to him too. He was still trying to keep himself in the Championship race, trying to never let Max get too far out in front of him in points. 

He could do it, he was sure of it. He could be the World Champion. 

“Hello, my Champion.”

With her, he could. 

She found him in his driver's room trying to peel his soaking overalls off his body. The sight made her burst into laughter, the arms had gotten tangled around his middle and he was stuck. 

“You are just going to stand there?” He questioned with a laugh, “Horrible.”

She threw her head back, setting her bag onto the couch by the door.

“But you still love me,” She said, walking towards him. She reached for his sleeves, pulling them apart and helping him step from his suit as it pooled at his ankles. 

He looked down at her as she worked. What? Love?

It was true. He loved her. He loved her more than anything. More than everything, but neither one of them had said so. It wasn’t that they were afraid, they weren’t - he wasn’t. It just…their feelings always felt so real, so palpable. He never doubted for a moment that he loved her or that she loved him, he just knew. So saying those words - saying that he loved her - never felt like it was demanded. He was in love with her and she knew.

“Perhaps you are right.”

“Perhaps?” Her eyes grew wide as she feigned offense, but she couldn’t hide her smile, “Charles Leclerc.”

“Perhaps,” He cut himself off, hands falling to her waist and pulling her close, “Perhaps more than just perhaps?”

For a moment, she stared up at him. There it was, those feelings burning in his eyes, but she knew. She hummed, letting her chin rest against his chest. He could feel her heartbeat, it was almost dancing with his. He was at peace. With her in his arms, just here. Breathing. 

Silence balloons around them, and he feels the comforting weight of the nothingness. His heart had calmed, the champagne on his skin had dried, and he was finally with her. His beautiful girl. Charles had just won a race but she didn’t love him because of that - she loved him and he just so happened to have won a race. 

He tightens his arms around her. Here, they're perfect. Nothing more to be said, nothing more to -

“I don’t want to lose this,” her words pop shatter the silence and Charles can’t stop the way his body pulls back. 

She tenses, and before he can apologize or tell her that it just startled him, she’s pushing forward. Her hands found him, bringing them to her chest, “I don’t want to lose you the way you are now.”

“What are you talking about?” He can’t stop the question. 

“I mean this,” She gestures around them, “You’re happy and smiling and you’re…you.”

Charles is sure that confusion takes its form on his face because she lets out a big sigh, “I’m saying, I don’t want racing to change you.”

“Racing made me.”

She purses her lips. That probably wasn’t the right thing to say but Charles can think of nothing else. It’s the truth. Racing made him. He was crafted from oil and smoke, blood and tears, roaring engines and blurring lights. He was the creation of the track, of the world of motorsport - it was his blood. Even if he didn’t want it to be. 

It was everything he was. 

She doesn’t frown, but Charles knows she wants to. 

The air is colder and he hates it.

“You won’t,” He tries, “I promise to make the circles interesting for you.”

She doesn’t smile, she just looks up at him with a hint of sadness in her eyes. 

Something in his chest grows tight, “You won’t.”

He pulls her close once more, and she sighs against him. He rests his forehead on hers, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. 

“I promise.”

She stares at him. Her beautiful eyes filled with so much emotion, burning right through him. She can see him, see all of him. There is not a single part of him that he can hide, there isn’t a single part of him that he wishes to hide. He’s open for her to see. 

“I love you, Charlie.”

His mouth goes dry. The words nearly knock him off his feet, but she’s there to steady him. She loves him, his heart begins to drum and he can’t help the smile that pulls across his face or the fireworks erupting within him. 

“I love you and I don’t want to-”

“I love you,” He cups her face, pulling her impossibly closer “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He can’t contain it, the fountain of words, but he doesn’t want to. He wants her to know, needs her to know. 

“I love you.”

Forget everything else. 

__________

He’d lost. Ferrari had screwed him over yet again. It was eating away at him, this was his dream, this had been the only thing he had ever thought about when he was young. He’d finally gotten it, he was here. He was where Jules should have been, where his father wanted him to be - and it was going to shit. 

He stormed into his driver's room, throwing his helmet into the corner of the room. He was a few seconds away from destroying the Ferrari regalia that sat around him, taunting him. The tiffosi hated him, he hated himself. It wasn’t even his fault. 

Charles wanted to scream. 

Anger was hot in his veins, searing his body as he began to tear his overalls off. A stupid tire decision had cost him the entire race, he was forced to watch Verstappen rush past him, snatching victory. His victory. Embarrassment made his face burn, and he pushed his face into the palms of his hands. 

How could this happen? They were just on top, riding the high of the beginning of the season, why was it all starting to fall apart for him? Why now? He was supposed to be the one, he was ‘Il Predestinato’ - it was supposed to be his victory. Charles was the one that was going to drag Ferrari back to the top. It was his job, his dream, his burden. 

This was finally supposed to be their season - all the testing, all the simulator hours, all the meetings, all the changes - it was supposed to be different. But it never was. 

Never with Ferrari. 

“Charles?” He heard a few knocks accompanying the voice, it was Andrea. 

“Leave me alone,” Charles muttered. He was going to feel terrible for talking to Andrea like that tomorrow, but that was for the next day. Today, Charles was allowing himself to wallow in his self-pity. 

He heard the door of his room squeak open and spun around on his heel, anger hot in his veins, “I said -!”

She’s standing there with wide eyes. 

His rage dies in his throat.

“Mon ange…” He steps towards her, the tension releasing from his shoulders when she doesn't step away, “I-I am so sorry. I thought  - thought it was…”

He’s too flustered to fully speak, losing his words. His brain is a mess of french and english. But she doesn’t rush him, she doesn’t even laugh. 

“I know,” She says, closing the door behind her, “They told me you were in here.”

Charles stares up at her, unsure of how to apologize - he doesn’t know what to apologize for. For being a failure? For screaming? For -

“Get out of your head, Charlie,” She whispers, he hadn’t noticed she’d crossed the room. Only snapped from his thoughts at the motion of her hand reaching up to cup his face. Though he yearns to feel her touch he turns away from it. 

He doesn’t deserve it, not now. 

It’s so very embarrassing. To have lost like that in front of her. He wishes the ground would open and swallow him whole. 

“Charles…” She breathes, and the hurt that passes across her face makes him want to scream. 

“I - I,” He finds her eyes again, “I am sorry, I can’t.”

‘How am I supposed to face you like this?’ He doesn’t say. 

She walks up to him, taking his hand in hers. Her skin is warm against his, he can feel the rings on her fingers and the bracelet on her wrist fall against his. She drags him to her, wrapping her arms around his middle. 

“Stop,” She says, “Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out, Charlie.”

When he twists his head to the side, unable to look at her, she captures his jaw. She makes him face her, staring her straight in the eyes. 

“Don’t.”

Her eyes are full of unyielding love and fierce passion. She looks so serious - a furrow in her brow - it nearly makes Charles burst into laughter. Her grip on him is tight, and he can feel her fingernails on his chin, but it grounds him. He’s anchored to her and he never wants to leave. He just wants to be here forever. 

With her. 

Without everything else happening outside, just the two of them. Together. In love. Happy. 

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, his voice hoarse. 

“You don’t have to be.”

“But I am,” He reaches up, moving her hand from his face, “I am a failure. I am stupid.

“Charles -” She begins, he can see the anger in her eyes. She hates it when he says things like that, hates when he even jokes like that, but he can’t stop himself this time. 

“I am,” His voice is slipping from him, anger falling into his tone before he can stop it, “I have lost. We were on top of the world and now we are here, I have led us here.”

“How could it all be your fault?” She squeezes him. 

“It is,” He can’t explain it. Truthfully, he doesn’t know it himself, but it is just how it goes, “I have lost, I am nothing.”

“That is not true,” Her voice wobbles, but she keeps her steady composure, eyes fiercer than ever, “You are so much more than just racing. You know that.”

He didn’t. Racing is all he’ll ever be. It’s was he was bred for, he knows nothing else. There is nothing else. 

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are,” Their voices are raising and there’s a small part of his brain that’s worried about others hearing them. The room has little to no real soundproofing. If the tabloids are waiting outside, or even just standing near, this will be all over tomorrow. 

“You are to me.”

Something in Charles snaps. Knowing he’s everything to her, knowing she’s everything to him. But also - with a feeling of dread - knowing that he is nothing without racing. That he is nothing without Ferarri and though he may hate it, he doesn’t know how to live without it. He doesn’t know the world without it. 

But to be with Ferrari is to win. 

He hasn’t. 

“Who would ever want to be near me if I am not champion?!” He screams, “Who would ever love me?!”

She doesn’t miss a beat.

“I would!” Her  eyes glisten with unshed tears, “I will love you no matter what. I will love you even if you never race again, I will love you.”

Charles has nothing to say, breathing heavy as he listens. Her words weigh on his chest and he begins to cry. The tears come and he can’t stop them, not even if he tries. He drops his head into his hands and cries. He doesn’t sob or scream, he just weeps. 

The anger and sadness boil into one, they melt into each other and now, Charles can’t tell the difference. She pulls his hands from his face, and Charles turns away from her. 

He’s so pathetic letting her see him like this. Crying like a child over a race result. 

But she finds his eyes. There are tears in hers too, rolling down her cheeks and it only makes him cry harder. He’s such a -

“I love you, Charlie,” She whispers, pulling him down by his collar, locking her arms around his neck, “My Charlie.”

He’s frozen for a moment before he collapses against her. Weak hands grabbing at her clothing. He sucks in air, trembling lungs unable to do anything else. The smell of her penetrates his lungs and he’s filled with the scent of her perfume. She is air and water. His body feeling at ease with her, in her arms.

She holds him as he cries, hands buried in his hair. He grips onto her, fingers digging into her waist. He’s terrified she’ll float away, that something will take her from him. But she never leaves, cradling him until his cries diminish into sniffles, and his sniffles turn to silence. 

Charles is still full of emotion and it threatens to spill over, but he isn't afraid to show her. Not to be open to the expanse and warmth she provides. 

“I love you,” He breathes. He chants her name like a prayer, following it with, “I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

I love you. 

I love you. 

I love you.

______________

The apartment was silent when Chalres rushed in. The anger, still burning within him. It seemed to be all he could feel these days. Searing hot anger and drowning disappointment.

He was never at peace, there was no calm. The championship had slipped from his fingers and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. It wasn’t even his fault, he’d done his best, put in the hours - the care - but it was so far beyond his hands. Ferrari was his dream and now he was left feeling utterly hopeless. He had never experienced heartbreak like this one, being let down by the very thing he has sacrificed his entire life for. It was all for Ferrari - all of it - and now, he was a loser. 

It fucking sucked. 

Charles pulled his luggage behind him. The break couldn’t come soon enough. He was tired from being out on the road, he just wanted to be home. He wanted to be in his bed, in her arms. He wanted to feel loved, cared for. 

He could feel the ache in his back and his legs, sitting still on a plane was never his favorite thing. The thought of sleep was so wonderfully appealing. As he began to pull his clothes off, dumping his things by the couch, he heard the soft patter of feet. 

Charles couldn’t hold the heavy sigh that left his lips.  

“Charles?” He heard. The light of the hallway flickered on, and she was there, a shadow at first, but then she approached him. There was a smile on her face, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. 

“You’re home,” She breathed. 

He reached for her, body calling for her, but just as he did, he drew himself back. The anger bubbling within him all over again.  

He stood there, crossing his arms, refusing to meet her gaze, “I told you to sleep.”

She waited for him. 

She waited for him and he couldn’t even face her. 

There was a part of him glad she did. Seeing her was like a breath of fresh air, it was resurfacing from the dark ocean of his misery. Just the sight of her face made his heart warm. But those feelings were buried under his anger. He had returned to her a loser. A failure. 

How could he ever face her like this?

“I’m going to bed,” He declared, moving to brush past her.

“Charles,” She called, her voice made him stop in his tracks, stern in its tone. 

He shut his eyes, a sigh escaping past clenched teeth. He was exhausted, he couldn't do this, not right now, “Please.” 

“Please, I - I am tired. I just want to sleep. Tomorrow is a very busy day, test at the factory, then simulator -”

“Tomorrow?” Her eyebrows furrowed and she closed the distance between them, “Charles, tomorrow is -”

“I know,” He raised a defensive hand, hoping to stop the disappointment that rolled from her in waves. It filled the room and only served to make his stomach twist further. God, he really was a piece of shit.

“I have spoken to him. He says that it is fine, and I can always just take him out another day.”

“He’s your brother!” She reached out to touch his arm, staring up at him as if he’d just said the most absurd thing in his life, “He’s been looking forward to this for ages, you can’t just cancel -”

“He will understand!”

Charles continued, “He understands the important things. This he will get.”

For a moment she was silent, and Charles swears that his voice echoed. There was something in her eyes that Charles couldn't make out, it made his palms sweat. He hates this. He hates fighting with her. 

“Family used to be important to you.”

Charles felt like he’d just been slapped in the face. 

Before he could stop himself he screamed, “RACING IS IMPORTANT TO ME! IT IS EVERYTHING!”

She pulled away from him, taking a few steps back. His words hung in the air and Charles wanted nothing more than to take them back. He’d realized it before he could fix it, and when he reached for her, she kept her arm close. 

He whispered her name. It was a prayer, “M-Mon Ange, I -”

“I’ve lost you, Charlie,” Her voice is so soft and thin, it makes Charles want to cry. 

Charles can’t speak. Trying to swallow through the thick ball of emotion curled in his throat, 

“What are you talking about?” He asks. He’s just wasting time now. Just trying to prolong her time with him, maybe even get her to stay, “I - I don’t understand.”

He understands perfectly. She was right. He let this fury consume him, he let the racing consume him. He had no idea where he began and Ferrari ended, he wasn’t even sure he had a place anymore - it had all become one. He was lost. 

But he had never imagined he would let it rip her away from him. 

“Charlie -”

“I - I can fix it,” He rushes, casting his hands out, he reaches for her. He needs her now. He’s drowning and she's all that’s keeping him afloat. 

“Ne pas partir,” - ‘Don’t leave me’ - he begs, “Je ferai tout pour toi…”

‘I will do anything for you.’

She stares up at him. There are tears streaming down her face, her brow furrowed. Her eyes are full of heartbreak, he can see it, he can hear it. And all he wants to do is fix it. 

“I love you, Charlie,” She whispered, “But we’re just - we just can’t right now…”

“We can,” He pulls her closer. Charles needs her to feel him now. He knows he’s all anger and flame, but he needs her to feel the love that resides within him, he’s lost but he will always love her. That will never fade. 

“You’re not mine.”

“I am!” 

“You’re not,” She said, and she didn’t even need to explain, “And that’s okay.”

Charles has nothing else to say. 

He looks in her eyes and knows, there’s nothing else he can say. 

The drive to her apartment is slow, he feels like he’s crawling past the streets, turning into the steep corners. All he can do is wish this moment will stretch on forever, wishing he could keep her there with him forever. 

But it’s over. 

He’s ruined it all. 

When he does reach her building, pulling into the parking lot with a small screech, neither one of them move. Neither of them want to leave - at least, Charles doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want her to walk away, not like this. 

Not when he loves her. 

“I-” He tries, not sure what to say, “I don’t - I am not -”

She reaches over, her hand sliding past the console that separates them, and interlaces their fingers. She doesn’t say anything, doesn't even turn to look at him, but he can see the tears fall down her cheeks. He can see the way they glimmer in the moonlight that seeps in through the windows, he wants to reach over and catch them. 

Charles hates that he’s made her cry. He hates that he’s not strong enough for her, not right now. He hates that he’s made her so miserable, so tired. He loves her. 

Charles loves her more than anything. 

He just wishes he could have picked her over everything. 

They sit in the thick of their feelings, not saying a word to the other. Just there in front of her apartment building, clutching her hand. He prays she understands. That she can just hear the drum of his heartbeat - that she can hear the way it dances for her. That she can see the imprints of her love on his soul - that she sets him alight. That she can feel the way his breaths come easier because she’s around - because she’s the air he breathes. 

He needs her to know. 

There’s a part of him that is sure she does. 

But he doesn’t want to shatter the thread of silence holding them together. He can’t risk losing her. He doesn't want to push her away anymore, he can’t stand to be any further. He knows it’ll kill him. 

He knows -

“I would never ask you to leave racing,” She hasn't looked at him, her voice low. 

Charles wishes that she would just scream, that she would hit him and scream. He wishes she would explode in anger, maybe beg him to change his mind and he would. If she asked him to, he would.

But she would never ask him.

Never because she knows he would. 

Never because she knows it would rip him apart, but he’d do it because she asked. 

“But please,” She pulled his hand close, “Please don’t let them destroy you.”

Her words hang in the air and he can’t stop himself from leaning over the console and kissing her. 

Her lips taste of salt, but he’s not sure if they’re her tears or his.

____________________

A/N:This work has been cross posed on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to requests fics about any of the drivers <3