#i never heard such atrocities as they spew

[moontheoretist]

I am really flabbergasted by all those American takes on Civil War. "Tony landed his friends in Guantanamo Bay". Honey, Tony tried to prevent the Avengers from being treated like monsters the whole fucking movie, but Steve didn't listen, and landed his Team in the RAFT. How is it Tony's fault? He tried his best to make them see reason. He tried to save them, because if Ross sent a squad, they would go for a kill, not capture. He didn’t even know that RAFT existed, because it was a super secret fucking prison under American law. Yes, how they were treated there was horrible. But it was in no way Tony’s fault. They made their own bed by breaking the law and giving Ross all the cards he needed. RAFT’s sole existence is an atrocity that is all on America, because USA has the audacity to make a prison like this under UN’s nose and claim it abides by the Accords.

[glassica]

Surprise boyfriend

Notes: M!yan x F!reader, non-con, sexual language, cursing, pregnancy trapping, blackmailing threats

"Hey Y/N, heard you go out with Ray right?"

You spat out the remaining cold brew. You? Go out with whom???

People must've assumed you were into him after seeing your exchanges at the party. But you swear that wasn't that serious at all! You were just fooling around to kill time!

- No. Who told you that?

- Ray posted about you all over his insta. Yeah right you don't use that app... But what do you mean you two aren't dating!?

You took one look at your friend's phone. Lo and behold, countless pictures of you and him holding hands and acting all lovey-dovey like a real couple. Your brain juggled through the hazy memories to see when the selfies were taken but oh dear, you were so drunk off the mind on that night to recall everything.

- Ray, excuse me. Do you have a moment?

- Sweetie I always have time for you. What do baby want from me now? ~

His cheesy line brought shattering earthquakes to your brain. God this man had zero shame, or you had been cursed to carry the embarrassment baggage on his behalf. "If we were alone I'd rip his ass off right instant." - you thought. "And I'll never have time for your goofy ass."

- I believe you misunderstood our relationship. I must've said something deceitful to you during at the party and I'll take responsibility for that. I don't plan to date you or anyone, Ray. I'm so sorry for misleading you.

You spoke in a remorseful tone. Though not able to recollect what nonsense the mouth had blabbered, you felt like owning him an apology regardless. Kids this was why you should never let peer pressure get to you and drink over limits, you never knew if one day you accidentally being entangled with some jackass.

Surprisingly Ray's expression didn't seem to fazed for a bit. On the contrary, the grin on his face got even more ominous and deranged, alerted your sixth sense that nothing coming out from this man was any good: It was a grave mistake involving him in your life.

"My baby wanna break up with me? Oh sweetheart how could you abandon me like that? Have you forgot your little promises to me about love and loyalty? Didn't you say I was your type, that your greatest wish was to be wrapped in my arms every night and showered your body with plenty of kisses?"

Freak. Weirdo. Creep.

How could anyone breath in the same direction of this guy and not get their skin crawled for a second? You were both amused and pissed off witnessing this whole circus show, wondering how out mind you were last Friday to be attracted to this walking joke of a man.

Get this over quickly, or you would end up committing some atrocities on that stupid face.

"I wasn't sober at the time. I must've been spewing rubbish. I'm really sorry for lying to you Ray, but can you please take down those pictures?"

"Why should I? I need to show off everyone my Sweetie's already taken, so that no one could touch you. Besides," - Ray tucked his head over your shoulder, the eerily off-putting grin grew even wider as he whispered softly to your ears, "those pics aren't the only proof of our unshakable bond."

He trailed off, calmly put a hand on your belly.

Your mind went blank.

"BITCH! YOU FUCKING RAPED ME!?"

"Now now. You hurt my heart, Sweetie. How could you accuse me of such heinous crime when all I did so much to give you such good time on bed? And don't lie, your pussy was cumming hard for my crotch. I still can recall those pretty little buds-"

Just then, Ray felt a burning heat on his left cheek. You were done. Completely dropped off manners. Eyes flaming with disgust and resentment while both hands clenching fist furiously, you became a wild animal determined to chew off its prey to the bone. You didn't care about anything else, any consequences after, your absolute goal at the moment was to tear this asshole to shreds.

But Ray was infuritatingly nonchalant, cocky even. He wasn't bothered for a bit when facing your wrath. Rubbing hand on the reddish cheek, he continued:

"Don't you believe you can brush your hand away from me, love. I don't like anyone seeing my angel in her purest form, but I have no problem releasing those clips."

A sadistic chuckle let out of his mouth observing the bloodthirst drained out from your face. If you didn't want him as your prince, then he wouldn't hesitate becoming the big bad villain tainting your life forever.

Ray caught your lifeless body in a loving embrace, just like that Friday night, and many more nights in the future.

[melis-writes]

Moth to Flame (Part II) [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 40 – Legacies.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 39 / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

"I promised her if she ever provoked my family again, I would help her bandmates search for her body." / “You’re a Corleone and you will behave like a Corleone."

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas and with a steady eagerness to rid the Corleone family of Fredo's legacy a year after his death, neither you nor Michael have any regrets. Provoking you means provoking both the Corleone and Ferrari families and you've merely added Rita Duvall's timely death as another skeleton in your closet. Leaving legacies behind but not the past, Michael reminds Sonny who the head of the family is and where his trust is misplaced in his older brother. There is no longer any room for mistakes in the Corleone family, but bloodsheds and secret are welcome.

[WARNINGS]: Mentions and depictions of death, violence & blood / Oral sex / Heavy smut -> unprotected sex, creampie / Mentions and themes of sex & nudity.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The next chapter is here and ready to explore the cunning side of Mrs. Victoria Corleone. 🥴 Since Part II is action, angst, smut and fluff packed, I'm making a habit of keeping chapters short (but not too short!) to explore one theme/plot at a time. ❤️ We get to see the before, after, and everything in between! Ahem and yes, that includes some quality time spent with Michael on that plush, king sized hotel bed... 😌 We can ignore the atrocities for the smut. 😂💀

1956. Your name is Victoria Ferrari Corleone, and you’re the wife of the most powerful mobster in North America–Michael Corleone. A lifestyle of crime and secrecy is all you've known and ever wanted to know, complimenting the cruelty of Michael Corleone's influence in the United States. With your enemies fallen before you and all loose ends tied up, you continue your life and marriage with the Corleone family while refusing to look back on your past. Yet it's the skeletons in your closet that a shine a light on revealing you're a true mafiosa. Ensnared in the shadows just as much as Michael is, you find yourself betrayed by the unexpected with all of your secrets ready to spill–especially ones you've hidden from Michael. With more than one pair of eyes watching your every move, you find yourself trapped amidst potential scandals and a familiar, lovesick secret admirer adamant on removing Michael out of the picture to have you all to himself. Like a moth to a flame, you've reached the point of no return and the light that breaks down the darkness threatens to take you next.

Despite being almost notorious for her slyness, attitude, and promiscuous talk, Rita never imagined like some of her coworkers did that her mouth would ever lead her to any serious trouble, let alone her death.

With the split-second feel of a cold, razor-sharp blade against her throat, every passing moment from the very minute thick, crimson blood began to spew from Rita’s neck that reminded her she was alive despite being on the verge of inevitable death, were just gifts you gave her. 

Every breath Rita took to brag about planning to blackmail you was another gift you gave her’ provoked and already sealed Rita’s fate in the back of your mind.

Rita was hopeless from the beginning but helpless as soon as her body hit the ground. Holding her hand to her neck, Rita knew it wouldn’t help her or prevent her death which came just a minute after bleeding out to death on the floor.

The last voice and words Rita heard were yours, and you were also the last person she’d ever see again. 

You stare down at Rita with disappointment and disgust over your expression, remaining still. For a moment, you neither move nor take your eyes off Rita’s motionless body, ensuring to yourself that she’s actually dead.

“You should thank me, sweetheart,” you murmur down to Rita’s corpse. “Had I not put you out of your misery just now, a mafiosi would have. This befits you.” You glance at the blade in your hand, still firmly holding it but carefully so that your fingers are over the top of the fabric of your coat so as not to leave any prints behind.

With one swift movement, you flick the blade toward Rita’s face—watching the last bits of blood dripping from the blade splatter over her face.  

Just on time as you planned, you hear a soft knock come from the door behind you.

“Come in,” you answer casually, expecting someone.

The door slowly and quietly opens, revealing your bodyguard Ritchie who slips in and is quick to shut the door behind him immediately. “Mrs. Corleone.” Ritchie clasps his gloved hands in front of him, waiting for further orders.

Of course, your bodyguard naturally followed you since you left the hotel, but your orders were for Ritchie to take an alternative route so he could keep an eye on you but not be seen by anyone else or come too close to raise suspicion. 

Ritchie didn’t need to ask questions or assume your motives; he’s a made mafioso and has accompanied Clemenza as a bodyguard in the past—seeing him enter buildings silently and leave a corpse behind one too many times.

Ritchie’s job now remains the same; he’s to protect you, support you and conceal you regardless of the circumstances.

“She’s dead,” you point out, taking a step back from Rita’s body.

Ritchie’s eyes gaze over Rita’s slit throat and her dead eyes wide open, frozen in time. He simply gives a nod, understanding. “Would you like me to make it look like an accident or suicide?”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” you carefully hand Ritchie the blade between your fingers. “I made Miss Duvall a promise once,” you glance back at Rita’s body over your shoulder—first at her face, then her abdomen. “I promised her if she ever provoked my family again, I would help her bandmates search for her body and I intend to keep my word.” You gesture to Rita’s corpse, “she loved the company of the Tattaglias and Barzinis for years now. Word of a prostitute like her winding up dead doesn’t make the news, especially one who prefers to seduce married mafiosi. We’ll give her the Barzini and Tattaglia treatment she loved so much. You know how they liked to send their messages, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Corleone,” Ritchie nods.

“Good,” you brush off your hands on your jacket. “The swamp will handle the rest.”

A common tactic used to depose bodies by many mafiosi families such as the Barzinis but particularly the Tattaglias sends a clear enough message to those willing to search for the “missing” unlucky individual. 

Thrown into the swamp to let the alligators and nature destroy and decay evidence away, full remains are almost never found, and the ones that are become extremely difficult to identify or link to the actual killer. 

The thick, muddy, and murky waters of the swamp do away with washing off the skin and evidence on it if there is any, and only mafiosi acquainted with the body disposal tactic know the clear message it gives. 

Nobody can possibly trace Rita’s murder back to you under these circumstances, let alone pin the murder on you, the Ferraris, or the Corleones who have rarely ever used such a tactic.

Rita’s bandmates and the police can search wherever they believe Rita often visits and is found, but searching at the bottom of a muddy swamp will never come to mind, let alone to fruition. 

‘I warned you, Rita Duvall.’ As if it has any importance, to begin with, March 4th, 1956 marks the death of Vegas showgirl, prostitute, and singer Rita Duvall by your hands.

“I’ll make it back to the hotel on my own,” you move to exit without another glance back or word said.

There’s no need to repeat or clarify instructions to Ritchie, let alone tell him to be quiet and discreet. 

More than merely competent as both a bodyguard and mafioso himself, Ritchie stares down at the body of Rita as you exit out of her room, envisioning how he’ll stuff her body into a garbage bag first. 

Calm, collected, and relaxed, you make your way down the hallway of the brothel toward the exit as if you own it.

You can’t possibly care less about who or what is around you, let alone if anyone else is here to see you.

Even when you pass by the same prostitute you saw and asked where Rita was when you got to the brothel, you come to notice she’s resting against the wall smoking a half-burnt cigarette while nodding off on some high with her eyes closed.

Smoothening out your jacket, you walk out of the brothel’s back entrance and continue towards the hotel as if nothing had happened.

In the meantime, Ritchie opens up a garbage bag and sets it by Rita’s feet before he begins to pull at her thighs and drag her towards the garbage bag.

Shoving Rita’s body inside the garbage bag in a fetus-like position without any care of broken bones or how the shape appears over the bag, Ritchie proceeds to triple wrap Rita in two more black garbage bags to prevent any smell or blood leaking from it.

As you make it to the hotel’s entrance, Ritchie’s already hauling Rita’s body out the side entrance—conveniently remaining completely secluded.

The car Ritchie brought over is parked just a few feet from the side entrance and with a fake license plate so as not to be traced.

Ritchie opens up the trunk of his vehicle and tosses Rita’s body into it before locking up the trunk and getting into his car.

Going past reception in the hotel and taking the elevator, you unbutton your jacket and hum quietly to yourself, thinking now it won’t be long until Michael returns and that you’ve returned to the hotel suite before he has without a doubt.

As you unlock the door to your suite and take a step inside, you can practically feel the sense of relaxation wash over you again.

With your mind on nothing but getting cozy and waiting for Michael to return for the night, you shut the door behind you and notice nothing out of the ordinary in the suite and certainly no signs of Michael’s return yet.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a tray placed over the top of one of the dressers by the door holding a bottle of chilled champagne in a bucket of ice, and a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries with a card that reads “for room service over it”.

A pleased smile breaks out on your lips as you pop one of the chocolate-covered strawberries in your mouth, welcoming the taste of sweet milk chocolate over your tongue. 

Hanging up your jacket on the coat rack and taking off your shoes, you certainly don’t have any intention of telling Michael what you did, let alone that you left the suite room. 

Picking up the tray and setting it over the nightstand instead, you strip back into your silky nightgown and let out a deep sigh of relief, getting ready to truly enjoy your night.

You move towards the television, adjusting it to put on a film for background noise when you peek your head up to hear the suite door opening. 

Michael steps into the suite, spotting you first thing and causing you to blush instantly.

“Hi, baby,” you greet, rising to your feet.

“Hello, darling,” Michael shuts and locks the suite door behind him. “Did I keep you waiting too long?”

“Just a little,” you tease, turning down the television volume and beginning to approach your husband. “How was everything? All in order?”

“Fine,” Michael lets out a sigh of annoyance, taking off his shoes. “As I mentioned before, we could have dealt with this much earlier but at least now all the paperwork is in order. Neither of us will need to waste any more time here than we already have.”

“Mmhmm,” you wrap your arms lovingly around your husband’s shoulders. “Thankfully too. I think we’re both homesick as is from all of this but you didn’t leave here so tense, baby.” You begin to tenderly massage Michael’s shoulder muscles.

“I suppose not, darling,” Michael pecks your lips sweetly as you step behind him, taking his suit jacket off. 

“You intended on relaxing after your shower, right baby? You can do so,” you gesture to the tray of champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries. “Courtesy of room service.”

“I appreciate it, sweetheart,” Michael loosens his tie, pulling it over his head. “Even if somebody’s dying, I’m not dealing with anything Fredo caused further this evening.”

“Fair,” you smile back, kneeling on the bed.

Approaching the nightstand, Michael eyes the bottle of champagne, then looks back at you as you sit on the bed expectantly.

“Join me?” You offer.

Michael moves over to caress your face lovingly, admiring your smile and using his free hand to unbutton his dress shirt. “Absolutely. Give me a moment here, baby.”

Just as Michael pulls back and turns around to hang up his clothes, you sit cross-legged on the center of the bed and eagerly watch your husband begin to undress before you.

Just the sight of Michael’s back and shoulder muscles creasing as he pulls off his dress shirt is more than enough to pump arousal through you.

Shirtless and only in a pair of black trousers, Michael runs a hand through his hair and grabs a hanger for his dress shirt, but you don’t waste any time waiting for Michael to turn back to you either.

You slip down the straps of your nightgown and let the fabric fall off your shoulders, exposing your breasts as you patiently wait for Michael.

“So,” Michael speaks up, about to ask how you spent your time or if you’re comfortable and enjoying the hotel, but the moment he turns around, Michael meets your passionate gaze and an inviting scene before him.

“So?” You ask, softening your tone down to a whisper.

Michael’s gaze lingers over you, moving down to your breasts and noticing the teasing, insistent look in your eyes and provocative body language emanating from you. 

“I missed you,” you lick your lips, pressing your breasts together. “Can you blame me?”

“Not at all,” Michael murmurs, tugging off his leather belt. “You were looking forward to this, weren’t you?”

“Were you?” You smirk, leaning up and letting the nightgown slip further down your chest as your breasts jiggle from the movement.

Michael’s eyes still remain over you, unable to get enough of the seductive, sexy sight of your teasing let alone how your breasts are still plump and swollen with breast milk—having gone up two more cup sizes since you had the twins.

“You know I was,” Michael lets his belt fall to the floor as he leans over you on the bed, placing his hands over your nightgown loosely remaining by your hips.

“Good,” you breathe before an erotic silence befalls the two of you.

Michael tugs off your nightgown and slips it off your thighs, tossing it over the bedpost.

Completely naked underneath without even a pair of panties, you eagerly spread your legs in front of Michael and let your hands rest over the duvet.

Keeping his eyes locked on yours, Michael moves down closer towards you and cups your inner thighs—massaging them before letting his hands wander further between your legs.

“Eat,” you whisper out, tugging on Michael’s silky, dark hair. 

“As you wish, darling.” Michael’s hands immediately come down to cup your ass before he leans in, positioning his face between your legs. 

Resting your ankles over Michael’s shoulders, you let out a tiny whimper feeling his breath directly over your clit and his lips only a few centimeters away from your pussy.

Michael’s eyes meet yours once more before he pulls you down closer to his face by your thighs, squeezing your ass and burying his face into your pussy in an instant.

“M-Michael, ohhhh…!” You let out a soft whine, eagerly spreading your legs open as wide as you possibly can.

Breathy whimpers escape your lips as you watch the tip of Michael’s Roman nose trailing up and down your clit at an agonizingly slow pace—causing you to buck your hips towards Michael’s face in response.

Michael’s hands cup over your ass harshly, squeezing it now and again as he continues burying his tongue between the folds of your pussy while focusing on your clit.

“Ooh! OH!” Your moans grow louder as you feel Michael’s tongue parting open your pussy lips.

Enthralled in a wave of intense pleasure constantly washing back and forth over you, you roll your eyes back and curl your toes as you feel Michael’s hot, warm tongue licking up your clit.

“Oh my G-God, Michael�� Michael…” It’s as if Michael’s memorized every sweet, weak spot in your body and he’s eager to please, keeping up a perfect and steady pace to build your orgasm.

Sloppily eating your pussy, the sounds alone cause your knees to tingle in numbness and you can no longer keep quiet even if you tried.

Strands of Michael’s hair begin to cling to his forehead as he only presses his tongue down further over your clit, making sure to greedily lick up the wetness trickling out of you.

“Yes, yes, yes!” You squeal, tugging on Michael’s silky hair and pushing his face further between your legs. “L-like that, like that! Just like that, mm!”

Michael doesn’t relent and the sensation of an intense orgasm deeply building in your gut begins to grow—threatening to release every time Michael’s nose or stubble grazes against your clit again.

“Eat, eat it, yeah, baby, yeah…” Your breath hitches as you watch Michael through lazy eyes, seeing him lap up your clit and angle his chin upwards.

Michael keeps the same pressure and rhythm over your clit as you struggle to force back and edge out your orgasm, but you can only hold out for so long before your body gives in.

Moving one hand down, Michael’s quick to tug off his trousers with his briefs—no longer able to ignore his own insistent arousal as droplets of precum ooze down his shaft.

“Oh my God, yes! Mmm, p-please, please, please!” You groan, writhing over the bed as you feel Michael slowly begin to slick a finger inside of your pussy before curling it.

Michael purposefully begins to grind his face against your clit, keeping you pinned down on the bed with his other hand moving up from your ass and to your hips to keep you in place.

With each time Michael thrusts his finger out of your pussy, more juices trickle out and Michael helps himself by licking up the mess and letting his tongue dart into your entrance. 

“Mmm…” You can hear Michael quietly hum against your pussy, spitting directly over your clit and smearing it around with his tongue.

Moan after moan, you feel your pussy beginning to contract as you grind your hips up over Michael’s mouth just to feel the rhythm of his tongue drooling and suckling over your clit again.

Michael’s ability to build your orgasm up with ease and shows no signs of stopping—paying complete attention to your clit with his lips and tongue. 

Every nerve of your clit feels satisfied and stimulated, only causing your thighs to shake uncontrollably over and over again as your orgasm reaches its tipping point. 

Your knuckles strain white from how tightly you clench at the bedsheets and Michael’s all the most amused seeing how desperate you are to cum in his mouth and give in already. 

“Ohhhh! B-baby! I’m cumming! I’m—Ah!” You throw your head back, letting out a shriek as your orgasm releases through you—rocking a feeling of ecstasy over your body.

Your clit pulsates in response as the heavenly orgasm buzzes through you, taking over all your senses from head to toe momentarily as your muscles tense up. 

Toes curled and thighs quivering around Michael’s head, you force yourself to clasp a hand over your mouth and muffle out your moans.

Michael keeps his mouth pressed against your pussy, gazing up at you with nothing but lust darkening in his eyes.

Catching your breath, you hardly have the energy to sit up on the bed; panting and clutching onto the bedsheets for strength after such an incredible orgasm. 

Michael grazes his finger in between your inner thighs and pussy lips before licking over your cum and wetness off of it—refusing to take his eyes off of you.

“M-Michael… My God,” you breathe out, attempting to sit up as your thighs quiver like jelly over Michael’s shoulders. 

Stroking his cock almost completely lubricated in his own precum, Michael locks eyes with you and kneels on the bed—embracing your body against his. “Come here, baby.”

“Oh, please—” 

Wrapping your thighs around Michael again, your lips crush over his in a needy, hungry kiss as your husband’s hands roam over your tender, supple breasts.

“I w-want you so bad—so much—” you breathe in between the feverish kisses you two share.

Michael gives your ass a light smack before rubbing over it, whispering against your lips as he speaks. “I want to make love to you, darling.”

“Yes, yes, please—” blushing furiously, you nod insistently before kissing Michael’s lips again—letting him lay you back down on the bed. 

“Mm—” Michael breaks the wet kiss, hovering over top of you and nuzzling your neck as both of his hands move down your hips. “Turn around for me, baby.”

Licking your lips to taste Michael again, you do as he says and flip around on your stomach—arching your back to get into a doggy-style position.

“’ Atta girl,” Michael’s voice is low and husky as he speaks to you, squeezing your ass and positioning himself in between your legs.

Resting the side of your face over a pillow, you breathe softly as you gaze up to Michael who taps his cock against your ass before spreading it open slowly.

The soft whimpers that continue to come out of you do nothing but arouse Michael further as he slicks his shaft up and down between your ass before swiftly pushing his hips in and penetrating your pussy.

“Ooh—” Michael hisses, entering your tight, soaked heat.

“Ahhh yes, yes…!” You push your hips back against Michael’s, wanting to take every inch of his thick cock inside of you already.

“I’m gonna make my night here worthwhile with you, baby,” Michael whispers over your shoulder blade before kissing over it—letting his warm lips linger over your skin. “I’m gonna make you feel so good and I—” Michael tilts your chin up, leaving a wet kiss on the side of your neck, “want to hear you say my name again and again.”

“Oh God, please,” you whine out in response, laying flat down on your stomach with Michael’s cock buried into your pussy. “Please baby, please…”

“Victoria, mm—” With a low grunt, Michael bucks his hips towards you—his hot skin pressing against yours with each thrust. 

You clench the pillow you rest your face upon, letting out moan after moan as Michael’s body meets yours again and again.

Michael pushes back a curtain of your hair away from your neck, leaning in and moaning over your shoulder. “I want you…so badly…”

“Take me—more, more—” You arch your back against Michael’s chest, letting every pleasurable sensation he brings you rush over your body.

Soft and breathy moans from the both of you fill the room coupled with the sound of skin slapping against skin from each deep thrust.

Hearing Michael’s velvety voice moaning out over your shoulder only amplifies your arousal further, bringing a tingling weakness to your knees.

“M-Michael, Michael,” your bottom lip trembles from the buildup of another orgasm approaching you.

“Louder…” Michael grips your throat with one firm hand, tilting your chin up to continue leaving a trail of wet, harshening kisses over your neck.

The slightest touch from Michael, his every moan, the way he teases you and his dirty talk have you submitting to him already—craving and desiring more of this man.

“You feel how wet you are for me, baby?” Michael’s free hand roams down your side, caressing up your back. “You feel so fucking good.”

“O-oh my—God—” you whine out, again and again, in between the sounds of your pussy sloppily gushing back against Michael’s cock with each thrust. 

“Music to my ears,” Michael breathes over the nape of your neck, sliding his hand underneath your chest to squeeze at your breasts.

“Oh, baby—you’re gonna make me cum again. Again—” You muffle out your moan against the pillow, squirming underneath Michael.

“Already, baby?” Michael chuckles breathily against your back, watching as you grip the bedpost with all your strength. “I want you to cum with me… Be a good girl and hold it in.”

“You t-tease,” your voice quivers as you feel Michael’s hands squeezing over your breasts; his fingers moving up to toy with your nipples.

“You want me to tease you? Is that it?” Michael places his arms underneath yours, gripping one hand over the bedpost with you. 

“N-no—oh! Ohhh, right there!” You gasp out, angling and pushing your hips back toward Michael’s. 

“Fuck,” you hear Michael mutter under his breath, inhaling sharply. “You’re clenching against me—so fucking tight.”

“MICHAEL!” You shriek, feeling his hips slamming against your ass. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes…” Michael groans against your skin, smacking your ass again. “Found your sweet spot—”

“I’m gonna cum—you’re gonna make me—” You gasp out as Michael pulls out of you entirely only to fully thrust back in.

“You deserve it, don’t you?” Michael grips his hands over your hips, pushing his cock in and out of you as slowly as he can.

All that comes out of your mouth is another filthy moan—unable to form a coherent sentence with Michael purposefully coming close to your G-Spot but avoiding it at an angle that hits a completely different sweet spot inside of you.

The scent of sex fills the room and you feel almost intoxicated by the pace of Michael’s deep thrusting, feeling as if he’s rearranging your insides.

Your eyes tear up from pleasure as you keep your back arched and ass up, almost in a trance from how you repeatedly begin to feel the same way you would with your orgasm about to release, but without climax.

“Give into me, baby,” Michael pants, ensuring his hips fully meet yours and you take in every inch of him again and again. “You love it—you fucking love it… Shit—” Michael’s cock abruptly slicks out of you.

“In—in—” You whine, reaching your hand back towards Michael. “Fuck me—”

“Impatient.” A smirk crosses Michael’s lips as he angles his cock back into your pussy, entering you again and seeing how your thighs shake like jelly from the impact. 

“Don’t stop!” You squeeze your eyes shut, squeezing the metal bars of the bedpost with all your might. “Oh God, don’t stop! Fuck—fuck!”

“You feel how close you are, baby?” Michael leans back down, resting his chest against your back. “Edging yourself, holding back… All I have to do is—”

“Mm!” Your eyes snap open as you gasp out through a half-scream, half-moan to feel Michael hit your G-Spot, instantly unraveling your second orgasm.

“Ahhh, perfect, baby. Cum for me,” Michael’s eyes flutter shut as he inhales sharply, letting his own climax unwind inside of you.

Attempting to steady your breathing, you let the mind-numbing orgasm flow through you and only intensify the sensation of Michael’s hot cum spurting inside of you.

Michael keeps his cock inside of you, refusing to spill a single drop as you turn your head weakly to make eye contact with him—still in Michael’s grasp.

“I love it when you cum on my cock like that,” Michael leans down to steal a wet, full-mouthed kiss from you.

You kiss back hungrily, still feeling your body trembling from the heightened sensitivity of your orgasm. “G-God…”

“Look at you, baby,” Michael slowly pulls his cock out of you, watching your pussy convulse and begin to ooze out his sticky cum.

“Oh my God,” you reach your hand back underneath you, spreading open your pussy lips. “Feels so full.”

Michael lets his cum drip down and smear onto his shaft before he thrusts right back into your pussy again, lacing both hands with yours tightly.

“Ah—” Your eyes widen in surprise as you make eye contact with Michael, unable to hold back neither your excitement nor arousal for how badly you crave him for a third round to fuck you into bliss again.

“Tonight’s just about you and I,” Michael kisses alongside the outline of your jawline, “and I intend to please you until you can’t take it anymore. How do you want me, baby? Tell me.”

“Make love to me,” you whisper back, gently nibbling over Michael’s bottom lip and pulling it towards you.

“I love you,” Michael speaks against your lips, gently turning you over and raising your legs over his shoulders. 

You moan back into his mouth as all eight inches of Michael’s cock fill you up again—eager to satisfy all your sinful fantasies again.

~

[ August 1949 ]

If it’s one thing you always come to remember when you think and reminisce of when you and Michael first got married, it’s the shyness you had with your budding romance coupled with the thrill of being just married.

Michael and you married in August of 1949 after only being engaged for a few weeks.

Although the concept of a Ferrari marrying a Corleone was mutually agreed upon by your father and Vito Corleone, both men knew it highly depended on compatibility, attraction, and love which all had to be mutually met on both you and Michael’s end.

Had you never married Michael for whatever reason—whether he and you simply couldn’t get along or outright refused, the Ferraris and Corleones would still be allies, but there’d be nothing in-between to guarantee that for long.

Of course, the two families may be allies with no hostility or competition in business for many years to come—perhaps even for a lifetime—but there’d still be suspicion and some lack of trust without guarantees of any kind.

 In many ways, the Ferraris and Corleones killed two birds with one stone when it came to your marriage to Michael.

Now both families would be intertwined, related to one another, and closer than ever on a personal bond whereas it was almost strictly business beforehand, with the exception of Vito and Giuseppe Ferrari’s personal friendship from Sicily.

Your marriage to Michael practically guarantees no civil fallout between the families and completely destroys the concept of a war between the Ferraris and Corleones—both have a son and daughter as well as the family they’ll make at stake and family always comes first.

In truth, you didn’t know much about the Corleones before you personally meet them at the Corleone Estate in the summer of 1949.

You had briefly heard of Santino Corleone only on grounds that he would be heir to Don Corleone as his eldest son, and of course, it was also impossible to ignore Sonny’s bravado once the news that Don Tattaglia’s son had been assassinated on Sonny’s orders as payback for targeting Vito.

You had also heard the Corleone family’s consigliere was not Sicilian or Italian, to begin with, but these were all things you merely heard through discussion and conversation once.

You didn’t have the slightest idea that Don Corleone had more children, let alone Connie—a daughter or that their youngest son was at Dartmouth around the same time as you and enlisted in the Second World War.

All you could confirm for yourself was that the Corleones were a big family, came from Corleone where you and your brothers except for Dante were born, and that your father personally knew Vito Corleone before either of them was Don of their families.

It’s true that your family would prefer you to marry into another mafiosi family, or at least a wealthy Sicilian family with a reputation because of your status, and you—unlike Michael—weren’t eager to do the opposite.

Whereas Michael began his relationship with an American woman, Kay Adams, you believed it was in your best interest to marry a mafioso because you knew you’d never escape your life and background as a mafiosa yourself, nor did you want to. 

You believed it would be unfair to pull someone else—Italian, Sicilian, or otherwise—into such a lifestyle without having them end up dead, ratting to the feds, or becoming a pompous, power-obsessed asshole like Carlo Rizzi.

Because the stakes were so high for you as the only Ferrari daughter when it came to marriage prospects, it only dulled your outlook on relationships further.

Your education was the highest priority, and you didn’t feel “lonely” with your family, friends, and colleagues by your side.

You simply weren’t seeking a relationship or long-term commitment during such a crucial part of your life where your studies meant everything and took up most of your time.

However, that didn’t mean you didn’t have love interests or flings here and there. The only difference was that you strayed away or confirmed to stay friends when you felt you were getting too close or towards commitment. 

Maybe the men you worked with and attended law school with wished they could go on a date with you or get to know you further, but you knew you were doing them a favor.

Anyone who got too close to a mafiosi without being one themselves would always get burned. You knew this then too.

The only time you ever came close to a full-fledged relationship was with a young man named Salvatore Romano whom you attended law school with.

You knew you wanted to be a criminal prosecutor whereas Salvatore was determined to become a criminal attorney. 

From the similarity of being criminal lawyers but the difference in prosecution and defense, the two of you got along very well and spent many late nights studying for exams and motivating one another to pass the Bar.

From looks alone yes, you couldn’t deny that Salvatore was attractive and his kind demeanor sparked your interest, but you knew you had no interest in a relationship and that applied to any man you met during university.

You didn’t mean to get as close to Salvatore as you did, but the two of you found each other constantly spending time with one another naturally—without the expectation of a relationship to begin with.

You could tell Salvatore was attracted and interested in you in every way possible, and he never made unwanted advances towards you or made you uncomfortable.

Perhaps what you had with Salvatore throughout most of law school was almost a relationship without the official title, but it could never come close to comparing with your relationship and love towards Michael even in the slightest.

One of the last few times you heard about the Corleone family being mentioned—especially Michael as the subject matter—was when you were already a full-fledged lawyer working at the city courthouse. 

It was impossible to ignore. Your father and brothers were discussing the fact that “Don Corleone’s youngest son” who was a “civilian” and surprisingly to you uninvolved in the “family business” killed a police captain and Virgil Solozzo. 

Your father knew and did business with Solozzo, and was already preparing to get into the narcotic trade with Solozzo, but the news didn’t spark his temper or any sense of betrayal—it sparked his interest especially because Michael was the one who killed both men.

Nonetheless, for weeks on end, all your father and brothers discussed was the narcotics smuggling trade, distribution, hold on the docks, and taking over where Solozzo ended.

The mention tensions began to rise up shortly after, as Vito wasn’t sure how the Ferraris would act now that Michael had killed one of their business partners and that the matter was over narcotics.

None of the other families let alone during the meetings at the Commission could dare utter any protest towards what Giuseppe was doing.

The Ferraris were simply too powerful and too influential with the police and judges in their pockets for anyone to judge or challenge their role in the narcotics trade. There was no room for competition either.

When your father came home from the Commission meeting as tensions were cooling off between the Barzinis and Tattaglias versus the Corleones, the Corleone family was guaranteed by your family that if the Barzinis or Tattaglias struck again or tried to team up on the Corleones, the Ferraris would directly intervene and happily cause all the necessary bloodshed.

“You ever visit Don Corleone for a cup of coffee outside business, Pop?” Alessio set down his newspaper after reading the old article about Solozzo and McClusky’s death. 

Giuseppe chuckled, putting down his cigar. “I think about it every now and then. Hard to do when all eyes are on both of you, waiting to make a move.”

“That’s all they can do,” Lorenzo took a drag from his cigarette. “Watch and stare. Barzini and Tattaglia know they can’t make a move on you or Don Corleone now.”

“Perhaps not,” Giuseppe smiled back at his son. “But Don Corleone has other troubles to deal with, ones we cannot get involved in.”

“Such as?” You spoke up, curious about the subject matter.

“Such as the fact if Don Corleone’s son Michael shows his face too soon, he could raise the FBI’s suspicions and get arrested for Solozzo and McClusky’s death. Don Corleone must maintain his son’s innocence.”

“How will he do that if not through the courts?” You furrowed your brows, knowing of course even though the vast majority of judges were on your father’s payroll, even they couldn’t get involved in Corleone business to defend Michael.

“Well, he already has,” your father nodded. “Don Corleone has sent his son to Sicily, an exile of sorts if you’ll call it that. Once tensions have cooled down here, I’m sure he’ll come to reunite with his family. For now, this is the best course of action.”

“Sounds grim enough,” Leonardo commented. “Shame, hmm? Victoria could have defended Don Corleone’s kid pretty well in court if she wasn’t the one prosecuting them all behind bars.”

“Ha, ha.” You let out a fake, forced laugh. “You flatter me, Leo.”

Michael’s feat with Solozzo and McClusky greatly impressed your father and such an impression withstood the test of time.

Although your father didn’t share it with you or any of your brothers, he became aware after a year or so from Michael’s return from Sicily that he was now getting directly involved in “family business” affairs. 

From all looks of it, Giuseppe saw Michael officially as a “made man” in the mafia and he was exactly the kind of man Giuseppe would let his daughter marry.

That was before anyone ever heard from Don Corleone himself that he was no longer considering Sonny to be his successor as Don instead, but Michael.

When you and Michael married in August of 1949, Michael was not yet Don, but still preparing for his role of successor under his father. 

It couldn’t have been a more perfect time for Michael to do so. As just the son of a Don but not the Don himself, Michael had much more free time on his hands outside of active business and naturally, since your wedding, Vito wanted his son to spend as much time with his new bride at home as possible.

It wasn’t just Vito’s wish, but Michael’s too. Michael’s not the kind of man to ever feel the need to appease anyone or do something because he’s “obliged to”. Michael wanted to.

Michael wanted to get to know everything and anything about you that he could over time, through conversations and quality time spent together.

Michael knew he’d never be able to do it all in one day, but he didn’t ever have the need or intentions to rush his relationship with you.

Michael spent any and all of his free time with you. It didn’t just have to be during dates, sex, or conversations even, as your presence was enough for him.

For the first time in Michael’s life as a changed and hardened man involved in the family business, he felt comfort from his lover’s presence.

Michael never felt questioned, untrusted, or feared by you, but rather respected and loved unconditionally.

There was and is simply no need for Michael to change himself in any way or lie to get to you. You both loved and accepted one another as you were and are to this day.

Time passes by like nothing when the two of you spend a day together, even if it’s nothing more than an ordinary day at home.

You and Michael quickly discovered early on in your marriage how compatible the two of you were just from the endless hours you could both spend talking to one another about anything.

Even over five years on in your marriage, one thing that never changed and never will is the yearning the two of you have for one another—just to see and be with each other.

Emotional chemistry and compatibility aside, your physical chemistry with Michael was nothing but fiery passion.

Just as craving one another never changed, neither did the lust and arousal you two have for each other. 

The immensely passionate attraction you both mutually have for each other manifested easily into lust and sex four to five times a week for the next three months straight.

All the two of you wanted to do was ravish one another again and again, night after night—simply unable to get enough.

“Off,” Michael murmured against the side of your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses leading up to your jawline.

“Michael,” blushing furiously, you couldn’t help but let out a little moan to the pleasurable sensations racking over your body at once; Michael’s one hand up your satin nightgown, pulling at the waistband of your panties and the other cupping a breast while slowly grazing his thumbs over your hardened nipple.

If Michael had business and work with his father for the day, you’d eagerly wait for him on the bed naked or in lingerie, sometimes in the late of night underneath the duvet with nothing on, or you’d strip down and give Michael a little show in person first.

The intimacy, love, bond, trust, and respect you two gave one another unconditionally and without doubt or hesitation was one only shared by you and Michael—it could never be given and shared with another soul. It eternally belongs to you and him.

Just the way Michael believed and still believes in his very core that his eyes are for you and you’re only for him, the mere concept of another man lusting and desiring you does nothing but make Michael’s blood boil in jealousy.

Both you and Michael are well aware as to just who the two of you are, especially in the public eye, so while common sense tells you two that attraction to either one of you from anyone else is normal, it’s a fatal sin in Michael’s world to see another man making his attraction directly obvious to you.

Despite who he is, Michael’s not exempt from having the classical Italian male jealousy clicking in, only unlike his brothers Sonny and Fredo, Michael never let jealousy control him or his actions.

Michael may raise a brow or ask you where you’re going in a little black dress, but he’s never been one to lecture or deny you over your clothing or where you’re headed. Michael trusts you completely and you trust him. It’s as simple as that.

You glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the bedroom, noting that you’d have approximately thirty minutes to make the commute to the courthouse for work today after getting dressed.

Although you sensed Michael’s presence just by the sound and familiarity of his footsteps down the corridor, you were distracted by zipping up the back of your dress.

Pushing open the ajar bedroom door, Michael’s eyes immediately landed on the sight of you still dressing—your back completely exposed with a peek of your panties as you attempted to get the zipper up from your lower waist.

As you glanced up in the mirror in front of you, you noticed Michael’s reflection as he began to approach you from behind.

Blushing, you paused your movements and kept your hand on the zipper of your dress as Michael’s eyes greedily darted up and down your figure.

“What time do you have to be at work?” Michael asked, his voice soft and velvety.

“At twelve—” You let out a soft gasp as you quickly realized when Michael placed his hands over yours that he wasn’t about to help out with the zipper of your dress.

Instead, Michael tugged the dress off of your waist completely and grabbed your hips immediately after, pulling you towards the bed.

“Michael!” You squealed and clutched onto your husband’s embrace.

“I’ll drive you there myself,” Michael’s hands squeezed over your ass as he pinned you down on the bed gently. “The world can wait a little longer.”

Your sex life with Michael since the very beginning but especially during the first few months of your marriage was nothing short of incredible.

More often than not, you and Michael went over three rounds in one night and met with toe-curling, eye-rolling, intense orgasms, and screams filling the bedroom. 

Sexual intimacy aside, the love and passion you share with Michael never ends there. 

The warmth, love, and safety you feel holding hands with your lover, going on walks together, appreciating every detail of one another like how Michael’s smile forms, the sound of your laughter to the silent intimacy of cuddling with one another on the couch while enjoying a film.

Everything from embracing Michael and feeling at home to ironing his dress shirts and still picking up on the scent of Michael’s cologne from his clothes was and is love and intimacy to the both of you.

Never leaving the “honeymoon phase” as others call it, all of your friends and family have been easily able to tell time and time again how the two of you genuinely love, respect, and care for one another.

“These two are meant for each other,” Carmela whispered to Vito as she watched her son kiss the back of your hand, leading you further down the fruit orchard in Corleone. 

In the very beginning, you may have felt just a little embarrassed to be so shy around and with Michael, but in truth, you can’t blame yourself.

A man as smolderingly attractive as Michael Corleone giving you butterflies, making your heart skip a beat, skin heat up and blood rush had to make any woman shy.

Engrossed in a casual business discussion at lunch held in the courtyard of you and Michael’s New York estate, you were the only one who could pull Michael’s attention off of anything.

Still in the middle of discussions, Michael’s world came to a pause when he spotted you just by the garden—holding babbling little baby Niccolò in your arms as you made your way inside the estate.

You were always all Michael could want. He could never not be in love with you. He could never get his eyes off of you. Michael would never want to.

~

[ + 2 Hours, 11:04 PM ]

The dim glow of the lamp on Michael’s night table and the television playing a film across from the bed illuminate the suite as you snuggle up in Michael’s warm embrace.

A tender ache pulsates between your legs, leaving a reminder of the two rounds of steamy lovemaking from half an hour ago.

Michael wraps one arm around your waist as you curl up to his side with your hand over Michael’s bare chest; the two of you are still naked under the duvet.

The television’s volume is turned down low mostly to serve as background noise while the two of you enjoy the rest of your evening before bed.

Fighting off a wave of deep, inviting sleep, you’re the most comfortable you can be in your lover’s embrace under the soft, plush duvet and blankets.

Whether you have business to tend to as soon as you land or not, plane rides always tire you out one way or another, and more often than not, you find yourself utterly exhausted at the end of the day.

Tonight’s as comfortable as you can possibly be in your husband’s arms, knowing when the two of you return back home to Lake Tahoe tomorrow you’ll truly feel cozy and rest with your family by your side.

Barely able to focus on the film from sleepiness, you gaze at the television with lazy eyes—trailing little circles over Michael’s chest with your fingertip.

Michael rests his back against two pillows, sitting up in bed and smoking a cigarette with his free hand; his hair is a sexy, tousled mess with most of his attention over you.

Michael gently rubs up and down your hips, only soothing you further towards falling asleep.

Feeling Michael’s soft, supple skin and his chest hair between your fingers, you slow the tracing movements over his chest as you shut your eyes just to rest them for a moment, but find yourself falling asleep already.

Noticing first, Michael leans down towards you and plants a gentle kiss over your forehead in the hopes it won’t stir you from sleep.

“Mm..” Keeping your eyes closed, you lean up after feeling the kiss and peck a kiss over Michael’s lips in return.

“Falling asleep already, sweetheart?” Michael whispers to you quietly.

“Am…not,” you murmur, snuggling as close as you can to Michael’s chest. “I didn’t even know I was this…exhausted.”

Michael takes a drag of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke away from your direction. “Are you comfortable, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you nod slowly against Michael’s chest. “Very, very…”

“Sleep well, baby,” Michael gently strokes your hair. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” is the last thing you mumble out before dozing off into deep sleep.

~

In the morning, Michael and you both awaken at 6AM and have no further intentions of spending any more time at the hotel let alone Las Vegas than either of you need to.

Despite familiarity in Las Vegas and the luxuries the hotel provides, neither you nor Michael feel at home and are scarcely happy to be here in the first place thanks to Fredo.

Ritchie and Al Neri carry out you, Michael, and Sonny’s luggage to the car the moment you and Michael exit the hotel, choosing to skip breakfast here and dine on the private jet back home instead.

The eye contact Ritchie makes with you first thing in the morning confirms everything’s fine and taken care of, just as expected.

“Seriously though, Mike? What—this was your idea, wasn’t it?” Sonny grumbles, looking at the banana in his hand—the only thing he was able to grab from the hotel for breakfast. “We could have grabbed a plate to go, at least.”

“You’ll be fine,” Michael ignores Sonny’s antics as the car begins to take off. “We were here for business and our business is concluded. Las Vegas doesn’t need our presence anymore.”

“I agree,” you cover your mouth as you yawn. 

“Right,” Sonny rolls his eyes, beginning to peel his banana.

Despite it being a normal morning of sorts, neither you nor Michael comes to notice right away that Sonny specifically refuses to glance in your direction or even speak with you since he stepped out of the hotel and the same applies on board the private jet.

All you can focus on and think of for now is getting home safe and sound, seeing the children and baby Vincent again while knowing you never have to look back at Vegas and the legacy it left for your family again.

With a wool throw over you, you spend the majority of the flight snuggled up on the couch-shaped seat on the private plane next to Michael, sleeping away.

Sitting just next to you, Michael sips his black coffee while reading through a newspaper to relax through the flight.

Naturally, with no witty remarks being heard from Sonny or much of anything from him at all, Michael notes to himself that Sonny’s being unusually quiet and keeping to himself this morning.

Quietly scarfing down his breakfast, Sonny sits opposite the two of you as he did when flying into Vegas, but appears all the more impatient to get home than you and Michael combined.

Seeming like all the Vegas flair is off of Sonny now, Michael refuses to question it simply because he doesn’t care. 

It’s only when Michael’s occupied reading an article that Sonny glances up just once throughout the entire flight to gaze upon you sleeping soundly.

“You should be ashamed of yourself. You’re a deadbeat husband. You’re simply not able to see the bigger picture. Do better, Sonny. Your wife and children are counting on you for it.”

Sonny lets out a quiet, drawn-out sigh to himself, still feeling bitter about the slap but it’s more of a bruise on his ego than anything else.

Perhaps if it was Sandra, Connie, or even his own mother lecturing him on morality, promiscuity, and marriage, it’d just go in one ear and out the other for Sonny.

Sonny would never listen let alone care; after all, he’s heard the same scolding from his family since he was a teenager and it has even less importance to Sonny now despite being married with children because his sex life with Sandra is practically non-existent.

“You’re a disappointment for trying to justify that alone.”

Still, those words coming from you because you care about Sonny’s family and Sandra’s feelings were heard by Sonny who never expected anything like that from you of all people.

“Why do you even care so much?”

Because of that alone, Sonny can’t get your words out of his head from last night but whether he’d actually listen and change what seems now to be in his nature is another matter altogether.

Turning his head away, Sonny chooses to push aside those thoughts and indulge himself in a glass of whiskey, bidding Las Vegas goodbye for now.

~

[ Lake Tahoe Compound ]

“Almost there…” Snuggling onto Michael’s arm, you peek out the car window and already feel soothed at the sight of Lake Tahoe up ahead; being on the familiar path home.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you this eager to get back home before,” Michael comments, gazing down at you. “Can’t say I blame you either, darling.”

“Nuh-uh, don’t think of me as ungrateful,” you giggle quietly, lacing your hand with Michael’s. “I know how rare it is for us to go on a business trip together. I loved every moment I got to spend with you and you only. I like to think of it that way.”

“As will I,” a faint smile grows over Michael’s lips. “Aside from our investments and hotels, Vegas offers nothing for us.”

Both you and Michael practically expect some sort of response from Sonny who sits in the front passenger seat of the car by now, but he remains silent.

“I agree,” you nod back. “And you know, of course…” You can’t help but smile at the thought, “even just being away for a little while doesn’t matter. I miss our babies so much.”

“As do I, although I have enough reason to believe Esther will be the happiest to see you,” Michael points out.

You burst out laughing, nodding back. “Well, let’s hope Vincent wasn’t too fussy while we were away.”

“We’ll have to see about that,” Michael raises your hand up to his lips, kissing them softly.

Blushing, you smile up at your husband and already feel your heart and spirit at ease, approaching the gates of your home.

Michael’s security spots the two black Cadillacs you all arrive in, confirming the license plate and vehicle make to themselves before beginning to pull open the grand gates leading into the compound.

The chauffeurs slow the vehicles, driving carefully inside the compound and towards the estates to drop you three off first.

From the moment the cars come to a stop and you all begin to step out, Sonny smoothens out his waistcoat and lets out a huff—wasting no time in popping open the trunk of the car to grab out his belongings.

Ritchie frowns, taking a step back from the trunk as Sonny grabs his luggage for himself and walks off down the opposite way to his estate with Sandra and the children without another word.

Michael steps out of the vehicle first, taking your hand and helping you get out after him before he wraps an arm around your waist.

The two of you neither notice Sonny’s absence nor question it; turning around to face your estate just up ahead greeted by the twins standing next to the babysitter Esther holding baby Vincent in her arms—all waving at you two.

“Oh my goodness, my babies!” You beam, giddily rushing up to greet your family as Michael follows you.

“Mama! Daddy!” Verona jumps up and down, rushing to approach you with Niccolo.

“Welcome back, mama! Daddy!” Niccolo grins happily.

“Hi, honey!” You lean down to kiss both Verona and Niccolo’s cheeks. “Mwah, mwah—gosh, I missed the two of you.”

“Behaved, I hope?” Michael rubs both Niccolo and Verona’s back as they hug him next.

“Of course!” Verona claps her hands together.

“Always, daddy,” Niccolo giggles, giving his father a big hug.

“Ehhhh…” Vincent stirs, squirming a bit in Esther’s arms but the moment Esther snaps her finger and points at you to grab his attention, Vincent calms down.

“Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Corleone,” Esther greets you and Michael with Vincent in her arms. “See, little buddy? I told you they’d be back today.”

“Mio bambino!” (My baby!) You gently scoop up Vincent from Esther’s arms, hugging him. “Hi, baby. Hi, little guy!”

“Gahhhhh…” Vincent’s eyes are wide and in awe of the two of you as he reaches his tiny little hand towards Michael.

“Hello, we’re back,” Michael lets Vincent grab his thumb. “How much trouble did you give Esther?”

“Oh, think nothing of it, please,” Esther chuckles before letting out a sigh of relief.

You cover your mouth to hold back your laughter, shaking your head. “So that means a lot. Not to worry though, little man. Mama and daddy are back, yeah?” You kiss both of Vincent’s little hands. “We’re back, yes we are.”

“How’s my boy, hmm?” Michael gives his baby son a kiss on the cheek. “He’s quiet now, definitely missed his mother.”

“Not just me, don’t you see the way he’s looking at you?” You giggle as Vincent hugs your chest, staring up at his father curiously.

“I know that look, he’ll be after my tie soon,” Michael gives his black, silk tie a little tug, seeing how Vincent’s eyes immediately light up.

“Come on, you two!” You gesture to the twins, “let’s get inside!”

“Your mother and I are exhausted from the trip, so let’s use our indoor voices, yes?” Michael heads inside with you and the twins.

“Okay!” The twins lower their voices to a whisper.

“I don’t think I have time to be exhausted,” you laugh softly, carrying Vincent inside. “Little Vincent here has all my attention.” You glance back at Michael who stops by the corridor near his office. “Niccolo, Verona, with me, please. Daddy’s got a little bit of business to tend to before he joins us for supper. Is grandma cooking?”

“Mhmm,” Verona skips down the hallway next to you with her hands behind her back. “Grandma and Auntie Sandra are!”

“Don’t take too long, daddy,” Vincent looks back at his father. “We missed you.”

“I won’t, buddy,” Michael reassures, nodding. “Get ready for supper with your mother, alright? I’ll be back soon.”

Completely ignoring Sandra’s presence inside his estate as she unpacks Sonny’s belongings, Sonny makes his way towards you and Michael’s estate as soon as he’s no longer able to hear you and the children’s voices.

Sonny grumbles quietly to himself, walking across to your estate with his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers and an unavoidable irritated expression upon his face.

Knowing Michael will be in his office first thing, Sonny refuses to let the matter from Vegas wait any longer and goes to seize the opportunity to speak with his brother in private.

You and the twins enter the nursery upstairs together to give Vincent a change of clothes for supper and to see if he’s hungry enough to be breastfed, leaving the hallway and living room of your estate completely empty.

As if it’s his own home, Sonny walks into the estate and directly makes his way towards Michael’s office—picking up on the sound of Tom handling paperwork for Michael in the study and making sure he’s unseen to avoid any further conversation.

The door to Michael’s office remains half open and rather than standing in front of the door, Al Neri leans against the wall just across from it.

Sonny and Neri make brief eye contact as Neri gives him an acknowledging nod and Sonny enters Michael’s office.

Neri shuts the door behind Sonny for the sake of privacy and to signal to Michael that he has a “guest” here to see him.

Michael remains standing by one of the half-opened windows of his office, smoking a cigarette and gazing outside.

Upon hearing the sound of his office door shut, all Michael does is glance over his shoulder to look upon who entered; seeing Sonny but not the least bit surprised, curious or even caring his older brother is here and visibly frustrated.

“You know, that wife of yours has just as much of a good right hook as you do,” Sonny comments, approaching Michael.

“I’m not surprised,” Michael turns his head back to look out the window again. “Did you underestimate her all this time?”

“More like I didn’t expect her,” Sonny stares at Michael, growing all the more irritated that his brother barely pays attention to him and won’t even look him in the eye while talking despite the conversation being about you.

“Is there a problem, Santino?” Michael blows smoke out towards the window, completely relaxed and calm in his demeanor. “If so,” Michael slowly turns his head to face Sonny directly, “be forward and state your point.”

“You shouldn’t have brought Victoria to Vegas with us,” Sonny states firmly.

Michael flicks the ashes of his cigarette out the window. “And who are you to tell me that I should or shouldn’t take my wife somewhere?”

“I’m your older brother,” Sonny affirms, standing his ground.

“That has no meaning to me,” Michael replies plainly. “I certainly hope you aren’t assuming I brought Victoria along because you’re under the belief I may think you’re incompetent.”

“No, I’m not,” Sonny scoffs, looking around Michael’s office. “You know me. I’m not fuckin’ stupid to go around thinking that. I don’t think Victoria had any business being there. That was between you, me, Fredo, and Tom. It would have made more sense if you brought your own damn consigliere along.” 

“Sonny,” Michael takes a long drag of his cigarette, “I know you’re not concerned for Victoria’s safety just as I know you don’t care if she is or isn’t involved with Fredo’s brothels.”

“I’m saying this for your own good,” Sonny narrows his eyes. “You brought Victoria to a place that clearly bothers her—makes her uncomfortable. You know she didn’t wanna be there.”

“Neither did I,” Michael points out. “But we did what was necessary. I didn’t make Victoria ‘go’ anywhere.” Michael looks Sonny in the eye, “she came along with me of her own free will.”

“You wanted her there,” Sonny rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. 

“Of course, I wanted her with me. She’s my wife,” Michael blows out another puff of smoke. “I intend to take my wife with me anywhere that I possibly can. She’s no stranger to this business, Sonny. You know that much.”

“Why didn’t you bring Tom then?” Sonny furrows his brows.

“Because when I’m away from the compound, Tom is the Don,” Michael tells him. “He’s in charge of my home and family. That’s his place.”

“Right, right,” Sonny grumbles to himself. “Uh-huh.”

“Don’t ask me to justify my reasons as to why I do what I do, Santino,” Michael maintains a calm, quiet tone as he speaks. “I don’t have to explain anything to you whatsoever. You were overjoyed being in Vegas yourself if I recall correctly. Don’t stall me for whatever you’re holding back. We both know this behavior is unlike you.”

“For fuck’s sake, Mike,” Sonny grits his teeth, “you brought your wife right up in the domain of a woman she hates. Don’t you get that?”

“Victoria doesn’t hate anyone,” Michael rests his cigarette between the corner of his lips. 

It’s the truth. You’d never care that much let alone put such energy into hating someone—especially someone like Rita Duvall. 

“Really?” Sonny stares at Michael in disbelief. “Is that why Victoria lectured me on and on about one of the girls working there? Gave me the whole ‘be a faithful husband and quit sleeping around’ talk, all that ‘I’m so disappointed in you’ bullshit. That was uncalled for, huh?”

“Was it?” Michael raises a brow. “Do you hear yourself? It appears she hasn’t said anything wrong to you.”

“I don’t like being told what to do,” Sonny grimaces. “I’m a grown fucking man—”

“And yet I can hear the guilt in your voice loud and clear,” Michael leans off the wall, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. “What Victoria may have said to you in Las Vegas is something your own mother has been telling you for years. Father too.”

“You’re gonna lecture and scold me too now, huh?” Sonny glares at Michael—his frustration mounting. 

“If you’re saying Victoria stepped out of her place, you’re wrong,” Michael stands in front of Sonny, gazing at him. 

“Slapping me wasn’t wrong, huh? Are you fucking kidding me?” Sonny hisses.

“Calm yourself,” Michael replies, unphased. “I would consider my next words carefully if I was you. I’m only getting the impression that you’re here to tell me you’ve grown upset because Victoria told you to behave. Don’t you think I would guess by now that you must have done something to upset her if she hit you, Santino?”

“She didn’t tell you, huh?” Sonny lets out a deep huff. “Of course, she didn’t.”

“She doesn’t have to,” Michael points out. “Because I know you deserved it.”

Sonny’s eyes widen in surprise as he makes eye contact with his brother, stunned.

“This is a tumultuous time for our family, Santino, in case you needed reminding. Fredo’s legacy hasn’t left a good reputation on our family name as of late and despite Victoria, Tom, and I working to rid ourselves of it, you’re enjoying Fredo’s mistakes, his indulgences—the embarrassment he’s caused us for years. What does that say about not only you but the Corleone family as well? If you were anyone else, I could care less, but you’re a nobody.” Michael takes a step closer toward Sonny, putting out his cigarette on the ashtray next to him without diverting his attention from Sonny. “You’re a Corleone and you will behave like a Corleone. If you can’t control your sexual tendencies, you will relieve yourself in private, not public with women who know your name and reputation and you certainly will not do so in the shadow of Fredo’s legacy. You will stop embarrassing me and this family immediately.”

“Think you forgot what I just told you, Mike,” Sonny’s expression twists into a scowl, “I didn’t come here to be fucking lectured. You’re not Pop, you’re not my third fucking parent.”

“I didn’t send you to New York to seduce my wife either, did I?” Michael snaps back.

Immediately growing quiet, Sonny’s tone and expression cool as a tedious silence fills the office.

Michael nods slowly at Sonny, seeing he’s clearly gotten the point. “You thought I would forget so easily, did you?”

“Mike—”

“Just as you knew better them, you know better now, don’t you?” Michael closes off the space between him and Sonny, staring directly into his brother’s eyes with a venomous glare. “I remember, Sonny. I haven’t forgotten anything.”

“Mike, seriously,” Sonny mumbles to himself, raking a hand through his curls. “That was a whole year ago and we talked about this. Everyone’s over—”

“I’m not,” Michael cuts in sharply. “I’m not ‘over it’, Santino. You don’t speak for me just as you don’t speak for Victoria over anything. When it came to Fredo, I didn’t trust him in business but I trusted him personally. Then you saw what he did to our family, didn’t you? Victoria’s mother is dead because of Fredo, but you? I don’t trust you personally. I trust you with business and your role in the family but after going to take an advance on my wife instead of checking in on her well-being and security with my children, you broke every bit of trust I ever had for you. You knew that Sonny,” Michael lowers his tone to a whisper—only heard between him and Sonny. “I don’t like when you mention Victoria and I don’t like when you talk about Victoria. You lost your right to do that from that very moment on. I don’t want you near my wife alone, I don’t want you to console her or give her advice for anything. For your sake, stay away from every woman but the one you’ve married, and stop embarrassing this family. Do you understand me?”

Sonny stares back at Michael for a moment, pressing his lips down firmly. 

Seeing as Michael doesn’t back down and the “tough guy” act he sees from Sonny has zero effect on him whatsoever, Sonny refuses to talk back.

Instead, Sonny takes a step back, turns away, and exits Michael’s office calmly without another word.

The door shuts quietly behind Sonny as Michael adjusts his tie, staring back at the door as if he can see through it—still hearing every footstep Sonny takes down the hallway and out of his estate.

Michael neither needs a reply nor confirmation from Sonny. This is his first and last warning. If Sonny didn’t know before, he knows now and Michael’s cruel streak of refusing to forgive or forget is officially at its peak.

~

Pushing everything else aside, Michael’s only focus and commitment is to his family tonight and he can’t possibly care less about Sonny’s woes towards you or anything that occurred in Las Vegas.

The first thing Michael sees when he steps into the dining room is you—his wife, and his children helping set the table as you keep little baby Vincent entertained in your arms.

“Aaaaa…” Vincent cooes, extending his little hand towards Michael.

“Hi, honey,” a beaming smile forms over your lips as you wave too. 

Mama Corleone looks up at her son and smiles warmly, helping set the table with Verona while Tom and Niccolo’s voices can be heard back in the kitchen, laughing over a joke.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Michael places a hand over your waist before kissing you sweetly, then planting a little kiss over Vincent’s chubby cheek.

That sense of relaxation, serenity, and familiarity surrounds the two of you well—home safe and sound without care to look or think back.

Tensions have relieved themselves of you for other reasons too, of course. 

You didn’t kill Rita Duvall out of pettiness, hate, mere jealousy, or even because you simply could. 

Until Rita and you were face to face with one another again, you hardly remembered her existence; it’s not as if the thought of her kept you up or frustrated you any other time. 

Perhaps it was because Rita knew you refused to pay any mind to her or her antics coupled with her own jealousy and envy of your lifestyle, marriage, influence, and wealth that did nothing but motivate her to become a splinter under your skin.

Even if you walked into Rita’s room and saw her and Sonny having sex right then and there, you wouldn’t have done or said anything, but Rita’s lies about pregnancy would directly provoke the family and create scandal.

Rita may want money and attention from Sonny seeing she can’t get it one way or another from Michael, and that simply could not happen.

Sonny’s frustration towards you may as well be ill-placed. After all, you did him and his marriage as well as the entire family a favor by silencing Rita’s loud mouth once and for all.  

Emotions such as sudden anger in the heat of things or spiking jealousy are beyond a woman like you; just another two things you’ve learned and been taught to tame and ignore as a mafiosa.

Still, as a mafiosa and the wife of a Don, anyone provoking you directly provokes both sides of your family too. 

Whether Rita Duvall knew better or did not doesn’t concern you whatsoever. All you know when it comes to Rita Duvall is that she deserved everything that she got; no remorse or mercy in your heart whatsoever when it comes to doing what is necessary for the family.

Michael thought and felt exactly the same when he put a bullet in Sollozzo and McClusky’s heads too.

[madi2112]

Escape Pod

Call it what you will. Escape pod, ejection seat, life boat, emergency exit, escape plan, evacuation slide, fire escape, parachute, life raft, safe house or anything else and it all boils down to the same thing.

Find a way to get out and survive when your life is in danger.

Depending on the outcome of the election in November my life may certainly be in danger.

I wish I could say it was hyperbole or paranoia or misplaced fear.

It's not.

I've seen the lowlights of Project 2025. I've seen the fascist right wing target women, minorities and my own LGBTQIA community.

I fought against it in Tallahassee.

I'd like to believe that no one is stupid, hateful or insane enough to support a convicted felon and rapist.

But it has happened before.

Only 8 short decades ago in Germany. A madman conned millions of people into some of the worst atrocities in history.

Now today another madman is following the same playbook. Mimicking the same hate.

If that is the road the Christofacists take the U.S. down then it is seriously time to hit that eject button and get as far from here as is possable.

I have found the place, too.

One of the most beautiful as can be found on our planet.

It ranks inside the top 10 in friendliness, women's rights, healthcare, LGBTQIA rights, happiness and other major concerns.

The U.S. isn't in the top 20 in any of the same categories.

It's roughly the same size and population as Colorado but shaped liked you pulled it thing and it separated along the way into two halves.

You've seen the absolutely gorgeous landscapes, seascapes, mountains, cliffs, fjords and more in movies and in pictures.

Where is it?

I'm not going to say just yet because everytime there is an election someone proclaims:

"IF ________ WINS I'M LEAVING!

Only this time I'm the one planning for it.

Then again I've never heard a sane person proclaim a segment of the population should be "eradicated". A real statement said by a right wing leader about me and others who have transitioned.

Having an deranged criminal idiot spew hate and proclaim his lust for power can easily be ignored.

Millions who agree with it and enable it. Can't be.

Which is sad, pathetic and more than a little scary.

Which is why my hand is on the eject button.

~Madison

[malapkv]

Being a Brahmin..

I think this is an appropriate moment to reflect on the politics around anti-Brahminism in Tamil Nadu.

Usually women are asked the question "How many women can confidently say that they were not inappropriately touched somewhere in a crowded place or by someone known in a private place at some point in time in their life? “All women will vouch for this happening to them at some point or the other.

Similarly, I ask a question, how many Brahmins in Tamilnadu can safely say they have never been subject to shaming, ridicule, extreme criticism for no fault of theirs? I was born to Brahmin parents- that automatically makes me someone who should feel ashamed of her birth? Well throughout my life, everyone around me in Tamilnadu have made me feel that way. Either they would openly insult or very indirectly say "Hey thappa nenakadheenga but we always keep a distance from Brahmins...Neenga apdi illa, but we dont like your community"....how many Brahmins reading this can say this has never happened to them in some form or the other at some point in time in their lives?

Well, let me tell you an insider's story. What actually goes on in a "detestable Brahmin" household. We are brought up with firm principles which state that all beings, not just humans, but all beings are equal and sacred. We are constantly told that harming any being directly or indirectly would cause Karma that could affect us for generations. We are constantly fed with principles of "Ahimsa" and the belief that people will ultimately face their own Karma. Which is why you see that this whole community doesn't fight back or resort to blood wars despite all the atrocities committed against them for decades.

In my household, for that matter in any of my relatives or friends' places I have never heard any talks which go "We are the upper caste, we should act superior" NEVER. Whereas I know that some other "so called upper castes" in Tamilnadu have the habit of directly asking "Enna jaadhi nee" as soon as they meet somoene new or talking about the so called "lower castes" as inferior to them. I can't even think of differentiating between any living being, for all my Brahminical upbringing. But most people around me who are not Brahmin s thrive on this superiority complex-Please don't even think of denying this-you know it for yourself who I am speaking about.

Have this clear-Casteism is NOT propagated by the Brahmins in today's world, we just bear the brunt for others 'sins. Since we do not resort to blood wars.

I was once pulled up by my school principal because my teacher reported to her saying "This girl has only Brahmin friends -she doesn't talk to others". Factcheck 1- None of my friends were Brahmins this teacher assumed it. And Factcheck 2-She was the mother of one of my classmates who didn't like me at that point in time, so voila, slam caste on someone who you can't blame otherwise! And the Brahmin wont retort because if/she does you can spew some more hatred on them. Afterall your state's politics is full of it!

My cousins grew up in the North so the surname Iyer was a natural one for them to keep. I thought I should borrow it for social media since it is short-only 4 letters and I am an Iyer by the way so why not? The kind of ridicule I was subject to by total strangers just for having this surname is unimaginable. People whom I had never met or known in my life waged a verbal attack on me insisting I don't use "casteist" surnames . I was so fed up I decided to change it..

When I think of it now, it was not a good decision...

I did not use a certain surname to hurt sentiments so why should I be harassed? If a certain name causes you hurt its your own making isn't it? You don't even know me !

I loved what a celebrity said recently..She said "I do not want to carry my religion or caste as an identity, because I do not consider it to be my identity....but if you decide to harass me for being born in a certain religion or community, then I would proudly display it like a badge."

My father was an atheist ....Never seen him step into a temple or perform a single ritual at home. My husband is neither an atheist nor a staunch believer. He is tad indifferent to religiosity.

However, the fact that I was born a Brahmin and will remain one until I die doesn't change... Because I looked at no being as superior or inferior to me and I did not cause anyone harm....so I will not be ashamed of my identity how much ever shaming I am subject to...

I reside in another state now and I do not see the venom that exists in Tamilnadu towards the Brahmin community here. Which reiterates that everything around us is a sheer political game.

Time to bring the Iyer back into the name I am guessing...

[kingofthering]

"If Jorge is taken out of the race, I win the title."

"You wouldn't dare do that."

Valentino had always been told that he had piercing blue eyes. Watching them trying to murder him right now, the words feel like they have a whole new meaning. They seem darker than usual, Marc giving them an intensity that Valentino doesn't usually bring out in them.

Valentino thought that his words would stay in his mouth but they hadn't, his brain maybe trying to get a reaction out of Marc who hadn't left the couch since he arrived and had barely pronounced a word since he joined Valentino in— well, his own motorhome, technically.

He's been playing with the bracelet that Valentino always wears on his left wrist and the more Valentino stares at him, the more he wants to tell him to stop, no sensitive or rational reason behind the need.

"Why?" Valentino sneers. He sounds mean and hearing it in Marc's voice is the weirdest voice. Marc does infuriating things but mean has never been part of his repertoire. "You're only allowed to commit atrocities on track when you're the one in charge of your body? Feels a little hypocritical to me, if you want my opinion."

-

"You know what? Maybe you deserve to be stuck in my body for a little longer. Maybe you deserve to go out there in the paddock and be harassed by your own fans. Maybe you should go to Spain and be harassed by your own people. What's the counterpart for me? I have to tolerate Uccio spewing nonsense at me and telling me that I'm the worst person who ever rode a motorcycle and that you should have never befriended me? I'll take any day after the nightmare that the last weeks have been."

-

"This is not the Honda you used to ride and it's not been fun to ride this year. We still had rear grip issues yesterday but we discussed them with Santi last night. Ask him about it, be careful on the brakes."

-

When he gets into the Honda box, a hand slips to his waist, squeezing him there.

"You okay?" Dani asks.

The concern written all over Dani's features almost makes Valentino sick.

He nods, tries to not fall over his own feet as Santi calls for him on Marc's side of the box.

-

Valentino had heard them. He always tried not to because listening to the press and to the fans in moments like these was never a good idea but he knew.

"Valentino can't win from the back of the grid, that's too big of a comeback for him."

"You know who would manage a podium in these conditions? Marquez. He's done it before and more than once."

It's something that gnaws at the back of his head as Valentino tries to push the RC213V through lap after lap during warm up.

He doesn't look at the timesheet when he comes back to the box, works on emptying his head instead, only the lines of the track in there.

Sunday morning times never mean anything anyway.

-

The ghosts from Valentino's past keep him from dive bombing Jorge at turn 1 of the first lap.

The Honda is capricious but it's a challenge that is almost fun to take on. Both Marc and Dani won with it this season and Valentino may not have practice but he's still himself, good enough to maintain the bike upright and up front.

They have two laps to go, Jorge far ahead of him in P1, when his board says that Marc ("Rossi") is 0.4 seconds behind him.

-

"Valentino, today, you've accomplished the greatest comeback of your career. A lot of people had their doubts about your ability to catch a podium if Jorge were to win but you crawled your way through the grid in a beautiful manner. This reminded a lot of us of certain races from the man on the right side of today's table, did you happen to study Marc's moves from Moto2 and 125cc years beforehand?"

-

"Marc, it seemed like you had that P2 locked in until Valentino closed on you in the penultimate lap of the race. From the outside, it almost felt like you didn't fight Valentino. Were you afraid of making the wrong kind of move after the history the two of you have had this season?"

-

"Why did you do it?"

"Did what?"

"Don't play dumb, Marc. Why did you win me the championship? Why did you fight instead of hanging back and securing Jorge his title?"

Marc's back to playing with Valentino's bracelet. He didn't dry his hair properly and Valentino can see droplet of water sliding down his neck.

It feels like a jump in time back a handful of weeks, Valentino asking Marc what he was doing, trying to understand him, and being met with a wall of silence.

Marc shrugs, his shoulders pulled tight around his ears. "Depends, which answer do you want?"

Valentino's pretty sure he wasn't that much of a brat when he was that age. Marc may be in his 36 years-old body but Valentino thinks he looks younger right there, Marc's aura influencing his perception of things.

"I don't know, start with the truth maybe."

Marc snickers.

"Oh, so your mouth is allowed to lie when you're controlling it but it can't when I'm the one in charge? That's a little bit hypocritical of you, Valentino."

Rosquez body swap on the morning of the race in Valencia, 2015. Go.

[bi-leth-eisner]

Sorry if this is not welcome! It’s a topic a lot of people don’t really want to touch, which is why I’m on anon. Feel free to ignore. But your post about dehumanization towards the Nabateans is spot on. I’m Jewish and as I’m sure you are aware there is so much of this rhetoric still today about Jews not being human, or Jews being basically christian, just erasure of the ability to exist as a race or culture for one reason or another. What people say about the Nabateans(in universe and in real life) actively parallels real life antisemitism and for some reason everyone thinks that’s not okay to point out. Blows my mind.

hello anon! of course this is welcome! it's really important to just acknowledge the fact that rhetoric like that is actually super harmful to people in real life. sweeping it under the rug only makes the problem worse.

sometimes i think people who spew out shit like "Rhea isn't (seen as) human so it's okay to kill her actually" have to be white americans, or at least white. they were never properly taught about the atrocities that happened to people of colour or people who have different beliefs just mere years ago, some of which still happen today. they never stepped back and thought, "is this harming anyone who isn't me?" and never will even if they get banged in the head with that realization because they're so stubborn and think they HAVE to be right. so they either ignore it because those things never happened to their ancestors or they act like it wasn't "that much of a big deal" because they were taught by racists who hold those harmful beliefs or not taught properly enough because again, they were taught by people who ignore it. it goes on in a vicious cycle where people affected by those atrocities get their voices drowned out. and that's even IF they were taught.

let these voices be heard. let Jewish people speak. let people of colour speak.

[bnha-ra]

Lily of the Valley ||BNHA

A/N: HELLO LOVIES! IT’S YA GIRL, SKINNY PENIS- THE AUTHOR! If you guys are veterans of this account you know that this blog was birthed because I had a reader story on Quotev and guess what? IT’S GETTING A FUCKING COMEBACK! A REPRISE because I hated my writing on the original, oop not only a name change, but the lore has also (slightly) changed! So, I hope you enjoy!

Themes: Superheros (obviously), superpowers, fighting, romance, etc.

Summary: How it all began and then some

Warnings: Nothing in this chapter! Maybe some tension but that’s about it!

Tags: @prismaroyal​ @undead0relived​

It was the only thing ringing through her head as she curled deeper into herself, her face, earlier bruised and bloody but was now wet with fresh tears, was shoved into her knees and her shaking arms were wrapped weakly around her shaking legs. With each tremble of her already defeated body she seemed to only hug herself tighter, reducing what should have been ear piercing wails into silent sobs, way too spent to even scream about the atrocities she had seen and the things she had lost.

Life...wasn’t fair.

She understood that now. Those little words she had heard adults whisper under their breath with exhaustion or teens cry out in anger. Of course, she understood what the words meant, she was smart enough to realise much more than people bargained for, however, what she didn't understand was the meaning behind the phrase, why people would say it, why people thought it.

Well, until now.

Because they were right, life wasn’t fair.

It was much more crueler than anyone could ever imagine.

The shouting from earlier had stopped. Whoever was outside the hospital room had fallen silent a little bit ago. Either they were whispering now or they had just stopped altogether, it was finally quiet and she could finally suffer in peace, without the screams of adults promoting the painful squeeze of anguish from their choked cries or their weeping.

When the door opened she didn’t look up, no, she stayed in her position in the corner but withheld her crying as the person made it over to her side, sliding down the way to sit themselves next to her and sigh, their hand slowly winding into her hair to give it comforting strokes and tug her head to rest against them.

“Little Wildfire” The child flinched at the name, but raised her head, eyes catching the older man’s who held a incomprehensible grief but understanding sympathy to them “I have a question for you, sweetheart”

She nodded hesitantly.

The man cleared his throat, facing back to the closed door which she followed, finally spotting the other elderly woman who watched, eyes glossed in tears.

“Do you want to come with us-” He gave her a comforting squeeze when the girl sniffed, stuffing her head deeper into his side “-or, do you want to stay here?”

She glanced down at her lap “...will you be upset if I said I want to stay here?”

“No, mia bella bambina” The woman spoke this time, walking into the room and kneeling before her, taking the child’s hand in her own and kissing the skin of her palm “Never”

The lass glanced between the two adults, eyes slowly beginning to gloss over with no found tears as she let out a shaky sob, heart clenching “I don’t want to leave Mamma alone”

The two brought her into a hug, sharing heartbroken tears with the child while they sat on the hospital floor, filled with great grief in that moment. The people outside watched with a similar sadness, heads bowed in despair and chests aching at the scene. It was a painful moment, seeing a family so broken, seeing a child’s perfect life shattered so quickly as though it was glass.

Life really wasn’t fair.

“I’m sorry, (Name)....”

---

“Yagi!”

(Name) jumped in her spot from the stands, face snapping up to meet the choir teacher’s while the other girls giggled, muttering amongst themselves or sending dirty looks her way. It wasn't her fault that their teacher was still droning on about regionals, to her, it had stopped being relevant when the woman started to, once again, go off about the schools rival; (Name) didn’t care, the others didn’t care so why did the damn teacher still go off about it? 

‘Talk about obsessed’ She thought as she continued, finally getting to the end of her big speech.

“I expect you to be here at the same time next week!” The witch spat, “Dismissed!”

‘Jesus Christ- FINALLY’

The teen practically sprinted towards her belongings, running out of the room despite her teacher’s call and pulled out her phone from her blazer pocket, scrolling through the contacts until a familiar name popped up.

“Izuku!” She screamed into the receiver when he answered, feeling a guilty pang at her volume before quickly shaking it off “I’m so sorry! I had choir practice! Are you home yet? If not, we can go to that new hero cafe that’s opened recently! I’ll pay-”

During her sprint, flowers began to sprout from the ground beneath her due to the excitement rushing through her. She had been waiting for ages to finally take him there, Midoriya Izuku, her Quirkless best friend and the most obsessed fanboy she had the luck of knowing. Childhood friends, you see, glued together by youth and fondness for one another, something that she was thought she was so lucky for.

There was something else there too. A hidden desire, one that festered when she was still young, the obligation to protect him, to keep him from any harm that may have fallen upon him.

Ah, she was getting ahead of herself.

The joyful smile faded from her face, her steps slowing to a halt as she listened to him talk; a familiar feeling of sympathy blooming in her chest when she spoke again, glancing around the street that she had found herself.

“Where are you?....” She nodded when he responded “Okay, I’m nearby. Wait. There. I’ll be there soon and I want you to tell me what happened, no buts”

(Name) didn’t even give him a chance to respond, only ended the call with a tap and once again began her sprint, though, faster than she had before.

---

“....He really said that?”

Midoirya nodded into his knees, glancing over to his best friend from the corner of his eyes and flinching at the sight of anger spreading over her face. (Name) let out a shrill cry, jumping to her feet from the spot next to him and pacing before the other teen, face scrunched up in rage with words spewing out of her mouth faster than he could comprehend, well, almost.

“I can’t believe him! How dare he say that! You can’t say stuff like that to your fans- you have to consider their fucking feelings! I don’t care if he thinks it’s realistic- show some damn decency to people who respect you! The bastard-”

“(Name), it’s okay” Midoriya shrugged his shoulders, standing back to full height with hers and his own bags in his hands “It doesn’t matter, he was right anyway-”

“Don’t you say that, Midoriya!” (Name)’s hand was pointed towards him in warning, “You can be a hero if you try, there are heroes with weak Quirks so why can’t someone with no Quirk be a hero? Huh? HUH?”

“Well-I-”

“I AM HERE”

The voice came suddenly and loudly from behind the girl, the two teens jumping in surprise causing (Name) to twist round, both watching as a blur skidded to a stop before them and posed, revealing just the person that the female had so desperately wanted to exchange a few words with.

“All Might, how-” Midoriya had barely gotten the words out when (Name) spoke, eyes narrowed dangerously with poison dripping from her lips.

“You”

All Might had the gall to look confused “Me?”

“How dare you!” Midoriya screamed when (Name) raced towards the hero, her leg flying to meet his shin with vigor, only to howl in pain when it connected, hand coming to hold her wounded toes before she began to send punches his way instead, not caring in any way that the man was not affected, only watching in slight amusement as she continued her barrage of blows in her rageful state. “My friend deserves to be a hero more than you could ever understand! You bastard! How dare you say he can’t-!”

“Please, calm down, (Name)” The hero laughed, placing his hand against the girl’s head and pushing her back, (Name) still continuing to swing.

Midoriya stood in shocked silence, watching the scene with growing confusion.

‘How could All Might know (Name)’s name!?’

“Calm down? Calm down!? No! You are such an arsehole, Toshi! I expected better from you-”

‘TOSHI!? WHAT!?’

The greenette stuttered, trying to find his words as he continued to watch the scene before him. All Might eventually deflated with a huff, coughing blood into his hand while (Name) continued to shout at him, too clouded by her anger to realise Midoriya was walking up to her until a hand was placed on her shoulder and she spun, her glare vanishing with a gulp at her best friend’s befuddled gaze on her.

“Crap” (Name) muttered.

All Might just laughed.

“I think we owe young Midoriya an explanation, don’t we, (Name)?”

“Is something wrong, (Name)? You seem occupied”

The girl jumped from her spot behind the receptionist's desk, eyes snapping up to meet Dr Nakamura’s before a bright smile grew, though her hand came to scratch the back of her neck in embarrassment from the scare.

“It’s nothing, sir! I’ve just been training a lot harder recently so I’m kinda tired, that’s all”

The older man nodded, his ears twitching in contemplation as he rifled through the chest of draws behind her, no doubt looking for a file.

It wasn’t a complete lie. While the U.A entrance exams were still ten months away, it didn’t mean she could slack off, no, she needed to get in as much training as she could before the trials, both going through physical exercise and mental. U.A was a school that only took the best of the best, just like Shiketsu and if she wanted even a chance at studying to become a great hero at any of the two she needed to up her game, because she was positive that if she wasn’t at her best, she would be beaten with no regarde.

However, that wasn’t what she was thinking about.

Dr Nakamura pulled one of the files, flipping through before turning back to the girl with a sharp toothed smile “Well, I wouldn’t expect less from one of our next future heroes”

(Name)’s face grew hot at the compliment and she laughed, “Thanks, sir”

“No problem, kid” His hand ruffled her locks playfully “Don’t overwork yourself, okay? If you need any breaks from work I’ll be sure to give them to you”

He walked away with a wave, entering into another room to leave her alone with her thoughts once again.

Truth be told, she was thinking back to a few days ago and the secret she had been swore to keep underwraps.

“Wait, so, just correct me if I’m wrong” Midoriya’s face was much calmer than (Name) expected, much much calmer. She honestly anticipated screaming, maybe faint if it were a worse kind of day, which from hearing about it, it sounded like it was, but instead, he was calm, eyes shining with curiosity and confusion.

“Ever since your mother was taken-....was comatosed…and your father….died” (Name) hugged herself at those words, trying to ignore the feeling of grief stabbing at her heart “You haven’t been living with relatives but...heroes…real life heroes?”

She nodded.

“That’s so cool!” (Name) looked at him with surprise plastered all over her face. Midoriya took her expression in a negative way, curling into himself with shame “I mean, you already lived with a pro hero before- b-but you’ve met some of the most powerful heroes in Japan! Counting All Might that means the world! Oh my Gosh, I mean- uh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted like that-”

(Name)’s voice was meek when she spoke again, eyes shining with unshed tears “I thought you would be upset….”

“H-huh!? Why!?”

“Because I never told you…”

Confusion took over his face once again and he tilted his head to the side, “Why would I be upset over you protecting yourself?”

(Name) choked.

“I don’t mean to interrupt” All Might’s hand landed softly on (Name)’s back, moving in soothing circles as he continued, eyes centered on Midoriya “But young Midoriya, your answer?”

“Oh! Right! Uh…” The greenette glanced between the two, both sending him back encouraging looks in return before he released a breath, expression adopting one of determination.

“I accept your power, All Might!”

The hero smiled “I knew you would”

“Oi, (Last)” For a second time that day, (Name) jumped in her seat, looking up to see two familiar boys staring back at her. “What’s up with you?”

“Oh, Koji, Hitoshi, Hi!” (Name) began to type away at the computer before her, hoping to ignore the questioning stare from Koda and glare from Shinso when the purple haired boy rolled his eyes in exasperation “You guys finally catch those troublemakers running about?”

Shinso presented the box, (Name) standing to glance in from over the desk and smiling at the sight of the mother cat surrounded by her children before she gestured over to a room nearby.

“Ms Hamada came in a little earlier, why don’t you take them to her”

“Was planning to, but first we gotta show you something"

(Name) brows furrowed “What?”

Shinso nudged Koda softly, prompting the boy to set down his own box. His large hands disappeared into it before pulling back out with another small kitten in his hands who mewled softly towards (Name), pawing at the air.

“Guys, you’re not supposed to separate the young!” She chided, reaching out for the animal who was handed to her, (Name) rocking the animal gently in her grasp and staring pointedly at her friend who cowered back “You both should know better!”

“It’s not from the pack” Shinso responded, nodding to the other box “This was left outside and it’s a little….different”

“Different? How so-...” From her hands, a shifting sound caught her ears and she looked down, the kitten in her hands now replaced with an otter pup who cooed at her. 

“...huh”

---

U.A really was a wonder.

(Name) hadn’t really been there a lot, probably a handful of times as she aged, but she hadn’t properly experienced the feeling of excitement passing through the front gate, other examinees walking nearby, no doubt in the same boat as her, glancing around in amazement.

The school were the greatest pro heroes were born and trust her, she had proof of that in the contacts on her phone. She just hoped that all of her hard work during the months would work in her favour, that she would grab her place at this amazing school and she would begin her journey of becoming a great hero.

Just like her mother had been.

(Name) shook her head, hurrying her pace to the front steps of the school. The recommended students took their exams a month before the actual exam, she believed? Meaning she was alone, no Midoriya by her side to push her forward, to reassure her she was set. Although it was the same for him, if she did pass this exam of course, he would be alone too-

‘Ugh, get a hold on yourself-’ 

(Name) let out a yelp when she ran into someone’s back, apologies dropping from her mouth while the person turned, staring down at her.

He was a huge, mountain of a man with dark buzz cut hair and beady black eyes that seemed to glare straight back into her soul with a unyielding fire that made her gulp nervously and take a step back, her animal instincts clawing to kick in, screaming at her that she was no match for this predator, that she should run while she still could. Then he straightened up, his head flying downward until it smashed against the pavement, body bent over in a bow and practically screaming, gaining the attention of the other examinees.

“I’m so extremely sorry for getting in your way! I promise it won't happen again!”

“Hey, hey!” (Name) cried, hands flying up in a panic “You don’t need to apologise I bumped into you! I’m really sorry about that”

The boy snapped back up, his grin broad on his face and blood running from the small cut on his forehead.

“Oh, hey, you’re bleeding!” Without another though (Name) pulled out a packet of tissues she kept within her jacket, leaping up to tend to the wound, using the air to keep her stable just barely. She really needed more training on that. “Here you go, you should be more careful”

“Woah that’s amazing you’re floating! What’s your Quirk?! Is it like mine!?”

(Name) couldn’t help the laugh she let out “I don’t even know your Quirk, friend”

The boy beamed “It’s called Whirlwind! I can control wind currents and manipulate them however I want! Now you!”

(Name) dropped back down, hands landing on her hips with a smile “Well, my Quirk is called Nat-”

Remember, (Name), keep a low profile. No one can know who you really are, that means no using Nature outside of training.

“-I mean, Element! meaning I can control any kind of elements around me! So, kinda similar to yours”

“Wow, that’s so cool! I’m Yoarashi Inasa!” Yoarashi lent out his hand for her to take, which she did.

“Nice to meet you, Yoarashi, I’m Yagi (Name)”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Yagi!”

“Please, call me (Name)!”

“Okay, (Name)! Call me Inasa!”

Seems like this exam won’t seem so bad afterall.

---

It was better than imagined. Yoarashi was a ball of sunshine, standing tall and bright, encouraging those around him despite knowing absolutely nothing of who they were. It was nice, especially due to the fact she didn’t have a lot of friends, having someone by her side inspire her to do better than she thought she could do. He believed her even though he didn’t know who she really was, he thought she was strong only after about an hour of knowing each other and it was...nice.

She really hoped he got the spot here, he deserved it.

The written exam had been an hour and fifteen minutes, all decent material and she was positive that she had passed it with flying colours and now it was time for the physical part of the test, then finally, the interview.

Present Mic’s booming voice was actually soothing to her, probably because of the time he spent after the atta- accident, helping to pull her out of the dark she had buried herself in. The hero was a rock in her life for a long time and she admired him for just as long. He sent her an encouraging wink at the beginning of it all, throwing an extra thumbs up her way before it had all started and she was grateful for it. It was nice that he was giving her extra support, even if he wasn’t really supposed to at that moment.

“Good luck, Inasa!” The giant smiled, throwing a thanks over his shoulder as he got in position for the race.

A sudden coldness surrounded her and (Name) shivered, blinking in surprise when it suddenly got darker.

“You’re in my way, move”

Now usually, (Name) wasn’t one to talk back, actually, she was kind of scared of talking back to people because who knew what they were capable of! But in that moment, those words had just made her angry, so angry in fact that she turned around to face the culprit of such a rude demand, hand poised in a point motion to jab them in the shoulder “Excuse me? Why don’t you watch your fucking tone....”

They stared back at each other in surprise, both sets of eyes wide with recognition.

“I don’t need your pity! Leave me alone!”

(Name) swallowed the heavy lump that was forming in her throat and blinked back the tears that dared try to blur her vision.

“S-Sorry Sho-...Todoroki” 

Then she walked back to her spot on the sidelines, wiping away the wetness from her face while Todoroki shook off the feelings that plagued him and took his spot in the race.

This was gonna be a long day.

---

Finally, finally, it was time for the interviews. 

Yoarashi had seemed tense after his race, eyes glaring pointedly towards Todoroki as though the smaller teen had stabbed him in the heart and left him for dead. It was kinda odd, especially with her new friend being a pillar of sunshine and greatness, like a giant puppy out to give everyone love, but he had ultimately relaxed when she appeared next to him, stroking his arm gently and asking if he was okay.

“Oh I’m fine!” He had replied, patting her on the head “You’re next right!? Come on, I know you’ll do great!”

(Name) ignored the stare on her back when he led her back to the other participants.

“Please enter”

A breath was released before the door was pushed open, a large office revealing itself to her with a familiar small rodent sitting behind a desk, smiling towards her and gesturing to shut the door. (Name) did, slowly of course, the chattering of other examinees disappearing along with the outside when she walked over, bowing politely in greeting.

“Principal Nedzu, it’s an honour to see you again, it’s been a while”

Nedzu bowed back in return.

“The pleasure is all mine, (Last). Please, take a seat”

(Name) did as she was told, feeling a wave of exhaustion settle over her body at the sinking plush of the cushioned chair. The animal rifled through the many ID forms before landing on the one he needed, her own, and settling it to the top of the pile and smiling kindly towards her.

“Well, Miss (Last)” Nedzu started “Tell me a bit about yourself”

(Name) caught herself before she could say anything, wringing her hands on her lap “I-....what is there to say? You already know a lot about me, Nedzu”

The principal nodded in agreement before leaning forward, smile still as kind as ever “It is true that I know who you really are, what your Quirk is and much about your younger life. However, what I really want to know is why are you here today? What made you take the recommended entrance exam? Why, after what you’ve seen first hand, would you want to experience the life of a hero?”

Trust (Name) to know that curiosity. She still asked herself that everyday. Why, after experiencing such a traumatic tragedy would she still want to become a hero and face something that horrible, that life shattering every single day of her life?

(Last) (Name), why did you want to torture yourself for the rest of life?

“Simple” The girl started, eyes shining with a light that Nedzu had only seen with a few heroes in his lifetime.

 “I don’t want anyone else to suffer like I did”

[animetrashlord-007]

LTAS;; Tea Stop, Coffee Shop

Word Count;; 2.5k

Genre;; Fluff!

Pairing;; Hinata x Kageyama

Side Pairing;; Oikawa x Iwaizumi, Matsukawa x Hanamaki

Summary;;

That chapter where Hinata receives relationship advice from Makki and Mattsun. That's pretty much the whole thing.

Published;; 4.20.17

Notes;; 

My Masterlist

Lemme Take A Selfie Masterlist

   Hanamaki shuddered as he opened the door to the quaint café and ushered Hinata and Matsukawa inside. The overwhelming aroma of coffee beans and mediocre pastries crashed into him like a freight train. Two baristas bellowed out a welcome as they prepared some pretentious beverage for an uptight woman in a cheap, black suit. She looked tacky with her knockoff shoes and fake pearls. Makki groaned at the obvious attempt to garner attention, perhaps even respect, from her peers. Not only was her fashion in poor taste, her makeup did naught to hide the exhaustion that devoured her eyes. She was plain in appearance and her personality was lackluster as well, emphasised by the impatient demands she snapped at the anxious employees. Her shoes made an unpleasant click as she tapped them on the polished floor. Casting a glare in the small group’s direction, she rolled her eyes before stalking closer to the counter to inspect her drink. Hanamaki pointed to the corner booth, a silent request for his friends to take residence within the cushioned fortress whilst he ordered. He scoffed as he overheard the woman’s conversation. Oblivious, or perhaps indifferent, to his presence next to her, she continued to berate the cashier.

   “-pathetic! I've told you twice now, how can you continue to screw it up?” she snarled, face flushing with anger, “Make it again!”

   “Of course, ma’am! I'm so sorry for the mistake,” the timid girl murmured as the drink was shoved back into her grasp.

   “If only sorry could fix this atrocity you call a frappuccino! It's no surprise you work here in this rundown, dingy cafe! If you can't even follow simple instructions and make a decent drink, how could you ever make it in the world? I hope someone takes pity on you and takes you in as their wife, though I'm sure you'd manage to screw that up too! You're a disgra-”

   “Are you kidding me? Listen here, you snob,” Makki interjected as he glared down at the woman. “Take your shitty drink and get out. I don't have all day to wait on your snippy ass.”

   “Excuse me?” she gasped, reeling back as she met his apathetic eyes.

   “Did I stutter? Perhaps your age has caught up to you and your hearing is failing you? I'll say it a little louder-” the room fell silent and the other patrons focused on the commotion. He raised his voice, venom lacing his tone, “-Leave. I don't want to see your pitiful face anymore.”

   “How dare yo-”

   “What's wrong? Can't handle it when you're on the receiving end? You're really starting to piss me off. Why don't you hobble back to your dead end job and stop taking your frustrations out on others.”

   An elderly couple shook their heads with disapproval, whispering between themselves as they stared at Makki. Two teenaged girls snickered and raised their cups in a mock salute while a businessman choked on his croissant. No one dared to speak up, however, as the woman trembled with anger. She opened her mouth but no words were formed. With heavy feet, she took another step back in an attempt to escape the much taller male’s intimidating aura. Some time during the interaction, the other barista found her way next to her coworker. Trying to comfort and protect her younger colleague, she wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to her chest. Makki maintained eye contact with the fuming woman, his expression altering into one of boredom and nonchalance. A minute passed before she buckled and snatched the drink, dashing for the exit. Once she left, chatter resumed amongst the other customers as if nothing had occurred.

   “I'd like three large green teas with a slice of lemon in each, please.”

   “O-oh, of course! Coming right up! That'll be 650 yen.” She smiled and offered a small bow as she accepted the money. He let his gaze wander to the corner, holding in a laugh when he saw Hinata’s shocked expression. Matsukawa faced the opposite direction but upon hearing whatever idiotic comment the underclassmen spewed, he turned to his boyfriend and gave a thumbs up alongside a small nod. Makki smirked before turning back to the counter.

   “Three teas with lemons!” The girl chimed, grinning from ear to ear, “We appreciate your business!”

   “Wow, that was fast.”

   “Thank you! For everything!”

   “Huh? I didn't do anything for you.” Uneasiness jolted through him as the girl’s face quivered before her grin returned in full force. She seemed nice, the type not yet tainted by the negativity of the world. Her optimism and naivety would soon be consumed by the harsh reality of humanity yet, in this moment, she shone brighter than the sun. He didn't understand people like her or Hinata. He sighed, unwilling to quicken her inevitable awakening, “It was nothing. I'm sorry she caused you trouble.”

   Without further hesitation, he took his leave to return to his companions. Handing out the drinks, he dropped into his chair with a thud. Matsukawa grunted a thank you, sighing in unison with Hanamaki as they took their first gulp. Before Hinata could speak, Mattsun raised a finger to his lips and narrowed his eyes, drawing his hand across his face in the motion one does when they zip up a jacket. Both of the Aoba Johsai alumni closed their eyes, their desire to relax and to quell their irritation from their current predicament taking precedent over engaging with Hinata. The serenity didn't last however; it never lasted when their newfound friend was around.

   “What was that about, Makki-senpai? You seemed really angry!” Hinata burst, unable to contain his confusion from the spectacle any longer.

   “Shut up and drink your tea. I need to finish this whole thing before I can even accept the fact that we're stuck giving you relationship advice while those two jerks are having a damn all-day date in Tokyo. I want to go on a date,” Matsukawa grumbled, earning a nod in agreement from Makki.

   Hinata was still dubious around the two other males. They had their moments of generosity and kindness, though fleeting and far between, but for the most part they were just sarcastic and blunt. He thought of them as friends and hoped they felt the same, but he still wasn't confident in his ability to interact with them. Oikawa often had petty ulterior motives but otherwise spoke and acted with sincerity. Iwaizumi was friendly and welcoming, going out of his way to make Hinata feel comfortable with the often volatile personalities of his longtime friends. Hanamaki and Matsukawa on the other hand did their best to avoid speaking with their kouhai whenever possible. They let Oikawa take Hinata under his proverbial wing, watching their interactions from afar without so much as a second thought. Now they had the small ball of sunshine thrust upon them, and his enthusiasm was already draining them. On most occasions they liked to take things slow and savour the moment, yet they had spent all morning chasing after Hinata as he pranced around the city. They had even lost the boy at one point, though they chose to shop for new matching scarves instead of exerting the energy to search for him. After an hour passed, they began to bicker over who would call and be forced to reveal their number when he skipped up to them with a fire in his eyes. Not caring about what had worked him up, they entered the nearest establishment that sold any type of drink. After a rough morning of babysitting, they basked in the warmth of their tea. Their fortune turned sour, however, once they both finished their drinks and Hinata jumped straight into conversation.

   “Mattsun-senpai, please teach me how to be romantic!”

   “Seriously? I don't think anyone could teach you anything, you're an idiot,” Makki deadpanned.

   “I agree, but the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can hand him back over to Oikawa. Then we can have some one on one time, if you get my drift.” Mattsun winked, trailing a finger along Makki’s hand.

   “Really get some use out of that nice hotel. They provided such a soft bed and roomy shower, after all.” Makki smirked, a playful twinkle in his eyes.

   “So I should take Kageyama to a hotel?” Hinata questioned, eyes wide as looked between the two.

   “How forward of you, Hinata. I don't think he would appreciate you making the moves on him so quickly though.” Mattsun relaxed back into his chair, biting into his lemon slice. After a pause, he returned his attention to his lover with a sigh, “I'm just going to be distracted if you're here. How about I give him a crash course then we can meet at that clothing store across the street, Takahiro? I know you like their clothes, you should buy some while we're here.”

   Hanamaki frowned as he stood, brushing past Hinata to stand next to his boyfriend. He placed a kiss on his head and entwined their fingers, inhaling the scent of his minty shampoo. Neither of their features faltered from their usual neutral expressions, something Hinata had come to admire about the two. Matsukawa still didn't react as the light-haired male pulled him into an embrace from behind, lifting his left hand up to place a kiss on the smooth skin before nibbling at his earlobe. Hinata wasn't able to keep his own face indifferent and a blush crawled across his cheeks as Mattsun grabbed his retreating boyfriend’s collar, yanking him back down into a deep kiss. It felt like an eternity before the two broke apart and the young crow’s blush spread to his ears and nose as he heard their soft pants. They both smirked at the younger male as he averted his gaze.

   “Sure, I'll see you later, Issei.”

   “So how far have you and, uh, the other one gone?” Mattsun asked, unaffected by the sudden intimacy he had just experienced.

   “You two are cute together!”

   “Tell me something I don't know. Answer the question or I'm leaving.”

   “Don't leave, I need your advice senpai! I'm sorry!” His voice dropped low and his eyes fell to the floor once more, “One time I kinda kissed Kageyama.”

   “How does one kinda kiss?”

   “It was just a quick kiss… like a peck. But we're not dating or anything.”

   “Thanks, Captain Obvious, I would never have realised that,” Mattsun groaned, staring out the window. He tapped his fingers on the glistening table, lost in his own thoughts. “I thought Oikawa was just being Oikawa but turns out you two really do suck. Listen, I can give you some pointers on romantic shit to do but you didn't hear it from me and I definitely don't care how well it works for you.

   “First and foremost, you have to set the mood. You can't just confess out of the blue, just like you can't kiss him out of nowhere. It doesn't have to expensive or flashy, but you should take him on a date. Theatres, restaurants, picnics, arcades, events - it doesn't matter where you go, as long as you're together and you make the effort to make him happy.

   “You need to be aware of his feelings. If he isn't enjoying himself, you need to figure out why and rectify it. If he's bored, you need to leave or strike up a better conversation. If he's making a move on you, you have to be aware of it so you can reciprocate it. You're pretty stupid but apparently so is he, so I imagine miscommunication and ignorance is common between you two.

   “So once the mood is set, and he's comfortable and enjoying himself, you need to make sure the timing is right before you make any moves. Since he still talks to you and didn't kick your arse, you did well enough with the timing of the first kiss. The problem now is that if it's been too long, he might think you didn't like it or, more specifically, don't like him. If it's too soon, he may not have figured out his own feelings fully yet. Timing is key.

   “You need to figure out his feelings before making any more moves or you'll lose him. You might have confused him or maybe he's been trying to initiate a relationship but you're too moronic to pick up the signals he's putting down.

   "Don't forget the little things either; send him texts in the morning when you wake up and before you sleep so he knows he's the first thing on your mind and your last thoughts before you dream. Bring him coffee or pastries or whatever he prefers and strike up conversations about things he's mentioned before so he knows you're truly listening to him. Make subtle contact, like brushing your hand against his, and maintain eye contact. It's all in the little things, don't forget th-”

   “I've never heard you talk this much, Matsukawa-senpai!”

   A heavy pause descended upon the two as Mattsun’s eyes narrowed. Much to Hinata’s chagrin, Matsukawa stood with a sigh. He flicked the smaller male’s nose, clicking his tongue and shaking his head in irritation. Hinata threw his hands up and choked out an apology, slamming his head against the table in his attempt to bow. His words fell on apathetic ears, however.

   “I'm leaving now. Call, uh, the guy and talk to him. Not about your confession, but about going on a date. Then meet us at that store, X B X.” Mattsun pointed across the street then turned on his heels, waving at the nervous boy without a second glance.

   Pulling out his phone, Hinata gulped as he pulled up Kageyama’s contact information. He exhaled with a determined shake of his head, willing his anxiety away. He had known the setter for a year now, and he felt confident that his feelings were mutual. Kageyama had said the kiss was sweet and that he didn't mind it, so that had to be a positive sign. Not to mention how he did all the things Mattsun had suggested as romantic, including buying him meat buns every other night on their way home from practice and texting him every day. Kageyama was showing his affection through the little things, and Hinata needed to meet him halfway. He pushed the call button and waited with anticipation, the ringing drawing out for what felt like hours.

   “Shouyou, is everything okay? Did Oikawa do something to you?” Hinata smiled; Kageyama always worried about him.

   “No, no. He helped me realise something important!” He exclaimed, excitement erasing his previous unease, “Tobio, date me!”

   “D-date you? Idiot! You can't just tell people to date you!”

   “I really like you, Tobio-kun! Let's go on a date together!”

   Hinata grinned as he heard his setter choke on the other end. Kageyama stammered and spluttered for another minute or so before continuing, “Whatever. Just make sure you put more effort into the date than you did in that confession!”

[ourimpavidheroine]

First of all, screw Netflix for only having ATLA in the US. I mean, I have a VPN and I know how to use it, but honestly. (Don’t @ me with why they do it; I know why. It’s still bullshit.)

I haven’t watched this show in years. Years! It is so fucking good. Just amazing.

1) Zuko was, is, and will always be my best boy. My best autistic boy. Fight me. Also, not to put too fine a point on it, and I know this show was called ATLA but this entire story is, in some ways, more Zuko’s story than Aang’s. And I love him so much.

2) Telling us that they never planned for Zutara is BS. Come on guys. You did. Fine! You changed your minds! I’m a writer, it happens. I’ve done it! But don’t tell us it wasn’t endgame at one point. Zuko putting Gran-Gran’s engagement necklace on Katara after you’ve set up what that necklace is and the meaning behind it? Uh huh, right. Sure. Kataang was endgame. Yeah. Ooooookay.

3) Sokka is, without any doubt, the smartest of the bunch, hands down. Jesus that kid is smart. In that ADD kind of way where everyone assumes they are a fuckup that doesn’t pay attention when in reality, there’s an entire universe spinning in their brain 24x7. Also, they did the right thing letting Jack DeSena just run his mouth and improvise because it takes Sokka from a good character to a great character. Good voice actors do not get enough credit, and he’s one of them.

4) I do not buy for one second that Toph Beifong grew up to be a police chief. I mean, I write about it because it’s canon and because of Lin, but there’s no way I am headcanoning that she took that job on because she wanted to somehow promote the law and seek justice. That child lives for chaos. I love her. She’s the worst. THE WORST. Also, I get that this was a kid show and they couldn’t do it but sometimes I like to think of the profanity she would have learned hanging around all of those pro-wrestlers earthbenders and how, being Toph and being competitive AF she would have taken intense pleasure in raising the profane bar higher. I watch this show and every single time she speaks I am, in my head, adding all of the profanity I know this twelve year old hellchild would have spewed.

5) You know what, Bryke? Feisty, angry, brilliant, brave and caring girls do not have to grow up to be serene old ladies. In fact, I’d argue that when feisty, angry, brilliant, brave and caring girls do grow up to be serene old ladies, something has gone wrong. You did not do Katara a solid as an old woman, and I am never going to forgive you for that. I have never believed for a single second she would have just sat around with that old cow chewing her cud expression on her face during the South Pole’s Civil War. Seriously. Fuck off, Bryke. (Toph sitting in the swamp and being like, meh, I could care less, I believe 1000%. Katara? No.)

6) Honestly? I’d like to kick Aang in the seat of his pants sometimes. Or send him to his room. There. I said it. I do not hate Aang - not at all! - but there are times when the fact that he’s still only twelve years old is more obvious than others. (Also, I have a LOT OF THOUGHTS about what being a child soldier did to this child avatar and how that reflects in his next incarnation, Korra, and why it addresses so many of the things people didn’t like about her but that’s for another time.) I never want to ground him more than when I see him being romantically pushy with Katara, though. Let me tell you, if I had heard MY twelve year old son being pushy like that with a girl there would have been a big old Come to the Lionturtles talk in this household because that little airbending free love twerp is respecting neither consent nor boundaries.

7) Suki is a great character and they should have done more with her. Also, I am pretty sure that even teenage Suki and Sokka had an open relationship and she would have been down with having a Zuko OT3. That is all.

8) Mai. Still don’t like her. Like canon Huan, I feel she was an in-joke for the writers that got old real quick. I kept waiting for the real Mai to shine through but she never did. Yeah, we get it, Angsty Goth Girl. Hyuck hyuck hyuck. Remember how in Parks and Rec April had beautiful moments of humanization? That’s what made her character likable and relatable. Mai just continues to be a joke through the end. It’s funny when it is a one-off character. But when it happens with a main character, they start to become monotone. I always felt Mai was monotone. Also, not to be rude, but her calling out Zuko by essentially saying shit was hard for her too was BS of the highest caliber. You think that being rich and bored and having to live in the sticks compares with being abandoned by your mother, disfigured and blinded and cast out by your father? Really? Really? Although I guess that was pretty on point for her character. (Also, and I am quite sure this was never the intent of the writers, but how she treated Zuko was very similar to how I was treated as an autistic teenager by people who claimed to be my friend and that can’t help but influence how I see her character. Fair or no.)

9) Azuuuuuuuuuuuuuuula. The first time I watched this with my kids they were little, about seven or eight. Now they are seventeen and so I’ve been the mother to a fourteen year old girl and let me tell you, thinking of the things that her father must have been doing to her behind the scenes makes me feel sick. Because again, kid show. But I think, if we all look at it with adult eyes, we know what was going on there and why she was the way she was. And honestly, I do not like to slag off on mothers, fictional or otherwise, because I’m a mother and it is damn hard work, but fuck Ursa for her little business with Koh and having her memories of them erased and therefore just getting to move on with her life while her husband systematically destroyed her children. Fuck her sideways.

9) Which brings me to Uncle Iroh. I am not shitting around when I say that Uncle Iroh had a direct impact on my own parenting. I took to heart how he loved, supported and treated Zuko. I took to heart his general attitude to the world. Listen, Iroh also had a redemption story: he was the Dragon of the West! He was the Crown Prince, not Ozai! He was a ruthless general and perpetrated who knows what kind of atrocities as such. Then his son was killed and he went to a deep, dark place before he pulled himself out of it. I’ve always thought that if they wanted to do a book series they could do one about Younger Iroh and his redemption story.

[mattkeepsrambling]

Quick Takes

Jumanji: The Next Level 

I loved the first "Jumanji" reboot/sequel that came out a few years ago. I went into it, expecting nothing and had an absolute blast. I was worried that the second one would not live up to the first. This happens when a movie is a surprise hit-look at the "Pirates of the Caribbean" sequels. While I think this lacked what made the first one special, I had a good time watching it. It has some hilarious moments and some touching ones as well. It felt different enough from the first one to justify its existence. They even teased a third movie that could be pretty great. 

Bombshell

I liked this movie, but it was tough to watch. Putting my cards on the table here: I think FoxNews is terrible, and the fact that the president uses them as a propaganda outlet is an absolute atrocity. That's what makes it hard to watch. It was hard to watch how they spin things for their benefit, the cover-up despicable behavior, and rally behind the perpetrator and attack the victim. It might be easier to watch if the sexual abuse allegations lead to more than just lost jobs and a lot of money given in settlements. The network is still around spewing hate and sowing dissent into the political conversation. I liked the movie, there are some incredible performances, but it was tough to watch for me. 

Knives Out 

This is the second time I saw this movie, and it was even better the second time. This murder mystery is endlessly watchable. It has so much good in it that I don't know where to start. Daniel Craig, as Benoit Blanc, is unbelievably great. The less you know going in, the better. The best synopsis is that the patriarch of a wealthy family dies, and an unknown person hires Blanc to investigate. There are plans for a second movie with Benoit Blanc, and I cannot wait. 

Little Women 

I have never seen any movie version or read Little Women. The story was utterly unknown to me. I had heard great things about this movie and have loved whatever Greta Gerwig has done in the past few years. She wrote and directed "Lady Bird" from 2017. I absolutely adored this movie. The entire cast (Emma Watson, Florence Pugh, Saoirse Ronan, Laura Dern, Timothée Chalamet) are incredible. The film is over two hours long but doesn't feel it at all. 

Uncut Gems 

I have never been more stressed out seeing a movie than I was when I saw this. "Uncut Gems" follows a jeweler named Howard (Adam Sandler) who is about to make a big score, but finds it hard to escape the consequences of his actions. I liked this movie. This is the best Adam Sandler has been in years. This movie is very loud-and it adds to the stress of this movie. Everyone is talking loud and at the same time. This is essentially another form of set dressing for this movie. Howard lives on the edge, and the volume of the scenes reflects that.I enjoyed this movie, but I felt like my blood pressure was dangerously high the entire time.

[torispencerkeene-blog]

Stand Up

The events happening around America have shaken not just the nation, but the world. In the past few days we have seen firsthand what racism looks like, and how it can be ‘explained away’ so easily by so many. Our country is in crisis, and if we don’t work fast to repair the damage, it will only get worse. As citizens, it is our responsibility, our job, to be part of the change we want to see. 

This is on us. 

Don’t believe me? When was the first time you saw racism? For me, I was about six years old and lived in Sumpter, South Carolina at the time. It was my first time hearing the ‘N’ word and seeing firsthand how people of color were treated differently

Some of you, if you’ve known me for any length of time, may have heard this story before. To this day, thirty years later, I am affected by this. In fact, this moment had a huge impact on me, then and now. 

There I was, a tiny little red-haired girl holding the hand of my best friend. We were on the buddy system. My sister and one of my brothers was just up ahead, chattering away while we walked. It was a bright, sunny day. I have no idea what time of year it was, as the leaves don’t really change all that much in the south. 

My friend and I were singing. Just two happy little girls on our way to school. Neither of us was doing anything other than skipping and singing along a rough dirt road to reach the bus stop. I remember hearing the crunch of dirt and rocks under the wheels of the car. I looked up and saw a man driving towards us. I didn’t think anything of it, even when my friend shivered and pulled back. 

It was the look on his face that told me something was wrong. A look I had never been exposed to before. Hatred. This man driving down the road hated two little girls who were just skipping to school. Except, he didn’t hate me. I remember the car slowing right next to us. The window lowered and I heard a word I had never heard before. Then the man, who looked perfectly ordinary, spit at my best friend. 

Can you imagine how she must have felt? I watched her crumple and start to cry as the man gunned his engine, spewing up rocks and sand at us, and took off. How was a six-year-old supposed to react to that? I hugged my friend and screamed for my sister and brother, then turned and starting walking her home. The bus pulled up and my sister said we weren’t going, then they walked us back. 

Now... I’ve lived all over this country. I was born in Virginia, lived in Washington State, South Carolina, Nevada, New Hampshire, and Maine. Being a military brat, most of my early years were on bases, so I wasn’t really exposed to anything like the racism I saw that day, but as time went on I saw it more and more. 

It is a systemic problem. People teach this hatred to their children. So many don’t see a problem with it. And the ones who do... well, we fall into three categories. Those who are apathetic. It just doesn’t faze them. They don’t care about it at all. The second is those who see it and are either too frightened, or too unsure how to step in. And then there are the warriors. The people who see the problem and say ‘I can’t let this stand.’ 

Where is the problem then? Is it with the protesters, or with the ones who are contributing to the problem? Partly, yes. But it is also because of every single American who is not racist, but doesn’t stand up and say ‘this is wrong.’ 

Peaceful protest does so much to show that there are people who care on both sides of the fence. I watched so many videos of police standing with, marching with, or kneeling with the protesters. I saw videos of protesters protecting a lone officer who was separated in the crowd, or of white women standing in front of the black protesters to protect them from the police as they tried to gain attention. 

There are people out there who can help. You, me, your next door neighbor, my grocery store clerk. Yeah, we’re ordinary people, but we are the ones who can stand up and make things change. If you aren’t part of the solution, you are adding to the problem. Go out and protest, sign a petition, get on social media and open an honest dialogue, write it up in your blog. Just DO something. Don’t stand around waiting for the country to heal itself, because it won’t. 

I hate that this discussion has been so marred by politicians changing the focus to the rioting. Now, I’m not going to sit here and tell you that rioting and looting are okay, but I keep hearing the same thing over and over. That as a society, we’ve agreed not to commit crimes like looting or vandalism. I would just like to remind you how this country got it’s start. The BOSTON TEA PARTY. So, as a society, we’ve actually been taught that it is the only way to get what you want.

That said, change doesn’t come from violence. Not really. You are only substituting one atrocity for another. Don’t hurt innocent people or destroy random property to make your point. Instead, talk to the police, the local government, and anyone who will listen about how not to let this happen again. Get together with the leaders of one of the protest groups and try and figure out what CAN change things. Usually it happens with a mix of communication and the changing of laws and rules that increase the problem. 

Go to a protest. Add your sign to the crowd of them. Let your voice be heard. 

STOP listening to the people who are part of the problem. No person is less just because the color of their skin, or because of their gender, sexual orientation, religion, color of their hair, or any other reason. Every single one of us matters. All of us are important. But we aren’t all TREATED that way. 

I know, I know, you think the Black Lives Matter movement is ignoring that police matter, or all people matter. Stop it. This isn’t about you. Not this time. This is about a system of racism we’ve had in this country since the beginning. No one ignores it when a police officer is shot in the line of duty. No one ignores it when a white man is murdered. No one ignores it when a white woman cries for help. 

Unfortunately, those in our country with dark skin are being ignored, even when they need help the most. Hearing those cries of ‘I can’t breathe,’ and ‘Mama’ tore at me and brought me right back to that moment when, as a six-year-old girl, I was helpless to stop racism from happening, when I learned that just because of the color of my skin I was considered better than my best friend (who was the better and kinder person), and that not everyone shows people kindness. I felt just as helpless as an adult. 

I think all of us are wondering what we would have done, had we been there. Would we have stood there, silently, watching someone die? Would we have shouted at the officers to get up and put the man in the cruiser? Would we have had the courage to raise up that phone and hit record? Would we have done something, anything? The truth is, you’ll never know. But most of us would be too afraid, too unsure, or even too apathetic to help. 

That has to stop. We, the white people in the crowd, need to link arms and stand in front of our fellow humans and say ENOUGH! This can’t continue. These people are no different than us. Because they aren’t. We are all made in God’s image. We all bleed red. We all cry tears. We all live with the hope that we will have a future. And we all turn to dust when we die. 

So get the hell out there and DO something, or the problem is you. Put a sign in your window, get on that blog, blow up social media. Don’t let the real issue get ignored because everyone wants to focus on the looting and rioting. That isn’t the problem. We are. 

[thinkingagain]

The Demesne was awakened early that same morning by a buzzing roar. In a space of a few seconds, all the grounds were covered by grasshoppers. Millions. They began decimating every piece of vegetation available.

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book Two: Empire Chapter 34

The next morning, the Commandant’s submarine fleet moved into action. The plan of the three subs was to further erode several large coral reefs in a way that damaged the fragile life along the reefs. Damage would be blamed on the U.S. Navy in an attempt to goad a Magic Animal response.

All information about the plan was rigorously scrambled, but Basil had cracked multiple codes and Lucky had pierced through many layers of muffling surrounding the communications technology. Together they deciphered all the relevant details.

The submarines hadn’t gone far from their base when the crew discovered a host of small problems in their operating abilities, none detected during checks prior to launch: clogged drains and ventilation systems, malfunctions in the weapons and honing devices, loose wires, seaweed stuffed into the engines. The mission had to be postponed.

Meanwhile, some armed whaling boats that set out to kill whales from a port in Iceland found themselves harassed, bumped, led off course and in one case scuttled by a series of a quick strikes from a never identified force.

Oddly, a group of mixed species whales was reported as floating nearby; whales seldom traveled in mixed species groups. Still, the strange grouping could only have been coincidental. Official blame was soon placed on the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society, although several men from the boats involved admitted publicly that never at any time did they see another vessel engaged in an attack.

The Demesne was awakened early that same morning by a buzzing roar. In a space of a few seconds, all the grounds were covered by grasshoppers. Millions. They began decimating every piece of vegetation available.

The Frog Teams responded quickly. For them, grasshoppers were a delicacy, and they scooped them up by the tongue-full. Many other Demesne animals did the same, whether or not grasshoppers were occasional features of their diet.

Yet while the animals found themselves eating bunches of grasshoppers, they soon discovered that most of the grasshoppers disappeared the moment one tried to touch them. Ling Ling communicated between everyone rapidly. She and Leo and Sy quickly realized that while some thousands of grasshoppers had indeed descended on the Demesne, the millions that everyone saw were only holographic projections. The Demesne grounds hadn’t been decimated.

The complaining animals who had arrived on the Demesne the day before had been given a nice grassy or muddy spot to sleep, depending on their preferences. They had been watched closely through the night, in two hour shifts, in case they tried any anti-Demesne espionage.

Through much discussion with the complainers the previous day, Leo had become sure that they were indeed Magic Animals. They had all found themselves isolated from other Magic Animal companionship, often through ruses, and had encountered holographic animals with whom they’d had long, misinformed conversations. The Demesne cause was portrayed as full of illusion, arrogance, and hopelessness. The Commandant’s cause was described as trying to find healthy compromises between Beast and Magic Animal excess.

Leo had talked with the complainers for hours. Indoctrination was difficult to overcome. “The issue speaks to the dangers of isolation in the Magic Animal world,” Leo told the complaining animals, making sure that anyone else nearby in the Demesne heard as well. “Those of you who visited yesterday, barraged by lies and insinuations meant to damage your self-worth and sense of purpose, have been attacked by a Beasts principle called ‘The Big Lie.’

“The concept was first developed by that infamously murderous Beast Adolf Hitler. If you tell a lie long enough, making sure that animals hear no information to the contrary, you can persuade any animal to think what you want.

“This fact brings up a problem which needs more attention: keeping channels of information open to more isolated Magic Animals. We need to listen for news about Magic Animals who have been heard of by other animals but not often seen.”

By late morning at the Demesne, the grasshoppers, holographic or real, had disappeared or formed a fine meal. Many at the Demesne had settled in for a bit of post-feast rest while maintaining necessary patrols. The complaining visitors were allowed to stay or go as they pleased. Some, still confused or alarmed, dashed away as quickly as possible.

The complaining hippo stayed, enthralled that other animals actually thought he was handsome. He asked Leo many questions about the concept of the Big Lie. Sy and others lolled in the grass near them.

Leo was explaining some of the ways in which Beasts denied themselves and others important information when Maximilian hurried up from the spot he had maintained beside the Demesne Lake. “You should see this. Significantly unpleasant.”

Sy and Frank and Matilda followed him to the Demesne Lake. It had turned dark red and smelled of hot blood. Into its cooling waters, many gallons of blood were flowing from somewhere invisible.

The lake was connected to underground caverns and waterways beyond the Demesne wall, Sy reminded everyone. It was likely that the blood had come from them. How that had been managed wasn’t clear.

As the animals stood beside the side of the lake, Beast paper appeared in the sky and fluttered to the ground. Sy picked up one page that landed right in front of him. “The Blood of all the animals who died today fighting stupidly against their ally the Commandant has been returned to you,” he read. “Stop now before many more die.”

Sy looked at his three animal friends. “The cheapest effect yet. I wish Jack were here. I’m sure he could explain why exactly Beasts find this ludicrous stuff intimidating.”

Just then, communication from Ling Ling came into Sy’s mind. “Head down to the Beast Media Room. More information coming in.”

Maximilian stayed behind to keep an eye on further developments in the lake and to assess the likely laborious cleanup. The others hurried underground.

Sy and Frank and Matilda found Lucky in the Beast Media room. Basil and Green Bear waved at them from a small room where the frog and bear were working with complex equipment. “I wouldn’t recommend watching any more than you have to,” Lucky said the moment Sy and the others reached him.

Over the Beast Media screen, a montage of images was spewing an appalling story. The pictures were film after film of animals being shot or poisoned by Beasts.

The murders were graphic, sickening, with Beasts looking up gleefully from mangled animal bodies. Sometimes it was just a single animal being killed; more often it was groups. Elephants were slaughtered, rhinos and hippos, tigers and lion, large animals and small. Streams were contaminated and fish rose dead to the surface of the water. Rabbits were poisoned or gunned down.

After watching a few moments, all the animals averted their eyes. “Unthinkably disgusting,” Sy nearly spit.

Lucky said, “Some of the footage is old and has just been spliced in, I can tell. I hate to say it though. Some of it is new, within the last two or three days.”

Basil came in from the next room and held out his heart to everyone. Its edges appeared to be bleeding. “We’ve been tracking multiple atrocities, real or faked, many probably instigated by the Commandant. The Aquatic Teams have stopped quite a few, but there’s only so much we can do at once.”

“And while all this has been going on,” Sy said, “the Commandant has been distracting us with carnival house Beast games.” He looked at Lucky. “The Sir needs to know, now.”

“I’m alerting him through Ling Ling,” Lucky said.

“Basil?” Sy looked at that gracious, generous frog. “We need everything you and Green Bear have. Do you think you can do it?”

“We have located the essential resources.” Basil’s expression was still haggard from the atrocities he had witnessed, but he smiled his benevolent frog smile. “We’ve located the Commandant too.”

[darriness]

Fic - Like You Wanna Be Loved 3/16

Author: darriness

Word Count: 1740

Summary: Kurt’s going to talk to Blaine, except...

Author’s Note: As always thanks to @darrenismydarcy for betaing! See you on Wednesday!

AO3 Link

As the week goes on, Kurt finds himself more and more intrigued by one Blaine Anderson. He now has a total of nine things on his ‘Blaine’ list and the list grows every day. He’s discovered that Blaine loves musicals (not really a surprise), is allergic to animals (so much so that he couldn’t sit next to Mike, who has two cats, during Glee club one day without sneezing continuously), and loves Hanson (Kurt can forgive him some atrocities).

Blaine is beginning to feel like one of them, like he’s been around since the beginning, and not just a little over four days. He’s like a shiny new toy that the whole glee club is dying to get a chance to play with, and Blaine appears to love the attention...to a certain extent.

Kurt has heard on at least four different occasions, one of the glee members ask Blaine to join them for a social event outside of school or rehearsal but Blaine has declined every invitation. He always does it politely and with a smile, but he still declines and Kurt finds that a little strange.

“Maybe he’s just shy. Or super religious!” Mercedes offers over lunch in the cafeteria. Kurt hums as he nibbles on his carrot stick.

“He doesn’t strike me as uber religious.” He says.

“He wears a lot of bow ties.” She says like it proves her point.

Kurt chuckles, “Bow ties do not equal religion.” Mercedes shrugs with a smile as Kurt shakes head with a smile of his own before sighing, “I just...wish he’d hang out.” He says.

Mercedes shoots him a knowing smirk that Kurt pretends he doesn’t see, “He does hang out.” She points out.

Kurt shakes his head, “During school doesn’t count. Well it does but...you know what I mean!” He huffs, embarrassed.

Mercedes nods, “Have YOU tried asking him?” She asks, with a twinkle in her eye.

Kurt immediately feels defensive and he’s not entirely sure why, “That’s besides the point.” He says.

“You like him.” She says, bluntly.

Kurt can feel his cheeks pink, “I don’t KNOW him.” He says, trying to forget the list he’s been steadily adding to all week that would suggest otherwise - at least to a certain extent.

Mercedes leans her cheek on her upturned hand, “You can like him without knowing him.” She says, softly, “It’s okay if you like him, you know.” Kurt fidgets with his lunch and doesn’t look up, “You deserve to like someone who could actually like you back.”

Kurt blinks at the table and thinks about all his past crushes. Straight, every one of them, and few things hurt more than discovering you have feelings for someone who could never reciprocate, “We’re not even sure he’s gay.” He whispers.

“Bow ties.” Is all Mercedes says but it’s enough to make Kurt laugh. It’s as if the fact that Blaine wears bow ties is a catch all explanation for everything about him. Mercedes winks at him with a smile before nudging him lightly, “Seriously, Kurt. Ask him out. It doesn’t even have to be a date. We can all go, I don’t know, bowling or something.”

“Nothing sexier than bowling.” He mumbles and Mercedes shrugs again with a smile. He sighs, “I’ll think about it.” He says and Mercedes nods, pushing up from her leaning posture and grabbing one of his carrot sticks.

“Have you figured out what you’re going to sing for glee tomorrow?” She asks and he’s so grateful for the subject change.

-- -- --

Blaine likes McKinley. Well, he likes it well enough. It’s not Dalton, but it’s pleasant enough so far. He’s almost a week in and he hasn’t really been noticed much, and he’s more than okay with that. The classes are easy, the building is clean, and the teachers are nice. It’s really all he could have hoped for.

And then there is Kurt. Blaine sighs as he makes his way down the hall to his next class. Kurt, who dresses better than anyone Blaine knows, is sassier than any one person should be able to be without being a complete bitch, and is, without a doubt, the most fascinating and beautiful person Blaine has ever met...and it’s only been four days.

This was supposed to be a simple move. This move was supposed to alleviate the stress, or at least some of the stress, in Blaine’s life. And four days in he feels so conflicted it’s keeping him up at night.

He suddenly catches sight of Kurt at the end of the hall, laughing with Mercedes as they make their way from the cafeteria, and his heart lurches. He grasps the strap of his bag tighter and sucks in a breath. He’s had crushes before, sure, but no other has drawn him in so completely without a single conversation.

They’ve exchanged words of course, and Blaine has filed away every piece of information about Kurt he’s been able to glean from watching him, but he can’t seem to make himself actually talk to the other boy. Because talking might actually lead Blaine to spewing his thoughts and feelings. And beyond the embarrassment of the actual act, Kurt might actually return said feelings and then where would that leave Blaine? He would be equal parts terrified that Kurt would reject him, and that he would actually feel the same way.

What he wouldn’t give to allow himself to have this. A regular teenage romance. Or potential heartbreak. But still, something regular. NORMAL. Something uncomplicated beyond the over exaggerated feelings of a seventeen-year-old.

His phone rings in his pocket and he pulls it out as he watches Kurt and Mercedes make their way out of his line of sight. He looks down at the screen of his phone and sighs once again as he answers. Oh right, that’s why he can’t have a normal teenager experience.

-- -- --

Kurt spends the rest of the day debating whether or not to ask Blaine out (not on a date, he keeps reminding himself). He doesn’t have any afternoon classes with the other boy, they actually only see each other during homeroom unless the glee club eats lunch together as a big group. But today is not that day as evidenced by it only being him and Mercedes. So far Blaine has only eaten with them once, but they do have glee today and Kurt has decided, as he makes his way into the choir room, that he’s going to do it. He’s going to ask Blaine out on a non-date.

Except Blaine’s not in rehearsal. Kurt purses his lips thoughtfully as they move through the rehearsal. Maybe he’s just late again. He knows he’d seen Blaine in homeroom so it’s not like the other boy wasn’t at school today. But as rehearsal goes on, it becomes clear that Blaine isn’t coming.

He tries to ask Mr. Schue casually why at the end of class, but the teacher just shrugs and says Blaine couldn’t make it. Kurt sighs as he leaves, feeling jittery after having psyched himself up, but figures he’ll just ask Blaine tomorrow.

...Except Blaine’s not in homeroom the next day either. Kurt sits on one of the stools in the science lab and looks around after Mr. Pembridge has taken attendance and the other kids settle in to catch up on reading or other homework. No one else finds it strange that Blaine isn’t here.

“I wonder where Blaine is.” He whispers to Rachel next to him who is scrolling through her phone and not at all looking at the math homework in front of her.

Rachel looks up and pouts, “Maybe he’s sick.” She muses before going back to her phone.

She’s probably right, Kurt figures, and tries to focus on A Prayer For Owen Meany.

-- -- --

“So how was the first week?” Burt asks that night at dinner, resting his hands wide on the table and looking back and forth between Kurt and Finn.

Kurt shrugs and looks across the table at Finn who shrugs in return, “It was good.” Finn says. Kurt just nods.

Burt looks back and forth between the two teenagers before turning to Carole with a raised eyebrow, “Okay, I know your’s isn’t always willing to share a lot but mine never shuts up…”

“Hey!” Kurt exclaims, indignantly, as Carole giggles fondly.

Burt chuckles and spreads his arms out to the side, “Well you don’t!” He defends, making Kurt purse his lips and shrugs again, “So what’s up?” He asks.

Kurt is still silent but finally he sighs, “It was good. Like Finn said.”

Burt narrows his eyes at his son, “Kurt met a guy.” Finn pipes up, causing Burt to look over at the taller boy quickly with raised eyebrows, and then back to Kurt.

“Finn!” Kurt shouts, “How are you obtuse about literally everything but this?”

Finn looks frightened, “I didn’t think it was a secret! We all talk about it.”

Kurt huffs and rolls his eyes. Of course they do. The room is silent for a moment before Burt lets out a puff of air, “So are you going to explain or am I gonna have to guess?” He asks.

Kurt crosses his arms tightly against his chest, “I didn’t meet a guy. Not in the way Finn is implying.” Kurt says with a glare at the other boy who shrugs with a hurt puppy look, “There’s a new boy in our grade. He joined glee. That’s all.”

Burt silently watches his son for a few seconds, “He gay?” He asks.

Kurt crosses his arms tighter, “I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter either way.”

“I didn’t say it did.” Burt says, putting his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Is he nice?” Carole asks.

Kurt nods but doesn’t share any more information.

Carole smiles, “Well that’s nice. Your dad is just curious and…”

“Protective.” Burt finishes for her and Kurt purses his lips again but can’t help but give a small smile.

He knows he’s being needlessly defensive about Blaine, he’s actually a little shocked by his reaction, but he can’t seem to help it. He resolves to get over himself and just talk to the other boy on Monday. Just talk. How hard can that be?

Kurt sighs as he goes back to moving his food around his plate. Who is he kidding? It’ll be a Herculean effort if there ever was one.

Author’s Note 2: I promise Kurt and Blaine actually talk next chapter!

[a-writing-bear]

[NedCan] Valentines Exchange 2019: Loving you through our Time Together

This is a Gift for @a-cool-canadian for the @nedcan Valentine Exchange event!!! ʕ♡˙ᴥ˙♡ʔ Please enjoy it!

Note: Happy Valentines Day Jess! My inner history buff got excited- apologies for any inaccuracy and vagueness, I don't really know much and researched a little bit. I hope you enjoy this piece as much as I did writing it and it brings a smile  :)

Ao3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17783909

This Has been cross-posted onto FF & Ao3 under Aliases: BearBooper

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Word Count: 3,272

Age Rating/Mature:  All Audiences :)

Prompt:  “Fluff moments and historical events”

It had been cold. That was one definite vivid memory he could recall when reminiscing over the long conceptual relationship he had nurtured with the Canadian. The cold dusty air of new land had the taste of excitement, and his hair had been ruffled from his pack and belongings when he first landed in what was not yet known to be the North American continent. It was a time before such modern (or what is considered to be ‘modern’ to a nearly immortal entity like themselves’) names like Matthew could be granted, let alone the title of ‘Canada’. The 1500s were a messy time, and especially considering by then it was only a mere measly 500 years of Lars officially donning ‘Holland’, his experience of running a country was dictated by his teachings of his seniors- the germanics had not yielded much besides the importance of strategy on him and the need for expansion and exploration came to him naturally, like the waves back to the shores pulling him in. His expedition to the Indies had been quite the effort and it wore Lars through and through, so his focus during 1605 was far from ogling Matthew- he was unaware of Matthew’s presence on the pristine territory entirely.  He had barely spotted a distant figure on the landing, a small one too far to be someone of importance- let alone a new country he would meet within the next few centuries. Little did he know such a blurry figure, the one that barely piqued his interest, would have morphed into an infatuation to span a lifetime.

The first formal introduction to the former-colony had been egged on by momentary passing remark from England and France, Both of which were fervently arguing over ownership of the young nation for nearly a millennium. The Netherlands, being the ever-snarky and enterprising man he is, had been engaged in some rather boring trade and naval control wars with the Englishman- the man had this rather short and delicate youth following him around some lost pup, or a deer too heavy and endearing to carry the weight of the world on his own. Too eager to impress, Matthieu (as Francis had spelt it) had the dazzling purple eyes and a smile so sickly sweet that Lars couldn’t help but pray for the youth’s survival under the Englishman’s imperial rule. No matter whose side he was on, Lars was sympathetic to the young nation as he too could remember the strife and difficulties that came with being under control of someone else. The back and forth of the many anglo-dutch wars were more of an annoyance, but Lars appreciated the interested, if not slightly concerned, glares he would receive from the colony hiding behind Arthur’s chair whenever he came to bicker over imports. He remembered the first time he had a proper conversation with Matthieu- he had been visiting some former citizens who had decided to share Dutch farming techniques to their new landowners when they had migrated to the British Isles.

“How is it you allow this?” the small voice had spooked the Netherlands as it seemingly came from nothing until his eyes trailed down to his chest to see the colony glaring at the book in his rough hands- a manual on new crops and selective planting. He recognised the being, that fluffed out hair that crowned Matthew's youthful face and those eyes that were so intensely ingrained in Lars’ memory.

“Pardon?” Lars- even though he exemplified the youthful mortal age of a 20-year-old and was still morphing with the development of his own land, was surprised to see how much Canada had grown since the last time he had seen him: Matthieu almost looked like the typical pre-teen that one could witness working in the fields of family farms and no longer the child that sat in the corner of some estate.

“Why do you allow us to take your techniques? Doesn’t it help us…? You fight with Mr England all the time but you’re allowing your skills to be taken and no offence you’re well known for your fighting” His face was soft despite his rational confusion; the questioning had put Lars in an uneasy position but who was he to deny explanation to someone still learning?

After much thought and a pause that seemed to engage Matthieu, Lars voice rang out with no wavering: “Political concerns like land and trade should not interfere with the wellbeing of anybody. People deserve to eat and to survive regardless of the disagreement between myself and your superior. I like fighting- however, I don’t see the need for unnecessary suffering”. The contemplation on the colony’s face had been so clear and mesmerised. At the time Matthieu had not only absorbed such information but a hunger for more advice panged in his chest; the blonde’s youth shone towards Lars- the honest and honourable considerations of him juxtaposed the usual nonsense that had been spewed to him by Francis and Arthur. Ít was at that moment Mathieu realised the wish he had for himself...and his respect for the older country stuck with him alongside his secret interest in the mysterious private dutchman.

Years since that interaction had passed, and the news of revolution spread like wildfire throughout Europe. There was no lie that it brought a smirk to Lars’ face once he heard of British colonies throwing fits; he had only read of the conflict in his news and heard from various leaders of the tantrums over in North America, his mind flickering to the prospects of Canada and wonder over what the intention of the ‘new world’ would bring. Despite Alfred’s brash and busy nature, Matthieu had been more reserved and diplomatic in his attempts of freedom and by the time Lars had run into Canada at the time, he had grown into a much older personification and donned a rather complimentary vest that screamed professionalism and diplomacy. Lars was thankful of his ever-present striped scarf that trailed over his neck and covered his red cheeks as he bumped into Matthieu: He had grown extremely attractive, and the taller man could no longer deny that his old innocent platonic admiration of the man had now been replaced and solidified into a more romantic notion of admiration of that glorious smile and French-tinged accent.

“Hallo Matthieu, I’ve heard you are now autonomous? Has Arthur really given up his conquest of the world?” His Dutch voice almost stuttered uncharacteristically as he breathlessly watched the man fiddle slightly with his sleeves, almost wrinkling the paperwork that was stocked in hand.

“Ah- Mr Netherlands! Yes! It is very exciting- Alfred had pushed me to change my ways and govern myself, but I’m more of the talking types so I’m on my way to negotiate some more over the British North America act!”

“That’s...uh... Gefeliciteerd Matthieu-Congratulations I mean..I know it must be time-consuming.”

“Oh, very much so Mr Netherlands- what brings you to Arthur’s home? I suppose it not another war again.” Lars almost tripped over at the accusation before he saw the glint and twitch of teasing that the other had possessed.

“Ah no just some business and...call me Lars, we are equals, consider this our proper introduction. The Country of the Netherlands” His hand had been outstretched, the sleeves of his tan coat straight and eager despite Netherland’s signature poker-face saying otherwise.

“Then...Hello Lars, I am Matthew- spelt with an ‘e-w’ now, I’m the Country of Canada.” the gentle hands had a strong grip much to Lars’ surprise, and the keen thankful demeanour of Matthew warmed Lars’ soul more than he’d like to admit.

He had never been more interested in the ‘New world’ than then.

Unfortunately, the next run-in with the Canadian had been one of the unhappy circumstances rather the usual fleeting meet cute. Neutrality had allowed Lars to scrape by during the first world war and it seemed as though fate would dictate that German invasion during the second would interrupt his peaceful intentions. To this day Lars shudders at the atrocities he had endured, the suffering had left him even more remorseful with his immortality than patriotism over his survival. Finance had always been a strong factor in his strategy It seemed as though selling weapons and food had been useless in comparison to the past... occupation was a depressingly painful experience and while he has moved on from the grudge, it still bubbles up in his soul even though a century has passed. When his dear sister Belgium had been pressured, and her land trampled, the Dutchman swallowed his pride- a swell of nervousness overrode his ego as he called his allies for support. Perhaps it was futile and blissfully over hopeful for him to think any troops could have made it in time. He watched the bombings over rotterdam with gritted teeth and his calloused hands which were used to the smooth finish of coins and the flora of green valley had clenched with an anger that he was unable to work out as ‘fortress holland' had been taken. Rotterdam was cursed as he was forced to sign those ‘surrender’ agreements; everything, while blurry, was so achingly heartbreaking. Lars was consistent with the intelligence he shipped off to his allies but there was a bitterness in the fact he was left to his own devices- isolated with only the company of his enemy plaguing his land. Although the understandable ‘sorry’s of his allies rang loudly in the various calls and letters; it was the undeniable fury of Matthew that uplifted the forlorn dutchman. In contrast to the reserved nature he had conveyed- Matthew was a tactical and unwavering genius; his words of assurance was so lighthearted despite the grim situation they had found themselves in”

“I promise you Netherlands. I will keep them safe for you. I will hide them from the world If i have to.” The plan was risking everything. How on earth were they expecting to smuggle part of the government and the royal family abroad without a disaster? His mind was riddled with constant worry and the usual calculating and deadpan man was rambling with anxious desperation; They had planned for evacuation to the UK and Canada for a while but executing such an escape was now expected to be more than just spoken agreements.

“Canada I don-”

“ Lars. Trust me. ” if it wasn’t under such dire consequences, Lars would have shuddered at the way the Canadian had pronounced his name; it was melodious in its powerful statement and the seriousness of the tone stole his heart piece by piece- Matthew didn’t know how grateful he was and forever will be. They had grown close due to European deals and although the two were regularly sending mail to each other, they always referred to each other at a distant title of ‘Mr’ or ‘Sir’ - to hear the utterance of his name signalled to him Matthew’s genuine care. This was an agreement between the two of them. Not their countries. There was personal tinge to it and it made him gulp at the overwhelming insinuation of it all- Matthew was his saving grace at this point. While Canada was just another ally, The man before him known as Matthew, on the other hand, had become everything.

Matthew had kept his word and by 1943, Princess Margriet had been born in Ottawa civic hospital- and to go the extra Mile Canada had made sure the ward had been registered as international territory to secure Dutch succession rights in the interest of Lars. He was beyond grateful. If he had not admitted his feelings for the man before this, then surely this act alone was the one that tipped his pure love for his dashing saviour. Hunger winter the following year was his most pitiful hour and it almost felt humiliating to watch the sadness glow in Matthew’s wearing and exhausted eyes when he had arrived at Lars salvation; the food in his arms was more than the Dutchman could ask for. Canada had never held that moment of weakness against him and instead caressed his cheek when he found the man slumped off the wall of some building in Randstad. He could remember the tired grasp they shared, the hug so warm compared to the cold he had been fighting, the blush on both their lips barely recognisable due to the dirt and grime that covered them both. the hasty and sudden taste of Matthew’s lips on his own, his starvation being replaced with nothing more than starvation of Matthew’s long-awaited affection and contact- he was so hopelessly in love.

The liberation of the Netherlands was practically inseparable to Dutch-Canadian relations and it was no big deal when a commemoration over such sacrifices was announced. Tulips came flown in by the thousands and Matthew was more than welcoming when his house had been adorned with tulips of all types. Lars was adamant to admit his obsession to give so many bouquets stemmed from much more than appreciation over his liberation yet the moment he had once again met Matthew, any anxious uncertainty over the gift disappeared.

For once he had stepped foot in the Canadian’s homeland, and by the time he had gotten to the doorstep of the personification, his assistant had made him aware that Mattie had tried to phone him on the diplomatic line countlessly. Lars' feet shuffled, the soles of his boots grating on the wicker mat that sat judgmentally at the front door of his crush’s cabin; The flowers that seemed perfectly trimmed in His hands were a bundle of specially grown tulips, bright red in their beautiful bloom- a private batch grown in his own home rather than his national fields. The doorbell was cut off as the door flung wide open extremely quickly, Matthew’s furrowed brow jumping into a more expressive and exhilarated look of astoundment.

“Lars?! Wh-how- I was just calling you to say thank you for the flowers!”

“I’ve uh...Brought you some more..” he almost melted as Matthew broke out into a wide smile, showcasing those pearly teeth in a grin. Despite their kiss back in 1944, the two were ridiculous in their courtship, shy in their advances and had not done much but spend nights talking to each other since. He had shed his jacket as he stepped into the strawberry blonde’s home, whom of which was quickly procuring a vase for his gift before offering some drinks.

“I...missed you. We’re grateful...I’m grateful for you Mattie.” Thank fuck for his practised poker-face in making it easier to say such words, and Matthew’s close nature meant that the Canadian could tell he was being sincere regardless of the straightly-lined announcement. The two caught up, pleasantly satisfied with each other’s company. Neither of them said anything as they found themselves snuggled up on a seat, hands and legs intertwined for ‘warmth’.

The modern era was rife with issues, issues that were starkly different from those of the 15th century but stemmed from the same themes of protectionism. The creation of NATO and OSCE, as well as their positions at the table of the UN, allowed them to speak more often and technologies like phones did nothing but encourage pursuing a relationship. Yet in the millennium of beating around the bush over their relationship, neither had said anything of the relationship between Matthew and Lars. It was always just the business side of Canada and the Netherlands that interacted, the close brush of shoulders being nothing more than a lingering with of unsaid meaning.

“Why don’t you two just go make out right now?” Alfred had cornered Matthew during a lunch time break, and his new tailored suit had become unbearable as his brother tormented him with mentions of his love life. It was not that they didn’t want to enter a relationship things were just... complicated. Being a nation was complicated. He had known Lars for so long, harboured feelings for him for just as long, what if Lars found that discouraging? Besides they had kissed...not that America knew that. God. Matthew internally rolled his eyes at the fact his brother was gossiping like some teenage girl.

“It’s not that simple Al. Lars is...he might not be interested anymore.” Insecurity had got the best of him and although he was always socialising with the dutchman - whether it be at olympic games or just stately visits - there was not much to go on from besides the looks they shared. Alfred whistled in disbelief, his brother must of been blind to not see the tripping over that Lars does unconsciously for him. The Netherlands had become the 8th highest destination of canadian exports and not to mentions the countless treaties and trade deals that the two had signed. Nothing says romance more than free trade and visa exemptions right? Everyone had seen the two squabble and tiptoe around the facts, making excuses like ‘diplomatic friendship’ and ‘international cooperation’ when it was clear as the light of day that these were more just benefits to being able to visit each other freely and often. As if god wanted to torment Matthew, Lars had come over, the clicking of his shoes loud with such a fast walking pace. Alfred ‘coincidentally’ had affairs to attend to at that moment and the two were left alone besides the table of coffee and refreshments.

“Hallo schatje, How are you? Was i interrupting your brother?” Matthew flustered at the nickname, he still wasn’t quite sure what it meant and the last time he asked Belgium and luxembourg for a translation they laughed and refused to let him know what the dutchman had been naming him. “I’m alright, alfred was just gossiping again, how are you Lars? Still waiting for springtime i suppose?” he nodded, the two quickly dissolving into gleeful conversation and it was always quite the spectacle to see the usually harsh and blunt european to break out an unlikely smile in the company of the quieter sheepish north american; he only really did so with his siblings and even then it was supremely rare. It was only when Matthew had turned to pour himself another cup of coffee did he hear a mumbling of the Dutchman obviously struggling with his inner thoughts: “fuck dit is stom en moeilijk, maar ... God, wees genadig...just say it…” Under his breath and muffled slightly into the cotton scarf he heard the dutchman swear to himself.

“Is everything alright Lars? Is this about the new-”

“Would you like to go for a...date after this...this meeting...?” Matthew was speechless. His free hand straightened his tie and he tried to formulate his answer- one that was clearly a yes. As he stared into those bluish eyes and the blonde’s avoiding look, he faltered. Every thought and hesitation to pursue a relationship was obliterated by the look on Lars’ face. Lars, embarrassed by this whole attempt had tried to cough his way out, nearly retreating, ready to beat himself up at fucking up a milleniums worth of friendship…

“Thank fuck. I thought you’d never ask.” Lars’ mouth stretched into an ‘oh’ before rapidly mentioning many apologies of his romantic incompetence but Matthew paid no attention as he tried to stand on his tippy toes. With his new height barely able to reach up to his lover’s chest, His hand grasping at the scraggly orange tie Lars had chosen that day and pulled him down into an overdue kiss.

“I’ve loved you for all of history Lars.”

[pitiflame-archived]

✍️Jaina

Send me ✍️plus a character’s name and I’ll write a drabble between that character and mine.

Continuation of this in which Rommath dies during the purge of Dalaran. under the cut for length. Tw for violence, blood, a very suffering magister, and all that.

Rommath had an idea of what the situation in Dalaran would be like. By the reports sent to himself, Lor'themar, and Halduron, he knew just what they were getting into. The Grand Magister had been infuriated about Sunreaver’s capture and taken to some dark recesses of the Violet Hold. His anger only grew at the knowledge anybody remotely Sin'dorei were being slaughtered.

However, seeing it for himself had proved to be am entirely difficult situation to stomach. He had seen his own fair share of battles but this was a new experience entirely. Searching for Aethas within the Hold’s darkest corners, finding him bruised and bloodied but thankfully alive, and dragging him to the sewers to rendezvous with the other magi he had brought to assist him.

It was an experience he hoped he’d never have to endure again. The look of utter betrayal and hurt, mixed with pain from the wounds he bore, on Aethas’s face as Rommath had released him from the chains that bound him in that cell. Enchanted chains that had hindered all of the archmages power, leaving him completely at the mercy of the ones that relentlessly tortured him for the charge of assisting with their mad warchiefs command of stealing the Divine Bell from Darnassus despite Sunreaver not having a direct hand in what Garrosh chose to do himself.

As he was freed, Aethas had sobbed and clung to Rommath like his life depended on it. Perhaps, in a way, it did. This was one of the very rare moments the Grand Magisters cold facade had broken, looking down to the other elf in sadness and held him as he weeped. It only lasted a moment, however, as time was of the essence. They had no time to hesitate and Rommath had pulled Sunreaver to his feet and teleported them to the sewers. Once there, the other magi had been all over them, checking them for wounds and Aethas being hounded by the healers they could spare.

“Rommath..” Aethas’s feeble voice rang out.

The Grand Magister turned to him, fixing him with a pointed look. “Whatever you’re going to say, dont. I’m going to go finish this damned mess.” He spoke.

Aethas’s eyes flashed for a moment. “What are you going to do?”

Rommath didn’t reply, simply tightened his grip on his staff and started for the entrance of the sewers.

Aethas sputtered behind him as he watched the Grand Magister leave to his certain doom. “Wha- Wait! No! Rommath! Jaina-”

“- has gone too far. I’m putting that bitch down before more innocent blood fills these streets.” Rommath interrupted. He had made up his mind with how he planned to end this and no amount of trying to.convince him otherwise would make him change his mind. It was for the greater good, this way. Azeroth would lose two skilled mages this day.

“She’ll kill you!”

Rommath gave a hmph. “More than likely. But I’ll make sure to repay the price.”

Aethas had begun to get angry at Rommaths apparent resignation of his fate. “You can’t just leave everyone behind like this! If something happens to you, Silvermoon won’t recover easily from this… Please. There’s a better way to stop her. We can think of something that doesn’t involve this.”

He let out a low sigh before turning away, continuing towards the entrance. He said nothing, letting Aethas’s angry screaming of his name be the last thing he hears as he steps out into the streets of Dalaran. It was for Silvermoon he was doing this. Silvermoon and Eryis. Both held strong places in his heart. By ending Proudmoore’s terror here, she would no longer be a threat. Azeroth would be safer, an atrocity like this less likely to happen again. He hoped. By extent, that also included the safety of his people and lover.

As he stealthily made his way to the once familiar paved streets of the floating city, it hadn’t been too difficult to find the human mage. The screams and sounds of people trying to escape had made his search tremendously easier. Rommath had rounded a corner and saw the blonde headed human making her own way down the road. He visibly cringed as a fireball had engulfed some poor elf in flames. They had writhed and screamed in agony before falling to the ground.

The hatred he felt increased as he saw Vereesa Windrunner was nearby to Jaina. His eyes narrowed at the ranger who’s arrow had pierced another civilians in a clean headshot. To this day he never understood how she could kill her own people without regret. Quel’dorei or not, she was still an elf among them.

“PROUDMOORE.” Rommath called out. As he did so, he felt his body light up as magic coursed through his entire being. A shield of fire surrounded him as molten armor was cast and he stalked towards the human who now seemed to wait for his approach calmly. Vereesa had noticed him as well and hitched an arrow into her bow, ready to strike before Jaina had given her the command to stand down, that she would deal with this on her own.

“Ah, Grand Magister, what a surprise. I thought i sensed the presence of an incompetent fool.” She said said in a sweet tone.

He did not reply at her insult, not so much as a twitch to acknowledge it. Raising his hands to her, a blast of fire spiraled outwards from his outstretched palm straight for her. Jaina had easily dodged the fireball and it had collided with the side of a building, erupting into a blaze of flames and smoke.

“As quick tempered as ever, I see.” Jaina said, her own barrier of ice surrounding her. She flung her own fireball at him and Rommath had to duck to avoid it. Fire met fire repeatedly as the two mages battled. Most of them either exploded upon contact with the others spells or were dodged quick enough where they didn’t directly hit. Both had managed a few good hits on the other.

The worst injuries had been Rommaths chest, where Jaina had sliced him with an ice lance. Cloth and skin had torn away along with the frost, his robes quickly being stained a deep red as blood poured from his wound. For the other, Jaina had taken a fire blast directly to her face, one side of it burned badly. The smell of burning flesh was overwhelming whenever the two magis were in close quarters but thankfully that wasn’t often. He thought perhaps he had injured her eyesight because of this as her aim accuracy had been thrown off significantly.

Another ice lance was sent his way. Rommath feigned to the left as he thought it was aimed to his right though he did not see how the lance split as it was thrown to him, shards of ice burrowing deep into the sides of his ribs and he gasped at the sudden cold and pain. In retaliation, he sent a barrage of arcane missiles towards Proudmoore. A few had hit their mark and she fell to her knees. Rommath saw his chance as she struggled to get back up and, again, cast more missiles at her.

At the last moment, Jaina had summoned another barrier around her. This time the spells had reflected off of them and to Rommaths surprise they had been deflected back towards him. He missed a few though a majority of them had struck, leaving arcanic burns and deep wounds more across his chest and arms. The wound that had already been on his chest flared up at the sudden burning from the arcane missiles and he found it hard to breathe.

Rommath stumbles then, clutching his chest as he gasped for air. Jaina, as he had, saw her own opportunity and approached him. With a triumphant look on her face, she smiled down bitterly at the elf. “This is checkmate, Grand Magister.” She said, a flurry of ice shards being conjured to rain down upon him. Again summoning his own flamed barrier, he bought himself enough time to roll out of proximity of the blizzard cast. With one final, desperate blast, he directed a fire blast to her again.

Upon contact with the human, she gasped before falling to the ground face first into the paved stone. With one final twitch from the archmage, Rommath knew he was victorious. He struggled to his feet. Unbalanced and still breathing heavily, he had started forward to approach Proudmoore’s body before a voice was heard, yelling, behind him. He didn’t hear what the person had said, he could barely hear anything over the pounding of his heart in his ears. Rommath had at least recognized it as Aethas.

As He tried to focus his vision, all Rommath could make out was Aethas and a small group of Magisters running towards him. As he focused, Aethas kept yelling something to him and pointing at something. As if in slow motion, time itself seemed to drag out the next few moments that would feel they’ve lasted years.

All at once he heard Aethas’s voice booming in his mind, “-WINDRUNNER-”. All at once he felt the sharp stab directly centered between his collar bones. He felt himself falling to his knees, landing with a heavy thud. All at once, Vereesa was standing before him. Her blue eyes shined with grief and tears threatened to spill. A snarl was clear on her face as she grabbed a handful of the Grand Magisters hair, forcing his head to snap backwards so he was looking her in the eyes. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of wincing, instead masking it with his own snarl.

Her voice rang loud and hysterically, reverberating off the stone foundation of the city. Vereesa withdrew a blade and as she yelled her battle cry, tearing into flesh and blood began spewing from his neck. “FOR PROUDMOORE. FOR THE SILVER COVENANT.”

He was released then and Rommath desperately grasped at his neck as he choked on his own blood, as if trying to hold together the ripped pieces of his flesh to stop the blood. He heard Aethas scream behind him and as he looked up, Vereesa had gone. Rommath coughed and gasped, holding out a hand in front of him on the ground as he watched helplessly as a scarlet pool began forming underneath him.

He knew he wouldn’t have survived this day. He knew both himself and Jaina were matched for power, both of them being extremely skilled and talented magi. So it would make sense they would be the ones to end each other. Rommath had not taken into account a vengeful Windrunner. Well, more specifically, this vengeful Windrunner. He had expected to die by Jaina’s hands, no other. But such is life, constantly full of surprises even in someone’s last moments.

His own last moments were not of Vereesa, however, but of Eryis. He still felt incredibly guilty at sending her on a mission just to deceive her by slipping away while she was gone. But it was better this way. Same as he’d mentioned in the letter she would receive, it was for the best that he had gone. His mission had ultimately been a success, Jaina now lay dead before him. And he would soon join her.

Memories flashed through his mind, one after the other. Splashing a girl with raven hair and a pink ballet dancers outfit, being pushed in the river repeatedly by the same girl annually, placing a flower crown upon her head for her birthday, the oh so many painfully awkward moments they shared before they had both realized they had been pining all along for each other, taking her to that still cringey family reunion one year, the kiss they had shared that had solidified their relationship. Their daughters being born just a few years ago.

Countless others followed in his mind. So much time spent with her. Even in this moment, as blood poured like a waterfall from his throat, his thoughts always managed to find their way back to her. Rommath felt the sting of tears finally spiraling down his face though they were accompanied by silence.

So many memories with Eryis. Just to end here as he bled out in the city that had given him so much previous hell all throughout his life. Of course it would be here he fell. Despite everything that had happened today he could at least say he didn’t have regrets; save for leaving Eryis. His mission was accomplished. Rommaths vision began to fade then, a numb darkness blanketing him from the cold that was setting in. In his final gasping breath, he spoke to these memories that still played in his mind.

“Be brave, my sun and stars.”If not for me, then for the little ones.

Sima and Feana were his pride and joy. Rommath had never, ever expected himself to be a father, let alone being a good one, but once the twins had been born he seemed to surprise even himself. He knew with both his own and Proudmoore’s demise, they would be safer and he couldn’t ask for anything else other than that. At least that thought seemed to ease the Grand Magister’s mind as he pitched forward into the pool of crimson.